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Act Your Age by Throne "Robin!" a firm female voice called. "You come in here right this minute." "Please, Aunt Harriet," an upset eighteen-year-old answered. "Don't make me. Not while I'm dressed like this." "The whole point," she reminded him, "is for my friends to see you that way. You're going to be kept in girly clothes all Summer. It's the only way to settle you down. And having others see you feminized is part of my program." "But I didn't do anything to deserve this." "You most certainly did. Talking back to your Mom, looking at girls with lust in your eyes, and buying yourself those awful hippy-hoppity clothes, like some sort of inner-city thug. Get yourself in here NOW, and remember what I taught you about proper deportment." Her nephew Robert entered the sitting room reluctantly. He obviously remembered her lessons, because he took small steps and held his slender arms out slightly to the sides, with wrists limp. His body language complimented the way she had him made up and attired. Let's review it in detail. The young man's collar-length hair was cut in bangs and curled under on the sides and in back. It had been lightened from its normal mousey brown to a shimmering blond hue. His naturally soft features were enhanced by foundation, blush, various eye make-ups, and dark pink lipstick. The combination gave him the face of a prom queen. Around his slim neck was a single strand of graduated, faux pearls. His trim figure was shown off by a simple black dress with a wide, shiny leather belt that featured a decorative round buckle. The top was tailored, with long sleeves. Sewn-in pads produced the illusion of a modest bust. The skirt was pleated, falling to just below his knees. His small hands were encased by white gloves. On his rather shapely legs he wore sheer stockings that showed off the absence of any body hair. His Aunt had gotten it removed from his limbs, as well as the rest of his body. He thought the results were temporary, but they were quite permanent. On his feet were glossy black pumps with two-inch heels, which were wide, in consideration of his still-developing skill for walking in them. His Aunt and her one invited guest were seated on an antique sofa, while another visitor had put herself on an armchair from an earlier era, complete with antimacassars on the back and arms. All three women were in their late middle-years and dressed in dowdy clothes that would have been typical for their age group at mid-century. They resembled stereotypical schoolteachers or librarians from that time. Beside each of them was a cup of tea. In one corner of the room was a tea cart. "I can't imagine why you were so shy, Robin," said Harriet. "You look lovely." "So proper," her friend Marge complimented. "Like a sweet young lady," Agnes agreed. Robert whined, "Aunt Harriet, can't I please get back into my male clothing?" "Oh, did I forget to mention? Those things have all be packed away. Well, some of them I had sent to a thrift store. An inner city one. Some of the young men there will appreciate those dreadful rapping outfits you squandered good money on." "But those were for me to wear when I hung out with my bros." "Bros?" Marge offered, "I believe that is an abbreviated form of 'brothers', and means his inner circle of rambunctious male friends." "In that case," Harriet said pointedly, "you most certainly won't need any of those items. From now on, you won't be associating with the rougher sorts of boys." "But I'm... I can't... You aren't allowed to..." He was so upset that he stamped his foot. His Aunt made a mental note that he was already acquiring some feminine reflexes. She refreshed his memory with, "I most definitely am allowed to do that, and whatever else I wish. Anything to rid you of your bad habits and antisocial behavior." As if she was speaking to someone who was memory- impaired, she said, "Don't you recall those papers I showed you, which were signed by your mother? I showed you Holly's signature." "That woman is only my stepmother. I don't know what she did to my Dad, to land him in that loony bin." "Your dear STEP-Mother had to have Donald committed to a mental health facility because he had a breakdown. He became delusional and formed a theory that she had done everything she could to drive him to his collapse. Of course, none of it was true. Possibly he just felt deep quilt over abandoning your birth mother for someone younger. Now he's someplace where he can't hurt Holly or himself, being looked after by a dedicated staff of young men who take a very personal interest in him." "OMG," Robert blurted. "You mean the attendants are... doing things to him?" "My dear, I said no such thing. I hope you are not following him along the path of paranoia. And please don't worry about your dear stepmother being alone. She has found a male companion who is providing her with all the company she could possibly want." "You mean that Slate guy? He's just a big hunk to satisfy her sexual needs and..." Harriet held up a silencing hand. "I won't hear any more of that. You should be more respectful of your future stepfather." "But she's still married to my Dad." "Not for long, dear. The divorce will go through soon. It was simple, after she had to have Daddy dearest declared incompetent. But now let's get back to the matter at hand. I've been tasked with reforming you, and making you capable of receiving monies due to you, on your 21st birthday." "I was supposed to get that money when I turned eighteen, three months ago." "But because your father was involved, and he has since lost his legal status, Holly decided it would be best to wait a few more years." She paused to let that sink in, and then concluded with, "So that I can aid you in becoming your best possible self." "Three more years?" He sounded stunned. "With you?" "Under my care," she specified. "My tender loving care. Now you must stop upsetting yourself, Robin. It's not proper for a young lady like you to become agitated and..." She said the last word as if it were some terrible medical condition. "... perspire." The shock of learning that Aunt Harriet's control over him wasn't about to end was disorienting. He blinked several times and took a deep breath. All of the resistance he had built up was melting away. He couldn't miss his Aunt's subdued smirk of triumph. "Now, Robin," she said, as if she hadn't just delivered the worst possible news he could imagine. "Each of my friends has brought you a gift, to help with the dress therapy I'm giving you, to suppress your male aggression." In a weak voice, more to himself than to them, he said, "All I did was buy some clothes and try to talk to a few girls." "Are you ready to receive your presents? And show proper gratitude?" "Uh... yes, Ma'am." He remembered that she had advised him to address her that way, or as Aunt Harriet. "And please use your softer voice, as we discussed." Robert was quieter and spoke in a higher register as he responded, "Yes, Aunt Harriet." He decided it was safer to appease her, at least until he figured a way out of this bad dream. "Thank you for reminding me, Ma'am." "You're quite welcome. I will give you many pointers like that, dear, and expect you to take them all to heart." When all he did was to offer a weak smile of acquiescence, she went on, "Now go to Agnes over there first, and then come here to Marge. I'm sure they're eager to see how much you adore what they have for you." She took a sip of her tea. His knees trembled. This had spun out of control. What could he do? Robert didn't want to have to keep dressing like a young lady, one from decades ago. He thought of his male wardrobe, now inaccessible to him. He had no money of his own. His credit cards were in her possession. And his plans to purchase a car would have to be put on hold for who-knew-how-long. Numbly, he went to Agnes. She smiled up at him and took something from a small, handled shopping bag. It was a hat that would go perfectly with his out-of-date outfit. The headwear was small and round, in royal blue wool, with a matching bow in back and tulle netting in front. He accepted it unhappily and perched it atop his dyed hair. The women cooed and murmured their approval. Harriet told him, "Now model it for us, Robin. Don't forget to move the way I taught you." He tried to remember those hated lessons, every one of which he had bridled at. Now that his willpower had been sapped by bad news, he wanted to please his Aunt. After all, she had endless control over him. Visions of wearing hip-hop styles faded, already being replaced by mental images of himself how he was now, like someone's dutiful daughter. He crossed the room, putting one foot in front of the other, right arm hanging loose and left hand above his faux bosom, fingers spread. He kept his chin tilted up slightly as he circled the available floorspace, hips rolling in a decidedly unmasculine way. Robert returned and placed himself in front of Agnes. His lips quivered as he forced a smile. "Thank you so much, Ma'am." Robert's voice had been replaced fully by Robin's. "My new hat is delightful. It goes so well with my outfit. And I love the netting." "I'm glad you're enjoying it, sweetie. Now go and see what Marge has for you." He hated the way they spoke to him, as if he really was who he was being made to present himself as. Even so, he minced across the room, to the sofa. Marge couldn't entirely disguise her amusement as she reached into a red and white striped bag with the name of a women's store on it. What she came out with was a navy clutch bag with white trim and a gold clasp. His first thought was that it would go well with the hat. Why was he thinking that way? "Ohhh," he enthused, his voice high and mellifluous. "It's just..." The word came to him unbidden. "... divine. Thank you so much, Ma'am. It really completes my outfit." "You're welcome, Robin. If I'm not being too bold, let me just say that I hope you appreciate everything you're dear Aunt is doing for you. She has your best interests in mind, as I'm sure you're coming to understand." "Yes, Ma'am." "So, why don't you go and thank her?" His usual reflexes failed him. The need to keep Aunt Harriet happy took precedence. He didn't want to find himself sequestered away like his father, in that facility, robbed of all his rights, and watched over by virile young men of questionable motives. Robert was going to have to be on his best behavior, every minute of every day, until this was over. He turned to his Aunt and held the purse at belt level, with both hands, feeling as emasculated as he was sure he appeared. With a tiny dip of his knees, he said, "Thank you so much for all you've done for me, Aunt Harriet, and all that you will do from now on." "Absolutely," she said with a hint of a nod. "No effort will be too much for me, where your welfare and improvement are concerned. I guarantee that I will do all in my power to rid you of those nasty male traits that brought. I will put your mind into a proper balance." Robert tried to tell himself that he would come through this with his male self still intact, that he could cache his true personality somewhere within the wholly female exterior he was obligated to project, and that when it was over, he could resume his old life. He repeated those promises to himself repeatedly, yet each time there was a counterbalancing voice that repeated, 'Three years. Three years. Three years." ********* "Let's have a look at you, darling," the big woman said to Troy. "I want our little Trini to be perfect for her playdate." He was fuming inside. How dare his sister hire this middle-aged woman to run his life? Just because he was only 18 and Sis was 21, there shouldn't be this great of a disparity in their power, especially not when he wanted to go to work for the family business, like she had already done. The young man sighed. His narrow shoulders drooped. He said, "Yes, Miss Tessmacher." "Please," she insisted. "Call me Gloria. After all, we do want to be friends. Girlfriends." He was sure dressed for the role of girlfriend, if the age-bracket in mind was pre-teen, and the time was decades ago. Troy stood there in a golden wig with long, sausage curls. His face was made up with long, drawn-on, eyelashes, wide spots of bright rouge on his cheeks, and red lipstick that had been applied liberally but not too neatly. He wore a puffy party dress, with capped sleeves, a flouncy bow at the neck, a sash to draw in the waist, and a billowing skirt, under which were several petticoats, beneath which he had on ballooning panties with scalloped trim around the leg-holes. His feet were encased in anklets, their tops turned over and trimmed in lace, and his feet shod in shoes with square toes and chunky, one-inch heels. The entire ensemble was in shades of green and yellow, with flashes of gold. Miss Tessmacher smiled down at him. She was very tall for a woman and he was quite short for a guy. She attached screw-type earrings to his lobes, making them slightly too tight for comfort. Troy wanted to object, but his memories of the spanking she had given him the day before were still painfully fresh in his mind. Being put over her wide lap, while wearing only a girl's nightshirt, having his rear end bared, and being smacked back there until he cried, was not something he would soon forget. Avoiding a repeat performance was his top priority. Still, he wished he could say something about how much he despised what was being done to him. He understood that it was supposed to be some kind of modern therapy, to test his ability to defer to others, a skill he previously lacked. If his minder, as he thought of the big woman, gave him her approval, he could start work at the company. Otherwise, he would have to wait a year before trying again. That was why it was so urgent to gain and keep her approval. After thoroughly checking him and fussing with his clothes, she took his face between her plump hands. "You are so cute like this. There's just one final touch I have to give you, before your new friend arrives. Let me get it." From her copious shoulder bag, Miss Tessmacher produced -- OH NO ! -- a golden tiara. She gently centered it atop Troy's wig and attached it with something he couldn't see. "Perfect," she declared. "Just remember how important this get-together is for my evaluation. Your total cooperation is essential. Any action that disrupts the scenario I've created will affect the rating I give. And we don't want our sweet Trini to get a bad grade, now do we?" "No, Miss Tessmacher," he said in his best little-girl voice. Troy wished this process wasn't so immersive. At bedtime, when he had to sleep in a short, frilly nightie, he would lie there, trying to reassert his male self. It had been easy at first. And the early hour at which she made him retire gave him enough time. But as the days passed, it became less easy to transition his mind back and forth. It was as if Trini was taking over. Sometimes, when he lay there in the dark, with only his unicorn nightlight for illumination, he would try to speak to himself in his masculine voice. More often than not, lately, he could not summon it. The affable yet imposing woman took him by the hand and led him into the next room. This place that she ran was like a labyrinth, from what he had seen of it. Now they passed into a room he'd never entered before, set up for a kiddie party. There was a low table with two chairs. Cupcakes were arranged in tiers on a platter, beside some small paper plates. A bottle of blended fruit juice sat in a bowl of ice, next to a pair of paper cups. There was also a wrapped package for whoever sat in each spot. Troy was walked to one of the chairs. Miss Tessmacher pulled it out and motioned for him to sit. He held onto his voluminous dress and all those petticoats as he lowered himself onto the seat, with her pushing it in at the same time. He tried to call up a mental image of his recent girlfriend, Felicity, but had trouble doing it. It was difficult for him to think about anything other than how he was living now, with girly clothes and activities around-the-clock. He looked at the heavily iced cupcakes but wasn't hungry, not after the heavy breakfast he had been given. His attention was distracted by a door on the far side of the room opening. A woman who could have been Miss Tessmacher's sister appeared. She turned back the way she had come and said some coaxing words. A young man shyly entered. He was made up and dressed much like Troy, except that his wig was an unnatural crimson, and the color scheme of his clothes was all reds and pinks. Troy found himself comparing their outfits and trying to decide which he preferred. He shook himself back to focusing on this weird event, and trying to maintain his inner-male. The newly arrived woman said to her charge, "Don't be rude, sugar. Introduce yourself." He wrung his hands and, in a wispy voice, stammered, "I... I'm Dixon." His handler said with strained patience, "Do we use boy names here?" "N... no, Miss Quentin. I'm..." He lowered his eyes in shame. "... Dixie." "Do it again," she coached. "But look straight at who you're talking to. Manners, missy." He swallowed, made a throat-clearing sound, and said, "H... hello. I'm Dixie." He took a breath. "Pleased to meet you." Miss Tessmacher put one finger on Troy's shoulder to signal that it was his turn. He licked his lips, tasting lipstick, got up, and at a barely audible volume said, "I'm Trini. Pleased to meet you too, Dixie." "There you go," Miss Tessmacher soothed him. "I knew you could do it." Miss Quentin asked Dixie, "Would you like to sing the song I taught you, honey?" He didn't appear to want to do that. Nervously touching his wig, he said, "Yes, Ma'am." Dixie hugged himself and quaveringly sang, "I'm a pretty princess, In a pretty dress. I love to eat sweets, and try not to make a mess. If you want to see my panties, don't think twice. I'll show them to you now, if you ask really nice." The women clapped politely. Troy belatedly joined them. Miss Tessmacher asked him, "Wouldn't you like find out if Dixie's panties are as pretty as yours, dear?" "I..." This was so shameful. Even so, he was strangely curious. "Yes, please." "Then you have to ask, and remember to use your best manners." Troy said, against his will, "May I please see... your pretty panties... Dixie?" To make sure he didn't irritate Miss Tessmacher by not going far enough, he added, "Pretty please?" Miss Quentin chuckled. She told Dixon, "I think Trini was just as sweet as a lollipop, the way she said that. Now you have to let her see them." Blushing vividly, Dixon got to his feet. He moved away from the table, balancing on heels that were an inch higher than Troy's. Then he stopped, and began the song over from the beginning. As he sang, the shamefaced young man gathered up his skirt and the layers of petticoats, struggling to manage the mass of material. It slipped from his hold and he let out a stressed syllable. Trying to do it over, still singing, but with the lyrics broken up by sobs, he at last was able to stand there with both arms holding everything up, so he had to peek over the top of it all. His eyes were shiny with incipient tears. Troy saw panties like his own, except in pale red, with a line of tiny white bows down the center. Dixon glanced toward Miss Quentin and, when she nodded permission, lowered everything. He stood there smoothing it for a moment before retaking his seat. Then Miss Tessmacher took two of the paper plates, which had colorful cartoon characters on them, and put three cupcakes on each, before setting them in front of the party-dress- wearing boys. Miss Quentin told them, "Enjoy your yummy cupcakes, girls." They began to eat, pacing themselves because more than enough had been given to them. By the end the two of them were beyond comfortably full. Miss Tessmacher refilled their plates, while the other woman poured them each a cup of juice. By the time the second serving was gone, the eaters had passed from full to stuffed. But their plates were loaded up yet again. They chewed and swallowed miserably, while the women looked on with silent gloating. After that the guys had sore tummies and kept making gagging sounds. Miss Tessmacher remarked, "What hungry piggies." Miss Quentin decided, "There are only six cupcakes left, so we might as well feed those to our piglets, too." Lipstick-decorated mouths writhed as the seated figures force-fed themselves the final half dozen baked treats. The generously applied icing got all over their lips and even on their chins. They sat there, overfed and nauseated. Miss Tessmacher noted, "Our hungry hippos have gotten their pretty faces messy." "They like that icing so much that they'll be happy to lick it off... each other." The young men both went wide-eyed. This was something new to them. They held their midsections and shook their heads in slow motion. But the women would not take no for an answer. They helped them to their feet and positioned the pair facing each other. Dixon had to go first, running his tongue over Troy's lips. Then Troy had to lap the corners of Dixon's mouth. They went back and forth, even after the icing was gone. Then Miss Tessmacher declared, "You two are getting along so well. Why don't you hug?" As they did that, she went further, with, "And give each other some sweet kisses." Barely able to believe he was doing it, Troy pressed his lips to Dixon's. The women made them try it over and over, always deciding they could improve their efforts. Then they told the guys it was okay for them to 'play grown-ups', and kiss like Mommies and Daddies did, with their mouths open and tongues all over each other. Troy had never had the slightest desire to be intimate with another guy in any way, let alone to share a soul kiss. But the young men had been brought along in stages, their natural maleness worn away, their self-images warped, and their individual wills weakened more than they realized. All at once they were exchanging sloppy penetrating kisses, unable to stop or even slow down. They held each other's heads and locked lips. Not until they had done so much and been so spirited, that they could never deny to themselves the extremity of what they had done, or the lengths to which they had taken it, were they told to stop. "Our girls got naughty." "They earned themselves some over-the-knee spankings. But that can wait." "Right now, it's time for one more hug and a nice goodbye kiss. But let's not overdo it, little ladies. Just make lovey-dovey kisses that last a long, long time." With the realization of how indelibly they had humiliated themselves, and lots of questions about what they had been thinking and what it all said about their true selves, they shared five minutes of unwanted yet tender, more restrained yet more intimate, kisses. In the end, with their insides still protesting from how they had overeaten, they gave each other final chaste kisses on the cheeks and were led away by their respective handlers. To Troy, his sister and the family business now seemed like they were a million miles away. All he could think about was how much he had been changed, and how much further he might still be taken. As Miss Tessmacher walked him to his candy-colored bedroom, she said, "That went very well, Trini. I'm going to schedule several more playdates for you with Dixie. And some more with other sissy sisters who I'm confident you'll get along with just as well... and maybe even better." ********* Desiree knelt over her husband Barton, who was on his back, on an adult- sized baby blanket, on the floor. He looked up at her, at those massive breasts he lusted after, and that cute face, which contrasted so excitingly with her voluptuous figure. The married man was naked and smelled like what had soaked the large diaper she had just unpinned and opened. "P.U." she said, making a face and waving at the air under her nose. "Baby Bubbles made a lot of tinkles. That magic medicine Mommy gives him is doing its job, making him pee so much." He tried to say something but the oversized pacifier jammed into his mouth prevented it. She teased his nipples with her fingers, making 'kitchy-coo' sounds. What she was doing didn't register as tickling, but as intense erotic stimulation. His cock stood up from a crotch that was pink and hairless, like the rest of his smooth body. Even his head had not a single functioning follicle. Because she had no bra on, as she cleaned him with disposable wipes, her sizable boobs shifted around invitingly. He wanted so much to touch them, but his hands were in huge puffy mitts that rendered them useless and prevented him from feeling anything. Desiree took her time cleaning his erect prick, almost giving it a hand-job, but stopping before the climactic moment got too near. She asked, "Does Mommy take good care of her special guy? Hmmm? Will Mommy make sure he doesn't do anything that might get him into trouble? Yes, she will. Mommy won't let her moo-moo sneak around and see any naughty women. Mommy won't let Baby Bubbles cheat, ever again, with someone like that Vicky. That way, Baby Bubbles won't ever be tempted to lie and say that he's not married. Remember how angry Miss Vicky got when she found out that you told her all those fibs? Oh my. That's why she went to her rich and influential friend, that helpful Rocco, so he could help Baby Bubbles learn to not do wrong things." Barton pleaded with his eyes. She pretended she thought he was trying to communicate that he needed more cleaning. She used a wipe on his bottom, between his cheeks, to tease another susceptible erogenous zone. The stimulation made him squirm and moan. She returned to toying with his receptive nipples before using her lightest, most tantalizing touch on his straining tool once more. He was having fits of frustrated need. "Does my baby want some cream?" she asked solicitously. "Does him need that creamy cream on his parts?" She uncapped a tube and squeezed a generous amount of its scented contents onto her fingers. Then she revisited all of those so-easy-to- excite areas, taking even longer, and with the tactile amplification of the slippery substance. He writhed nonstop under her wicked ministrations. If the pacifier hadn't been tied around his head with its attached, buckling strap, he would have expelled it and begged for her to please make him finish. But that was not an option. Desiree told him, "Mommy is still concerned about you poo-poos. That laxative works but it might be too harsh for your delicate system. So, we're going to change over to giving you nice warm enemas. Won't that be good? Nice and warm, with a lot of liquid. To make sure you get extra clean inside, Mommy will leave them in for a long time. And now that Mommy and Vicky are friends, she has volunteered to come and help with those. Friends are good. Rocco is a friend, too. He felt bad for Mommy, because Baby Bubbles cheated and lied and spent lots of money on Vicky. That's why baby isn't allowed to have credit cards or cash or a phone or computer access, and lots of other grown-up things. Because Mommy doesn't want you to ever get yourself into trouble again. Never." She grinned maliciously. "Isn't that nice of Mommy?" At last, she took a clean cloth diaper and positioned it under his hips. He mewled piteously. She consoled him, "I know Baby Bubbles doesn't like it when he makes wet in his diapers, or when he does stinky. EWWW. And Mommy keeps waiting so long to change him. Silly Mommy. But then she gives him the cream, and that makes Bubbles so happy." She gave the head of his penis a hard flick. "Good Mommy." She finished diapering him. After that she dressed him in frilly baby clothes, specially made in adult sizes. Then she donned thin rubber gloves and rubbed something that smelled like fish oil onto his bare scalp. That was followed with a big bonnet that had a fastening chin strap. She at last removed the pacifier from his mouth. Before he could recover enough to speak, she pinched shut his nose, which forced him to open his mouth. That allowed her to capture his tongue with a pair of tongs, stretch it out, and attach a clamp that again rendered him speechless. "There we go," she said with self-satisfaction. "Baby Bubbles can only talk baby talk. Right?" He tried to form words and she snickered at his wasted effort. Desiree kissed empty air, about eight inches from his disabled mouth. They both heard a door opening. Moments later, someone entered the room. "Hey, babe," a masculine voice said. The tall swarthy figure wrapped his arms around Desiree and drew her in for a prolonged kiss. Barton lay there, watching his wife reciprocate the man's passion. They ran their hands all over each other. After their lips parted, the new arrival wanted to know, "How's my favorite baby?" "Bubbles is doing terrific. I told him about the enemas and he acted so pleased." "Good baby." He grinned down at Barton. "And now Uncle Rocco has pulled some financial strings, so that you won't ever have to work again. You can stay right here and be a good baby, getting the kind of tender loving care a cheater deserves." Desiree kissed him again. She said, "Everything is working out so well. I'm glad that, when you came here to talk to Burton about Vicky, he wasn't home... but I was." "Yeah. It worked out damn fine. And I arranged it so we can go out and leave the baby girl alone." "Really? How?" He called out, "Come on in, kid." When Desiree saw who Rocco had brought, her face lit up. "Hey, Vicky. Looks like you're ready to reconnect sooner than planned, with your former lover boy." "For sure," the sultry redhead agreed. "In a big way. I owe Burton -- I mean Baby Bubbles -- so much, and plan to pay him back for every bit of it. In fact..." She rummaged in her shoulder bag and came out with a fat rubber plug. "Look what I got you, sweet cheeks. I know you don't like to make P.U. messes in your diapers, so I brought this to keep all that nastiness inside you." She chortled and produced something else from the bag. It was a small bottle of a hot sauce with the word 'Hell' in its name. "And I remembered to grab some lube, to make your new stopper go in easy. Aren't I thoughtful?" Burton moaned in desperation, imploring Desiree with his eyes. He flapped his useless hands. "See that?" his wife said. "He's thrilled that you're going to babysit him, Vicky. We'll have to make this a regular event. And when I get home, we can give the little bastard his first big enema." She locked eyes with Burton. "Won't that be good fun, Baby Bubbles?" He tried again to speak, but all that came out were baby sounds. Desiree chucked him under the chin, told Vicky they wouldn't be back until late, and would phone if they decided to stay somewhere overnight. Vicky said, "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll take good care of the squirt. Better care than you can imagine." *********