Chapter Description: Images for this story can be found at the following web...... https://sites.google.com/view/comedy-ars-characters/home
We left the gym and went to have lunch at Taco Bell. Sammantha was surprisingly in a good mood and she let me order a red slushie instead of milk.
“Mom, I’m really sorry to get you kicked out of the gym. This is really my fault. I should have tried doing some actual pull-ups while I was hanging from the bar.”
She laughed. “Oh, stop it, sweety. You did great. Today was the most fun I’ve ever had in the gym. How often do you get to flip the bird right at some asshole’s nose?”
My arms became animated and I flung them around. “Mom, you were like a superhero in there. I can’t believe how strong you are. And you really stuck up for me. I want to say ‘thank you’ but I’m kind of bummed out that you lost your membership.”
“Not to worry, sweety. There are so many gyms around, there will always be a few ready to happily take my money.”
After we finished lunch, we exited Taco Bell on the drive thru side. Then it happened. Disaster struck. Without warning, a car pulling away quickly in the drive thru lane near the curb splashed through a puddle kicking up some remaining rain water into our faces.
I was too late to turn away. I screamed as the familiar contractions of age regression began immediately and I felt the ‘cracking bubbles’ … the loss of body mass.
I broke away from Sammantha and ran amuck through the parking lot dodging cars who blew their horns at me. When my pants got longer than my legs, I tripped and rolled on the ground, still screaming uncontrollably. When she caught up, Sammantha picked me up and set my feet on the ground and held me tightly. She spoke softly in my ear.
“Derrek, you’re having a panic attack. You need to hug me real tight and take some deep breaths very slowly.”
She lifted me off the ground and held me as I held her. She had to know I was getting lighter. After a few minutes, my screaming and crying lessened. Several customers got out of their cars and offered to help but Sammantha let them know that everything was under control … even though it wasn’t.”
The contractions stopped and I started to calm down. Sammantha carried me to the passenger side of the Porsche in my floppy clothes. She carried my shoes separately. My eyes were closed and I didn’t want to know how old I was. I just knew it was something between one and nine. This was the last thing I wanted. I curled up into a ball and whimpered on the ride home.
As Sammantha carried me up to the apartment, she still didn’t know what she had on her hands … a littler kid? … a toddler?
She set me down on her new bed in the master bedroom and began removing my articles of clothing.
I couldn’t stop crying and repeating, “I’m so sorry.”
‘You’ll be just fine, sweety,” she said in soothing voice, handing me a tissue. Now I was curled up naked on the bed. “Good news. From the looks of things, it doesn’t appear too bad. It looks like your body stopped regressing at about eight. Come over to the full length mirror and tell me what you think.”
I hated mirrors. Mirrors always told me that I was a loser. The bed was now higher than it was this morning. I slipped off the side and did as instructed, but I didn’t like what I saw.
“Well, you’re still super cute! You’re cute at every age, sweety.”
Cute maybe … but shorter, skinnier, and weaker. And you might as well get a microscope to find my penis. I quickly turned away from the mirror.
I looked up at a giant Sammantha and asked, “Mommy, did we buy some eight-year-old clothes?
The word ‘mommy’ just came out of my mouth. My brain must have figured that it was something that a babyish person would say.
“We did, sweety … but we only have shirts and pants. You can put those on for now, but we’ll need to go shopping again for some underpants, PJ’s, and shoes. And we’ll need to stop at Target first for a child booster seat so you can legally ride in the car.”
My voice was even higher and softer than before. “I feel like a real baby now.”
“You are absolutely not a baby, Derrek. Let’s go into the living room and talk about what we need to do.”
Well, I already knew that ‘let’s talk’ was ‘grownup-speak’ for ‘assume the position.’
So up I went facing Sammantha on her thighs and now my legs were spread out even wider than before. She smoothed out my hair with her hand. That felt good.
“Sweety, the first thing I want to ask you is if you still have your adult mind.”
“I do, Mommy. But my brain is slower. It’s harder to think up what I want to say. I remember you teaching me about coregasms this morning and I remember you pointing your naughty finger at Andrew. That was funny.”
“But do you remember what you and I did as adults?”
“Oh yeah … You like rough sex and you asked me to punch your boobies … but I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to do.”
Sammantha leaned forward and rubbed noses with me, like the Eskimos. “Aww, you’re still a very sweet little guy, sweety … at any age … and that’s why I love my little boy.”
“But there might be a problem now, Mommy.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Well, right now, I’m not sure if I still have a sex drive. Like I’m not feeling any urges to have sex with you. Maybe I have erectile dysfunction and I should take Viagra.”
Sammantha smiled at me. “Sweety, that’s perfectly normal. Most eight-year-olds don’t have a very active sex life.”
My face turned sad. “Mommy, are you going to make me stay eight years old now? I had more fun when I was ten.”
“Absolutely not, sweety. In 24 hours, if we don’t do anything, won’t you be ten again?”
“I think so, but I feel like a freak.”
“Yes, sweety, you are a freak.”
Those weren’t exactly the comforting words that I was expecting in reply from Sammantha. “Mommy, do I disappoint you because I’m a freak?”
“Oh no. Freaks of a feather need to stick together.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean … is that I’m a freak too.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re not a freak, Mommy.”
“Actually, I am … But I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”
“How much older?”
“Maybe when you reach ten.”
“Oh, you mean tomorrow?”
But there’s still something else that bothers me.”
“What’s that, sweety?”
“Well, when Dr. Frumpy hypnotized me into age regression, she changed me into an eight-year-old. And I’m wondering if you’re hypnotizing me right now, and that’s the reason why I’m eight.”
“No, sweety. I want you to be a happy little boy in real life. I don’t need to hypnotize you into believing that … And what did I tell you about Dr. Frumpy?”
“You said that Dr. Frumpy can stick her head into her vagina.”
“But how can she do that?”
“Dr. Frumpy can do a lot of weird things.”
I put up my right hand as if I was answering a question in school. “Oh wait! I think I can prove why this is real now.”
“Well, when I was eight in Dr. Frumpy’s office, she asked me the name of my first mommy’s medicine and I told her it was two boys’ names, Jack and Daniel.”
“Ahh, you figured it out?”
“Yeah, Jack Daniels is whiskey and it’s not a medicine at all. I like my second mommy better than my first mommy because you never drink alcohol.”
“Well, thank you for that compliment, sweety.”
“I also remembered playing in my room with my toys. I liked die-cast cars and stuffed animals. Mommy, didn’t you say that it would be alright if I had some toys as long as I kept my room clean?”
“I did say that, sweety. Maybe we should shop for toys too, while we’re out.”
“I don’t want you to spoil me, Mommy.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but let me ask you a question. What will happen to you if you’re a naughty boy?”
“I’ll get spanked.”
“So wouldn’t it be a good idea to reward you if you’re a good boy?”
“But Mommy, I try to be good all the time. I don’t need rewards all the time.”
“True, but how about if I reward you for being my valet at the gym today?”
“Are you sure that would be okay?”
I grinned. “Well, okay … I saw some die-cast cars at Goodwill the last time.”
“Don’t you want new toys?”
“No, Mommy. The other stores charge way too much money. I’d rather get a lot of ‘cheapy’ cars.
“What about stuffed animals?”
“I don’t need more. I just want my bunny rabbit because he came with my bed. Oh, and can I please pick out my own PJ’s so I don’t get spanked this time?”
Our shopping trip went well. I wasn’t thrilled with my new booster seat in the car, but I could live with it. And I picked out Batman PJ’s for my eight-year-old self. I stayed close to Sammantha because I couldn’t help feeling weak and vulnerable in a smaller body. So many of the other children were bigger than me now.
When we arrived at the toy aisle, there were gobs of die cast cars for about 25 cents each.
“Sweety, would you like the car repair shop that goes with the cars? It has a ramp on the left side and an elevator on the right.”
My eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s what I had the first time I was eight. But are you sure it’s okay? You’re spending an awful lot of money on me.”
“I think we can dig up two more dollars.”
“Thanks, Mommy. I’ll try to be good from now on.”
“You were never bad, sweety.”
Everything in the apartment seemed so big now. I had to use a step stool to brush my teeth and I must have shrunk a good number of inches in height. Bunny rabbit was bigger, too, and I squeezed him extra tight when I went to bed. Even though Sammantha was in the living room, I was very afraid of being alone. At 9 p.m. I left my bed.
“Mommy, I’m scared.”
“What are you scared of, sweety?”
“Being by myself. Can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Would you like to sleep in a crib?”
“Well, that’s why you have a big-boy bed … You’re a big boy now. Do you have bunny rabbit with you?”
“And what’s in your other hand?”
“Well that’s your problem, sweety. In order not to be scared, you need to have something in each hand. Let’s go pick out one of your cars for your other hand.”
“Okay … Can I pick out the Porsche? Because that’s what you drive.”
“Sure, sweety. Do you feel better now?”
“Yeah, thanks Mommy. I didn’t know that I needed a toy in my other hand.”
Sammantha tucked me in and kissed me on the forehead (again). That seemed to do the trick and I fell right to sleep … for a while.”
It was not an easy sleep. Various nightmare scenarios kept popping into my head as if the wires in my brain were crossed. I thought I had an adult body, but I was sleeping in a crib with diapers. I thought I was a baby, standing behind the steering wheel while driving a car. I thought I was in elementary school, crying because I couldn’t find the right room.
The crying part, however, was not a dream. At around two a.m, I ran into Sammantha’s bedroom. (which still irks me because this used to be my room and now it almost seemed like I needed an engraved invitation to visit) When I knocked on her open door, I was already balling my eyes out … loudly.
Sammantha did a quick sit-up and flicked on her nightstand lamp. “What’s wrong, sweety?”
I practically yelled through the tears streaming down my face. “Mommy! Margaret was right! … I AM a bedwetter!”
I was still holding the Porsche and my bunny rabbit as I did a little dance in my soaked through Batman PJ’s.
Sammantha was very calm as she got up. “It’s no biggie, sweety. We’ll just throw your PJ’s and your sheet in the washer and you can jump in the tub … We’ll get you all cleaned up with a sponge and some ginger ale.”
I screamed and danced some more. “Mommy! I peed on bunny rabbit!!”
Now it was Sammantha’s turn to roll her eyes. She probably couldn’t believe this was the same human being as the adult Derrek.
“It’s okay. We’ll just wash bunny rabbit, too,” she tried to console me.
I wasn’t consoled. “But Mommy, then he’ll be wet! And I won’t be allowed to touch him!”
“That’s why we’ll move him to the dryer. Bunny rabbit will have lots of fun going around in circles.”
Sammantha peeled off my PJ’s and I was left shivering in the nude, but my crying had finally lessened to a whimper. “Can I go with him, Mommy?”
“You tell me, Derrek. You’re a big boy.”
Thinking about it helped me stop crying and pushed me to use some common sense. “I guess it would be too hot and dangerous for children to ride in the dryer.”
“Correct. Now hop in the tub.”
Ten minutes later, Sammantha fluffed me dry with a towel and then asked me to lay down on the same towel in the center of her bed.
“Sweety, I’m going to shake some baby powder on your crotch, but you’re not a baby. We’re just doing this so your penis doesn’t get chafed … speaking of which, it looks like your little stiffy has come back to life … so I don’t think you’ll be needing Viagra any time soon.”
“Can we have rough sex now, Mommy?”
“No, but you can have a spanking if you ask me that again.”
Stories of Age/Time Transformation