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MidReal Story
The Baby Prince
Scenario:Новорожденная девочка.Я заперт в теле младенца! На мне подгузник!.Я продолжаю извиваться. С каждым мгновением становится только хуже. «Тебе нужна пустышка, милая?» Милая. Я ненавижу, как легко это слово выскакивает из ее уст. Она разговаривает со мной свысока, как будто я просто младенец, — она видит во мне ребенка в подгузнике. Разве она не понимает, что я все тот же мужчина, за которого она вышла замуж? Разве она не видит решимости в моих глазах? Разве она не понимает, что я такой же зрелый и способный, каким был раньше? Я мужчина, который упорно боролся и добился самого большого повышения в своей карьере. Я открываю рот и изо всех сил пытаюсь что-то сказать. В последний момент я останавливаю себя. Лепетать и издавать эти детские звуки. Следующее, что я помню, — она снова берет меня на руки. И все же я заперт в этом инфантильном теле! Горячее разочарование пронзает меня, когда она целует меня, словно я ее любимая мягкая игрушка. Когда она снова усаживает меня к себе на колени, мои глаза слезятся, и я на грани того, чтобы сломаться. Я знаю, что было бы так легко поддаться искушению и начать плакать. Часть меня действительно зудит, чтобы заскулить и закричать во все легкие. Нет. Нет, я не могу этого сделать. Я не сделаю этого! Мне нужно сохранить свое достоинство. Мне нужно напомнить себе, что я мужчина, потому что я не позволю себе думать, что я ребенок. Я не ребенок. Внезапно я снова начинаю лепетать, только на этот раз это не потому, что я пытаюсь говорить. Вместо этого эти бессвязные звуки вырываются из моего рта, когда я беспомощно хихикаю и фыркаю. Я хихикаю, как маленький ребенок, и не могу остановиться! Все сильнее и сильнее смех вырывается из моей груди. Мои глаза снова слезятся, и я ненавижу это. Я так стараюсь вырваться, пробиться на свободу. В этот момент я, возможно, даже готов причинить боль своей жене, если это значит, что я смогу сбежать. Несмотря на все мои усилия, я все еще в ловушке у нее на коленях, потому что она не отпускает меня. Ее руки поднимаются, и она поднимает мою футболку, и ее пальцы скользят и скользят по моей грудной клетке и вверх к моим подмышкам. Затем она опускает руку на мой подгузник. «Я думаю, что кто-то мог попасть в аварию». Что? Нет. Нет, это невозможно, быстро пытаюсь сказать я себе. Я могу носить подгузник, и я могу быть запертым в теле маленького ребенка, но я все еще сохраняю все свои обычные мысли, а это значит, что я все еще знаю, как контролировать себя. Верно? Ее рука скользит вниз по моему подгузнику. Она сжимает мою промежность и качает головой из стороны в сторону. «О, похоже, кто-то только что намочил подгузник. У тебя. У тебя мокрый подгузник!» Мелоди снова сжимает, и теперь я это чувствую, но она не выглядит обиженной или расстроенной. С ее точки зрения, это нормально и естественно. Я догоняю свое тело и возвращаю себе контроль над чувствами. Она права. Мой подгузник тяжелее, чем раньше.
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Melody
She is a newlywed woman dealing with a mysterious husband. She is caring, patient, and loving. Melody finds herself in a peculiar situation with her husband, who has been transformed into a baby. Despite the challenges, she tries to provide comfort and support to him. Her love and dedication are evident as she tends to his needs and attempts to understand his situation. She struggles with the idea of him being in such a vulnerable state but remains determined to help him through this transformation.
Henry
He is Melody's husband, now in the form of a baby. He is confused, frustrated, and helpless. Henry finds himself in an unexpected predicament, unable to control his body's transformation into that of a small child. He battles with his emotions, trying to maintain his identity and consciousness as a man trapped in an infant's body. His attempts to communicate with Melody reveal his determination to stay connected and aware of his surroundings despite his limited capabilities.
I carefully place him on the changing pad, and he looks up at me with his big, round eyes.
He’s trying to tell me something, but I’m not sure what it is.
I lift his shirt and undo the snaps on his onesie.
"Let’s get you undressed, sweetie," I tell him.
He doesn’t respond but keeps looking at me.
After I get him undressed, I lift him up again and place him on my left shoulder.
I use my right hand to get his diaper.
It’s heavier than it was before, but it’s not until I lift the front of the diaper that I see how much he has grown.
His penis is now the size of a full-grown man.
I gasp in shock and almost drop him, but I quickly regain my composure and hold him firmly in place.
"Wow, you’re growing up so fast," I tell him.
Despite his growth, he still looks like a newborn baby.
His face hasn’t changed at all, and he still has no hair on his body.
I grab a diaper and place it underneath him before I place the new diaper on him.
I cradle him against my chest, his tiny body tense and trembling.
The rocking chair creaks as I settle into a steady rhythm, back and forth, back and forth.
His adult-sized anatomy presses awkwardly through the fresh diaper against my arm.
His eyes stay locked on mine, filled with confusion and fear.
His fingers curl into tight fists, and his breathing comes in short, irregular gasps.
I hum softly, an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was a child.
The tension in his shoulders begins to ease, his eyelids growing heavy.
I carefully stand from the rocking chair, supporting his head and bottom as his body goes limp with approaching sleep.
His adult anatomy presses uncomfortably through the diaper against my forearm, but I keep my grip gentle.
His breathing has steadied into a slow rhythm, though occasional twitches still run through his tiny form.
When I lean forward to place him in the crib, his eyes flutter open in panic.
I pause, continuing to hum the lullaby while swaying in place.
After a few moments, his eyes grow heavy once more.
"Why do I feel so strange, Mama?" he whispers, his voice unexpectedly deep and resonant.
I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest as I search for words.
"It's okay, sweetheart," I manage to say softly, "we'll figure this out together."
I place him back in the crib, and his eyes close once more.
As I straighten up, I notice a strange tingling sensation in my hands.
I look down to see my fingers starting to shrink, growing shorter and pudgier before my eyes.
Panic rises in my chest as I watch my hands transform into those of a small child.
My clothes start to hang loose on my body, and I can feel myself shrinking.
My wedding ring slides off my finger and clatters to the floor.
I reach for the crib railing, desperate for something to hold onto as the room begins to spin around me.
But my grip is weak and clumsy, my arms shortening and losing muscle tone with each passing second.
The last thing I see before everything becomes too much is Henry's baby face peering down at me through the crib bars, his eyes wide with concern. My skin is impossibly soft and pink, like that of an infant who has never been exposed to the harsh elements of the world.
I try to call out for Henry, but my voice is barely a whisper, my tongue thick and clumsy in my mouth.
My adult clothes pool at my feet, a crumpled mess of fabric that no longer fits my diminutive frame.
The crib railing towers above me now, a barrier between me and the world outside these four walls.
The room fades to black as I succumb to the overwhelming exhaustion of my new reality.
I wake up disoriented, my body sprawled across the nursery floor.
My head feels heavy and foggy, as if I've been drugged.
I try to sit up, but my limbs feel weak and uncoordinated.
My vision is blurry, but I can make out Henry's form thrashing about in the crib above me.
His tiny fists are clenched, and his face is contorted in a silent scream.
I try to stand, but my legs are too short and my muscles too weak.
I stumble and fall back onto the floor with a soft thud.
The room spins around me, and I feel like I'm going to be sick.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself.
When I open them again, Henry has stopped thrashing about in the crib.
He's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. I try to stand again, using the wall for support.
This time, I manage to stay upright long enough to reach the crib railing.
I grasp it with both hands, using all of my strength to pull myself up until I can see over the edge of the crib.
Henry's face is pale and sweaty, his tiny chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to breathe.
His eyes are wide with fear, and his mouth is open in a silent scream.
I reach out a hand to touch his cheek, but he flinches away from me.
His eyes dart back and forth between mine, filled with confusion and terror.
And then something strange happens.
Henry's features begin to soften and shift before my eyes.
His jaw becomes less angular, his shoulders narrower.
The adult anatomy that had been so jarringly out of place on his baby body begins to recede, replaced by a more delicate feminine form. His chest takes on a subtle curve, and his hips widen into a slender hourglass shape.
His cries grow higher in pitch as his body continues its transformation before my eyes.