The Chain of Life

By Jennifer Loraine


Wes walked into the "Dixie Chicken" on Friday night looking for few Shiner Bocks and a good time. The "Dixie Chicken" was pretty much what one might expect from a Aggie-kicker bar just outside of College Station, Texas. The floor was wooden and covered with a thin layer of sawdust to soak up the spilled beer while the walls were decorated with garishly-colored, neon Beer advertisements beside old mementos of A&M. A highly-polished old fashioned mahogany bar ran down the left side of the room which was adorned by brass boot railings with matching spittoons for the patrons who chewed.

As he walked up to the bar to order a Shiner Bock, the heels of Wes’s Nubuck-colored Durashock lace up ropers ground softly against the clean sawdust, releasing a bright piney woods aroma that countered the melange of tanned leather, stale beer, old tobacco smoke and masticated chaw mixed with the "sunshine" fragrance of clean denim jeans dried on a clothesline under the Texas Sun with a gentle breeze.

Wes ordered his beer, paid as it arrived and turned around to look at the patrons as he leaned his slim torso against the smoothly curved edge of the bar and brought the chilled, heavy glass mug to his lips to sip the dark bock that was made in Shiner, Texas. Since it was early in the evening, the "pickin’s" among the gals were a mite on the slim side, but he had no doubt he’d find a pretty girl to dance with before the end of the night. Wes was a good-looking Texan, born in Houston and was a Junior in Agricultural Engineering at Texas A&M. He stood six-foot, one-inch tall and had blonde hair and blue eyes who’s outer irises were baby blue and became deeper shades of blue as they progressed down to the pupil. The overall effect of his eyes was stunning; the blackness of his pupil seemed to be an extension of the intensifying blue as one peered into his eyes. To stare into his eyes invited the observer to fall blissfully into an unending midnight blue tunnel of peaceful meditation and silence.

Unfortunately for Wes, not a single girl he had dated in High School or at the University was perspicacious enough to gaze lovingly into his eyes. They were too interested in being seen and admired to pay proper attention to their date. Wes was frustrated by the flighty immaturity of the girls he had dated. At twenty-two, he was still a virgin. Wes sighed and finished off his beer, then ordered another. When he turned back again, he caught a glimpse of a woman down the bar who was smiling at him. He slowly cranked his head back like a tank turret and pointed his nose gun towards his target for analysis and ranging.

"Hot Damn!", he thought to himself, "She’s a looker!"

The unnamed woman looked like she was somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-five, Wes couldn’t be sure. She was wearing tight Rocky Mountain jeans and a black silk shirt that had been heavily embroidered with large red roses over her bosom. Wes guess-timated that her proportions were 40-24-36 and that her height was about five-foot, eight-inches. She was wearing enough makeup to look beautiful under the harsh lights of the bar, but she had cleverly refused to accede to the excess makeup demands of fashion to preserve an innocent youthful look. Her long tresses of blonde hair fell freely over her shoulders and down her back beneath the black felt Stetson embellished with a handmade Navaho silver and turquoise band that she wore tilted back on her head. Her feminine cowgirl boots were black ostrich although the beauty of her fashionable boots, like the beauty of her lithe legs, was hidden beneath her tight-fitting jeans. Wes noted that she wore matching turquoise bracelets and rings on the wrists and fingers of both hands, although her wedding ring finger was bereft of a wedding band. She returned his interested gaze with a smile and began advancing towards him.

Wes began to sweat, even though the bar’s air conditioners were going full blast in anticipation of the body heat that the Friday night crowd would release into the room. The temperature at that point in the evening was barely sixty degrees Fahrenheit where Wes stood. Nevertheless, he felt his forehead soak the sweat band of his four hundred dollar straw Stetson hat. Wes was careful in his appearance; his hat was an exact replica of George Straits’s hat, and his waist was adored by a large oblong silver belt buckle circumscribed with a gold trim with the letters ATM surrounding central medallion depicting an A&M "thumbs-up, Gig’em" motif in gold. As belt buckles went, it was rather large and reflected Wes’s intense pride in his University. It was approximately six and one half inches long or about two of Wes’s fists put together end-to-end. His shirt was a plain button-down Western motif, which gave him the air of honesty and integrity (as well as a certain hint of innocence).

As the comely woman approached, Wes attempted to hide his personal apprehensions and fears under the shield of Texas courtesy and generosity. Wes touched his first two right fingers to his hat in deference to the woman who approached him and said evenly, "Even’ Mam! You’re sure lookin’ pretty tonight! May I have the pleasure of buying you a beer? Please don’t think I’m bee’n forward Mam…It’s just that it’s been a long week and look’n at you is like tak’n a long drink from a shaded spring after a long day’s ride in the dust. You sort of cleared my head." Wes lowered his blushing gaze to the floor in virginal embarrassment from the quick glimpse he caught of the woman’s heavily black-laced bra as she moved towards him. He looked up again and said, "If you know what I mean, Mam!.

As she edged closer, she said, "I do indeed, Cowboy!" She pointed her finger down and said, "That’s a big piece of jewelry you’re wearing, Cowboy! I guess I can take it you’re going to A&M?"

Wes relaxed and said proudly, "Why yes, Mam, that I am!"

She smiled broadly and replied while holding her finger where it was before, i.e., pointing to the bulge in his denims created by his erect penis. She said smoothly, "You have a right to be proud of who and what you are!"

Wes glanced down and realized that she was referring to his manliness rather than his school or belt buckle. He blushed furiously as he realized that her compliment was only making him hornier.

The woman gently saddled up to Wes as he turned back to the bar to hide his shame. She said quietly, "I do believe I’ll take you up on your offer of a beer, Sugar! My name is Darla, what’s yours?"

Wes turned from ordering the beer and said, "The name is Wes, Mam. My full name is Wessley, but the name my friends call me is ‘Wes’."

"Just like the middle name of the famous outlaw, John Wesley Hardin, right?", she cooed at him. "Well! My name is Darla, and I think you look simply scrumptious! Would you dance with me?"

Wes was stunned! Everything was backwards with Darla! He should be asking her to dance, nor she to dance with him. He couldn’t refuse her request, but somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing that Darla had aborted the normal ritual process of greeting and dancing. Even worse, was the sure and certain knowledge that she was about to lead him into a garden of earthly delights that he had only dreamt of all of his life. Darla pulled him by his right hand onto the dance floor as the Country Western Band began their set with the "Cotton-Eyed Joe". Wes was both surprised and delighted by Darla’s enthusiastic response to the chorus, "Bull-Shit!"

After the "Cotton-eyed Joe", the band played a slower and more romantic Tennessee Waltz. Darla lovingly sank into Wes’s arms, dropping her head onto his shoulder and let him carry her about the room until the Waltz was over.

When they finished, Darla asked that they sit at a table and Wes was happy to oblige. Another round of beers was ordered and the band played on. Soon Wes was laughing with Darla and it wasn’t long before the beautiful woman was sitting in his lap.

An unspoken agreement was reached between Darla and Wes that evening: They were going home together. They danced together all night, not caring whether the band was playing the Texas Two-Step or a Waltz. As the evening wore on, Darla indicated to Wes that she would like him to accompany her home for the night. Wes readily agreed, easily imagining the carnal delights that awaited him. They went outside and talked for a bit, making arrangements for transportation. From what Darla told Wes, it seemed that Darla’s father was extremely protective (Wes didn’t blame him a bit!) of his daughter and would drive out to her place in the countryside and see if there were any strange pickups parked in front of the triple-wide, prefabricated home where she lived alone in the country. Since her father carried a loaded double-barreled shotgun in his pickup, the two of them agreed that Darla should follow Wes back to his dorm parking lot and drive him out to her place for the weekend. When Wes heard the suggestion that he was to spend the next few days with such a good looking woman, he thanked God for His Blessings. Darla gently suggested that he run upstairs and write a note for his roommate telling him that he was on an extended holiday with a lady he had met and that he might possibly miss his classes on Monday or Tuesday. When Wes returned, he parked his "Harvest Gold", 1999 Ford F-250 XLT SuperDuty , 4x4 , 4-door Turbo Diesel, 6 speed manual with large tires, 4 KC Daylighter lights and painted with a baked-on powder-black midnight finish, and a tubular Brush-Guard protective frame in the dorm parking lot for safekeeping and rode off into the night with his newly-met paramour in her pickup.

As Darla wound her way through the back Farm Roads of Texas during the night, she would glance over at Wes and make cute faces to entertain him while she drove them back to her place in the woods. At first Wes was a bit taken aback by her childish behavior, but entered into the fun willingly and made funny faces at her as they barreled their way with her black Chevy pickup through the gloom of the night.

Sooner than Wes expected, Darla pulled into a dirt side road and drove down a bouncing, rutted, white-graveled track to park in front of her triple-wide prefabricated home. Although the dirt was churned in front of her door by heavy tires after rainstorms, Wes could easily see that only two trucks had parked at Darla’s place in the past three months. From the age of the mud tracks, Wes could see that Darla’s father only paid her infrequent visits. Her father’s truck must have been huge; there were deep, double-wide pits where he had spun his tires against the mud in his efforts to go home to his wife.

Darla escorted Wes into the living room of her home and said, "Neither of us has eaten, let me make a large platter of Huevos Rancheros with refried beans for both of us before we go to bed. I’ll make some nachos with cheese to munch on while you wait. You do like Jalapenos, don’t you? Good! I’m afraid that I don’t have any Shiner Bock beer here, will an ice-cold Pearl do?"

A few minutes later, a starved Wes was eating the finger-foods that Darla had placed before him and was sucking on his bottle of beer. While he was eating, Darla ran a hot bubble bath in the huge garden tub for his pleasure. Once Wes had finished his snack, she led him willingly into the bathroom and seductively disrobed him while kissing his bare chest.

Wes was enthralled! He had never in his adult life had a woman treat him with such assiduous attention to his needs. By the time she had him buck naked, Wes sported the hardest erection he had every had in his entire life. Gently, she pushed him back with her hand on his chest and slowly forced him to sit on the toilet seat, unhindered by clothes or boots. She invited him to relieve himself, stating that she didn’t want him to leave their bed once they had gotten started. Unfortunately, Wes’s erectile condition made it almost impossible for him to tuck his penis between his legs so he could urinate. Chuckling at his helpless condition, Darla offered to leave the room so that his tumescent condition would subside enough for him to be able to use the toilet. After a few minutes, as Darla predicted,, Wes’s erection subsided enough for him to take a leak in the toilet.

Darla gathered up his boots and clothes and took them back to the closet of the spare bedroom and dropped them into black plastic lawn bag while he was sitting on the toilet. When she returned, she was naked. Darla playfully offered to wipe his behind after he got up from the toilet, which was manfully refused by Wes. It only took a little coaxing by Darla to convince Wes to take a bath in the warm, sudsy water before they made love. Darla made a point of saying how her mother had always insisted that if she wanted to sleep with a man, that she should make sure he was "squeaky" clean first. As an additional inducement, Darla offered to wash Wes’s hair and scrub his back. Wes agreed with alacrity, looking forward to the experience of being bathed by a beautiful woman. No one in the dorm would ever believe him when he told his peers of how his date had treated him.

Darla made him close his eyes before she got out the bottle of combined baby shampoo/conditioner and washed his hair three times before she was satisfied that the his hair was as clean as humanly possible. While the suds from the shampoo still blinded him, she took a bath scrubby and lathered it up with Johnson’s baby soap before she went to work on the rest of his body. When she was finished, she took the flexible shower head from the hanging rack and rinsed him off, before putting on a pair of latex rubber gloves. Then Darla applied a special mixture of herbs, Dial Moisturizing Conditioner and baby oil to his skin before rinsing him for the final time. Wes was in Seventh Heaven. His body tingled all over and he felt better than he had in years. The moisturizing treatment had made his skin unbelievably baby soft and sensitive. He felt like he had been given a new body.

Darla helped him out of the garden tub and buffed him dry with huge beach towels, then dried his fine, short blonde hair with another beach towel. She laid a damp towel on the floor after he was dry and made him stand on it before she began to apply a smooth layer of bath powder to his skin. Wes closed his eyes in extreme pleasure as his libido reawoke and his erection was renewed. Strangely, she avoided his pubic area with the powder, concentrating on his shoulders, back, thorax and legs; both inside and outside, but most especially at the fold of skin between his legs and loins. The bath powder was perfumed with a scent Wes had smelled before, but couldn’t place. When she was finished powdering him, she squeezed a small amount of what she called "love cream" into her hand and lovingly massaged it into the sensitive skin of his testes and penis. Wes almost orgasmed on the spot, but Darla wasn’t finished with him. She took a large blue and white labeled plastic tube of something and had him stand stock-still while she gently worked a soothing cream into the crack between his bottom cheeks. By the time she had finished, Wes was trembling with erotic excitement. ken him out of the tub, dried him off and dusted his body with baby powder.

Darla looked at the results of her work and said with a satisfied smile, "You’re such a beautiful boy. You’ll, do, Darling, you’ll do!" Then she kissed him maternally on the cheek.

On the way back to the master bedroom where Darla led him by the hand, Wes suddenly remembered where he had smelled the perfume of the bath powder she had dusted and smoothed into his skin; it was baby powder! She made Wes lie down upon the queen-sized bed, where she proceeded to give him a thorough and most relaxing body massage which culminated in her massage of his pubic area. By that time, Wes was ready for the longest sexual session of his life. Within minutes, she was in his arms and they began making for hours before they drifted off to sleep with his head nestled in the crook of her arm like a contented baby.

The next morning, Wes woke up in a frighteningly different environment. Instead of the master bedroom, he awoke in a tiny bedroom. When he sat up, he realized just how terribly small and cramped the room was. As the fog of the night before lifted from his mind, Wes realized that everything about him was wrong! The bed in which he had slept was a crib, rather that the queen-sized bed that he had fallen asleep in. He looked down at his underwear and saw that they had been replaced with thickly padded, white-plastic covered, disposable overnight diapers. He held out his hands in front of him and saw that his fingers had been replaced with the thick, pudgy fingers of infancy. When he looked down at his toes, he saw that even his feet had regressed beyond early childhood.

In a panic, Wes tried to stand up, but the infantile muscles of his legs wouldn’t support his weight and he fell flat on his heavily padded bottom. Waves of humiliation and failure welled up from his chest, threatening to make him cry, but Wes manfully controlled his emotions and used the railings on the side of the crib to pull himself hand-over-hand, until he was standing at the side of the crib. Holding onto the top railing of the crib side, he examined the room closely. There was barely enough ease in the room for the tiny crib and changing table, much less the folding playpen. From the decorations on the wall, there was no doubt in Wes’s mind that he was in a baby’s nursery.

Suddenly, there was a low bass rumble from Wes’s lower gut that could only mean one thing; every Texan beyond early puberty knows the dangers of mixing Jalapenos and Pearl beer. The effect is cleansing and painful at the same time. When his gut explosively released the pressurized, soupy material laced with capsicum and capsicum-related compounds that had gathered in his rectum during the night, his diaper would be flooded with a burning diarrhea that would give him an almost instant case of diaper rash. Wes turned slowly to maneuver his way back to where he began. The slight twisting of his lower torso reactivated the peristaltic movements that would force an embarrassing and inevitable climax and subsequent resolution to his gastro-intestinal difficulties. Wes tried to call out for help, but all that came out of his mouth were the pre-speech babblings of an infant.

When the inevitable happened as Wes was standing at the crib side, the pain of the highly irritating as well as the forced multiple openings and closings of his baby anus caused by the staccato release of small explosions of intestinal gases, made his anus burn fierily. Worse, his weak bladder sphincter released itself simultaneously along with his bowels so that he wet and messed himself at the same time. The capsicum-laded poop splattered and bounced away from the inner layers of his diaper at high pressure driven by the gases that had formed in the night. Within seconds, Wes felt like the sensitive skin of his baby bottom had been splattered with thick droplets of water-soaked outhouse lime that were eating into his skin. Despite himself, he began to howl speechlessly in pain and diarrhea agony. Darla rushed into the room a few minutes later and was almost blockaded by the pungent, putrefying redolence of Wes’s anal emissions as she entered the room. She opened the small vented window on the far side of the nursery immediately to let some fresh air in while she took the crying baby to the changing station to have his poopy diapers changed.

Wes sniveled a bit as she gently wiped his bottom clean with a non-stinging baby wipe and smeared a thick coating of vanilla-scented, nursery vaseline to protect his bottom from the next bout of diarrhea that he was sure to have later that morning. As embarrassing as having his dirty diaper changed by Darla was, Wes relaxed as she cleansed his bottom and relieved his pain. He made no objection as she smoothed on the soothing vaseline and powered his pubes again with the sweet-scented baby powder that she had used on him the preceding night before diapering him again. The pain of his irritated anus and perineum, as well as the shift in environment had been too much for him to deal with while he was half-awake.

Once Darla had made him comfortable again, he was happy, even though his psyche was in total disarray about his seeming change in life. Darla was wearing a pink, velveteen robe that gave her a distinct motherly appearance. After she finished changing Wes’s diaper, she picked him up with one hand under his diaper and the other underneath his back and held her close to her breasts as she carried him over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Darla adjusted Wes so that he lay in the crook of her arm, and then proceeded to open the front of her soft, velveteen robe.

Wes stared in fascination as she pulled open the tab of the velcro-fastened cup that concealed her right breast. Even when they had made love together, she had not allowed him access to her teats explaining that her time of the month, although passed, had made her nipples excessively sensitive and painful. Despite her protestations of the night before, she lifted her left breast free and settled the huge nipple of her breast against his cheek.

Wes turned up his baby head with its innocent blue eyes and gazed into hers for permission to take her breast. The warm maternal smile he received in return was permission enough for Wes and he turned his head towards her to take her tit within his mouth. Wes was astonished to see how large her nipple seemed; her areolulae spanned the distance from the bottom of his chin to halfway up his nose. He locked his lips around the protruding, fleshy nipple and began to suck unconsciously. When the first jet of body temperature milk from Darla’s teat struck the back of his tongue, Wes instinctively attempted to withdraw in surprise and fear. His adult libido only wanted to suck on her breasts. The fact that Darla was a nursing mother had caught Wes completely by surprise.

Darla had anticipated his shocked response and had cupped one of her hands behind his cranium to support his head and force him to remain in position. She noisily patted the plastic-covered bottom of his disposable diaper maternally and said, "There, there, Wessie, it’s alright. Mommy will take good care of you! Mommy knows you’ve got an upset stomach from eating adult food. A few days of mother’s milk will make everything alright, Sweetheart!"

Wes returned to his suckling, reassured by Darla’s promises. She was right, as the warm, rich milk from her breast infiltrated from his stomach to his small intestine, the painful, knotted, gaseous feelings in his gut caused by the Jalapenos and cheap beer settled down into a muted roar. He knew, however, that there would be a second episode or third episode of diarrhea at the very least, so he was not looking forward to the events of the morning. His only hope was that the soothing fats and rich proteins of the mother’s milk that she fed him would mitigate the discomfort of the painful eliminations that were sure to come.

Darla took a cloth diaper from the changing station and placed it over her left shoulder before she raised little Wessie up to her chest to wind him. Wes was embarrassed when she produced not only two large belches, but an unexpected and highly aromatic fart as she patted his back gently.

An hour later, he was soaked and messy again. This time, however, the thick layer of vaseline Darla had smoothed over his sensitive bottom had made his newest poopy less painful. The mother’s milk she had given him had eased the uncomfortable feeling in his gut. After his second diaper change of the day, Darla took him out to the kitchen to be strapped into a high chair for his breakfast. He received several tablespoonfuls of puréed oatmeal with applesauce, strained egg yolks with a dessert of strained prunes for breakfast followed by a feeding at Darla’s breasts.

Within thirty minutes, Wes had wet and messed himself again, requiring Darla to clean him up and rediaper him as if he was an infant. Wes was placed in the folding portable playpen which Darla had retreived from the nursery and set up in the living room so he could watch cartoons or play with his baby toys. When Wes was thirsty or hungry, Darla would take him out of the playpen and breastfeed him while the TV was tuned to the Disney, Cartoon, or Nickelodeon channel. When lunch came, Darla sat him in a high chair and strapped his little tummy in place to keep his diapered bottom seated in the high chair before swung up the tray hanging down over the side of the high chair and rotated it over his lap before locking it in place. Then she snapped a plastic feeding bib around his neck to catch the food that dropped from his mouth. The carpet itself had been protected before Wes’s lunch by laying down a large plastic feeding mat underneath the high chair which caught all the food that the slack-jawed and ill-controlled mouth of a one-year-old dribbled to the floor. In an attempt to sooth his stomach, Darla gave him puréed pees and spinach, as well as a jar of puréed carrots, with a dessert of tapioca pudding to help with his intestinal difficulties. Of course, instead of giving him a baby bottle of formula, she breast-fed him after he had eaten.

After being breastfed by Darla, Wes would fall into a strange reverie of complete acceptance of his new world, then he would wet and mess himself to begin the process anew. By dinnertime, he was looking forward to being fed baby food. To stop his diarrhea, Darla fed him first foods like puréed macaroni and cheese, applesauce with oatmeal and puréed rice cereal. She followed his dinner with plum pudding with a small baby bottle filled with rice water. Although Wes was a bit perturbed with his lack of power over his bowels and bladder, Darla’s personal ministrations and the strikingly clear taste of the baby food to his rejuvenated palate had made him docile and accepting of his "adopted mother’s" efforts to please him.

By the end of Saturday evening, Wes was perfectly happy to be Darla’s diapered baby boy. He enjoyed her soothing maternal caresses as she bathed him and tucked him in for his morning and afternoon naps. Subconsciously, Wes connected his suckling and thumbsucking behaviors. After breastfeeding at Darla’s breast, Wes would exuberantly pee his dydees in the pure joy of the physical pleasure of evacuating himself while being cuddled at her breasts. Wes particularly enjoyed being picked up, hugged and cuddled in Darla’s lap while she watched adult fare on television. She would occasionally stroke his semi-bald head and pat his diaper affectionately while she watched a classic movie that brought back old memories. His days were grossly abbreviated by fourteen hours that he slept each day, making the remaining hours of being fed, changed, bathed and played with seem like they had been wonderfully lengthened into endless moments of pleasure for his infantine attention span.

While he was in he lap, he lay on a rubber lappad that had been permanently bonded with outside layers of flannelette. He frequently peeded himself while he was curled up in her lap. He liked the warm, wet feeling as his body temperature urine was loosed in his diapers to run in rivulets down both the front of his pubes and the creases of his legs to pool cozily at the bottom of his absorbent diaper.

The thrice-daily feeding at Darla’s tits had reawakened Wes’s infantile needs for sucking full time. Darla had foreseen the change in his behavior and pinned an orthodontic pacifier to his infant T-shirt by the second day. He played with the baby toys and sucked on their edges with pleasure, forgetting his prior status in the world.

On Saturday afternoon, however, his world changed forever. His newly baby-sensitive ears sensed the crush of gravel beneath heavy wheels as someone crunched their way at high-speed up the gaveled driveway towards the triple-wide manufactured home. After a moment, Darla heard the sound and left little Wessley to suck on his pacifier in his crib.

Within moments, the floor of the house drummed to the entrance of a big, big man. Darla’s husband, Abner, was on leave from work on the off-shore drilling platform where he worked. He wrapped his arms around Darla and kissed her deeply with his tongue exploring her depths like a scuba diver looking for faults in the rigging of the platform. When Darla surfaced for air, she explained that they had a "little visitor" in the house. Abner chuckled briefly before he kissed his wife on the cheek and asked, "A neighbor’s child again! One of these days we’re going to have to get you a baby of your own. Sooner or later, you’re going to run out of other people’s babies to take care of!

She kissed him deeply and said, "You’re right, Honeybunch! This baby might end up as ours. This baby is unclaimed. The father ran off and the mother hasn’t been seen since his birth. He was given over to adoption to the Baptist Adoption Services. Why don’t we sit down and talk about it before we make a decision. Better yet, why don’t you have couple of beers and some pretzels while I make you a nice, rare, Porter House steak with sautéed mushrooms, baked potatoes, some spinach soufflé and a couple of whole wheat buñelos?

Abner patted her tight-hipped, jean-covered and silk-panty covered bottom, kissed her passionately and said, "You know what I like!" as he drifted off to the bar to make himself a double-strength Margarita.

After a half an hour, Abner was sufficiently the high on tequila feel utterly relaxed as Darla served his dinner. While he ate, she went back to the bathroom and ran a huge tub of bubble bath for him. When he finished dinner, he put away his plates and went back to the warm, fresh-water bubble bath that he knew would be waiting for him. Darla treated him much as she had treated Wes before, with the exception that she did not supply the oil treatment that she had given Wes. As a consequence, Abner did not rejuvenate the same way that Wes did, although her ministrations made him quite as horny. They went to bed together and made love, although it was interrupted by the thin cries of Wes from the nursery, demanding to be diaper changed and fed.

Darla reluctantly got out of bed and replied to infantile demands of her new boyfriend/infant. Once he had been changed, fed and had a pacifier placed between the lips of his mouth, Wes fell immediately asleep, as she expected as she rocked and fed him simultaneously. Once she was finished taking care of little Wes, Darla returned to the huge arms of her husband Abner, who made love to her the rest of the night.

The next morning, a blearily-eyed Darla forced herself out of bed to go to the kitchen. After preparing a small baby bottle full of apple juice, she padded to the nursery in her house slippers and gave Wes his morning bottle. She knew that after Wessey slaked his thirst with the juice, he would far back asleep almost immediately. She would return later that morning to change his diaper and feed him. In the meantime, Abner woke up ready for another round of lovemaking.

After Abner fell asleep again at nearly ten o’clock, Darla got up and lovingly changed little Wes’s dirty diaper, then breastfed him for his breakfast. She would give him some solid food at around noon, but before that breast milk was sufficient to take care of his nutritional needs.

At noon Abner awoke, scratched his hairy chest and woke Darla up with comment on how much he looked forward to eating breakfast at home with her when he was aboard the offshore rig. Darla understood the portent of his message and got out of bed to make him the traditional huge breakfast she served him on his first morning of his time off from the rig. First she began grinding the fresh Arabica coffee beans in her electric coffee grinder while she made home-squeezed orange juice from sweet Texas Navel oranges in her electric juicer as she toasted whole-wheat crumpets in her toaster oven. While they were being readied, she turned the oven to 375° Fahrenheit to preheat as she got out the butter and jar of Knot's Berry Farm sweet orange marmalade (Abner had an odd predilection for crumpets and sweet orange marmalade that would have done an Englishman proud).

Darla cut off four tablespoons of butter (half a stick) and dropped it in a ceramic butter pitcher to warm in the microwave while the coffee was steeping. She set the microwave to two and one half minutes to melt the butter and heat the ceramic pitcher. Just before the timer on the toaster oven was done, she poured the freshly ground coffee into the filter on her Mr. Coffee and turned it on. She took a large baking sheet with a half-inch lip on all sides, sprayed it liberally with Pam, then began laying out an entire pound of H.E.B. Deli bacon, slice-by-slice on the greased pan.

Once that was done, she took two large teflon-coated skillets and poured a bit of peanut oil in one and put a couple of tablespoons of butter in the other. She got out a smaller lipped baking sheet and sprayed it with Pam before laying out a few thick slices of Deli honey ham alongside five half-inch thick slices of Jimmy Dean’s breakfast sausage in the pan. She prepared a half of grapefruit in a bowl with a special slicing tool to remove the fruit from the rind in perfect wedges, then dump it into a small breakfast salad bowl. Frankly, if her husband hadn’t been able to afford the grinders, toasters, slicers, juicers, and other kitchen amenities, it would have taken her hours to make such an extravagant five-star breakfast.

By that time the coffee was done and she made a breakfast tray with her best silver and a linen napkin, coffee (in a mug the way Abner liked it alongside a closed carafe filled with more coffee in case he wanted more), sugar, real dairy cream in a small porcelain cruet, a tall glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, a bowl of sectioned grapefruit, a container of sweet orange marmalade, the pre-heated butter decanter, as well as a plate of crumpets to whet Abner’s appetite for the real meal to follow. In a small, clear ground-glass stoppered cruet intended for oil, she decanted two and a half shots of Jack Daniel’s Black Label Whiskey that Abner could add to his coffee as wanted or needed. As a finishing touch, she placed the Sunday paper on the side of the tray with a small wide based vase with a single red rose. (The vase was affixed to the tray with an extremely tacky wax used by museums in areas subject to earthquakes.)

Men who work on oil rigs fourteen hours or more a day develop enormous appetites to give them the calories and protein they required to maintain the huge musculature that they needed for their work and Abner was no different. Besides, after he came home on the first night and they made love for hours, it had become a family tradition that she gorge him with food the next morning. The heavy meal made him sleep again and tempered his appetite for sex as well. It was an arrangement that pleased both of them.

After bringing the beginnings of breakfast in bed to Abner, Darla put both baking pans in the stove and turned on the heat underneath both skillets. While the skillets were heating, Darla broke a few eggs into the blender, added some condensed milk, a bit of sugar, some salt and poured in a small package of pecan pieces that she had bought at the store. Instead of the oil that the recipe called for, she substituted her secret ingredient into the mix that made her pecan pancakes so good; she added Walnut oil instead of simple corn or cannola oil. She measured out the whole wheat pancake mix into the blender, then covered it with the top before she started the motor. While the batter for the pancakes was mixing, she took the top from the grill between the burners on the stove and turned it on. She measured a cup of water into a bowl and added two cheese-flavored packages of Quaker Oats instant grits into the bowl before placing it in the microwave to heat. The skillet for the eggs with the butter was beginning to brown, so she turned down the heat and broke four eggs into the pan without rupturing the membrane surrounding the yolks, then she covered the pan to allow them to cook gently until the rest of breakfast was done. She scooped out a bit of butter-flavored Crisco to the other teflon skillet before turning off the blender. When the Crisco had melted, she took some frozen hashbrowns from a bag in the freezer and added them. Darla left them to cook over medium high heat while she took the grits out of the microwave and spooned in five heaping tablespoons shredded processed sharp cheddar cheese that she had purchased from the market to the fully cooked grits and mixed the combination. She covered the grits with a small plate set them aside while she decanted real Vermont Maple syrup into another clear cruet and warmed the full cruet in the microwave.

Darla had prepared her husband’s special mushroom accompaniment the week before and hand frozen them before his expected arrival. Mushroom accompaniment, i.e, duxelles; a highly reduced mixture of one-quarter pound of sweet butter, a pound of fresh white sliced mushrooms with shallots, pepper, salt and some finely crushed garlic the week before in a large black cast-iron skillet and had boiled/fried the mixture until all that remained was a half-cup of rendered blackened essence of mushrooms. Darla had stored the prepared Duxells in a tightly sealed tupperware container in the freezer until Abner came home on his time off.

Darla took the frozen essence of mushrooms out of the freezer and heated them in the microwave in a small white porcelain custard cup until they were heated. While the duxelles were warming, the bacon, sausage and ham was baking and the eggs were slowly cooking to perfection, to the sound of the sizzling hashbrowns in their skillet, she poured the pancake mixture into a professional pancake funnel and measured out six pancakes onto the grill between the burners.

Darla opened the oven and used tongs to turn the rapidly cooking bacon to the other side, then turned the sausages in the lower pan before returning them to the oven and closing the door. She checked the eggs and loosened them from the bottom of the pan, then replaced the lid as she reached over and added another quarter cup of cheddar cheese to the grits before stirring them up and returning them to the microwave. She turned the pancakes and took several pieces of disposable kitchen towels from the hanging circular rack to form an absorbent surface for the bacon, ham and sausage. When she checked the progress of breakfast, she discovered that the hashbrowns had browned on one side and were ready to be turned. eggs sunny-side-up were clouding over into perfection, the bacon had become very crisp (she removed the pan from the oven). She rolled the sausage back and forth, turned the pan-fried ham as well as the whole wheat pancakes with pecans.

Within minutes, everything was done almost simultaneously. She took the cooked pancakes and put them on a dish to keep warm as she lowered the temperature in the oven to 225°. The grits and duxelles went back to the microwave for a minute’s warming as the next six pancakes were poured out on the sizzling hot grill while the first six went on a plate in the oven to keep hot. She dumped the bacon/sausage/ham mixture into a special high-tech grease absorbing towel to degrease them and keep them warm while the balance of Abner's enormous breakfast finished cooking. When she removed the lid to check the eggs, she saw that they were nearly perfect. She moved the eggs to a cold burner to allow them time to finish cooking with their residual heat without overcooking. She had just enough time to prepare the second tray while the eggs finished.

Darla set up a second overlarge British breakfast tray with heated Vermont Maple Syrup, a double rasher of bacon, six sausage pieces and a triplet of grilled ham slices on a plate with a fitted stainless steel cover to keep it warm, a small bowl with very cheesy grits with a similar cover, hashbrowns with a small custard cup full of blankened duxelles to mix with his eggs, another covered plate with six pecan, whole wheat pancakes. When she was finished loading the tray, she removed the lid from the skillet with the eggs and saw that they were perfectly done. Darla gently slid the eggs from the skillet to the plate with the hashbrowns and duxelles and replaced the cover over the plate. She had placed two more crumpets in the toaster oven, whose alarm rang just at the end of her efforts. She added a small pot of strawberry preserves, to give Abner some variety.

The night before, Darla begun preparing Abner's dessert tray for breakfast in the morning. If he'd asked for steak in the morning, she'd have made a quick marinade of Rice Wine, green onions, ginger root, garlic, molasses, onion juice, cracked peppers and teriyaki sauce to marinade a small sirloin filet overnight that she'd pan-fry the next morning. If he wanted a steak, than she wouldn't make the ham or sausages, making the breakfast the next day all that much easier to cook.

She had gotten out one of Abner's favorite cigars and placed it in an aluminum pocket humidor before letting it sit out all night to allow it's aroma and flavor to ripen to perfection. The hand-rolled, Macnudo Clayborn Café Jamaican cigar made from Cuban tobacco stock smuggled out during the Communist overthrow of the Batista regime lay cushioned on a linen napkin of it's own in a special hermetically-sealed aluminum tube with a wood veneer lining to maintain proper moisture level and flavor. Darla stored two boxes of Abner's cigars in a special wooden humidor that had it's own humidifier and lid-mounted moisture meter on the bottom shelf of their refrigerator. She had also placed four more cigars in his leather pocket humidor in the event that he wanted to go out with the "boys" the next day as was his wont. She had topped off his cigar lighter with butane and laid it beside his other cigar accoutrements for use the next morning on the third tray. For the final touch, Darla placed a pair of chocolate-coated after dinner mints.

Laying majestically beside the cigar on the tray like a master surgeon's instruments was an antique ivory mounted cigar end-cutter, a high-tech butane cigar lighter with a piezoelectric ignitor, a votive candle in a glass cup to warm his post-breakfast cigar, a gold-filigreed shot glass filled with Spanish Fundedor brandy in which to dip the sucking end of his cigar and an ashtray with a built-in smoke filter with a battery powered fan. The rest of the smoke would be handled by the bedroom's triple set of positive ion generators

When she brought in the second tray, it was an immediate success. She switched over his newspaper, coffee carafe, mug, sugar, cruets of whiskey and cream to the second tray and removed the dirty napkin from the first tray and replaced it with a fresh one from the second. While Abner gorged himself, Darla took the first tray back into the kitchen and brought forth the third tray that she had prepared the night before. She clipped the end of his cigar, lit the candle and warmed it lovingly over the flame without burning and then soaked the non-burning end (the sucking end) in fine Spanish Fundedor Brandy for his pleasure as he ate.

Knowing Abner’s love for the music from Mary Poppins, she started the preloaded player at the song, "Feed the Birds", which was one of Abner’s favorites. Within ten minutes, he had totaled the second tray and belched extravagantly in Kingly repletion. Darla removed the second tray and replaced it with the third tray she had prepared the night before. After she moved his newspaper, coffee carafe, mug, sugar, cruets of whiskey and cream from the second tray to the third, she lit his cigar and turned on the fan in the ashtray. Darla removed the second tray to the kitchen to sit quitely in the bedroom in case Abner needed anything. About three-quarters of the way through his cigar and Sunday paper, he yawned hugely both because of the Jack Daniel’s in his coffee as well as his skyrocketing blood sugar. When his eyes drooped, Darla took the cigar from his hand and put it in the ashtray on the end table next to his side of the bed. Abner was so sleepy that he never noticed. Nor did he notice that she had transferred his leather pocket humidor, cigar end-cutter, and his lighter to the end table next to him. Since the CD drive was set to replay the song until stopped, he fell asleep to the sweet tones of Mary Andrew’s song like a little boy in a nursery who had just finished a huge meal.

Darla removed the third tray and took it to the kitchen before eating her own breakfast/lunch alone at the counter. She ate the remaining pancakes with low-cal syrup along with a two pieces of bacon which she had saved from the double rasher of bacon and a no-fat glass of milk. She enjoyed babying Abner. Living on the rig meant she didn't have to do his wash, nor cook for him, nor pick up after him except when he was home on his time off so she really didn't mind catering to him on his first morning home. It made him feel like a King in his own home and allowed her to feel like a wife, without exhausting her by his daily demands.

He would often tell her of how he would boast about how his wife treated him after he came home from the rig. He would expound upon the royal treatment he got the next morning after he arrived; how she would fix a huge Epicurean breakfast for him with a crystal cruet filled with Jack Daniel's finest Black label whiskey for his coffee and how she ground his coffee beans freshly just before she made the most perfect cup of coffee in the world. He would describe every dish in detail to his friends, causing them to hang their heads in jealousy at his good fortune. If he wanted steak with his eggs in the morning instead of ham, all he had to do was ask and she'd pan-fry in butter the most succulent, tender, marinated sirloin steak that they had ever tasted.

When he'd tell them that she'd sit quietly and wait while he ate and read his newspaper, most of the men who didn't know him would accuse him of lying about his wife's behavior. The other's would assure the dissidents that the story wasn't a lie and that Abner spoke the absolute truth. By the time that Abner finished describing how Darla would clip his cigar, warm it over a new candle, soak the end in fine brandy and light it for him to enjoy with his Daniels and coffee as if she was the obsequious maître d’ at a Five Star Restaurant, the dissenters where ready to cry. Their wives wouldn't even let them smoke a cigar in the house, much less have as much as a solitary beer on Saturday with breakfast. Breakfast in bed was like some sort of fantasy that they might dream of if they won the Texas Lottery in a big way, but everyone of them knew that even if they became ultra-rich, they'd have to hire someone to serve them breakfast in bed. The men were in awe of Abner; his wife was everything that they had dreamed of before marriage and that they had never found in their own lives.

Darla knew that he was extraordinary pleased with her and loved her dearly. He would do nearly anything she asked for, and she rarely asked for anything but special cookware to make him his fantastic breakfasts when he came home from the rig, or else she wanted something for the nursery which she maintained to babysit her friend's babies. Since Abner couldn't provide her with babies, he didn't deny her the chance to play at being a mother, any more than he would have refused her some kitchen tool so that she could make one of her fabulous homecoming breakfasts for him. The food on the rig was good plain cooking in abundance, but it bore no resemblance to the sort of breakfast that Darla lavished on his return every six weeks. Breakfast in bed with a newspaper, coffee made from fresh ground beans, laced with fresh cream, sugar and Jack Daniels was not exactly the sort of fare that one would expect on an oil rig. Moreover, being served breakfast in bed by a obsequious, nude, buxom, curvaceous, long-legged beautiful blonde with long yellow curly tresses that fell upon her shoulders luxuriantly on an oil rig, was shall we say, only a fond, masculine dream that caused men to change their wet underwear immediately when they woke up the next morning.

After Abner showered, he dressed in clean clothes and went off to meet with his male friends and partied late into the night with his favorite poker buddies. Darla resumed her normal activities with her new baby, breast-feeding him, changing his diapers and taking him to the mall to buy some souvenirs of his visit with her. She bought him several T-shirts, a sleeper and an O'Kosh short-legged overall with snaps on the bottom seam and an A&M logo on the bib. By this time, Wes had become so accustomed to the life of a baby that he squealed with delight at his school's logo on his infant overalls. He peed in his diaper enthusiastically as Darla dressed him in his new finery in the dressing room and brought him out to see himself in the mirror. Wes cooed at his appearance and Darla bought the outfits immediately.

Three days later, Wes woke up in his nursery and wondered what had happened to him. From the calendar on the wall, he had lost a week of his life. Darla gave him his bottle of water as usual, changed his diapers and after a time, nursed him at her breasts. Wes identity began slipping, one moment he was Darla's baby boy and the next he was a twenty-year-old Junior at A&M who had somehow been shanghaied into nursing Darla's breasts like an infant. The worst part was that while his adult mind totally regected being an infant again, the pleasure of nursing at Darla's breasts was so intense that it was addictive. He wailed in the night for the feel of her tit in his mouth so he could draw the warm, satisfying rich milk in her breasts into his waiting mouth and swallow it in an orgy of infantile pleasure. Once he had sated himself on her milk, he gave way to pleasuring himself with his own body and immediately peed and pooped his diaper.

At the end of the week, Abner bid his wife adieu and went back to the rig. Darla restored Wes to adulthood, bundled him in her truck and drove him back to College Station. Two miles before they reached his dorm, Wes's face became confused for a minute as he messed himself. He looked down at the dark wettness around his loins and felt the slimy slipperiness that he had made in the back of his underwear. He realized instantly that he could never return to college as much as he loved being at A&M. The thought of being alone among thousands of other students frightened him terribly and he knew that if he showed up at his dorm with wet and dirty pants, they would never let him live it down. He needed a place to hide, to cower down from the effects of his own weaknesses, before they became known to the world. He was certain that he could no longer handle the responsibilities of classes, assignments as well as the daily duties of taking care of himself. The soft, cushy of the life of a baby Darla had allowed him to live for the past week had stripped him of his ability or desire to cope with student life. His trepidation and confusion became utter panic, causing his face to become lined with the stretch marks of the soundless horror of complete helplessness and inability to cope. Just as suddenly as his panic appeared, the lines of helpless terror faded as his mind retreated into a serene, non-threatening existance from which it would not be moved.

Wes deliberately put his thumb in his mouth and said, "Preees take me home, Mommy!"

"What?", Darla said surprise at the sound of a toddler's enunciation coming from a collegiate mouth.

"Me wet and poopy, Mommy. Preeese take me home! I need my dittie changed!", he pleaded.

"Wes, you aren't wearing ditties," Darla corrected.

"Me know! Me make a mess! Me sorry!", Wes pleaded.

The smell of a bowel movement rapidly filled the cabin of the truck as Darla glanced over to see that Wes had been right. He had wet himself! Could Wes be the one she had been waiting for?

"Preese Mommy, wanna go home NOW!", Wes demanded.

Darla looked at Wes and asked, "Wes, Honey, if you go home with me now, you'll become my little baby forever! Do you understand? There'll be no college in your future! You won't be able to go back to A&M!"

"Don care!", Wes exclaimed resolutely with his thumb firmly planted in his mouth.

"Don't you remember being in High School and dating girls from your class? If you go home with me now, you'll never go to High School! You'll spend the rest of your life in your crib wearing diapers! Is that what you want?", Darla asked in fairness.

"Don care, wanna go home! Need ditties!", Wes answered, moving around uncomfortably in his soiled underwear.

"This is your last chance! Are you sure that you want to be my baby? If you go home with me now, there will be no middle or grade school for you. You'll never get old enough for Kindergarten or Nursery School! Is that what you want?", Darla asked sincerely.

"Me hungry. Me want Mommy titty!", Wes exclaimed.

"Mommy can give you all the titty you want, but if she does, the only school you'll ever attend again will be a baby Daycare Center! Are you sure that's what you want?", Darla asked, hoping that he'd refuse adulthood so that she'd a baby of her own.

"Me hungry and wet, Mommy. Wanna go home," Wes said sleepily as he began to slip into his midmorning nap while wetting his pants again.

Darla pulled off the road and watched as the dark stain on Wes's jeans grew larger. She had finally found what she'd being searching for all her barren years. Wes truly wanted to be her baby. She turned the truck around and headed home. She needed to get little Wes's clothes changed before he got a nasty case of diaper rash.

When Darla got home, she changed Wessie in every way possible and put his clothes and shoes in a lawn and leaf bag to go to Goodwill along with his empty wallet and belt in a white plastic bag as if they had come from a different source. She set up the baby seat in her truck and strapped Wessie in as she traveled the last few miles to bury all sources of his identity. When she came home, she breast fed him again and then cut up his Texas Driver's License as well as his A&M ID card and copies of his former parent's credit cards into very fine pieces. Darla put the pieces of plastic in a old glass Coke bottle and added some Xylene before corking it off to shake it vigorously. Within ten minutes, the pieces had dissolved into a semi-liquid paste that was pourable. She covered an old Sunday newspaper with the flammable mixture and set it ablase, destroying all evidence that Wesley, the student at A&M, had ever been there.

Six weeks later, Abner came home to find his wife with an adopted infant son. She explained that one of her sick friends had died without a husband or family to take care of her little baby boy named Wessie. Since Darla had cared for Wessie before, her friend had given her custody of her baby Wessie in her will. There was only one problem; the baby suffered from a rare disease which prevented him from maturing either psychologically or physiologically from infancy. Their adopted baby would be a baby forever!

Abner sighed in acceptance as he viewed his newly adopted eleven-month-old son who stood unsteadily on his two feet and maintained stability by holding on to a fold of Darla's slacks as if he had just learned to walk and who was much more comfortable crawling on all fours. The baby boy had been decked out in an outfit that was sure to please an East Texas father; on his little head, he wore a tiny white Stetson with an Aggie "hook-em!" medallion in the middle of the front of the hat, while he wore an absolutely charming set of cowboy boots sized to fit an infant with the Aggie logo on the outside of his boots. Between the symbols of A&M, the baby boy wore nothing but a thick disposable diaper which drooped heavily under the weight of the baby pee it had collected in the two hours since his last diaper change.

Abner kissed his wife deeply before picking up his new son and hugging him tightly to show that he loved the baby that the Lord had bestowed on his family. Little Wessie chuckled in delight at being hugged by his new father and they all went inside the house to begin life as a family. Strangely, after meeting his adopted father for the first time, little Wessie never attempted to stand again. It was enough for him that he had met his new father on his own two feet, no matter how unsteady they were. Afterwards, he preferred to crawl on all fours. He would never be a man, much less a toddler, so there was no reason to exert himself. Darla never stepped out on her husband again, because the chain of her life had had the missing link filled with the baby she had always needed.

Within a month, Wessie forgot that he had ever been anything but Darla's baby. He led the serene, comfortable life of an infant with a doting mother who loved changing his diapers, bathing, dressing, feeding, and nursing him. Most of all, she enjoyed breast feeding him, which stimulated her so strongly that she didn't miss Abner's infrequent gentle, but clumsy sexual ministrations. Her "little Aggie" gave her orgasms three times a day at minimum when he nursed at her breasts. As for Wessie, he had entered an eternal paradise of maternal love and soft physical comfort from which there was neither escape, nor desire to vacate.

The three links of their separate lives had forged together by Karma into an unbroken circle of a Kismetic chain. It should only be expected that all of them lived happily ever after. Which of course, they did.


Copyright Jan. 2000, Jennifer Loriane

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