Life Is Full Of Decisions

Chapter 1
Life Is Full Of Decisions

Life Is Full Of Decisions

By Douglas Greene

copyright 1998

"Life is full of decisions," Paul used to say. "You can stay with that loser if you want, but you have to make up your mind. I’m not going to wait around forever."

My husband, Steve, is many things, but a loser isn’t one of them. Paul was about to find that out.

I loved Steve dearly, but he’d been neglecting me for years. As both a medical doctor, and a nuclear physicist, Steve was world renowned, and recognized as being one of the most intelligent men on the planet. For the past three years, Steve had been on the "edge of a major scientific discovery". For all of that time I waited patiently on what Steve spoke of as "the greatest scientific breakthrough in the history of mankind".

It was a top secret, privately funded project. Steve toiled silently with three assistants, totally unhindered by financial restraints. He spent nearly all of his time in his laboratory. Most nights he didn’t even come home, choosing to sleep on the couch in his office instead. It’s true that he was a great provider, but I was desperately lonely and very depressed.

I met Paul Kristy a few months ago, in the waiting room of my doctor’s office. I noticed him right away; he was tall and athletic with straight, jet black hair held neatly in a short pony tail. He was making his rounds as a pharmaceutical salesman, and we shared an elevator on the way out. We were sharing a bed at the Hyatt Regency an hour later.

The sex was absolutely incredible. He took me to heights that I’ve never been to before. He caressed my breasts, finally sucking on my nipples like a man possessed. Then he kissed me...down there...gentle soft, kisses at first, that started on the inside of my thighs. Steve never did that! When he touched me with his tongue, I thought I’d go crazy.

Paul was soooo big, I mean, his penis was huge, and he wasn’t circumcised. I’d never been with anyone but my husband, and I was amazed at his size, and the way it looked. When he entered me for the first time, gently, slowly, pushing deeper and deeper, I felt whole and complete.

I’d never cheated on Steve before, but I was just so lonely that I just couldn’t help myself. Paul left me feeling fulfilled and appreciated. That chance encounter turned into weekly meetings that I looked forward to with all my heart and soul. I could tell that it was important to Paul too. Initially our relationship was one of lust and passion, but as the weeks went by, we fell deeply in love. One afternoon a week was not enough, I wanted him near me always.

It wasn’t long before Paul started pressuring me to divorce Steve. He said that I needed to make a decision right away, so we could begin our lives together. Paul wanted children and so did I. At thirty-eight years old, my biological clock was ticking too loudly to ignore.

Steve had never wanted anything to do with children. To him, kids were a distraction, and he hated anything that prevented him from concentrating on his work. He’d expressed his opinion about having a brood of brats interfering with his work in the bluntest terms possible many times. I always suspected that he felt that way because he couldn’t be a father. My husband had been rendered absolutely sterile by a high fever he had had as a child.

Paul was pushing me to make a choice. I was afraid that if I didn’t take action, I’d loose him forever. I couldn’t bear the thought of Paul leaving me, and the idea of him being with another woman was intolerable.

"Just get your stuff and leave. It’s really that simple," Paul would say.

"It’s not that simple. I can’t just walk out on him...," I’d reply.

"Make a decision. It’s him or me!"

Eventually he wore me down; I knew that Paul would move on and our weekly love trysts would end if I didn’t make my choice soon. One night, after a few glasses of wine, I told Steve that I wanted a divorce. .I told him I wanted Paul, blurting out that I hoped that Paul would give me a baby.

For the first time in our marriage, he struck me, hard, across my face, with the back of his hand.

"You stupid cow! You just don’t understand!", he screamed.

He was right, I didn’t understand. I had no idea what he was doing at the lab.

Steve shook his head and gazed in disbelief at his hand. He was astounded that he’d actually hit me.

"How can I get through to you that what I’m working on will change

everything? Nothing is going to be the same!" With that statement, Steve turned away, stalking furiously out to his car before driving back to his lab.

His blow should have served to reinforce my love for Paul, but Steve’s sudden display of emotion was more feedback than I’d gotten from him for years. Did he care for me more than I thought? Strangely, I began questioning myself whether leaving him was the right decision.

We’d had fifteen years together, and most of those years were happy. I enjoyed being married to Steve. His brilliance was widely known and I was sure that someday he’d make a scientific contribution that would make him wealthy as well as famous. Lately, however, he’d grown slovenly and uncaring about his appearance. He spent nearly all of his time in the lab. He’d go for days without showering and his fast-food, high fat diet that he ate while working had caused him to gain thirty pounds.

I met Paul at the Hyatt almost a week later. I never saw him as angry as when he touched the fading bruise beneath my left eye.

"He hit you?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, but he didn’t mean to," I answered. "He’s under a lot of pressure."

"Fuck him! Everybody’s under pressure! I’m going to straighten this thing out once and for all," Paul shot back. He looked down, thinking...then whispered, "I’m sorry, this must be so hard for you. Just stay here. When I get back, we’re going back to your place and get your things." With a grim expression on his face, he turned and left the hotel suite.

I went home and anxiously waited for word of the explosion that had become inevitable. The decision had been taken out of my hands. Willy-nilly, my life was about to change drastically. When the phone rang an hour later, I was shocked to hear my husband’s voice coming from the receiver instead of

Paul’s.

"I’ve just sent everyone home from the lab for the afternoon. Paul’s here alone with me. Come over and the three of us will work this thing out."

I was confused by my husband’s calm demeanor on the phone. I got in my car and made the short trip to his lab.

That was over a week ago. I glance through the bedroom door at Paul and see that he’s lying in the middle of the double bed, fast asleep. I feel comfortable enough leaving him alone in our bedroom as long as I put pillows on both sides of his little body. He’s too small and weak to crawl; he can’t even turn over on his own, but you can’t be too safe with an infant that young.

The room is warm, so I’ve dressed him in just an undershirt and diaper. His little bottom is in the air, pointed toward me, and I can see the back of his chubby pink thighs. I hear him now, sucking on his fist as he sleeps. I have his hair pulled back in his trademark pony tail. He’s so sweet and adorable, I could eat him up!

Steve was right about one thing. (Actually, he seems to be right about almost EVERYTHING!) Paul is a very easy baby to take care of. He almost never cries. He lets me know when he needs changed, when he’s too cold, and when he’s too warm.

It will take him a while to adjust of course. I try to imagine what it must have been like for Paul last week when his world so suddenly changed. One moment you’re a thirty-five year old man, with an intense career and a libido to match, the next moment you find yourself trapped in a tiny, helpless, sixteen pound body, unable to do anything but wiggle and scream. It must have been awful. But like I said, he’s adjusting.

I’ll miss the sex; Paul was incredible. It’s never that way with Steve, although lately things have been looking up. I think that Steve is turned on by the fact that Paul is laying on the floor in his little bassinet listening while we make love, because lately he’s been trying a lot harder. I appreciate his efforts, but I think that I’ll just have to accept the fact that Steve will never please me the way that Paul did. I’m not complaining.

It was really spooky seeing baby Paul just after Steve had subjected him to the secret "breakthrough" that he had made so many cryptic references to over the past few months. Even though Steve tried to explain to me what he had done, nothing could prepare me for Paul’s transformation.

"I was hoping that he’d drop by, I had everything ready for him, " Paul grinned from behind his desk."What do you mean by that? What have you done?" My mind raced. Paul wasn’t capable of murder, but he had proven to have a hidden mean streak.

Paul motioned for me to sit down. The next few minutes were a blur as Paul tried to explain to me what he’d been working on for so long. I fought to sort through the technical jargon that he was rapidly throwing at me in an attempt understand what he was saying.

"You can make people little?" I asked incredulously.

"Not just little. Younger. A lot younger. It’s very hard to explain; I barely understand it myself. Let me show you." Paul got up, and led me to a room at the end of the corridor. He opened the door, and gestured for me to walk in.

A naked newborn baby boy lay on his back on the disposable white paper sheet covering the black plastic pad of exam table in front of me. From where I stood, I could see that he had been secured to the table by single three-inch strap across his tiny waist. His little legs kicked and his thin arms flailed helplessly in the air as he puled and wailed in utter terror. He turned toward me as I entered the room. When our eyes met, his eyeslocked onto mine and he stopped screaming and thrashing to lay perfectly

still.

I stared at the tiny pink creature in disbelief. Like a special effect in a movie; it was as if someone had surgically removed Paul Kristy’s head before mounting it to the body of a newborn. He looked like he couldn’t be more than ten weeks old. I walked up to the table, and looked down on him. The desperate expression on Paul’s hairless face as he looked up at me was one that I’ll never forget. He opened his mouth, exposing smooth toothless gums, and made tiny babbling noises.

In retrospect, I realize that he was trying to ask me for help. He wanted me to rescue him from Steve, who stood quietly behind me, smiling, watching from the doorway.

I had to touch him, to convince myself that he was real. I placed my hand on his chest, stretching my fingers across his trembling torso, feeling the incredible softness of his unpigmented baby skin. With my thumb and forefinger, I tenderly fondled the half-inch long penis that remained of the virile equipment had gratified me so often in the past and was instantly rewarded with an involuntary but miniscule erection of an infant. I gently stroked the front of what was left of his manly chin with my thumb, then ran the tip of my index finger over his tiny, rosebud mouth. I marveled at the perfection of his tiny fingers for a moment, then took my left hand and grasped both heels of his precious little feet and held them

effortlessly in my palm.

As an experiment, I put my pinkie in his tiny palm and watched as his delicate, translucent fingers tightened reflexively around it. I remember thinking at the time that I must have seemed huge to him; his fist was so tiny, that he could barely grasp my smallest finger. By comparison to him, I was a giantess.

It was all so amazing; his innocent infantine beauty was breathtaking. When Paul saw me smile in involuntarily appreciation of his adorable little body, his tiny face screwed itself up into a brow-wrinkled frown and he began sobbing once more. As his sobs of helplessness and mortification became the wails of an abandoned soul in torment, his tiny body began to shake.

Instinctively, I backed up as the shaking became convulsive and his face turned bright red. He drummed his feet noisily against the paper covering of the exam table’s pad as he piteously screamed his heart out. Suddenly, he peed, creating a little arch of urine that splashed against his thin legs and ran down in thin pale-yellow streams across the white paper to pool under his bottom. My heart went out to the helpless little person before me. Never before had anyone made me feel so needed.

As Steve told me later, eight weeks is the perfect age for a baby. Once again, Steve was absolutely right. Paul’s so tiny that I don’t need to worry about playpens or cribs. He sleeps with me every night when Steve’s not here. I feel like a little girl with my own live, baby doll. When Steve is at the lab, I lay Paul against my bosom at night when we go to bed and snuggle with him all night long. When my husband is home, I put Paul down in a little bassinet next to my side of the bed. When we leave the house, I put Paul in a little carrier that doubles as an infant car seat. He’s really no trouble at all.

I weigh him every morning after his bath, then determine how much formula he should drink by the end of the day, based on the chart that Steve pinned to the nursery wall above the baby scale. I can’t use the regular guidelines for infant feeding, Steve says, because he’s not growing. If I give him more then he needs, he’ll just get fat. Steve tells me that being fat isn’t bad for growing babies, but it could be harmful to Paul’s health.

Sometimes I think that Paul should feel grateful. Just a week ago, he was coping with deadlines and sales quotas as well as pleasuring me. Now all he has to do is nurse his bottle and finish his Similac. After all, it’s not like we’re asking that much of him, it’s his only responsibility.

He was stubborn about drinking from a baby bottle the first morning. I forced the nipple in his mouth, but he was willful and refused to suck on it. I called Steve at the office, and he was home within the hour with his doctor’s bag. They had a "man-to-man" talk in the bathroom, where my husband demonstrated just how unpleasant it is to be force-fed with a baby bottle. (I use the Playtex nursers with disposable liners and I think Steve

must have used one of the wooden tongue depressors from his doctor’s bag to put a squeeze on the plastic bag of formula to make it squirt through the nipple without needing Paul to suckle the nipple.) I’m sure the experience was ghastly for Paul. Through the door, I could hear Paul make small hacking and choking noises as the formula was forced down his throat.

After Steve left, Paul screamed long, high pitched wails that continued for over an hour. It was very hard to listen to and didn’t calm down until late morning. At lunch time, he was still reluctant and didn’t take the nipple until I told him he was going to finish his bottle one way or the other and picked up the phone to call Steve to assist in his feeding.

The first week with Paulie as my baby was very busy and more than a bit maddening. Paulie screamed nearly nonstop day and night for the first couple of days. That was bad enough, but he to puled and whimpered for the next two days after that. At first I found his wails of torment very unnerving and extremely distracting from my housework, but after a while I got used to it and decided to let himself "cry himself out" as some of the older baby books recommend. During that time, I left him alone quite a bit,

because handling him only seemed to make him howl more loudly. I spent most of that time on the phone arranging to have all the things that I’d be needing for Paul’s care delivered to the house.

I called a diaper service and signed a contract for a year’s worth of service. Now every Monday morning, his dirty diapers are picked up and a clean bundle of diapers is delivered in it’s place. With the eight to ten changes of diapers a newborn like him needs every day, the money spent was well worth it. I don’t have to worry about washing his dirty dydees every day. On Monday morning, I bring the bundle to the Sun room and there’s a week’s worth of fluffy, clean diapers sitting next his new changing table. I have

all of his little outfits folded neatly on the shelves below the table.

He’s just big enough to hold a small bottle, which leaves me free to do other things. However every night, just before bed, I hold him against me with one hand on his little diapered bottom as I cradle the back of his little head in the crook of my elbow and hold the bottle for him. We always talk while he’s nursing. Well, actually, I do the all the talking and Paul does the listening. Either way, the formula disappears in two ounce portions, one suck at a time. Steve’s little "man-to-man" talk with Paul really did the trick.

Unless I look into his eyes, I can easily forget that the beautiful, perfect, baby boy that now shares my life was once my lover. He wiggles and kicks when he gets excited just like a real baby. He slobbers and blows bright, intelligent, eyes...eyes that follow conversation, eyes that watch me as I move about the room, remind me that this is no ordinary infant.

After some training, I’ve gotten Paulie to communicate with me. I have him blink once for "no", and twice for "yes". At first, he just didn’t want to cooperate and ignored me as best he could, but I wasn’t about to allow that to happen. Steve told me that it’s imperative that he be made to participate in the participate in the world around him, even if his world has suddenly gotten much smaller. I intended to make him take an active role in his new life. One of the ways I encourage his participation is by

giving him easy decisions.

Usually, it goes something like this; "Paul, do you want to finish watching this video, or should we get you dressed and go shopping? You really need some more clothes; we could go to the mall."

"Video?", I ask first, knowing that if he ignores me I’ll make the choice for him.

"I guess you’d rather go to the Mall then?", I say, knowing what he’d want from the outset without even asking.

I always pause, waiting for his eyes to answer.

I knew his preference would be to stay home sitting in his little carrier and stare at the TV all afternoon. We’d made a couple of shopping trips together, and by the way that he whimpered and fussed on each trip, I knew that Paul didn’t like going out in public one little bit! I might have listened to him if he’d made a choice, but when my little man ignores me, then the choice is mine!

Steve constantly reminds me that I must communicate with Paul and treat him as an adult as much as possible. He says that unless we allow him to make simple choices and some small measure of control, he will become depressed, or to begin to regress mentally. He says that since we have sort of become his parents, we are responsible for his mental health.

Every day after lunch, just before his afternoon nap, I take his diaper off and spread a couple of beach towels out on the carpet in the sunroom, so little Paul can look at himself in the full size mirror I’ve mounted to the wall. I think that seeing himself might help Paul get used to being so small. I

think that he’s going to stay this way for quite a while, so the sooner he gets used to it, the better. Since he can’t sit up, I usually sit down next to him and put a pee-proof rubberized lap-pad on my lap, then lay a clean

diaper on the pad and sit him on my lap so he can see himself properly in the mirror. Then I point out all the changed areas of his anatomy to him and together we study his new little body, part by part, again and again.

He has the cutest little tush! His tiny bottom is so round and smooth, I can’t keep my hands off of it. However, his tiny uncircumcised penis looks like it belongs to an alien. According to the baby books I bought, dirt can get trapped underneath the

skin and cause infections. Since I’m responsible for him, I can’t have that! I have to remember to ask Steve, when Paul’s settled down a little, if he can perform a circumcism. I think that it’s probably something that should be take care of right away.

I made a lot of video tapes of our first few days together. I put the camera on a tripod, and turned it at every one of baby Paulie’s "firsts". We now spend hours reviewing the tapes of his first bath, his first meal, and his first messy diaper. I just love my little sweetiepie to death.

Steve has a lot of work to do on his project before he can make it public. Secrecy is extremely important. I am so proud of my husband; he’ll soon be the most famous man on the planet.

Things are going so much better between the two of us. I think that my affair with Paul really made Steve think about our future. It’s only been a week, but so far he seems to be really trying to make things work. Steve will soon be announcing the greatest scientific discovery of all time, yet he’s still finding time for me! I’m falling back in love with my husband!

I still feel bad about Paul. I know he’s unhappy, but I try to keep him occupied; we watch TV, I read the paper to him, we listen to music.

We’re together all of the time, of course. Steve is still busy perfecting his project, so I’m spending my time helping Paul learn to accept his situation. I love him more than ever, just in a different way, I feel more maternal than I feel sexually attracted to him. I suppose it’s only natural with him the way he’s become.

I can tell that Paul is still very angry, but he "acts out" less and less. He still gets red and rather loud when I tickle him after his bath. He absolutely hates to be touched or cuddled. (Sometimes I do it anyway just to get him riled so I can see the funny faces he makes when he gets angry.) He’s still occasionally fussy at meal time and when I burp him; but we’re making progress. After all, it’s only been a week.

For instance, this afternoon in the sunroom, I got him to smile. Another first! I’m so glad I got it on tape! To convince him to smile, I gave him a simple choice. He could smile, or we could visit Steve at the lab.

It was just a little toothless grin at first, but it turned into a full fledge smile when I tickled his underarms. I thought he was going to start giggling when I blew wet raspberries on his tummy, but his mood changed suddenly as he looked at himself in the mirror. He suddenly launched into one of his little tantrums; baby Paulie screamed for a half an hour, and pouted for the rest of the afternoon.

Paul’s little facial expressions are just so funny! Yesterday was a perfect example. He felt a bit warm to me, so I thought that I’d take his temperature. He was deliberately ignoring me, as usual, so I shook the

thermometer in front of him on purpose, letting him watch me as I dipped the thermometer in the vaseline jar and brought up the silver bulb with a little dollop of vaseline on the end.

He looked up at me and gave me his "I’m worried" face when he saw that I was serious.

When I told him what I was about to do, and he gave me his "I’m angry" face. That’s the face I like most of all, it’s so cute I almost laughed out loud when I saw it!

When I reached for him, and pulled on his ankles to drag him across the bed spread, just for in instant, he gave me his "I’m afraid" face. I felt bad at that; I didn’t want him to be afraid of me, I love him.

Nonetheless, I needed to get his temperature so I pulled him until his bottom was beside my mid-thigh and held his bottom with one hand while I inserted the thermometer in his behind with the other. His head jerked around in surprise as the bulbous end of the probe slipped into his bottom. He turned his head back to face the coverlet on the bed as I waited for the thermometer to come up to temperature. When I withdrew it, he whimpered and hid his face as I read the indicator; it read exactly one hundred.

It was a little high for someone his age, but not abnormally so. I decided that I would diaper him as I usually did and then wrap him in his blankie so he wouldn’t shiver. As an afterthought, I put

some plastic panties on him so his pee wouldn’t stain his blankie. He struggled against the blanket, so I swaddled him in his blankie tightly so he couldn’t move his arms and feet like the baby book suggested.

Once I was finished, he looked like the most adorable papoose with only his head showing. At first he screamed his head off, but when I put the nipple of his bottle into his mouth he seemed to calm down a bit. After winding him, I held him on my lap and cuddled him until he fell asleep in my arms.

Every day, I wonder at the miracle that’s happened to all of us. After I feed him his bottle in the morning and burp him, I put him down on the carpet to watch TV or nap. Sometimes he looks so much like a miniature version of the Paul Kristy I used to know, I expect him to start talking like a rational adult and ask me to help him out of the mess he’s gotten into, but when he starts puling and crying like an infant, the image of old Paul disappears, and I can only see a tiny little baby who needs my love and attention.

For me, life seems to get better every day. My husband is more attentive than ever and I have a baby of my own to take care of. Now I don’t have to worry about Paul leaving me and I have a beautiful perfect little baby boy to care for. I have never been so happy. Steve says that he can keep Paulie

at this age indefinitely!

My husband is being very supportive. He even wrote prescription for me that will soon make giving Paulie that icky Similac a thing of the past. Paulie might not like his change in diet right away, but I’m sure he’ll get used to it.

I’m sure that breast feeding little Paulie will help him relax and will bring us closer. I remember how much he seemed to enjoy sucking my tiddies when he was big, so I’m confident that he’ll learn to like them even more when my milk begins to flow. Also, it will make taking care of him even

simpler. I won’t have to worry about lugging formula with us when we go out, and there’ll be no bottles to wash or sterilize. I’ve already gone out and bought a number of nursing bras and special blouses to make nursing him in public more discrete in anticipation of the change. I’ve started the medication and I can already feel the changes in my boobs. The aureole

around my nipples is darkening and getting larger by the day as my breastsincrease in size. I can’t wait for little Paulie to begin suckling me the way he used to, my nipples have grown incredibly sensitive and are

half-erect all the time.

Right now, Paulie hates me with every bone in his little body. I can’t say that I blame him much, I wouldn’t want to be in his position.

Just a week ago, Paul was an independent person, with responsibilities and a future. Now, even though I try to make his life interesting, every day is pretty much the same. Life has become an endless chain of baths, feedings, and diaper changes. It must get very boring. Steve says that breast feeding will give him more sensory stimulation and help keep his mind alert. He

also agreed that I should take him out more and expose him to more people. He even gave me a fake birth certificate so I can put Paulie in Daycare for an afternoon if I need a break from taking care of him. Steve says that the stimulation of being with the other babies would be good for him. I’m not so sure of that, from the way he acts when he’s asleep, I’m sure he’s subconsciously regressing even if he can still answer me with eye blinks.

Nonetheless, my only hope is that someday soon he’ll understand that I’m doing my best to make him happy and comfortable.

When I watch him suck his fist as he sleeps it makes me wonder if his conscious mind is slowly regressing too. Could the adult mind of the Paul I love disappear completely? I hoped not, I loved Paul, and didn’t want to lose him. If Paulie became a real baby, he’d be a lot more work, and it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. When I think about Paulie regressing into true infancy, I think that I’d probably want to replace him with another man who understands what’s happening to him. I know it sounds odd, but I don’t want a baby who doesn’t fully understand everything I’m doing for him. For the moment, I don’t want consider that alternative.

For the moment, however, I need to give him more choices in his life like Steve suggests. I need to get him more involved with his new life so his mind doesn’t disappear into infantile incoherence. He’s mine and I don’t want him to slip away from me!

I think that when Paulie wakes up from his morning nap, I’ll let him pick out which set of clothes I’ve decided are appropriate for him wear today. Choices in life are often like that; when the crunch really comes there’s only a choice between something you don’t like or something you can’t stand at all. Like Paulie always used to say, life is full of decisions. While freedom is the power to make a decision, it’s too bad that little Paulie learned too late that it’s people with power who limit the choices of the decisions that can be made.

Steve may not be the best lover on the planet, but he’s proved to me that he’s strong and that he’s the right man for me. I love him almost as dearly as I do my helpless baby boy Paulie.

This afternoon I’ll be dressing Paulie in either an adorable white onesie with little blue ducks, or a white and green sun dress with a matching bonnet. He can have his choice of either to wear while I have my friends over for a coffee klatch.

It doesn’t matter to me which outfit he chooses, my friends will think he’s adorable no matter what he’s wearing. But, again, it’s his choice. Life is full of decisions.

Fin

 

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