“Well I suppose you want to know what I brought you in to talk about today.”
“I suppose so.”
The room was just slightly too cold. It was always just to cold. Sure it had inviting couches, probably the best that Thomas had ever sat in. I mean with these couches there was never that slight period of adjustment, that shifting in your seat to find the right spot. All of it was the right spot, as inviting as a feather bed.
But it was too cold. Juuuusssst barely, you’d sit and be comfortable, feel comfortable from the top of your head to the tips of toes. And then five minutes later you’d shiver, and feel surprised as you realize that it, regardless of the warm tones, the slight earthy touches, the framed poem on the wall, was cold. And nothing, not anything, would ever change that.
“Well it’s not good news really,” the woman across from Thomas said, “or I guess you won’t think it is, at first. But growth always feels that way at first.”
This struck Thomas oddly, Dr. Goodrich was giving him the, “things are murky in this area and open to discussion and how does that make you feel” voice, but her body language, fuck even her eye contact, was telling a different story. Her manicured brows weren’t furrowed in confusion, which was always his first sign that he was going to half to start over, to explain again, from the beginning, taking his time to make his point, to convey his idea.
Not that Penelope was very slow or anything. She was actually kinda clever for the most part. It’s just that Thomas wasn’t slow at all. Quite the opposite actually. Too much so really, to his constant annoyance. He tried his best to be kind, to be patient. As much confidence as he had in his own abilities, he knew that someone out there was smarter. There had to be. And it would be best to be humble when he met them.
He often fantasized about that day actually, hoped for it. ‘It would be good,’ he thought, ‘to have something beyond my understanding explained to me by someone else, rather than the other way around.’
All of this flashed though his mind in less time than it takes most people to remember the name of their first pet. And he returned his attention to the room, without having missed a single beat.
“I suppose I agree,” Thomas said. Then he gets quiet, and waits.
He lets the silence fill up the too cold, hallmark card of a room. Penelope can say the first word. He’s not afraid of silence. He already spends most of his time by himself, so it does’t bother him.
Usually, this does the trick, but Penelope doesn’t shift in her seat like normal. She looks calm and composed, like a cat playing with a wounded bird, in absolutely no rush to finish its meal.
“Frankly,” her eyes flash when she says this, hot an angry for a second and anyone other than Thomas, he knew, wouldn’t have caught it, "This isn’t working. It hasn’t been working for a long time. You know that, and probably have known that for longer than I have. You might have even been laughing at me, waiting for me to catch up. You spent too much time lying about how difficult work is and you got your stories mixed up. So I called your mother.
“You can’t do that,” he said it deadpan. Utterly cold. Inside he was freaking the fuck out, but this was not the end of the world, he reminds himself, he can always get a new therapist.
"Yes I can. You signed the disclosure sheets 6 months in. I can contact your mother whenever, but because I idiotically trusted you for the last 4 years, I didn’t. But now I know you don’t have a job. At all. Apparently you’ve been doing nothing in your room for the last 8 months since you were fired. Which your mother didn’t mind because you told her I ordered some down time for you so you could “collect yourself”.
“I…” Fuck. Thomas’s voice froze in his throat. He had nothing. He was caught, by his therapist and his mother. ‘It’s not the end of the world. I’ll just have to get a job, as well as a new therapist. It would blow over if he gave it a few weeks.’
"This behavior, this has been the elephant in the room for a long time. When your parents sent you to me, 4 years ago, this is what were supposed to work through. Together Thomas, honey look at me, together. But it seems you have no interest in that.
"I thought we were making progress when you told me you were an infantilist, when you showed that you trusted me. Heck I even took it as a sign of progress when you admitted that you saw me as a mommy figure.
“It was cute,” she stands and continues talking, “watching you turn blush, stuttering like a child when you confessed that you fantasized about me.” She walks over to the closet in the corner of her office and opens the door.
“That you dreamed about mommy changing you into a diaper.” she pulled a diaper from the closet, easily larger enough to fit him, and the blood in his body rushes to his cheeks and his the head of his penis and he gets dizzy and looks at the floor.
“Look at me honey, don’t look a the floor. This is important.” It’s not the words but the tone that makes him pull his gaze from the carpet. Penelope isn’t angry or cold any more, but gently, carefully getting his attention. Almost cooing more than talking.
“Are you with me honey?” Thomas nods his head slowly, not sure if he is going to cry from fear or joy, but that tears are imminent.
“Good. You told me,” she continues as she sets the diaper on her desk and reaches back into the closet, “that you wanted mommy to dress you up so that everyday you felt loved and cute as a button.” She pulls out a onesie, some coveralls and some velcro sneakers, all in exactly his size.
“You said that you wanted mommy to always have your paci and your bottle ready whenever you need them she would have them ready for you,” she says as she pulls the bottle and pacifier from the closet. The bottle is already filled with milk, he can feel his mouth salivating, and half sucking in desire as he spots it.
“And I really don’t know what else to do but give that to you,” she plants her hands on her desk looking past the pile of all of Thomas’s deepest dreams and darkest secrets, " but I not for just one hour a week. You’ll just cum and spend the rest of the week waiting to come back for a therapy session."
Thomas wanted to say anything to convince her, would say anything to convince but he knew it was true. And he couldn’t lie to her. Not now, never again.
"The point of this treatment, is to help you get this out of your system. Not, AB/DL itself, but this childish behavior that is very clearly your cry for help. That is you not saying but screaming out to the world that you can’t be an adult.
So we need to normalize this for you, help release some of the urges and desire in a real and lasting way, or you are never going to move out your mom’s house, and you are never going to finally go back to college." She explains all of this in a patient tone, like a parent explaining how potty training works to a nervous child. I grow embarrassed and once again stare deeply into the carpet.
I can see her shoes as she walks slowly toward me before extending a finger under my chin and raising my head to look her in the eyes.
“So Thomas, are you ready to be a baby again” she slips into baby talk, “To be safe and snug in whatever adorable baby clothes mommy dresses you in.” I nod, not trusting myself to make a sound. My cock, at this moment, is not just hard. It’s made of steel. It’s so hard it hurts.
“To suck on your paci wassy all day long?” I nod.
"To play in your little play pen with your toys and watch little itty bitty baby shows on T.V.? " I nod.
“To have mommy feed you all your num nums in your highchair?” I nod.
“To take naps in your crib whenever mommy thinks you are being a cranky little baby?” I nod.
“To have mommy give you baths to make sure that every inch of her baby is clean?” I nod.
“To nursy from mommies boobies till your little belly gets all filled up?” I nod.
“To make pee pee’s and poopies in your diapies?” I nod.
“And sit in your little gifts to mommy, until mommy checks you, because little babies like you don’t know about big boy stuff like that, do they?”
“And then mommy will lift you up on the changing table to wipe you down, lifting your legs all the way up into the air so you get her little boy all the way clean.”
“You want this?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“This is the last chance to say no little one. Are you sure?”
“Yes, I want to be my mommies little baby boy!” I instinctively slipped into a childish voice.
I hear a quiet sob from the side of the room. When I turn my head I see the last person in the world I want to be in that room, with tears in their eyes.
“I finally get my baby boy back,” my mother said.
I start to sob, and then I hear a hissing noise and my pants start to get warm. And wet. All of that on a perfect couch too.
A shame really.
