A Comedy of AR's

Chapter 52
Fugitives on the Run

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Remidios got to the KFC very fast and tossed us our clothes.  We got dressed in the back of the van as he drove us back to our rental car at the airport.

“You’ll need to do a quick turnaround,” he said.  “Get your stuff and come back here and pick out a flight.  But keep in mind there’s no morning flights to Miami.  See if you can connect through San Juan, Puerto Rico.”

“Okay, thanks, Remidios,” she acknowledged the advice.

The Crabbey Oyster motel was fortunately just a short drive from the airport.  We rapidly gathered up our stuff in the room and threw it haphazardly into our carryon bags.

“Derrek, wait,” Sammantha stopped me.  “You need to strip and pull out your cargo shorts.  Lay down on the bed.  I’ve got to put four teaspoons of water on you to get you back down to a ten-year-old.”

“Mom, can’t we just let it go?” I begged.  “I really like being fourteen.  I’m so strong now … and so horny.  Look, I can pick you up!”

I grabbed Sammantha around her rock hard abs and lifted her a few inches off the ground.  For fun, I bounced her butt against my cock, but she wasn’t amused.”

“Derrek, put me down!  You’re not taking this seriously.  As fugitives, we don’t want to tempt fate, and if Homeland Security says you left the country as a ten-year-old, then it may draw suspicion if I bring back a teenager.”

I frowned but followed Sammantha’s directions.  I knew I had no choice due to our predicament.  She spilled the exact amount of water on my slightly hairy chest and I felt the normal organ contractions of age regression begin immediately.  A few minutes later, I sat up … and when I looked at my nude little body, I started to cry.

Sammantha sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.  “What’s wrong, sweety?”

My tears started gushing.  In my squeaky, little kid’s soprano voice, I complained, “This is the third time you’ve demoted me, and every time it happens, I feel horrible.”

“Sweety,” she spoke softly into my ear.  “We’re going to take the next 60 seconds to cry.  After that, you need to man up and do your job.”

I whimpered, “Okay,” and then went into a marathon of grievances.  “I was really feeling good about my body the last two days, and now look at me … I’m short, I’m weak, my penis is small, and I have no hair.  I can’t even make a small blob now, let alone a big one.  You were treating me differently the last two days … like I was an equal partner.  But every time I’m a child, you treat me like a child.  It’s humiliating.  I feel ashamed.  I feel afraid of you.  It’s like any mistake I make now will get me a spanking.”

My whole face was blubbering with waterworks from my eyes.

I continued, “I know you love me and I’m really glad about that … And I really love you too … so much … a real lot … But one of these days, I would like to quit role playing and return to being a grownup again.  Mom!  Sammantha!  I want to love you as a man.”

With ten seconds to spare, I rested my head against Sammantha and allowed the last of my tears to fall on her chest.

But like clockwork, I wiped my eyes on her shirt and hopped out of the bed.   Nothing more needed to be said for now as I jumped into my tighty whities and cargo shorts … followed by a tee shirt, socks, and a smaller pair of shoes.  I looked up at a much taller Sammantha and spoke in a deadpan tone.  “Let’s roll.”

With much haste, Sammantha returned our rental car directly at the airport terminal.  The Cyril E. King airport was not very big.  Probably 25 of them could fit in the Miami airport, so there was not a lot of air traffic.

She followed our instructor’s advice and bought the last two seats available for a Jet Blue flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico, departing 8:40 am, arriving 9:15 am.  That gave us one hour to plan the rest of the way home.

Sammantha tapped me and said, “Okay, equal partner.  Where should we go after that?  You can check out the flight schedules on my phone.”

It made me feel good that she was allowing me to take part in the decision making process.  I checked out Travelocity and took note of the next flight to Miami.

“Mom, here’s one that leaves San Juan on Spirit at 10:15 am and gets into Miami at 12:17 pm … which would be 1:17 pm St. Thomas time.  You think we can risk that?”

“Sweety, we’re not international jewel thieves.  I can’t see a whole police force dedicating their resources to catching two off-course streakers.  It would cost them money to extradite us back to St. Thomas, and we could always lawyer-up in Miami.  What would be our next leg?”

I studied the options on her phone.  “There’s a United flight making one stop in Atlanta, leaving Miami at 7:45 pm, arriving in Buffalo at 10:31 pm.  That sounds workable.”

“I agree.  Why don’t you go ahead and use my credit card to buy those next two flights.”

“Sure, Mom.”  It was nice that Sammantha trusted me to be involved in the process.

Once that was done, we grabbed our carryons and walked them over to the waiting area for our 8:40 departure to San Juan.  We had 45 minutes.

While sitting there, I couldn’t help but look at the changes in my body.  My hands were noticeably smaller.  It wasn’t so much fun now being a child.  I knew that Sammantha would take good care of me, but after being her size for a few days, the novelty of being a little kid was wearing off.

In the next moment, I suddenly became very nervous and a chill ran down my spine.  A couple of VIP’s (Virgin Island Police) were walking toward the waiting area.  Sammantha grabbed my hand tightly as the two officers made a diagonal right turn and were now slowly approaching in our direction.

I whispered to Sammantha, “Mom, I think the jig may be up.”

“Don’t say a word,” she whispered back.

The two policemen stopped in front of us.  I was more scared now than when I faced the shark … or even when I jumped out of the plane. 

“Sammantha Adams?”  the first one said.

“Yes?” she replied.

“Would you follow us please?  And bring the boy and your bags also.”

“Is there a problem, officer?” she queried.  “We have a plane to catch soon.”

The officer frowned.  “Ma’am, I’m not going to ask you twice.”

The tone of the officer’s voice was foreboding.  I started to shake.  My skin was feeling prickly.  I grabbed my carryon handle and followed behind Sammantha and the officers.  They took us down the corridor about 200 feet and into what appeared to be a miniature police station right in the airport.

“Wait here,” said the second officer.  “Have a seat, both of you.”

I again whispered to Sammantha, “Mom, I’m worried.  What if they separate us?”

“Try to keep yourself at ten years old with water if that happens,” she told me.  “But don’t tell them anything until we get lawyers.  Everything that happened at the convent was accidental.”

It became increasingly concerning that we could miss our flight.  There were only thirty minutes remaining till departure.

With time growing short, four police officers came down the corridor and entered the mini-station.  Surprisingly, one of them had a familiar face.

“Good morning, Ms. Adams.  I’m Health Inspector Obo Ononogbo.  You may remember me from the other night at the hotel.”

Sammantha seemed a bit relieved.  “Oh yes,” she replied.  “We do remember you.”

“Ms. Adams, the so called ‘Blob’ is currently being examined by the CDC in Atlanta and as yet, we have no reports on its identification.  My being here is just a courtesy call to insure that you and your son have continued to be in good health and have felt no ill effects from your possible exposure to the organism.”

Sammantha responded enthusiastically.  “Oh yes!  We’ve both been well, and have no symptoms of any kind.  And we really appreciate your concern for us, sir.”

“Certainly, Ma’am.  Tourism is a major part of our economy on St. Thomas, and our goal is to make sure that your experiences on the island have been happy ones.  Enjoy the rest of your journey.”

I had to open my big mouth with a high pitched, “Thank you, sir!”

“Oh, Ms. Adams?” said Inspector Ononogbo.

“Yes?”

“Is this the same boy you had at the hotel?  He seems to be much smaller than the one I recall meeting with you.”

Sammantha had to think fast.  “Oh yes … He got a haircut yesterday and it makes him look shorter.”

“I see.  Well, both of you have a safe trip.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and then directed me with a whisper, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

We quickly exited the mini-station and heard the following announcement on the intercom.  “This is the last boarding call for Jet Blue flight number 227 with service to San Juan, Puerto Rico.  Gates are closing.”

“Take my carryon,” Sammantha told me.  And then I witnessed something I had never before seen … the female version of Usain Bolt setting the world record in the 100 meter dash.  She created quite a breeze racing past other patrons … and neatly placed her body in such a way as to block the boarding door from closing.”

I must have looked so pathetic … a little kid trying to pull two carryon bags behind me.  It was hard to keep the wheels straight, so for the last twenty meters, I was literally dragging the bags behind me.  The desk attendants were nice though.  They ran to help me and then scanned in our boarding passes before shutting the door.

Completely out of breath, I asked Sammantha, “Mom, are you sure you don’t want to try out for the Olympics?”

She looked at me and grinned.  “Ha, no way, sweety … I would eat the dust of the younger runners.”

“Mom, I’m sorry I almost gave us away back there with my squeaky voice.  You did tell me not to say anything … my bad.”

“Let’s not worry about that now, sweety.  You did a good job running with the bags.”