Having been laid out on his own bed by a man wearing his adult clothes, the flood of Clark’s adult emotions and sensibilities came rushing back to him. Yes, he had agreed with Nick that they should embrace being kids for the weekend, but this was too far; he’d agreed to be 10, not a goddamn toddler! He certainly had not signed up for this absolute fucking nightmare scenario about to unfold in real-time, being diapered by Wes. The transition from boxers back to tighty whities was far enough for Clark; the fact that he now required diapers must have been so pleasing to Wes. Clark’s anger swelled as he thought about Wes’s smug enjoyment of this humiliating, albeit necessary, ritual.
While Clark was not typically the type of man to succumb to anger, he wanted nothing more than to swear Nick out for his carelessness when “fixing” the gun, landing him in his current, compromised state. More than that, though, Clark harbored a fervent desire to land a well-deserved blow right on Wes’s smug face, but his inability to do so manifested in the only way his two-year-old body would allow.
Clark began flailing his little arms and legs, pounding his tiny fists and feet into the mattress in helpless frustration. “No, no, no, nooo!!!” Clark wailed, hoping that by some miracle, Nick would fix the gun, barge into the room, and stop this soon-to-be assault on his very status as a man. Tears welled in the little boy’s eyes as he thrashed about on the bed, making for quite the pathetic sight for the worst onlooker Clark could imagine for such a scenario.
Wes was no fan of Clark’s—quite the opposite in fact. Fuck that guy, he thought, knowing that surely Clark would rejoice had Wes been the one thrust back into diapers, but something about the toddler’s little outburst softened Wes’s instinctual combativeness toward Clark. In this moment, the screaming boy before him was not Clark, the man whose every boorish action drove him a little further from sanity, but Clark, the man-turned-toddler whose downfall could have just as easily befallen Wes, himself, had it not been for Clark selflessly allowing him to use the age progression functionality first.
Wes set the diaper down on the bed beside Clark and crossed his arms, giving the cantankerous little boy a stern, formidable look that commanded obedience, a look that paralyzed Clark in the middle of his outburst, daunted by the big, powerful teenager looming over him.
“Clark,” Wes sighed, “I bet you’re thinking about how much I’m probably enjoying this right now, huh?”
Clark sat up and beat his tiny fists into the bed once more for emphasis. “Yeah, scwew you!!” the boy squealed.
Wes, undeterred by the naked and exasperated little boy, sat down beside him, conveying now a look of sympathy. “Clark, listen. I—I’m sorry this happened to you okay?” Wes relayed, now desperately trying to assuage the boy’s bitter mood. “I could’ve just as easily been in your shoes, but you let me test the gun before you… and I appreciate that… Thank you.”
Clark could feel himself calming down, his infantile outrage quelled by the older man’s sensible and considerate words. At the same time, the tendency to slip into the mannerisms and mindset of his newfound age creeped slowly back into his consciousness. In this moment, the teenaged-adult before him was not Wes, the ridiculously uptight cop who sought to stamp out all of Clark’s harmless fun, but Wes, his neighbor who had come over just to make sure everything was okay but ended up in this ludicrous situation, needing to care for a young toddler whom he had no true obligation to look after.
The toddler’s uneasiness melted away. As his mind edged back into the acceptance of his new age, Clark wanted to be obedient and easy for Wes, and as he felt every inch of his newfound smallness, he craved the warmth and protection of the imposing man sitting next to him.
Much to Wes’s surprise, his words had seemingly been well received, embodied by the young boy crawling over onto his lap and sweetly wrapping his itty bitty arms around the front of Wes’s brawny torso. The young man jolted just slightly, taken aback by this sudden display of understanding, but he just as soon returned the gesture, enveloping the little boy’s body in his strong, shielding arms.
Feeling so safe and cared for, wrapped in the arms of his beefy neighbor, Clark believed that he was ready for the inevitable next step of this interaction. “W—Wes,” Clark squeaked up at the man holding him so tenderly, “I fink I’m weady.”
Wes tenderly picked up the boy by his underarms, holding him face to little face. “Thanks for not making this too difficult, Clark,” he said, proceeding to carefully lay the little boy’s tiny body onto the bed for a second time. Clark lied still, gazing ever so cutely up at Wes as the man lifted the boy’s lower half by his ankles and slid the diaper under his reduced form.
With mild chagrin, Wes pulled out the bottle of baby powder from the same shopping bag as the diapers and held it up so Clark could see. “Uh, just wanted to check, but… is this okay? You still good?”
Clark squinted, inspecting the unfamiliar bottle before it instantly dawned on him what it must be. He attempted urgently to quash any intruding masculine thoughts, not wanting his own ego to make this any harder for Wes or himself.
Wes waited as the boy’s face contorted and his body writhed in discontent, a high-pitched groaning accompanying the scene. Wes understood that this would, of course, be difficult for a man trapped in the body of a toddler, but the newly-minted tot seemed to finally come around, his face and body relaxing after a minute of frustrated squirming. Fully relaxed, Clark replied to the man with a meek, “Mmmhmm.”
Wanting to capitalize on Clark’s currently calm demeanor, Wes got right to work, sprinkling the powder all over the boy’s nether regions. Wes wasn’t entirely thrilled with having to do this part, and to spare Clark any more embarrassment, he elected to look straight ahead at the wall while he gently rubbed the powder into little Clark’s baby-soft skin.
Clark squirmed and released a tiny whimper as Wes’s relatively colossal hands elicited an unintended reaction from his little, baby penis. Wes, no doubt, was aware of the infantile stiffy that Clark could do nothing to hide, but he continued unabashed, wanting only for this labor to be over.
The very adult sensation that Clark was feeling ushered forth the tide of shame that stemmed from his unfortunate regression, the shame of a once muscular, virile, grown man being manhandled and aroused as an impotent toddler by a long-time adversary. However, Clark staunchly resisted this line of thinking, wanting only to passively endure this embarrassment, not be overtaken by it.
Another robust pass of Wes’s hand over his little baby stiffy jolted Clark back from his would-be spiral of shame. Clark merely whimpered to indicate his (dis)satisfaction with the sensation, and Wes quickly finished up. With Clark’s private parts thoroughly dusted, Wes pulled up the front of the Pampers over the boy’s infantile erection and taped the diaper closed, Clark’s adorable baby belly protruding just over the top of the Cruisers.
For as much opposition as little Clark had displayed, he had expected to feel a much deeper humiliation at his first diapering in 26 years, but now, as he wore the very symbol of his dependence and submission to Wes, he felt… cute—cute and obedient and happy, happy that he could now get back to embracing his new age, as Nick had wanted, and he could do so with his new, much bigger and much stronger caretaker.
Wes couldn’t help but laugh, not at Clark, but at the fact that the diapering had gone as seamlessly as it had and at the absurdity of the situation—he had, in fact, just put that bad-mouthing Clark back in diapers, but right now, he felt less self-satisfied and more dutiful. This little tyke was now in his charge, at least until Nick could restore their original ages, and he intended to play the role of temporary caretaker and give this little guy a fun and memorable return to toddlerhood, despite his own gratitude for having been spared a trip back to diapers, himself.
“Alright, Clark,” Wes cooed as he grabbed a white toddler-sized tee from the shopping bag, “lift up your arms for me, please.”
Little Clark did exactly that, the toddler aspect of him wanting to be obedient for his loving caretaker and the adult aspect wanting to be as covered as possible, especially while in Wes’s presence. With that, Wes gracefully pulled the shirt over Clark’s diminished frame, pulling the hem of the shirt all the way down, just barely meeting the top of the tiny boy’s pure, white diaper.
Clark peered down at himself, taking in just how absolutely small, soft, and babyish he looked, not letting the sight disturb him. Before Clark could think too much about his adorable new outfit, he was suddenly being lifted from the bed, and in a swift couple of seconds, he was held, once again, in Wes’s big, hairy arms, one of the man’s huge hands squeezing Clark’s diapered bottom, securing him in place.
“Okay, little guy,” Wes spoke calmly and endearingly, “what do you wanna do now?”