Nicky
After coming home from a long walk on a Saturday afternoon, having visited the comic book shop, wandered through the park, and stopped at the park to watch the ducks for a while, Nicholas noticed that there were an unusual number of cars parked in his driveway. In addition to his mom's sedan, which was always there when he got home, there were two cars he didn't recognize parked behind it and another parked on the street, which did look familiar, even if he couldn't remember who it belonged to. He stood there on his front lawn for a few moments, wondering if there was some sort of party that he'd forgotten about, if his mom had told him she was going to have friends over tonight, or if there was any other reason he could come up with that might explain the presence of all these cars. He gave up on trying to figure it out in short order, though. After a moment's consideration, he just shrugged his shoulders and went inside. He decided that his mom would tell him what was going on once he got in, so there was no reason to put too much energy into sorting it out himself.
As he shut the front door behind him, his ears perked at the sound of a few soft voices coming from the living room. He set down his backpack and kicked off his shoes in the entryway before quietly calling out, "Mom? Are you in there? Is everything okay? There are are lot of cars outside..." He had started to worry that the reason so many people were here was that something bad had happened. Maybe somebody had died. His mind was too busy wandering from one terrible possibility to another for him to notice how every other voice had gone quiet as soon as he called out.
He was immediately relieved to hear his mother's voice call back from the doorway to the living room. "Of course Nicky, I'm in here. And don't worry dear, everything's fine." He let out a soft sigh and the hushed conversation resumed in the living room for a moment, too quiet for him to make out. Then he heard his mom's voice calling out, clear once again, "Can you come in here, sweetie? I'd like to talk to you about something." Her tone was gentle, but there was an underlying seriousness that just got Nicky even more curious about what was going on.
As he walked into the living room, he was surprised to see a group of his mom's friends sitting in a circle around the edge of the room. His homeroom teacher Miss Jacobs, a sweet young mousegirl, was sitting on the couch and smiling at him. His pediatrician Dr. Robin was there too, and she must have come straight from her office, because she was still wearing her white coat, which matched her snowy bunnyfur perfectly. And there was Mrs. Blake, the lioness who coached the neighborhood soccer and baseball teams he played on. He also saw his mom's best friend, a vixen named Nancy, but he had called her 'Aunt Nancy' since he was little. When his mom had gone back to work after he was born, she would come over and take care of him, and he even took piano lessons from her for a little while, a year or so ago. She gave Nicky a little wave as he caught her eye. The husky lady who was there was named Mrs. Huggins, and he saw her pretty often, too. She lived just down the block and ran a store in town. The raccoon gradually realized that everyone in the room had been friends with his mother since he was born, at least. All of them were people who would stop by every now and then to chat with his mother or watch him when she was busy, and almost all of them were people he knew better than that.
"Come on in, dear. Have a seat, okay?" He turned to face his mom, who was sitting on a folding chair with her paws clasped in front of her and her elbows on her knees. She smiled at him sweetly, and he nodded in response, then his eyes scanned the room for a moment. He was a bit confused by her request, because even though his mom had told him to sit down, it looked like both chairs, every cushion on the couch, even the bench in front of the piano â€" every seat he could have picked was already occupied. He took a step backwards and motioned over his shoulder, starting to say, "Do you want me to get a..." but before he could even suggest fetching a chair from the kitchen, his mother shook her head.
"You can just sit down on the floor, Nicky." She motioned with her paw towards the open space in the center of the room. He responded with a curious and questioning look, but even as he opened his mouth to protest, his mom just nodded at him firmly, and he quickly gave in. He felt more than a little self-conscious as he shuffled out into the middle of the living room, right into the center of a circle of his mom's friends, and sat himself down on the carpet in front of her. He pulled his knees up towards his chest and wrapped his paws around them while he wrapped his fluffy, ringed tail around his ankles. He glanced around, blushing softly for no real reason. But it was odd to be under the watchful of all these women at once, and that made him bashful. And being down at the floor, he was at about eye-level with their knees. It made him feel very small.
His mother leaned forward further and reached out a paw to run her fingertips gently through the fur in between his ears, while she smiled warmly to him and said with a hint of wistfulness, "My sweet little cubby." This caused him to blush even more and hunch up his shoulders as he squirmed in the center of the circle. It wasn't that unusual for his mom to dote on him like this, but it was still pretty embarrassing under the circumstances.
After a moment of brushing his headfur, she leaned back and sighed softly, still smiling down at him. "This isn't a very easy thing to bring up, I'm afraid," she began. She raised her paw to her chin and looked up at the ceiling while she mused, "Oh, how to start? Well, Nicky, I guess I should start by asking, how are you?"
The young raccoon was very perplexed at the question. He blinked for a moment, and then he let out a nervous giggle, a bashful smile spreading across his muzzle. He thought that this must be some sort of joke, though he had no idea what the punchline might be. "What? What are you talking about, Mom?" he continued to fidget, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at one of his mom's friends.
"Well, what I mean is -" his mother furrowed her brow as she spent a moment carefully considering her words. "How are you doing in school, sweetie? Do you like the fourth grade? Are you enjoying your classes? Are you doing well on all your worksheets and quizzes and things? Are you having fun at recess?" Nicky saw his mother's eyes glance past him at Miss Jacobs.
With these much more concrete questions to address, the little raccoon boy was able to answer. He got questions like this most afternoons, so he had his answers prepared. He quickly nodded his head, "Of course I am, Mom. Everything's going really well at school. I like it a lot, and I'm doing fine, I think." There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, and it seemed like there might have been something in the back of his head telling him that what he said wasn't quite true, but he ignored that. He smiled hopefully at his mother, and then glanced over his shoulder at his teacher. The mouse-lady was resting her paws together in her lap and smiling, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression. As he caught her eyes, she shook her head back and forth slightly.
He turned back to his mother to find her sporting a similar look. She raised her paw and brushed her fingers in between his ears again, pausing for a moment before she said, "Sweetie, you can be honest with me. You don't need to just say what you think I want you to say. You can tell me the truth, always, and no matter what. So are you really enjoying your time in school?"
Nicky started sucking on his lower lip, just slightly pulling it back behind his front teeth, something he usually did when he was nervous. He hunched up his shoulders defiantly and responded by nodding his head emphatically and answering in a huffy tone, "I said I am, mom!" while he folded his paws across his chest and glared up at her. The quiet little voice in the back of his head claiming that this wasn't really the truth was a bit more insistent this time. Even as he scrunched up his nose and tried to look as sure of himself as he could manage, a part of him was losing confidence.
His mother, who of course knew the young raccoon better than anyone else, could tell by the way he responded so insistently that he was actually anything but. Of course, she had also known the answer to her question before she even asked it. She raised her paw to the boy's shoulder and squeezed him there, then trailed her fingertips down to his elbow. "Shhh..." she whispered softly. "There's no need to get upset, dear." Her voice was so soothing that Nicky immediately felt sheepish for getting riled like that. The tension left his muscles as he folded his ears down a little bit.
"If that's really what you say, then I believe you," his mom continued. "but Miss Jacobs thinks that you're having some trouble." The young raccoon glanced back at his teacher on the couch and squirmed where he was sitting on the floor. "She says that you're having trouble staying focused in class, that you don't hand in your homework most of the time, and even when you do, you don't seem to do very well on it." Even as she scolded him, her voice was gentle.
He bit his lower lip and yelped out again, less upset this time, "But mom â€" I try really hard!" He felt like he was in some sort of trouble, so he naturally responded by trying to defend himself.
Immediately, his teacher's voice came from behind him, "Oh, Nicky â€" I know you try as hard as you can. But I can tell, dear, you're just â€" you're just not interested in what we're doing in class, are you? It's like your mind is always on something other than what I'm teaching. And even when I spend time with you on your own," Miss Jacobs often gave Nicky special tutoring sessions when he was struggling with the material, "it's as if you just don't want to learn about any of the things we're studying." She had watched Nicky come up through the grades, every year since nursery school. The other children, all at their own pace, had found the subjects that interested them and managed to begin to make the transition from charges to be looked after into students to be taught. But for some reason, Nicky had always lagged behind.
The raccoon-boy whimpered softly as he glanced over his shoulder at the mouse. The things she was saying may have been true, but it was beginning to feel like he was getting ganged up on. "B-but â€" but..." he stammered, looking between his mother and his teacher, "I'll just try harder! I can do better, really!"
His mother placed both her paws on his shoulders to stop him from squirming and looked him in the eyes, a serious expression on her face. "Nicky â€" do you want to do better?" She paused for a moment while he stared up at her, seeming not to understand the question. "The only way that you can do better in school is if you truly want to. Do you, sweetie?"
The answer to the question seemed so obvious to Nicky that he hesitated in answering. His immediate reaction would have been to say, "Of course! I want to do better and make you and Miss Jacobs proud of me. I'll work harder, I promise!" But there was that little voice again, a bit louder, which kept him from saying what he assumed was expected of him. "I don't know if I want to do better," he thought to himself. But that thought, as soon as it appeared, was quickly discarded. What would his mother think of him if he said that? He finally answered, even though it was obvious from his voice that he wasn't sure, even to himself. "I â€" I do, mom..."
His mother's eyes stayed locked with his for another moment, and then she let out a soft breath and sat back in her chair. "Okay, sweetie, whatever you say." She paused for a moment before continuing. "What about the other kids at school? How do you get along with them?"
Nicky fidgeted again at this question. Just like before, he knew what answer he felt like he was supposed to provide, but this time it would be even more difficult to pretend to believe that it was true. He didn't get along well with the other children at school. It wasn't that they didn't like him, most of the time. They just weren't all that interested in him. Of course, he would get teased from time to time for various things, such as his tendency to cry too often for too little reason or for not paying attention in class. He was most comfortable when he was being ignored. But he thought that his mother wanted him to be well-liked, so he would keep quiet about most things, when she would ask him about his days at school, and he would pretend that the boys he sat near at the lunch table liked him and talked to him much more than they actually did.
"I..." he began, "I like the other kids, sure. We play games at recess and stuff. Everybody's really nice." That little voice in his head was once again reminding him that it wasn't true, but he really didn't think about a statement like that as a lie. It was â€" he figured â€" what his mother wanted him to say, so that she would think he was normal and happy, and so she wouldn't worry about him. That seemed more important than whether or not it was strictly true.
In his zeal to come up with a convincing story, the little raccoon had said something that wasn't at all true. He would spend his recesses, most often, sitting at the edge of the playground, playing in the sand on his own. Sometimes he would walk along the adjacent wall of the building a few times, or watch other children playing, but he would almost never join in. As he found himself thinking about how particularly untrue this last statement of his was, his smile began to look more and more forced.
His mother just nodded, not letting on if she didn't believe him. "And what about your friends at baseball and soccer? You like going to practice and playing with them, don't you?" He had always said so every week, after each practice and game, that he had had fun. But once again, it wasn't exactly true.
"Yes," he said, immediately, without stopping to think. The little voice in the back of his head was starting to get more insistent, trying to make him realize that these things he kept saying, no matter how often he said them, still weren't coming true as a result of his repetition. But he also thought about all the other kids running around and having fun, and how their parents were so proud of them, so happy that they were normal and well-adjusted. "Yes!" he said again.
Nicky's mother raised her head and looked over to where Mrs. Blake, the lioness who coached both of the teams he played on, was sitting. The feline smiled sadly and sighed a bit, thinking of how often the little raccoon had cried during practices. Because he tripped and hurt his knee, because he missed the ball, or just because he missed his mom.
During games, while the other children would often look to the sidelines where their parents were standing, the other kids were always waving and smiling, happy to show off their fledgling independence, even in this small way of being on their own on a playing field. Nicky, on the other hand, was always looking anxiously in his mother's direction and never seemed quite sure if he was doing the right thing in the game, and that fact seemed to cause him a great deal of stress. The lioness had taken him aside many times, trying to get him to relax and have fun, but the little raccoon just couldn't seem to do it.
The gnawing voice in the back of his head was getting louder and louder the more that he thought about these things his mom kept bringing up. "Stop lying," it said. "Just tell her the truth!" But he could never do that. He knew what sort of a kid he was supposed to be in order to make his mom happy and proud of him, and that even if he wasn't really like that, even if he couldn't be like that no matter how hard he tried, it was just better to pretend. He had imagined â€" many times â€" how his mom would react if she knew just how different he was from all the other kids. He didn't even really know what made him different, he just knew that it made everything harder. And that he didn't like it. And that his mom probably wouldn't, either.
So Nicky stayed seated in the center of the room, his legs crossed now, his back as straight as he could make it, trying to keep a brave expression on his face. He wasn't actually doing a very good job at that though, despite his best efforts. Every now and then, his lower lip would quiver, or some other minor facial tic would betray just how flimsy his act really was. And the whole time, the expression in his eyes refused to match the one on his face, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. Of course, he still thought he had everyone fooled.
His mother could see that he was struggling, but she just smiled at him warmly. After a moment's pause, she began to speak again. "Nicky," she said, as she glanced over at the Vixen, who was wringing a tissue in her paws. "Did you have a chat with Aunt Nancy, when she picked you up from school a few weeks ago?"
The young raccoon's face blanched at that question. His smile fell away in an instant. Of course he had. It had been a terrible day. He couldn't even remember everything that had happened any more, but he had failed a quiz, been harassed by bullies, and he made a complete fool of himself in gym class, he did remember that much. His mom had been busy with something at her job, so Nancy came to pick him up. She was always more than happy to help like that, and it wasn't an unusual thing for her to drive him home. But for some reason, not having his mother come rescue him from school like she normally did bothered him, that day.
When Aunt Nancy had asked him if anything was wrong, he had just broken down. He was sitting in the passenger seat of her car, bawling his eyes out. While she was definitely surprised, she quickly held him and tried to help him calm down, but the raccoon boy was inconsolable for several minutes. In between sobs and sniffles, he sputtered about how awful he was at going to school and acting like all the other kids. He said he was always, always worried about doing the wrong thing and that he just found it so hard, all the time. He said he wished he was littler again, so that it could be like it was when he didn't have to worry about disappointing his mom.
He stayed like that, crying into the vixen's shoulder while she kept her paws wrapped around him and rocked back and forth gently, for a long time. She didn't say anything for a while, and before she even got the chance to respond, Nicky came to his senses. He pulled his head back from her shoulder and forced his muzzle back into a smile. He wiped his eyes and his nose on his sleeve and immediately started to apologize. He made up a litany of excuses: that it had been a bad day, he was tired, and so on. But he didn't really know what made him act like that or say those things, and that it was silly, and he pleaded with her not to tell his mom. She just nodded and smiled before driving the little raccoon home, stopping at a fast-food drive-thru on the way for dinner.
The young raccoon suddenly realized he had been sitting there, with his eyes wide and his muzzle hanging about a quarter open, for too long. He was reliving that moment, which he had tried so hard to forget about, over and over again. His mother said, still very gently, "Nicky? Did you hear me?" He gave his head a slight nod. "Well, do you remember that conversation with Aunt Nancy?" Despite his best efforts to stifle it, a tiny whimper escaped his muzzle, but he nodded again as his lips began to quiver. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, and his mother reached a paw out to tenderly stroke his cheek. The realization that his mom knew about his outburst to Nancy was just too much. He couldn't pretend that never happened. He couldn't explain that away, he just couldn't.
He could only think about how disappointed in him she must have been when she had heard Aunt Nancy telling her everything that he had said. His heart sank into his stomach, and the back of his neck burned with strange, uncomfortable pinpricks.
As tears started to run down his cheeks and his little body began to shake, his mother slipped off her chair and knelt in front of him. She wrapped her paws around him and pulled him against her chest. He immediately pressed his muzzle into her shoulder, while she rubbed his back and cooed into his ear, "Oh, sweetie... why didn't you tell me?" He barely heard her, though. He was crying harder, at once embarrassed and ashamed, but also relieved, somehow. He shuts his eyes as tight as he could, but that didn't stop his tears.
His mom sat back on her chair and slipped her paws under his arms, pulling him and settling him in her lap. He squirmed for a moment, but he quickly let himself be positioned there, curled up against her chest with his muzzle still pressed against her shoulder. He mumbled, in between sobs, "I'm suh... suh-sorry..." She quickly shushed him and kissed him on one of his ears.
"Shhhh, none of that now, sweetie. You've got nothing to be sorry about... I bet it's been really hard for you, hasn't it?" He gulped and nodded, grunting affirmatively. "Having to pretend to be all grown up, all the time... poor little cubby. Well, you don't have to worry any more, okay? Mommy's going to make it all better. Mommy knows what her sweet little boy needs." She held him like that and rocked back and forth for a few minutes while he cried himself out, not even caring about the fact that the room was filled with his mom's friends.
When he had settled down again, she pulled his muzzle back from her shoulder and looked down into his eyes, which were still shiny and wet and red. She smiled sweetly, to show that she wasn't mad, and he managed to smile back, although more than a little bashfully. She kissed his forehead and then stood up, adjusting Nicky's position as she stood so that his legs were on either side of her waist, one of her paws on his back and the other under his rump. He couldn't help but be surprised that she could still lift him like this. It had been years since she had done it, the last time.
"Come on now, Nicky," she said, quite unnecessarily, as she carried him out of the living room and into the den. He noticed, just at a glance, that some furniture had been moved, and some things had been added to the room, but he couldn't tell what they were at first. His mom set him down on a new piece of carpet. Or at least that's what he thought it was, until the material rustled and crinkled like plastic under his feet.
He looked down at the square of plastic sheeting spread out on the floor. It was colored light blue with patterns of clouds all over it. While he couldn't remember what it was right away, it did seem like something he'd seen before. Maybe not for a long time, though. While he was trying to remember how he recognized the thing he was standing on, he was distracted by the sudden realization that there were quite a few other things in the room that he hadn't seen for a long time, either, but it was still strangely familiar.
There was his old, wooden rocking horse. There was his moon-shaped nightlight from when he was three. And leaning up against a wall was a pile of stuffed animals that he had asked his mom to store in the attic, when he thought he had probably gotten too old for them to still be out in his room. He even spotted his favorite childhood toy, a small plush raccoon he'd named "Rocky," sitting right on top of the pile. He gasped as he saw the little stuffed raccoon, and reflexively reached out towards it, before realizing how silly he must have looked â€" reaching across the room for a plush animal â€" and quickly pulling his paws back to his chest. His mother just smiled at his reaction and plucked Rocky from where he sat among the other stuffed animals. She carried the plushie back over to where Nicky was standing and placed him in the cub's arms. Nicky immediately clung to the stuffed animal, the first hints of a child-like grin starting to appear at the corners of his lips.
Nicky's mother petted her son's ears for a moment, then slid her paws further down. Without a single comment about it, her fingertips found the fly on the young raccoon's pants and began to undo the button and zipper. During the moment it took for Nicky to realize what was happening, his mother had gotten his pants half-way down his thighs. Keeping Rocky pressed to his chest with one paw, he shot his other paw down to grab hold of the waist of his trousers. He yelped in surprise, squealing, "Mom!" as he stood there with his pants a quarter of the way down, his undies on display. His briefs had a white background with a pattern of colored balloons on them and red elastic on the waist and legbands, as well as faint, lingering hints of accidents that no number of trips through the laundry seemed to erase.
His mother stopped where she was and looked at him with a quizzical expression, as if it was the strangest thing in the world for him to stop her from removing his clothes while her friends were all in the next room. "Sweetie, I know this is tough for you, but you have to trust Mommy, okay?" She slid one paw up and rubbed his tummy in slow circles as she continued, "Just relax and let Mommy take care of you. There's no reason for you to be bashful anyway, since all of Mommy's friends have changed your diapers before." She leaned forward and kissed the little raccoon on his forehead before adding, quickly, "And they probably will again."
For a moment, the little cub was struck by the strangeness of that last comment, but before he had a chance to give it much thought, his mother stood and went over to a nearby counter, retrieving a small plastic object and carrying it back, hidden in her paw. She leaned down to him and cooed, "Will you let Mommy take care of you, sweetie? I just want to make you happy, and I think I know what you really need, even if you're not sure. All this time, you've been so worried about making me happy, but sweetie-pie, I just want you to be happy. That's all. So will you be a good boy for Mommy, and let me help you be a happy cubby?"
Nicky was about to answer, when his mother raised her paw and presented the small object she had fetched from the countertop. It took him a moment to recognize it. It was a pacifier, with a blue ring, a red plastic guard, and a rubber bulb that was hovering just in front of the tip of his muzzle. He was quite surprised at the sight of it, to say the least. He stared at it for a moment, considering his reaction. His first impulse was to turn his muzzle away in disgust, but for some strange reason, that didn't seem quite right.
It was that voice, again. Just like it had gnawed at the back of his mind when he was fibbing about being happy at school and all that stuff, it was saying something entirely different as he stood there, holding onto his pants and staring at the pacifier. It was tough for him to understand it at first, and his brow furrowed as he concentrated on what that little part of him was trying to say. For some reason, he flashed back to a slideshow of little moments in his life that had passed by him with barely any notice when they first happened:
A diaper commercial came on TV while he was focused on building a Lego set, but it immediately drew his attention off the multicolored blocks, and he couldn't look away. He was walking down the sidewalk one summer while a toddler was pushed past him in a stroller, the little cub nursing on a bottle of juice and just wearing a t-shirt, a diaper, and sneakers. He stopped and stood stock-still, unable to keep himself from watching the cub as he went by. Or the time he was spending the night (he had been seven or eight) at his Aunt Nancy's house while she was also watching her nephew, who still wore diapers to bed. As the little fox was being put into his night-time protection, Nicky had just blurted out the request that he could be allowed to wear them, too. After getting a strange look from the vixen, he pretended that it was just a joke, but he had cried himself to sleep that night, so embarrassed that he had actually asked for that.
He had never really stopped to put all of these isolated moments together. He actually tried not to think about them much at all. But as he looked back on them together now, amidst a flurry of other similar half-remembered scenes, something changed as he watched the pictures replay in his mind. The cub on the TV, looking ecstatically happy to be wearing that brand of diaper and nothing else, and romping around like that, that was him, all of a sudden. And the cub drinking from his bottle and being pushed around in the stroller, that was him, too. And Aunt Nancy's nephew, being so lovingly tended to and cared for as he was wrapped up in the protective padding, so that no matter what 'accidents' might happen at night, he would still be okay and no one would be mad at him... that was him, laying back and giggling, without a care in the world.
As he pictured himself that way, that little voice in the back of his mind was suddenly not so little at all. It shouted to him, telling him that was what he wanted, really, all this time. And he couldn't deny it, either â€" or at least, he stopped trying to. The feeling of comfort and warmth that bubbled up in his chest as that image of himself flashed in his mind was so powerful and overwhelming, it was like a dam burst. Something that was holding him back from being himself fell away and he knew that his Mommy was right.
He blinked, twice, and parted his lips to allow his mother to push the pacifier into his mouth. As he took the soother and immediately began to nurse on it, making little regular suckling noises as the plastic shield bobbed against the tip of his muzzle, his mother praised him and rubbed his forehead gently. The encouragement elicited a happy giggle from the little raccoon boy, who released his grip on his pants and didn't fuss at all as they slipped the rest of the way down his legs, pooling on the floor around his ankles. His mother cooed, "There's a good boy. That paci is a gift from Dr. Robin. She brought it especially for you. It's a special one that won't hurt your teeth."
Satisfied that her son wasn't going to fuss further, his mother resumed her task with a practiced diligence. She helped him step out of his pants, one paw at a time, and then folded them carefully before setting them on the floor beside the changing mat. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his briefs, and she slid them down his legs as well. He took a sharp inhalation of breath as he was suddenly naked from the waist down, but as he glanced from his mother back towards the living room, where his mom's friends were peeking in at him, he could see from their expressions that he didn't have to be embarrassed. He just let out another giggle and resumed nursing on his soother.
Once his underwear was set aside, his mother stood in front of him and tapped his nose with her fingertip. He blinked for a moment, before she delicately plucked his stuffed animal from his arms and nodded to him, cooing, "Touchdown, honey." His reaction was immediate; his paws shot up over his head, sticking straight up from his shoulders and staying there as his muzzle spread into a broad grin, only partially hidden behind his pacifier. That had been the code word for him when he was little to get him to raise his arms out of the way so his mother could tug his shirt off. She hadn't helped him undress like this for years, so hearing that only helped him settle further into his increasingly cubbyish state of mind. With him in that pose, his shirt was quickly slipped off over his head before it was set aside with the rest of his clothes and Rocky was placed back in his arms.
Nicky stood there on the light blue changing pad in nothing but his fur, clinging to a little stuffed raccoon and nursing on a pacifier. A few of the women in the next room murmured a quiet, "Aww," at the sight, which made a soft pink color show through Nicky's cheeks. His mom was still at work, though. She knelt beside him, the plastic of the pad crinkling underneath her weight, and she gently patted a spot behind the little raccoon boy. "Okay little guy, have a seat." He was quick to comply, dropping his bottom to the floor and smiling at her as she rubbed her nose against his forehead.
After a moment of nuzzling him like that, his mom resumed preparing things for him. She reached for a nearby plastic tub, pulled it closer, and reached inside. In a moment, she produced a bottle of talcum powder, which she set down beside her. Just the sight of it was enough to make Nicky's nose start twitching, as long-dormant parts of his brain started firing up again, and a flood of memories that were all tied together by that scent started bubbling up from his subconscious. And if that wasn't enough, the next thing she withdrew from that blue plastic tub â€" even though he knew it was coming â€" made his breath catch in his throat: a neatly folded, bright white, disposable diaper.
How strange that such a mundane object should arouse such deep-seated and powerful feelings in him. To almost anyone else, it would be a simple little item of no special significance. But while his wide eyes intently followed every motion of his mother's paws as she unfolded the diaper, first length-wise, exposing the soft, absorbent padding that would be pressed against his fur, and then the side flaps, leaving it in its familiar hourglass shape, he knew that it was something special to him. He didn't know why, and he didn't really care. His only thought process was, "That's a diaper!" Even just spoken in his head, the word caused a little quiver to run down his spine. That thought was quickly followed by, "My diaper..." and this fact seemed to be even more amazing. He almost couldn't believe that it was true.
His mother, still working diligently at her maternal duties, did not allow him much time for disbelief. Her paw took firm hold of his ankles and lifted them up. The imbalance caused his upper body to drop back onto the soft, plastic surface of the changing mat, and he was forced to raise his head off the changing mat to keep watching the process unfold. His mom smiled at his continued interest, smiling sweetly as she continued to lift his legs, pushing his knees up towards his chest until his bottom and lower back lifted off the floor. She took the opportunity to slide the unfolded diaper into place beneath his hovering backside, tantalizingly close to his fur. He let out an excited giggle which came out muffled by his pacifier as he strained his head to eye the slight distance â€" only a few inches! â€" between his rear end and the crinkly plastic padding.
But it wasn't quite time for that, yet. Nicky's mom continued to hold her son's legs in place with one paw, while her other retrieved the bottle of powder and began drizzling the stuff onto the seat of the open diaper. A thin cloud of white dust hovered in the space between his fuzzy backside and the waiting padding, slowly dissipating and suffusing the air around him with a powerfully familiar scent. It wasn't just that it reminded him of evenings in his late toddlerhood, when he struggled with potty-training and still wore diapers at night and on long trips; or of visits to the houses of aunts and uncles with young cubs, and how he would linger around the entrance of their rooms, smelling the air, not even sure why he was doing so. It brought to his mind improbably intense feelings of security and contentment, pre-verbal happiness tied to long ago memories locked deep in his brain.
He was mostly lost in those memories as his mother cooed soft, encouraging words to him while she rubbed the powder into his fur, ensuring that the tell-tale scent would linger in the air around him. After his mother was satisfied that he was adequately prepared for an afternoon in padding, with all the risks that entails, she gently lowered Nicky's hips so that his behind came to rest on the soft layer of rustling plastic underneath him. He found himself letting out an excited, bubbling squeal at the feeling of the seat of his diaper compressing under his weight, which dissolved into high-pitched giggles. His mother smiled at his reaction and even encouraged it by dancing her fingertips along his ribs, tickling him as she said, "Nicky likes that, doesn't he?" He didn't say anything in response, since it wasn't necessary, but the corners of his lips curled up into a bright smile, peeking out around either side of the plastic guard of his pacifier, as he nodded.
His mother smiled at the state of mind her little boy seemed to be slipping into quite comfortably, and she raised a paw to tap the little raccoon's nose with her fingertip. She then slid her paws down to finish attending to his changing situation. Her paws settled on his knees and gently spread them apart, so that she could then pull the front of the diaper up to cover his talcum-dusted middle. She held the elastic waistband against his belly with one paw while she reached around his hip to retrieve one set of sticky tabs, which she expertly pressed into place and then repeated the process on the other side. In no time, Nicky was wrapped securely in the first diaper he'd worn in more than half a decade. Or at least, nearly securely.
There was one last step to finish the change. Nicky's mom knelt beside him so that she could slide her paw under his shoulder and help him sit up. Each movement he made elicited a small chorus of rustling noises from the plastic shell of the fresh diaper, a sound that he very much enjoyed. As he settled in this position, his mother reached around behind him and took care of the last tape, above the base of his tail, to ensure that the diaper's seat would not be inclined to slide down, even if it happened to be carrying a substantial weight. With that last detail taken care of, Nicky's behind was gently patted before his mother kissed his ears and then stood up.
She walked back into the living room and took a seat on the couch, keeping a line of sight to the little raccoon. Nicky was left sitting on the plastic changing mat, his eyes wide as he tried to come to grips with the situation he was in. He looked down at himself, past his fuzzy tummy to the smooth, white padding covering his middle, puffing out in between his legs and pushing his thighs apart. He moved a paw to rub his fingertips lightly over his stomach, dipping them just slightly to let his pinky slide down over the plastic waistband. His breath caught in his throat as he pressed his fingers against the bulky padding, indenting the plastic shell to compress the absorbent material inside. He rocked his hips back and forth slightly, feeling the cushion under his seat, and he drew his knees together, feeling the thickness between his thighs.
It was a nice enough feeling, the actual physical sensation of it. But what was much more interesting than the way that Nicky's new underwear felt was the way that it was making him feel. There was a flash of a moment where he thought that he shouldn't feel this way, that he should be protesting this, that he shouldn't feel so comfortable and safe and relaxed. But when he turned his head to look at his mother, she was smiling at him and seemed to be perfectly happy, happier than she had been in a long time, in fact. She wasn't mad at him. She wasn't even worried about him. The glow on her face reflected his own serene contentment and overwhelmed the last little bit of doubt inside of him. She leaned forward and cooed to him, "Come to Mommy, Nicky."
He rolled onto his knees and placed his handpaws on the ground under his shoulders, settling onto all fours and smiling at his mother around the pacifier that was still planted firmly in his muzzle. He began to shuffle forward that way, his padded behind wiggling as he crawled, his fluffy, ringed tail swaying from side to side. A chorus of soft 'awws' came from the women in the room as they watched Nicky clamber across the carpeted floor, until he reached his mother's feet and, as her paws slipped under his arms to help, pulled himself into her lap. He curled up into a fuzzy little ball against her, knees drawn up, chin tucked into his chest, his cheek resting on her shirt, eyes shut, breathing slow and even. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and shins, holding him securely as she rocked forward and back, just slightly, cooing, "There's my baby boy," into his ear.
Nicky melted into his mother's arms, hearing her heartbeat in his ears. The ladies in the room resumed conversing as they had before the young raccoon had come home. They may have even been talking about him. He wasn't listening. After a short while, his pacifier was removed and the rubber bulb was replaced with the nipple of a baby bottle, which he accepted without protest. It was held for him as he nursed, and his pacifier was replaced after he had finished the milk. Some time after that, his mother moved her palm to the front of the little raccoon's diaper, which had warmed. "I think somebody needs his diaper changed," she announced.