Shadows grew in the spaces between the pews as the last multicolored
rays from the stained glass window muted, then dimmed into darkness. In
the rear of the empty church in a part of town that was doomed to slip
quietly into slums, a solitary man meditated. The priest came in,
performed his office quickly and left, sensing that only someone who
wanted to be alone with his God would be in this dilapidated church on a
Wednesday night. The Sun went down unnoticed as the man prayed for
salvation from a fate he neither understood nor deserved.
George was thoroughly disgusted with life, he sat in the church pew
cataloging the evils that had befallen him over the past half-year. Six
months ago he had discovered his wife in bed with his best friend. A
fight had ensued and his wife had left him after emptying their personal
bank accounts. His best friend, who was also his business partner, had
disappeared a few days later. Within a two months he had found himself
the subject of an IRS audit. After an intensive investigation the IRS
concluded that his partner hadn't paid employee social security and
withholding taxes into the firm's accounts and had pocketed the money.
That his partner had absconded with the money hadn't mattered to the IRS
one wit, George was half-owner of the company and therefore responsible
for the money. The IRS demanded payment immediately.
When he couldn't come up with the funds out of his looted accounts, the
IRS seized his business and home and put them up at auction. The
business had sold for less than a tenth of it's fair market value. His
home, which was heavily mortgaged, had created a financial disaster.
While it was true that it had sold for a greater percentage of it's
value, about fifty percent of it's worth, the sale had merely created
more problems. The bank demanded immediate repayment of the loan and had
sued for the balance of the money from the sale. The money from the sale
of his house had vanished like a dimly remembered dream. Even with the
money the bank had gotten from the sale of his house, he still owed the
bank $350,000. He had been forced to declare bankruptcy. The IRS had
informed him that they considered the money that the bank had lost on
his house to be income and they expected payments to be made on the
taxes due. They told him they were willing to be reasonable; they
understood that he had lost his business and was unable to make
immediate payments, quarterly payments would be quite acceptable, thank
you. The agent had hinted darkly that if he did not make payments he
could look forward to being a guest of the Federal Corrections System
for a long time.
George was beside himself. In the six months since he had discovered his
wife cheating on him he had been reduced to living out of an beat-up,
old VW van parked in a vacant lot and working as a cook in a hamburger
joint. There wasn't a prayer that he could pay the IRS the money they
demanded. He would never be able to start another business, he decided.
There simply wasn't enough time. He was forty five years old and had a
well-documented heart condition. No one would hire him for anything but
a minimum wage position. Just keeping himself fed was a struggle. The
only way he could afford to buy his medications was to quit eating. He
had gradually tapered off his heart medication until he had stopped
taking it entirely. As a consequence, he was having angina attacks every
night now and knew he would be dead by the end of the year. When George
lost his job in the hamburger joint he knew he had hit rock bottom. Only
a miracle could save him, he decided, and he went into the run-down
Catholic church near the vacant lot to pray.
"If only I had more time," he thought to himself. "It's not that I
couldn't do it, it's just that I don't have enough time. The bankruptcy
didn't help, I thought it would make things simpler. Instead it made
things more complicated. I've been a good man. God, why did you let this
happen to me? I never cheated on my wife. I never stole from anyone. I
don't deserve this. Now the best thing I can hope for is to die before
they send me to jail. If only I could be young again. I just need a
fresh start. Just a few years of peace to get things together again. I'm
not asking for much. I not asking to be wealthy. I just want to live a
simple life, without having to worry about anything. Please, God," he
pleaded earnestly, "I just want to live the rest of my life with a good
woman. Someone who will take care of me, someone I can love and trust
absolutely."
George heard the sound of a woman crying softly behind him. He turned
and saw a well-dressed woman in her late twenties weeping bitterly into
a handkerchief. He got up and sat quietly beside her. "Is there anything
I can do?," he whispered sympathetically to the young woman.
She shook her head and patted his hand. "No, no one can do anything,"
she said morosely, "I just thought, I had hoped that God would answer my
prayers. But I see now that he can't. They're gone. Gone forever!"
"Who's gone?," he asked innocently.
"My husband and my baby!," she said and broke down into
shoulder-wracking sobs. George put his arm around her shoulder and said,
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee and we'll talk about it."
He helped her up and they walked down the aisle of the deserted church.
When they reached the threshold he had the strange feeling that someone
was watching him and smiling. He turned around to see who it was and saw
only the crucifix above the altar. A warm feeling of well-being passed
over him as he gazed at the crucifix and him knew instinctively he had
done the right thing in helping this young lady. Perhaps God was looking
out for them both. He turned back to the door and helped her out of the
church. When they reached the curb, he pointed out the coffee shop two
blocks up the street. "My name is George, George Sanders. We can go over
to the coffee shop. It's not far, we'll walk. It's only two blocks
away."
The young woman glanced at where he was pointing and turned to look at
him. Her eyes focused and she seemed to see him clearly for the first
time. "I...I don't think I can go in there," she said. "I must look a
mess. Look, my makeup has run," she said presenting her handkerchief for
his inspection. He looked at her handkerchief, then her face and saw
that the tears had made her mascara run in streaks down her face.
She looked at his face intently and said suddenly, "My name is Sandy.
Something tells me I can trust you. My car is parked around the corner,
would you like to come home with me for dinner? It wouldn't be any
trouble. I have plenty and I hate to cook just for me. It would be nice
to have company for dinner again."
George nodded and accompanied her to her car. As they drove down the
street, George saw a city wrecker hauling his VW away. He stared as his
last possessions were stolen by a faceless, uncaring government. His
clothes were in the van in a suitcase and he didn't have the money to
get his van out of impoundment. He was homeless, totally destitute,
without even a change of socks or underwear. He shook his head in utter
disgust. He was at the end of his rope, he couldn't take anymore. He
would have dinner with this nice young lady, then walk downtown and
throw himself under a moving bus. "Or maybe I'll find a bridge to jump
off, I really don't want to cause anyone any trouble. I just want this
life to end," he mused silently.
They reached her house quickly and she sat him in her living room while
she made some coffee. She returned with two cups, handed him one, and
sat down and drank a cup of coffee with him before saying anything. She
had evidently washed her face in the kitchen, she had a freshly scrubbed
appearance that made her look even younger than he had originally
thought. When she had finished, she said, "You're down on your luck,
aren't you? If you'd like to wash up for dinner you can use the bathroom
in the hall. There's even a bathtub if you'd like to take a bath. It
will take me about an hour to get dinner, there's plenty of time."
He looked at her and saw the slight wrinkling of her nose as she
suggested he take a bath. His sponge baths in the gas station weren't as
effective as he'd hoped. "I should take her up on her offer," he
thought, "at least I can die clean."
George smiled, thanked her and said he would very much like to take a
bath. She showed him down the hall and told him to leave his clothes on
the bathroom counter next to the door. She told him to get in the tub,
close the shower curtain and call for her when he was ready for her to
take his clothes. She would wash his clothes while dinner was cooking.
When George sat down to dinner he felt almost human again. He was truly
clean for the first time in a month and his clothes exuded a fresh sweet
smell. She came in with a platter of Chicken Kiev with Green Beans
Almondine and New Potatoes. They ate virtually silently, making only
those comments necessary to civilized dining. When they had finished,
she ushered him into the living room again with cups of coffee. They sat
on the sofa and became aquatinted. "You said you were down on your luck,
what happened?"
He told her his story while she made sympathetic clucking noises in
appropriate spots. He looked at her and said, "I've told you my story,
if you'd like to tell me what happened to you, I'd like to hear your
story. That's is...," he added cautiously, "if you want to talk about
it."
She told him that she had lost her husband and infant son in an auto
accident two months before. " I was at home baking a cake for my son's
first birthday party, my husband went to the store to get some ice cream
to have with the cake. It wasn't anyone's fault, the brakes failed on
our car. The police said it was a million-to-one chance. My husband
drove through a red light and was hit by a semi-trailer. They were
killed instantly."
She bowed her head and began weeping silently. George got up and patted
her on the shoulder helplessly. He felt overwhelmed by the enormity of
her loss. She composed herself after a few minutes and said, "I miss
them so much. I'm sorry I burdened you with it."
George shook his head and said, "Please don't apologize. You have every
right to cry. I wish there was something I could do for you."
She looked into his eyes and said, "I don't know why, but I know I can
trust you. Would you like to stay here until you get on your feet? I
have plenty of room. You can sleep on the couch, it unfolds into a bed.
I've always hated to be in a house alone. Even when it was just my baby
and me in the house when my husband, Fred, was on a business trip, I
felt better to have someone, even a baby, with me. Would you stay?
Please?"
George agreed reluctantly, he didn't want to be an imposition on anyone
and told her so. They talked until after midnight when Sandy announced
it was time for her to go to bed. She went to the linen closet and
returned with sheets and a pillow. She helped him unfold and make the
bed, then excused herself for the night. George undressed and hung his
clothes carefully over the back of a chair he had placed near the
daybed. He got into the bed gratefully, feeling emotionally wrung out.
Perhaps his prayers had been answered, he would never have asked to stay
the night, let alone stay until he got a job. This was certainly more
comfortable than sleeping under a bridge. He turned out the lamp beside
the sofa and fell asleep immediately.
Sandy woke to the sound of someone groaning loudly in her living room.
She was about to call the police when she remembered she had invited
George to stay. "His heart!," she thought with alarm. "He told me he had
a heart condition, he might be having a heart attack!"
She threw on a robe quickly and dashed out to the living room.
"George?," she called into the darkness, "George, Are you okay?"
George groaned again. She turned on the light and saw him flailing the
bed under the sheets. He was completely covered by the bedclothes. She
went to the side of the daybed and pulled the sheet off of his head.
What she saw beneath the sheet stunned her into motionless silence.
It was George she was sure, but not the George she had had dinner with
hours before. He lay in the bed thrashing about, his eyes open and
unseeing, moaning in evident pain. What surprised her was his face; it
wasn't the face of a forty-five year old man, but the face of a
teenager. He couldn't be more than sixteen, she thought. She watched in
fascinated horror as his face seemed to blur and melt into a still
younger version of himself.
She gathered her courage and pulled the sheet off of his body. His
underwear hung loosely about his hips. He was draped rather than dressed
in his underwear, they were twice as big on him as they should have been
to fit him. He had the body of a pre-pubescent child. She was sure that
if she looked beneath his briefs she wouldn't find any pubic hair.
"Twelve? Ten? How old is he now?," she thought to herself.
Sandy drew the chair close to the bed and sat down. She knew all anyone
could do for him was to watch him and keep him from strangling on the
bedclothes.
Ten minutes passed. His moans grew quieter and his thrashing gradually
ceased. She reached over the bed and pulled the tent-like underwear down
the legs of the five year old laying in front of her. Sandy sat and
smiled as his body miraculously transformed itself into the body of a
one-year old baby. She sat unmoving and waited for an hour more to see
if his regression had completed itself.
"What had he said he had prayed for? Oh yes, now I remember. He said he
had asked God to be young again. He wanted to live a simple life,
without having to worry about anything. He wanted to live the rest of
his life with a good woman. Someone who would take care of him, someone
he could love and trust absolutely."
She picked him up and held him next to her breast, then carried him into
the nursery. Sandy laid him down on the changing table and began to
diaper him, thinking, "I never told him what I was praying for in the
church. He doesn't know I asked God to give me a baby to take care of."
She chuckled quietly to herself at the irony of their situation. "I
guess God heard both our prayers."
She finished diapering him and sat down in the rocking chair with him in
her lap. After a while he opened his eyes and yawned, then stared up at
her in confusion. George looked around in panic and tried to ask her
what had happened to him, but all that came out was a baby's babble. He
screwed up his face in frustration and began to cry. Sandy cuddled him
close to her and said, "Don't cry baby. Mommy's right here. Don't worry
baby, Mommy will take care of everything." 09
George wept bitterly at his predicament. Sandy carried him into the
kitchen and put him in a high chair standing in the corner while she
warmed a bottle of canned formula for him. When it was ready she carried
him back into the nursery and sat back down in the rocking chair. He
struggled fiercely as she pushed the bottle into his face and slipped
the nipple into his mouth. He fought for a few moments more before his
will broke and ability to resist drained out of him. He lay passively in
her arms with the nipple between his lips. Sandy coaxed him into nursing
the bottle and after a slow start, he was soon sucking on the nipple as
if it was his first meal in months. When he had finished half of the
bottle, Sandy eased the nipple from his lips and burped him.
He looked up into eyes that beamed love down onto him. He smiled
tentatively up at her and was rewarded with a maternal smile that
promised that he would never have to worry about anything again. He
glanced down at his diaper self-consciously, he was embarrassed by the
implications of being dressed in a diaper. Surely she didn't expect him
to use the diaper like a baby! "This must be a dream! I haven't worn a
diaper since I was a baby. But I'm not a baby, I'm a forty-five year old
man! It must mean that she makes me feel secure. I guess my subconscious
is telling me that I can trust Sandy, that she's a good woman," he
decided.
George yawned sleepily, the formula had had a soporific effect and his
eyes drooped, threatening to close on their own. She started to put him
in the crib for the night when she noticed he had wet his diaper. "Did
Mommy's little baby pee his dydee?," she said putting her fingers down
into the front of his diaper.
She put him on the changing table, quickly removed his diaper, then
topped and tailed him. He grunted in surprise as she lifted his legs
with one hand while slipping a diaper underneath his bottom. Sandy
powdered him, then pulled the diaper up between his legs, streaching and
smoothing it over his tummy. She fastened the tapes, then picked him up
and put him in the crib, placing a teddy bear in his arms to keep him
company. Sandy turned out the light and said, "Sweet dreams baby. Mommy
will see you in the morning."
George woke in the morning feeling cold and clammy between his legs. I
must have perspired heavily during the night, he thought, reaching down
to scratch himself. His hand caused a soft crackling noise when he
groped himself. He was surprised to find that he was covered in a thick,
plastic-covered garment instead of his underwear. The smell of baby
powder was absolutley overpowering. He opened his eyes and saw he was in
a baby crib. The very same crib he had been dreaming about! He sat up
and looked around. He was in a nursery! He pulled himself to a standing
position with the crib rails and stood looking over the top of the crib
side.
"I'm barely tall enough to see over the side of the crib! What's
happened to me?" He looked down at the garment fastened to his waist and
thought in shock, "I'm wearing diapers! Did Sandy do this to me?" He
felt a fullness in his bowels which instantly vanished and was replaced
by a warm feeling of release. He stood motionless in confusion for a
moment before understanding of what he had done struck him. "I've just
shit in a diaper! I've lost control of my bowels!"
Suddenly he felt small, vulnerable and helpless. "I'm trapped in a
baby's body in a nursery!"
The sense of helplessness overwhelmed him and he began to cry in anger
and frustration. The door opened and there stood Sandy with a baby
bottle full of tepid water in hand. She had heard his cries and was
coming to take care of him. He screamed in outrage at the pain of his
humiliation. Sandy picked him up and put him on the changing table and
unfastened his diaper. He whimpered and turned his head to the side,
unable to meet her eyes. She cleaned him efficiently and put a clean
diaper under his bottom. "Is that better, baby? Mommy is proud of her
baby! He made a big poopy in his dydee!"
George glared at her in infantile rage, "How dare she speak to me like
that! I'm old enough to be her father!"
She tickled him on his tummy and made him smile in spite of himself.
"How is Mommy's baby this morning? Is baby thirsty? Does he want his
ba-ba?"
She put the nipple of his bottle in his mouth and finished diapering
him. She picked him up and sat down in the rocking chair with him, then
propped him against her arm and held the bottle for him to drink. "This
is humilating. She's forcing me to drink from a baby bottle!"
He would have liked to have thrown the bottle in her face but he was
scared of what she might do. He put the nipple between his lips and
sucked tentatively at the bottle. The warm water entered his mouth and
trickled down his throat. He realized that he was very thirsty and
continued to suckle the nipple.
"Does baby remember what happened to him?"
He shook his head "no" while sucking on the nipple.
"Oh ho, so baby can understand what I'm saying. Do you remember that you
told me that you prayed to be made younger?"
He nodded "yes".
"I never got a chance to tell you what I prayed for. I asked God to send
me a baby. He's answered both our prayers. You've turned into a baby! My
baby! You have to be fed and have your diaper changed like any other
baby! Do you understand?"
He nodded "yes" again.
"I'm going to be your Mommy. I'll change your dirty diapers and take
care of you just like you were my very own. You won't have to do
anything but act like a baby. It won't be hard! You'll see. In a couple
of weeks you won't even remember your wife or your best friend. The IRS
will never find you. You won't have to go to prison. If anyone comes
looking for you, all they'll find is a diapered one-year old crawling on
the floor. You'll have the perfect disguise. You'll be able to shout and
scream at them all you want, they'll never catch on. You don't have to
die, you're a healthy baby boy. I had a dream last night after you
changed. An angel came to me and said you would never grow up! God has
turned you into a baby for me to take care of ! You'd always be my baby
boy. Isn't that wonderful? You'll be Mommy's sweet baby forever and
ever!"
"Have I truly turned into a baby? Is she going to be my Mommy?," he
thought in amazement.
She took the bottle away from him and sat it on the floor next to the
chair, then sat him upright and burped him. George blushed at the sound
of his burp and tried to hide his head in the hollow of her shoulder.
Sandy cooed softly at his display of childish dependence and patted his
back to comfort him. She got up and put him into his crib and tucked him
in, saying "Now go back to sleep Georgie. It's too early for you to be
up. I'll come back a wake you in an hour or so, then I'll feed you a
nice breakfast of strained oatmeal and eggs. Good night, Honey."
She bent over and kissed him on the forehead, then put a pacifier in his
mouth before leaving the room. Georgie whimpered fretfully over what God
had done to him, then began thoughtlessly sucking on the pacifier. The
pacifier fell from his open mouth as he drifted off into a peaceful
sleep and began to snore softly.
Georgie woke to find himself being carried on Sandy's hip out of the
nursery. He peered into the open doorways from a new vantage point; this
was his home now and he wanted to see what was in every room they
passed.
Sandy carried him into the kitchen and strapped him into the high chair,
then fitted the feeding tray over the arms of the chair. She stepped
behind the chair for a moment and dropped a plastic bib over his head
onto his chest. Sandy fastened it behind his neck and left him sitting
in the chair while she went to the pantry. She returned with a feeding
dish full of strained baby food and a white, rubber-covered spoon. Sandy
pulled a dining chair up in front of the high chair and sat down facing
Georgie. "N ow Georgie," she said with a condescending tone in her
voice, "Mommy expects you to eat every bit of this yummy breakfast. If
you don't, Mommy will spank! Now open wide for the oatmeal choo-choo!"
Georgie screwed up his face with an expression of poorly concealed
disgust and he opened his mouth expecting the worst. He concentrated on
the ceiling, hoping the oatmeal would be as tasteless as it looked.
Sandy laded in the baby food and quickly followed it with another
spoonful. Within seconds Georgie's mouth was full to overflowing with
strained oatmeal. He closed his mouth and swallowed convulsively. Food
dripped from his lips and dribbled down his chin. He opened his eyes
wide at the taste; he liked it! The oatmeal had been mixed with
something fruity that had a pleasant sweet-tangy taste he couldn't
identify. "This is good!," he thought to himself in surprise.
He opened his mouth eagerly for another spoonful and was surprised again
when she spooned strained eggs into his mouth. "Eggs," He thought,
"they're not as good as the oatmeal, but they're not bad. I wonder why
people say that baby food tastes bad? I like this!"
He raised his arms exuberantly and managed to knock a large spoonful of
baby food onto his lap. The wet splat sound it made as it hit the
plastic of his disposable diaper seemed incredibly comical to him and he
began to chuckle uncontrollably. Sandy smiled with maternal tolerance
and continued to spoon the food into his laughing mouth until the dish
was empty. She got up from her chair and left him sitting in his high
chair, still grinning and chuckling over his funny breakfast.
Sandy returned with a Polaroid camera and began snapping shots of him
sitting in the chair, his face covered in baby food, grinning like a
twelve month old baby. "These will be the first pictures in your baby
book, Georgie," she said handing him a warm bottle of infant formula.
He attacked it with relish; the sweet taste of the formula was ambrosial
on his tongue. Georgie kicked his legs in delight at the taste of the
formula. Deep down the last vestige of his adult mindset screamed at him
to stop, but he was having much too good a time. He gurgled and bubbled
happily as he guzzled down the infantile brew. Sandy snapped a few more
photos, then put down the camera. She walked over to him, patted the top
of his head affectionately and said, "That's Mommy's goood boy! Mommy
will get a washcloth and get you cleaned up. Mommy's very pleased with
her baby boy!"
She returned and took the bottle from his hands and put it in the
refrigerator, then scrubbed his face and hands with a damp washcloth.
Sandy took the tray off of the chair and unstrapped him, then carried
him into the living room and sat him down on the floor.
Georgie looked around him in shock. "What's happening to me? I'm acting
like a baby! Just because I'm in a baby's body is no excuse for behaving
like that. Am I regressing mentally too?"
He looked up at Sandy sitting on the sofa watching tv. "She's doing this
to me, he thought. She wants me to be her baby! She wants me to think
like a baby as well as look like one. I'll show her! She can't make me
act like a baby, I still have an adult mind!"
He looked down at the rug and was surprised to see that his right hand
was next to his mouth with the fingers curling around the end of his
nose. He suddenly realized he was sucking his thumb. He pulled his thumb
out of his mouth guiltily and look up to see if she had seen him. "Ohh
noooo," he thought when he saw the broad grin spreading across her face.
His face clouded in disappointment and he began to cry in frustration.
Sandy reached down with both hands and picked him up, then cuddled him
next to her breast. He struggled for a few moments before relaxing in
her comforting caress. He distantly heard her make soft noises to him
without understanding what she was saying. She stroked the hair on his
head and muttered "It's okay, baby. Don't worry. Everything will be
allright."
He quieted and she returned him to the rug, then she sat down on the
floor beside him to help him play. Sandy reached into the playpen, took
out a hammer and peg set and placed it before him. She demonstrated
putting the peg in the hole of the playtable and drove it home with the
plastic hammer. Georgie took the hammer from her sulkily and banged the
hammer against the playtable in a bored way. A peg laying underneath the
table shot out and hit Sandy on the knee startling her.
Georgie laughed delightedly and banged again. Soon he was laughing and
playing with the pegs as if they were his favorite toy. He crawled
around the floor chasing errant pegs and giggled when they skittered
away from his clumsy hands. Sandy laughed too, to see what a happy baby
he had become.
She ticked his bottom and tugged on his feet until his face was red with
laughter. When his diaper became soaked and he piddled all over the rug,
she laughed again and changed his diaper right there in the middle of
the floor. She held him in her lap and said, "Can Georgie talk for
Mommy? Come on baby, try and say something for Mommy."
Georgie looked up adoringly into her eyes and said,
"mmm.....ma....Ma-Ma!"
Sandy bowed her head and kissed her baby sweetly on the top of his head.
Georgie lay in her arms contentedly; he was home. His thought processes
had regressed into infancy. He would never have to worry about anything
again. She would take care of him. He trusted her more than he had ever
trusted anyone in his life. He nestled his head against her breast and
fell soundlessly asleep. He would never speak again, it wasn't
necessary. His prayers had all been answered.
Finis coronat infans