This story is a rather old one, and a rather infamous one, which caused a bit of a ruckus over on the old NCMC when I first posted it there. It got removed (for fair reason) and I never bothered to post it anywhere else, though I thought I had posted it here at some point! In any case, it involves a lot of diapers, and rather severe mental age regression, which is the reason it got removed to begin with. If that’s not your thing…well, don’t read it.
It started simply enough–James was out shopping at a department store looking for some new clothes before the start of his university classes the next week, and wasn’t finding much he liked. He had just about resigned himself to finding nothing there and heading for the next shop, when he smelled something that made him panic a bit–smoke. He looked around, wondering whether something had been set on fire and if he should try to warn people, but he didn’t see anything like that, and when he caught another whiff of the smoke, he realized that it didn’t quite smell like smoke…well, that wasn’t the best way to put it. It didn’t smell like, “something is on fire” smoke. It was sweeter, and he could recognize it from some of the seedier pubs he’d crawled past with some of his friends after finals. Someone was smoking a pipe or a cigar in here–but this was a department store, right?
He took another look around, and sure enough, he could see the haze thickened up around the suit department. Curious to see who would be so brazenly breaking the law about smoking indoors, he headed in that direction, and from a bit of a distance, spotted the culprit–an older gentleman in the middle of getting measured for a suit. He was a sizable gentleman, well, sizable was a nice way of putting it. He was fat, and quite fat at that, and rather old, probably in his sixties or so, with a horseshoe of white hair and a full but neatly trimmed full beard. The shop assistant had just finished measuring him, and was helping the man back into his anachronistic suit, all perfectly starched and pressed, and after a couple of minutes, James realized that he’d simply been staring at the man blatantly the entire time like a fool. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his mind was feeling as hazy as the room around him. He needed to find someone to get the man to quit smoking.
He saw another attendant working the suit department, and James strode over to him. “Hey,” he said, “aren’t you going to do something about that?”
It took a few seconds for the attendant to realize someone had spoken to him–his eyes were distant and a bit glazed over, but finally he blinked a few times and noticed James standing next to him. “Oh…I’m sorry sir, is there something I can help you with?”
James rolled his eyes, “Yes, you could get the guy to quit smoking for one. Don’t you people know it’s against the law?”
“Oh…” the attendant said, “Well, that’s Mr. Rawlins. He always smokes when he comes in here.”
“And you just let him?”
The assistant just stared at him for a few moments, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Yes…we always let Mr. Rawlins do…anything he wants…” he said, his voice trailing off, and then his eyes glazed back over and he forgot James was there entirely, going back to sorting his suits.
“What in the world is going on here?” James said to himself. Everyone in the store was acting strange, and he suddenly wondered if he shouldn’t have even gotten involved. It would have been smarter to have just left, and taken his business elsewhere. He turned around, ready to leave, but saw that the way was blocked by Mr. Rawlins’ himself, fully dressed and smoking his pipe.
He was big. Bigger than James had first thought. Certainly he was fat–but he was also tall, and the way he loomed over James somehow made him feel like a little kid looking up at the principal. He stammered for a second, looking for words, but his voice failed him, and he just lapsed into silence.
“Hello there, young man. I don’t remember seeing you here before. Do you work here?”
“Oh…uh, no sir…I’m just a customer. I uh…should you uh…be smoking in here sir? I thought…well, I just…isn’t that against the law?”
Mr. Rawlins let out a booming laugh which was somehow infectious, and it seemed to James that his earlier concern was somehow childish. Of course Mr. Rawlins could smoke in here–Mr. Rawlins could do anything he wants.
“Tell me, little man, what were you shopping for today?”
“Oh…uh…just some for some new clothes for school.”
“Did you find anything you like?”
“Not…Not really…” James said.
“Yes, well, I imagine it would be difficult finding clothes to fit a husky boy like yourself.”
Husky? Who even used that word anymore? Besides, James was anything but husky–he was as thin as a rail.
“Well, come on, my little man, and let’s see if we can’t find something that might fit that frame of yours so you’ll look good when you start school next week.” Mr. Rawlins held out his hand for James, and without really knowing why, he took the gentleman’s hand and let him lead him towards the fitting station. “Howard,” he said, addressing the man who had measured him earlier, “I’d like to fit my little man here for a school uniform. We’re having a hard time finding something in his size.”
Howard, that same glassy look in his eye, smiled. “Well of course Mr. Rawlins, anything for you, sir.”
“Good man. Alright young man. Get up there and Howard will get you all measured for your uniform.”
Something wasn’t right, and yet, he was here for school clothes right? It was just lucky for him that Mr. Rawlins and Howard were here to help him find something in his size. He got up on the stool and looked at himself in the mirror, but it seemed like his reflection was perfectly normal–his usual, slender frame. But then why had Mr. Rawlins called him husky earlier?
Howard got his fabric tape and came over to James. “Alright young man, how about we get some measurements? Lift up your arms for me.”
James did as he asked, and Howard pulled the tape around his chest, noted the measurement, and then did the same around his waist. “Alright, looks like a…48” inch chest, and a 50” waist. Goodness, you are a big boy, aren’t you? Mr. Rawlins does love his little men big, doesn’t he?”
James did some mental math in his head when he heard the numbers, but his head was moving so slow. After all, he’d just barely started multiplication in school, but still…48 and 50 seemed like rather big numbers. Hadn’t he had a 28 inch waist last time he’d measured himself? But in the mirror, there was no way he could have a waist that small–he’d been eating too well and for too long for that. Indeed, he could see that his chest was thick with fat, with two big moobs hanging down, pushing out his t-shirt, his apron of a belly dropping a couple of inches below the bottom. He felt suddenly embarrassed to be wearing something so ill fitting in front of Mr. Rawlins, but the old man was staring at him with such lecherous eyes, he didn’t think he cared.
Bracken's Corner 