"The Tomboy" (Updated w/ Chapter 17 on 9-29)

It’s been a long time coming, but I have finally added a new chapter to “The Tomboy”. I also made some minor alterations to the earlier chapters (fixing incorrect tenses, fixing typos, re-wording sentences for effect, etc.). As such, I decided to simply start it as an all-new thread here on the forums.

Chapter 11 isn’t the longest chapter, nor the most eventful chapter, but it bridges the earlier story to some very important things that will occur down the road. I hope you enjoy it. :slight_smile:

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CHAPTER ONE

“Are you still going to our gig tonight, Laney?”, asked Mikey, as they bounded through the mostly-glass doors of Franklin High School. Mikey’s real name was Michelle, but she hated that name with a burning passion. It was too girly for a metal-head tomboy like her.

“Of course. Knowing that I’ll be going to it is the only thing that got me through this hellish week,” replied the auburn-haired Laney, flinging her backpack over her shoulder. Mikey laughed, knowing exactly how she felt. Her week had been nightmarish too, what with the end-of-the-year tests and all.

The two girls walked toward the parking lot amidst the throngs of other students scrambling to get off school grounds like ants escaping an anthill that had just been demolished. Mikey reached her car first and yelled out, “See you tonight,” to Laney who was making her way toward her own vehicle.

Mikey always enjoyed the ride home from school. With her windows rolled down and her brutal music cranked up, it was the perfect way for her to unwind. She cruised down Main Street, getting a kick out of the looks passers-by and pedestrians gave her. She was quite a sight to behold. The music blaring from her car was ferocious and intense, which contrasted her natural beauty. Oh, sure, her hair was dyed black and she had all the expected piercings, but even that couldn’t disguise the fact that she had angelic facial features and was a small, petite young woman… hardly the stereotypical vision of the brute-like female metal-head.

Mikey’s drive was short lived, however. As her ragged, decrepit house came into view, she sighed exaggeratedly. She hated the ramshackle abode. Its paint was almost non-existent, the roof sagged, the plumbing was abysmal and the lawn was perpetually unmowed. The interior was equally awful. The carpets were matted and stained, the walls were riddled with holes, and the entire place carried this odd musty odor that sent her sinuses into an outrage.

She entered the front door and found that her parents were gone. No big surprise there. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen them in a couple of days. They had a tendency to stay in their own little world; a world that didn’t often include Mikey. They were deeply entrenched in the “party” lifestyle and typically came home inebriated or stoned out of their gourds. They more or less left her to her own devices, which suited her just fine. After all, she had a level head and usually made good decisions when it came down to brass tacks. She was perfectly able to run her own life. Hell, she did a better job of it than her parents did, that’s for sure. They couldn’t even stay sober for a weekend, much less maintain a stable household.

Mikey had just enough time to take a shower, get dressed and grab a quick meal before loading her guitar, half-stack and pedal board into her car and heading to the club. She always made it a point to show up early, especially when it was a venue she hadn’t played before. It gave her a chance to get a feel for the place.

After her shower, she selected her attire for the evening. Settling on camouflage pants, vintage combat boots, a spiked gauntlet and a “Morbid Angel” t-shirt, she looked every bit the part of the quintessential bad-ass metal chick. She wasted no time in preparing a meal, loading up and driving to the club, a run-down juice bar called The Pond. It was a stupid name, but Mikey was impressed with the interior décor upon entering. It was far roomier than it looked from the outside. The walls were covered in graffiti art and the entire establishment was quite dimly lit, aside from a blacklight. Nice ambience. Only a small smattering of customers was present due to the early hour.

She brought in only her guitar and pedal board and she approached the bar to find out where the club owners wanted her band to place their gear. The man at the bar was a swarthy-looking fellow in psychedelic hippie clothes. His medium brown hair was a bit disheveled and his relatively long beard looked as if it had never been introduced to a comb. In truth, it probably hadn’t.

“Hey, man,” she said, trying to get his attention. He turned to face her. “I’m Mikey from The Unnamable. Where should we put our stuff?”

He spoke thickly, as if he had to force the words out through a glob of goop. "Oh, hey. Yeah, you can set your shit right through that door over there. He pointed toward a wooden door near the stage.

“Much appreciated,” she stated nodding to him before she charged off to the door. The room behind the door was rather small and cramped, but it would suffice. She placed her guitar and board on a table and brought in her amp. By the time she finished, she heard footsteps approaching the door. To her surprise, it was Damon, the lead vocalist of her band, who was carrying their PA and one of the boxes filled with cords and the like.

“How long have you been here?,” he asked with a wry smile that could barely be seen beneath his long, thick locks of hair that covered most of his face. He was a sturdy man in his early twenties, who had a lantern-jaw and piercing blue eyes… when his mane managed to stray away from them, that is.

"I just got here a few minutes ago, " she said, getting up to help him unload the band’s equipment. “Where’s everybody else?”

He chuckled. “They’re on their way. Ronnie wanted to stop in and get some food before he came, so he’ll be a little later than Snake and Mason.”

The two band mates walked outside to get more of their gear. Damon remarked, “I see you finally bought that gauntlet you’ve been talking about.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty fucking cool, huh?”

Damon nodded slightly, “It is. It’s cool for on-stage use, anyway.”

She screwed up her face and inquired, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he stated plainly, “It’s just that I don’t think it would kill you to dress like a girl when you’re not on stage.”

Mikey found herself frowning, “That’s not who I am. You know that. I’ve never been into dresses and make-up and shit. Never was, never will be.”

Before the conversation could’ve gone further, they spotted Snake and Mason pulling into the parking area in the back. They got out and simultaneously stretched. VW bugs just aren’t meant to fit two burly guys in them. Snake was the taller of the two and had wavy dishwater blonde hair that spilled down to his mid-back. He had a tattoo of intertwining snakes covering most of his body. His face had been spared such a fate, however. Mason had a shaved head and a barrel-chest, looking something akin to a late nineteenth century prizefighter.

After a quick greeting of high fives and handshakes, the band members proceeded to bring their gear inside. The opening band was setting up on stage when Ronnie showed up. But Ronnie was hardly as jovial as the others. In fact, he looked downright concerned. He approached Mikey and said, “Hey, you might want to give your uncle a call. I bumped into him at the burger joint. He’s been looking for you. Said it was urgent.”

“Uncle Jeff?”, she scoffed, “He was probably wanting me to set him up with Laney again, the fuckin’ perv.”

“I don’t think so, Mikey. He sounded really freaked the fuck out,” Ronnie said, shaking his head.

“I’ll give him a call after our set, okay?” she said in an effort to drop it.

“Alright, but I think something’s seriously wrong.”

The opening act was a deathcore band called “Over the Abyss”. Mikey wasn’t all that impressed, noting that they sounded like every other Whitechapel knock-off out there. They were talented, but they could use a dash of originality. The band in question played a half hour set before relinquishing the stage to the Unnamable.

The crowd was somewhat small, but still very active and vocal. Laney wasn’t in attendance, which surprised Mikey. But she had more pressing matters on her mind. As she strapped on her guitar, she couldn’t help but wonder why her uncle was looking for her. She tried pushing it to the back of her brain, though, so she could concentrate on her performance.

The Unnamable ripped into their first number with a vengeance. The crowd immediately took to their old school death metal stylings, initiating a mosh pit almost immediately. With the fans in a frenzy, the band put even more effort into it. Nothing drives a band onward like a mass of rampaging fans swirling in a mosh pit in front of them.

The rest of the set went just as swimmingly. Judging by the crowd’s uproarious reaction, it was a safe bet that the proprietors would ask them to return at some point. The fans were still cheering as the band exited the stage area. After their equipment was loaded into their respective vehicles, Mikey stepped out of the club’s back door to call her uncle, using Damon’s cell phone.

“Hey, Jeff. I heard you were looking for me,” she asked tentatively.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been hunting you down for hours.” His frustration was evident, but equally evident was how panicked he was.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look, Mikey, you know I ain’t too good with shit like this, but, uh, y’know, well… Amy and Joe were killed in a fire this afternoon. I’m sorry, kiddo. I really am.”

Mikey felt suddenly hollow, much as if she was floating above her body. It was all too surreal. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”, she belted out. “Mom and dad are dead??”

There was a slight pause before Jeff spoke. “Yeah. They were in a meth lab or some shit and, well, it went up in flames and they didn’t get out. The police said they were likely passed out when the fire started.”

Mikey instinctively thought of self-preservation, something she’d soon feel guilt over. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Beats the shit out of me. I don’t know anything about this stuff, y’know? I mean, you’re sixteen, right? Can’t you live on your own at sixteen these days?”

The reality of the situation began to sink in. Her hard-ass routine started to crack a little, as she wiped away a stray tear that rolled down her delicate cheek. “I can’t go live in no orphanage and I can’t stay with you because of your felonies and shit. I have no other relatives that I know of. I am so fucked! SO fucked!”

The rest of the night was a blur to her. Her band mates were all very sympathetic to her plight and offered her any assistance they could. She felt terrible because she harbored such resentment for her parents. They barely acknowledged her existence, being gone for days at a time and saying very little to her when they were home. Still, they were her parents and she just couldn’t help but love them.

The following day, she was awakened by a social services worker knocking at the door. The woman was pleasant, but Mikey wasn’t a fool. She knew that this was just another case to her. Once the lady dealt with this one, she’d forget all about it and be on to the next case, leaving Mikey to live with her parents’ deaths.

The social worker explained that she was still too young to live on her own and that they have found a relative who was willing to take her in. It was her cousin Mesa and her husband, Mark. She barely knew them, to tell the truth, and Mesa was only in her mid-twenties. The idea of having someone so young in charge of her was annoying, but at least she lived in the same city. It would prevent her from having to uproot from her school, friends and band. So, in that way, she figured she was fortunate.

Within a few hours, Mesa arrived. The caseworker stood outside and spoke with her for some time, while Mikey packed the rest of her belongings. She couldn’t hear much of their conversation, but she gathered enough information to learn that they were all going to be going to the social services office to sign paperwork and such.

Mikey was nervous to see Mesa for the first time in many years. The last time she saw her, she was six years old and Mesa was a teenager. Her memory of Mesa was vague, but she recalled that she was very much into wearing fashionable clothes and acting girly. Perhaps she’s changed. Or perhaps not.

CHAPTER TWO

Mikey had just finished packing her belongings when Mesa knocked on her bedroom door. She knew who it was right off the bat due to the knock being extraordinarily dainty and timid.

Zipping her final suitcase, she said, “Door’s unlocked. Come on in.”

Some things never change and judging by her appearance, Mesa’s sense of style was one of them. She was wearing a breezy white cotton summer dress, nude hosiery and simple white heels. Her luscious blonde hair seemed to cascade down her back like a waterfall and her eyes were sky blue. She was certainly as beautiful as Mikey remembered, though she found her clothing to be utterly appalling in every way. She just couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that anyone would willingly dress that way. Dresses would be inconvenient, hosiery would be hot and itchy, and heels would be nothing short of torturous. Comfort was all that mattered to Mikey.

Mesa stepped partly into her room. “Hello, Michelle. How are you holding up?” She stepped the rest of the way into the room, moving closer to Mesa, hoping to seem more sincere by placing her hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t know. Okay, I guess,” said Mikey, shrugging. “It’s just a lot to process.”

Given the gravity of the situation, Mikey overlooked being called “Michelle”. Still, it made her cringe and grit her teeth a little.

“I understand, sweetie. I’m really sorry about what happened. Uncle Joe was a good man. He just had more than his share of demons.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mikey muttered. “All too well.”

Mesa nodded. “Everything’s going to be okay now, though. You’re going to come live with Mark and I. It’ll be great, I promise. Mark even took a few days off work so he could get your room ready.”

“I haven’t seen either of you since you were teenagers dating each other. I hate to sound like a bitch, but why haven’t you two ever bothered coming around until now?”

Mesa looked forlornly toward the floor. “It’s complicated.”

“How complicated could it be? You could have stopped by or sent a birthday card or, hell, even picked up the phone. I guess I’m just confused as to why you couldn’t have managed that?”

“Look,” Mesa said calmly, “Your parents didn’t like Mark. In fact, they hated him. They said he was a bad influence or something. He was pretty wild back then. But he was practically just a kid at that point. He grew up, became responsible and has been a great husband. Joe and Amy refused to accept the fact that he had changed and never gave him a chance.”

“Oh,” Mikey said, feeling bad for acting so suspicious. “To be fair, I guess I could’ve contacted you too, huh?”

“It’s not your fault, sweetie. The important thing is that we can make up for lost time now.”

Somehow, Mikey felt slightly better. Maybe this arrangement would work out after all. Within a half hour, Mikey’s belongings were loaded into Mesa’s white mini-van and they were on the road, heading toward her new home.

“Mesa?”, she asked, “Do you have a cell phone I could use real quick?”

“Sure, it’s in my purse. Feel free to get it out.”

After a minimal amount of digging, she found the phone and called Laney’s number. She was worried about her friend, given that she failed to show up to last night’s show. That just wasn’t like her.

Laney’s mother answered the phone in her usual hateful tone, which only became more hateful when she heard who was on the other end of the line. She didn’t like Mikey and seldom made any pretenses about it. “What do you want?”, she asked impatiently.

“Is Laney around?”, Mikey asked, trying to be polite.

“She’s around but she can’t come to the phone. I grounded her last night. She knows she’s not allowed to go to those devil-music concerts and yet I caught her sneaking out to attend one. It was one of your band’s shows, wasn’t it?” The way she emphasized “wasn’t it?” made her sound like the grand inquisitor or something.

“Yep,” she replied drolly.

“Well, she doesn’t need so-called friends like you leading her to devil worship, so you need to leave her alone and forget you ever knew her.”

At that point, Mikey’s temper flared. “I’m an atheist, you closed-minded old bitch. There’s a big difference between an atheist and a devil worshipper, for fuck’s sake!” Laney’s mother responded simply by hanging up on her. She could tell that Mesa was taken aback by her anger and the language she used. Things became uncomfortably quiet for the remainder of the ride.

Mesa and Mark’s house was located on the northern edge of the city, near one of the more affluent neighborhoods. The house itself was quite nice, though not necessarily as nice as some of the surrounding houses. It was a white two-storied structure with steep roofs and a wrap-around porch. Behind the house was a moderate sized patch of woods with a shed nearby. A white truck with “Mark Wallman Construction” on the side was parked in front.

Mesa pulled into the driveway, stopped the van and got out. Mikey began to feel nervous. Not so much as a word had been spoken since the incident with Laney’s mother, leading the girl’s imagination to drift in virtually every direction. Was Mesa angry or just shocked? Was she going to just let it drop or was she going to make a big production out of it? This was when reality fully sunk in – her life was never going to be the same again. That thought scared her immensely.

Mikey grabbed two boxes and followed Mesa into the house.

“Let me show you where your temporary room will be. You can put your things in there for the time being.”

“Okay, no problem,” stated Mikey, glad that the silence had finally been broken. Still, Mesa’s voice had a certain chill to it. Or maybe Mikey was just being paranoid.

Mesa opened a door just off the living room and directed her through it.

She placed her two boxes in the room and glanced around for a moment. The room had obviously been used for storage, with boxes and unused furniture piled up in an orderly fashion throughout. About a third of the room was actually habitable. A small cot rested against the north wall, with two dressers and a nightstand not far from it. It was claustrophobic, but still significantly better than her old room. After a handful of trips to and from the van, she was at last moved in. She then unpacked her necessities, but decided to do so sparingly, since this was only going to be her temporary dwelling.

Mikey stepped out into the living room, where Mesa was sitting on the sofa, reading a romance novel of some sort. She was astonished at how her cousin was so prim and proper about everything, including the manner in which she sat. Her back was perfectly straight and her legs were daintily crossed. As with Mesa’s clothes, she simply couldn’t fathom this display of “proper behavior”.

“So, uh, I got everything done in there,” stammered Mikey. She was one of those people who was confident and self-assured while in their own element, but when they are forced to be outside of their element, they are awkward and unsure. She longed to be back in her environment where she could be comfortable, but that was a thing of the past. She realized that she would have to adapt to her new surroundings.

Mesa placed the book neatly on the table, smiled narrowly and offered her a seat. Mikey complied and wondered what was going on. After an uncomfortable silence, Mesa spoke up.

“We have to discuss your behavior on the phone earlier.” Oh, shit. She knew this was coming. It didn’t make the moment any less excruciating though. Mikey hadn’t been told what to do by her parents in years. She was used to doing as she pleased and saying whatever she felt like saying. Now, here she is, preparing herself for the inevitable lecture.

Mikey offered only silence, partly because she didn’t know what to say and partly because she was strangely intimidated by the situation.

“You can’t go around talking to people that way any longer. It’s just not done in this family. Mark doesn’t like it when women use profanity and act in a way that is unbecoming of a lady.”

Mikey gave her a look that was easy to read. Her expression clearly asked, “Are you kidding me??” Mesa caught on immediately.

“I know this is going to be a tough transition for you and we’re going to give you a little leeway at first, but you have to understand that Mark is the head of the household. What he says goes, for both you and I.”

Mikey’s mouth was now gaping open in horror. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” Mikey blurted out, half without thinking.

“No, sweetie. I’m not kidding you. Mark is extremely old fashioned and believes firmly that the man is the king of the castle, for want of a better expression.”

“And this doesn’t bother you??”, Mikey asked incredulously.

“I’ll admit that it did at first, but I got used to it over time, just as you will.”

Mikey looked panicked. “I can’t do this, Mesa. I’m sorry, but I’m a rabid feminist. This goes against everything I believe in. Everything!”

Mesa looked genuinely apologetic, yet she remained adamant. “Honey, you don’t have a choice in the matter. We have custody of you and you’ll have to abide by Mark’s rules to the letter. Believe me, you don’t want to make him angry.”

“So, what was all that garbage about Mark maturing and becoming this great, amazing, fabulous husband? It sounds like he’s a damn tyrant! You’re married to Hitler!”

With Mikey’s loud words, Mesa began nervously looking around, hoping that Mark didn’t hear what was being said.

“You have to lower your voice. Mark’s upstairs working on your room. If he overheard what you said, he’d be furious.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Mesa paused. “He IS a great husband. He provides for me and treats me well as long as I do as he says. If I abide by his rules, I want for nothing. You can have everything you could ever want too… if you just stop with this feminism nonsense.”

Mikey retorted, “You don’t believe in equality between men and women?”

Casting her gaze slightly downward, Mesa said, “I used to. But I’ve seen that women are not the equals of men. They’re stronger, smarter and more rational than we are. They were made to be dominant over women. It’s just the way we were created.”

“This is insane! Seriously, Mesa, this is batshit crazy! I don’t give a damn what the papers say, I’m getting the fuck out of this loony bin! I refuse to be a part of this sick shit!”

With that, she bounded to her feet and charged into the room with her belongings. Frantically, she snatched her essentials and shoved them into a duffle bag. She knew she had to be deft about it or else she’d risk getting caught. She figured that she had a good thirty seconds before Mesa could get upstairs and inform Mark about what was transpiring, plus another thirty seconds for him to get downstairs. Knowing that she probably forgot something crucial, she darted for the door and flung it back open, only to find Mark’s imposing figure blocking her way.

“Going somewhere?”, he asked sternly.

CHAPTER THREE

Mikey’s heart leapt out of her chest. Mark was a big man - far larger than she remembered. He had short, slightly wavy hair, dark eyes and a face that seemed to be chiseled from granite and peppered with stubble. He had the look of a real blue-collar working man.

She quickly found her nerve and said, “Anywhere that’s away from here.” The venom in her voice was anything but subtle.

“You’re not going anywhere. Now, put down that duffle bag and come with me into the living room where we can discuss some things.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” she stated as she slipped past him. He spun around with the speed of a panther and grabbed her arm firmly.

"I said you’re not going anywhere, little girl… and I meant it " His voice wasn’t raised, but the look in his eyes told her that he was dead serious.

She tugged at his grip, but it was of no use. His hands were like vice grips and no matter how hard she yanked, she was unable to free herself. Mark led her to the sofa and made her sit down. He nestled in beside her in case she tried to bolt for the front door, which was likely a wise decision, since the thought crossed her mind.

“Now,” he asked, “what seems to be the problem?”

“Do you even have to ask?”, she responded, still with a large dose of venom in her words. “Your psychotic, chauvinistic bullshit is too much for me. Like I told Mesa, I’m a feminist. I won’t stand for this male superiority shit.”

“First of all, watch your tongue, Michelle. Second of all…”

Before he could continue, she interrupted. “Stop calling me that fucking name!!”

Mark remained calm. “I will not stop calling you ‘Michelle’. It’s your name and that’s what you’ll go by. ‘Mikey’ is a boy’s name. The last time I checked, you’re not a boy.”

Her fury was apparent in her body language. She was so angry she was trembling. Her jaw was clenched as tight as the security at Fort Knox and her eyes were burning right through Mark.

“Like I was saying… second of all, you’re now a member of this family, and this family is based on patriarchy. In other words, my word is law. I’ll listen to reason, but I will not sacrifice the integrity of the family by allowing you to behave like a mannerless heathen. You WILL abide by the rules I impose and that’s final. This is a new life for you. That can be a very positive thing if you’d just stop fighting it.”

Glaring at him, Mikey said, “I liked my old life just fine.”

Mark took a deep breath. “Well, your old life was unhealthy. You were dressing like a guy, playing guitar in some sort of vile Satan worshiping band, running around at all hours of the night and doing who-knows-what with boys, or even girls for all I know. It’s a sad existence and I’m glad that we have the opportunity to put an end to it all. Maybe you’ll be able to move on to have a productive adult life.”

Mesa took this chance to pipe up by reassuringly placing her hand on Mikey’s knee. “He’s right, honey. You can achieve so much in life.”

“Like what, being barefoot and pregnant while getting bossed around by a man?! Thanks, but no thanks!”

Mark had to reassess his strategy and attempt to be a little less abrasive. He very much wanted to keep his cool in this situation. Otherwise, Mikey would never come around to his way of thinking. As the old adage goes, you can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. He had to be stern but rational in order to get through to her.

After pausing a moment, Mark explained, “It’s not like that. Mesa has plenty of choices and opportunities. I give her a lot of free rein. Yes, she has rules that she has to abide by, but I take care of her in return for her obedience. She doesn’t have to work or worry about bills. I do all that for her. It’s a trade-off – how things used to be in the old days before women’s lib messed society up. Nowadays, women don’t know how to be women and men don’t know how to be men. Society has made it so that the world is almost genderless.”

Mikey tried calming down too. She wasn’t happy about the situation – and she still wasn’t going to stand for it – but since Mark had stopped acting irate, she figured she could do so too. After all, she didn’t want it to be said that she couldn’t act like a rational adult.

“You’re entitled to your beliefs. As much as I disagree with them, you’re still entitled to them. But I’m also entitled to my beliefs as well. I wish you would understand that.”

“I agree with you. However, as long as you’re in my custody, you’ll have to keep those beliefs to yourself and live by mine. I think if you’d give it a chance, you’d find out how fulfilling being a proper woman can be.”

“No, Mark, I wouldn’t find it fulfilling at all. My feminist beliefs run very deep; something that can’t just be thrown aside like a blanket. They course through my very veins.”

Mark couldn’t help but smile a little. “Don’t you think that’s getting a tad overdramatic?”

“No, I don’t,” she replied quickly, irritated that he found it to be humorous. “It may be a joke to you, but it’s not to me. Just like your beliefs aren’t a joke to you.”

“I never said it was a joke. I just think you were slathering it on a bit thick. Your way of life goes against nature. Can’t you see that? In the days of the Neanderthal, the men were the ones who ruled the roost and the women were at their mercy. They didn’t have any previous societal rules to go by. They just did what was natural.”

This time, it was Mikey’s turn to smile. “Now who’s being overdramatic?”

Mark let out a laugh, which served to possibly break some of the tension. After all, he figured he probably was laying it on too thick. Mikey followed suit and chuckled as well. Poor Mesa wasn’t sure what to make of the scene unfolding before her and wasn’t certain how to react. A nervous chuckle escaped her lips.

“Why don’t we all go out for supper tonight and get to know each other more? I think it’ll make everyone feel better.”

Mikey looked suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. We just get dressed up and go to a nice restaurant.”

“And therein lies the catch,” Mikey said with a sigh.

“It’s not a catch,” Marks assured her, “I wanted to go to a nice restaurant… and you can’t just wear ratty old jeans and a demonic-looking t-shirt to a place like that.”

“Even if I was inclined to agree,” Mikey said, feeling proud of her slyness, “I don’t even own any dressy clothes.” She thought she had him now.

Mark leaned forward. “I didn’t figure you did… which is why I was going to have Mesa take you shopping for some new clothes. It’s not even noon yet. That should be plenty of time to pick out a new wardrobe.”

“Whoah, wait a second here,” Mikey said, losing some of her cool, “I didn’t agree to a new wardrobe! I already have clothes. I’ll agree to get one outfit that’s kind of dressy – a pantsuit or something – but I’m not replacing my wardrobe with a bunch of girly-girl crap!”

She stood up abruptly and in a huff. Mark got to his feet as well.

“I’ve tried to be reasonable about all this, but you’re really testing my patience. Please settle down and stop yelling.” He placed his hand on her shoulder to show her that he’s not being hostile.

“Get your fucking hand off me, Mark!” she bellowed as she slapped it away. Okay, he thought, no more mister nice guy. The one thing he would not stand for was a woman laying her hands on him in a forceful way.

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer to him. He sat back down on the sofa and wrestled her over his knees, stomach-first. She fought it like a rabid pitbull, but despite her big attitude, she was just too small and weak to prevent herself from ending up in the most humiliating position she had ever been in. Even after she was in position, she struggled against him, wriggling in an attempt to free herself. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself as she continued to thrash about.

He pulled down her shredded blue jeans and her boxer shorts so that her bare bottom was completely exposed. God, the humiliation was agonizing. Surely, he wouldn’t spank her like an errant child. Would he?

She received the answer to that within a few seconds, as his palm began repeatedly crashing down on her behind, one blow after another. Mikey was always able to handle pain better than most people, but even still, this punishment was putting her tolerance to the test. She was resolved, however, not to cry or beg. She wanted to maintain at least a shred of her dignity.

The pain became more and more excruciating with each passing swat. She was sure her butt looked like raw hamburger meet by that point and it was only going to get worse. He showed no sign of stopping, relentlessly spanking her now-aching posterior like some kind of untiring machine.

Even Mesa was cringing, though she knew better than to interfere. She was aware that being attacked by a female in any way was one of his “hot buttons”.

Meanwhile, Mikey tried even more desperately to escape from Mark’s lap, as the pain intensified exponentially by the second. It was futile, to be certain, but she simply couldn’t give up. She knew she was on the verge of tears and the last thing she wanted to do was give him the pleasure of making her bawl like a baby. She had already begun making involuntary yelping noises every time his hand made contact with her. Try as she might, she couldn’t prevent that.

“You will never lay your hands on me again, do you hear me, Michelle??” he barked as he continued his assault. Mesa had to look away, hoping that Mikey would relent.

“Stop. Calling. Me. That. Name!”, she yelled, fighting the pain as best she could.

This just made him more intent on making her give in. The power of his swats increased, making the agony unbearable. His strikes sped up as well.

He responded, “It’s your name and you will respond to it, won’t you?”

“NEVER!” she yelled, still battling the pain and keeping the tears at bay.

She didn’t think he could possible spank her any harder than he already was, but she was wrong. Woefully wrong, no less. Harder and harder came the swats, and at a faster rate too.

“Won’t you??”, he demanded, while carrying on with the punishment. “What is your name??”

“Mikey,” she yelled, more out of pain than anger.

“What is your name??”

The loud smacks seemed to ricochet in Mikey’s head. Over and over, he asked her her name, only to be told “Mikey”. He had Mesa get his thin leather strap from the bedroom and she, of course, complied. The spanking paused only long enough for Mark to take the strap from his dutiful wife and they continued immediately thereafter.

Mikey had thought the pain from his hand was insurmountable, but the strikes from the strap were beyond harrowing. Every lick felt as if it was cutting into her soft flesh.

“What is your name??” His voice was becoming more menacing to her each time he asked that infernal question.

“Mikey”, her now-raspy voice belted out.

More swats ensued. Her tears were welling up. Please don’t come out, she begged inwardly. She didn’t want to cry. If he was to continue much longer, she would be unable to hold it back. She was either going to have to answer his question or lose her battle with her tears. This was no easy choice. How much longer could she hang on? How much more could she take?

“What is your name??”

No answer. More swats.

"What is your name, little girl??

Still no answer. She felt something awful rising in her throat. It was the worst thing she had ever felt. It was the taste of defeat.

“Michellllllllle! My name is Michellllllle!”

At long last, the spanking ceased. Mikey’s, or should I say “Michelle’s”, tear ducts betrayed her and she burst into a round of sobbing, heaving tears. Still draped over his lap, she cried uncontrollably, a tiny bit of drool escaping her mouth and snot running from her nose. This was the worst of it all. She had at least hoped to only lose the battle on one front by keeping herself from crying. But that was not to be. Now, she was reduced to a blubbering little girl lying limply across her antagonist’s knees. What could possibly be more humiliating? Somehow, she knew that she would find out very soon.

CHAPTER FOUR

What happened next was lost to Mikey. She had just been humiliated far more thoroughly than she ever thought possible. She recalls herself being helped up from Mark’s lap, her legs feeling like rubber, Mark noting that at she had peed a little at some point during the spanking, Mesa helping her into another pair of jeans and finally being led out to the mini-van. She has vague recollections of Mesa talking to her during the ride, though she couldn’t remember anything she said – just lips moving with no sound coming out. Her mind was racing with a million thoughts and a rush of unfathomable feelings. None of this seemed real to her, like some kind of grotesque nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from. If only it was just a dream. But she knew it wasn’t.

When she finally snapped back to reality and once again became aware of her surroundings, Mesa was pulling into the parking lot of a department store. The sign said, “Volaire’s” and judging by its design and the building itself, it was an upscale place. The structure looked very old but immaculately maintained. Mikey knew very little about architecture, but it was obvious to her that it looked like something out of the 1920s or '30s.

Mesa pulled into a parking spot quite far from the door. The store was apparently packed with throngs of customers, which didn’t make Mikey happy at all; all the more people to witness her ultimate undoing. She thought about running from the van and making a break for it. However, her legs still felt as if they were made of wet noodles, making such an effort futile.

Mesa disembarked from the vehicle and came around to the passenger side, offering to help Mikey get out. She knew the young girl was still very sore and rubbery, having been spanked by Mark in much the same way early on in their relationship. To her surprise, she accepted the offer and let her help.

As Mikey moved, the pain from her backside hit her all at once with the force of a diesel truck. Up until then, her numbness to it all blocked out the agony. But that was then. Now, the throbbing pain shot through her body and she had to make an effort not to walk funny. In fact, even despite her best attempt, she still walked with a certain amount of stiffness. She didn’t know which was worse, the physical pain or the humiliation of having been spanked, made to refer to herself as her birth name, cry and even urinate in her pants.

Mesa straightened up Mikey’s clothes as best she could and tried to quickly fix her hair so it wasn’t quite as disheveled. Again, to her amazement, the girl didn’t resist. She just stood there, looking like a zombie.

Once she thought Mikey was at least presentable, she put one hand on each shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I know you don’t want to do this, but please don’t fight me on it. I want you and I to be great friends… and I think we WILL be in due time. Nobody’s going to think any less of you for dressing and acting like a lady.”

No longer feeling as feisty as she did a couple of hours earlier, Mikey simply said, “I’ll think less of me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t, you know. You’re a rare beauty. There should be no shame in letting that beauty shine. There’s a whole new world for you to explore, Michelle, so why not do exactly that?”

Mikey scrunched up her face upon hearing that name, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Mesa.

“You’re going to have to get used to hearing and even saying your name, sweetie. It’ll be hard at first, but the sooner you become accustomed to it, the better off you’ll be. Okay?”

Reluctantly and sadly, Mikey nodded, looking directly away from Mesa. She didn’t want to nod, but her body just reacted without her brain’s permission.

“Now, let’s go find you some clothes.”

Mesa took Mikey by the hand and began walking toward the door. To Mikey, that door may as well have been the gaping, toothy maw of some disgusting demon creature, waiting to chew her up. It felt as if she was marching to her doom. Worse still, the embarrassment of having her hand held like a child was intolerable. Yet she didn’t fight it, nor could she even if she wanted to. That spanking took a lot out of her, both physically and emotionally.

As they entered the department store, Mikey looked all around. She had never been in a place even remotely as fancy as this before. Hell, she was more accustomed to thrift shops, Salvation Army stores or, if she was lucky, Wal-Mart. This was a big leap from all those. She was way out of her element and, with the way she was dressed, stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was conclusive that this was not Mesa’s first foray into Volaire’s. She walked with purpose, artfully making her way through the many shoppers to the escalators with Mikey in tow. Upon reaching the third floor, they headed directly to the left. The young girl noticed a hanging sign that indicated that they were in the young ladies section. “Wonderful,” she thought sarcastically, “Just where I always wanted to be.”

Practically dragging Mikey behind her, Mesa descended on the clothing racks and tables like a vulture on a carcass. She was clearly having more fun than her younger cousin, sifting through outfit after outfit, chattering away in an effort to get Mikey more excited about this endeavor. She tried to pay a little attention, but after a few minutes, her eyes started to glaze over – hems, cuts, pleats, necklines, blah, blah, blah. It was gibberish to her. Moreover, she didn’t care to learn about it.

After ten minutes or so, Mesa realized that she wasn’t really listening to her and that she hadn’t helped her pick out anything. She stopped looking through the clothes, turned to her and patiently asked, “Mikey, why aren’t you listening? I’m trying to explain some things to you, but you’re just staring off into space.”

Mikey gave her a “duh” look, as she figured Mesa would’ve figured that she’d be disinterested. “This is isn’t my thing, that’s all. I know about death metal, horror movies and H.P. Lovecraft, not dresses, skirts and prissy stuff.”

Mesa looked baffled. “H.P. what-craft?”

“My favorite author.”, Mikey stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” replied Mesa, “Well, whatever the case is, you’re going to have to learn this stuff. Mark is very strict about how women dress and I don’t want you to be clueless about this ‘prissy’ stuff when it comes time for you to know about it.”

“What’s he going to do? Give me a written exam?” Her spirit was starting to come back, at least to a certain degree.

“Very funny,” Mesa said with a half-smile, not entirely unappreciative of the dry humor in her statement. “I know you hate all this right now. I can’t make you like it; I know that. But please help me out with this. If I go home without any outfits for you, I’ll be the one in trouble.”

Mikey hated guilt trips, mainly because they worked on her so well. And Mesa had been cool to her so far. After all, she wasn’t going to blame her for Mark’s actions. That wouldn’t be fair at all.

She sighed deeply. “Fine. Just grab whatever you want. Just try to get stuff that’s not super girly.”

Mesa smiled, genuinely appreciative of her cousin’s kind gesture. It was a step; a small step, but it was good enough for now. The fact that she agreed to own feminine clothing at all was something worth being happy about.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied with a chipper, upbeat tone of voice. With that, she spun around and continued on her quest for clothes with great enthusiasm. Over the course of the next hour, Mikey followed her around as she periodically draped a seemingly random article of clothing across her arm. While she was unable to make out exactly what she was accruing, she could see that it was all far more colorful than the attire she was used to. She had a thing for anything black… and she couldn’t detect even a single black article in Mesa’s possession.

After Mesa had finished with the shopping in this section of the store, she brought the clothes up to one of this floor’s counters and purchased them. The store kept the bags so that they could continue shopping unfettered. The price she paid for the clothes was extravagant, to say the least. Judging by their house, she knew Mark and Mesa must have a good amount of money, but this still took her off guard.

As they made their way to the next section, Mesa said, “You’ll find that I only purchased you skirts and dresses, because Mark doesn’t like women to wear pants or jeans.”

“What’s wrong with jeans?”

“He says that women who wear them are trying to overstep their bounds and be like men.”

Mikey rolled her eyes. “That figures. What do you think?”

“I think he’s right. I’ve never understood why women wear pants, even before I met Mark. Honestly, skirts and dresses are more comfortable. You’ll see.”

Mikey wondered where else they could possibly be going in this god-awful den of ultra-femininity. Her internal queries were answered when she saw that they were approaching an entire section dedicated to under things.

Mesa looked as if a notion came to her. “Why don’t you help me pick out some lingerie for you?” The word “lingerie” echoed around her head for a moment. What an awful, frilly word that was. Lingerie. She couldn’t even stand the sound of it. In fact, it made her skin crawl.

“Why would I want to do that?”

Mesa nudged her playfully with her elbow. “Because, silly, lingerie shopping is the best way for two girls to bond.”

Mikey couldn’t help but let out a quick gust of sarcasm, dryly remarking “Well, where does a ‘Sex and the City’ marathon fit into all this?”

Laughter erupted from Mesa, which was not what Mikey expected in the least. She figured she’d be agitated by the comment and lunge into some speech about how she needs to adapt and all that garbage. Maybe she’d grow to like Mesa after all. In spite of this conclusion, she still wasn’t delighted about lingerie shopping. This just had too many frills and lace for her taste.

“So, what do you say?”, asked Mesa after her laughing subsided, “How about helping me pick you out some cute under-things?”

“I don’t do ‘cute’,” she smirked, “but I suppose I can try to run damage control and help get some things that aren’t entirely hideous.”

“That’s the spirit,” exclaimed Mesa, thrilled about the prospect of the two of them actually collaborating on this shopping spree. Mikey was still miserable, but she had to admit that she was happy to see her cousin so exuberant. Normally, she has a special brand of distaste for overly bubbly individuals, yet she couldn’t help but like this one.

They combed the aisles, looking for totally different things. Mikey was seeking anything that was plain and functional. Mesa, on the other hand, was on the prowl for very feminine or cutesy articles. She allowed her to pick out some rather bare bones nightgowns, bras and underwear, but she herself picked out a handful of less practical items that were more ‘girly’ in nature – pantyhose, teddies, lace bras and so forth. She kept those hidden beneath the ones Mikey selected, as she didn’t want to spoil the good vibe that was beginning to develop.

After paying for this batch of clothing, she once again had the attendants hold onto the shopping bags.

“We have two more sections to hit before we leave. Luckily, they are very close to one another. First, we’ll look for some shoes.”

“Shoes?”, Mikey asked, “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

“Well, don’t you think those ratty old tennis shoes would look ugly with the pretty skirts and dresses?”

“Uggh! Don’t remind me.”

Mesa smiled, jokingly pushing her forward. “C’mon, grumpy, let’s go get you some shoes.”

They look over the selection and Mikey quickly picks out some nice sneakers. “These aren’t too bad.”

“No go, kiddo. Mark expects women to wear heels most of the time, though he does allow certain sandals and flats from time to time.”

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Mikey, knowing good and well that she wasn’t kidding – wishful thinking is all it was.

“No, I’m quite serious. Don’t worry, though, we’ll start you off with low heels like the ones I’m wearing and work your way up. It’s not bad. At first, your feet will feel like they’re going to positively fall off, but that doesn’t last long. You get used to them quickly. Plus, I’ll teach you how to walk in them properly, which takes a lot of the pain out of the equation.”

“I don’t want to walk in those… things. There’s nothing wrong with walking flat-footed. It’s how humans were designed to walk. The only reason high heels exist is because somewhere a long time ago, some knuckle-dragging chauvinist dipwad decided that he needed to keep his woman hobbled and unable to run away from him. So, he invented an infernal, uncomfortable shoe that we all know as high heels.”

“For your information, missy, it’s believed that heels were invented by a woman.”

Mikey gave her a disbelieving look. “Yeah, right. Why would a woman willingly let herself be made to be uncomfortable? It just doesn’t add up.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the woman who created them, but I can tell you why I do it.”

“This should be enlightening,” joked Mikey.

“You were kind of right when you said that men like their women in heels in order to put them in a submissive state. Not all men, mind you, but I’d wager that the majority of them do, whether it’s a conscious thing or not. Guys’ brains are wired to be the dominant party in a relationship. That’s how they’re most comfortable. By ruling over their women, they gain a sense of completeness… and if they’re content, then their women can reap the benefits of that. A satisfied alpha male is usually willing to do almost anything for his woman. And, well, I like that. I like to feel protected and safe and ‘taken care of’. And if all I have to is obey my man in order to get that, then I figure it’s a small price to pay.”

“Good god,” Mikey retorted, “That almost made sense to me. Almost. But there’s one small hitch.”

“Oh?”

“I prefer the company of women to men, if you take my meaning.”

Mesa was stunned by this admission. Frankly, she wasn’t sure what to say. She was never particularly homophobic, but Mark was certainly against such things. This was going to complicate matters, and the last thing this whole situation needed was more complications.

“I, ummm, wouldn’t tell Mark that. He’s conservative in that way; in almost every way, actually.”

“It’s none of his business anyway. The only reason I brought it up to you is because… well, I’m hot for your body.”

The flummoxed expression on Mesa’s face said it all. She was speechless and her jaw was practically lying on the floor. Her cousin just told her that she was attracted to her sexually. How was she supposed to react?

“Relax,” grinned Mikey after savoring her expression, “I’m just yankin’ your chain. I’m not into incest.”

Mesa’s look of horror gradually turned to a slightly frustrated smile and she smacked the aggravator in the stomach. They both laughed. In spite of everything that had happened, Mikey and Mesa just had a real, honest-to-goodness bonding moment. Mesa knew it and maybe somewhere deep inside, Mikey did too. Either way, Mesa wasn’t going to ruin the moment by mentioning it. No, she was just going to bask in it privately.

With that, they went back to shopping. Mikey picked out some simple sandals that weren’t too girly, but still girly enough to meet Mark’s expectations. Mesa picked out a pair of flats and three pairs of heels, ranging from two inches to four inches. She figured that would suffice for now; she could always get her higher ones later on. Mikey grumbled a little, but didn’t outright protest.

The last section they visited was the one beneath the sign that read, “Hygiene, Beauty and Health”. Mikey wasn’t fooled by the fancy wording; she knew perfectly well that Mesa intended to buy make-up, a notion that didn’t please her one bit. She always made wisecracks about girls who wore make-up, often calling them “painted ladies” and “gussied-up hussies”. And now, by the looks of it, she was destined to join their ranks. She wanted to protest, but she knew she had to pick her battles wisely and in all likelihood, Mark wouldn’t make her wear anything too noticeable. So, she went along with Mesa, who busied herself selecting make-up and checking Mikey’s skin tone so that she could get exactly the right shades.

“Would you mind going over to that last aisle and picking out some soap and shampoo for yourself?”

Mikey complied. Once she was out of sight, Mesa hurried over to a nearby aisle and did the last thing that Mark had ordered her to do. Browsing through the selection quickly, she snatched a small package of adult diapers. She knew that if Mikey saw her, she would immediately ask questions and everything would blow up in a big hurry. To that end, she covered the package with their other purchases.

Within fifteen minutes, Mikey and Mesa were back in the mini-van, all their purchases having been loaded by a helpful store employee.

“Let’s get home,” said Mesa as she turned the air conditioner on full blast, “We have to get ready for our evening out.”

“I was kind of hoping that Mark would still be too mad and not want to go.”

“Perish the thought,” she said, looking over at her, “When Mark gets an idea in his head, nothing or nobody can stop him. He’s a very stubborn man.”

Mikey slumped in her seat, her dismay being more than a little evident. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

CHAPTER FIVE

When Mikey and Mesa arrived back at the house, no vehicle was parked outside. This seemed to surprise Mesa slightly, remarking, “Mark must have gone to the store or something.”

Loaded down with shopping bags like beasts of burden, they made their way through the front door and into Mikey’s makeshift bedroom. The bags were placed on the cot and on the floor surrounding it.

“Would you like some tea?”, Mesa asked.

“Sure, why not?”, came the reply.

Moments later, the two women were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking their beverages. Not much was said between them until they had consumed about half a glass each. It was Mesa who broke the silence.

“Was the shopping trip as bad as you feared it would be?”

There was a pause while Mikey mulled everything over. “Well, I hated what we were shopping for… but I enjoyed hanging out with you. That part was cool.”

The relief on Mesa’s face was telling.

“Well, rest assured,” stated Mesa, “that today was the first of many shopping sprees the two of us are going to have. I mean, we didn’t buy you a full wardrobe; just enough stuff to get you by for a while.”

“Jesus! Are you serious? That was a lot of clothes.”

“Yeah, well, Mark likes women to have lots of clothes to choose from. He’s pretty great about that.”

Mikey shrugged, “That would be a lot cooler if he liked women to wear clothes that they like instead of clothes he likes.”

“Sometimes, you have to take the bad with the good. You can’t always have your cake and eat it too. That’s a lesson you’ll learn as you get older. When I was your age, I wasn’t all that different than you.”

Mikey chortled, “You’re forgetting something: I remember you when you were about my age. And believe me, you were wayyyyy different than me. I don’t mean that as an insult or anything. It’s just the truth. Polar opposites.”

“Well, on the surface, yeah, way different. But once you get beneath the outermost layer, I had a lot in common with how you are now.”

“How so?”, asked Mikey with doubt in her voice.

“For starters,” Mesa said, taking a quick sip of her tea, “you want what you want and you want it without objection. I did too. If something kept me from having things my way, I threw a fit. Granted, you handle opposition in a more direct and bombastic manner than I did, but that’s beside the point.”

“I don’t want what I want when I want it.”

Mesa reached across the table and ruffled her hair, saying, “Yeah, you do. Deny it all you want, sweetie, but the proof is in the pudding. Look at how you reacted when faced with the reality that you were going to have to change the way you dress. You went ballistic and became even more obstinate. Most sixteen year olds are that way. I just hope that you can adapt and make a go of this. I personally think you can. I even told Mark so. He’s not so confident in you, but I am. I think you could make the transition beautifully if you put your mind to it.”

At that point, they both heard a vehicle pulling into the driveway, followed by the telltale sound of a car door slamming. Mark walked in with two bags, one under each arm. He smiled and greeted them before asking to talk to Mesa alone for a few minutes.

Mesa placed her hand gently on top of Mikey’s and asked, “Why don’t you go in there and start putting a few of your things away?”

“Alright,” she replied, even though she didn’t want to drag too much stuff out into her temporary room. It seemed rather pointless, but she went anyway.

The girl sat on the one empty spot of the cot, rummaging half-heartedly through a couple of the bags. She crinkled her nose at everything she looked at. It was just so “not her”. She pulled out what looked to be soft pink nail polish and immediately tossed it back in with an involuntary shiver. She stopped searching through the bags and just sat there, waiting for someone to tell her that she could come out of the room. Unfortunately for her, that didn’t occur for another half hour.

When she rejoined them in the living room, Mesa announced to her that it was time to start getting ready for the restaurant, starting with Mikey. Mesa slipped into Mikey’s temporary room and emerged with a sack several minutes later. She then led her upstairs to her personal boudoirs, which was a relatively expansive room with what must have been a metric ton of clothes on racks and in one of two walk-in closets. A make-up table was situated on the far side of the room. Mesa gave her the shampoo and soap from the bag and invited her to use the adjoining master bath.

When Mikey walked into the bathroom in question, she asked herself, “Isn’t anything in this house small?” Her observation was dead-on, however, as the room was quite large. A large claw-footed tub dominated the whole arrangement. She was impressed. It looked like a modernized Victorian-era bathtub.

She took her bath and enjoyed every second of it. Afterward, she caught a glimpse of her still-sore derriere in the full-length mirror and was stunned by what she saw. It was covered in criss-crossed welts from the leather strap and handprints as well. The whole mess had long since started bruising and was now a mix of various shades of blue, purple and black.

Trying to forget about it, she dried off, wrapped a towel around both her body and her hair, and returned to the boudoirs. Mesa had been readying everything, organizing it and laying it all out for the sake of convenience.

Dread began to set in. Mikey enjoyed the bath, but now she was inevitably going to have to endure more humiliation. She didn’t want to dress like a “wuss”, as she termed it. Sadly, she knew she had no choice in the matter.

Mesa handed her a plain white bra. “Here, put this on,” she offered.

Mikey felt weird being naked in front of her cousin, but she dropped the towel in order to get the bra on. She did so in a very fast manner, so as not to allow Mesa to see her naked very long. The towel was back around her body within mere seconds. This caused Mesa to chuckle.

“You know, Michelle, I’ve seen girls naked before. It’s not a big deal. I’m not a perv.”

She slipped in that damn name again. What scared her worse was that she almost didn’t notice it. That really concerned her.

“I’m going to need some underwear now.”

“Yeah… about that,” Mesa trailed off, very unsure about how her next bit of news was going to go over. Actually, she was pretty sure she knew how it would go over, but figured there was always a chance that it would go over swimmingly.

Mikey looked very confused. “What? I don’t get to wear underwear??”

Mesa took a deep breath. “Not exactly. You see, because you threw a fit earlier and then urinated in your pants, Mark is making you wear diapers for a few days as a punishment. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my decision.”

The blank, glazed-over look from earlier that day crept back onto Mikey’s face. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. In fact, she was sure that she misheard her. Yet in the end, she could only dredge up one word: “What?”

Mesa looked down at the ground, not wanting this to disrupt the bond that they had begun forging that day. Furthermore, she didn’t agree with the punishment. However, Mark was in charge, so she had to carry it out to the letter.

Mikey noticed that Mesa indeed held a disposable diaper in her hand. That’s when it truly dawned on her that Mark actually expected her to wear a fucking diaper! Suddenly, all the girly clothes didn’t seem nearly as bad, at least by comparison. What the hell was going on with that guy’s brain? Was he as psycho as she feared he was?

Finally, she managed to put some words together. “I’m not wearing that.”

“Sweetie, you have to. There’s no way around it.”

“Like hell there’s not! I’m getting the fuck out of here!” yelled Mikey, tears starting to accumulate in her eyes. Tears seem to come more easily now. She used to pride herself on rarely crying. She still fought them back valiantly.

Mesa felt suddenly very sad. All that progress thrown out the window because Mark insisted on this punishment. Truth be told, she was slightly angry at him for this. Not that she was going to confront him over it or anything. She knew that she’d be wearing a diaper too if she tried that.

Desperate for a plan of action, Mesa took a risk and tried to hug her lovingly. To her surprise, Mikey allowed her to and even hugged her back. Her will gave out and the tears were once again flowing freely. Twice in one day. She offered some soothing words and held her there for several long minutes, comforting her as best she could.

After the tears subsided somewhat, Mesa looked down at her younger cousin and pulled her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. She could tell by Mikey’s defeated look that the crisis had been averted.

“Come on, sweetie,” she said softly, “Let’s get this over with, okay?”

“I… can’t do it, Mesa. I just can’t do it. It’s too humiliating. I’m not a baby. I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. It’s just one article of clothing… and it isn’t even that bad. I had to wear diapers for like two weeks due to an illness I had a few years ago. They were basically just like oversized maxi-pads. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is a big deal. It’s a huge deal. I’ve spent years cultivating my self-image, finding out who I am. And if I put on that stupid… thing… then it all goes out the window. I’ll no longer be Mikey, the bad-ass metal head. I’ll be… something else entirely.”

“No,” contradicted Mesa, “you’ll just be a sixteen year old girl who’s been punished by her guardian. You’d just be one of many.”

“That’s exactly my point,” she said waving one of her arms for emphasis, “I don’t want to be just another face in the crowd; some cookie-cutter teenager. I want to be who I am. I’m a unique, multi-faceted person who can’t be shoved into a mold.”

Mesa looked sympathetic. “Nobody’s wanting to put you in a mold, honey. We just want you to obey the rules of the household. You physically attacked Mark earlier today. Surely you can’t expect to go unpunished for that?”

Mikey blurted out, “I didn’t go unpunished for it. He bruised the hell out of my ass because I knocked his hand away. Shouldn’t that be punishment enough?”

“Honestly, yes,” Mesa conceded, “It should have been more than adequate, in my opinion. But that’s not my call to make. Let’s just go along with it and get you diapered so we can get on with the evening.”

Mesa moved toward the bed, diaper in hand. Mikey was at a loss for what to do. She didn’t want to humiliate herself by allowing a diaper to be put on her, but she also feared that if the whole ordeal took too long, Mark would come upstairs and give a repeat performance of her earlier punishment. Every inch of her fought against it, but after a long hesitation, Mikey inched toward the bed and laid down.

Removing the towel that was still wrapped around Mikey, Mesa reached into a bag and produced a container of baby powder. Meanwhile, Mikey was trying her best to cover her nakedness with her hands. It wasn’t working out so well for her.

“You have to move your hands, sweetie. Otherwise, I can’t get this done. Now, lift up your hips.”

Against her better judgment, she did as she was told, but offered, “Can’t I at least just stand up and put it on myself?”

“Don’t be silly. This is so much easier.”

Mikey heard a crinkling noise and felt the diaper being slid meticulously under he buttocks. When Mesa had it situated “just so”, she sprinkled the powder on and rubbed it in. The young girl was beyond embarrassed; she was mortified! With seemingly expert hands, she snatched up the front of the diaper and brought it up so that it reached well above Mikey’s pierced navel, remarking that she’d have to get rid of all her piercings. This, of course, didn’t please her, but she didn’t put up a fuss about it.

Mikey heard the sound of the tapes being pulled and then felt the ensuing pressure to her hips, letting her know that the tapes had indeed been attached. Instinctively looking down, Mikey saw that she was snuggly diapered now and what was left of her pride was whisked away. She wondered if she would ever get it back. She was lying on the bed, clad in nothing save a bra and a diaper, and she had never felt more helpless in her entire life.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?”, chirped Mesa.

That’s when the tears returned. Crying was suddenly becoming so easy to her. What was happening?? Mesa comforted her again, all the while helping her back up into a standing position.

“I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but you really do look cute as a button. I think you made a mistake dressing how you did before. You have this unexplainable adorableness that should be embraced, not shunned. It’s like you were born to wear diapers.”

Oh, crap. Mesa just let her giddiness go right out in the open and she figured immediately after saying it that she made a mistake. Why couldn’t she just reel it in a little? Why couldn’t she have just stifled her just-formed opinion, an opinion that she knew would upset with. She just got carried away without thinking.

At first, Mikey opened her mouth to vehemently protest what she said, but her words must have slid back down her throat. She just slumped her shoulders and looked down.

Mesa put her hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. This is hard enough for you without my stupid comments. I’ll try to keep opinions like that under wraps from now on, okay?”

“It’s okay,” moped Mikey, “You’re entitled to say what you want. It’s just that I have always hated how scrawny and short I am and I’m touchy about it.”

“You’re not that short. You can’t be any shorter than five feet tall, which isn’t all that far below the average height for a girl your age. And you could use a bit of meat on your bones, sure, but you probably never had the chance to eat terribly well… and now you do. There are a lot of positives that you’re overlooking.”

Mikey felt mildly better, but not much. “What I want to know is why you made that comment about me being born to wear these awful things? That seemed uncharacteristically mean natured of you.”

Mesa looked surprised. “Nooooo, that wasn’t supposed to be mean natured at all. It was just a thought that entered my brain and came right out my mouth. I need to learn to filter things better, I guess. But I really do think you look great in the diaper. I won’t lie to you and say otherwise.”

Mesa sat down on the bed and motioned for Mikey to sit down as well. She complied, but not before covering herself with a towel. She just knew that another lecture was on the way.

“It’s my opinion that everyone’s bodies are practically custom-made for certain styles of clothing. Take me, for instance. When I was in my late teens, I experimented with a very provocative way of dressing. On someone else, it would have looked spectacular, but my face and body just weren’t a right fit for it. I looked out of place. Once I realized it, I started scouring magazines and style websites for ideas and opinions. It wasn’t long before I figured out that the style my body was designed for was very modest and conservative.”

“I have to admit that that style works well for you,” interjected Mesa.

“Exactly. And I’ve since become pretty adept at determining what styles fit various people. With you, it didn’t don on me fully until a few minutes ago. The “young and childlike” look fits you in a very big way.”

“Jeez, I so hope you’re screwing with me as a way of getting revenge for the I’m-hot-for-your-body joke I made earlier.” Mikey waited for her to crack a smile and admit that she was indeed teasing her. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Mesa simply shook her head “no”.

“Oh my god,” Mikey exclaimed downtroddenly, “This is the worst.”

“No it’s not. It should be an exciting revelation for you. Not everyone finds out what their most compatible style is, especially not when they’re as young as you.”

Mikey looked up. “First of all, I’m not sure I’m buying into all this ‘one true compatible style’ stuff. And even if I did, I wouldn’t pay attention to it. I like dressing the way I dressed.”

“Whatever the case may be, I think you know I’m right. I think you know that you would look awesome in childish clothing.”

“Please don’t say that,” begged the diapered girl.

“Come on, admit it. You know I’m right.”

“Stop it, Mesa. Please?”

“Not until you admit it. I can see in your eyes that you agree,” smiled Mesa.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, waving her away, acting as if she was just telling her that to get her to shut up. Beneath it all, Mikey was afraid that she actually did agree with her. That frightened her to no end.

“Come on, let’s finished getting you dressed,” Mesa stated with a renewed sense of perkiness.

CHAPTER SIX

Mesa led her back into the boudoirs. With every step Mikey took, she could hear the ever-present rustling sound emanating from her diaper. It was a constant reminder of her babyfied state. She wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

“Let’s get all these rings out of your face,” Mesa said, as she reached for her eyebrow rings. Next was her nose ring, followed by her lip rings. The final removal was that of all but two of her earrings.

“Much better,” Mesa concluded. Mikey didn’t agree, that much was certain.

At that point, Mesa reached back into what Mikey would probably call “the bag of hellish torment” and produced a pair of beige control top pantyhose.

“Oh, man,” Mikey whined, “not those too.”

“Yes, these too,” she replied, jokingly imitating Mikey’s hang-dog tone of voice, “Feel how soft and silky they are. You’ll like them.”

“No, I won’t. I’ve always loathed anything that was silky,” said Mikey, still attempting to cling to her former life.

“Well, kiddo, you’d better learn to like them, because Mark insists on us wearing them pretty much all the time.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. Why would he insist on something stupid like that?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him. All I can tell you is that I’m expected to wear them from the time I wake up until the time I take my bedtime shower. Sometimes, I even have to sleep in hose, but not often. I guess it just depends on his mood.”

“Sleep in them?”, Mikey asked, her eyes bulging with surprise.

“Yes. I don’t mind, actually. It feels kind of nice when we have the silk sheets on the bed.”

“I don’t plan on sleeping in those scratchy things, that’s for sure.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Mesa countered, getting the pantyhose ready for her to step into, “Besides, the pantyhose will likely muffle the sound the diaper makes.”

“Okay, I’m sold,” she said somewhat enthusiastically. She may not relish the notion of wearing hosiery, but she’d do almost anything to reduce the noise of that damn diaper. If that meant encasing her bottom half in a silky torture chamber, then so be it.

She stepped into the pantyhose, as Mesa taught her how to put them on without getting them twisted or snagged. She slid them up her legs, over the bulky diaper and well onto her stomach, releasing them with a snap.

“Very nice,” commented Mesa happily. Mikey moved her legs a little, almost as if trying out new ones for the very first time. The nylon made its distinctive yet soft sound when her legs rubbed together, setting Mikey’s teeth on edge. She didn’t like the feel of these things; not one bit. But she persevered nonetheless.

Next, was the slip, which went quite fast and tickled as it grazed her nylon-encased legs. The dress was next and as soon as Mikey saw it, she wanted to throw up. Little by little, she was feeling her former life being chipped away.

The dress was light blue in coloration, with a subtle floral print on it. It was almost knee length and featured a conservative neckline. A sash of a slightly darker shade of blue was present around the waist, likely built into the dress rather than being a separate accessory.

Mikey must have taken a step back in recoil from seeing this dress, which was a travesty as far as she was concerned. It looked so absolutely prissy! She knew she was going to have to wear a dress, but she hadn’t imagined anything like this. I mean, it was a floral print, for crying out loud! And a sash?

“Before you protest,” Mesa said, “just step over here so I can put it on you. If you don’t give yourself a chance to think about it, it’ll be a lot easier.”

Without thinking about it further, Mikey did as Mesa recommended.

“Now, raise your arms.” Again, Mikey obeyed.

The dress was put over her head and pulled down into its proper place. It felt strange and loose, with the skirt itself being flouncier than it looked when Mesa held it up. She tried pressing it down, but to no avail. It just popped back up.

Still in a daze from the way the dress felt, she didn’t object when Mesa sat her down and pulled up her hair into a high ponytail. Nor was she able to mount a refusal when she started applying pink lip-gloss… or the matching pink nail polish. A cute silver necklace with a heart on it followed. Mikey simply sat there, seemingly in a trance, letting all these horrifying things happen to her.

Upon Mesa’s request, she stood up.

“Step into the shoes, sweetie.”

Mikey peered down and saw a pair of low heels that looked for all the world like sleeker mary jane shoes. She had never worn heels before and she never wanted to. Without any further delay, she stepped into them and Mesa crouched down to fasten the straps. She felt ill balanced and unnatural. She couldn’t fathom why women liked wearing them or why men seem to enjoy seeing women in them. The appeal eluded her entirely.

It was then that she was escorted over to the full length mirror not more than ten feet away. Each of those feet felt like a mile to her, with every passing step bringing her closer and closer to oblivion.

Mikey kept her head down, reluctant to see what she now looked like. In fact, she wondered if she’d even recognize the person that would be staring back at her.

“Come on, honey, look at how beautiful you are,” Mesa goaded.

“No, I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Her childish protest made Mesa glow inside. She decided to test the waters by being a little stern. “I said to look up.”

To her surprise, Mikey obeyed… and it was as terrifying as the young girl feared it would be. Here stood this… person, this… girly-girl… and a childlike one at that. Her dress flared out, per pantyhose weren’t as subtle as she had hoped, her nails and lips screamed “little girl” and her heels made her unsteady. But the worst of it was that the bulk of her diaper was such that it couldn’t be pushed back into the recesses of her mind. No, it was at the forefront and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. And even if she did stop thinking about it, she’d be reminded whenever she moved, thanks to the obnoxious rustling noise it produced.

As she gazed into the mirror at this unrecognizable mockery of herself, she felt the tears welling up again. She had gone from a spunky hardcore metal chick with evil-looking t-shirts and spiked accessories to a petite little girl with dresses and diapers. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had she really been reduced to this? It hit her all at once that Mikey was no more. In her place was… Michelle.

Mesa stood back, admiring her own handiwork. “You look like a princess, Michelle.” Normally, hearing that name would have caused a negative reaction, but it didn’t. Not this time and likely never again. Begrudgingly, she knew that this is who she was now, whether she liked it or not. She didn’t even look like a “Mikey” now. She looked like a “Michelle” instead. Sadly, the transformation was complete.

Instead of a groan or a sigh, Michelle just flashed a forced, weak and sad smile.

Mesa gave her a quick lesson on how to walk in heels. Michelle was oblivious to what she was saying, lost in her own depressing world of despair. She was able to walk in them decently enough due to her natural agility.

Once she felt that Michelle could walk adequately in the two-inch heels, she guided her down the stairs. She managed the steps with uncanny ease, pleasing Mesa immensely.

Mark was waiting patiently in the living room, having already gotten dressed in a nice suit. Michelle dreaded this moment, fearing that he would gloat. But instead of reveling in his victory, he gave her a smile and said, “See? That’s not so bad now, is it? You look pretty.”

If she had gotten used to the word “Michelle”, “pretty” was still on the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard list. He must have noticed that she screwed up her face when he said that word.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel more uncomfortable. You look nice, that’s all I was trying to say.”

Suddenly, he seemed to Michelle like a human – a genuine, honest to goodness human. Ever since the spanking, she had demonized him in her mind, made him into this colossal force of evil. Now, she was feeling mixed emotions. Could he have been in the right for spanking her?

“It’s… it’s okay.”

Mesa made her exit to get dressed in something nicer than her sundress, leaving Michelle and Mark alone to hopefully get things straightened out.

There was an awkward silence for the first several minutes, before Mark finally spoke up. “I apologize for spanking you earlier. Well, that’s not exactly what I meant to say. Let me rephrase it. I’m sorry I spanked you so severely and forced you to say your name while under that kind of duress. I stand by the fact that I spanked you, but perhaps I could have gone easier on you.”

Michelle just nodded. She had never been good with speaking in situations like this. She always became tongue-tied and ended up saying something that would alienate people. At this critical juncture, she couldn’t afford to do that.

“I’m aware that your beliefs and mine are on opposite ends of the spectrum and I’m sure you hate me for holding such beliefs. But we can get along if you just accept the rules. Once you’re eighteen, you can fly the coop and never have to wear a dress or heels again. My hope, however, is that I can make you understand how rewarding it is to be a lady and choose to stay the course, so to speak.”

As he spoke, Michelle was fully prepared to launch a rebuttal, but somehow she lost the nerve once the opportunity arose. Instead, she just nodded. She felt like Ralphie on “A Christmas Story” when he found himself totally unable to speak to the abrasive Santa Claus. She simply couldn’t shove the words out of her mouth. Was she intimidated? Scared? Cowed?

He smiled. “Well, say something.”

She paused, before finally finding her voice. “I’m just not sure what to say.”

“That’s alright,” he said with a calming smile, “There’s something to be said for a woman being seen and not heard.”

This infuriated her. He assumed that because she couldn’t think of anything to say, she was attempting to be more ladylike. Again, she wanted to mouth off, spitting out some abrasive, witty comeback that would make him look like an idiot. Yet somehow, her voice wasn’t to be found. She just looked down at the ground, wondering if she was becoming a subservient “little lady” after all and was just too stubborn to realize it.

After eventually gaining a little confidence, she raised her head and looked at Mark. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m also not trying to be ladylike. I’m just afraid of saying something that could lead to another incident. I’m having a hard time focusing on what to say, that’s all.”

Mark nodded and simply said, “Fair enough.”

The two remained quiet for the next five or so minutes. It wasn’t a tense silence, but a calm silence. Both Mark and Michelle remained comfortable throughout. He picked up the evening newspaper and read it, while she retreated back into her thoughts. Both activities were short lived, as Mesa, now clad in a beautiful blue, strapless evening gown descended the stairs. Her heels were much higher than the ones she previously wore and her hair and make-up were done to perfection.

Mark rose from the sofa and offered Mesa his arm, which she gladly took. Michelle couldn’t help but crack a smile at this old-fashioned corniness. She, too, stood up and prepared herself for what was bound to be the most agonizing night of her life.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Unlike in her previous car rides that day, Michelle remained cognizant of everything going on around her as they made their way to their destination. Mesa gave her last-minute instructions for how to act in “polite company”. You know, the standard rigmarole about sitting up straight, keeping her legs crossed in a ladylike fashion, using table manners and so on. She processed most of it, but it was a lot of information to absorb within a very short span of time.

In truth, she actually couldn’t believe she was paying attention to her spiel. She figured her willpower could have resisted all this girly-fication for months or even longer. Was it already failing her, less than a day into it? Surely, this wasn’t possible. She was made of sterner stuff… wasn’t she? She had no idea why she felt compelled to put up with being dressed like a diapered wuss. A week ago (or even a couple days ago), she would have knocked the hell out of anyone who tried to do that to her. But here she sat, clad in a diaper, flouncy dress, pantyhose and heels.

The restaurant came into view and, like the clothing store earlier that day, it was obviously a high-class establishment. The building was sleek and very modern, made as much of tinted glass as anything else. A ritzy-looking sign identified the place as “A Touch of Glass” – a bit too cutesie for a place of this caliber.

Michelle started to get butterflies in her stomach as Mark parked the mini-van. Mesa showed her how to get out of a vehicle properly while wearing a dress, which was probably for the best. She likely would have shown the world more of herself than she wanted to otherwise.

They entered the restaurant and Mark informed the maître d’ of their reservation and were promptly shown to their table. Michelle took that time to look survey the posh interior. Whereas the department store was designed to harken back to the days of old in its décor, this restaurant was intended to capture the essence of contemporary elegance, a goal it succeeded in admirably. It was filled with individuals dressed to the nines and instinctively, she felt underdressed. This was a foreign sensation for her, as she never would have given it a second thought previously. That’s when she noticed the sound of her diaper rattling again, kicking off an all-new round of embarrassment and shame.

Mark pulled out chairs for Mesa and Michelle. Michelle wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she sat down anyway. What other choice did she have? Had she launched into a feminist diatribe in public, it would have angered Mark and she would have ended up with an even sorer bottom than she already had.

Instead, she stayed quiet. Little did she know that Mark’s next action would irritate her further. Upon getting the menus, Mark gently sat the girls’ in the center of the table and ordered for them. How dare he presume what she wanted to eat or even what she liked? Steak tartare? She’d heard of it, but had no idea what it was. What if she didn’t like it?

Mesa saw the look of insolence on her face and leaned over to whisper, “Sweetie, this is just how things are done, so please don’t make a scene.” This did little to calm her down, but she attempted to put her face back to its normal state so that Mark wouldn’t see her looking angry.

Once the server departed, Mark took a deep breath of relaxation and said, “It feels very nice to get out of the house and have some family bonding time. It’s also a perfect opportunity for us to get to know you better, Michelle… and, of course, for you to get to know us better too.”

Getting to know the man who has methodically stripped away her entire identity and sense of self worth was somehow not very high on Michelle’s “to-do” list. She’d rather dropkick him through the restaurant’s big plate window. Could she summon the wherewithal to say as much?

“Yeah, I guess,” she peeped out.

The answer to that question was a resounding, “no”. She griped at herself internally for lacking the conviction to stand up, tell this guy where to stick his obnoxious rules and storm out, never to see him again. But all she could do was say, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well,” Mark said, looking at her with honest curiosity in his eyes, “what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?” Mesa looked uncomfortable, fearing that Michelle would tell the truth and Mark would dress her down for it. Having another “scene”, especially in a posh restaurant, was something she’d rather avoid.

A million thoughts tumbled around in Michelle’s head; most of which would certainly send Mark on a rampage. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to lie to him and lose even more of who she really is beneath this ludicrous outfit and diaper. She must have been thinking about it for longer than she figured, because Mark was looking at her strangely, as if wondering what the holdup was.

She nervously chewed on her bottom lip – something she hadn’t done since she was a little kid – and said, “Well, I play guitar and listen to music.”

Michelle was expecting him to make some snide comment about her chosen type of music. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted to; that much was obvious. But the look in his eyes suddenly changed, as if he’d thought better of it.

Mark nodded. “I play a bit of guitar myself. I’m not that good, but maybe you can show me some things sometime.”

“Not unless you wanted to learn pinch harmonics or sweep picking,” she replied with a wry smile that at once said that she was joking, but also that there was a touch of sarcastic venom in her voice.

If he noticed the venom, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Well, I have no idea what those are, but I’m sure it’s all probably over my head. Like I said, I’m not that good.”

Mesa piped up to contribute to the conversation. Obviously, she heard the sarcasm and desperately wanted to change the subject to avoid any issues. “Michelle here used to have a big Strawberry Shortcake toy collection.”

“Yeah,” Michelle said flatly, “When I was five years old.”

Mesa forged onward, ignoring Michelle’s tone (and even her entire sentence) altogether. “She used to drag me into her room and beg me to play with her. So, we’d sit on the floor making the little dolls talk to each other for hours.”

Michelle looked mildly irritated at this reminder that she ever played with girly dolls. “That was a long time ago.”

She really hoped her aggravation would stop Mesa dead in her tracks, but no such luck… Mesa was on a tangent. And if dealing with Mesa years ago taught her anything, it was that her tangents were nigh impossible to stop.

“I always got stuck with the Purple Pie Man and Sour Grapes, except for when that neighbor girl would come by to play. Then, you’d order her to take them… which wasn’t very nice of you, but she did it anyway. Oh shoot, what was her name? I can’t think of it for the life of me.”

“Tracy,” said Michelle, hoping that her cousin would stop rambling soon. As she waited, her mind drifted. Tracy Heesenburg. She hadn’t thought about Tracy in a long time; not since shortly after the girl had suddenly moved away in sixth grade. Tracy was a year younger than Michelle and kind of idolized her. She wondered what ever happened to her. She zoned back into Mesa’s babbling, if only to keep from seeming rude.

“… and she was only too happy to do anything you told her to do. I remember that one time when you told her that she wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom until you told her she could. I’d never seen you act that way before. I was shocked. So, I went and told Amy about it. She thought it was funny though. As much as I hated to, I had to step in myself and let the poor little thing go pee. She was such a little thing, much smaller than you were.”

Michelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had she really been that awful to Tracy? She remembered it being a funny joke, but in retrospect, it was really mean. She had forgotten all about the particulars until now. The memories began to flood her brain; some of the things she did to little Tracy were abominable.

While she was lost in her own thoughts of disbelief and disgust with herself, she noticed that something had apparently put the kibosh on Mesa’s verbal trip down memory lane. Curious as to what it could possibly be, she looked up spotted Mesa looking past her, toward the door. With excitement, she exclaimed “Look, Mark, it’s the Spencers.”

Must be a common name, Michelle thought. Hell, that was her friend Laney’s last name too. And when she heard a female voice from behind her say, “Mark and Mesa, it’s great to see you here!”, she realized just who the voice belonged to: Laney’s horrifyingly despotic mother!

“Yep,” mumbled Michelle to herself, “That seals it. This is the worst day of my life.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The two couples exchanged warm greetings and Mark asked if the Spencers would join them. Meanwhile, Michelle was lowering her eyes in the futile hope that Laney’s parents wouldn’t notice her sitting there. It was futile, naturally, but desperation seldom leaves any room for logic.

Marsha Spencer wasn’t as old as her frigid, stick-in-the-mud personality might suggest. The truth was that she had given birth to Laney when she was only fifteen years old, making her holier-than-thou attitude hypocritical to the Nth degree. Now, she speaks out about teen pregnancy, admonishing the “sluts” that engage in pre-martital sex… a fact that has always grated on Laney something fierce. Despite not being that advanced in age, however, Mrs. Spencer’s demeanor, mannerisms and style of dress made her look at least ten years older than she actually was.

Ryan Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t such a bad guy. He was usually pretty sociable to Michelle when she was there on visits, especially when his old crone of a wife wasn’t around. He didn’t usually approve of Marsha’s various moralistic crusades and her long-winded tirades, but he never really said much. He just didn’t want conflict, so he always let her have her way.

Michelle was grateful that the two didn’t recognize her at first. In fact, they didn’t even acknowledge her presence. It was apparent that the couples hadn’t seen each other in quite some time, so they spent the first few minutes catching up with each others’ lives… which culminated with Mesa asking how their daughter was doing.

Mrs. Spencer let out a disgruntled sigh before answering the query. “I don’t know. I mean, we’ve tried to raise her right. The good Lord knows we’ve tried. But no matter what approach we take, it seems like nothing works. She still gets bad grades, she still curses like a sailor on shore leave and she still listens to that devil music. In fact, she’s in big trouble right now because we found out that she was no longer content with listening to those so-called bands spewing out their odes to Satan… she was actually going to see these monsters at a live concert. A live concert!!! It was one of her friends’ band, a girl named Mikey Something-Or-Other.”

The proverbial cat was out of the bag. There was no mistaking the looks on the faces of Mark and Mesa. They had made the connection. Not that it would have taken Dick Tracy to put two and two together, but Michelle was still hoping they’d have been oblivious. Her hopes were in vein. For once, though, Mark and Mesa were at a loss for words, unsure of how to approach things.

Mark broke the silence first by directing his gaze over to Michelle in a way that would cause Mr. And Mrs. Spencer to do the same. At first, they seemed perplexed, but then her identity dawned on them. The “disguise” was good, but it wasn’t THAT good. Upon realization that sitting across from them was “Mikey” herself, Marsha looked as if she was going to have a heart attack. Even a dullard could see that she had umpteen million questions jammed in her mouth, each of which was dying to come out. But all she could muster was, “But… but… that’s… she…that’s…how?…”

Her flummoxed reaction was like an oasis in a desert of shame and misery to Michelle. Mr. Spencer’s reaction wasn’t quite so over the top. It could best be described as “amused shock”. But the old bag’s reaction was priceless. Still, embarrassment washed over her yet again, as did the urge for her bladder to discharge urine. Michelle wasn’t worried about that; her bladder control was good.

This colossally awkward moment was interrupted by the waiter bringing out the food. By the time all the food and beverages were on the table, Marsha had somewhat managed to pull herself together and lodge an actual question.

Turning to Mark and Mesa, she asked, “You… you know this… this… evil freak?”

To Michelle’s surprise, Mark intervened by sternly saying, “Michelle just lost her parents. Please show some respect.”

Even more to her surprise, Mr. Spencer put his two cents in. “Now isn’t the time for one of your hissy fits.”

“So,” mused Michelle to herself, “he DOES have a spine.”

Marsha was angry at being dressed down by not just her friend but also (or especially) by her normally wishy-washy husband. She took a deep breath and, while still offended, offered a half-hearted apology.

Mark explained, “Michelle has never had any true guidance. Her parents were both well meaning, but they had their own demons to fight. And given that she’s Mesa’s cousin, she’ll be staying with us. As you can see, we’re trying to change her behavior and her unhealthy lifestyle. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you’d refrain from insulting her.”

“Fine,” she said curtly. “If you say you’re trying to turn her into a good person, then I’ll take your word for it. It is the Godly thing to do, after all.”

Mesa interjected, “She was never a bad person, Marsha; just misguided.”

Having listened to this conversation play out, Michelle finally found her voice. “I’m sitting right here, you know. You guys are talking about me like I’m not in the room. And I’m getting sick of it.”

All eyes were suddenly on her. She knew her next words were critical. If she didn’t stand her ground, she would basically be giving everyone permission to walk all over her anytime they please. On the other hand, starting a loud ruckus would surely prove to be a disaster in more ways than one and she wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of being on the receiving end of another spanking from Mark. So, she decided to take the middle ground and speak with calm authority.

“First of all, Mrs. Spencer. I was never the demon you painted me to be. It’s true that I enjoy listening to and making music of a dark nature, but that doesn’t make me a bad person. I get good grades, I don’t drink alcohol and I don’t do drugs. I don’t even believe in the devil – like I’ve told you before, I’m an atheist. Furthermore, I have always kept the druggies and troublemakers away from Laney and at great personal risk, I might add. There’s an old saying about judging a book by its cover and I personally think it applies here.”

She paused momentarily to gauge the collective reaction. For the first time ever, Marsha seemed to be truly contrite. Michelle would even daresay that she looked slightly ashamed of herself. Seeing that she was doing so well, she decided to keep the wave going.

“Now… Mark and Mesa. I know you want to change me and I’m at least relatively sure that you think it’s in my best interest. I get that. But it’s not like I’m eight years old. I’m almost an adult. I’m not going to become a bastion of femininity and become some perfect little lady in the span of two years. I’m too set in my ways for that. If I were into drugs and partying, I’d understand your desire to alter my behavior. But I’m not into any of that crap. I’m a good person… I’m just different than you are. If everyone were the same as everyone else, this would be one hell of a boring world.”

An awkward silence followed, as Michelle stood down from her soapbox. It felt good to get all this off her chest, but it felt even better that she carried herself in such a mature manner.

“Well,” Mark said, clearing his throat, “I have to hand it to you. What you said made a lot of sense and you handled yourself well. I applaud that…”

Michelle was ready for a “but”… and she didn’t have to wait long for it.

“…But as your guardian, Mesa and I have to finish raising you in a way that we feel is best for you. And I’m sorry if that upsets you or makes you hate us, but we have to stick to our guns. I respect your opinion and your ability to state it without flying off the handle… but the decision for you to live as a proper young lady has been made and it isn’t up for debate.”

The anger began to well up inside of her. This insufferable man listened to every word she said and then discounted them entirely; brushed aside like the ramblings of a small child. She tried to contain the hostility and in an effort not to say something she (along with her posterior) would later regret, she briskly stood up and walked with purpose toward the restroom. Maybe a splash of cold water in her face would cool her temper down. Besides, she had to pee.

As she entered the restroom, the female attendant greeted her warmly and asked Michelle if she needed anything. She shook her head “no” and proceeded to the sink. At that very moment, Mesa entered the room and came over to comfort her little cousin.

“Are you okay?”, she asked.

After splashing a bit of water on her face and patting it dry with a towel, she reluctantly nodded. “I guess so.”

Mesa forced a smile. “You were very courageous out there… and very ladylike in the way you handled yourself.”

“If that’s supposed to make me feel better…”

Mesa gently interrupted, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just proud of you and wanted you to know it. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say.”

Michelle could tell that Mesa felt bad about saying it. Once again, her exuberance caused her to blurt something out without thinking about it first. Michelle nodded with a forced smile of her own. “It’s okay, I know you meant nothing by it. I’m just angry because Mark won’t listen to reason. He’s such an ass.”

Mesa considered correcting her vulgar language, but correctly figured it wasn’t the time or place for it. Instead, she hugged her tightly and said, “I know it really must seem that way right now. But he’s not as bad as you think. Didn’t you see how quickly he came to your defense when Marsha started in on you?”

“I guess,” she murmured. That’s when the tight hug coupled with the running water made her all too aware of the immense pressure in her bladder. “I’m not trying to be rude, Mesa, but I need to pee.”

Michelle fully expected for her to release her from her death hug, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued to hold her tightly and said, “Honey, you’re not allowed to use the toilet when you have a diaper on.”

Stunned by this statement, Michelle could only imagine what was going through the poor bathroom attendant’s head right about them. “Nobody mentioned anything about using this damn thing,” she belted out, horrified by the thought of actually having to use the diaper for its intended purpose. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Mesa talked to her in a honey-sweet voice, as if trying to sooth a small child. “Well, sweetie, that’s what diapers are for. This is a punishment… and punishments aren’t meant to be a bundle of fun.”

Michelle tried to free herself, clearly becoming more desperate by the second, but Mesa refused to relinquish the hug. How could someone as petite as Mesa possess such strength, she wondered?

When Michelle finally realized that matching strength with her older cousin was hopeless, she tried to slip free of her grasp by wriggling downward. No go. Mesa was ready for that approach too.

“Let me go, Mesa”, she whined through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to pee myself.”

Mesa maintained her sweet tone of voice. “You don’t have a choice, Michelle. As soon as you tinkle in your diaper, you’ll feel better. It sounds strange, but it’s true. It was hard for me to do it the first time too – very emotional. Just let it go and stop fighting it.”

“Noooo,” the young girl whimpered helplessly. She was determined to win this battle with her bladder. Mind over matter, she told herself. Mind over matter.

The attendant was visibly bewildered at what was transpiring a mere five or six feet away, but she kept her composure and looked on.

Mesa just held Michelle close to her, knowing that the struggle was going to be over soon. She knew all the signs. “There there, sweetie. Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

Michelle gritted her teeth, still attempting to squirm free from her benevolent captor. It was of no use, of course, but she had to try SOMETHING. She felt a painful burning sensation in her abdomen and it became more intense with each passing minute. She could barely stand it. The pain mounted more and more and more… until she could no longer control it. The urine rushed out of her and into the waiting, thirsty diaper with the force of a thousand bulls!

She didn’t know what was more humiliating; the loud hissing noise from her bodily emission, the warm, wet feeling in her now-soaked diaper or knowing that the attendant witnessed her degradation and would assuredly go tell all her friends and co-workers about it.

Oh, and one more thing could be added to that list: the fact that she was now crying and sobbing helplessly in her cousin’s loving arms, reduced to being an overgrown baby girl in a soggy diaper.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

CHAPTER NINE

Deciding to return to the table in a wet diaper was a no-brainer. While it wasn’t a pleasant thought by any means, it was preferable to letting Mesa change her in the restaurant’s restroom. Those were her only two options, so she figured it was the lesser of two evils. Still, the thought of going back out there and sitting in her own urine made her nauseous.

Michelle wasn’t at all certain as to what was said while she was having her own personal drama in the ladies room, but whatever it was, the dark mood had been lifted. Mark and the Spencers were in the midst of what seemed to be a delightful conversation. This came off as more than a little odd considering that the tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife when she left the room.

Mesa brought Michelle back by the hand, just as one would a young child. She was even helped into her seat. Michelle didn’t resist. Frankly, it was the least of her concerns, of which she had many.

Mesa must have picked up on the shift in mood as well, judging by the bewildered look on her face and the fact that she asked, “Did I miss something?”

The nature of her question must have been lost on Mark, because he replied, “Not at all, honey. We were just discussing some ideas regarding how to get our little ones under control and got off on a tangent about some of the funny things that Laney did when she was young.”

“Little ones?” asked a flabbergasted Michelle under her breath. They didn’t notice. This struck her as very insulting and dismissive. Those two words resonated within her head several times, as if her brain was trying to process them. It was hard to lodge much of a protest, though, while she was sitting there in a soaked diaper that rustled loudly with each and every move she made. So, she bit her tongue. She was once again lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to whatever else it was that the adults were saying.

She snapped out of her “trance” only when Mrs. Spencer addressed her. The absent expression on her face must have been humorous because everyone chuckled when she finally came back to reality. They chuckled exactly like adults chuckle when a baby does something cute. This aggravated her.

Mrs. Spencer then reiterated what she had apparently said while Michelle was zoned out; “I wanted to apologize for my reaction to your presence tonight and for how I treated you in the past. It was unfair and, for that, I’m sorry. While it’s true that you were headed down a bad path, laden with evil and decadence, I should have made an effort to extend a helping hand to you years ago, rather than condemn you.”

Stunned by her change of heart, Michelle’s mind didn’t latch on to all that “bad path” mumbo-jumbo. She just sat there with a dumbfounded look before saying, “Okay… thanks.”

Michelle’s words weren’t terribly convincing, but they seemingly appeased Mrs. Spencer, who smiled warmly at her in response. She looked like she was quite pleased with herself for doing “the Christian thing” by setting aside their differences.

Mark put his hand gently on Michelle’s and explained, “Mr. and Mrs. Spencer have invited you to spend the weekend at their house so you and Laney can spend some time together.”

Just like earlier, all eyes were on Michelle, who didn’t know what to say. She wanted to see Laney, but she didn’t trust this peculiar situation. And for that matter, she didn’t trust Mrs. Spencer… or Mark. Had they been concocting some nefarious plan while she was away from the table? Did they have something humiliating in mind? What was their play, if any? These questions bounced around her brain for a few seconds, but she realized that Mark wasn’t so much ASKING her if she wanted to go as he was INFORMING her that she was going to go. She was suspicious of it all, though she had no real choice in the matter and if she agreed, she’d spare herself the embarrassment of being forced to go against her will.

“Sure, yeah, that sounds fun,” she burbled out, prompting that same moronic, exaggerated smile from Mrs. Spencer that she was “treated” to a few moments before.

“Laney will be so happy to see you! And now that you’re attempting to lead a normal, healthy life, we’re overjoyed to have you over as our guest. See how much easier things can be when you’re being a good little girl?” Every word that spewed from Mrs. Spencer’s pie-hole made Michelle’s blood boil. Where did she get off talking down to her like that?

Not wanting another scene, she decided it was best to pick her battles wisely and simply nod her head. Even that went against every fiber in her body. She just wanted this family outing to be done and over with. Fortunately, the half hour or so that followed flew by quickly. The food was good, but Michelle couldn’t really care less. She wasn’t even allowed to truly enjoy it, due to all the small but demeaning things Mesa did – she put a napkin on her like a bib, she cut up her food into little bit-sized chunks and told her to be careful with her drinking glass.

The couples eventually parted company and left the restaurant. Michelle’s wet diaper was now cold, itchy and flat-out uncomfortable and each step she took toward the car made it droop further. She was glad to finally sit down in the car, even though Mesa buckled her in as opposed to letting her do it herself.

They arrived home a short while later and after going inside, Mark suspiciously asked Mesa to take Michelle into her temporary room. Michelle had always been good at detecting suspect behavior and all her alarms were ringing at full blast. Something was up and she knew it.

Mesa obediently ushered her into the crowded room. The door had barely shut before Michelle said, “Okay, let’s get this gross thing off of me.” She still couldn’t bring herself to use the word "diaper’ because that would be one step toward calling it HER diaper and that simply wasn’t going to happen.

Mesa smiled sweetly and replied, “Well, let’s check and see just how wet it is first.”

With that, she expertly pulled up the girl’s floral-print dress, yanked her pantyhose down, felt the front of her diaper and then cooed, “That’s not so wet that we couldn’t wait until tomorrow to change you.”

Back up went the pantyhose and down went the dress. The girl was in a daze, but her temper kicked in a bit. “What?? You mean I can’t take this damn thing off?? It’s gross and it’s uncomfortable! Besides, I thought you didn’t agree with Mark about me wearing this ridiculous thing!”

Mesa kept calm and said, “I DON’T agree with him, sweetheart… but I was told not to change the diaper unless it was soaked. And, well, it’s not soaked. I’m sorry.” For what it was worth, Mesa did look genuinely sympathetic to her plight. Still, this wasn’t enough to quell Michelle’s anger.

“I’m not sleeping in a wet… thing! It’s just not going to happen.” Within a few seconds, the pantyhose were off and she was untaping the diaper, all the while Mesa was trying to stop her without alerting Mark to the fact that she was being difficult.

“Now,” stated Michelle matter-of-factly, “I’m going to take a shower, lie down and hope like hell that this has been just one big, long nightmare.” With that, she walked into the attached bathroom and shut the door rather roughly. Bad move! Mark entered the room a few seconds later, asking Mesa what was going on in there.

With great reluctance, she admitted, “She’s refusing to wear the wet diaper to bed. I tried to stop her, but she just took off into the bathroom.”

“It’s not your fault, dear,” he said soothingly. “I’ll deal with her when she gets out of the shower. This simply confirms what I was going to talk to you about before she created this bout of drama.”

Mesa looked at him, confused.

He explained, “I was tying to get her into the other room so I could discuss with you the prospect of permanently treating her like a toddler.”

“Mark, no,” she pleadingly said, “Isn’t she going through enough right now?”

“The Spencers are giving Laney ‘the baby treatment’ after having conferred with a psychologist friend of theirs. The idea is to start her over and raise her correctly… kind of like a blank slate. And after all her tantrums and hissies, I think it would do Michelle some good as well.”

“But you praised her for her maturity earlier,” she said, “Why are you changing your tune like this? It just doesn’t add up.”

“First of all, do not take that tone with me or you’ll end up over my knee in a heartbeat. Second of all, this ‘baby treatment’ thing isn’t a punishment… it’s a method to forge her into a productive adulthood. And lastly, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Do you understand?”

His stern tone provoked a timid nod from Mesa. She knew her limits and she would do just about anything to keep from taking a trip over his knees. She resented not having a voice in this. Michelle is HER cousin after all. Thinking of an angle, she looked up at him and said, “If she finds out the truth about you-know-what, this will all fall apart. We shouldn’t tempt fate by getting so drastic with her.”

Mark was obviously unhappy with the direction she was going with this conversation. Whatever this “you-know-what” was, it’s definitely not something he wants brought up.

With agitated determination, he looked in Mesa’s eyes and informed her, "I’ll handle that. I have some friends in high places who can pull some strings. Don’t concern your pretty little brain with it. Not now, not ever. Just go into our room and wait for me. I’ll deal with you and your insubordinate attitude after I deal with hers.

Defeated and feeling an overwhelming sense of dread, the woman cast her eyes downward and did as she was told.

"I’ve got everything under control, " he said to himself with a narrow smile after she exited the room, “Everything.”

CHAPTER TEN

Michelle’s shower was less relaxing than she thought it would be. Her mind didn’t wander; it raced! So much had happened recently that none of it seemed real. It all began with her parents’ untimely demise and snowballed from there. All of it played out in her head repeatedly while the nice, warm water rained down upon her body. She cursed herself for not being more upset about their deaths, she cursed herself for being too weak to put a stop to all of Mark’s sadistic treatment of her and she cursed herself for ever being born to begin with. What the hell had become of her life?

Stepping out of the shower, she dried off and wrapped herself in a large, fluffy towel. That’s when the panic set in. What if Mesa had told Mark about her flagrant disregard of the rules? What if he was waiting for her just beyond the bathroom door? What if her behavior kicked off a whole new round of pain and humiliation? Surely, Mark was none the wiser.

But when she opened the door, she learned that her hopes were to be dashed in an instant, for Mark was standing outside the door, arms folded across his chest and wearing an expression of seething anger. It felt like her heart stopped dead in its tracks.

“And just what the hell do you think you’re doing, little lady?”

Her mind grasped for a good answer, but all she could dredge up was, “I was taking a shower.” Lame.

“Did anyone give you permission?”, she asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“Dude, it’s just a shower. Knock it off with the control freak crap.” Ah, there was that good ol’ backbone Mikey was always known for! Mark was neither impressed, nor amused.

“That’s it. I’ve tried being nice, but obviously you don’t respond to that.”

"Oh yeah, " Michelle snorted sarcastically, “You’ve been a total bastion of niceness. If you were any nicer, you’d be Mr. freaking Rogers!”

Apparently, that was the last straw. Mark snatched her diminutive body up and carried her to the bed, with her kicking and thrashing the whole way. Once there, he sat down and pulled her over his knees. With his left arm, he held her firmly in place and with his right, he unleashed a barrage of swats that sounded for all the world like thunderclaps. Each blow increased the pain laid forth by the previous blows. The agony was unbearable, especially given that her bottom was already red from her spanking earlier that day.

Michelle’s threshold wasn’t nearly as high this time around thanks to the cumulative effect – she was crying and sobbing by the time the twentieth swat came thundering down on her buttocks. After ten more swats, he halted the punishment and stood her up.

“Go stand in the corner on your tip-toes while I get your bed clothes ready,” Mark said gravely. When she hesitated, he added, “Now!”, causing her to jump like a nervous cat. Seemingly not in control of herself, she shuffled over to the corner and did as she was ordered.

While she stood there, she subconsciously studied the wallpaper design, wondering what monstrosity of a bedtime outfit he was going to spring on her. After fifteen minutes, her feet and legs began to feel the burn of standing on her tip-toes for an extended period of time. “How long could it possibly take to fetch some damn clothes?”, she asked herself.

It was another five or six minutes before he told her to turn around and come over to the bed. She wanted to massage her aching legs, but she thought better of it. Turning around, she saw a stack of three disposable diapers on the nightstand, along with baby powder. Laid out on the bed was what looked like an oversized snap-crotch onesie and something else that she couldn’t quite make out. But none of these awful baby things terrified her as much as the final object… the cold, soggy diaper that she had worn prior to her shower! Sure enough, it was spread out, ready for service once again.

Michelle began backing up in abject horror, her eyes and mouth all opened as wide as could be.

“Get. Over here. Now.”, he ordered. Not sure what to do, she let her instincts kick in and those instincts were telling her they didn’t want to endure yet another spanking. She slowly walked toward the bed.

“I… I… I can’t p-put that back on, Mark. It’s so disgusting. Please don’t make me wear it. Pleeeeease. I don’t wanna.” Her voice had taken on a rather juvenile tone, a detail that didn’t escape Mark’s notice.

“Little girl, I’m not going to tell you again. Now, get up her and lie down with your tushie on the wet diaper.” Without further argument, Michelle climbed up onto the bed and had her behind hovering over the diaper, as if daring herself to actually make contact with it. With that hesitation, Mark gently but firmly pressed her down onto it.

The wet diaper couldn’t have felt any worse to her. Much of the absorbent material within the diaper had begun to clump up into damp little irregular balls… and when her body pressed down on them, the wetness became even more prevalent. The diaper was uncomfortable enough when it was warm or even slightly cold… but this was far, far worse. It was the nastiest feeling Michelle could imagine.

After puffing some powder onto Michelle’s diaper area, Mark expertly pulled the front of the diaper up and fastened it to the back section with the now-worn tapes. Before Michelle could wonder how the diaper was going to stay in place while she slept, Mark produced a roll of packing tape. Sitting her back up, he tightly wound the tape around the top of the diaper a few times. Every time she moved, the wads of sodden faux-cotton shifted, making her discomfort yet more pronounced.

Mark then unfolded the other three diapers and laid them on top of one another in a very specific order. From the looks of them, each one was a size smaller than the one beneath it. He ordered her to reposition herself over this stack of diapers and as soon as she complied, he busied himself with the task of pulling them up and taping them shut, one by one, until all of them were in place. To ensure that she couldn’t take them off, packing tape was applied once more, making the diapers so that not even a finger could be slid between the diaper and her skin. In short, she was trapped in four diapers, one of which was wet from her own urine that had been in it for hours.

She once again pleaded with Mark. “Please, Mark. I’ll do anything. I’ll stop being bad. Just let me take these things off.” She still wasn’t able to force herself to call them “the D-Word”. That was a line in the sand she simply couldn’t cross.

“I’m sorry, Michelle,” Mark said stoically, “but those diapers are staying in place for the rest of the night. But, if you’re a good girl and stop fighting this, I’ll change you into a clean diaper after breakfast. Otherwise, you’ll stay in that one until lunch.”

“How much longer are you going to keep me wearing these things?”, she whimpered, half-hoping he’d forgotten the original length of time he had stated earlier.

He smiled thinly, looking down at this poor little diapered teenager. “Sweetheart, as of tonight, you’re in diapers permanently. I’m also going to do a bit of clothes shopping of my own to get a more fitting wardrobe for a little girl like you. You see, we’re starting over with you and raising you correctly… from the ground up, so to speak. So you’d better get used to it, because from here on out, you’ll be treated like a two year-old baby.”

Her mind tried frantically to transcribe the words Mark had just said. Bits and pieces of it registered with her brain, but not all of it. Once she pieced it all together and correlated the information, tears began streaming from her eyes, stinging them bitterly. She had no words and she felt utterly helpless – too small – to speak up, even if she DID have words at her disposal. Her tears became uncontrollable, heaving sobs. She simply went along with Mark’s gentle manhandling of her, in a state of defeat, while he finished dressing her for bed in her onesie and bonnet. “So THAT’S what the other garment on the bed was”, she briefly thought to herself amidst her crying. The bonnet was tied securely beneath her chin, ensuring that it would stay on her head throughout the night.

Mark pulled back the covers and told her to lie down. Her resistance had dwindled away and she simply did as she was told. He took a pacifier from its package and told her to open her mouth. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, giving one last (but feeble) effort to beg her way out of this situation. He was unflinching. After a handful of seconds, her mouth was open and the pacifier was set in place.

He kissed her on the forehead and said “Sweet dreams, baby girl”, as he closed the door behind him.

Michelle had never in her life felt so vulnerable and so weak, dressed as she was like a baby. The wetness from her innermost diaper was ever-present and having three other diapers didn’t help matters any. She tried to push her legs together, but the bulk was too much. It prevented her from even coming close to her goal. Of course, that’s when she realized that attempting this feat wasn’t such a good idea anyway, as it only squeezed the soggy diaper more, causing it to emanate more of the urine from the clumps. She wanted to take the pacifier out of her mouth and chuck it across the room, but fear of Mark’s retribution was great enough to hold it in place.

There was nothing she could do right now and she knew it. She considered calling the cops, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She has always had a hatred of the police. Perhaps it was more of a fear than a hatred. Either way, the thought of contacting them gave her pause. She would rather find a way out of this herself. However, that wasn’t going to happen tonight. No, tonight, she would lie in her bed – attired in her thick diapers, cute pink onesie and matching bonnet – sucking on her pacifier for comfort wile listening to Mesa get one hell of a spanking in the room beyond. Michelle wished she could help her cousin, but she couldn’t. She was beaten… at least for the time being. And whether she liked it or not, she was a baby in nearly every way a teenage girl COULD be.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sleep had not come easily for Michelle. The bulk of the diapers made it nearly impossible to roll over and the wet innermost diaper pressed up against her private areas in a way that made moving about miserable. The double-sore backside didn’t help matters either. But the worst of it was the mental turmoil she was experiencing. Just yesterday, she had been a relatively normal teenage girl. Now, she was reduced to this; an overgrown baby with no say in anything that happens to her. Her thoughts were all over the place, from ways to escape this mess to chastising herself for kowtowing to Mark’s treatment of her… and everything in between. She had never experienced such a loss of control and it was maddening. So, yes, sleep was difficult, but it had eventually overtaken her.

When her eyes fluttered open in the morning, it was because she heard someone rifling through boxes in her makeshift room. It was Mesa. “I’m sorry, sweet pea. I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you.”

“It’s okay,” responded Michelle, only now realizing that the pacifier had fallen out of her mouth at some point during the night. Judging by the sun, Michelle figured that it was pretty early in the morning. Ordinarily, she would have wanted to roll over and gone back to sleep, but the cold, sodden diaper and all the surrounding diapers simply wouldn’t allow for it. Not that she’d want to spend another moment laying in her own pee anyway.

She tried to sit up, something else prohibited by the diapers. At least on the first attempt. It took great effort and stomach muscle usage to make it happen. It was embarrassing to move so awkwardly, like an actual toddler. But what choice did she have?

“Has that insufferable husband of yours come to his senses yet,” asked Michelle.

Sighing, Mesa responded, “No, but you’re really going to have to tow the line. If you keep up with your bad behavior, life is going to be all the more difficult and I really don’t want that for you.”

Michelle rolled her eyes and quipped, “So, where is Prince Charming anyway?”

“He had some important errands to attend to.”

“Does one of those errands involve jumping off the highest bridge he can find,” asked the youth.

Mesa gave her a slightly irritated look. Her reserve tank of patience has begun to wear thin, which is obvious from her new tone of voice. “Look, little miss, you need to knock it off. I’m not going to let you talk about Mark that way. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” said Michelle, mostly out of pure shock that her normally-passive cousin could dredge up even a modicum of forcefulness. Somehow, that intimidated her almost as much as Mark’s more overt brand of forcefulness.

“Good,” Mesa chirped, changing back to her chipper self in the blink of an eye. Michelle wondered if she had a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on.

Now that that was settled, Michelle moved on to the topic that mattered most to her at the moment… “I’m gonna go take these stupid things off now.”

“Oh no, you’re not. Not until after breakfast. Mark said you could have them taken off then.”

“I’m not going to eat while sitting in my own piss. That’s just nasty!”

Mesa’s eyes narrowed with aggravation and determination. “Wanna bet?”

Ordinarily, Michelle would have arisen to the challenge and fired back some kind of jab that would let her know that she wasn’t intimidated. But the truth got in the way of her normal reaction… and that truth was that she was intimidated. Michelle could rationalize her next choice of words as being a strategic “choosing her battles” situation, but that wasn’t the case. All the events of the last 24 hours had weakened her resolve catastrophically. She was indeed intimidated by her ordinarily-soft spoken cousin. How the mighty had fallen.

Her response was akin to what one would expect from a pouting child: “Fine.” Michelle had a look of anger and contempt on her face, but she offered no opposition of substance. For Mesa’s part, Michelle’s childish behavior was starting to make her fall in line with Mark’s belief that she should be started over as a little one. As the old saying goes, if someone is going act like a child, they’re going to be treated like one.

Sternly, Mesa ordered Michelle to go downstairs and watch cartoons while she finished up looking through boxes. With yet another roll of her eyes, Michelle stomped off to do as she was told. At least partly. Figuring herself too old for cartoons, she found a channel that had a game show on it and stood while watching it. She wasn’t about to sit down and feel her wet diaper press up against her most intimate region.

A few minutes later, Mesa entered the living room with an armful of assorted things that she had apparently unearthed in the boxes upstairs. She set it all down on the kitchen table before rejoining her young charge.

“Sit down, Michelle.”

“Again with that stupid name? Really?” Maybe the “Mikey” side of her was only in temporary retreat and was beginning to find its legs again.

“Now!”, snapped Mesa. Michelle instinctively complied and very quickly, no less. Okay, so maybe the “Mikey” part of her hadn’t returned after all. When she sat down on the couch, she felt the saturated clumps of the diaper thrust into her private area by her own body weight, eliciting an audible “ewww” from her. “And you’re stuck with the name whether you like it or not.”

Mesa firmly told her to stay put while she got started on breakfast. Before exiting the room, though, she snatched up the remote control and changed the channel to one that was showing Tom and Jerry. Michelle wasn’t happy about being forced to stay there and watch cartoons, but she wasn’t about to defy her now-imposing older cousin. So there she was, a sixteen year old girl only two years away from adulthood, yet stuck wearing wet diapers, a ridiculous onesie and an even more ridiculous bonnet.

That’s when she noticed a rumbling in her stomach. It wasn’t an “I’m hungry” rumbling either. It was a “I have to defecate” rumble. Just when Michelle thought the day couldn’t get worse! She was in for a rude awakening.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

Great to see you back in the saddle! Good chapter!

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

Thanks, Rammus fan. It feels good to be back. :slight_smile:

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

Thanks. Loved the update. Now I don’t feel so bad about leaving people hanging for a month on my story.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

Glad you liked the update. You definitely shouldn’t feel guilty about a month’s wait. :slight_smile:

Re: “The Tomboy” (Revised and Updated w/ Chapter 11)

CHAPTER TWELVE

While sitting in her own misery – not to mention her own pee – Michelle experimented with ways to sit that would lessen her discomfort, both in regard to the mess contained in her urine-filled diapers and the increasing pressure from her bowels. It wasn’t too far removed from balancing on a large ball. If you shift too far one way, the ball will want to roll the opposite way and if you shift too far the other way… well, you get the picture. In this case, every time she found a position that minimized the cramps in her stomach, the clumpy, wet “cotton” in her diaper would make things particularly torturous for her, as would her still-sore behind. But when she would settle into a position that kept most of the wetness from contacting her skin, it would cause the belly pains to amplify. She never could come up with a happy medium, so she instead focused on simply decreasing the cramps.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mesa stepped partially into the living room to tell Michelle that breakfast was ready. The young girl stood up and felt the immediate shift in the saturated diaper. She looked down and even with the onesie, she could tell that the garment was sagging. The snap-crotch panel of the onesie may have kept it from falling down around her ankles, but the heavy diaper spilled out one side of the panel nonetheless, as if attempting to escape.

She waddled into the kitchen, which she knew made her look even more like a child than she already did, though at this point, it was the least of her worries. As she gingerly seated herself onto one of the hardback chairs, Mesa was placing a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of her, along with a sippy cup of some manner of liquid. Michelle assumed it was milk or juice, though she couldn’t care less.

Conspicuous by their absence was the small mound of items that Mesa had earlier put on the table. Michelle briefly wondered where the objects were and, more importantly, what they were. Perhaps they were of no consequence and had nothing to do with her continued torture and degradation.

At that very moment, Michelle noticed Mesa’s arms coming into view in her peripherals, as she placed a bib around the girl’s neck. It was white with pink trim and was too small for her. It was hard to read upside down, but at a glance it looked like the bib had “The Little Princess Wants Food” written on it in a cutesy font. Below the text was a cartoonish, large-headed baby girl with a tiara sitting on a throne. The indignities just kept on coming!

“What the…?” Michelle exclaimed with exasperation.

Mesa gave her a weary look and said, “Michelle, don’t fuss. I know it’s not your size, but it was all I could find in the spare room.”

“You think I’m upset because it doesn’t fit? Seriously? I’m upset because it’s a freaking bib! I couldn’t give a crap how it fits!”

Now, Mesa’s expression held a message of “duh”. “I’m not stupid, Michelle. I knew exactly what irked you about it. I was just trying to make the situation less awkward.”

Michelle started laughing somewhat sarcastically. “Look at me. I’m wearing oversized baby clothes. What could possibly be more awkward than that?”

As if in answer, her stomach rumbled again and it was audible enough to catch Mesa’s attention. Her bowels churned violently, causing Michelle to clench her buttcheeks together as best she could, given the thickness of the diapers.

In a sickening sweet, sing-song voice, Mesa asked, “Does my wittle Michelle need to make stinkies in her diapers?” By this remark and tone of voice, Michelle realized that her outburst of sarcasm had ticked her older cousin off. “Come on, sweetie, let it all come out.”

Michelle bit her lip, straining to prevent the inevitable. “I can hold it,” she spat with grim determination.

“Can you?”, asked Mesa, “For how long?”

An odd grunting noise inadvertently escaped Michelle’s lips as her straining became more pronounced. “Until… I… explode.”

“Now, you’re just being silly. Here, I’ll help you out.” With that proclamation, Mesa leaned over and placed her hands on her abdomen. Michelle’s attempts to push them away proved futile. Mesa pushed in on several strategic spots, forcing the young girl to cry out with the last-ditch efforts to save what little remained of her dignity.

“Nonononononono!,” bellowed Michelle as a burst of flatulence acted as the herald for something much, much worse… and much, much messier. Once the flatulence hit, there was no stopping what was to come next. Michelle felt the first barrage of feces push out into the diaper. It was such a foreign experience that she began to have a panic attack. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes opened wide, as if in shock. Her cheeks turned crimson with soul-crushing embarrassment.

Halfway through the first deposit, Michelle gathered her wits enough to clench down and squeeze her sphincter tightly in a pointless effort to keep any more of the offending bodily fluids from escaping into the childish undergarment. Excruciating pain wracked her body and something that was a half-step between a moan and a scream emitted from her mouth. Even her jaw hurt from tensing up like that.

“Stop fighting it and let it happen,” said Mesa, as if she was an aerobics instructor. All sarcasm from earlier was entirely gone from her tone. “Just relax your muscles.”

For her part, little Michelle – and she truly did feel little at that moment – was unable to say anything at all. She could only make that awful, half-moan/half-scream noise. She was beyond words. Saying something would only distract her from her task at hand.

“It’s okay, Michelle. You have to succumb to it sooner or later. Holding it in will only make it worse. Besides, you’ve already pooped some”

Michelle wasn’t about to give up so readily. Her cousin’s words didn’t even register in her brain. Her focus was solely on preventing this catastrophe. Even though she knew deep down that her goal was impossible, she refused to be beaten, even if it meant bursting a blood vessel. Her eyes were scrunched shut, her lips were slammed shut and her fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails were drawing blood on her palms.

Then, it happened. The tensing of her muscles initiated a series of cramps, starting with her left side. A cramp in her left thigh was next, followed by one in her neck. Involuntarily, she tried to alleviate the cramping, which caused her clamped sphincter to loosen just enough to open the flood gates.

Despite her best and most frenzied efforts, Michelle had lost the battle.

The firm poop rushed out of her bum like a pack of angry bulls being let out of the pen, adding to the small mess that already occupied the diaper. Almost without having any control over it, Michelle bolted to her feet, not wanting it to be smooshed from the weight of her body sitting on top of it.

Another spasm hit her hard and, again, without any control, she crouched down to make it easier. More feces joined the party. It was so firm and solid that it felt all the world like snakes exiting her anus. She became panicked again, fearing that the diaper wouldn’t be able to contain the mess. To her surprise, it held fast and seemed to hold everything her bowels threw its way.

As if messing wasn’t terrible enough, she felt a flood of pee coming from her body as well. Now that there was no turning back, Michelle’s efforts switched gears from preventing her accident to getting the ordeal over with. To those ends, she began pushing it out, grunting softly while doing so, tears rolling down her face. Another push brought forth yet another turd; another extremely long and hard one, at that. She wondered if it was ever going to end.

The diaper was now very full of her own filth and it felt as if there was still more to come. She scrunched her face and grunted rather loudly, forcing the last of the feces out. With the final, sweaty push, she fell from her crouching position to her hands and knees from sheer weakness. The concluding mass slid into her diaper. It wasn’t as unyielding as the earlier emissions, but it was no less disgusting. Her bowels were empty.

Her cramps had subsided, but her dignity was in shreds as she remained in place. The entire traumatic ordeal elicited shameful sobbing, leaving the poor girl wondering how her life could have possibly come to this.

Michelle’s diaper was filled to capacity with her own excrement and moving from her “crawling position” would only serve to make it feel even more detestable. Until this moment, she hadn’t noticed the rancid smell that now emanated from down below. Now that it came to her attention, however, it made her gag and put her on the verge of vomiting.

“Come on, little one. Let me help you up,” offered Mesa. It wasn’t the kind of offer that warranted a decision from Michelle. It was more of a statement of what she was going to do.

Through her tears, Michelle sputtered, “I don’t want to move. It’s too gross.”

Mesa gently rubbed her back in a soft, comforting manner and soothing tone was on full display. “Well, you can’t stay down there all day.”

Michelle’s willpower was at an all-time low. Sure, she eventually managed to find her nerve several times after the humiliating events that had already happened, but this was the worst one yet; worse that having to shop for girlie clothes, worse than the spankings, worse than meeting up with Laney’s parents at the restaurant and even worse than having to sleep in a diaper. Those indignities were atrocious, to be certain, but they were small potatoes compared to this one. She wasn’t sure if she’s be able to bounce back from this one. After all, how many times can someone stave off total humiliation without losing a big part of their soul?

With Mesa’s help, Michelle limply got to her feet, sobbing quietly all the while. Just that little bit of movement caused the gigantic cluster of poop to shift numerous times, triggering great discomfort as well as absolute repulsion.

Mesa once again spoke compassionately to the clearly upset girl. “Okay now, sweetheart, let’s get you fed now that you’ve got all that nasty old poo-poo out of your belly.” The intention was to be compassionate, but it did nothing to ease Michelle’s mind. In fact, it made her feel even worse.

“I… I can’t… [hic] sit down [hic] like this.” Great. On top of everything else, she was now hiccupping.

“Sure you can,” said Mesa with her saccharine tone of voice, “It’ll be hard at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

Michelle didn’t want to get used to it. She wanted out of this odiferous stack of diapers that remained taped tightly around her waist. She wanted to escape from this parody of a life. Most of all, she wanted to exact revenge on Mark for what he had done to her. But all such thoughts died a quick death for fear of further punishment, so she obeyed her cousin and slowly started to sit down on the hard chair. Following a soft gulp, she held her breath while carefully lowering her butt down. Finally, it made contact with the seat, but just barely. She was too afraid to take the plunge. Seeing this, Mesa gently nudged her downward. A not-so-subtle “squish” noise came from her well-padded butt. She could feel her flesh pressing down on the “logs” within until they lost their firm shape and merged together to become one solid, mushy glob of feces. It was the most horrific feeling she could have possibly imagined.

Michelle’s full weight came down to rest upon the mass, which sent it spreading throughout the diaper like a biblical plague. There was so much poop that it found its way into the front of her diaper, coating her vagina, as well as up the small of her back nearly to the top of the diaper itself. It now coated the expanse of her butt cheeks too. It had invaded every place it could possibly invade.

She started crying a fresh round of tears, but Mesa attempted to comfort her by rubbing her shoulders and speaking to her softly. Her words didn’t register with Michelle, though, because she was too wrapped up in her own misery. Her appetite was gone, thanks to the putrid smell and the equally putrid feeling of what shared the interior of the diaper with her. Still, Mesa insisted that she should eat.

Not having any more emotional defenses, she complied like a good girl, shoveling colorful plastic fork-full after fork-full of bacon and eggs into her mouth. What else could she do? When a person has been so thoroughly defeated, they become inclined to do whatever their betters tell them to do, which is exactly what poor Michelle did.

Adding insult to injury, when Michelle finished her food, she found that there was a cartoon puppy printed on the plate.

“See, Michelle, there’s wittle puppy dog under there. Isn’t it cute?” No sarcasm could be detected. It was if Mesa was actually beginning to see Michelle as a toddler instead of a teenager. Last night, Mesa was against this “baby treatment”, but now… now, she had embraced it. With gusto, apparently.

Michelle could only look down with shame.

After a brief pause, Mesa announced, “Alright, we can go get you changed now. Come on.”

Finally, some good news. She never thought she’d be excited about a diaper change, but then again she never dreamed that she’d be saddled with a diaper loaded down with an enormous bulge of feces either.

Despite how disgusting she knew it would feel, Michelle stood up and waddled along behind Mesa, out of the kitchen and into the living room. The sticky mess inside the diaper clung to her buttocks, which produced the most uncomfortable feeling she had ever experienced. Okay, maybe not the most uncomfortable feeling (sitting in her own mess is hard to beat), but it ranked up there pretty high on the list. She wiggled her butt a little as she walked to try to shake it loose, but it was fruitless. The poop didn’t budge. She would’ve had to stop dead in her tracks and wiggle harder to accomplish that task. So, she forged onward toward her temporary bedroom. To say that she was looking forward to getting out of these pungent diapers would be a cosmic understatement.

That’s precisely when the doorbell rang.

It looked as if her sweet release was going to have to wait.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mesa sighed as the doorbell rang a second time. “Sorry, honey. It looks like you’ll have to stay in that diaper for a few more minutes.” Michelle headed toward the makeshift bedroom to avoid anyone else seeing her dressed as she was. That wasn’t about to fly, though, as Mesa corrected her and led her over to the sofa. “I can’t have you toodling around all over the house. I want you to stay where I can see you.”

Michelle visibly bristled at the word ‘toodling’. God, how infantile could she make her feel? Did Mesa have a dictionary filled exclusively with words designed to further her abasement? How is it that she knew exactly what to say in order to send her spiraling further down the rabbit hole of humiliation?

She wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock and hide, but her older cousin was making damn sure that she was unable to do anything of the sort. As Mesa walked toward the door, Michelle spun around so that maybe whoever was at the door wouldn’t see her face. Somehow, that thought gave her at least some semblance of comfort. Comfort. Ha! That’s rich. How can comfort even be considered when she was standing there in an excessively soiled diaper (as well as the other three diapers that she wore on top of it)?

When the door opened, Michelle heard Mesa say, “Oh, hi, Bailey. Come on in.”

Utter dread washed over Michelle upon hearing that name. She desperately hoped that it was a different Bailey, but her gut instinct told her that it wasn’t. She remembered Bailey from various family visits and get-togethers. She was a girl only a few years older than Michelle who used to idolize Mesa and hung around with her as much as humanly possible… to the point, even, that some of the smart-assed family members often joked that she had a girl crush on her. Michelle barely even remembered what she looked like, as she was only six years old when she saw her last. But she remembered her being there and even heard talk about her from relatives as she grew older. The main thing she heard about Bailey was that she was incredibly mature for her years and was a very good friend to Mesa in spite of the age difference. She assumed that perhaps the two had eventually drifted apart, but that was apparently not the case.

Curiosity got the best of Michelle and she craned her neck around to get a glimpse of Bailey. When she laid eyes on her, all doubts were purged. It was her. Sure, she would now be nineteen or twenty years old, but there was no mistaking the wavy red hair and freckled face. She was an awkward kid, but had matured into a very beautiful woman in a “girl next door” way. What was once a gangly, rail-skinny body was now a tall, athletic body with moderate-sized breasts. She was dressed nicely in tight blue jeans, a light purple shirt with a lacy neckline and simple black flats.

She responded to Mesa, but Michelle couldn’t discern what she said. When she realized that Bailey was entering, she quickly turned back around so that her back was facing the visitor.

Bailey stopped in her tracks, surprised to see someone standing in the living room and likely even more surprised that it was a near-adult dressed in such a fashion.

“Uhhhh… Mesa?” asked Bailey quizzically, pointing at the teenaged baby.

Mesa, who just now noticed that Michelle was positioned to face the opposite direction, spun the embarrassed young girl around.

“Bailey,” she said sweetly, “You remember my little cousin Michelle, don’t you?”

Michelle dropped her gaze to the floor in hopes of avoiding eye contact. A tear dropped down her cheek. The shame was unbearable. Even though she couldn’t see what Mesa’s friend was doing, she could absolutely feel her eyes on her as if she was studying her or at the very least trying to determine what to make of her.

“Oh, my God,” said a stunned Bailey, searching for more articulate words to express what she was feeling. “Don’t you just look so adorable?” Okay, so “articulate” didn’t exactly happen, but who could blame her for scrabbling unsuccessfully for coherency given the sight that was standing before her very eyes?

Mesa spoke up. “My brother and sister-in-law passed away, so we took her in. She’s not yet used to her new life, so she has been alternating between hissy fits, shame and obedience. Actually, treating her like a little one was Mark’s idea and I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea at first, but I’m warming up to it. She tends to behave pretty childishly sometimes. Isn’t that right, cupcake?”

That last sentence was directed at Michelle. She wanted so very much to speak out in her defense; to yell at her and give her a piece of her mind. Nothing would have pleased her more than to go ballistic. However, this simply wasn’t an option. Her voice betrayed her thoughts and squeaked out a submissive, “Yes.”

The next bit of conversation really disturbed Michelle. The two women started talking about her as if she wasn’t there… just like they would talk about a real baby. On some weird level, this broke her heart, though she couldn’t dredge up an explanation as to why.

“Awwww,” Bailey cooed. “These clothes are just perfect for her. And look. She hasn’t grown much at all since I saw her last. How tall is she now?”

“Right at five feet tall, I believe.”

“How long are you and Mark going to keep her this way?”, asked Bailey with legitimate curiosity.

With a shrug, Mesa answered, “Until she’s legally an adult, I suppose. That’s what Mark said anyway and I doubt he’ll change his mind any time soon. You know how he is. It really might be for the best. The poor little thing never had a real shot at being a child. Amy and Uncle Joe, God rest their souls, just weren’t equipped to raise a kid. Now maybe she’ll at least have five years of being a little girl again.”

As soon as Mesa said that, she put her hand over her mouth and developed an “oh, shit” expression on her face. None of this escaped Michelle’s notice. Even Bailey looked puzzled.

“I’ll be eighteen in almost two years,” she protested suspiciously. Something strange was going on and she wasn’t going to let it slide without calling her on it.

It was obvious that Mesa had made a huge slip and was scouring her brain for a quick excuse. The best she managed to come up with was, “Did I say five? I meant two.”

Michelle still eyeballed her with skepticism, but didn’t press the issue. Still, she knew that her words weren’t simply the result of a random slip of the tongue. Mesa wouldn’t have freaked out after saying it if that was the case. To make her cousin think she bought into her lame excuse, she nodded pathetically and looked back to the floor.

Mesa invited Bailey to come sit in the kitchen and have a cup of coffee. She then took Michelle by the hand and led her in there with them. She had almost managed to forget about the repulsive load she was hauling around in her diaper, but walking – or wobbling, more accurately, thanks to the extreme bulk of her four diapers – gave her a quick reminder.

In desperation, she tugged on Mesa’s arm and asked, “I thought you were going to… you know…?”

“No, sweetie, I DON’T know.”

Trying to be discreet, Michelle half-whispered, “I thought you were gonna, y’know, take… this thing… off of me.”

“What thing are you talking about?” It was obvious that Mesa wanted to hear her say that she wanted her messy diaper changed. Bailey “got” what she was doing and giggled slightly, but not with the intent to be mean. She genuinely thought it was cute.

She paused, not wanting to elaborate. “You know… the thing I’m wearing.”

“And what is that?”, asked Mesa. Her thought process was that her little cousin needed to become more comfortable with saying things of this nature before Mark returned home because he’ll expect her to… and he will assuredly come down hard on her for such reluctance. She thought it best to handle the matter so that it won’t escalate once he’s back.

“The… protective garment,” she muttered nervously, hoping that she’d accept that answer.

No dice. “The what?”

Michelle’s voice became lower and more hushed. “The… diaper.”

“And why do you want it changed?”

Another tear cascaded down her reddened cheek. Her voice became lower still. “Because… it has… stuff in it.”

Mesa gave her a look that let her know she’s being ridiculous. “What kind of stuff, sweetie?”

It was plain for all to see that Michelle would do just about anything to sidestep having to say it. Almost inaudibly, she peeped out, “Poop.”

“I can hardly hear you. You’re going to have to speak up. Whose poop is in the diaper? And whose diaper is it?”

Knowing that she had been backed into a corner, she spoke up only a little. “It’s… my… poop. And the diaper… is mine too.”

“That’s better, honey, but not quite loud enough. You know that Mark won’t let you get away with that and I’m trying to keep you out of trouble. You have to get used to saying stuff like this. Do you want another spanking from him?”

Fear overtook Michelle and it was probably quite evident to both Mesa and Bailey. She shook her head with fervor. Another spanking from Mark was not on her list of things she wants to do. Her ass was still tender from the previous two engagements with Mark’s hand and belt.

“Okay then,” Mesa replied, “I want you to ask me correctly… and I want you to say it in a babyish voice. That’s something Mark has already told me he wants you to start doing.”

Michelle started to plead. “But, Mesa…”

“No ‘buts’, Michelle. Now, let’s hear it.”

Michelle was becoming intimately familiar with the flooring in Mark and Mesa’s house due to always looking down with embarrassment. She couldn’t say it right away. As soon as she would steel herself to do it, the words slid back down her throat. After about thirty seconds, Mesa had to get strict. “Now!”

This spurred her into action with a start. “Mesa would you… p-pwease change my p-p-poopy diaper?”

She hoped that was good enough to please her older cousin and it almost was, but Mesa mulled it over for a few seconds before saying, “That’s decent, but it wasn’t loud enough and you need to say ‘diapey’ or ‘didee’ instead of ‘diaper’. In fact, make that ‘baby diapee’ or ‘baby didee’. Go ahead, give it one more try. Loud and clear.”

The scared girl swallowed and cleared her throat. “Mesa, would you pwease ch-change my poopy baby diapee betause it feels so gwoss and itchy?” Whoah! The last part just came out of its own accord! What was happening to her? It was one thing to look like an overgrown baby, but having to talk like a baby took things to a whole new arena, furthering her debasement exponentially.

“That was a very good girl, honey,” Mesa said, hugging her affectionately. “To answer your question, yes, I’ll change your poopy diapee… but you’ll have to wait until we finish our coffee.”

What?? All that humiliation and she wouldn’t even let her out of that smelly crotch prison until they drank their coffee?? This was just intolerable!

Mesa observed that Michelle was anything but pleased with her answer and said, “I’m sorry, little one, but it won’t kill you to stay in that diaper for a while longer. Besides, I’ll tell Mark that you stayed in it for even longer than you had to so he’ll be super happy with you. Now, sit down here on the floor, while we have our coffee.”

The demoralized girl had no option other than to follow Mesa’s order. She slowly and meticulously lowered herself onto the floor, feeling the amassed feces squish beneath her butt. It was cold now and felt even worse than it did when she first emptied her bowels. She didn’t think that was humanly possible, but she was dead wrong. The stink intensified, too, and as if that wasn’t agonizing enough, she became vividly aware of the fact that her bunghole was itchy. Not just a little itchy, but so itchy that she could think of little else. What was even worse was that she couldn’t scratch the itch. The diapers were too thick to scratch it from the outside and she sure as hell wasn’t about to stick her hand down into that hellish pit of crap to relieve the itch. Her only recourse was to jiggle her butt back and forth against the floor and not only did that smoosh the poop around further, it also didn’t help all that much.

While Michelle was attempting to ease her itchy discomfort, the two adults had been talking. She was reasonably sure that they were speaking about her, but most of what they said fell on deaf ears. She was quite preoccupied. However, she heard one thing that brought her out of her self-indulged quest for relief.

“After we drink the coffee and chat a bit, I was going to give Michelle a bath, put her in an outfit that Mark dropped off at the butt crack of dawn and take her out to get her hair done. I also need to pick her up a few things from a shop Mark swears by. Would you like to come with? I could sure use the company.”

“Sure,” said Bailey, “It sounds like fun. What are you going to have them do with her hair?”

“I’m not sure yet. Something childish, I know that much. Plus, I want to get that ugly black dye out of her hair. She’ll look a lot better with her natural color.”

“No doubt,” agreed Bailey, pausing with a sly grin before continuing. “You’re actually starting to get into this whole ‘baby treatment’ thing, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy since… well, since…” She lowered her voice, but Michelle could still hear the continuation. “… since the affair with that Damon guy.”

It was Mesa’s turn to look embarrassed. That pleased Michelle for some reason. After all the mortification she had endured since coming to this household-from-hell, it was nice for someone else to get a taste of it for a change.

“Shhh,” Mesa said in another hushed tone, “There are small ears in the room.” Small ears. Feh! Did she really think of her as nothing but a simple, idiotic child? That thought was infuriating, though, Michelle was almost inclined to believe it herself. After all, she was just scooting her butt back and forth on the floor, dispersing her feces further onto the diaper area just to squelch an itch. It was becoming increasingly difficult to defend her near-adulthood.

“So,” thought Michelle, “Little Miss Goody-Good stepped out on Mark at some point with another man. Interesting.”

Rather than halt the conversation, Bailey instead lowered her voice even further, making it hard for Michelle to hear what she was saying. Nevertheless, her hearing had always been quite keen.

“Whatever happened to that guy, anyway? He was smokin’ hot.”

Mesa shot a quick peek over at her small charge, who was pretending to be fidgeting with the crotch of her onesie, just like a real baby. This satisfied her, so in her best conspiratorial voice explained, “After I broke it off with him, he started getting weird. I mean, yeah, he was always into that creepy heavy metal crap and always played various instruments and sang, but a reliable source told me he buried himself in his music to the exclusion of everything else. He supposedly got really good. Last I heard, he formed some band called The Unknowable or the Unnamed or something like that.”

Michelle just about died from shock, right there on the spot!

“Do you mean The Unnamable?”, asked Michelle almost involuntarily.

Both women spun their heads to look at the surprised little girl sitting on the floor at their feet. Now, they, too, were stupefied. They had to have been wondering what their eyes were asking: how did little Michelle know that?

“Yeah,” said Michelle with something of a smirk, “I was Damon’s lead guitarist.” It felt so good to have the edge for once.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

Astoundingly well written, I have to read it piece meal or I’m overwhelmingly mad at mark, or sorry for Michelle.

I’m excited you decided to keep writing.
you have me on bated breath.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

I appreciate the kind words immensely. I’m happy that you’re enjoying the story and that you were able to emotionally invest in the characters to the point that you feel strongly about them.

I’ve already begun writing Chapter 14, so you won’t have to wait long to see what happens next. :slight_smile:

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

I am hoping that Michelle has some wins in this.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

She will. No doubt about that. Sometimes a person has to go through sheer hell and hit rock bottom before things start looking up. :slight_smile:

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

One thing I hope for is that Mark gets reformed. Yes, he is right that men naturally assumed dominance but that doesn’t make it ethically right. He does seem to be smart so maybe some softening of the ego and a reconciliation. Otherwise he’s out plot device making this an ab/dl story, so from that perspective, I love him. I justdonc’t want him utterly destroyed. But hey, not my story. I’ll probably love whatever you do anyway.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

I really enjoy it when readers express their desires for a story. It shows that they care about the outcome, which warms my twisted little heart.

As for Mark, I know exactly what the end game looks like and I think the readers will like what I have in store. :slight_smile:

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

There is a way for men to assume a dominant role without beating a woman, especially considering the Ray Rice thing. Men don’t have to intimidate or use violence. Marks spanking his own wife and then spanking Michelle as well is a bit over the top for a hero. He is definitely the bad guy in this story. But that is a flaw in Mark in the story and I’ll try not to go too long about life in general. In a normal relationship, the dominance doesn’t need to be turned to 11 all the time. There is a concept called picking your battles.

However, that wouldn’t make for a good story. What you got here is a god story, Cynthia.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

I don’t disagree with anything you said. Good points all the way around.

This story isn’t about heroes and villains per se. Mark’s definitely the antogonist. :slight_smile:

I’m glad you like the story so far. :slight_smile:

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 13 on 9-13)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

All Mesa could come up with was, “What??”

Michelle’s next words were rather smug, with each word acting as its own sentence. “I. Said. I. Was. Damon’s. Guitarist.” Her mojo was coming back… in spades!

This smugness did not go unnoticed. Not one little bit. Maybe it was the fact that Michelle had been eavesdropping. Maybe it was because she never stopped pining after Damon and this opened up a wound. Or maybe it was the self-satisfied delivery of the sentence. Hell, maybe it was all three factors. Whatever the case was, Mesa lost her composure for the first time. Even Bailey was floored by what happened next.

The volatile woman stormed over to Michelle, grabbed her arm and angrily hoisted her up to her feet. While still maintaining a hold on her wrist, she used her other hand to unleash a salvo of surprisingly hard swats to her diapered derriere. The diapers were far too thick for these blows to cause much physical pain, but the globule of gluey excrement shifting and spreading out even further more than made up for it. And then there was the humiliation aspect. Michelle was being manhandled and thrashed by her skinny, gazelle-like older cousin and that sure wasn’t healthy for her pride. Bye bye, mojo.

Mesa forcefully exclaimed while still smacking her squishy behind, “You will never take that tone of voice with me again, do you hear me??” The fury in her voice was plain for all to hear. Michelle was yelling out various “ouches” and “owws”, more out of discomfort than pain, but failed to answer her.

Mesa reiterated loudly, “DO YOU HEAR ME??”

“Yes!”, yelled out Michelle.

“Yes, WHAT??”, boomed the furious woman.

“Yes! I heard you,” she whined, inadvertently sounding rather childlike.

The thwacking stopped and although her anger seemed to be abated somewhat, she was still miffed and it showed.

After taking a deep breath, she tersely said, “Let’s get your smelly diaper off and put you in the bathtub.”

“Damn, girl,” mused a still-surprised Bailey, “Remind me never to make you angry. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Within a minute, the humbled and frightened girl was ushered into her temporary bedroom and onto the bed. After having the bejeezus scared out of her, she wasn’t about to put up any resistance. She obediently did as directed.

At first, she couldn’t bear to look down at what was happening. She heard the distinct sound of the onesie crotch being unsnapped. Mesa pulled the garment off over her head, leaving her mostly naked, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Lie down.” The ice in Mesa’s voice was disturbing to Michelle, who was trying to think of ways to get back into her good graces, though she didn’t understand why. She complied blindly.

“I’m sowwy, Mesa,” said the cowed girl in hopes of repairing the breach of trust. She was never one to kiss anybody’s butt, so this was an all-new experience for her.

“I should hope so,” Mesa said, some of the ice chipping off of her voice. She was still angry, that much was obvious, but she sounded less angry than she was prior to the voluntary baby-talking.

Mesa reached down and untapped the diaper, releasing the most abominable odor she had ever smelled. Michelle kept her eyes averted. For her part, Mesa crinkled her nose and stated, “Baby Michelle really stinkies, doesn’t she?”

Another opportunity to brown-nose. “Yes, me stinkies a wot.” She couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. For whatever reason, she just had to be out of Mesa’s doghouse, so to speak, even if it meant demeaning herself further.

She felt the frigidly cold baby wipes being repeatedly swiped across her nether regions. She was more than happy to endure the sensation if it meant finally being clean down there. It was a small price to pay in her estimation.

The cleaning process took longer than Michelle expected, but then again, there really was an awful lot of feces down there and it had apparently spread into her vagina as well, judging by how thorough she was hitting that area. The wiping finally ceased. She could hear what was probably Mesa taping her diaper into a tight ball with the filthy baby wipes stored within and disposing of it all.

Michelle was then led, naked as a jaybird, to the bathroom, where Mesa detached the silly bonnet from her head and ran the bathwater. She was, as mentioned previously, fully naked even though she felt far less mortified than when she was in all that baby regalia. This struck her as slightly amusing.

With the huge bathtub now filled with water, Mesa ordered her to get in, which she promptly did. As humiliating as it was to have Mesa give her a bath, she wasn’t about to complain. There’s an old saying about gift horses and mouths. Compared to the other atrocities she had gone through, this was a walk in the park.

Michelle’s hair was shampooed and her body was meticulously scrubbed from head to toe. After getting her out and drying her off, Mesa told her to wait on the bed while she fetched her outfit for the day. Fear welled up in her throat. Something told her that the bath was to be the high point in what was going to be an otherwise miserable day. Her imagination ran wild. Where was she taking her, aside from the beauty salon and some shop? How was she going to cope with going out dressed not just like a girly-girl, but a toddler? What role was Bailey going to play in all this? What would people say when they saw a girl who was visibly not a tyke being treated as one? Would someone call Child Protective Services?

That last thought tingled her spine. At first, the thought filled her with glee, but that feeling was replaced with uncertainty, even fear. What if someone DID call them and she was removed from their care? Would she end up with the devil she DIDN’T know as opposed to the one she DID? What if she ended up with foster parents who neglected her by depriving her of food or other necessities? Or even ones who beat the crap out of her? Then again, could it be any worse than the treatment she has suffered at the hands of Mark and Mesa? After all, she had been forced to wear shameful clothes, mess in diapers, talk like a baby and savagely spanked? Maybe she would get lucky and end up with a family that wanted her there without forcing her to change. At the very least, luck might place her in a home where the family couldn’t care less about what she does. So many thoughts! So many variables! It was all so overwhelming!

Mesa returned and laid out the disconcerting outfit, but Michelle didn’t get a good look at it because she quickly ordered her to lie down on the bed so she could “diaper her up”. She grabbed her ankles and lifted her butt up, affording her the chance to slide the diaper underneath. “Here we go again,” thought Michelle, knowing that this diaper probably wasn’t going to stay fresh and clean for too long due to her bladder giving her early warning signs.

“Can I go to the bathroom before I put this on?” The question came out without her even having thought about it. It was like some kind of reflex. She realized she asked it as soon as the sentence was concluded and covered her mouth instinctively.

“No, you certainly may not.” Uh-oh. There was a little bit of that ice from earlier. Michelle knew she should give up the ghost on this matter so she simply nodded her head compliantly.

On went the diaper, sealed shut with the tapes. To her surprise, she was lifted yet again. Another diaper was snaked beneath her, followed by two more. Four diapers again??

“But, Mesa… I thought wearing bunches of diapers was just for bedtime,” she said, sulking.

“Well, I like the way four of them make you walk, so I’m afraid you’re out of luck there, little missy. It makes you look cute. You do want to look cute for me, don’t you?”

Not knowing really what to say, the girl nodded again. This appeased her cousin.

She laid Michelle down and pulled a pair of white tights decorated with little pink hearts over her feet, then her legs and finally, over her bulky mound of crinkly diapers. Pink ankle socks with frilly edges were added to the ensemble. Next up was a pink training bra, which was truly all the girl needed given her miniscule breasts, followed by several petticoats and a short, pink frock. The hemline barely covered the diapers, which meant that she would have to be extremely careful with how she moved or she would give anyone within line of sight quite a show. The gathered, puffed sleeves added the final humiliating touch, as did the pink Mary Jane shoes that were buckled onto her feet.

Mesa brushed her hair again, but didn’t do anything with it in particular. At first, Michelle thought she was simply being nice, but she remembered that she was to be hauled off to some prissy salon to get her hair done anyway.

Suddenly, the front door became ominous to Michelle. It represented the frightful concept of going out into the world attired like this. She wasn’t ready; she didn’t want it to happen. Her mind scrambled for ways to delay or even thwart the trip altogether, but ultimately the effort proved to be moot. While deep in those thoughts, however, she heard the two women talking pleasantly while doing something. What they were doing was anyone’s guess; she wasn’t paying attention.

Once she came to the final conclusion that nothing she could say or do would prevent the oncoming horror, she found out exactly what they were doing: preparing a diaper bag for her! Sure enough, there stood Mesa with this pink and white diaper bag (complete with a dancing duck on it), ready to go on this outing.

“Come on,” she chirped delightfully, all traces of “Psycho Mesa” gone from her voice.

Michelle’s Mary Jane-clad feet didn’t want to move. It was as if they were affixed to the spot by invisible glue. In truth, the problem wasn’t with her feet, nor any unseen adhesive. The problem was mental. She was positively paralyzed with trepidation. Her brain wasn’t allowing her legs to mobilize.

This time, it was Bailey who spoke, crouching down a bit so that she could get her face close to Michelle’s. God, she loathed the fact that this girl had grown so tall while she herself stayed so childishly short. “Honey, I know you’re frightened to go out there wearing these precious clothes. I get it. I’d be scared too. But the sooner you do it, the sooner you’ll be able to get it over with… and, well, you do look super-duper cute. If you act like a kid maybe no one will really notice that you’re really not one.”

Although Bailey assuredly meant well, her words only served to make her feel even smaller and more helpless than she already did. Was the height of four feet, eleven inches THAT short? Could she truly pass for a child?

“I’m not small enough to look young enough for this dress and stuff,” Michelle said meekly.

Bailey looked her up and down, analyzing her. “Hmmm. Maybe not, but at worst, they’ll think you’re an older child of maybe ten years old who has the mind of a toddler.”

Again, this made her feel even worse and her facial expression put that on display. Bailey noticed and immediately rushed to clarify. “No, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just saying that it might be easiest for you to play that up. With some work, it’ll help you get through this without as much embarrassment.”

Michelle understood where she was coming from, but it still didn’t make her feel much better.

Mesa interjected, “But if you start talking like a big girl, people will know for sure that you’re not actually a toddler or, y’know, an older girl with the mind of a toddler. Then it will get REALLY embarrassing.”

They were tag-teaming her now. Bailey smiled compassionately and said, “And I really don’t want to see you get embarrassed. So, what say you just play along and pretend, huh?”

As much as it pained her to admit it, she knew they were right. She nodded her head and looked down with disgrace. She wondered if she could summon the courage to act that much younger of her own volition. This would likely be the toughest thing she’s ever had to do and the competition for that dubious honor seemed to grow stiffer every few hours. Could it be any worse than what she had already done? Could it possibly get any more humiliating than that which has come before. One thing was for sure: she was about to find out!

Michelle closed her eyes, took a deep breath and walked toward the door, as each woman grabbed one of her hands to hold them. Ready or not, she took her first steps into the outside world as an over-sized baby.

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 14 on 9-15)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sun beamed down into Michelle’s eyes forcing her to use her hand as a visor. Mesa and Bailey had the luxuries of sunglasses, but she wasn’t so lucky. Besides, if she asked, they would have probably given her a pair designed for little kids anyway, so she thought it best to leave it alone and rely on her hand to shield her eyes.

Even though none of the neighbors were anywhere to be seen, she felt as if the whole world could see her. With every step, she could hear three sounds that mingled together to add to her already severe anguish. The first sound was the clacking of the Mary Janes on the wooden porch. The second was the ever-present rustling of the diapers. The third and final sound was that of the petticoats moving about. She couldn’t decide which sound was the worst. Nevertheless, she only had a brief moment to ruminate on it, as Mesa gently but firmly took her by the hand and led her off the porch and down the steps.

Michelle was helped into the back seat (not that she needed it) and buckled in. Within a minute, they were off and running. She slinked down into her seat as much as the seatbelts would allow, hoping beyond hope that as few people as possible would see her. This was totally irrational, however, because no one could see her babyish attire in the car. This thought comforted her slightly.

“Oh, Bailey, I almost forgot…” Mesa announced, “Would you mind getting her pink pacifier out of the diaper bag and putting it in her mouth? If you can reach back there, that is. If not, don’t worry about it.”

So much for comfort.

“Sure thing,” she replied, digging through the bag like a bear foraging for food. “Oh, there it is.” She stretched her arm back toward Michelle, who reluctantly opened her mouth to accept the object of her hatred.

Now, anyone who happened to pass by would be able to see that she was sucking on a binky. Well, she wasn’t about to suck on it per se, but the point remains.

Mesa and Bailey began gabbing about various subjects that didn’t interest Michelle in the least. In fact, she zoned them out, happy that she wasn’t their topic of choice at the moment.

When they hit their first red traffic light, she found herself practically face to face with a backseat crawling with little kids in the car next to them. One of the children, a young girl of around ten with curly brown hair and dimples the size of canyons, pointed at Michelle with a puzzled expression, jabbering something to the rest of her family. In turn, almost in unison, the other family members turned to see what the child was talking about.

The kids all started giggling, the father looked amused and the mother clenched her jaw and shot Mesa some vicious, disapproving looks. “Hey,” thought Michelle half-jokingly, “maybe that lady would take me in.”

The continued laughter from the kids, despite their mother attempting to halt it, made Michelle wonder if the light was ever going to turn green. It felt like they had been stopped for an hour when, in truth, it was only a minute or so. To avoid further degradation, she placed her elbow on the top ridge of the door and her hand over the pacifier. That way it would look as if she was casually chilling out in the back seat. Luckily, the restriction of the seatbelt wasn’t so tight as to make it impossible.

This method of concealing her shameful mouthpiece proved successful, but when they pulled into a parking lot, she knew her reprieve was at an end. The parking space was situated to the side of the building, which was a fairly bare-bones structure. Not at all what she had expected. Mesa opened the back door and retracted the seatbelt.

“Come on, you,” she said just like someone would say it to an actual child. “Out you go.” With that, she helped her out and onto her feet. Again, totally unnecessary. Her shiny pink shoes clopped onto the pavement and all her clothes produced a symphony of humiliating “music”. Michelle tried to eject the pacifier from her mouth, but her cousin lightly slapped her hand away. “No, no. That stays in.”

The movement once again jostled her bladder around, making her ever so aware of the growing pressure down there. She was nevertheless steadfast in her refusal to empty her pee into the diaper until they were back home. The idea of releasing it in public was ghastly to her.

Mesa dickered with Michelle’s dress, straightening it up and making it presentable. Once she was satisfied, she again snatched up her hand and the trio walked around to the front of the building. The structure may have been plain-Jane from the side, but the front was an entirely different matter altogether. It was painted in a soft pink color and was adorned with darker pink trimmings. The two large plate windows had teddy bears of varying colors, clothing and positions on them. The large, gaudy sign above the door read, “Kiddie Kuts”. Michelle had to hand it to Mesa. Nobody – not Mark, not anybody – could find such ingeniously subtle ways to remove her from her former life as a late-teen.

The interior was much the same, though tamer than the outside. The décor screamed “This is where little girls get their hair done.” Judging by the reactions of the two beauticians, they were Mesa’s friends; friends who haven’t seen her in a long time, but friends nonetheless. Mesa introduced the ladies (whose names were Bethany and Angelica) to Bailey and they prattled on about their significant others, families, jobs and all kinds of things that prompted an eyeroll or two from Michelle. Bethany, a soccer mom-looking woman in her mid-thirties, even showed them photos of her twins. Gag! Everything that was being said seemed so phony, like these people really had no life beyond those expected of 1950s-era housewives. The whole scene disgusted her.

Angelica, who was a strikingly beautiful, blond-haired woman in her early twenties, didn’t appear to be into all this chit-chatting. She talked a minute or two – and seemed distant even then – but withdrew to her station to tidy it up from her last appointment while the others carried on with their vapid conversation. Angelica was cut from a different cloth than they were; she could tell that without even trying. And, boy, was she a ravishing sight to behold in her just-above-the-knees denim skirt, low-cut red top, nude pantyhose and comfy-looking sneakers. Her long, curly hair was mostly pulled up on the sides and clipped atop her head.

It must have been obvious that Michelle was ogling her, because Angelica looked over and met her gaze, offering a sympathetic smile in return. “What would she ever want with someone like me,” she pondered mentally, “I’m just an underdeveloped runt in a baby dress and diapers so thick I can barely walk.”

By this time, the gossip-hounds had ceased their babbling and Mesa came over to Michelle. “Girls, this is Michelle, the one I told you about on the phone. Tell the nice ladies that it’s nice to meet them.” She lowered her voice so that only Michelle could her incoming warning: “And you’d better do it right.”

The last thing in the world Michelle wanted to do was to verbally embarrass herself in front of a woman who she was wildly and inexplicably attracted to, but her options were somewhere between “none” and “nil”.

“It’s a pweasuwe to meet you, wadies.” If there was a hole to climb into, she undoubtedly would have done so.

Bethany clasped her hands together and cooed, “Awwwww, I’ve never seen anything so precious in all my life. She has such a dainty little voice and that dress is beyond delightful.”

Michelle couldn’t help but glance over at her new crush and was overjoyed to see that she looked very uncomfortable and possibly even a little aggravated. It was rather hard to say for sure, because it felt as if Angelica was trying to conceal it, probably in order to keep her job. She definitely got the vibe that Bethany was the one who ran this establishment. Again, their eyes met and the gorgeous woman gave her an even more sympathetic smile.

“Isn’t she just DARLING, Angelica?,” asked the overbearing Bethany.

Never taking her eyes off of Michelle, she played along. “Yes, she certainly is.” Surely she didn’t harbor the same feelings for Michelle that Michelle harbored for her. The young girl couldn’t wrap her head around that possibility, especially given that she was only sixteen years of age. But that look was all but unmistakable. Wasn’t it? Maybe it was merely wishful thinking that transformed into a delusion.

“Why don’t you do a little twirl for them, Michelle?”, asked Mesa. It was another order gussied up to sound like a request. It was like rubbing salt into a laceration. She felt herself grow cold from embarrassment. One would think that she would have become numb to it by now, but each new humiliating situation has managed to find its own niche that made it different enough from the others to warrant further embarrassment.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She cringed at the thought of performing such a juvenile act with Angelica present. That’s when a stroke of luck intervened. Angelica stated that she needed to go to the ladies room, excusing herself with a soft smile.

Though she still hated having to do a twirl, putting herself on display for these three women, at least Angelica wouldn’t be there to see it. That was a huge relief. Wanting to get it over with, the girl did a little twirl, much to the delight of everyone in the room.

“Ohhhhh look, you can see her little diapers,” beamed Bethany with a big, dopey smile on her face. Michelle’s blood was boiling at that comment for some reason.

Mesa spoke up. “Well, there’s four of them, so they’re pretty hard to miss. Plus, the dress is very short.”

Once the fervor of the moment dwindled, Angelica came back into the room. Mesa began discussing what she wanted them to do with Michelle’s hair. They bandied about one idea after another, each idea more off-putting than the last.

After it was all settled, Bethany asked Angelica to handle working on the girl’s hair, while she stepped out for a cigarette as well as a chat with Mesa and Bailey. Angelica agreed, as if she really had a choice in the matter.

As per her orders, Angelica had Michelle sit down on the chair and lean her head back over a sink-like fixture so she could wash the dye out. This was perhaps the part that she dreaded most. She loved her hair being black and felt it played a big part in her identity… not that she had an identity any more.

At first there was an awkward silence, until Angelica broke it. “I’m so sorry about what’s happening to you. It makes me sick to my stomach. Do you want me to call Child Services?”

Michelle thought about it, weighing the pros and cons again. She feared change more than just about anything else in the world, but she desperately wanted to be free from this hellish existence.

Finally, she opened her mouth and gave the answer; an answer that would, one way or another, determine the course of the rest of her life. And that answer was…

Re: “The Tomboy” (Updated w/ Chapter 15 on 9-17)

Wow, you’re pumping out chapters like crazy!

Another great chapter. I’m very glad to see the story isn’t so cliche as so have everyone abide all the public humiliation. Though I have a bad feeling what Mikey’s answer will be next chapter.

Thanks for the update!