A Comedy of AR's

Chapter 84
Freaky Friday (30) – The Dressing Down

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Paul and Sam were both very excited when we told them that Daniel had his foot in the door with his law partner again.  It was a great relief that he was able to start his ‘road to recovery’ without getting into a very messy story about a water curse and age regression.

The three of us, including Daniel, returned to our chores of tidying up Paul’s basement and then heading out to his boat for some hard labor, washing and scrubbing down the forty-footer named ‘Adams’ Apple’.  Paul only had one lightweight hazmat jumpsuit and I took it so I could work on the boat.   Daniel stayed on shore and used a brush on some of the smaller equipment.

It was a quiet week.  When we weren’t cleaning, Sam and I worked on our essays for Fellores Frumpy.  We made sure not to share ideas or copy from the internet.  Tuesday couldn’t get here soon enough and we didn’t want to take any chances of screwing up our assignment. 

We would have to debase ourselves one more time and we wanted to be sure it was our last punishment.  Sam and I were thoroughly disgusted with peeing and pooping in our chastity belts.  We felt like dogs.  And I had to stay at age eleven for the full week while Daniel returned to his eventual age of 34.

Tuesday finally arrived and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to face Frumpy again.  Even Paul was nervous.  We could sense it.  He had worked on his own assignment, something about the evils of being a neglectful parent, and I’m sure he didn’t enjoy beating himself up on paper.

At 10 am, we arrived punctually at Sammantha’s office once again, dreading to see her partner … but hopefully for the last time.

Dr. Frumpy stepped into the waiting room and stared at us.  No human possessed more of a ‘sourpuss’ expression than this lady.

“I’ll see the two children,” she announced.

We obediently followed her with our clipboards into her office and, this time, made sure not to sit down as we approached her desk.

“Well, well,” she mused.  “Hopefully, you’ve enjoyed your week as chaste angelic cherubs … and if you pass your exams, I won’t have to look upon your filthy bodies ever again.  But for now, your shame continues … So drop ‘em.”

Neither Sam, nor I had to be told twice.  We set aside our clipboards and quickly pulled down our pants and underpants, leaving our bottoms clad in only our chastity belts.

“Hmm,” she grumbled.  “From this vantage point, it doesn’t appear that either of you has attempted to disable your devices.”

“No, Ma’am,” we both replied in unison.

“Ughhhh.”

“What’s wrong boy?” the woman asked.

Red faced, Sam answered, “I’m sorry Ma’am.  I’m getting an erection and the device is bending my penis the wrong way.”

“I see,” said the doctor.  “Well, I realize how anxious you are to have your penis gripped by my cold hands again, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until you’ve completed your assignment.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sam struggled to answer, while dealing with the pain.

“So let’s start with the girl.  You will read your essay aloud.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied meekly.  Then I picked up my clipboard and began.

‘The Dangers of Pre-teen Sexual Promiscuity.’   (The body of my work was rather dry.  I made sure to use tiny handwriting to comply with one requirement.)

Then I ran through a litany of all the terrible things that could happen when eleven-year-olds think they can act like grownups by having sex … pregnancy, aids, gonorrhea, syphilis, bacterial vaginosis, chlamydia, hepatitis, herpes, human papillomavirus, mycoplasma genitalium, pelvic inflammatory disease, trichomoniasis, chancroid, and scabies.

“Let me see that,” said Dr. Frumpy.

Nervously, I handed her my clipboard.  She gave it a brief glance.

“Now the boy,” she ordered.  “Read.”

Sam was still struggling, and squirming, with his bent boner, but he was ready to deliver his speech.  By prior agreement, Sam and I decided to present totally different aspects of the subject.  I would stick to the facts and he would examine the emotional and physical toll that our actions took on ourselves and our parent, Paul.  He also talked about the foolishness  of shoving cucumbers into our orifices and using violence as method of sexual gratification.  He apologized for his actions and vowed not to repeat them in the future.

“I’ll take that clipboard,” she told Sam.  Then she pressed the intercom.  “Send in Mr. Adams.”

Paul entered the office and this time, he didn’t question why the two children were naked from the waist down.

“Read your essay aloud,” she ordered.

He began, ‘The Dangers of Neglectful Parenting.’ 

And by the time he finished, Sam and I were both crying.  Paul basically ‘fell on his sword’.  He castigated himself unmercifully, blaming himself for all the evils of all fathers in the world, claiming he was the worst of the worst.  It was all bullshit of course, but I think he wanted to give a good accounting of the matter for Frumpy.

He of course blamed himself for not being around when Sam and I were doing rough sex and cucumbers.  (We weren’t even in his house.) And he admitted his negligence for being unaware that we watched a lot of pornography.  (Which we hardly ever did … and never did in his house.)

He concluded by listing a number of actions he would take to reign in his out-of-control ‘children’ … even though we were both 28 year old adults in real life.  All three of us were humiliated in front of an ogre like Fellores Frumpy.

“I’ll take that now,” Frumpy said, pointing to Paul’s clipboard.  “And you can pass out your electronic equipment for testing.  Give the two phones to the children.  I’ll be counting on their honesty in this test.  You and I will check the laptops, Mr. Adams.”

She continued, “Alright, I think I can ask the children for help with this test.  What sort of naughty words should be keyed into Google to check if the parental controls are working?”

I volunteered, “We could start with George Carlin’s seven dirty words you can’t say on television … shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits.”

“Very well,” Frumpy accepted.  “Key them in, and if you get any hits, raise your hand.”

When no one raised a hand, Paul added, “We should test for hate.  Type in ‘I hate’ followed by a race, religion, or sexual orientation.”

Sam added, “We should check for other body parts, too … like big dick, big boobs, clit, pussy, asshole … “

Frumpy shook her head.  “My, aren’t you a couple of foul-mouthed little children … but yes, let’s check for those, too.”

To everyone’s satisfaction, all the naughty stuff appeared to be successfully blocked, so I hoped that we passed all the tests and could finally go home now.

Dr. Frumpy closed up the laptop she had been checking and handed it back to Paul, along with a set of keys, presumably for the belts.  Then she turned to look at me and Sam.  “Pull your pants up, children,” she barked.

That alarmed me.  “But aren’t we going to unlock the chastity belts first?”

“No, pull them up now,” she repeated.  Turning back to Paul she added, “I want you to go home and clean up these pieces of shit.”

Paul practically yelled back at her, “Dr. Frumpy, you cannot talk about my children like that!”

She retorted, “I was referring to the fecal matter on the chastity belts.  These children have poor toilet hygiene.  You should make them clean it up themselves.  Then run the belts through the dishwasher and bring them back to me in a sanitary state.  You may all go now.”

“But did we pass the tests?”  I asked anxiously.

“GO!!”

It was a great relief to come back to Paul’s house and unlock the belts.  They had started digging creases into our skin.  Now I could go back to peeing like a big girl.  And that was the rub.  I was still a girl.  Sam and I were in the doldrums for awhile.  The novelty of our gender changes had certainly warn off, and neither of us was happy.  We were both sorry for causing so much trouble for Paul.

After nine days of moping around the house with little to do, my body had grown back to being the adult Sammantha.  Paul was still hesitant to let us go back to the apartment.

“Look, Derrek,” he told me.  “You’re an adult woman, and I suppose I can’t stop you from going back to live in your apartment … but Sam is an eleven-year-old boy who’s not going to magically grow back up.  As Sam’s real father, I think he should stay and live with me.”

We both tried to convince him that, from the apartment, Sam and I could manage to continue Sammantha’s psychology practice.  And we explained to him, how we dealt with Peter Shinee, one of her patients by working together as a team.

“I’m not sure that what the two of you did was ethically or morally legal.  And I’m still not sure if I can trust you, Derrek.  Ever since Sammantha met you, her life has been a wreck.”

“That’s not true, Dad!” the little boy hollered.

“You be quiet, Sam,” his dad scolded him.  “I just went through hell trying to bail you two out of a legal jam that could have landed me in jail … and you and Derrek in juvenile detention.  Sam, I’m sorry to say, but you’re stuck being a little kid and you’ll just have to grow up all over again, and it’s your own god damn fault.”

Sam was in tears.  “But, Dad, Derrek and I can do it.  We can continue my career.”

“Your career is over, Sam.  I’m not going to let you defraud patients over the internet.  Looking at things now, it’s probably best if Derrek was no longer part of your life.  She should go back to her apartment and you’ll stay with me.  Come fall, I’m enrolling you in the sixth grade at the local elementary school.  Since you’re a little kid now, you should go to school with other little kids.  Find yourself a new life where Derrek isn’t part of it.

Sam shrieked, “But I don’t want to do that!!”

Paul sighed.  “Sam, you always wanted to be a boy.  Be careful what you wish for.

“But Dad!” the boy cried out.  “You’ve always had my back no matter what.  You’ve always stood by me when I was hurting.  I need you to help me now … please!”

Paul grabbed the boys arm and took him into the bathroom to point into the mirror.

“This is not the person I raised.  From the time you met Derrek, your behavior has been reckless and foolhardy.  Look in the mirror.  Since you’re an eleven-year-old boy now, I should probably not be surprised that you’ve been acting like a child.  And so you, in turn, should expect to be treated like a child.  You’ll go to school with other children your own age, and learn to mature and grow up as a boy.  That’s what you’ve always wanted.  That was your life’s dream.”

“Noooooooooo!” the boy cried out … and then ran upstairs to his room.

I felt really bad for Sammantha now.  My favorite person was permanently stuck as a little boy who had to grow up again the hard way.  I went upstairs to his room where he was lying on his bead … upset … sobbing.

I picked him up and hugged him for about twenty minutes, but there was nothing I could say to make things better.

At 11 pm, I went back downstairs to watch the news with Paul, maybe for the last time.  But our eyes bulged when the anchor led off with a bombshell report.

“Breaking news as we come on tonight …  Scientists are saying that a repeat of a powerful electro-magnetic pulse, or EMP, will once again, strike western New York tomorrow night and could again, cut off electrical power to most of the region.”