Seems Too Good - Chapters 19 and 20
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Doctor Nick Benning has worked hard to become a phenomenal surgeon. Ads for traveling to a new dimension have begun to pop up everywhere; including a billboard asking 'Life got you down? Debt sky-high? Health problems? Just needing new scenery? Visit Portal Relocations on the web to learn of your chance for a new life!' Circumstances in life change for him and the journey begins to sound intriguing despite the stories he's heard... (A Tale from the Diaper Dimension)
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The Legal Stuff: Seems Too Good © 2020-2025 By Sofia Hammerstein
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
Chapter 19: Nighttime
I FINISHED AND took the paper that Ivy passed me to wipe before standing up, and we repeated our new routine of her cleaning out the potty and then washing my hands with hers. Instead of putting me down, she carried me to the couch and grabbed a brush on her way. “I’ll get your hair down so we can wash it,” she told me at my quizzical look.
She sat me down on her lap and turned the TV onto a crime drama TV show that reminded me of Criminal Minds. They were investigating the disappearances of five Littles, four of whom had been found dead. I was shocked a bit during the parts where they showed the autopsies. The images were impressively gruesome in detail for a TV Show. I had never seen anything like that in anything that was not an R-rated movie!
While we watched the episode, she brushed my hair, and I quietly paid attention to many of the… ‘racist?’ ideas in the show. Littles shown at daycares seemed happy just being babies; everyone was smiling and giggling in those places. The Littles who were getting murdered hadn’t been ‘adopted’ by an Amazon. All of them seemed to be functioning adults with jobs and stable homes. Every time an adult Little witness was questioned, something seemed to go wrong for them. Once in the episode, it showed one of them having a minor wetting accident when she wasn’t allowed to leave the interrogation room to go to the bathroom while being questioned. I watched as it showed a police officer telling her supervisor she was adopting her and disappearing offscreen with her.
“Wait, what was that?” I asked curiously during the commercial break.
“What was what?” She asked me.
“That adoption part? She was taken away just because she had an accident? She had no way out of that room, and that was somehow her fault?”
“Well… yes…”
“Like as in that lady is now her ‘mommy’ and she had no say in it?”
“That’s normally how it works when you adopt a free little,” she told me. “The law states if you find a Little that’s not well taken care of or fails the maturity laws, you may adopt them.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well… making a mess by urinating or defecating on yourself, spilling something on your clothes badly enough, being homeless, having a public tantrum… those are the main ones,” she said.
“And how long…?” I asked nervously.
“Until either the parent believes the Little has earned the right to grow up, or they die of old age,” she told me honestly.
My stomach turned to ice at the thought that there might be no way out of the trap I was in myself. The show came back on, and I watched as the detectives tried to solve the crime and continued investigating. I thought it might have been a Little committing the crime at one point. Each commercial break featured about five minutes of gratuitous diapers and ‘Little’ store ads. After the final ad break, it turned out it was a ‘Betweener.’ He was seven feet tall and unhinged because he had been babied himself for a couple years as a teenager until just before he graduated high school. The mutilations were an attempt to make them more of a baby than him… somehow the fact that there was a line that seemed terrible to these people reassured me at the end. Unfortunately, while the last victim was spared being mutilated or murdered, the closing scene showed them in the arms of their new ‘mommy’ who adopted her at the hospital.
“Let’s get that bath,” Ivy told me.
She dropped the ribbons and hairbrush off on the kitchen counter on the way by and carried me to the bathroom. I was too short to even see inside the tub! Instead, I watched as she checked the temperature and pulled a stopper close. She added something from a big bottle.
“Bubble bath?” I asked.
“It’s not a bath without it?” she asked me. “I take bubble baths at least a couple of times a week,” she added, turning red.
‘Something can embarrass her!’ I mused but chose not to comment. Instead, I looked at how the tub came up above my head. ‘There’s no way without a pool ladder, or something, that I could get in and out of this tub!’
“Let’s get those clothes off,” she said and had my shirt off quickly without my participation. She pulled my panties and scooter off in one pull, along with my socks. I turned red and hated being completely naked in front of someone. Before I could ask for a towel or something to cover up with, she lifted me up and over the edge of the tub and set me down.
I was surprised as the water was up to my armpits when she turned off the taps. “I can’t believe how big this bathtub is,” I told her as I extended my legs out and found the back of the tub to lean against. My feet didn’t even make it a quarter of the way down the tub, and I could probably float on my back if I thought Ivy wouldn’t panic.
She laughed, “It’s a larger Amazon soaking tub, but you’re right - it’s a swimming pool when you’re the size of a baby!”
I blushed, “That’s really weird, you know?” I told her.
She smiled at me and was soaping up a large loofa. I looked at her and watched her face turn red, making a face that I was beginning to understand was her nervous one. “Umm… You know how I came clean last night… and mentioned I kind of wanted to have a Little.”
I looked at her and tentatively said, “Yes…?”
“Well… would you mind if I washed more than just your hair?”
“You mean a beautiful woman wants to have her way with my naked body?” She looked confused for a moment before I laughed and said, “Of course, this is the only time this would happen to me!” I grumbled.
“So…?”
“Go ahead,” I sighed. ‘Not like I could stop Ivy if I wanted to…?’
She was careful about getting herself wet for a moment before I accidentally moved an arm as she pulled away and splashed her. “Holly…” she grumbled.
I looked up and saw her shirt had a big wet spot.
“Sorry,” I told her with a bit of a grin.
She sighed and kept scrubbing me, including having me kneel on my knees for a second so she could clean my rear. I thought she was being a little too thorough, though, as I had some rather odd feelings as she finished. Her final step was my toes that she held above the water as she cleaned them with a rag.
“This little piggy went to the market…” she joked as she played with them a second later, “This piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none.
‘What was the point of that rhyme,’ I wondered, thinking back to my mother doing this to me when I was little. ‘What was the last line…?’ I wondered for half a second before she informed me.
“And this little piggy went ‘wee, wee, wee,’ all the way home!” she giggled and tickled me.
“Stop…” I giggled at her. “Not fair!”
I inadvertently got her wet again, and she shrieked, “no water outside the tub!”
“You were tickling me,” I answered back as I got my breathing back under control.
She stuck her tongue out at me, “Let’s get your hair next,” she said.
“Okay,” I told her. I stayed still and let her manipulate me to where I was facing the wall with my back to her. My small size meant I still had plenty of room to extend my legs as she worked. I felt a cup of water suddenly go down my head, and a weird feeling as the amount of hair I now had was thoroughly soaked. I noticed how much it weighed then as my head felt like it got heavier.
I felt her let go for a second and turned my head to see her pour some soap out of a bottle labeled ‘No Tears Baby Shampoo.’ Even with the supposedly tears-free formula, I closed my eyes and sat there as she massaged my hair and scalp for several moments. It felt terrific, and I almost felt like purring as she gently rubbed my head.
Then she dumped water on my head, and I screeched in surprise, “aah!”
“Serves you right, you little water monster,” she laughed at me and said, “you don’t have to keep your eyes closed with this stuff, you know.”
“Habit,” I said as she dumped another cup of water on my head.
It was several minutes before she pronounced, “Done!”
I opened my eyes, and a strand of wet hair blocked my view. I used a hand to push it back to the backside of my ear and huffed a little. “That was weird,” I told her as I turned to face her.
“Bad weird?” she asked nervously.
I shook my head, “No, being naked is worse weird,” I told her.
“Well… I can’t fix that one. There’s no way you’ll be able to avoid that one, sweetie,” she said.
I sighed, “I know.”
“Done and ready to get out?” She asked me.
I shrugged, “Okay.”
“Can you pull the stopper for me?” she asked.
I practically swam over to the end and pulled it out for her with some effort. However, with the weight of the water compared to my size, there was a fair amount of suction holding it down!
Once it had drained a bit and I watched the little whirlpool start its spin into the drain, she said, “Okay, stand up, and let’s get you dry!”
I let her rub the gigantic towel over me before she carried me to the counter, where she pulled out what I guessed was a cordless blow-dryer. When she turned it on, there was no doubt what it was. I sat there patiently while she ran it through my hair and a brush for a while. I gripped the towel tightly around me for modesty as she worked and finally turned it off. “Let’s brush your teeth, and then we’ll get you in your pajamas,” she told me.
I nodded and accepted the new electronic purple toothbrush with toothpaste that she offered me. It fit much better in my tiny mouth as I turned it on. To my shock, it scrubbed everything to a level of polish like I’d been to the dentist. That comforted me, ‘The last thing I want is for them to say a cavity means we need to just take her teeth!’ I thought darkly. ‘I think I’ve already lost enough of my life with this stupid trip,’ I added.
When I had rinsed my mouth out, she said, “Done?”
I nodded and yawned, suddenly sleepy.
“Let’s get you ready for bed then,” she told me and carried me down the hallway to my bedroom. The changing pad she had been using somehow was already on the bed. She pulled the towel away and lay me down on it without warning.
“Do I have to wear a diaper?” I asked, embarrassed. “Could I just wear a Pull-Up?”
She shook her head, “Come on now, you already agreed to this, and it’s a lot less likely to leak if you start to have problems staying dry at night.”
“But why would I? I haven’t had an accident at night since I was probably three or four?”
“Remember, this dimension is different, I don’t know if it’s something about solar radiation or something, but most Littles from your dimension begin to have problems in the first few nights.”
“That’s weird,” I said.
“Yes, it is, but humor me? If you stay dry at night for the next week, you can wear your big girl panties to bed.”
“I get to wear them tomorrow morning no matter what, though, right?” I asked.
“As long as you don’t have your three strikes in one week while you’re awake, that’s what you’ll wear. I promised you that.”
I sighed and let her grab my ankles with one hand. Having worked in pediatrics, I had patiently watched more than one mom or nurse change a diaper, and I couldn’t believe that I was small enough compared to her to be manhandled in the same way. She lifted my butt off the pad and placed a diaper underneath. “I’m going to put some powder on you to help keep you from chaffing,” she told me as she sprinkled a bottle over my groin. As she rubbed it in, the sensation felt really good… almost oddly good. It wasn’t a sexual feeling, but it seemed like it was something nearly as intense. My legs were brought up in the air again as she dusted my butt cheeks and made sure they were covered.
The right and left tape were closed, and she said, “Done.”
I grimaced but looked down at the object that seemed to damn me to being the baby she had made me look like. ‘I just don’t get why she’s even pretending to let me be a big girl if she’s just going to get me back into these as soon as she can...?’
“Would you like a footie pajama, nightgown, or this shortie set?” she asked me a second later.
The footie pajamas stirred a feeling of memories in my head and a longing to wear them again. I suddenly remembered that when I was little, I was so disappointed when my mom told me I couldn’t get them in my size as I got bigger. Later on, they became normal for teenage girls, but I had never managed to build the courage to order a set for my adult self. This set was pink with blue and purple hearts scattered throughout the fabric.
“Footie?” I suggested tentatively.
Her smile grew even bigger, and after she sat the others down, she brought them over. “Oh… I didn’t realize this was like this.”
“Like what?” I asked.
She pointed to a flap and the zipper that crossed from the collar to the right foot. “You may need my help here…?”
I nodded as she undid it and said, “feet in here… and now arms!” That left me in the pajamas with the front door wide open. She reached down and grabbed the zipper at my foot, and brought it up to my collar. A little piece of fabric was then snapped over the top of it. “Let me pull your hair back,” she said and tied a scrunchie to the back of my hair in what I would one day learn was a low side-ponytail. My hair came across my front shoulder a little, and I reached up to play with it a little.
“Ready for bed then?” She asked me.
I nodded, “Yeah just so I know what time is it?” I paused, “I didn’t see a clock in this room or any other, actually.”
“You’re right… never really thought to buy one since I look at my watch or phone for that.” She looked thoughtful, “It’s 2800 hours,” she told me. “Way past time for most Littles to be asleep,” she added.
“What time do you usually go to sleep?” I asked as she pulled the covers of my bed up to my chin.
“Most Amazons stay up until 3000 or 3100,” she told me.
“What…”
“Enough questions,” she said, laughing, “you’ll still be here in the morning to ask them. Get some sleep.”
“Okay,” I said and rolled over. I played with my hair for a few minutes after Ivy left and turned off the light before falling asleep.
‘HOLLY WAS SO adorable in that sleeper!’ Ivy cooed to herself as she got a glass of water.
She walked to her room and snagged a nightgown before going into Holly’s nursery to pump some more. She sighed with relief as she did so, as it was so needed! She’d managed before Holly woke up that morning and again while she napped, but her boobs demanded more frequent relief than that!
‘I don’t know that her stomach would be up to that, though,’ Ivy admitted. Even at dinner, she hadn’t eaten all of the food she’d been given. But, on the other hand, she could tell that Holly was more than full, so it was a matter she figured of discovering the right portions of food for her new daughter.
As she placed the bags she’d filled in the fridge, Ivy made sure to keep track of the ones from the previous night so she’d use them the next day. ‘Holly needs her mother’s milk as soon as I can convince her to go along with it!’
Chapter 20: Textbooks
MY MIND STARTED to become aware of a voice calling, “Come on, Holly, time to wake up!”
‘Who’s Holly?’ I thought for a second before opening my eyes and realizing I was still in the middle of my ill-thought adventure.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” I realized Ivy was saying.
I opened my eyes and looked down at the sleeper I was in. As I rolled out of bed, Ivy said, “Come on, let’s use the potty, and then we can get you moving for the day with breakfast,” she told me.
I stood and sort of followed her half-asleep still and tried to pull the footie I was wearing off but couldn’t get the flap that was hiding the zipper loose. “Let me get that,” she told me and unzipped the sleeper.
As she did it, my mind fired several thoughts at once. First, ‘Why does my underwear feel cold? Why am I in a diaper?’ and then a second later, “What the hell? I wet the diaper?!?!”
I looked down, and it was soaked and bulked up. “That’s why the diapers,” Ivy told me gently as she knelt in front of me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but this happens.”
“But I’m not a baby!” I complained. A tear rolled out of my eye before I could stop it.
“It’s okay, sweetie, let’s get that wet diapee off and see if you need to do any more on the potty,” she told me while pulling me free of the footie. I stood in front of the potty in the swollen, cold diaper and tried to rip the tapes off. I couldn’t make any progress toward loosening it, no matter how hard I pulled on the tab. “Let me, sweetie,” she told me, pulling the diaper loose and gathering it in her hands.
I sat down on the potty and managed to pee a little still but couldn’t deny that I was now the bedwetter she’d told me I might become. I began crying, ‘What the hell was I thinking?!?!’
Ivy gently patted my shoulder, “It’s okay, Holly, it’s okay!”
I sat there sobbing on the potty for a few minutes before she said, “Are you done?”
I slowly breathed and got my composure together before nodding and standing up with tears still streaming from my eyes. Ivy held a baby wipe in her hand and reached down to contact my skin. The wipe was cold, and I felt more embarrassed as she cleaned my groin like a baby who needed a diaper change… ‘Like I needed…?’
“Shhh…” she reassured me when she was done and gathered me in her arms in a hug, “It’s okay, we knew this could happen, and that’s why you were wearing protection. That’s the only thing that got wet, so it’s okay!” She bounced me a little like you would with a baby and kept trying to soothe me. I was so embarrassed by this, but her rocking and soothing comments eventually made a difference as I calmed down.
“I’m sorry,” I told her.
“For what?”
“For being such a baby?” I said.
She hugged me tighter, “It’s okay; I would be upset too! How about we finish drying that face, putting on your big girl panties, and move on from this?”
I looked at her and nodded.
She carried me to my room and sat me down on the ground next to my dresser. She handed me a pair of panties we had bought the day before. I looked at them skeptically, “You’re still letting me wear these?”
“I told you I would let you wear them until three strikes, Holly. I also told you when you’re asleep doesn’t count. So as far as I’m concerned, your daytime track record is still perfect.”
“Thanks,” I told her, still shaken.
“Let’s get you dressed. What do you want to wear today?”
“Are shorts and a t-shirt an option now?” I asked tentatively. I noticed most of her clothing choices had leaned towards the girlier side of things.
“Sure,” she said, digging for a second to find me a pair of jean shorts with rhinestones and an applique unicorn. Next, she found a baby-doll style t-shirt to match that she handed to me. I dressed in the clothes and felt a little better as I padded after her to the dining room. When I stood beside the dining table, she picked me up and sat me in the high chair.
“Toast or oatmeal this morning?” she asked me.
“Both?” I suggested.
“Cinnamon in your oatmeal?”
“And a little brown sugar if you have it?”
She smiled at me, “give me just a minute.”
My eyes were drawn to a medical journal sitting on the table just out of my arm’s reach. It looked like it was similar to the New England Journal back home, something I had always enjoyed reading to discover the latest research. I looked up to see Ivy had just pulled a small bowl out of the microwave. She stirred it for a second and then brought it over to sit it on the tray in front of me. A second later, she put a small plate with a giant piece of toast she had cut up into four triangles.
I looked at the oatmeal and noticed from the color that she’d used milk as its base instead of water like I grew up with. I made a bit of a face, “What?” She asked me.
“I normally just use water to make my oatmeal… it’s the way I grew up.” I added
“Try it?”
I nodded and took the spoon she gave me and tried a bite of it. I quickly took another bite of it and another, “This is a lot better than any oatmeal I’ve ever had before!” I told her honestly as I found myself quickly guzzling the contents of the bowl down.
She patted my head, “Glad to hear it,” she smiled at me over a cup of coffee.
I briefly thought about asking for my own cup but instead just continued on with the bowl of mushy oatmeal. ‘Why does this taste so good?’ I asked myself. ‘Is it the cinnamon?’ I wondered… ‘Maybe it’s their brown sugar?’
I couldn’t help but finish the entire bowl before considering a drink from my sippy cup. Finally, I decided the juice inside it was enough instead of coffee and began munching on a slice of toast even though my belly was bloated from the oatmeal.
“You really liked that, huh?” She asked me.
“It was really good!” I told her.
“Well, I’ll try and make it for breakfast for you fairly often then!” she told me with a smile.
“You know I can make my own food too.”
Ivy just smiled in reply, “Maybe some other time, but I like spoiling you.”
I managed two-quarters of the one slice before my stomach said, ‘no more.’
“That’s all for me, I guess,” I told her after wearily looking at the last two pieces.
“You don’t have to eat everything I put down,” she told me with a giggle. “It will take us a while to figure out what portion sizes you actually eat.”
I nodded, “So what are we doing today?” I asked her.
“I figured we could just have an easy day here and get you settled in the rest of the way. Maybe you can read one of those books you were eyeing yesterday in my office?”
“Yes, please!” I said enthusiastically.
She came and picked me up out of the high chair and carried me over to the sink so I could wash my hands. I wiped my face off a second later with the damp paper towel I had used to dry my hands. Then, Ivy carried me into her office and asked, “What do you want to start with?”
I looked at the massive shelf and asked, “You’re in pediatrics, right?”
She nodded, “That’s my main focus.”
“What was the first pediatric-specific text you had in med school?”
She smiled at me when I asked this before scanning through the shelves, “Here, I think this is it,” she told me. ‘Academy of Pediatrics Guide to Pediatric and Little Care - Eighth Edition’ was the label on the cover. The cover alone reminded me of a text from college in my home dimension as she handed it to me.
“This feels like a concrete brick!” I said as I hefted the large book in my hands. I guessed it was probably twenty percent of my new weight! Of course, I remembered that my books in medical school weren’t light either.
She laughed, “It’s definitely not light reading! Why don’t I carry it to the couch, and you can lay on it and read?”
“Sounds good… but maybe I’ll visit the bathroom first?” I suggested nervously, “I’m feeling a little paranoid after last night.”
She squeezed me tight as she carried me and the book to set it down on the couch before taking me to the bathroom. “Don’t worry so much! It was one time, and it was at night. I don’t think you’ll have any problems while you’re awake.”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” I told her sadly. “I’ve never had any problems before!”
She squeezed me again and sat me down on the ground next to the potty. I pulled down my shorts, and the dry panties and urine piddled out in the potty for a while. ‘I guess that I really needed to go more than I thought…?’
As she washed my hands, I said, “Hopefully, that keeps problems from happening!”
She hugged me and sat me on the couch, where I flopped down on my stomach and flipped open the textbook. I began at the beginning and skimmed through the text, noting that most of the information paralleled my own dimension. Every now and then, though, ‘Littles’ got small notes speaking about other care that should be given versus the regular pediatric patients. I was in one section and felt my bones chill at a footnote there:
Little digestive systems are often negatively impacted by their feeding habits. Littles may face severe chronic constipation or dehydration due to poor dietary choices (especially unadopted Littles). Many full-grown Littles have been shown to be much healthier when their diets have been simplified to pureed foods or with breastmilk/formula only. Research indicates that the healthiest Littles are almost always fed a diet consisting primarily of breastmilk. For those Littles under the care of adults who prefer to have them remain eating the same diet as their parents are, it is strongly recommended that the food be pureed before feeding them. Or, at the very least, ensure that a rectal suppository is used at least twice a week for their bowel health.
‘What the fuck?!?’ I thought to myself. ‘This is an accepted medical text… and it basically says I should be eating baby food and breastmilk? Or sticking suppositories up my ass twice a week?!?!’
That little messed-up paragraph started me on a hunt for all of the Little oriented comments in the book. Some made sense to me as they addressed adolescence, menopause, and other adult health issues. For example, the difference with skeletal problems since ‘full-grown’ Little’s bones were already fused and done growing versus a genuine kid still growing was well documented. Other sections, though, dealt with far darker issues, including the validity of teeth removal, breast removal, gender change operations, and worst of all - ‘mobility therapy.’
I had nearly vomited when I read of a ‘standard’ procedure that involved cutting and shortening tendons to prevent the Little from walking. Another went even further and even affected the arms to prevent a Little from even crawling - it was suggested as a more invasive procedure for severe cases of Littles self-harming or running away. My face must have shown just how awful I thought it was because Ivy asked, “What are you making that face for?”
I sat up and looked at her, ‘How much can I say…? She’s been relatively kind to me so far, but she forced a gender change on me without asking… and I haven’t exactly seen her going off on the atrocities I’ve been seeing…?’
Deciding, ‘what the hell?’ I told her, “I’m reading about a procedure of shortening tendons so that a Little can only crawl?” as neutrally as I could.
She grimaced, “That book is a little dated now… the procedure has changed.”
“But they still do that to Littles?” I paused while she nodded, “Why would you do that to any living being?”
She sighed and came to join me on the couch sitting on the opposite side. “Look, I was honest with you the other day, and I will continue to be. Amazons really do want their Littles to be their babies… right down to the details,” she said, looking at my face. I felt at my own morphed face, and she looked uncomfortable, “As a culture, it’s become normal that moms want their Littles to behave like they are at a certain stage of development. For some, a preschooler who’s at least partially potty-trained works for them. That might be especially true for those who don’t like changing dirty diapers all the time. Many others want a toddler who can still walk, uses diapers as their bathroom, but normally gets fed the same things a normal toddler eats.”
“What’s the point of a Little who can only crawl?” I asked.
“Well, if you want a Little who’s the stage of a nine-month-old infant - or younger, it destroys the illusion of them being a real baby if they’re running around like an adult.” She added, “Most often, I see that procedure used when a Little has made too many escape attempts.”
My eyes widened and, without filtering, asked, “Is that something you think is appropriate? Would you…” I nervously paused and trembled, “Would you do that to me?”
She scooted over, scooped me up without warning, and hugged me. I shook even more in the hands of this giant who clearly held my fate in her hands, looking up at her big green eyes, “No, not in a million years would I do that to you or anyone. I’ve turned down requests to perform that procedure every time I’ve ever been asked.”
I found myself believing her in that one instance. I guessed this was her truthful face because it looked different and more passionate. “Promise?” I asked.
“Promise,” she said and squeezed me in a hug.
“I still don’t get the point of you all babying everyone,” I told her as I now found myself balancing on her knee with her hands behind my back, holding me.
“I told you it’s pretty much genetic…?”
“I get that you all would want to maybe start with them as a baby doll or something, but year in and year out…? Most parents I’ve known, and parents of patients I’ve had, have always been thrilled to be done changing diapers. They might do the chore, but most sigh with relief when they’ve been able to throw the diapers away… So how could they want to change diapers forever?”
She looked at me thoughtfully and said, “There are some that will try and potty train their Littles after a while.”
“Try?”
“Some succeed… and sometimes after that, they might even release them and nullify the adoption, letting them ‘grow up’ and leave the nest.’”
“What happens then?”
“Well, for the population’s sake, it usually results in them connecting with another free little, and that’s where most of our natural births of Littles will occur in this dimension.”
“Are there any that don’t end up being adopted at some point?”
“Rarely…” she said, “Most Littles end up adopted… some manage to escape even... but some, when they get old enough, usually in their forties when they begin looking less like a child, will be released if their parents don’t have treatments done.”
“Treatments?”
“Do you have facelifts in your dimension?”
I nodded, “lots of plastic surgery options. I think a couple years ago, I saw a statistic saying it was about a Sixteen Billion Dollar industry for that year. So if all you care about is money, it’s the specialty to go into.”
“Wow… It’s probably the same or more here, but that is insane! Ours is more focused on rejuvenation tech with nanites. We can make an elderly Littles face and skin morph back into that of a newborn if we want.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Does the same work on internal organs?”
“To some degree, but the tech is still maturing there. Heart failure, strokes, and organ failure have resulted in fatalities in many still. Bone disorders and muscle breakdown are up there too.”
“How much older do they live?”
“Average lifespan for an unadopted little is probably 75-85 years old. Non-rejuvenated Littles tend to live a bit longer, about 110, with the better medical care they receive.”
“And the others?”
“Rejuvenation has only been out on the market for about ten years, but early studies show a life extension of at least another fifteen years. However, it’s still early enough that I may be underestimating the increase.”
“But… one-hundred-and-twenty-five years of being a baby… Is that even a life worth living?” I posited.
She looked at me thoughtfully, “For some, it might be. No bills, no job, no stress of work, just hours on end of relaxing and doing nothing while every need for them is taken care of.”
“But sitting there doing nothing but defecating on yourself, being forced to eat food that’s inedible for no real reason, and mutilated…?” I paused, hoping I wasn’t pushing it given the changes she’d made to me, “How can that seem like a living? Surely if it was so great… wouldn’t your kind be putting themselves into diapers?”