Hitchhiker's Guide To That Alternate Universe

[Mary Beth Sanford]

Hitchhiker's Guide To That Alternate Universe



You hitchhike long enough you'll meet all kinds.  All kinds of men that is.  Never was picked up by a woman, just men, so you can imagine how surprised I was that a woman would ease over and stop.  She was older than mom and my aunt, perhaps not, but prettier.  It was as if she'd just stepped out of the house fresh.  A pleasant voice asking where I was going while she gave her attention to traffic again.



I told her North, about twenty miles, but she could drop me anywhere along the way and settled in with a slight turn to the right to watch the world go by.  Some drivers are talkative, some not and I leave it to them to decide.  She left me alone for the first ten minutes or so but I was getting a now-and-then look.  That too was normal and I did the same when they did.



She was big, bigger than most women but proportional if I'm writing this right.  Not heavy is what I'm trying to say, just big.  A pleasant face, pretty dress and bre.ast a tad bigger than any I could remember.  It was going to be long trip if she didn't say anything, but it beat the bus.



She asked me that.  She asked me why I was hitchhiking and I told her I hated the bus.  She asked me if I ever worried about who it was picking me up and I said, bravely, no.  Of course I did worry because you really do meet all kinds hitchhiking.  Only I was fast on my feet and speed sometimes is better than most everything else.



I was a wimp according to the jocks at school and speed was definitely better when a jock was interested in me.  There were few, if any, that could catch me in a fair race and no one when I ran scared.  I was small, smaller than most of the girls my age, but then again I was fast.  I was also smarter and that left me with the happy thought that one day I'd be bossing those jocks around.



When she pounded the wheel once I jumped.  Scared me to an adrenaline rush, but I calmed fast when it was clear she'd only had a thought.  Turns out she was suppose to do something, an email before she left, and she'd forgotten.  I got the next offer as she was slowing to let me out.



She didn't live far and was driving well past where I needed to go and she'd take me, willingly, but she had to go home first.  Twenty minutes at most, then back on the road she promised and I took it hook line and sinker.  A ride the whole way was better than trying for another, so yes, I could stand the delay and happily.



It was a house worthy of her and her car.  Not a mansion, but big enough to put it well out of my families reach.  Her driveway was longer than the street I live on as she pulled to the front door.  I could come in if I wanted, use the toilet, get a soda perhaps, it would only take a few minutes and both sounded great.



I waited in the kitchen after she poured.  Coke on ice, not a bottle, and that rang of class as I sipped gratefully.  Cold and refreshing.  Things do go better with Coke, I hummed.  I'm actually not sure when I stopped humming or how long it was that I sat silently.  I had no sense of time and it was her voice that brought me back from wherever it was I was.



I remember her taking my elbow and easing me off the stool.  It was going to be OK she whispered although I wasn't sure why.  I wasn't sure of anything as she turned me into the room, other than thinking about the room and how pretty it was.  A girl's room, no doubt of that and a girl not very old, I reasoned.  How old is it when babies become toddlers, I wondered.



I wondered that because there was still a crib in that room.  Had to be a baby still to still have a crib and I was thinking that as she eased me to a changing table.  The babies changing table I guessed feeling silly over such silly logic, but I wasn't feeling all that bright right then.  



I wasn't feeling scared, nor all that confused, although I took a moment to wonder why she wanted me up on that table.  I didn't resist but I didn't wonder over it either and then, in a kind of clearing fog, I did wonder why I didn't wonder.  This wasn't right but not wrong enough for me to panic as I watched my shoes come off.



My socks followed, then my pants and there was an attempt to reason this out as my underwear came off.  I did try and reason this, but she was cooing at me and smiling and each time she made a sound my attention went to her.  Each time I focused on her I lost my train of thought.  I sat back up again for my tee shirt and suddenly being naked got my attention.



I moved my hand to stop her hand and said, in a very clear and commanding voice to stop, but my hand missed the mark by nearly a foot and I think I said something that had a lot of w's and f's in it.  It was gibberish no matter how hard I tried, and there was my hand waving off to the side like it belonged to someone else.  All of my attempts were useless.



How could I be so clear headed and so foggy at the same time, and what had happened to all of that control I had before this?   I could reason that out, but I couldn't answer any of those questions.  I did panic, a little, but there was fascination as well. Who was she and what did she want of me? And that was my last thought as I saw the diaper.



I could imagine a baby not wanting to be diapered and possibly protesting in the way babies do and realized I might be doing that very same thing.  I most definitely did not want that diaper under me and said so fighting tooth and nail to catch hold of it.  Only it came out as gibberish again and that tooth and nail part simply arm waving.  I think I did feel my leg move believing I'd controlled that but it was only her lifting them.



I was going to be put into a diaper and there wasn't a thing I could do but watch.  I'd quit fighting because the effort was tiring and when she wiped my mouth a second time that ended any desire to try and talk.  My legs came down after a moment, then she spread them well past being comfortable, but I lost focus on that with the baby oil.



I could tell you, and perhaps you'd almost believe me, that it was horrible, but it wasn't.  She'd poured her palm full of that oil and both hands rubbed it in.  Up until that moment, it was mostly my own hands touching me like that, so another doing what I sometimes did was wonderful no matter how frightening I wanted to feel.



Generous and sensuous are two of the words I can use because my loins glistened and I had an erection.  Getting an erection over the prospects of being pinned into a diaper is not worthy of most men, but I would caution most men to consider their own reactions and the diaper had nothing to do with it.  As far as I was concerned, it was those hands and that baby oil.  Only I knew it was also the baby oil and the reason she was rubbing it in was because that's what you do to babies about to be diapered. How odd to make that connection and like it still.



When the baby powder started, and it started after she wiped her hands, there was no doubt what would happen next.  No doubt at all, nor any doubt I was going to lose that erection before it did happen.  I wasn't numb because I could feel even the small puffs of powder touching me, and I wasn't paralyzed because I'd moved a lot when this started.  So it was something else and since I'd only had that coke, it had to be that.



I was proud of my deduction for all the good it would do me and only a little aware of her powdering me because of the mental effort I fought against till the powdering stopped.  I could feel and felt the diaper before I saw it.  She had taken up the front two corners and tugged it snugly enough to get my attention and kept me attentive as I watched her work.



I have no experience with diapers and no memories of what mine were like as a baby, but this one was incredibly soft.  I wouldn't have guess soft considering my tee-shirts as an example of cotton, but that diaper felt like silk and I have no experience to say that either, but it was soft.  It was very soft and very thick and, as it came over me, very big.  



I'm small, very small, but not as small as a baby so that couldn't really be a baby's diaper.  I have no idea how big baby diapers get so perhaps it could be for babies.  That thought, the thought of me wearing a real baby's diaper bothered me a little, so I focused quickly back on the part where I thought it wasn't.  A laughable thought considering it was still a diaper and it was going around me.  Like it or not, the damn thing looked identical to what babies wore if their mother used cloth.



I was also watching experience and of that I was sure.  Considering I was in a room for a baby and that made sense as well.  I was watching experience but I was also watching me and you simply cannot imagine what it's like watching yourself being diapered.  Horrifying seems too dramatic, but there was a touch of it as she smoothed the diapers front under the back.



She paused there with one hand holding the diaper together as her other hand went past my head.  Obviously a tray there because I saw the pink diaper pin as it passed.  She was working it open with her one hand and suddenly I caught that it was pink.  Funny how color can foster some notions but I wasn't meant for pink.  I was a blue.



I forgot the diaper or that I was getting pinned into it to focus all of my efforts on arguing I was a blue.  She smiled at the noise I made, wiped my mouth again and before I could utter another sound, shoved a pacifier in my mouth.  That too was also in that tray and it too was pink.  Not the rubber part that went into my mouth but the circle of plastic that rested against my lips.  I wanted to spit it out and tried.



I discovered then that my tongue didn't work which I should have already known because I couldn't make words.  I tried shoving the pacifier out but all I did was move my tongue around the soft rubber nipple and worse, I began to salivate so I was swallowing more as well.  Insult to injury because I knew it looked like I was nursing it.  I quit fighting that as well and watched another pink diaper pin go past my eyes.



That second diaper pin sealed my fate and the diaper.  It was snug around my waist, slightly gathered between my legs but a little loose at that back against my thighs.  The diaper, as thick as it was, gathered uncomfortably between my legs as if I'd caught my blanket there while sleeping.  



It was the only analogy I could come up with, that blanket, before noticing then that "V" shape it formed.  A classic shape if you're wearing a diaper.  An unnerving shape if you don't wear diapers.  If I had closed my eyes I would have known it was a diaper going on, but it was that puffy "V" that became my final confirmation.



That was that I mused till I saw the panties, and I remember dad telling me boys don't wear panties when I'd used that word once.  Girls wear panties and pink is for girls and those were definitely a baby's panty and definitely for a baby girl.  I saw baby sheep, teddy bears and whatever else decorated plastic used for babies, but what I saw most was that color pink.  



I tried again to move my legs but not as aggressively, more experimentally and nothing had changed.  She shook the panties opened, gathered them and with only a little effort slipped them over my feet.  Odd watching something like that knowing they were your feet, odder still seeing her work them along my legs because I could see it.  When she reached my diaper she rolled me towards her, fixed the panties in place on my left, then gently pushed so she could do the right.



It was all so easy, these motions, and unnerving that it was.  I was laying there in a baby girl's room  wearing her diaper and plastic pants wondering, as silly as this sounds, where that baby girl might be and what she might be thinking.  I couldn't imagine what the woman was thinking because I can't imagine a woman doing this to me or any other man but there I was.  I swallowed again, no longer caring how that motion might look.



I rarely cry because long ago I'd learned that wimps crying, even if I wasn't a wimp, made them more wimpish.  Not sure if that is a word or not because the point is I wanted to cry then but didn't because I worried I'd look too much like a baby.  She might have the upper hand, and she could control most all of this, but I wasn't going to give her everything she might want.



I wanted to cry because I saw the dress then, and while I wasn't sure it was actually a dress, I was sure that whatever it was it belonged on a girl.  Boys don't wear pink, nor fabrics that shimmer in the light, nor anything with lace on it and that thing, whatever it was, had it all.  It took less time than I would have imagined but she sat me up, took one arm and pushed it in, then the next and in hardly a minute I was wearing it.  I was in a dress and beneath those girlish layers, baby pants and a diaper.



This was an insane act to which I could only witness, yet not so insane for me not to wonder.  I would have screamed, clawed, swore, hit for all I was worth if I could but I couldn't so I sat there in that dress quietly.  It wasn't my fault because I couldn't do anything about this and that somehow made it better.  It allowed me to think about it more than I might if I was fighting it.



Boys hate silky things, boys hate being mothered after a certain age, and few boys, none that I know, like dressing as girls or babies and definitely not both.  Only there was that material under the palms of my hands, a bit of lace touching the pad of my fingers and that diaper.  That diaper was pushing itself against the pink plastic of those panties between my thighs and it felt like silk.  



I tried thinking about the rules I'd grown up with, those blue rules that confines us to our side of that fence separating boys from girls but couldn't.  Boys don't like silky things but I did.  Boys don't want to be babied but I did and even her large hand on my back supporting me felt nice. I was cataloging the rules then casting some of them aside as she laid me back.



Booties, baby booties came from somewhere and the first went over my left foot.  A cute look if I wasn't watching it go on that foot, but still cute even though it was.  A kind of knitted slipper lined in a pink satin. Something a grandmother might knit. A bit of ribbon circled it through holes in the knitting with extra that she fashioned into a bow.  She did the same to the right foot.



My hands, both at my side, against the dress, moved slightly but this time under my control suddenly. I experimented with the fingers feeling the dress under them.  I nursed on purpose this time using my tongue to circle the warm soft rubber nipple and that too was under my control.  



I could move things and perhaps everything I realized.  It wasn't perfect, wasn't smooth yet, but I could move.  She stood there happily satisfied and still smiling when I urged myself to sit up.  She allowed it, encouraged it and I sat.  I wanted to know why and asked.



She turned towards the door then, telling me as she did so, that my mother could explain it better than she could and there was mom.  Mom was standing in the doorway and behind her aunt Rose.  That shook me right to my very core.  This wasn't my fault I said in a voice shaking from the experience and terror of them thinking otherwise.



Mom spoke first coming in and stopping next to me.  She was so afraid of me hitchhiking she'd said as she so often said.  She was beside herself with worry every day till I came home, never any real peace even then because she knew I'd do it again that following day. She had to do something, anything to get me to stop.



Her professional name was Mistress Vendetta, Ms. V to her clients and she went back all the way to collage with my aunt.  High school friends that lasted till now.  It was my aunt's suggestion I go through this.  This was an example of what might happen hitchhiking only not the worse case by far.



I was shocked beyond words and more so when Ms. V opened the closet and handed mom the DVD. Three cameras recording, for all time, my utter and complete humiliation at the hands of a woman who loved humiliating men and brought it to a high art.  Mom would keep that video safe and I would keep myself just as safe for the sake of that video staying safe. Not a threat, a promise and I swore right then to do just that.



I dressed on wobbly knees and with mom on one side and my aunt on the other walked slowly out of that room.  Ms. V was holding the dress in her hand, my baby pants and diaper folded neatly on the changing table.  My booties, that pacifier and those diaper pins had been laid out as if waiting for me as I turned to walk away.



Never again, I promised.  I'd lied.  



I don't hitchhike anymore, and that is for mom's sake, and I even walked, without sticking my thumb out once, those dozen blocks to Ms. V's house not a week past that day.  Actually it was six days before I gathered enough courage to knock.  She didn't talk, she only smiled and this time simply took my hand.



I ride the bus daily now, an hour or so after my visits, and love that slow ride home.  That hour gives me time to savor the one just behind me and contemplate how fleeting those rules for blue are.  I love pink, I love my diaper and those panties make of plastic and, for the record, those bre.ast are as ample and as soft as I had once imagined.



OK, the rules are still there, the ones boys follow, and as hard and rigid as before, but I can ignore them for a time now, because I'm in another universe at Ms. V's.  Perhaps one day I'll even write the definitive works on a Hitchhiker's Guide To That Alternate Universe...  Has a nice ring to it.



PS:  Just for the sake of it, Ms. V calls me Mary Beth when I visit.



Hugs

Mary Beth