A Dialogue Between A Wife And Her Husband: Fuller Version free porn video

A Dialogue Between a Wife and Her Husband: Fuller Version "But of course the bars are on the window for a purpose. What if you wish at some point to rebel?" "But how can I rebel? Really, Emily... Dressed in baby frocks... Denuded of every bit of body hair, bald as a baby... I'm about as hefty and strong as a nine-year old girl... Confined in a playpen all day... And watched over by a nanny, my every move monitored... How can someone like that rebel? What's he going to do? Pound his tiny fists on the floor in a tantrum? And it's not funny! " "I'm sorry, dear, I don't mean to smile but the thought of it is a little comic, you have to admit, especially the way you describe it... I can just see you having a hissy fit... And I know it may seem remote, dear, your rebelling... If it ever came to a tussle, I know, it would be over in an instant... But what if Nanny Mary turns her back and you make a run for it for it?" "She locks the nursery..." "Well, what if she forgets?" "She never does." "Well, nannies can get careless..." "Oh, really, Emily... It's a twenty foot drop to the garden below and I'd never make it past the nursery door let alone out of the house. Besides, where could I go dressed like this? No money, no credit cards, no car keys... She'd tackle me in an instant and pin me to the floor. And then it would be back to the nursery to go over her knees for a paddling and be locked in my crib for the rest of the day with a diaper change... Do you think me mad enough to try and run for it?" "Well, dear, desperate situations call for desperate measures... Here you are, already whining and complaining and wanting out of our arrangement and it's only been a year...What will you be like in two years, or five? What then?" "Five years? You can't be serious, Emily. You can't mean to coop me up in a nursery with nothing to do but sit in a playpen every day with dolls and foam blocks, a coloring book and crayons? I'll wither away... I'll go mad with boredom! After all, I am an adult!" "But you have your lovely nanny to sit with you in her rocking chair all day and keep you company while I'm at work." "But she just watches and smirks! She's hardly the nice, kind, gentle girl she seems to you.' "But, dear, all nannies have to be firm and a little formal! They all have to appear a little stern to show they're in control... And didn't I make sure she was young and pretty, just like you asked for?" "Firm and in control? Ha! I can't move a finger unless she says so, and she positively enjoys taunting me with sarcastic comments. 'Oh, aren't we just soooo precious and cute and dainty today?' and 'What a pretty little thing you've become! What a real hit you'd be with all the girls if they could see you now...' and 'Aren't we just going to have so much fun today in our playpen!' She's simply awful, Emily, she's always mocking me..." "She's just trying to be nice, William. You only think she's being mean and horrid when, instead, she's just trying to do the job she was hired for... And she just wants to cheer you up and keep things positive... It's not as easy as you think, working day after day in a nursery with a grumpy little girl... You just sit around all day soiling and wetting your diapers. But she has to change them and feed you and bathe you and dress you... Watch over you so you don't get into mischief... Put you down for naps... It's not as easy as it seems... And it's even harder when the baby's a grown-up like you... And then you, of all people, with all this being done for you, have to go ahead and develop 'attitude'... Are you trying to be difficult and make life harder for me and your nanny, William?" "You should hear her when we're alone! You wouldn't think she's so nice then..." "Oh, William, sometimes you distress me. Your nanny tells me how wonderful you are. How obedient and respectful and happy you are... She just loves you to death... She gushes how she would just like to squeeze you, you're so sweet. And then you come forward to me with all these complaints about her! You're just in a bad mood now... You'll feel better when Nanny comes to take you back..." "She shames me and treats me like a child." "But, William, that's the whole point. You are a child! We are just giving you what you secretly wanted, what you finally asked me for when you admitted it a year ago." "It was only a fantasy... I never wanted it full time... It's unendurable to be treated this way..." "No, you said 24/7/12, right from the start. No exceptions... You forget. 'No escape, be firm, do as you please.' You demanded we take charge, William. 'No possibility of escape! All avenues cut off and sealed! My nursery my prison! No way to contact anyone on the outside...' You insisted, 'Make me mind.' Those were your exact words, William. 'Make me mind!' You may have forgotten but I haven't... You wanted us to take charge, and now we have. 'Be firm, no matter how much I may beg and plead, don't give in, don't listen to me,' you said. That's what you said... And now you're showing 'attitude'... And we gave you exactly what you wanted!" "Well, I really didn't know what it meant to be a baby all the time, every second." "Well, now you do..." "But I don't like it!" "Well, isn't that just too, too bad! And stop shouting! I don't want Nanny Mary to hear you..." "I don't care if she does! She's horrid!" "Well, I care! She goes to a lot of trouble caring for you... And if you don't settle down and talk quietly and be rational, our little conversation is over! I'm not going to sit here and be yelled at by a spoiled child. I'll call Nanny to escort you back to the nursery and have her put you to bed without dinner... Would you like that? Nanny can make things a lot worse, you know... I just have to say the word..." "No please, don't send me back! It's been so long since we last talked, Emily... I promise, I promise I won't raise my voice again. I'll be very calm and reasonable... I promise... Please, you must listen. You must..." "Listen? I need to listen? It seems to me you're the one, young lady, who should be doing the listening. I've gone to a great deal of time and trouble to set this whole thing up just the way you wanted it. Every loving detail, you oversaw every detail! I gave in to your every request no matter how outrageous the cost, I did everything your way, everything, and I spared nothing... All the baby clothes, the guest room re-decorated as a nursery, new locks on every door, the furniture... Crib, changing table, playpen, baby bouncer, your high-chair, the stroller, the rocking horse, all custom-made to fit an adult... The big mirrors in the nursery so you could see yourself from every angle... The bathroom redone, with the toilet and shower stall removed so you couldn't even think about doing wee-wees and poopies like an adult or taking a big-boy shower... And the antique, wrought-iron bathtub installed---it's so big and heavy and ugly---so you could feel the luxury of being bathed by your nanny without being able to see over the sides, just like a real baby. "Do you think any of this was cheap, William? It cost a fortune! And, then, I hired the full-time, live-in nanny, just as you requested! Do you think Mary was easy to find? Do you think she came cheap, having to do for you what she has to do every day? Why, she costs in one week twice what your monthly income was before you quit your job, and now, after her first year, she has demanded a hefty raise, which I'm going to have to pay... All to support your little fantasy... Oh, she deserves it all right, she deserves every penny she makes, cleaning up your poopies and wet nappies... I wouldn't do it for twice or three times what she makes... And now you have the gall to complain about her! You, who are penniless, a dependent, helpless little thing, with no friends, with only two people that care about you... While I pay for everything... And what thanks do I get? You're spoiled, William, you're a little ingrate! You get everything you want---everything you demanded, down to the last tiny detail---and it's still not enough... You should be ashamed to listen to yourself. Ohhh, poor little William is soooo tired of his baby life, oh, he wants to go back to being a big boy... Use the toilet again, feed himself, be an adult... Drive a car and watch sports on television... Try to make spurties in his wife---oh, you used to be so successful at that, I recall, you getting half-hard and then cumming all over my thigh before you could even enter me and then my having to comfort you and wipe away your tears 'cause you were so upset you couldn't be a 'real man' with your wife, never mind how I might have felt... That never mattered, did it? I always was the one who had to baby you, remember? And then, afterwards, you rolled over and went to sleep, didn't you, leaving me to stare at the ceiling for the next couple of hours... How touching! Yes, poor little William wants to rejoin the male sex again but probably this time play mostly with himself in private where it's safe and there's not so much stress to be a he-man all the time, right? Oh, how moving! He wants to wear pants and come and go as he pleases, impress people with a wallet full of money and credit cards... Make all his own decisions again, just like before, and play at being a man...' I'm supposed to just say, 'Okay, William, you can have your life back. I've just wasted a fortune and a year of my life, but you can go back to playing at being a man again...' "Well, let's get one thing clear, William. It's not going to happen! Your decision-making days are over! You're in your nursery to stay so get used to it! Your macho life in trousers is over... Finished... Gone ... Is that clear? You willingly gave it all up a year ago and you're not getting any of it back. You literally couldn't wait to be a baby, you ran into your nursery and shut the door behind you, jumped in your crib and lowered the lid making sure it was locked! You're in diapers and frocks now for good, William. A simpering little baby girl who needs to be watched and cared for... A baby now and a baby you'll remain... You complain about how boring life is... But that's just what healthy babies strive on and you will, too; you just have to stop fighting it... Routines, William, everything the same, no surprises, no anxiety, everything planned down to the last detail... Feedings and playtime and naptimes, all in the same order, day after lovely day... Up at seven and down at seven p.m., rain or shine, summer and winter... Nanny darkens your little room, kisses you on the cheek, pulls the lid shut on the crib locking you in safely for the night. She gazes at you through the bars and sticks a pacifier in your mouth, tucks the fleece blanket about you, and then smiles at your sweet little face looking at her longingly in the half-light. She is so pretty and attractive, isn't she, darling? Just a picture of youth and innocence and purity, isn't she? But, then, so are you, William! Young and innocent and pure, just like a little baby... And the last thing you do before shutting your precious little eyes as Nanny looks on is you get to choose whether to cuddle Teddy or Dollie for the night... It's a sweet little picture, William, and it won't be changing..." "But, Emily, be reasonable... See it from my perspective... No adult can stand what I have to endure... The same thing every day... No variation in routine... it may be fine for a baby but I'm... not... a... baby! I'll say it again because everybody seems to forget. I... am... not... a... baby..." "Whom are you trying to convince, William? Are you really so sure anymore?" "You can tease me all you like, Emily. But the fact remains, I'm not a real baby!" "Of course not, dear! Nor am I teasing you...You're an adult baby! You're not a real baby... Were you ever in doubt of it? I hope not, because if you were you'd really be in trouble... So why are you insisting on the obvious? An adult baby is a kind of an adult, to be sure, a very deficient one; but he's also a kind of baby as well, and the baby part of being an adult baby is precisely what makes him deficient and lacking as an adult, wouldn't you say? What's there to argue about, William?" "I'm an adult, Emily! You seem to have lost sight of that fact..." "You're an adult baby, William, there's a difference, you know! We're you ever anything else?" "I'm an adult who is made to sit on his behind in a nursery all day... That is what I am, despite your trying to twist things around with words. Would you like to do what I do all day, Emily? Would you still be patient and happy after a year in a nursery being treated like a toddler? I've lost count of the days and month, I'm not even sure what day of the week it is, there's no clock or calendar in the nursery and Nanny won't tell me... So there I sit, legs splayed in the playpen wearing my booties, my frock up around my waist, and playing with foam blocks... Is that any life for a man even if he is rather tiny and puny for his age? Endless diaper changes and being fed the same bland baby food and awful tasting formula... Confined all winter in my nursery playpen and on summer mornings being parked in an over-sized stroller in the humid shade of the maple tree in the garden, the brake on, gagged and silenced with my pacifier tied at the nape of my neck and wearing my mittens tied at the wrist to disable my hands. I'm strapped in my pink harness with the little bells on it, the belts around my waist and chest repositioned around the back of the stroller and tightened and out of reach of my hands... There I sit in my romper... A ludicrous sight... Unable to move and exposed in my diaper, my booted feet resting on the foot tray inches off the ground, my soft, hairless legs are bent at the knees and splay out leaving my smooth crotch on display... "What a sight I make! I hate thinking about it! No wonder Nanny laughs and shakes her head in derision to watch my silly, daily antics trying to capture the attention of some fantasized brave and stalwart person I imagine is hiding in the garden, waiting to show herself, overpower Nanny, and rescue me. So each day I go through this unintentionally comic routine---hoping against hope my would-be rescuer will be there--- but I really know down deep it's dumb, no one's there, the rational part of me knows Nanny's my only audience as she laughs and shakes her head at my futile struggles. I wiggle and twist my torso about as best I can seated in my bonds, stamp my feet in frustration, and wave my hands and arms about in the air, my fingers twittering and fluttering impotently inside their mittens. From a distance it must look like I'm having fun, like I'm trying to show off to my nanny performing some kind of infantile, ridiculous "dance" for her in my stroller... I try to shout but end up only sucking and chewing on my pacifier, my incoherent mewling and murmurs no louder than a whisper, as the saliva runs down my chin onto my harness and tears of impotent frustration flow down my cheeks. "My movements must take on an alarmingly compulsive, almost spastic quality and it must seem I'm losing total control and becoming hysterical because Nanny suddenly becomes uncharacteristically solicitous and kind. She leans close, takes my cheeks in her lovely hands, and places a soft, gentle kiss on my forehead. She smiles, the derision replaced by a warmth and friendliness she very seldom expresses toward me. The kiss and her look have an immediate calming effect on me. From her pocket she produces a beautifully crafted baby bonnet with a hem of eyelet lace. The edges stick far out past my face and serve as blinders do on a horse. To see anything I have to turn my head to look directly at it. I lack any peripheral vision... She gently positions the bonnet on my head patting it lightly and making sure it's snug. Though I am already in the shade, she coos that it will protect my delicate, white skin from the rays of the sun. She ties the strings under my chin in a big bow and we both know there's no way I can undo them with my useless hands imprisoned and disabled in mittens... "Patting me on the cheek, her deliciously full and soft lips just inches from my pacifier, I stare into her swimmingly soft blue eyes and slowly, as in a nightmare, I notice the change. It's abrupt and startling. The muscles about her eyes suddenly tighten, the yes take on a hard, cold cast, the warmth gone from her smile, and her lips curve into their characteristic sneer. Nanny then launches into one of her long, tediously convoluted monologues; parts of it drip with treacle and other parts involve her long-winded speculations about time. I have had to endure hours of these 'lectures' from Nanny, which she seems to think are 'educational.' But they always are marked by two characteristics. First, Nanny has a captured audience who, because of his gag, cannot respond and she prefers it that way... Second, her words are always designed to hurt and humiliate me. "Let me give you a typical taste of the way she speaks to me when you're not around, Emily, and then you'll see she's not the sweet little angel she seems to you to be. I can quote her almost exactly." "But what's so confusing, dear, is that what you're about to describe sounds exactly the way you said you wanted your nanny to talk to you. You wanted her to talk to you as a baby, you said, but you wanted something more, you also emphasized that you wanted her to remind you of all the things you're missing as an adult in the nursery and make fun of you. Remember? You said it would be so exciting and stimulating to walk into your nursery voluntarily, have Nanny lock the door behind and imprison you, and then, day after day, remind you of all you'd given up as an adult, all the perks and pleasures, and would never get to experience again and mock you for it. Nanny told me she would prefer to be kind but you insist on the mockery..." "I know! I know! You keep telling me what I said..." "But you seem to have forgotten everything, William..." "I haven't forgotten anything! I just can't convince you..." "Well, I'm running short of time. And it's almost time for Nanny Mary to fetch you and take you back to the nursery. I you want to tell me how she plagues you with her sarcasm, I suppose I'll listen. But how sympathetic can I be when this was exactly what you said you wanted her to do?" "But what she does is cruel and sadistic. I'll show you... Just listen... This is the kind of thing she says... Just listen... 'Mommy would be very disappointed to see you making such unladylike motions in your stroller, honey.'" "Well, William, what's wrong with that? It's true... I don't want to see you being difficult in your stroller, or anywhere else, for that matter..." "But just listen, Emily, she goes on and on... "'Do you really think some Princess Charming is out there hiding somewhere in the bushes and going to come to your rescue? Do you really think that if you wave your hands and arms about in your stroller in our secluded, walled-in garden, and stamp your feet in desperation and frustration she'll see you and think you're gesturing her to come save you? Are you that na?ve? And do you really think there's a Princess Charming out there who can understand the muffled, muted sounds you make behind your pacifier as a cry for help when I---standing right next to you---can barely even hear you? Will this Princess Charming, somehow, maybe through telepathy, know you're at the dead end of a long, winding, unpaved, and seldom used road your Mommy takes every day to work, one that leads to the old state highway that's also seldom used by traffic anymore? Have you forgotten how isolated we are living out here in the country, far away from the City and not another house within a radius of a mile? I could take the pacifier out of your mouth if I wanted and let you scream your lungs out, let you shout your whiny, whimpering 'Help! Help!' to your heart's content, but what good would it do? No one's out there to hear you, honey, no one's ever going to come... We're all alone way out here after Mommy goes to work, just the two of us... All day long, just the two of us... Nobody even knows where you are... Or cares... "'Now you be a good little girl. No more silly hysterics... Calm down... No more unladylike wriggling about in your stroller seat and trying to get loose. You know you can't, the belts prevent it, so don't even try... Otherwise, I'm afraid there may have to be spankies before naptime and I know you don't want to go to bed with a sore bottom, now do you? Besides, you know the brake's on and the release is out of reach, and where would you go if somehow you could work the release it? Would you try to wheel yourself around the garden, your little legs flailing about and your weak little arms and hands in their mittens trying to turn the stroller wheels and propel yourself forward? Oh, that would look funny, wouldn't it? A little baby clown in her stroller huffing and puffing trying to roll the wheels and going nowhere... 'No, you need to sit still, darling, your back straight, head up, all prim and proper like the sweet little miss you've been taught to be, hands neatly folded in your lap, knees and feet together, head high, and a shy little smile on that lovely face... That's how a demure little princess sits by herself in her backyard while her nanny busies herself about the house...That's how a pretty, charming and well-behaved little girl sits and waits for her Prince Charming, rather than trying to shout and wave her arms about in the air like some unladylike scrubwoman's coarse and ill-mannered little daughter. "'And while you wait, you can look at all the lovely birdies sitting on the tree branches above or darting about in the sky and you can watch the silly chipmunks cavorting on the lawn zigzagging every which way as they chase one another up and down the trees and around the yard... Going wherever they like and doing whatever they please... It must be so much fun to be so carefree on a summer day doing whatever you like! But don't forget, honey, it's also lots and lots of fun to be a sweet little girl dressed properly and demurely in her lovely pink, summer romper suit, safe in her soft, plastic harness, sitting quietly in the morning shade of the garden like a dainty little doll on display and watching Nature at play... That, too, has its charms... And you can listen to the cicadas singing their relentlessly repetitive song of love to one another... Just listen, they're all around you! Hear them? Oh, Nature is so brimming with life and bursting with love and song while you sit in a shaded stroller, its brake safely on, or up in the nursery in a playpen, with its soft plastic see-through mesh, and let the hours and days and months idly slip by! Such a contrast, you and Nature, isn't it, dear, when you think about it... "'And just think, at nighttime after the sun sets and the moon comes up and you're tucked safely in your crib, the humid, pregnant, summer night is vibrating with the same relentless sound of cicada love-songs that you're listening to right now in the bright light of daytime except that it's louder and more exciting at night because everything else seems so much quieter, as if the whole world were holding its tense, collective breath all day long waiting for night to explode into paroxysms of secret pleasures, wave after wave of them, stored up and waiting in every daytime nook and cranny, at the edge of the fields just past the tree line, far, far beyond the edges of your mommy's property, beyond the high walls that limit your vision but keep you snug and safe from harm... And the land beyond Mommy's property is rich and fecund at night, it's delicious with the expectant odors of growing, thriving things, odors so unlike the dismal, rank stink of your nursery, so closed-in and fetid, where the smell of stale pee and dried feces and curdled milk assault the nostrils of anyone unaccustomed to them but which you don't even notice anymore because you're so used to them... "'No, these are the rich, fecund odors of the fields worked during the day by tanned, muscular young field hands who swing bales of hay in the summer sun twice the size of a baby like you and lift them as easily as you lift your foam blocks... These boys are magnificent! Can you picture them, Baby, standing tall and erect under cloudless skies on the backs of flat-bed hay wagons, steadying themselves as the tractor pulls the wagon over the rough field as they stack layer upon layer of hay, a fork in each hand. Stripped to the waist, they work as if it is play, laughing and teasing one other, challenging each other to greater feats of strength and endurance in the easy, friendly way only young men share with each other. They are delighted, in a kind of animal, visceral way, to be who they are---daunting young princes, master of the fields and forests, the descendants of the knights of old, unconquerable in their confidence and skill, their hair tousled by the gentle breezes and bleached golden by the sun, their tanned pectorals dripping sweat, and their sturdy, sinewy biceps on display to any fair lass who dares to steal a shy, admiring glance... And, the farm girls on the road in the distance---friends of these same boys since early childhood when they all swam at the same swimming hole together in exuberant innocence--- stop to smile and stare with open and lascivious delight at these boys' now hardened manly bodies, tanned and reflected against the summer sky, sweat-drenched and gleaming in the sun, while the boys, no strangers to these lovely lasses and knowing full well what their stares portend, look back and wave in lustful good humor... "'But, darling, why are you crying? What have I said to upset you? Is it that you would like to be one of those young men I described? Hard like steel and as handsome and lithe as any young girl daydreams about, in the comfort of her bedroom, being in the strong, ropey arms of a boy like that? Is that it? That you'll never be one of those young men admired and lusted after by girls? But, darling, we can't be everything we want to be... I might want to be a big burly bear of a man, but I am not going to cry and whine that I'm a woman and can't be, and you shouldn't either... And you do have lots of charms of your own, too, don't forget... They're just different... And even if the girls may never look at you in the same way they look at the boys on the hay wagons, that doesn't automatically mean they dislike you! Why should they? You're a gentle little thing and would never do them the slightest harm even if you tried...No, you're a pretty simpering little sissy who is frail and delicate as a flower in June, who minces about like a dainty little dolly in spring... A sweet little fairy-boy, a pixie-like Tinker-a-Bell kind of a thing, soft and effeminate and timid and sexless, who would never be capable of harming a flea... Now, I know they would never find you attractive or appealing in the way they find the boys on the hay wagon... How could they, the way you look... But that doesn't mean they'd dislike you and exclude you or necessarily make fun of you, honey. A few of them might be nice and treat you like a little pet puppy allowed to accompany them on walks, and one or two of them might include you in all their girl-talk conversations about boys and make-up in order in order to get a sissy's perspective... Wouldn't that be fun! And one or two might just pity you... Wouldn't that be kind? They might just feel sorry for you, and maybe be willing when called upon to babysit... That might be loads of fun being looked after by a strapping, well-built teenage girl who could change your dydie and put you down at night and put you in your place if you resisted... But maybe if she really liked you and you were sweet and cooperative and nice, she might grow so fond of you she'd want to smuggle you home to her bedroom where you can hope to be like one of her favorite dolls on a shelf, a pretty little accessory to a pretty teenager's room, a doll that she had long ago treasured as a favorite toy but of course has now out-grown. But rather than discard it she keeps in on the shelf because of its sentimental value... Yes, isn't it better, my little precious, to just sit there on the shelf, a dolly in a big girl's room, and collect dust than be thrown in the trash? Of course, it is... A sexless little toy, from her long-ago past, sitting immobile on the shelf, legs splayed out before her, her little booties on and hands folded primly on her lap, staring straight ahead. The little doll, so cute and tiny, is hardly ever noticed by the busy teenager as she sweeps in and out of her room on her way to more important engagements... "'And now you're crying again, Baby, after I've worked so hard to cheer you up! Well, let's look at it a different way, okay? You're better than those girls! They're naughty to stare at boys like they do! It isn't ladylike! Their mothers need to sit them down and give them a good tongue lashing, that's what they need! We, on the other hand, the two of us, both know how to behave around boys even if they don't, don't we sweetie? And that's what makes us superior to them, doesn't it? We're not naughty, and I hope you'd never want to even think about looking at boys like that... It's impolite, and Mommy and I would spank you silly if you ever did... I promise you that!'" "But, William, dear, none of what you're quoting Nanny Mary saying seems off base or out of line. In fact, I think she's trying to comfort you, trying to be nice. Why can't you ever give her the benefit of the doubt? Why do you dislike her so?" "You're dead wrong, Emily... She despises me... Let me go on..." "Must you? It's getting late and I must go and you need to take your nap..." "Please, Emily, just a few more minutes..." "All right, William, if it will make you happy I'll listen... But this conversation has to come to an end sometime, and so far it's really getting us nowhere... We just keep going around in circles..." "She continues, 'But no one can stop you from fantasizing, now can they? After all, that's one of your strengths, isn't it! Mommy says you're good at fantasizing... Why, you dreamt up the whole nursery idea, didn't you, all by yourself... The whole idea of being a little baby... Why, I owe my job to your little fantasy... So let's play a little fantasy game, okay? Let's pretend you're all tucked up in your crib in the nursery for a long summer sleep. The window is shut and latched and the curtain is tightly drawn so Baby can rest peacefully. The nursery is silent and warm, dark and airless and gloomy as a coffin, and except for the pungent odor of stale pee and dried feces and curdled milk that escapes from the diaper pail and permeates the room, which, if Baby concentrates, she can just get a whiff of, there is nothing to exercise any of her senses. Nothing to see or hear, everything a blur in the darkness... Nothing to taste except the pacifier bulb that fills her mouth... Baby grips her lifeless, heartless doll to her chest and it's no more a comfort than Teddie... Baby is lonely tonight. Even a visit from her nanny would be welcome, but Nanny's not available, is she? She's out for the night doing adult things babies don't get to do... Nanny tells her dates about you back in the nursery. I call you my baby bimbo in limbo and they laugh and shake their heads in when I tell them you're in your soft little prison because you want to be and how much Mommy pays me to take care of you... Outside, the summer moon has risen and spread its soft and tender glow over the land; the air is heavy with moisture; the cicadas are noisy with song; and, far beyond the walls of Mommy's garden, lovers nestle together in haylofts and on porch swings and swim naked together in the moonlight in the swimming holes of their youth... These lovers fondle and stroke each other in the shadows, they kiss and press their bodies together. They are as un-self-conscious and true to each other as anything in Nature and doing exactly what Nature intended for young lovers. The night is theirs, it belongs to them, and always will... "'But back in the nursery you roll over and strip the fleece blanket off yourself. It's too warm for summer... You would love, in an act of infantile rage and defiance, to stretch your arms out between the bars and grip the curtain and tear it apart or pull it down, in order to let the moonlight flood in and dispel the oppressive gloom. Wouldn't it be so liberating? Wouldn't you feel so triumphant with your little victory over the wishes and intentions of you mommy and nanny? But, as Nanny intended, the crib is placed in the nursery so that, no matter from which side Baby extends his busy, mischievous little hands when Nanny isn't present, there is nothing he can reach, nothing he can seize, he ends up waving his fluttering finger impotently at whatever his target was: Ahhh, the sad truth is that everything is off-limits to Baby in the nursery unless Nanny says so... Unless Nanny is in the nursery, Baby must stay in his crib... Just as Nanny intended... But, then, you know that... Cribs are for sleeping, not for mischievous babies to crawl about in and reach their thin pale arms out of and cause disturbances... "'So there you have it. Baby in his nursery while couples snuggle outside in the shadow of a hazy, moonlit summer night... One wants to speed the pulse of time up to escape a kind of self-made, self-imposed emptiness and oblivion, and the other wants to slow it down to preserve the ecstasy of the best, most arousing moments of their lives... Though both wishes are fanciful---time can neither be slowed nor speeded up--- who do you think has the better bargain of the two? Who has a better claim to Nature's largesse? Who, if anyone, better deserves to have their wish granted? "'Now, don't look so sad, dear, in your stroller. It's way too beautiful today for you to be sad! Sit here and think about Nature and the pulse of life and Time's forward motion and all the things we've talked about, and don't despair because Nanny will come by for you in a while... Then we'll go in for lunchies! Fun-fun in the high-chair with Nanny spoon-feeding her little charge! Meanwhile, you enjoy yourself in the stroller, watch the birdies and chipmunks!'" "Are you finally finished, William? Are you done? Can we move on?" "Did you listen carefully? It's so degrading and humiliating, Emily, listening to her taunts and subtle mockery, her long-winded lectures designed to stimulate my passions and at the same time destroy any hope of satisfying them... She loves belittling me... She enjoys demolishing what little sense of myself as a male I have left... She hates me... This has got to be obvious to you from what I have quoted her! And to have to sit there unable to move or say a word as she babbles on and on! And then, after sitting in the stroller for most of the morning she comes for me and wheels it back inside, I sit in a high-chair and am fed a gooey, tasteless, yellow-green mush she's made in the blender... 'Oh, it so yummy-yummy...,' she torments me. 'And just think, Baby can finish the left-over tonight for din-din! I bet you can't wait!' Then it's off with the bib and upstairs to the nursery for a totally unnecessary two-hour nap when I'm not the least bit tired after sleeping for twelve hours the night before and doing nothing all day but sit in a playpen and stroller... And I'm not stupid, you know, Emily... I know the only reason Nanny makes me take those long afternoon naps and then puts me down at 7 p.m. is so she gets a long, leisurely break in the mid-afternoon and a long night to do what she wants... It is so intolerable to be a cipher on someone else's schedule... To be a plaything for a nanny who despises me... You wouldn't stand for it for a minute, Emily." "You're right, William. I would never have placed myself in your ridiculous position. But you have done so of your own accord, no one forced you... Plus, there are benefits you overlook... Your every need is met... You lack for nothing... You should be happy to be alert and well- rested when so many men are sleep-deprived and exhausted killing themselves at work, and you're lucky Nanny changes your diapers as frequently as she does to keep you from getting diaper rash. Not all babies are so fortunate. And you forget that it was you, William, you, who wanted to be made to take naps each afternoon like a real baby. It would be so enchanting, you said... And it was you who suggested an early bedtime, like a real baby... These were all your ideas, no one else's, certainly not mine. 'Ohhh, it will be so exciting,' you said, 'being made to obey like a little baby and suck a dummy and dress in girly, baby dresses... Deprived of adult privileges, made to obey, punished if I don't... Like a typical child... Oh, the intoxicating, exhilarating sense of impotence I'll feel in diapers and frocks as a young, pretty nanny orders me about and makes me obey, with no hope or escape and no likelihood of my ordeal ever ending!' Every idea, William, was yours! You planned every step of your own descent into a babyish childhood, William! So you have no one to blame but yourself..." "But I don't want this life anymore! I made a huge mistake! I admit that... I just didn't know what I was doing, or thinking... I just didn't know exactly what I was getting myself into... It was just a fantasy... Why do I have to live a fantasy that has turned into a nightmare?" "Too bad... We all have to live with the effects of our decisions, William. You chose badly and have to live with the consequences. And think of the huge financial investment I've made in making every detail of your fantasy a reality. Would it be fair to me for you simply to walk away after all I've spent on you?" "But I'll make it up to you... I'll pay you back... Every cent..." "How will you do that, William? You have no job. You quit your job, remember?" "I'll get another..." "Another job? Doing what, William? It took you years to rise to your lowly mid-level position, and now, after you left, they merely eliminated your position. That's how important you were... No, you'll never get a job that will begin to pay me back for the expenses I've had in just the last year. Besides, frankly, William---though I don't want to hurt your feelings---but it's important to be honest with each other. Frankly, it's been more than a little pleasant having you out of the way in the nursery for the last year, not being responsible for you, knowing you were being well cared for, bathed and fed and looked after, and not have to busy myself about you or worry about you or even see you every day." "But, Emily, think about me... It hasn't been pleasant for me..." "It was what you wanted, William! You begged for it! Why can't you simply admit it?" "But that's before I knew what it's really like, Emily... It's so boring being treated like a baby all the time... You have no idea, you get to go out into the real world each day, you see people and get to do exciting things... You can go to a restaurant when you like and drink a glass of wine whenever you like. You can go to a show if you choose or turn on the television and watch what you like. You can read, jog, hike, listen to music, take a vacation, go to the mall and buy whatever you wish... You can dress the way you want, eat and drink what you want, and go to bed at night when you decide and get up whenever you wish! You're not confined to a nursery like me, never being allowed out, every decision made for you, told what to do every second... I have no idea what day it is even, and I have no clue what's happening in the world... I have no money, no credit cards, no license to drive anymore... Nanny makes a big deal of putting a penny in the pink piggy bank on the dresser every week and says in the most honeyed, unctuous tone of voice how in another year, when I've collected lots and lots of pennies, she's going to empty it and go out and buy me a chocolate bar and I'll get to eat whenever I want, even between meals if I chose. This is what I've been reduced to-- -having to be grateful to my nanny for letting me eat a chocolate bar between meals..." "Me! Me! Me! Is that all you can think of, William? Yourself?" "I'm just so bored every day, Emily, the same thing, day after day, and Nanny sitting there smirking and hoping it'll soon be time to lock me in my crib... It's not right! You can't leave me here every day in her care. I hate her! I hate the playpen! I hate the dolls and having to color! I hate when she makes me wear the wristlets, puts me in the bouncer and hooks my wrists to my belt and starts me bouncing in my booties, my toes just touching the floor so I can't stop! She laughs as I bounce about flapping my arms like wings of some huge, awkward earth-bound bird, bouncing this way and that, like a stupid jack-in-the-box, and the more I try to stop the more I bounce about. It's just maddening... 'You're just a real live big-bird doll, honey, with no more coordination and self- control than a new-born chick,' she mocks as I bounce, and if I whine and mewl she just sticks a gag in my mouth to silence me, ties it behind my neck, and goes back to her rocker to read as I continue to bounce. And the bouncing makes me piss and shit, and I hate pissing and shitting in my diaper and having to sit in it until Nanny decides to change me! It's just not fair! I'm an adult!" "Watch your language, young lady! 'Piss' and 'shit' are off limits... They're big boy words and not part of your vocabulary anymore... You should know that! You're close, William---very, very close---to a spanking! Would you like to go over my knee? And the nerve of you calling me unjust and unfair after I've paid for everything you wanted so you could play your baby games all day while I work... You're so spoiled! You really are a baby, aren't you! Selfish and spoiled, with zero gratitude for all Nanny and I have done! Just a little monster whose mouth should be washed out with soap for filthy language... You've just earned yourself some corner time, little lady!" "I'm sorry, Emily... It's just that I'm so unhappy now..." "Well, too bad! You'll just have to get over it! Nothing's going to change despite your whining... In fact, just the opposite... I'll tell Nanny Mary to be even stricter... Would you like to be put down at six and have to get up at eight? That can be arranged, you know... Would you like to sit in a poopie diaper for twelve hours? That, too, can be arranged... If you develop attitude, so can we! And I assure you that our attitude can make things so much worse for you than your attitude can make things for us! You should know me well enough by this time! Whining and fretting and bad attitudes just strengthen my resolve to keep you exactly where you're at... No matter how much you complain...You'll just have to get used to it, William. It's too late now... I simply don't want to go back to the days when you used to ejaculate on my thigh before you could enter, cried so miserably in embarrassment I had to comfort you when I myself needed some comforting as well, and then, after you had calmed down, you would yawn and roll over and go to sleep leaving me to stare at the ceiling for a couple of hours... And I don't think you want to return to those days either. We were both unhappy and had sex together fewer and fewer times and enjoyed it even less than before. You retreated into your fantasy life and masturbation while I immersed myself in my career. You dreamed about your nursery, this is what excited you when I couldn't, you used to talk about it obsessively and begged me for it endlessly, over and over, and I finally relented, and now you have it... There's an old saying that when you make your bed you have to lie in it... And there's another old saying, be careful what you wish for, you may get it..." "Oh, don't talk to me like I'm a child, Emily! I know those silly old sayings..." "Well, they're true nonetheless, William, however much you may dismiss them as not up to your former standards of cleverness and originality. Oh, how you used to strut about telling me you were a genius! So smart and sharp as a tack... So much smarter than me, you kept telling me... Well, your days of being clever and impressing people, especially young women, are pretty much over, William. Mary makes you say only goo-goo and gah- gah in the nursery, so I know you wouldn't get much chance there to impress anybody if you had any visitors. Oh, that must be soooo, soooo frustrating for a genius like you not to be allowed to talk... To sit there and play with his foam blocks all day going goo-goo, gah-gah... Can you imagine any young, self-respecting, good-looking girl, maybe a former colleague of yours from work, getting a peek into your nursery and seeing you dressed in diapers and a pretty little pink cotton frock, the kind you love with the short puffed sleeves, the wide rounded Miss Polly collar, the darling front with the "Mommy's Little Helper" appliqu? on it for all to see, and the big floppy bow in back? You clutch Teddy or Dollie tightly looking back at her wide-eyed and startled to see a visitor after all these months and say goo-goo, gah- gah. Nanny could leaf through with her all the coloring books you've completed in the last year and proudly show her the ones that were so good, so carefully done, no coloring outside the lines, not even a squiggle, that Nanny cut them out and displayed them on the nursery wall. Do you think our visitor would be impressed, William? Want to get to know you? Want to date you? Go to bed with you? I'm afraid not... Those days, I'm afraid, are gone for good... No, she'd see a totally sexless little dwarf of a man, bald and hairless, slumped in his playpen, his skin as bare and smooth as a real baby's, dressed like a toddler girl staring sullenly back at her through the mesh and saying goo-goo, gah-gah... And when she learns that you're in your diapers and playpen by choice, William, when Nanny laughs and tells her you're in your nursery because you want to be there and when your nanny adds that she's been hired at your insistence, paid a big salary by your wife, and is nonetheless bored out of her mind by the daily monotony of caring for an adult baby who does nothing all day but say goo-goo, gah-gah and wet his diapers, I'm afraid our visitor, seeing you there in all your glory, would lose whatever pity and sympathy she might have felt. In fact, I bet she'd find you a bit repellent, don't you think? Erotically unattractive, that's for sure, no question about that! But more than unattractive---she'd find you repulsive and disgusting, getting his 'jollies' sitting in a wet, poopy diaper, a pervert who can't sustain a normal, loving, reciprocal relationship with a woman but is instead only thrilled when he's dominated in diapers by a young pretty nanny who has nothing but disdain for him and is bored silly herself by the tedium of each day she has to spend in his nursery. Yes, this young woman would frown at the very sight of you and turn away in disgust, close the nursery door behind her, exit the house in a hurry trying to blot out the very the memory of you, the way she might let a rock fall back on its bottom after spying a slimy, pale white slug beneath... Then, maybe you would appreciate your nanny more, someone who at least tolerates your perversions and is not sickened by the sight of you..." "Ohhh, Emily, you can be so cruel... And you're wrong, too, about making all my own choices... There are a few important things I didn't choose for myself like you say! Things you decided for me... I didn't ask for the chastity tube you make me wear..." "Ahhh, darling you're right... That, I admit, was my idea. But how could I leave you alone with a pretty nanny all day without some kind of protection? Besides, baby wee-wees are for wetting and nothing more... And Nanny feels more comfortable not having to deal with unwelcome erections when she changes and bathes you, or when she's in a sexy little nightie early in the morningand you happen to see her. Can you blame her?" "But you keep it on all the time now, even when she isn't here..." "Well, after all, your condition is permanent, isn't it? You're never going to get used to wearing it if I keep popping it on and off! And, besides, like I said, a baby's wee-wee has to stay limp and soft... What kind of baby girl walks around with a stiffie? And, if you don't like it, what would you prefer as an alternative? Castration?" "You're laughing at me, Emily..." "Well, darling, you have to admit, the whole situation is a little bizarre and amusing... It's not easy explaining to colleagues and co- workers and friends exactly what's happening in my house on the second floor in the old guest room. It's embarrassing... I just say you've had a severe nervous breakdown, are recuperating at home, have regressed to psychological infancy, and that if you don't recover soon I'll get power of attorney over all your affairs." "You can't do that! The courts won't allow it! You can't keep me here!" "You would be surprised, William, what I have discovered in the last year while you've been mincing about in your baby frocks with Nanny. It's easy to prove to a court, with the right lawyers and at the right price, that when a husband quits a well-paying job to mince about in diapers and willingly subjects himself, for a whole year, mind you, to the supervision of a trained psychiatric nurse who he fantasizes is a nanny in his own private nursery, then this guy is, on the face of it, weird and deeply troubled and surely incompetent to be in charge of his own affairs. Looking impartially at the evidence, William, any court is likely to judge that such an individual should be in the strict and loving care of his wife if not locked away in an institution." "You wouldn't!" "Well, William, I wouldn't like to, that's true. I am fond of you. I would miss you... And it would be messy getting you committed and it would certainly be highly distressing seeing you carted away in a wagon wearing a straight jacket and manhandled by a couple of tough orderlies. I wouldn't like to think what they would do to you in such a place, would you? I hope you never force me to such action, dear. It would be so much cleaner and easier just for me to handle all your affairs, get power of attorney and you declared incompetent, put everything in my name, and keep you here. Nothing would really have to change, now would it? We have such a nice arrangement here, you and me, you in the nursery with your nanny and me in the nearby bedroom, from time to time I drop by to visit and assist Nanny... And I do hope you'll stop this whining and griping about every little thing. It's so tiresome, and your nanny and I don't deserve it. Try to see the brighter, happier side of our arrangement, William. After all, think about it, how many of us get to perpetually live out our secret fantasy life and get it paid for by a loving spouse? How many of us can afford to retire from work to live a life we've only dreamed of?" "But, Emily..." "Enough, William! I am tired of this wrangling and talking and nothing getting resolved... You're a child, William, and silence is golden in children... I'll finish by doing the talking and you'll listen. We'll end our conversation before Nanny comes to fetch you by my repeating a little allegory that was told to me by a friend with you in mind. You'll see the point, I think, a bright little child like you: Once there was a little boy who was walking in the forest and came upon a big vat of golden amber. He had been told not to go near the vat, it was dangerous. But the amber was so sweet and enticing and sticky like caramel that the little boy ignored the warnings. He leaned far into the vat, dipping his hands into it and then his arms up to his shoulders, and he tasted the nectar and it was delicious. He swooned and leaned further, he leaned so far, in fact, that he lost his balance and fell in. At first he was frightened and thrashed about thinking he might drown. But the liquid was so thick and dense that it buoyed him up and the feel of the gooey, sticky amber coating his skin was surprisingly pleasant. So, instead of climbing out, he luxuriated in its feel and began to float about and enjoy himself, first on his back and then on his belly and then on his back again. Slowly, imperceptibly, however, the amber began to congeal and harden. The process was so slow he barely noticed at first. He still refused to climb out even as he found it harder and harder to move his limbs as the amber slowly hardened in the vat. The little boy was coated with it, it covered him from head to toe. His limbs grew stiff, his movements slowed, and eventually it took the greatest effort for him to move even a finger. Now it was too late to climb out without help, he was too weak to move a finger; he was caught like a butterfly in amber, stiff and frozen in space and time and unable to move. A little girl peered into the vat at his immobilized form as he floated about in a panic. He would need assistance if he were ever to be free from his sticky prison. He looked at her and begged for assistance. 'It's too late, little boy,' she said sadly. 'I can't help you, no one can, you're doomed to float about immobile forever.' "It's a very ugly story, Emily, and I can tell you enjoyed it immensely though I found it infinitely depressing." "William, you're that little boy. You are coated with your babyhood just like the little boy is coated with amber, and there will be no release for either of you, my little darling... Like the little boy, you should never have wandered so close to the edge, and when you fell in you should have immediately climbed back out when you had the strength and the will; it's too late now, you're too weak, you'll just have to stay as you are in your nursery and make the best of it... Nor, when you think about it, is your fate so very bad... Just like the sensory-deprived little boy in the vat---he's comfortable and cozy and secure floating about coated in amber...There are worse fates in life, William, than being cocooned in a nursery and lovingly being looked after... Try to think of it that way...You'll be happier, or at least a little more resigned..." "Tell me something, Emily, and don't get angry, please." "Dear?" "Promise not to be mad?" "Yes, William, I promise..." "Do you go out at night? Do you date while I'm in the nursery in my crib? Do you have a boyfriend who sleeps with you? I hardly ever see you at night." "That's impertinent, William, and none of your business. First of all, you're a baby now who lives in a nursery, you're no longer a husband except in name only, and so you have lost the rights and privileges of one and therefore have lost the right to expect an answer to the question you have just asked... Second, if you must know, you're in bed at seven and I often have to work late, way past seven, to support your chosen and expensive lifestyle. But, more importantly, little children like you should not be wondering about such things let alone asking their mommies such questions. It's impure..." "Well, are you seeing someone?" "You are exasperating, William! You will not learn your place, will you? Such a willful child... Well, if you must know, yes... I've been dating a man from work for several months now and we're quite serious. He's really quite extraordinary, I must say... Magnificent even... I wasn't going to tell you... I didn't want to worry you. Little children get so upset and jealous when they think their mommies aren't exclusively their own and devoted to them. But rest assured, darling, just relax knowing that nothing is going to change, nothing is going to happen to you. You'll be well taken care of even when I divorce to remarry a real man. It will be just like always, you'll be my little baby girl in her cozy, little nursery down the hall, and looked after by your nice, pretty nanny. Won't that be nice? We'll all have so much fun together. Mommy and Daddy sharing the bedroom and living their lives together and you living your life within the four walls of your nursery protected and nurtured by a nanny who'll serve as your babysitter when we're away... Not a worry in the world, darling... Day after day of nursery play and fun... No responsibilities... And we'll send you postcards and pictures on our honeymoon and Nanny Mary can pin them up on the nursery bulletin board beside your coloring book pictures we so admire... Yes, your every need will continue to be met, William, except, of course, those adult ones having to do with your harmless little wee-wee. That little pleasure will remain off-limits. Now, I know it will be hard for you knowing that Daddy doesn't have to wear a tube and Mommy and Daddy get to make love down the hall in the bedroom while you're confined in chastity in your nursery. But that's just the price you pay for being my darling ickle- lickle baby... No ickle-lickle baby of mine makes gooey, white messy- messies in his ickle-lickle dydies, now does he? And can you imagine a ickle-lickle baby girl making big boy spurties? Eee-yuckkkk, gross! "Yes, William, you are a very lucky baby really and you'll have all the time in the world to adjust... all the time in the world..." Finis