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I arrived at Tammy's at 10 o'clock and let myself in. I was excited because she had told me to expect a nice surprise, in fact, she had said, "Be prepared for a shock - a life-changing moment concerning dick-head Meredith Sperm." She knew I would be thrilled to see him brought down, humiliated, ridiculed even on account of how furious I was at his lack of maleness, to put it mildly. I found myself wondering - hoping - that she had taken the plunge and dressed him in a skirt. I pictured a wild dream: I walk in on Tammy, and sitting opposite her on the other settee is Meredith in one of her skirts and tops filled out with a bra, with pantyhose and heels. I giggled. If only.
Still, my pulse was racing as I walked through the hall towards the sitting room, calling: "Tammy, I'm here." One last picture of him humiliated in a skirt as my hand was one the door handle, then in I went.
I can honestly say, I don't know how I didn't faint. The two of them were walking round the room together, or rather, Meredith was walking ahead, with his wife behind him holding onto his reins. Yes, she had him in baby reins, and no wonder; he was dressed as a baby from head to toe.
His mouth dropped open on seeing me. "Tammy," he cried, "stop playing now. Take these things off me." Then he turned to me: "Mabel," he gasped, "we're playing this silly game. I'll get changed now."
It didn't sound convincing, and Tammy's snort of indifference told me all I needed to know. "I've had enough of his sexless failures, Mother, "she said, "so I'm starting him on his new life. Say hello to Baby Cindy."
I had to laugh. It was the name printed on the front of his baby harness: Baby Cindy, such a girly name. I was laughing as well because she had his arms inside his harness, with him buckled up securely so that he couldn't escape. "Hello den, Baby Cindy," I couldn't help saying. "who's a darling lickel girly in a pink skirt and a pretty white blouse for Momsy's visit?"
The torture passed over his face in a helpless grimace. "I'm not a baby. My name is Meredith. Stop joining in," he cried.
"Let's get Baby into her high chair," sang Tammy, and sure enough, she had a huge high chair for a grown up baby: pink and with a big ribbon bow at the top of the chair-back. she pulled him this way and that with her reins, so that he couldn't do anything about it, and he was soon sitting in his chair so that she could clip the tray across him, fastening him in. "There, now Wifey and Momsy can sit and look at babykins while we're discussing how babyish and girly she is," and she pedalled a foot pump to raise him higher and higher 'til he was looking down at us in his pink bonnet and we were looking up at him while we discussed him.
My heart was so happy, bursting with justified pride in what my daughter had decided to do, and impatient to mother him and boss him. He protested and barked against the whole idea, but Tammy had a wonderful way of taking all he said with supreme patience, finally ending it by gagging him with a pacifier with a very large teat. He tried, but he couldn't force it out of his mouth. He looked so infantile, so defeated as we sat opposite him and had one of the most wonderful conversations I had ever had with her about how we would babify the clown between us from that day forward. If there are any women who have not looked through the catalogues of baby girl outfits that are available for men reduced to infancy, I warmly recommend you to start now. You can have your unwanted male looking so sweet in cute dresses and skirts, with the most adorable array of diapers and plastic baby pants, covered with ever so pretty baby bloomers that show just how babyish he is.
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