douglas_greene@hotmail.com
“You son of a *****, take that thing out of me right NOW!” I screamed as loud as I could. As I squirmed on Jake’s lap, I glanced up to see my daughter, Cheryl, looking down at me with a smile on her face.
“Daddy, he has to get your temperature, and this is the best way,” she explained. Turning her attention to my tormentor, she said, “He sure looks mad. I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Oh, he’ll get over it,” he responded, placing his hand on my back to keep me from rolling off of his knees.
“Jake, I’m going to kill you,” I threatened lamely, as I kicked my little legs in a futile attempt to get away.
“Is that so? Before or after your afternoon nap?” Jake shot back, as he pulled out the thermometer. “Just as I thought, he has a fever. Cheryl, call his doctor and get an appointment.”
I never thought that I’d end up like this. Nearly a year ago, I was diagnosed with Age Regression Virus. In a little less than nine months, I plummeted into infancy. I’m now a helpless baby boy.
The virus has completely robbed me of my dignity. Although I retained my ability to speak, no one listens to me or values my opinion. I’m lugged around like a piece of luggage, and treated with no more respect than the family dog.
Cheryl and her boyfriend Jake were assigned to watch me while my wife enjoyed a long weekend in Las Vegas. This wasn’t the first time that I’d been placed in their care, so I knew what I was in for. Jake seemed to derive some sort of perverted pleasure out of humiliating me. Delores, my wife, told me that it was all in my imagination and that I’d have to get used to other people taking care of my needs. That’s easy for her to say; she’s not the one stretched over Jake’s lap with a thermometer up her ass.
“The doctor said to give him a cool bath, and take his temperature again in a couple of hours,” Cheryl said, hanging up the phone.
“I’m not sick, and I don’t need a bath,” I protested.
“Don’t be difficult, Daddy. You know it’s for your own good.”
Moments later I found myself in a small plastic bathtub on the kitchen counter. My daughter gently sponged cool water over my body as I lay motionless, enduring yet another indignity.
“That feels better, doesn’t it?” she whispers. “This is still really weird, isn’t it?” she continued, “I mean, you used to do this for me, give me baths and stuff…and now I’m doing it for you!”
“Yes, this is weird,” I agreed impatiently. “Can I get some clothes on now?”
“In a little bit. Don’t be in such a hurry.”
As she gently drizzled water over my skin, occasionally caressing my sensitive skin with the sponge, I could feel my miniature manhood stiffen under her ministrations. I covered myself with my little hands. She immediately saw what I was doing.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed Daddy,” she chided, brushing away my hands. “That happens to all little boys. I think it’s cute!” She lightly flicked the end of my minute penis with her fingertip. “Jake, come out and look at this! I think Daddy is enjoying his bath a little too much!
Jake was in the adjacent living room, sitting in my recliner, watching my TV, reading my Sunday paper. He suddenly reappeared, staring down at me with that big goofy grin on his face, his eyes focused on my tiny erection.
“Touch it,” Cheryl giggled, pointing. “It feels weird.”
“Keep your god damn hands off of me,” I squealed, as his massive hand descended, delicately pinching my organ between his thumb and index finger.
Suddenly the phone rang, and Jake lets go of me as he watches Cheryl answer the phone.
“Oh, hi Mom!” she said cheerfully. “He’s OK. He’s still running a little temperature, but we’re in touch with the doctor and everything is just fine.” She paused for a moment, listening. “Jake and Daddy? They’re getting along just fine. Stop worrying, everything is taken care of. Go and have some fun; we’ll call you if we have any problems.”
She hung up the phone, placed a towel over her shoulder, and lifted me out of the tub. In minutes, I was diapered, dressed in a one-piece terry cloth sleeper, and placed in my crib. As I lay there, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling at ten o’clock on a warn summer Sunday morning, I could hear my daughter and her boyfriend making love in the next room. They obviously didn’t care that I could hear what was happening.
I closed my eyes and prayed silently, hoping that God would deliver me from this horrific existence and take me home. When I opened my eyes, the site of Jake standing over me, naked, his gigantic pendulous organ swinging next to my face just beyond the wooden bars of my tiny prison, confirmed that my prayers went once again unanswered.
TO BE CONTINUED?