Rick cringed as his own wife—a vibrant young woman, now—loomed over him. Her smiling face looked like that of a giant. He winced, as she casually lifted him
by the legs (with one hand! How small, how helpless he was!) and slid a diaper underneath his little bottom. She wrapped it up, fastened it—carefully—then,
smiling, tickled him in the belly to get rid of his sour expression, eliciting a stream of giggles from him, against his will.
How had this happened? How had it come to this?!
Jessica frowned at the closed basement door. To be quite honest, she was getting a little tired of her own husband sealing himself away from her in his own little
private sanctum whenever he felt like it. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand; they both worked very hard every day, and both deserved to unwind after work (and,
for whatever reason, Rick found himself relaxed by doing at home essentially the same thing he spent his time at work doing—chemistry.) It just irritated her that it
was perfectly acceptable for a guy to do such a thing—to seal off part of the house (the garage for car-inclined men, the basement for her chemist husband,) while
she was left to do all the housework. She knew that if she asked, he would pitch in; she just didn’t want to have to ask.
But, after 13 years of marriage, she was getting just a little tired of waiting for him to volunteer. She threw open the door.
A billowing jet of pink smoke hit her in the face.
Instinctively, she threw the door closed, choking and coughing on the pink fumes that had gotten out before she closed the door. Damn it! she thought angrily. If her
husband was going to keep performing these damn experiments, she thought furiously to herself as she stumbled into the bathroom for a drink of water, then he
could at least clean … up … after …
Her train of thought came to a screeching halt, as she caught her own reflection in the mirror.
She had been 26 when she had given birth to Brandon; her friends had all teased her when she married Rick, who was 5 years younger than she
was—“Cradle-Robber,” they called her, jokingly, but it had bothered her. But now she looked to be several years Rick’s junior. 34 at the most …
And as she watched, her reflection kept changing, the hands of time kept turning backwards, backwards …
Her rejuvenation finally seemed to stop, leaving her face at the age …
No, not just her face, she amended, as she noticed her loosened clothing, and her firmed, higher bosom. Her face, her entire body, was 24 years old—if not
younger.
She stared at her reflection in shock. She touched her face, wondering if it was some sort of illusion, some trick her mind was playing on her. But the skin felt real,
and young.
It hit her. It was real; she was really young!
Rick finally did something right, she thought, making the connection between the pink smoke she had inhaled, and the
Well, now who’s the cradle-robber, she thought at her reflection, as she pursed her lips coyly, and turned runway style, to better examine her new body.
Unfortunately, her clothes—her frumpy old-person clothes, she was already thinking angrily—obstructed her view. She was still of legal age, though; that was a
good thing.
“Hey …” came a voice from behind her. She spun, almost embarrassed at being caught admiring her own reflection.
Her son Brandon stood in the doorway, holding a struggling infant, clearly male, as he wore not a stitch of clothing. The baby let out periodic cries of displeasure.
Brandon’s look was one of suspicion, annoyance. “Who the heck—“ he began angrily, then stopped. Comprehension filled his eyes, and his expression melted into
one of shock. “M-m-mom?” And well might he be surprised; the last time she was this young, he hadn’t even been born.
Jessica’s eyes fell upon the struggling, crying baby her son was holding. Her own suspicions came racing to the fore. “Is that your father?” she asked suspiciously,
not bothering to give a direct “Yes” response to her son’s question.
Brandon nodded mutely, too surprised to consider gloating over his father’s reduction in status.
“Give him here,” she demanded in a weary voice, and, without waiting, simply walked over and took the baby from him. She immediately, and instinctively, started
to try to calm her infant spouse, in the same manner as she had calmed her son Brandon when he was a baby. She nestled him next to her newly-firmed bosom,
and rocked him back and forth, cooing softly to him.
Rick, though still possessed of an adult mind, was in a state of near total shock and desperation—and no wonder. He found himself calmed, instinctively, by his
wife’s soothing mannerisms, without consciously understanding why; he stopped crying, stopped struggling, and nestled into her body. He was small, and weak,
and helpless, and very, very afraid; Jessica loved him, and Jessica was still big—Jessica was soft and warm and gentle, and she would protect him and take care of
him. He clung to her, desperately.
Well, she thought with a mental sigh, I guess I’m still a cradle-robber after all.
Rick had been upset at first when she made it clear she wanted to diaper him—but she had been firm. “You’re in a baby’s body, Rick; you will have accidents. As
embarrassing as that would be, do you think it will be more embarrassing if you go in a diaper—or if you go on me?”
Fortunately, she still had some old leftover cloth diapers from Brandon’s infancy, that she had never used.
Rick found the experience frustrating, and more than a little frightening. His wife loomed over him, and he was small, weak, naked and exposed—vulnerable. And
she was grabbing his legs, spreading them apart to expose his nakedness, with a casual power that was frightening. She dusted him with baby powder, his “cute
little baby tushie”, his vulnerable “little pee-pee”, as she called them. Then she wrapped a cloth diaper around him, and carefully pinned it. And all that time, he had
been absolutely helpless to resist her. It was terrifying, how much he needed her, now, how much power she had over him.
As she held him up against her, Jessica considered the situation. It was a good thing she had only inhaled a few gasps of that pink smoke, she realized; if she had
taken in too much, she could have ended up like Rick here—and she didn’t trust her son Brandon to take care of her properly. Little punk, she thought to herself.
Jessica pulled Rick back, held him at arm’s length in both hands, and looked at him. “Rick, sweetheart—I know you can’t speak, but I think you can understand
me.”
Rick nodded. Jessica rejoiced; he still had his adult mind.
“All right, then.”