EVERYONE LOVES RAYMOND
by Douglas Greene
douglas_greene@hotmail.com
Chapter 1
We sat on the floor, next to poor Raymond. He wasn’t too happy; my sister Laura was there, and he’d prefer to be dressed.
“I never dreamed he’d turn out so well, Linda,” she sighed, gently caressing the curve of Raymond’s bottom with the palm of her hand. As her fingers brushed the inside of his chubby thighs, he trembled, his tiny hands clenching into little pink fists as he buried his face in the blanket that I’d spread beneath him
He WAS perfect. Very little remained of the hairy, abusive, bully who ruled my life for over almost two decades.
“I had my doubts too,” I replied. “Who would have guessed?” I reached out and took my turn with Raymond’s pretty tush, pinching each cheek just hard enough to illicit a response. Pushing with his arms, he raised his chest off of the blanket and snarled at me comically, revealing one solitary tooth protruding from his lower jaw. I placed my index finger in his mouth. “Go ahead, bite me if that’s what you want,” I taunt.
For just a moment, his infantile reflexes betrayed him, and he sucked furiously at the proffered digit. Suddenly he regained control and clenched down hard on the tip of my finger. It didn’t hurt, but the pressure did take me by surprise, and I jerked by finger from his mouth.
“You little snot,” I giggled, examining my hand in mock concern.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Laura admonished, joining the game. “And after all the things she’s done for you!” She playfully slapped Raymond’s bottom before rolling him over. Raymond quickly covered himself up with his hands; Laura smirked at his modesty. Leaning directly over the baby, Laura let her long, brown hair fall over his naked frame, and dragged it back and forth several times across his skin.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, watching Raymond flap his arms and kick his feet as my sister teased him.
“Just playing with your husband a little bit,” Laura replied, looking up, grinning devilishly. “So, what does he prefer?”
“Sorry?” I answered, taking one of his impossibly tiny feet in my hand. Raymond was whimpering and squeaking, making the kind of noises that tell me that he’s over stimulated.
“Disposables or cotton. Did he give you an opinion?”
“Well, I never asked,” I admitted. “But I like the way he looks in a real diaper, so I went ahead and called a service.”
I rescued little Raymond by pulling him by his foot and positioning him in front of me. Again, I marveled at his absolute perfection. I brushed the side of his face with the back of my hand, admiring his chubby, rosy cheeks. He swatted at me clumsily. I ignored his protests, and tickled him under arms, raking his ribs with my fingernails. He kicked and squealed angrily.
I withdrew for several seconds, then, on impulse, reached out and gave his tiny penis a gentle tug. I continued to fondle him, amazed that an organ once so huge was now no bigger than the tip of my little finger. During a recent diaper change, my sister described Raymond’s tiny manhood as being ‘squishy’. I had to agree.
“And what are YOU doing?” Laura snickered.
“Just giving my husband a little wifely attention,” I replied softly.
“Can you believe that it’s been a week already?” Laura whispered, as she ran her fingers through the sparse hair on the top of Raymond’s head.
“And he’s adjusted so well. Damn, if something like this happened to me, I’m sure I’d go crazy.” Raymond was quiet, his head turned to the side staring at the wall, a rivulet of drool ran down the side of his face. He was either intent on ignoring my ministrations, or completely immersed in the sensation.
Raymond is forty-two years old, and a victim of the Age Regression Virus. He stopped regressing, or ‘bounced’, as they say, about a week ago. I must confess, I found the entire experience fascinating, and it couldn’t have happened to a better man.
Our marriage was about to come to an end. He’d cheated on me so many times I’d lost count. I tried to ignore his philandering for several reasons.
Primarily, I was afraid of him. Raymond was a big man, and prone to adult temper tantrums that left me bruised and battered on more than one occasion. Also, I had our daughters, Cheryl and Kennita to consider, both blissfully unaware of their father’s shortcomings. However, when he propositioned my younger sister in a drunken haze last New Years Eve, I’d decided I’d had enough. I was about to present him with papers from my lawyer when he was diagnosed with the virus.
Raymond was justifiably terrified. His doctor told him that the tests revealed that he’d bounce at about four months of age. I feigned sympathy and concern, but secretly couldn’t have been more delighted at the prospect of my violent, cheating spouse slowly dwindling into perpetual infancy.
“This can’t be happening,” he blubbered. For a moment I almost felt sorry for him.
“It isn’t the end of the world, Raymond,” I offered lamely. “Lets just take this thing day by day and see how it goes. It might not be as bad as you think.”
I did some research. I’m sure that Raymond did too. At sixteen weeks, it is unlikely that an ARV patient would be capable of speech. Perhaps, with effort, he might be able to form a single, simple word, but complex sentences would be out of the question. Of course, he’d be incontinent and unable to walk. At four months of age, Raymond would become a helpless prisoner of his own immature nervous system, and a slave to a number of involuntary infantile reflexes. I’m ashamed to say that I was relieved; my worse nightmare was that I was about to become a servant for a mouthy toddler.
About a month after he was diagnosed, even before he showed any signs of regressing, he threatened to commit suicide. Upon the recommendation of his doctor, I immediately arranged to have him committed to an institution designed for ARV victims. It was extremely frightening to watch them drag my husband out of the house. I think that if he had been able to break free from those four burly attendants, he would have killed me on the spot.
Thankfully, all of this unpleasantness happened while Cheryl and Kennita were off at college. They came home at my request as I thought that I should tell them of their father’s condition in person. Both took the news extremely well.
“Daddy has ARV?” Cheryl asked incredulously.
I nodded up and down solemnly, waiting for some reaction.
Kennita squinted, deep in thought. “Will we have to leave school?”
“No, we’re going to be just fine,” I assured her.
That was about it.
They’d learned all about ARV in school; they even knew a woman who was infected with the virus. She was a first grade teacher who taught in my daughters’ elementary school. Mrs. Hanes was a jolly, fat woman and very popular. We saw her only once after she bounced. She looked like a typical, pudgy two year old until she opened her mouth to speak. It was fascinating, in a creepy kind of way, to hear adult phrases and concepts emanating from such a tiny person. Still, I was surprised that they didn’t have more questions.
Later that evening, I did hear them talking as they packed to return to school. Kennita, in particular, was giggling hysterically at something. I held my ear to their door and heard the words ‘Pampers’ and ‘spanking’, which initiated another round of loud laughter.
I wasn’t surprised when Raymond refused to see me, but he phoned nearly every day at first, pleading for his release. When he realized that I wasn’t going to help him, the phone calls abruptly stopped. At that point, he started phoning Cheryl and Kennita. His calls were distressing to both of them, and distracted them from their studies, so I arranged for their telephone numbers to be changed and unlisted.
I was more than a little disappointed that I wouldn’t be allowed to witness my husband’s slow transformation. I would have liked to see what he looked like as a little boy. I’d never admit this to anyone, but the thought of putting a miniaturized Raymond over my knee, and slapping his little bottom until it turns beet red makes me randy.
Although his doctor assured me that everything would be OK, I felt terrible about committing Raymond and constantly wondered if I’d made the right decision. It’s true that he was a major bastard, but we’d spent a lot of years together, and at some level I still cared for him. Staff at the hospital reassured me that I’d be contacted if Raymond changed his mind about my visiting him. Now it was simply a matter of letting the virus run its course.
Months quietly went by. It was probably the most peaceful period in my life. My girls came home for the summer, and we grew closer than I ever thought possible. It was almost as if their Dad’s absence help lift a dark cloud that had been hanging over our home for years.
They helped me go through Raymond’s things. It was as if we were sorting through the personal effects of someone who had died. We donated all of Raymond’s clothes to charity, threw away that awful recliner in the family room, and did some minor redecorating throughout the house.
While we worked, we shared memories of Raymond, and happier days in the past. It made me understand that Raymond and I did have some good times. Then I thought about all of the times that he hit me, and I remembered the many nights he’d come home drunk, reeking of smoke and beer, only to force himself upon me.
I suspected that my girls weren’t sharing all of the memories that they had of their father. As we reminisced, I realized that Cheryl and Kennita have their own secrets regarding Raymond. Secrets that I didn’t want to hear.
Setting up his new room was so much fun! It was a joint effort, really. My little sister helped me pick out all of the furniture. She seemed almost as excited as I was about the whole situation. We bought a dresser, a changing table and crib. I decided to decorate the wall across from the crib with photos of our family, a collection of pictures of our daughters taken through the years, centered around a large professional portrait of Raymond and I together, taken on our last anniversary. The picture should hold particular interest to my husband; my make-up barely covers an angry bruise under my eye that he created.
For some reason, I mounted a small mirror next to the changing table so Raymond could see himself. I don’t know why; it just seemed like the thing to do.
At first, I was reluctant to refer to the room as a nursery, but as the space took shape, it seemed silly to call it anything else.
My daughters returned to school at the end of August. The day after they left, I discovered that they’d filled the chest of drawers in the nursery with adorable little outfits for Raymond. On the changing table was a baby carrier that doubled as a car seat, and on the shelf below the table were all of the odds and ends necessary to care for an infant. Bottles and formula, baby powder, a large tub of petroleum jelly, several pacifiers, even a thermometer for taking his temperature.
At long last the doctor called. It was time for Raymond to come home.
Chapter 2
They brought Raymond to me this afternoon; a pretty young woman knocked on my door, and simply handed him over. It was like a pizza or flower delivery. She never even stepped into the house.
“He’s pretty fussy,” she mumbled, turning toward her car.
He was wrapped in a white blanket; a corner covered his face. He was much smaller and lighter that I expected.
“Raymond?” I whispered, kicking the door shut with my foot. Pulling back the blanket, I stared in disbelief.
The same eyes, the same nose, just smaller…much smaller; and the expression on his face, that deeply furrowed brow and angry sneer, was pure Raymond. That was the way he’d look at me just before he’d hit me. I suddenly remembered how it used to be, how I lived in constant fear. Looking down at baby Raymond, I finally realized that those days were over forever.
I walked to the bedroom and gently placed Raymond on the bed, carefully unwrapping him from the blanket. He was so adorable; it literally took my breath away. Someone had dressed in simple yellow pants, a white undershirt, and little white socks. He twisted and squirmed on the bedspread and his eyes darted around our room, but he made absolutely no sound. I’d done a bit of redecorating in this room, and I wondered, with some amusement, if my husband approved of the changes.
I sat on the edge of the bed, entranced by the sight before me. I thought that I was prepared for this day, but I had absolutely no idea what to do next.
“Are you comfortable Ray?” I stammered. “Can I get you anything?”
I didn’t really expect him to answer, but I knew that he could understand what I was saying. Suddenly he looked directly into my eyes and started babbling; he was definitely trying to talk, but like a stroke victim, lacked the coordination to form the words. His inability to speak obviously frustrated him; his tiny arms and legs began to flail, as he jabbered nonsensically. The sound slowly became a high-pitched squeal. Finally he started crying, that rhythmic wail so typical of tiny babies.
Gathering him up in my arms, I hugged him to my chest. “It will be OK Ray, you’ll see.” I held him for nearly an hour, patting his back and bottom, massaging his neck and shoulders. At the same time, I urged him to let it all out. I told him that it was OK to be angry, and that I understood what he was going through. Some of the things that I said to comfort him only seemed to make him scream louder, but slowly, his crying decreased in intensity.
I decided to ignore the noise he was making, and move on. Cradled in my arms, I carried him into the nursery. “See what we’ve done, Raymond? Laura helped me pick out the furniture.” For a few seconds he was quiet, as he turned his head back and forth, taking in his new home. “And the girls picked out all of your new clothes,” I said, opening one of the drawers to display the contents. I used my free hand to pull out one of the outfits, a little one-piece sailor’s uniform, and held it in front of his face. Suddenly baby Raymond was howling even louder than ever.
“I think I’ll put you in something a bit more comfortable, and put you down for a bit.” I put him on the changing table. His face was bright red, and his expression was a combination of rage and trepidation.
I looked down on him as he squirmed on the cool plastic pad. Suddenly I recognized the truth. This was my husband, an abusive monster who terrorized my life for years, and he now belonged to me. I owned him. Fate had transformed him into a perfect little pet, a tiny plaything for my daughters and me. I was the one with the power now. I would make every decision for him. I was his master; I was his God.
I was very anxious for Kennita and Cheryl to see what their father had become. I couldn’t wait to watch while Cheryl gave him a bath in the sink, or the expression on his face when Kennita would decide to change his dirty diaper on a bench in a busy shopping mall. Raymond and I had so much to look forward to.
But for now, it would just be the two of us. Although he was wiggling spastically, I swept his pants and socks off with one fluid motion. He was still crying, but the noise no longer bothered me. I looked into his eyes as I reached for the tabs that held the disposable diaper in place. Raymond met my gaze, his eyes full of desperation. At that moment I realized that he was not the only person in the room who was wet.
Chapter 3
I heard Kennita and Cheryl giggling in the bathroom. When I saw what was happening, I had to run to get my camera. Little Raymond, with that ever-present scowl on his face, was getting his morning bath.
It was Thanksgiving, and my girls were home from school for the holiday. It was so good to have a house full of people again!
It had been two months since baby Raymond was returned to me, and, all things considered, he’d adjusted extremely well. My sister, Laura, was a big help. She was always quick to offer suggestions and advice on how to deal with the problems that came up.
“Daddy, quit kicking. You’re getting everybody soaking wet,” Cheryl chastised playfully.
“Did you see he has a little tooth?” Kennita asked, as she pulled down on Raymond’s lower lip. He grimaced and tried to push her hand away, but she completely ignored his efforts. “Isn’t he too young to be teething?”
“I had a second cousin that was born with teeth. He’s not too little,” I explained. “The difference is, his tooth will never get any bigger, and he’ll never get any more.”
“Poor Daddy,” Cheryl sighed with exaggerated sympathy. “No steak for you!” Cheryl placed a towel on her shoulder, and lifted Ray’s wet body out of the water.
“Be careful, he’s slippery,” I cautioned.
“I’ve got him; quit being such a worry wart!” she assured me. “Listen, you’ve been taking care of him forever. Why not relax a bit and let Kennita and I take over for the few days that we’re here?” Cheryl took Raymond into the nursery with Kennita following right behind. I watched from the doorway as she put Ray on the changing table and together, they gently patted him dry. Through all of this, he never made a sound.
“What do you want to wear today, Daddy?” Kennita asked, as she lifted Raymond by the ankles and slid a diaper under his rump. “It’s Thanksgiving, so you want to look nice.”
Cheryl rummaged through the drawers and produced a blue creeper that still had the store tags. “How about this?” she asked holding it up.
“Perfect,” Kennita agreed, pulling an undershirt over his head. She fastened the crotch snaps and proceeded to thread Raymond’s chubby legs into the outfit. “Mom, what time will Aunt Laura be here?”
“Early afternoon, I suppose. She’s bringing Bill.”
My sister was thirty years old and still single. Until recently, Laura made her living as a model. She was extremely attractive, and had more than her share of opportunities to marry, but chose to remain single. Bill, her new boyfriend, was a doctor.
“Great, I’m anxious to meet him,” Kennita replied, as she finished dressing Ray. “Doesn’t he specialize in ARV?”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Excellent. I’m sure that Daddy and Bill will have a lot to talk about.” Kennita replied, smiling.
She lifted her father up, and passed him to Cheryl who cradled him in her arms. Nuzzling his face with hers, she sighed loudly. “Oh, you smell so nice and clean, Daddy. I could just eat you up.”
CONTINUED TO PART 2