This is the continued story of Simon’s Journal.
Before you begin this third volume in this series, I would highly recommend that you read the first and second volumes as each picks up were the previous left off.

ADMONITION:

The following narrative is nearly a complete work of fiction. Some events and characters were pulled from real life but have been changed, enhanced and twisted to comply with my will. Any other similarity to actual individuals living or dead is completely unintentional, but it would be incredible!

WARNING:

The following story contains diaper use, violence, adult language and strong sexual content. If reading a coming of age story about boys wearing diapers and exploring their awakening sexuality doesn’t tickle your pickle, or if pickle tickling is illegal in your area, then I suggest you select something else to read.

Chapter - 10

Make the heartache disappear

As the girl reached me, she fell on my neck sobbing and pleading for someone to help her little brother Quade. At first it was difficult to understand what she was saying but then there was a momentary flare-up of light from inside and through one of the windows the upper half of a small boy could be seen with his hands held out in front of him as though he were attempting to shield himself.

At once I understood what she was pleading for and though I had no idea what to do, I knew something had to be done.

Pushing her off my neck I looked into her eyes and said, “Stay here!”

I then turned to the boy who had pulled me out of the way of Mr. Wriggle falling and asked, “Can you help Poppy?”

He gave me a left-handed salute, “Y-got it!”

I then pointed to three boys that were standing shoulder-to-shoulder and was about to speak when from inside came the ghastly scream of a child. Everything inside went deathly still.

With my heart racing within my plastic imprisoned chest I found myself already moving toward the door when I heard one of the boys say, “Let’s go!” and stormed in behind me.

Inside we found ourselves enveloped in a world of pure fantasy. Everywhere we looked there were stuffed animals, vibrantly painted furniture, and toys, toys, toys! It couldn’t be real; it just couldn’t be, not this part of the world, not in this neighborhood. Every wall was painted with a different nursery rhyme mural. The floor was tiled with a mosaic of colored tiles about one inch square that made it seem as we were standing at the edge of a storybook countryside scene.

The staircase was covered in blue and white tiles, which created the illusion of water trickling down each step, then flowing across the floor and vanishing down a darkened hallway. The rest of the floor had bright green tiles with the occasional red, blue and yellow tile imitating a grassy meadow where wild flowers grew.

One of the other boys that had accompanied me into this odd place remarked in a still small voice, “Smells like baby-powder and bubblegum in here.”

I took a whiff of the air; my nostrils quivered and my mouth went dry. It was difficult to image that something bad could ever happen in such a fanciful, child friendly place.

Moving cautiously we quickly discovered broken glass and china was strewn everywhere and the floor crunched beneath our feet as we moved toward the room where the whimpers of a child seemed to be emanating from.

One of the boys whispered, “Boy it sure is quiet in here!”

And another added, “Yeah, three quiet!”

Upon hearing that, I stop and turned to ask him what he meant but noticed that, despite telling her not too, the girl had come in with us.

She gave me an embarrassed half-smile which I reciprocated as it struck me that none of these surroundings seemed unusual to her.

As I turned back around and walked several paces forward I was abruptly stopped dead in my tracks. Slouching in a blue upholstered rocking chair was a diminutive dark skinned man. He was drinking what looked to be beer from a glass baby-bottle and watching reruns of the TV game show, Family Feud; I couldn’t help but find that ironic given the current situation.

He was wearing a dingy-white, beer, blood, food and vomit stained undershirt and aside from a single, laceless brown dress shoe, he had no other clothes on. Over one of his hairy legs was draped a leather belt. It took several seconds before he noticed us but when he did he eyed us as though he couldn’t decide if we were real or figments of his inebriated imagination. He must have reasoned that we weren’t one of his drunken hallucinations because he asked, “What the hell are you little pissers doing in my house?”

Any bravery we’d had felt while still outside was lost now as we stood trying to reject the desires of our feet to flea. The girl, who was staying directly behind me, was clutching the back of my shirt fearfully and breathing in such a manor as to cause the hairs on the back of my neck to quiver.

The man rose slowly and I realized he wasn’t as short as he had first appeared while slouching. His beer gut hung below his shirt and covered much of his pubic hair however his man sized genitals seemed to hang nearly half way to his knees.

“Y’all those little shits from that orphanage ain’t ya?” he bellowed while pointing at us with the belt in one hand and with his other hand he cradled his baby bottle of beer to his chest like he was hugging a teddy bear. He saw the girl behind me and his eyes turned red with anger.

She spoke, “Daddy please?”

Dispite my fear I couldn’t help but wonder how a caucasion girl like herself came to have a black man as her father. I never did find out the answer to that question.

Over to my right there was a rustling sound. I looked and saw a caramel colored boy with dirty-blond curls on his head. He appeared to be maybe five or six years of age and was curled up in a ball behind a grandfather clock that was painted bright-yellow and the glass that covered the face of the clock had been smashed.

The boys’ dark eyes met mine and I motioned for him to come to me. He shifted slightly but the man snarled, “I told you not to move!”

The boy froze as tears flowed like a torrent down his cheeks, onto his knees and down his bare shins.

The man took a step toward us but stopped as something caught his attention at the window. His eyes bulged as he took several steps backward, scanning from window to window and seeing the faces of dozens of boys peering in. When I saw their enraged faces pressed against the glass I knew that Poppy and the others had brought reinforcements.

The mans voice quivered as he spoke, “What’s going on here?” I noticed his accent was notably northern.

I looked back to the boy who’d now buried his face behind his folded arms; I spoke softly, “Q-quade, c-c-come on.”

The boy looked up but didn’t move. One of the three boys standing behind me supplemented my beckoning with, “It’s ok, he ain’t gonna ‘urt ya no more.”

Behind me the girl was pulling harder then ever on my shirt. I knew that by clutching my shirt the way she was, it helped her to keep from loosing her battle with fear but the front collar was beginning to choke me somewhat.

The man took another step away from the windows, “Look here, I-I don’t want any trouble!”

“Q-q-q-quade’s c-coming w-w-with us!” I said and I knew with my stuttering it didn’t sound very intimidating at all.

Two of the boys that came in with me moved to the side and helped Quade to his feet.

The man seemed to be getting over his initial fright at seeing all of us but gambling that he’d back down again I thumped my plastic chest armor and through clinched teeth I said, “T-t-try s-someth-th-thing, p-p-pplease! I-I’m b-b-begging you!”

The boy outside the windows began to pound their chests repeatedly and the man took several more steps away until he was against the far wall.

Along with Quade, his sister and my three Banachelli brothers we slowly backed out of the room and made our escape. Standing just outside the door we found ourselves surrounded by the swarm of Banachelli boys all looking at us in amazement.

I quietly asked the girl, “Have you and your brother got somewhere to stay?”

“Gammas! Gammas!” Quade answered for her and I took it as meaning Grandma’s.

I looked at Quade and for the first time I realized he was wearing a clear plastic pants over a cloth diaper that was so thick that it made him stand like he was astride an invisible Shetland pony. When he walked he resembled a penguin wearing a curly wig. In the moonlight I could see he was biracial and had the same facial features as his sister.

For a fleeting moment I was nearly able to put voice to my puzzlement but the question of their family ties was ejected from my forethoughts and my anger with his father reignited when I saw the red welts across his chest, neck, face and shoulders left by the leather belt. Even with his caramel colored skin it was apparent that by morning he’d be sporting raccoon bruises around both of his already swollen eyes.

A part of me wanted to go back in and strangle the man with that belt. However, it was evident by the way all of the Banachelli boys were gaping at us that they were expecting something to be said. I looked at Quade and his sister and announced, “They’re going to go stay with their grandma across town.” The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles of triumph!

After seeing Quade and his sitter off I turned to the three boys that had gone in with me and was finally able to ask, “Three quiet? What was that supposed to mean?”

The boy that had said it shrugged and smiled, “It’s one more then too quiet”

The other two boys started laughing and I slapped my hand to my forehead in disgust, “Oh brother, I just had to ask!”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!” Mrs. Wriggles voice detonated over the crowd.

Every last one of us turned to find her standing like a Harpy on a bad day; beside her stood the broken nosed, bleeding and still intoxicated Mr. Wriggle. He was holding a thick bloodstained cloth diaper to his face and was looking to his wife as though he was the one she just yelled at.

Behind the two of them stood eight men enveloped in shadow making them appear even more ominous. Where they came from and who they were remains a mystery to this day.

Sure there were ten of them and yes they were much bigger then any of us but there were a lot more of us then there were of them. Maybe I was still hopped up on the adrenaline from rescuing Quade from his abusive father because I was sure we could take them down.

I yelled as loud as I could, “Everyone get them!” and charged forward.

As I sat at the base of the ladder within the Banachelli’s bowels and tried not to allow the stench to overwhelm me one again, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the comradely and bravery the boys had all displayed in aiding in the rescue of Quade from his abusive father. As I had charged the Wriggles and the eight men none of the other boys followed me and thus I was stopped by a single blow across the back of my head. I awoke an unknown amount of time later sitting at the bottom of the pit where this time I was left to rot with no clothes, no shoes, no food, no light, and no hope of release.

Whether I kept falling asleep or going unconscious from the screaming pain at the back of my head, I did not know and until I was rescued, I had no idea that I had been locked in the pit for over a week.

Like someone calling from deep within a cave I heard my name echoing faintly within my head.

Several bits of dirt fell on me and I heard the metal grate overhead squeak and thought I must be dreaming.

“Come on Simon! Wake up!” someone whispered.

I think my eyes opened but it was so dark I couldn’t tell for sure.

Another voice spoke sounding much closer, “It’s alright, I got you! We’re going to get you out of here!” The voice was deeper and sounded vaguely familiar.

Every nerve ending in my practically frozen body screamed with pain as I felt someone lifting me. I must have blacked-out after that because I don’t remember anything until I tried to opened my eyes again and saw daylight and heard the peculiar droning sound of an engine.

The very first thing I saw was a single white billowy cloud that peacefully glided across a brilliant blue sky. I don’t think I was fully awake yet as I watched the cloud until my attention was drawn toward the various greens of the southern landscape below. It was then that I became aware that I was in, what I imagine anyone on the ground that looked up might classify as a bush-plane. The mechanical purrs of the engine saturated and consumed all coherent thoughts.

I tried to move but my left arm was pinned. I looked and saw Lowell sitting beside me, sound asleep with his thumb in his mouth and hugging my arm as though it were his special security blanket. Despite having his thumb in his mouth he look as if he might be grinning and possibly dreaming a good dream.

My eyes moved away from Lowell’s angelic face and to the only other person on the plane with us. It was the pilot and not withstanding the dirt, bruises, missing eye and the dried blood that covered the right side of his face, I could see that it was Tom Segal. He was focused on the windshield and had not noticed that I was conscious again. He was grimacing and looked to be in considerable pain.

I was staring at the gaping hole that used to be occupied by his right eyeball and realized that was why he had not seen me stirring.

“Hey,” I called but the engine overpowered my voice.

I shouted “HEY!” and Lowell’s eyes opened for a moment then closed again.

“Hey Kido,” Segal sounded as bad as he looked, “You missed all the fun.” He tried to smile but flinched at the stabbing pain.

I started to weep as the emotions began to flood in.

“Hey-hey-hey, there’s no need for that now.” He fumbled to find my bare knee and squeeze it. “We’re safe now and you’ll be home before you know it.”

When he withdrew his hand a bloody handprint remained on my leg. Up until that very second I had not completely believed that he was one of the good-guys and was never one of the men that had abducted me. I have since learned that prior to my abduction, he had been working undercover to protect my family and me. He too had been captured that same night in the cave beneath the old barn in the sports park back in Ohio. He too was spirited away to the Banachelli and locked away in one of the other pits. Though we had both been taken at the same time, it seems I faired much better then him. He had lost his left eye, his left wrist was apparently broke, swollen and turning a brilliant shade of blue and purple. Every few minutes he would double over in a coughing fit and spray the instrument panel with blood from his mouth, which I might mention, seemed to be minus several teeth.

Lowell shifted next to me and thankfully released my left arm. Neither Segal nor I spoke for a while; I just sat staring out the passenger side window at the sea of green trees and rolling farmlands, speckled with lakes, swamps and itinerant rivers.

I had never flown in a single-engine plane before and to be sitting in the copilot’s seat with all the controls right there in front of us, all the instruments in our face as the plane clawed for altitude, jerking and sliding on the wind currents as Segal kept the nose of the plane pointed toward the horizon, had been interesting, exciting and scary all at the same time.

The steady droning purr of the engine was interrupted by a sputtering sound. Segal reached out and flipped a switch and the engine became steady again. I surveyed the instrument panel and deduced that we were flying at six thousand feet and headed northeast. The drone and the sea of green trees and rolling farmlands, speckled with lakes, swamps and itinerant rivers.

Lowell shifted again and pressed his diapered butt against my thigh. I reached down and took Lowell’s hand in mine and firmly gripped it as tried to catalog in my head just what had led up to this homeward flight.

That is when the thinking started; of Jamie, my brother who for all I knew was dead or lost; of Bull, Tate and his little brother Mikey who was my friend too; of all those boys we had left behind and whether they will still be there when we finally tell the police were they are being held and forced to work. My thoughts then turned to my mom and dad who by now are beginning to believe that I really am dead. I wonder if Lowell’s parents are thinking the same thing about him?

I felt my eyes beginning to burn and knew there would be more tears. I had cried a lot in recent days, but that was gone now. I didn’t cry now. Instead my eyes burned and tears came, the seeping tears that burned, but I still didn’t cry. I wiped my eyes with a single finger and looked out of the corner of my eye, first at Lowell who was trying to be in the fetal posision but couldn’t quite manage it with me in the seat with him; next I looked to Segal, our pilot to make sure he hadn’t noticed the burning and the tears.

Segal sat large, his swollen hand resting against his chest and his other hand holding lightly to the yoke. My eyes followed down to his legs and feet, which were covered in human waste while resting upon the rudder pedals. He seemed more a broken machine than a man; it was as though he were an extension of the plane.

On the dashboard in front of him gleamed drops of blood from where he had coughed violently onto the dials, switches, meters, knobs, levers, cranks, lights and handles that were wiggling and flickering, all indicating nothing that I understood and glancing up at Segal once again I realized I didn’t understand him anymore then I did the plane.

He turned his head so that he could see me; he seemed to brighten up a bit and smiled reviling his broken, blood covered teeth in the process. “You ever fly in the copilot’s seat before?” he asked as he leaned over and shouted to overcome the sound of the engine.

I shook my head. I had never seen the cockpit of a plane except in films or on television unless you count the time mom and dad had taken my brother Jamie and I to an Air Show and we got to walk through an old B52 bomber and for a brief moment I had got to look into the cockpit but it didn’t even look remotely like this plane; it was loud and confusing.

Segal leaned over again, “First time huh?”

He smiled again before continuing, “It’s not as complicated as it looks. Good plane like this almost flies itself.” Segal shrugged.

“Good plane?” I thought as I peered out the side window at the gray duct-tape that was wrapped around the wing and flapping in the wind.

“Makes my job easy.” He said as he reached over and took my left arm. “Here, put your hands on the controls, your feet on the rudder pedals, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

I looked down at the pedals and then back to Segal, “I better not.” I said barely loud enough to hear myself but he must have read my lips because he smiled again.

“Sure you can do it! Just try it and . . .” he had said something at the end but I had not heard it over the roar of the engine.

With a quick glance at Lowell who was still sleeping, I nodded, scooted my diaper butt, which I momentarily wondered about since the last I remembered I had been naked. Anyway, I scooted to the very edge of the seat so that my bare feet were now resting on the rudder pedals while I reached out and took the wheel in a grip so tight that my knuckles were white. I pushed my toes down on the pedals and the plane slid suddenly to the right.

“Not so hard. Take her light, take her light!” Segal shouted so I could hear him.

I eased off the pedals and noticed that Lowell was now awake. In fact he was very awake and looked to be rather concerned with the fact that I was the one flying the plane. The burning in my eyes was forgotten momentarily as the vibration of plane came through the pedals, traveled up my legs and shook my boyhood loins excelently. The plane seemed almost alive and I remember thinking only seconds ago that it was just a machine.

“See?” Segal let go of his wheel, raised his one hand into the air and took his feet off the pedals to show that I was actually flying the plane myself.

“Simple! Now, turn the wheel a little to the right and push on the right rudder pedal a small amount.”

I glanced at Lowell who was now sitting up and biting his bottom lip. I did as instructed and the plane immediately banked to the right, and when I pressed on the right rudder pedal the nose slide across the horizon to the right. I left off on the pressure; straightened the wheel and the plain righted itself.

“There you go! Now you can turn. Bring her back to the left a little.”

I turned the wheel left while I pushed on the left pedal with my toes, and the plane came back around.

“It’s easy!” I shouted into Lowells’ ear and added, “At least this part.”

Segal smiled large though I could tell that just behind the smile was a whole lot of pain, “All of flying is easy. Just takes practice and learning. Like everything else in life.”

Just before taking the controls back, he reached up across himself to rub his left temple. “Aches and Pains—must be getting old.” And started to laugh which got him to coughing as blood once again sprayed from his mouth.

Leaning back into his seat and took control again. Lowell sighed hard with relief as I scooted my diapered butt back and let go of the wheel.

Lowell turned to Segal and started t say, “Thank you . . .” but stopped.

He had noticed the same thing I had noticed, that Segal had once again merged with the machine and Lowell’s gratitude had been lost to the engine noise. Things went back to me looking out the window at the ocean of trees and lakes while Lowell stared at his diapered lap until he once again fell asleep. The burning eyes did not come back to me, but memories did and they came flooding in.

Chapter 11

** As always, your thoughts matter to me very, very much, so please send any comments, questions, suggestions, or criticism to me at: [email protected] **