by: Personalias | Complete Story | Last updated Aug 13, 2021

Chapter 9

Chapter Description: End



There was that word again.  That deviously simple word kept repeating itself into eternity between Margaret and Molly’s collective psyches, like a signal bouncing and forth between their brains; gaining strength with each bounce.

Neither ‘Mommy’ nor ‘baby’ knew how they had ended up together, writhing on the floor of the indoor playground in some bizarre amalgamation between what mothers and infants do and what two lovers do; whether they both lost consciousness while their bodies spurred them forward, or whether the universe itself folded space and time to bring them together between two ticks of the clock.  Right now, neither one of them much cared.

Molly was on her back, her blouse ripped open, her bra nowhere to be seen and her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull as her hand held the back of Margaret’s head to her bosom, the ink on her wrist humming all the while.  Like a spider ice-skating for the first time, her free hand spasmed on the floor; her fingers never quite finding purchase or stillness as she let out low breathy moans of contentment.  She made no sounds other than the low groans of ecstasy, but every time she inhaled so that she might whisper-sing her own pleasure and contentment again, she’d smile a bit and mouth the word “Mommy,” as if trying the word out on herself for the first time.

Straddling her left leg so that her saturated, sagging, puffed up diaper was grazing past the bony part of Molly’s knee, Margaret had buried her face into the other woman’s breast, latching onto an erect nipple and sucking at it as if her caregiver had been bitten by a venomous snake.  Along with Molly’s low moans, Margaret added in her own muffled rendition of “Mnmmy. Mnmmy. Mnmmy,”.

At present, “Mommy’ was the only word that Margaret truly knew.  Her mind on a constant feedback loop so that time became meaningless, it was the only word that mattered to the girl.  Like a vampire, the taller girl was sucking the sweet nourishing life out of her Roommate.  A never-ending stream of sweet delicious milk cascaded out of Molly and past Margaret’s groping lips in such volume and speed that little white speckles snuck out the corners of the diapered woman’s mouth and dribbled back down onto Molly’s exposed breasts.

The baby-woman loved it.  The milk completed everything.  It was the missing piece of the puzzle.  With Mommy’s very essence flowing through her, the circuit in little Margaret’s soul was complete.  It filled her up in a way video games, or cartoons, or alcohol, or would-be spouses and sexual partners never could.

This was happiness.  This was love.  This was security.

Except it wasn’t.  Such things as happiness and love and security only existed in theory because it was possible for them to enter a state of non-existence. You couldn’t have happiness without sorrow, nor security without danger. And deep down inside Margaret, she didn’t want to be happy.  She wanted to be THIS- neverending THIS!  All of her needs taken care of, never wanting for anything, and never having to pass someone onto her manager because she could not, in fact, help them with their problem, ever again.

She didn’t need this feeling to be an experience, she needed it to be a constant. Unbeknownst to her (though frankly she couldn’t care less at this point), her diaper swelled and discolored, finally clashing with the pristine colors of the white sailor suit with pink trim.  Not caring that what should be her shame was all but on full display, she continued to suckle, grunting greedily with each pull from her lips.  “Mnmmy!” She mumbled between sips. “Mnmmy!”   All the while she continued to wet herself and didn’t know it.  The tattoo on her back, the “Shen,” sang out in a glorious melody that ran up her spinal chord and into her brainstem as the warmth in her diaper spread out back and front and threatened to leak out onto the floor.

Whether it was by design or just simple instinct, Margaret’s arms and legs began to tire, and she lowered her hips a bit to adjust the weight.  Molly/Mommy’s knee pressed against her sex, causing new sensations to well up.  It wasn’t Daddy’s knee (Daddy’s?), but it would do.  More so with impulses than with conscious words, Molly resolved to finish what she’d started.   With a squelch, the diapered girl thrusted her hips, grinding against her Mommy’s legs as she continued to lick and suck at the shorter woman’s nipple.  Heaven.  This was the original communion.

Margaret had never felt so alive!  No longer was she that petulant little brat that the ink was trying to turn her into.  No longer was she the helpless little blob!  She was one with her universe! She was enlightened! She might be helpless, but that helplessness was something that she truly and deeply needed in her life with someone that had earned her implicit and unreserved.  She was free!  She could have it all!  She would have it all, no matter what some stupid “Shen” tried to make her think!




Molly was aware of what Margaret was doing, and smiled, letting out a perverted, muted, and frankly idiotic giggle as she felt her roomie humping her leg like a little purse dog. Poor thing. The giggle cut to a gasp when Margaret began to clumsily brush against and grope at her free breast.  Molly shifted her leg a bit, giving her knee bend and her darling something more substantial to rub up against.

“That’s right,” she heard herself say as if she’d said it a million times before.  “Get it all out.  Get it allll out.”  Then the words left them both.  It was all grunting and moaning and thrusting and grinding from there.  Molly’s hand on the floor snaked between her own legs, as she stopped holding Margaret’s head to her breast- she didn’t need to.   Instead, she softly stroked and caressed her little bundle of joy’s hair and pinched at her ears as they both did what came naturally to them.

Neither one was thinking clearly.  In their own respective ways, both women were sharks and blood was in the water.  One was brutal, almost desperate and panicked gyrations; the other was lapping waves on the beach.


Hot flashes, then tingles, then gushing and a new kind of warmth exploded out of Margaret.  Her diaper had just gotten much warmer, and not in any of the typical ways, either. If the diapered girl had had a word for “orgasm” at that moment in time, she might have known what had just happened to her.  Instead, as oxytocin flooded her system, she was rewarded with more cuddles, a switch over to Mommy’s opposite breast, and Mommy making more silly noises while Margaret kept on engorging herself.


Caught up in the intensity of their own intimate communion, both had forgotten that they were not quite alone.  Standing awkwardly to the side, the manager of the Monkey Mania just muttered, “Well…alright then….”  The pair barely noticed when a beach towel was gently draped over them. Nor did they stop. They certainly didn’t question when it came from.

“Ooooh….ooooh…ooooooooooh!”  Molly shrieked as she finally brought herself to climax, minutes after.  A few steady breaths and a few dozen thundering heartbeats later, something resembling cognition jolted awake inside of her.  As if awakening from a pleasant nap, she took stock of her surroundings.

Margaret had already lilted off to the side of her and had been gently snoring, more of a quiet humming, really- her head resting in the crook of her Mommy’s arm.  She knew she was in an abandoned indoor playground and Margaret had run away, and then that awful incident in the restroom, and then she’d stumbled out, milk dribbling from her engorged breasts, and then…this. Where had the towel come from, though?

With short jerky movements, she ripped the towel off her head, the fluorescent lighting and high ceiling of Monkey Mania shining down on her.  Her skin tingled a bit with the pleasant chill of the air conditioning.  It was only when the broad-shouldered shadow cast over her face that she realized that there had been a third person with them there that afternoon.

The semi-rational, non-tattoo influenced part of her brain realized this might be a good thing.  She and Margaret HAD been trying to get themselves arrested so that proper authorities could see that they weren’t in their right mind.  And judging how Margaret was sucking at her thumb, at least one of them was still in la-la land.

Still, the plan had been for them to skip around and play in the ball pit and be asked to leave, not masturbate on the floor.  The manager looked at her, his countenance as awkward-looking as hers should have been.  “Oh!” Molly blanched, her face on fire with embarrassment as her free hand finally became useful and snatched the big fluffy towel up, covering herself.  Like most things in Molly’s life, ecstasy and rapture had given way to painful awkwardness and a feeling akin to an emotional hangover.

Seemingly embarrassed himself, the third person in the room averted his gaze and filled the silence with “I guess she was hungry, yeah?”.   That was certainly one way to put it.

Molly bit her lip.  “Yeah,” she said.  “Sorry about that.  It just kind of…happened.”  The manager was standing up straight, arms crossed and barely looking at her out of the corner of his eye.  Shouldn’t he be yelling or something?  “Things have been…difficult for Margaret and me lately.”

She expected a raging, roaring rant, or at least a some kind of disgust-laced lecture on morality.  Instead of yelling, he spoke in a tone that was barely above a whisper, amplified only by the echoes in the nearly empty building. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, looking down at his feet.  “Sorry about the towel.  I just figured you two needed some…uh…privacy? It’s clean,” he added after a beat.  “It’s just the best I’ve got.”

The heat was returning to the rest of Molly’s body, but it was not at all a pleasant sensation. Out of all the things she expected to experience today, shame had generally not been one of them.  This poor guy had just been treated to a freakshow and he didn’t have the fortitude to interrupt them or even shoo them out when the show was over.  The only thing they’d succeeded in was making this perfectly nice stranger uncomfortable. Damn her for doing this.

Slithering out from beneath her baby girl, Molly quickly buttoned her blouse back together as best as she could.  The rise up to her feet was painful, both physically and emotionally.  Head still swimming, it was becoming more and more difficult for her to look at her padded roomie as anything more than a child, even though Margaret was objectively bigger than she was.  The weight of her baby thrusting into her leg and near ludicrous speeds must’ve knocked her knee out of joint or something. Ugh…what had they been thinking?  A glance down at Margaret, her diaper all but leaking, gave at least one of them an excuse.  What was Molly’s?

“I’m sorry about that,” Molly mumbled.  “I’d call it an accident, but it was something much, much weirder.”  Reclusive and unrefined by nature, Molly had at least the good graces enough so that she could look the man in the eye as she apologized.  Strange.  The dude was smiling. And it was a different smile than she might’ve expected.  It wasn’t a pervy smile like that creep on the bus, or even a happy smile like a brain-dead drone.  If anything, it was kind of a sad smile; one that didn’t quite match the look in his eyes.  “Well, we’d better get going.”  She bent down to rouse her roomie.

“Wait!” The warning came in a hissed sort of stage whisper.

Molly froze.  As if there were a spring in her back, she bolted upright in alarm.   “Hmmm?” she said, trying to sound unassuming, despite the sudden jolt of adrenaline that had just shot itself into her.  She wasn’t out of the jungle gym yet.

The manager looked to be talking to himself, his eyes bouncing from side to side as two halves of his brain argued with themselves.  In a very literal way, Molly supposed, she could relate to that.  “Before you leave-“ he started and then paused, the anticipation obvious in his tone.  Anticipation for what, though?

The pessimistic, frankly rational part of her brain indicated one thing: He’s some kind of a perv. Great. Just like the one on the bus.  Here came the phone, or the weird question, or even worse, the request for a three way.  He paused and started over.  “I don’t mean to criticize, ma’am.  But shouldn’t you change your little girl’s diaper before you leave?”

Molly looked down at Margaret, still snoozing on the floor.  She frowned.  “I really should.”  If she tried to so much as move the giant rugrat, the bloated plastic backed undies would likely slide down her legs and plop down to the floor.

That’s when the unexpected happened. “If you’d like, I can do it,” he offered.  “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

To say the least, Molly was taken aback.  “R-really?”  Her heart…fluttered?  Really? Fluttered? Why fluttered?  Blondie was kinda cute, but nowhere near the kind of punk-rock bad boy or drunken junkie mess that normally pinged on her radar.  This guy was too settled looking.  Too clean cut.  Too safe.  But Molly had been looking for safety just then.  Nothing ventured nothing gained.  “You don’t have to…” she let the statement hover in the air between them, her intonation laced with an unspoken “but please, please, do”.

The manager shrugged.  “I’ve had to do it before.  Clueless guys…women too, come to think of it…boyfriends or aunties or first-time sitters, come in and then freak out when nature takes its course.  And I’m not just gonna let a kid walk around in a mess.”

“But I’m not some clueless-!“  the artist interjected.  Truthfully, she was.  She’d never changed any kind of diaper before this week.  An adult-sized one was completely out of the realm of possibility.  She legitimately didn’t know what she was doing (in more ways than one).

“That came out wrong.” He interrupted her, holding his hand out flat, palm down in a non-threatening gesture.  “I just get the sense that you and your little one have had a really hard day, and maybe I could make it easier.”

Her tattooed wrist suddenly felt extremely heavy, her free hand too.  But it wasn’t in the same way.  There was no force yanking her arms around willy-nilly like it had been when she’d tried to ditch the boxes of adult sized baby supplies and furniture.  It was just simple fatigue.  She was tired; exhausted even.   A little voice in her head pleaded with her: Please.  We need a rest.  We deserve a rest.  Let us have this.

Slowly, her eyes wandered down to the still snoozing Margaret.  She wouldn’t mind, would she?  Would she even be in her right mind if she woke up?  And she really shouldn’t let her stay in that wet diaper any longer than absolutely necessary, and here was a guy who was offering to help.  Chances were, Molly was realizing, she’d be stuck changing Margaret’s pissy and shitty diapers for the rest of her life.  Any babysitter she hired would freak the moment she saw her “charge.” Why not take the help when it’s offered?

Looking back up to the manager, Molly asked, “Can you do it without waking her?”

A small but confident nod was his reply.  “Let me get her things,” he whispered.  He roll-stepped around Margaret, retrieving her diaper bag from the toddler play area where it’d been set down.  Then, like a civil war doctor rescuing someone from the burrows and muck during the aftermath of a battle, he carefully unpacked everything he’d need to change her.  A fresh diaper, powder, and wipes were carefully removed and placed on the ground.   Molly held her breath as he reached for hem of Margaret’s sailor skirt.  Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up.

He stopped.  Molly’s heart thudded in her chest.  Margaret remained undisturbed.  The blonde boy scout got up and roll stepped to the counter.   “Almost forgot,” he said, pointing to the waste basket he brought back with him.  He sunk back down to his knees and grabbed the beach towel, folding it up neatly.

Molly’s baby stirred a bit as she nudged over to her side, as Blondie slipped the neatly folded towel underneath her padded bum.  As gravity caused the big baby’s thighs to touch, the wet, disgusting squelch clearly audible in the cavernous room caused even the helpful manager to flinch.  Margaret’s eyes were still closed, her thumb still firmly in her mouth as she was rolled back onto the impromptu changing mat.  “Good baby,” Molly whispered despite herself.

The tension doubled as Margaret’s skirt was shifted up so the manager could get to the tapes holding her personal toilet together.  Molly bit into her tongue to prevent from screaming.  The empty indoor playground had suddenly transformed into an operating theatre.  A diaper change had become the equivalent of a triple bypass and simultaneous brain surgery, and all the young Mommy could do was try not to scream.  Two competing thoughts wrestled for dominance within her:  “This is wrong.  This is so wrong.  She hasn’t consented to this,” and “She’s going to wake up.  She’s going to wake up and start crying and I’m going to have to find a way to calm her down all over again and this little peace I’ve got for myself is going to be shattered. I should have at least gotten cloth.  Cloth is quieter.”  Both trains of thought ended with a singular question: “Why did I say ‘yes’ to this?”

Slowly, with surgical precision, the manager peeled off the tapes.   Molly had expected a kind of thundering ripping sound mixed with nails on a chalk board when the tapes came off, but no sound issued forth from the plastic.  A knowing and oddly cocky smile from the manager greeted Molly’s trembling breath as the diaper came open and all but sagged forward on its own.  Stretched so thin was the abused nappy that it barely crinkled.  Margaret’s ears twitched a little, she noticed, but her breathing didn’t change.

Molly couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose as she caught a whiff of the rapidly cooling urine (among other things) that had filled the garment’s pulpy core. It wasn’t quite gag inducing, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Given a day or two, she knew, in a diaper pail combined with its fallen sisters, the fermented ammonia contained within could definitely become vomit inducing.  The shorter woman didn’t bother to question how she’d known that little tidbit. Down at ground zero, the manager didn’t seem to notice the smell.

Carefully, this complete stranger wiped down Margaret’s front side, making sure to warm each wipe in his hands before swabbing the girl’s privates. It was a marvelous trick of parenting, honestly.  Molly made a note to steal that one for later.  Margaret’s eyelids fluttered just a bit as her legs were hoisted upward and the wet diaper was slid out from beneath her, but they hadn’t opened fully.  Tentatively, Margaret withdrew her thumb as her ass was being wiped, a string of drool making a bridge between her hand and lips.

Thinking quickly, the new Mommy quick stepped over to the diaper bag and dug out a pacifier before pivoting back and popping it into her baby girl’s mouth.  As if a switch flipped, Margaret’s eyes closed fully again, her breath returning slowing and her lips working the rubber nipple.  The two true adults eyed each other, and Molly smiled softly while the man changing her baby’s diaper mouthed a silent ‘Thanks’.

Margaret didn’t so much as stir for the rest of the change.  A fresh diaper was unfolded and slid underneath her bum, fresh baby powder was applied and gently rubbed in, and finally, the crinkly mass was folded back up and taped closed just before the hem of Margaret’s dress was pulled down, covering all but the very bottom of her new undies.  The relief was palpable for all parties.

Molly was struggling to keep her voice down as the man balled up the old used diaper and put it in the waste basket beside him.  “I can’t believe you pulled that off!” she whispered.

Blondie was blushing a bit, but smiling. His chest puffed out a bit.  “Honestly?” he said.  “Me neither.”

“You did that like a pro,” Molly gushed.  “You’re a natural.  I’ve never seen anyone change her like that before!”  The words were out before the implication of what she said could be fully appreciated.  While what she’d said was true, it sounded like she’d changed Margaret far more times than the handful over the past week.  She was starting to talk like a mom, too.

The manager twisted his mouth to the side.  His eyes did that bobbing to the side thing again while he talked to himself.   The young artist caught his eyes sneaking a glimpse at her hands, of all things.  “Not even her father?”

Oh shit! Where had that come from?  Molly took a half-step back.  “Um…her Daddy, I mean her father…she doesn’t have one.” That got an arching eyebrow.  Her voice had raised to a normal volume. “I mean, obviously she has a father, but he’s not in the picture and I’m not-“

“Sorry,” he said.  “ I didn’t mean to pry.  It’s none of my business.  I was just curious.  When I was bouncing her on my knee, she called me ‘Daddy’.  I wondered if I looked like him, or something.”

Something clicked in Molly’s sleep deprived brain.  “Daddy?” she repeated.  “Are you sure?”

He shrugged.  “I didn’t understand a lot of her other words, but I understood that one.” A beat.  “So…do I?  Look like her Daddy, I mean.”

Molly frowned. “Heck if I know.”  That sounded way worse than it was supposed to.  She looked to see his reaction.  Nothing but patience.  Molly gestured over to Margaret, still snoozing on the floor and sucking on her paci.  “She’s adopted.”

The helpful stranger looked over his shoulder to the sleeping Margaret and back to Molly.  “Really?  She looks just like you.”

Molly almost guffawed.  Had she been sipping milk, it would have surely squirted out of her nose.  “You realize that I’m Asian, right?”

He shrugged.  “True.  I guessed she just took more after her father in that regard.”

“Then how does she look just like me?”

“I think you’re both cute.”

It hadn’t been so long since Molly had giggled like a schoolgirl and flirtatiously averted her eyes, adoring the attention, but it had felt like an eternity.  A week of progressively more intense motherhood could do that to a woman, she supposed.  It was nice to be the object of affection instead of the one giving it.  “Are you hitting on me?”

“A little bit. I’m kind of a flirt. Is that okay?”

She looked down at her little girl and back up to him.  “Yeah. Yeah it is.  Molly,” she said extending her hand.  “Nice to flirt with you.”

He took it and a pulse raced between them; the ink on her wrist sighed relief.  “Mark.  Likewise.”  They shook (in more ways than one, Molly noted).  “Business is kinda dead today for some reason.  Maybe I could buy you coffee?”

An almost instinctive urge to back pedal overtook her.  Coffee?  In public? With her little girl exposed to a mocking and awful world?  “I don’t know if I’m feeling coffee right now.  I might need to wake up, but I know someone who needs a proper nap at home.”

“Maybe later?”

“I don’t know.  It’s kind of hard to find a sitter these days.”

“I don’t mind bringing her along.”  Mark said.  “I like her.”  Again.  Heart fluttering, and the faintest glimmer of hope of rescue.  But rescue from what?

Yet the dance continued.  She had to be sure.  “She gets cranky when she’s out too late.”

“I don’t mind just hanging out.”


Then Mark played the trump card.  “Aw heck,” he waved off her indecision.  “Tell you what: How about we start as friends?  If you ever need babysitting so you can go out and have some ‘you time’, call me.  Or just bring her here.  I’ll watch her.”

The bottom of her jaw now knew precisely how the texture of the floor felt, she was so taken aback.  “You’d do that?  Why?”

Drumming semi-nervously on his slacks, he told her.  “I like you, yeah.  But you also just look like someone who could use a little help.  Life’s too short to not do something nice for someone.”

Molly should have run.  She should have abandoned any form of pretense of being polite and just run for the hills.   Abandon Margaret.  Leave. Burn her bridges.  Go off the grid.  Start a new life somewhere over from scratch. Grab a blowtorch and burn the markings on her wrist into a boiled over puss filled scab.   She knew all this somewhere deep inside herself…but she didn’t do any of that.

Instead, she melted.  “Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Maybe,” she said, “we could watch some Netflix at my place later tonight.”

He smiled brighter this time.  “I’d like that.”

“First a cartoon?”  Mommy looked down at baby.


“Then something else?”

“If you’d like,” he replied. “Mind if I cook?”

She was already drooling.  Even before she’d become a Mommy, she’d hated cooking. “Not at all.”

“How’s five sound?”

She checked her phone and did some mental math.  “Six might be better.  We’ve got a long bus ride ahead of us.”

“Bus ride?”  Mark scoffed.  “Forget that. I’ll give you two a ride home.”

The strangest unnecessary worry jumped into her frazzled head.  “Is your car safe?”

“I’ve got a baby seat.”

There were suddenly three Marks because how fast Molly was shaking her head.  “That’ll fit her?”

Mark was already running into the back office.  Thirty seconds later, he returned with a forward-facing car seat with harness and safety straps.  And it wasn’t baby sized.  “I’ve got a niece.  She’s disabled, and I keep it with me for when she visits.  It might be a little big on your little girl, but I think we can adjust it so she’d be safe.”  Molly took the contraption in.  It wasn’t too big at all.  It would fit perfectly.  The only thing that could make it better is if it were cuter.  At present, it was a plain gray contraption.  If it could be reupholstered…instantly Molly’s brain set about to designing a fitted cover to make it more presentable.  Something with pink ponies perhaps.

She’d never tried sewing, but a creative spark was lit inside her.  She could make the world a little brighter for her baby girl and satisfy her natural impulsive creative urges at the same time. She might even do this while conscious.

It was then, at that moment, that Molly realized that she’d broken free of the Ink’s hold forever.  She was no longer under its control.  She could be Molly and Mommy.  She could be both.

“Yeah.  That could work. That could definitely work.”  This wasn’t what they’d been looking for when they set out trying to get help, but maybe it was the kind of help they needed.  Maybe help from a kindly stranger was what they all needed.


Mark rolled over to see that the girl he’d gone to bed with was still there, slumbering peacefully in the single bed they’d both managed to share last night.  Holy cow, he’d needed last night.   Ever since Gracie had left him, he’d been heart broken and afraid to open himself up again. Then on the worst day of the year, in comes this lady and her kid and things are looking strange…and then he can’t help himself and he goes and cooks her dinner.

As he sat up and stretched, feeling the muscle aches settle in, he reflected on last night.  Watching movies and playing with that little girl, Margaret, had made him feel good.  As had cooking, and bath time and putting the little princess to bed.

Then sitting up and getting to know Molly and talk into the wee hours of the morning had been refreshing; talking to someone in an interaction that went beyond doling out change or answer questions about hosting birthday events was, sadly, novel.

It was good to be a provider.  It felt good to be competent and care for someone who needed it; and that went for both Molly and her baby.  It felt good to make a connection with another human being.

And to be frank, he’d needed that good lay.  Molly was the epitome of a single mom.  She was all cuddles and hugs with her gurgling baby, but she was a total freak in the bed.  Never thought he’d have to/get to spank a grown ass woman.  She’d insisted that Margaret was adopted; but she fucked like a madwoman.

Caring provider by day.  Fuck bunny by night.  Mark could get used to that, he decided.  He could get real used to that.

Cries from the baby’s room caused Molly to groan and stir.  “I’ll take care of it,” he said, whispering to his new (he hoped) girlfriend.  “She probably just needs a bottle, a change, and some cartoons.  I can do that.  Go back to sleep. “ He turned away from her to go take care of Margaret.  Time to be ‘Daddy’.

Groggily, she asked him, “Wus that?”  He looked back over his shoulder towards the strange markings on the back of right shoulder.  After Gracie had left him a little over a week ago, he’d gotten drunk and stumbled into some low rent tattoo parlor.  Darned thing was though, that the tattoo Mark had asked for wasn’t what he’d gotten.

“Just a tattoo, I got,” he said.  “I think it’s Chinese or Japanese or something.  I don’t know what it says.  But it looks cool, huh?”

Molly seemed to examine his new ink and gave a yawn.  “Daddy,” she said, before yawning and rolling over.  “It means ‘Daddy’.”

“Huh…” Mark smiled to himself.  “Cool.”



End Chapter 9


by: Personalias | Complete Story | Last updated Aug 13, 2021


To comment, Join the Archive or Login to your Account


Ambrose · Aug 17, 2021

Another impressive work! The relationship between the two is really fleshed out amazingly as the slow change. ;-)

To comment, Join the Archive or Login to your Account

The AR Story Archive

Stories of Age/Time Transformation

Contact Us