Doll Face Chapter Eleven

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Taken firmly in hand, Marilyn was led back into the living room behind Virginia, the thick, pillowy diaper between her legs forcing her to toddle after her slowly. She felt like more of a baby then ever, as though her maturity and adult identity were ebbing away, slowly leaking out of her like air from a balloon.

     She groaned when she saw the stroller, as pink and fancy as something for a real baby girl, sized for someone her age. Just seeing the contraption made her head swim, pin pricks of embarrassment breaking out across her skin. The thought of having to climb in, of being strapped down and strolled around town... she could barely imagine such a thing.  

     Without thinking, she began resisting, planting her feet and trying desperately to tug her hand free. She was almost ashamed to admit that the morning hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, and that although her neighbour was an odd woman, she did know how to have fun... in her own way. But this was going way too far!

     “No,” Marilyn said simply, twisting and fighting to get out of Virginia’s grip.

     But the dark haired beauty was adamant, and her strength seemed almost super human. Though they were relatively the same size, Marilyn felt as though she really was a child trying to break free from an adult’s grip.  

     “Come along,” Virginia encouraged gently, as though dealing with an unruly toddler. “Come on-- right now, young lady,” she said, emphasizing herself with a hard, open handed swat to the seat of her pampers.  

     “Yeow!” she cried. She barely felt the swat through her thick diapers, but the embarrassment and implied threat were enough to get her moving again. Moments later, she found herself lifted into the air once again, easy as a rag doll, and soon Marilyn was frowning as she was settled and strapped into the stroller.

     “But... where are we going?” she asked, dismayed by how tiny and helpless she sounded in her own ears.

     “It’s a surprise, honey!” Virginia said brightly. Marilyn settled back into her seat with an anxious sigh, her heart hammering in her chest as she was wheeled out the door and onto the street.

She sat, frozen, staring straight ahead, the stroller bumping down the street under her diapered bottom. Exposed in broad daylight, her bulging pampers in full view beneath her short dress, the bulk of it preventing her from even bringing her knees together, there was little she could do but sweat, pant, and pout anxiously-- what would people say when they saw her?!

     As it turned out, the reaction was mixed in both predictable and unexpected ways-- there was all the staring, pointing, giggling, and outright laughter in her direction that you would probably expect, but none of the disgust, outrage, or anger you might predict... if anything, people seemed to be treating her like the baby she was dressed as rather than the adult that she clearly was.  

     Yet many of the teasing comments she received indicated that the bystanders seemingly did perceive her as an adult: “Goodness,” one well-dressed older woman remarked with a giggle, “she’s a BIG one, isn’t she?”  

     “What a cutie... but isn’t she a tad OLD for diapers?” another woman asked with a guffaw, her companion stifling her own laughter behind her hand.

     “Oh my... I see someone is having a little trouble getting toilet trained,” said another joker, to uproarious laughter from everyone in earshot.

     All Marilyn could do was blush and slurp her soother, crossing her arms petulantly and looking away. It was almost like everyone was treating it like some kind of stupid prank! Not one bystander offered her any sympathy or concern, and to tell the truth, she didn’t know what she would say if they had. She did notice several men and even a few women gaze longingly at her smooth bare legs, confirming her suspicions that she was indeed being seen as an Adult dressed in an absurdly childish fashion... she didn’t know if that was better or worse than the alternative!

     The day was warm, her outfit thick, heavy, and surprisingly hot, even with the gentle spring breeze blowing through her hair. Before long, Marilyn was baking beneath her dress, beads of sweat popping out on her forehead. Her armpits were beginning to feel moist, her feet getting slippery in her thick black leather shoes... but it was the inside of her diaper that was beginning to feel as hot, moist, and sticky as a Louisiana swamp in July.

     Fixing her gaze on her crotch, she tried to block out the smiles and jeers on the faces of the other pedestrians as they passed, and so she really wasn’t paying attention to where they were going until she finally heard Veronica announce “here we are, honey!”

     Marilyn looked up and felt a fresh wave of humiliation go through her when she realized they had arrived at the local Starbucks where she held court with her friends and sycophants, loudly laughing at her own jokes and snootily lording her privilege and status over the employees, whom she expected to trot after her and immediately follow her every order no matter what. She stammered and babbled, trying to find the right words to express to Virginia how much she didn’t want to go in there...

     But before she could form a single coherent word, she felt herself being pushed through the door, and instantly she found herself the center of attention... which, for the first time in her entire life, was the last place she wanted to be. With her cheeks blushing a fiery red, Marilyn focused her gaze on the floor and tugged her bonnet forward, praying no one would recognize her.

Please God, she chanted inside her head, squeezing her eyes shut so hard it hurt, please don’t let anyone recognize me!

    “Well hello there!” the cashier said with a broad smile, and although Marilyn dared not glance up, she could feel the girl’s gaze on her, and she knew from her tone of voice that she was smiling. Undoubtedly she had been recognized, and she was sure the little bitch was probably enjoying her reversal of fortune. “What can I get for you two ladies today? Maybe a venti, half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots (1 1/2 shots decaf, 2 1/2 shots regular), no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon?” she said, rattling off Marilyn’s usual (highly complicated) order like a well practised mantra, letting her know in no uncertain terms that she’d been recognized.

     Virginia laughed in response. “Just a milk for this little one... coffee makes her gassy,” her neighbour said with a smile, making Marilyn blush furiously as her secret shame was revealed. “And I’ll just have a latte,” she continued with a smile. Wheeling Marilyn over to a table by the window, Virginia sat, shooting her blushing victim a grin as they settled in to wait for their order.

     After pouting furiously in Virginia’s direction to convey her disapproval and receiving nothing but a giggle for her trouble, Marilyn huffed angrily and turned her gaze out the window, watching the people go by longingly... desperately wishing that she was one of them, just sipping her coffee and going about her day like a normal person. Watching them enjoying their freedom, walking around in the sunshine, in their adult clothes, using their cell phones and talking about what they were going to be doing that night, Marilyn found herself, perhaps for the first time ever, actually envying people below her own social status. They might be poor, uncouth and uneducated, she thought bitterly, but at least they’re in control of their own lives!.

          She sighed, trying to keep her mind engaged, squirming on her thickly padded bottom while they waited for their order.