by Jennifer Loriane

As Laura walked up to the door of the restaurant, she felt confidant of her plans for the afternoon. She had dressed for the occasion with exquisitely good taste and prepared her accessories with a mind to the afternoon's aftermath. Her dress was fashionably demur yet gave the woman who wore it the feminine power of persuasion by misdirection. She had even purchased a new bra for their early supper so her recently chemically-enlarged bosom would be comfortably supported and wouldn't distract her from her purpose. Since she had no intent of making another attempt to lure her wayward husband back into the fold with her sexual wiles, she intended to use her new look to divert her husband's attention before she sprung the elegant trap she had meticulously planned to remove the man who had caused her so much grief. Instead of playing for the interests of her wayward husband, she intended to bring him to heel in a manner which he could not refuse. Laura carried the black dress pocketbook in her right hand which matched her eternally fashionable black, raw-silk dress and black patent-leather, low-heeled shoes as she entered the building. The only item of apparel that did not fit in with the image of a smartly dressed, attractive, long-haired brunette who was out on the town was the large baby-blue, nylon bag whose strap was slung over her left shoulder.

For the sake of her own feelings, rather than cow to the carnal desires of her dinner companion that afternoon, she had spent some hours at the beauty salon that morning and had had her hair gently waved under at her shoulders instead of her normal straight haired look. She had taken up the nail technician's offer at the salon to have her nails done while she waited for her hair to dry. Her hair had turned out so well that she had surrendered to the come-on of the salon's makeup technician and had allowed herself to be completely redone for the coming occasion that afternoon. The plain housefrau that had walked into the salon was a raving beauty when the team of experts in feminine pulchritude were done. She had become an archetypal vision of what men dream of in women. If her husband had tried to recognize her out of a crowd of women, the task would have been Herculean. He had never noticed that her flat chest had filled out in the past two weeks and had become a rather prominent part of her stature. For the two years prior to that afternoon, he had left for work in the wee hours of the morning and usually returned so late at night that she almost never saw him before he went to bed. Unless it was a weekend, he never ate dinner with her, choosing instead to grab a quick meal from a drive-thru junk food palace before he went home to sleep. Laura had slowly became inured to dining alone at home, but her enforced solitude turned her desire for a baby into an obsession. Aside from her business-woman friend, Dinah, with was her dinner companion when they went out to an early dinner three times a week, she spent her time alone with the maid and laundress.

After two years, her need to bear or foster a baby became an obsession. She inveigled her husband, Ron, in every way that she knew to have sex with her on weekends, but they had been unsuccessful at conceiving a baby. After visiting a gynecologist to have her own fertility checked, she had asked Ron to go to a urologist. He'd agreed and had told her a week later that the physician had advised him that he had a "low sperm count". After a year of unsuccessful attempts, she asked Ron if he was willing to adopt. The tirade that followed had been a nightmare. Ron had thrown a positive temper-tantrum. As far as he was concerned, he told her, "If you can't conceive a child by having sex with your husband, then it's the Lord's will!" When she brought up the subject of medically assisted pregnancy, he exploded. He ranted that artificial insemination was against the law of God and that in vitro fertilization was blasphemous. On the subject of adoption, he stood firm, telling her that he had no intention of raising some "druggie's discarded whelp" rather than the "fruit of his own loins"! He had made it clear to her that "Almighty God, The Father", had dictated her fate and it was up to her to accept "His" plan for her with womanly forbearance. For a time Laura had accepted her husband's religious pronouncements, unjust though they manifestly were, and remained in silent solitude.

Strangely, it never occurred to her to ask why they never went to church if he was that religious. For that matter, she never knew just what religious group had baptized him or to which church he held allegiance. Her parents had been Unitarians and she didn't give a tinker's damn in Hades about the ceremonial aspects of religion. She knew that the Spirit of the Creator/Creatrix was within her and had always acted accordingly.

Until the moment that Laura had opened the restaurant's outer door and had passed within, Laura knew that her entire life had been lived in accordance with goodness and integrity. If the justice she would exact from her husband was wrong, than it would be the first evil act of her life. In charity though, she planned to forgive her husband for his sins against her once the deed was done. It might make little difference to him once she was finished with his corpus, but his soul might need her forgiveness nonetheless. Whether his silent soul would forgive her afterwards for what she was about to do to him, she could not imagine. As she opened the restaurant's second door to enter the foyer, she prayed to the Spirit within her to forgive her in his stead.

The justice she needed could not be rendered by temporal authorities, so she had to forge a lasting judgement by herself by main force. Laura had been appalled when it was revealed that all her erstwhile husband was interested in was his mistresses, which was the unconscious reason for her trip to the salon. She subconsciously wanted to compete with the other women and permanently bind him to her apron strings on even ground, even though she was so thoroughly fed up with him that she had no intention of ever "sleeping" with him again. If she couldn't do that, then her subconscious had decided that he was better off dead. She'd had enough of his behavior!

Although she had never used the contents of the rugged, blue, zippered, ripstop nylon bag that she had brought with her before, she was positive she would need its contents before the afternoon was over. Laura's parents had made sure that she had mastered two skills as a teenager to survive as a woman; how to care for an infant and how to shoot a pistol accurately under stress in order kill a man if her life was imperiled. When she married, she wanted a husband who would be her life's companion and the father of her child. She neither needed nor wanted a paternal caretaker who would guard her from the outside world. Laura was more than capable of taking care of herself. If attacked, she was emotionally prepared to render a swift, decisive justice to anyone who threatened either her existence or that of her family. That afternoon she intended to use one of those skills to end her husband's unfaithfulness forever. She had a score to settle with her womanizing husband and what she carried in the bag would set things right again.

Their marriage had been a failure at the very beginning, Laura realized. She had not known that her husband was so narcissistic and so self-involved that he wouldn't even consider having a child when she married him. Laura had wanted a baby of her own all her life and had married him with the expectation that he would enable her to have a family of her own. He had told her that it didn't matter to him that Laura was exceedingly plain and unalluring when they got married. He had said he loved her soul and not her looks and had promised to give her a baby. Soon after, he had begun hitting on every woman in sight, as if the only reason he had married her was to avail himself of her family's fortune which she had inherited upon her parent's death.

Laura opened the massive red oak door with stained glass panels depicting verdant fountains gushing forth waters into placid pools. The panels had been leaded with three-quarter-inch wide lead came and had been inset into the tall arched window of the double doors of Louder's Café with a master's touch. As the door closed behind her, she chanced to turn around and saw that a triplet of quarter-inch steel, horizontal reinforcing bars had been soldered at the top, middle and bottom of each pane. The stained glass window on the massive wooden doors bothered her conscience somewhat; it reminded her of a church's stained glass windows. For a fleeting moment, she had the impression that the edifice's indwelling spirit was well aware of her plans for her sinful desire for revenge. She shivered at the thought that she might punished her for what she was about to do to her unfaithful spouse, but then shook the feeling off. Her husband's fate would be born from the womb of perfidy which he had impregnated with his deceits. From what she had been told about the restaurant by her friend, Dinah, Louder's was the perfect venue to assess punitive reparations from her "soon to be" erstwhile spouse for his duplicity and faithlessness.

The Café's Maitre-de, Maurice, had assured her of the small restaurant's ability to handle it's clientele's need for discretion when she had discussed her needs over the phone with him the day before. The possibility of her husband's death was discussed and she was told by Maurice that the restaurant would assist her with the discrete disposal of her husband's body in the event of an untimely demise. Naturally, the Chef-Owner of the restaurant required a rather high special fee for the "non-standard service" that Laura required. Nonetheless, she wanted to see the establishment for herself before trusting the deeply baritoned, oddly French-accented voice of the man who represented himself as the restaurant's Maitre-de over the phone.

As she walked into the restaurant, the heavy smoked scent of slow-roasted beef, the aroma of sautéing mushrooms and onions in sweet butter and Port wine, as well as the burnt caramel smell of baking breads as the bun's bottoms browned assaulted her senses. For a moment she was transported in to the mental paradise of her childhood where the soul-fulfilling fragrant goodness of her mother's kitchen was omnipresent, as was the love and consideration of her mother. The pervasive aroma of the pure raw vanilla essence emanating from the Chef's baking desserts being slowly cooked to crispy perfection in the restaurant's ovens filled her nose with their heavenly scent, snapping her back to reality and purpose. The vanilla's sweet bouquet evoked memories of the perfume of baby powder and disposable diapers, strengthening her resolve. Her husband would either keep his promise to give her a baby of her own or he would die. There would be no compromise this time. As she drew the restaurant's inviting aromas deep into her lungs, she steeled herself to exhort her womanly due from her morally bankrupt spouse without his permission or willing acceptance. He had made a solemn promise to her upon their marriage and she would see that he would pay the price for breaking his vows.

She glanced around and saw that the ceiling of the restaurant had been arranged with massive, dark wood arches supporting a white, high-vaulted ceiling with a cathedral-like design. Each of the twained dining areas to the right and left of the Maitre-de's stand had been broken up with free-standing foot-thick planters that served as area dividers to delineate each waiter's responsibilities as well as to privatize each diner's experience.

In the middle of the entryway, for the lunch crowd and quick eaters of the quiet time before the dinner rush, was the bar and it's seating booths and wrapping around it on both sides were the dinner tables proper; there was one section was for smokers and the other section for non-smokers. At the early hour that Laura had chosen for their supper together, both sections were nearly empty, but nonetheless an obsequious Maitre-de stood guard at his post to defend the entrance to his domain like a supernatural creature who had been commanded to guard his owner's demesne. No patron ever passed the giant, dark olive-skinned Maurice without his personal approval. At the evening hours the restaurant required reservations, but at this hour most would pass the tall, massive, black-garbed guardian's inspection with a mere off-handed wave of his huge hand. Laura, however, had made reservations for an important meeting with her husband and so had made special arrangements with the Maitre-de to insure that there would be no argument about the seating arrangements or the dishes provided for their supper that afternoon.

Laura closed on the raven-haired Maitre-de, who she estimated stood at least six-foot, six-inches tall. She guessed that the mountain of muscle and bone (there was no discernable fat on his muscular torso) before her weighed at minimum three hundred pounds. She gave her name and identified herself as the person who had made a reservation for herself and her husband, making the servitor crack his Arabic stone-face in an unaccustomed smile. "Ahhhh, yes. Everything is in readiness for you. Your particular dietary requirements have been given to the Chef and he has accepted the challenge. Never before has he done what you have asked."

He stopped for a moment and said in a desoto voice, "Madam does understand, that for 'special recipes' the establishment does add a somewhat large surcharge for the Chef's efforts. In this case, the surcharge will be 'quite' expensive. Although Madam's credit is good, the management has asked me to ensure that she is quite aware of all the costs of the dish that Madam has proposed that the Chef create. A special Chef's fee of ten thousand dollars will be required in addition to whatever Madam orders for her meal. The management has required me to advise you that there may be legal….complications as well as…personal costs that you may not have considered."

She looked up at the extremely tall and large black tuxedo-clad man with a red cummerbund and said with flinty yellow sparks of anger flashing in the irises of her hazel eyes, "I know exactly what I'm doing and have ordered. I have the wherewithal to pay for what I am asking. I have pre-prepared my household for the changes that will ensue from this meal. Is that enough for you, or must I speak to the manager? I made reservations with yourself in good faith and you agreed to the terms for the reasons I gave you! Money is not an object! Please show me to my table immediately!"

Maurice the Maitre-de bowed deeply in deference to her determination and preparations she had made before marking her name off on his very short list of expected diners for the afternoon. After taking a red leather-bound menu from the shelf inside the back of his podium-like station, Maurice led her to her seat as a mark of honor instead of delegating the menial task to the waiter who was assigned to the area as was the restaurant's usual procedure.

Laura was pleased by the unctuous civility of the Maitre-de as he pulled back her chair for her and courteously seated her at her table. The staff had indeed prepared the table just for them. Her name was beautifully calligraphed on a card in a small carved wooden stand on the table and two sets of silverware had been carefully wrapped in forest green napkins. As she sat down, the Maitre-de removed the card from its holder to demonstrate that the patron had taken possession of her proper place. The table itself was covered in an immaculate, heavy white linen tablecloth and was ornamented by a small triple candled brass candelabra in the center.

With a flourish, the Maitre-de reached into his right vest pocket and produced an extremely small black and gold butane lighter. When he pressed the actuating button, an impossibly intense emerald jet of flame shot six inches from his fingertips as if by magick. Laura was impressed my the showmanship that the Maitre-de displayed as he lit the three white beeswax candles mounted in the candelabra. No doubt the tiny lighter was similar in design to those available from expensive gadget houses which sold butane lighters that made vermilion flames. She reasoned that the lighter must be gimmicked in some way to store butane at very high pressures to produce the sort of needle-fine jet that she saw ignite the candles with the precision of an oxy-acetylene torch with a watchmaker's 0000 tip.

She looked up at the Maitre-de as he finished lighting the candles and observed with a wry smile, "Your interior decorator seems to have a penchant for the color green."

"Madam has correctly divined that the one of the House colors is green. Is that so surprising? Green is the color of hope, growing things and, needless to say, food," the Maitre-de replied dryly.

"And the other House color?", Laura inquired with interest.

"You see it both before you and above you, Madam. It is the tincture white, which is an heraldic metal," the servitor answered gravely.

"And it's meaning?", asked Laura, delighting in the breadth of knowledge of a mere Maitre-de.

The Maitre-de smiled at the woman's interest in the true meanings of the mundane. It was an interest that had consumed him since he was quite young and had first been introduced to the study of the obscure. Since his own origins were more than a little obscure to him, it was natural that he should feel so, but in the woman's case, it indicated an active, questing mind. The job of a Maitre-de did not favor him with many contacts with such people. He savored the moments when he could. "White has many meanings in many cultures, Madam," the Maitre-de explained without condescension as if he was discussing a learned subject with an attentive and devoted scholar, "In the West, it is generally taken to mean virtue or purity of purpose. Occultists and Western Pagans often associate it with the heraldic metal it represents, i.e., silver. Silver is representative of the Moon among both groups and the Mother Goddess of the second group. Astrologically speaking, the Moon represents both the home and the unconsciousness."

"And which meaning does Louder's Café espouse?", Laura asked with a hint of amusement in her voice at trapping such an overeducated waiter.

"Why, to be sure, Madam, the restaurant wishes to foster the feelings of homeyness to ensure that every patron will have an unconscious desire to return! But is this not so of every restaurant? Symbols are only gateways to the meanings that each individual discovers in his environment. In short, they are signposts to the meaning of a person's life. As such, the management has decided that it is wholly inappropriate for the employees of Louder's to delineate the meaning of the restaurant's symbolisms as they can only be properly interpreted by the patron's themselves," the Maitre-de said with the crushing logic of an ancient philosophy professor who's tenure and arcane knowledge had made him undisputable.

The Maitre-de bowed and departed for a time to allow her to consider his words as well as the menu in peace.

Laura smiled to herself ruefully at the philosophical near-debate which the Maitre-de had won handily. "I need to remember not to underestimate people because of their jobs," she admonished herself as she looked down at the menu before her. The edges of the covers had been guarded with a quarter-inch wide channel of varnished brass while filigreed brass protective corners had been mounted on the outside corners to keep the menu cover from becoming dog-eared. On the binding side of the covers on both front and back, there were ornamental triangles of brass that had been acid-etched through the metal with short praises and prayers to Allah in Arabic which matched the protective caps on the outside ears of the cover. When Laura opened her menu, she was pleased with the understated elegance of the Café; not only had the outside covers of the menu been professionally bound with fine-grained, heirloom quality, red Moroccan kidskin, but the menu itself had been hand-calligraphed with an intense midnight black India ink onto yellow-gold parchment paper. The calligraphic hand was a modernized medieval style that she had never seen before, but was easy to read and attractively artistic; the style lay somewhere between a modernized Chancery script and an Irish Unctual. It seemed to flow naturally across the page in straight lines without straining the reader's ability to comprehend the odd lettering in an almost magickal way.

Laura noted that the filigreed corners served a second purpose; the inside of the cover had a flat diagonal bar of brass that ran from corner-to-corner across the hypotenuse of the brass piece and was riveted in place. On the other side of the menu, there were similar bars riveted to what she had thought were ornamental pieces on the binding side of the covers. The two pages of parchment which constituted the menu had been carefully tucked beneath the brass bars and had a separate sheet of stiff, thin acrylic placed over each piece of parchment and slide under the restraining bars. The result was a menu that was incredibly rich in appearance and immanently practical. Laura was impressed. She had been to many Five-Star restaurants that didn't take the time or expend the money to use the opportunity of using their menu to influence their patrons to impress with the first glimpse of what the restaurant offered. Obviously, her friend who had recommended this small restaurant had been right; this establishment was a cut above any of the other restaurants in town.

When Laura opened the menu, she discovered that quality and tastefulness of the meals listed on the menu mirrored the binding and ornamentation of the menu itself; the dishes were elegant and of gourmet quality, without being outrageously expensive. Certainly, the Beef Wellington surrounded by Baby New Potatoes and tiny Baking Onions, the Veal Oscar with Dilled Baby Carrots and the Prime Rib with Garliced Mashed Russet potatoes and Asparagus with Hollandaise sauce was expensive, but that was to be expected. The Dilled Salmon steak looked good, as did the New York Strip with mushrooms marinated in Port served with a baked Russet potato with all the trimmings and a small house salad. Strangely, there wasn't a single entrée that included either pork or bacon on the menu. Baked potatoes could have sour cream, green onions or shallots, aged cheddar cheese, butter, and duxelles as a topping, but the popular topping of bacon was conspicuous by its absence.

A relatively inexpensive Caesar Salad was on the menu, which according to the menu's description, was prepared in the traditional fashion with soft-boiled eggs and freshly grated parmesan cheese at the diner's table. The Chicken in Brochette was reasonably priced as well. Fresh baked french bread or a rounded whole wheat loaf was available as a side accompanied by sweet cream butter and Aged Cheddar cheese. Laura debated about whether to change the entree she had ordered for herself when she made the reservations to the butterflied Giant Gulf shrimp dinner accompanied by seafood sides of Blue Shell Crap, Scallops, Fried Oysters and Clams with an okra and corn medley and potato puffs, but she decided against it. She had business to conduct and it would take her an hour to eat the massive plate. She didn't want to be tied down to a large dinner when she was discussing her husband's waywardness with him. The entrée that she had ordered over the phone was sufficient for her tastes and needs. In any case, her nipples had become sensitive and sore when her breasts had begun swelling a week before. She wanted the meeting to be over with as soon as possible. In short, she wanted to have the meeting she had planned to take place with her husband and take him home with her as soon as humanly possible.

She was more than a little pleased to see that this restaurant at least had not bent to lawyer's demands and changed their recipe for Hollandaise sauce; it was made from scratch with scallions, egg yolks, butter, and lemon juice the way it should be. Laura adored Hollandaise sauce on asparagus and could even tolerate Brussels sprouts or broccoli if they were doused in the heavenly mixture. Her friends joked that she'd eat rocks if only they were drenched in real Hollandaise sauce. Laura abhorred the powdered pre-prepared faux bastardization of Hollandaise sauce that restaurants foisted on the unknowing public as the actual article to please lawyers in an attempt to mitigate lawsuits caused by food poisoning from bad eggs. She knew that life was an adventure and that nothing in life was safe. Eating the Japanese dish called Sashimi could be dangerous because it was made from raw fish , but she loved the clean "unfishy" flavor of the fresh fish flesh.

Laura sighed to herself thinking that rare hamburgers, soft-boiled or coddled eggs and faithful husbands had become things of the past because of the legal profession. She wondered how the restaurant's lawyers had allowed them to serve the things that prudent and "utterly safe" dining prohibited. There on the menu under sandwiches was a glorious "Louder's Half-Pound Cheeseburger served on a toasted white or whole wheat bun with all the trimmings, cooked Blood Rare, Rare, Medium Rare, Medium, Medium Well or Well-Done according to the Diner's Wishes". Laura enjoyed raw fish, rare Hamburgers and rare steak as well as her beloved Hollandaise sauce. She was more than a trifle miffed that the lawyers of the United States, the MEN who had deigned to make themselves the arbiters of everyday life by their power to disrupt and bankrupt anyone whose activities were not in accordance with their wishes, had chosen to attack her food choices. Had it been within her power, she'd have turned everyone of the unmitigated bounders into permanent infants so they could learn how helpless a person feels when overwhelmed by the laws that the lawyers and the bureaucracy they've created to assuage their underfed-egos.

Maybe the Chef had convinced the lawyers by letting them sample the blessed savor of Hollandaise sauce, but she doubted it. In her experience, the lawyers she had met in life had no souls that could truly experience the wonders of life. In her estimation, lawyers were zombies, androids or animated bodies without ethics or spiritual value. They would do anything for a price because they had surrendered their souls to a prior thinking and a dependence on the material and moral philosophies that had gone before them. Legislative lawyers tried to make laws within the United States that they could inflict on the entire world, willy-nilly, without regard to enforceability. Lawyers did not understand the concept of sovereignty of a particular state or of the international agreements for law that limited a nation's laws to its boundaries. Neither did they understand the sovereignty of an individual. They were merely fellow-travelers in the climb to civilization with the human race. At their very best, they appeared to be very human creatures, albeit those who were lazy without let, completely vindictive of temperament, and had no taste for the greater achievements of humanity except for an overwhelming desire for sex, power or both. Of course, that was to be expected of the semi-humans to thought themselves wise enough to rule all mankind without an inkling of Science, History or Human Knowledge. They were universally hated and they therefore sought solace in the back streets of the cities where they could find women who were desperate enough to lay with their kind for the money that the dregs of humanity needed for survival.

Maurice had given her the table in the rear of the dinning area that was normally scorned by diners, i.e., the table closest to the kitchen door, but her location was perfect for her purposes. The high walls of the planter with it's leafy greenery that hid the movements of the waiters and busboys into and out of the kitchen from the patrons would completely isolate her and her husband from any auditory or visual observation from the rest of the restaurant. His chair faced the rear of the restaurant completely concealing it, while position allowed her to push her chair away from the table and catch a glimpse of the front of the Café. She knew that the planters and their thriving plants made an excellent sound damping material that reduced the voices of the diners to muted whispers. The effect of the plants, coupled with acoustical absorptive qualities of the muted green indoor-outdoor carpeting beneath her feet made the Café an excellent place for either a private rendezvous or a tête-à-tête supper with one's spouse.

The plants had an emotional effect as well; Laura knew instinctively that the restaurant was somehow magickally devoted to foster life and growth in favor of death and stagnation. She had the strangest feeling that the restaurant was a sort of Temple to Karmic Justice, wherein the forces of Life and Death battled, but where the Judge of Life always prevailed.

"The Chef will begin the dishes that you ordered when you made the reservation as soon as your dinner companion arrives, Madam. Would Madam like an aperitif or appetizer while you wait for him?", the distinguished looking Maitre-de asked attentively as he came over to check on his solitary diner after allowing her to peruse the menu for a decent period. Even though Laura had pre-ordered, it was the policy of the restaurant to allow a diner to change his or her order at the last minute if the patron so desired. Of course, there would be a service charge levied for non-menued dishes that a patron had ordered in advance and then declined, but that was only reasonable. In any event, Louder's menu was its best advertisement and restaurant policy required that a patron be given a menu unless "special circumstances" prevailed. Those circumstances would be effected by the patron's stated wishes.

"Yes, please. I'd like a glass of Rosé, thank you! My husband will be along directly, he's probably caught up in traffic..," answered Laura patiently with a pleasant tone, knowing that her husband's daily dalliance with his mistress was over for the day and he was merely fighting traffic. Maurice smiled and bowed slightly, then called over a waiter and whispered in his ear before he returned to his station at the entrance to the restaurant. Within minutes, the waiter appeared at Laura's table with a glass of Rosé and carefully set it before her on the table.

Laura sat patiently, sipping her glass of Rosé as she looked over her surroundings while awaiting her husband's arrival. The area in which she had been seated was evidently used as a storage area for the dinning area; next to the wall behind her table was a line of four expensive, heavily-built, oaken high chairs for patrons who brought their babies in to eat with them. The high chairs were matched by the strong oak wide-backed comfortable dining chairs that graced each linen bedecked table in the restaurant. The dining chairs were exceedingly well constructed with forest green cathedral velvet coverings over the thick foam cushions which overlay a solid foundation of steel coil springs and interwoven canvas straps that formed the base of the chair. The combination of the mattress-like construction and the firm but pliant cushions gave solid support for a patron's weary bones but also allowed the cushion to mould itself to the musculature of the diner. The armrests wrapped around the chairs in gentle curves which gracefully dipped down at the front to allow the diner to pull the chair as close to the table as the diner would like. When not in use while eating, they well extremely comfortable chairs to relax in and sip one's drink as one imbued the ambiance of the well appointed restaurant.

A tall redwood planter separated her table from the rest of the guests and the thick greenery growing from the planter shielded her table completely from view. With her chair pulled back, she could barely see the front of the restaurant's foyer by the front door. Laura was satisfied with the table she had gotten; from her vantage point, she could quietly observe the front door to see when Ron arrived. Once she saw that he was there, she could pull her chair back up to the table and resume her hidden position. While she waited, she mulled over what the private detective had told her. Ron spent every afternoon at his mistress's apartment and had probably been delayed by his erotic encounter. Laura smiled in anticipation of his comeuppance and used her right foot to shove the large blue bag she had purchased that morning further under the table to be hidden by the white tablecloth. She had made a number of purchases over the past two weeks and everything was ready for her husband's reformation. Since he came home late every evening, he had never noticed how she had redecorated and refurbished the spare bedroom during the mornings and afternoons while he was at "work".

The medications prescribed by the obstetrician-gynecologist that her friend had recommended had begun to take full effect days ago. The hormones that the gynecologist had given her made her breasts swell up almost immediately in anticipation of the infant she would soon have. Laura had been forced to go out and buy a whole new set of bras two days before as her bust size swelled from an "A" cup to a "DD" cup over a period of two weeks. She was ready for the baby her husband would give her in recompense for his wayward behavior. Only the dinner at the restaurant remained to put him in his proper place. He would either provide a baby for her, or he would die. There was no middle ground.

Laura waited patiently for her errant husband. The private investigator she had hired had managed to get photos of Ron and his mistress in bed together at her apartment, so she knew that she had him dead-to-rights. The investigator had also discovered who Ron's former mistresses had been and had provided photos of the buxom young ladies. From the photos that the investigator had provided, Laura realized that Ron had a infantile infatuation with women's breasts.

As far as Laura was concerned, Ron had all the emotional maturity of a two year old; he was lazy, selfish, self-centered, and had a taste for expensive toys and junk food. At least when he ate junk food, he suffered for it. He had an ulcer that became quite painful when he indulged himself in pizza or greasy cheeseburgers. Whenever he ate red meat, he'd lie around for hours moaning in pain, demanding that Laura do something to help him alleviate the pain brought on by his behavior. His sports car was only one example of the hideously priced adult toys he favored; he had begged and pleaded for Laura to buy it for him even though it was ridiculously expensive and ill-suited for a married man's public use. After several months of childish whining, she had bought it for him just to shut him up. He never picked up after himself around the house, forcing Laura to pay the maid extra for all the additional work that was heaped on her.

The woman who had done Laura's laundry had quit rather than wash Ron's dirty underwear. He never wiped himself thoroughly after using the toilet and his "undies" always had yellow strains on the front and brown smears on the bottom. Laura had only induced her laundry woman to return to work for her by promising that she'd wash her husband's dirty underwear herself so that the laundry woman wasn't forced to endure his offensive underwear. As a matter of fact, it was his underwear that tipped Laura off to his unfaithfulness. After she started washing his underwear, she noticed that he often went through two pairs of underwear a day. Curious, she began watching him closely and noticed that he'd often pack a spare pair of underwear in his briefcase. On several occasions when she saw him take a spare pair of briefs to work, she casually asked him if he had a meeting with a buyer. In every instance, his answer was "no". Since his general level of cleanliness was below the social norm, she began to suspect he had ulterior motives for changing his underwear while he was at work. When she closely examined the underwear that he had worn on those days, he often had a small, almost undetectable stain of ejaculate on the fly of the cleaner pair of his briefs. It was all too suspicious for Laura to leave alone. On two widely separated occasions over the past two years she thought she detected the scent of a woman's perfume on his clothes, but the smell was so faint that she could have been mistaken. When she had asked him about the perfume, he had said that he had brushed up against a woman in a crowded elevator.

She suspected him of stepping out on her, but he had always managed to talk his way out of divorce because she only had suspicions rather than real proof. Frankly, he didn't bathe or clean himself often enough for her to suspect that another woman would be attracted to him so she had let her suspicions go without rancor. A friend of hers told her that she had seen him driving down the street in his fancy sports car in the company of a young woman. Her friend had been curious and followed the car and spotted Ron going into an apartment complex at noon. When Laura heard this, her suspicions were confirmed. She had immediately hired a private investigator to follow her husband and see what he was doing outside of their home. Within a week, the private investigator had provided Laura with everything she needed to prove that her husband was a liar. Not only was he a philanderer, but his so-called "low sperm count" which he'd told her had prevented her from having the baby that he'd promised her when they got married was caused by a vasectomy he had had a year before they met. Apparently, he was shrewd enough to ensure that he wouldn't have any women suing him for child support.

Laura had discussed her husband's perfidies with a female friend of her's named Dinah who had a suggestion that she thought would resolve her marital problems and childlessness in one fell swoop. Dinah owned and operated a Daycare Center and had had a long talk with one of the new mother's about this particular restaurant. There had been some irregularities with the birth certificate of the woman's baby girl and it took an hour of explanation and a phone call to resolve the issue to her friend's satisfaction. It seemed that there was a restaurant in town that had certain rules about who could order particular foods from the menu and had ways of enforcing the rules in a way that couldn't be disputed. With her friend's assistance, she made a reservation at the restaurant and pre-ordered a meal for her husband. Although the Maitre-de had argued about her selection of dinners at first, he had relented after her friend had explained the situation and had given in to Laura's requests.

A few minutes later, Ron rushed into the restaurant like a busy executive running from one meeting to another. His cheap suit was wrinkled from being tossed on the floor during his escapade with his mistress and his shirttail wasn't properly tucked in. One of his shoelaces was untied and flopped unheeded from side-to-side as he dashed into the restaurant's foyer. Laura frowned at her husband's unkempt appearance and shook her head. The young woman he had taken up with hadn't even the self-respect to make sure her lover was presentable in public. His sandy blonde hair was a sweaty, matted disheveled mess. "Well," she sighed to herself, "after this afternoon, I'll make sure that he looks his best the every time he leaves the house again."

She nudged the blue bag with the toe of her shoe to reassure herself that it was still there as her husband staged his exhausted entrance and was led to the table by the Maitre-de. With the red face of exertion, he sat down heavily in the chair opposite hers. Just as he was about to ask the Maitre-de for a menu, he noticed Laura's new look. Ron's eyes bulged as he saw her face and let his eyes wander down to her bust. "Goddamn, Laura! You're fucking gorgeous this afternoon!", Ron said as he seated himself on the opposite side of the table, "What did you do? Get a new hairdo? That outfit makes you look like you're a goddamn fashion model! Are you wearing 'falsies' under your bra? Your boobs look like they're ten times as big as the last time I looked at you!"

Laura smiled at the compliment and nodded at the Maitre-de as she said to her husband quietly, "Since you were late, I took the liberty of ordering drinks and dinner for the both of us. I've ordered Oysters Rockefeller for myself and Chicken nuggets for you. Since you've been complaining about your ulcer lately, I ordered some milk for you rather than an alcoholic drink. I also ordered a sweet and sour sauce for your chicken rather than their barbecue sauce so your stomach won't get irritated."

"Chicken nuggets?", he whined in a childish tone, "You know how I hate chicken!"

"And you know what red meat does to your ulcer!", she rejoined tartly, "Just eat what I've ordered and listen to what I have to say. Since you've been busy at work, I've been redecorating the house and making plans for the both of us." She stopped and grinned wickedly as she said, "Besides, I know for a fact that you've developed a taste for 'young' chicken lately!"

"What the Hell are you talking about?", he asked defensively.

"Be quiet and I'll explain everything to you," she said as their waiter arrived with their dinners. The unfolded a large collapsing serving table whose top was formed by strips of furniture strength webbing at either side of both ends. He placed the two and a half foot oblong aluminum serving tray on the folding table and served each of them from the right separately in proper fashion.

"What about my drink?", Ron complained as the waiter set the plate down on the table in front of him.

"I'm very sorry, Sir, it will be along directly," replied the waiter apologetically, "Your dinners were ready and I wanted to get them to your table while they were still hot. I'll go back and see that your drink is prepared immediately and brought out to you."

Ron noticed that beside his plate of chicken nuggets were three brightly colored crayons and a piece of paper with the line drawings of a coloring book. He picked a crayon up with his fingers and asked the waiter, "What is this?"

The waiter looked at him seriously and said, "Every child's meal comes with a crayons and a page for coloring, Sir."

"But I'm not a child, why did you bring this to me?", Ron demanded.

The waiter drew himself up to his full height and said solemnly, "It's part of a child's meal, Sir. If I didn't bring the crayons and page, you wouldn't have gotten what you were paying for. The rules are very strict here, Sir."

"But I didn't order a child's meal!", Ron protested.

"I know, Sir. Your wife did when she made the reservations," the waiter replied with an air of invulnerability.

"Laura?", Ron asked, "I thought you said that you had already ordered because I was late. What's going on here? Is he right? Did order a child's plate for me when you made the reservations?"

"Yes, I did Ron!", in admission of a materialistic lie. The Maitre-de's honesty had befouled her plans somewhat, but the basics of her scheme were still recoverable. All she had to do was get Ron to shut up and eat his dinner to get her pan on track again. "They were the only thing on the menu that wouldn't aggravate your ulcer. Don't make a scene! Just eat the chicken and we'll talk about it after dinner!", Laura said severely.

Laura stopped talking and dove into her food with zest. The hormones she had been taking had given her a ferocious appetite over the past two days. Ron shrugged and ate his chicken nuggets quietly, wondering if her remark meant that she suspected he had taken a twenty year old girl as his mistress. As Ron chewed each nugget, his clothes became looser and more unkempt. The sleeves of his jacket seemed to be attracted to the bowl of sweet and sour dipping sauce like magnets. Finally Laura said, "Ron, why don't you take off your coat and make yourself comfortable? There's no one back here in the rear of the restaurant but the staff to see you and you can always put it back on before you leave the table if you feel like it at the end of the meal. For that matter, why don't you take off your tie and roll up your sleeves too? What I have to say later might be extremely upsetting and I want you to be as comfortable as possible."

Ron gave his wife a searching glance at the sudden change in his wife's standards. Usually, she demanded that he be neat as a pin when he went out with her. That was one thing he liked about his mistress; she didn't care how he looked, only about the quality of their lovemaking. Ron removed his coat without getting up from his chair and draped it inside-out on the chair's back, then took off his tie and stuffed it in his jacket's pocket. As he rolled up his sleeves, Laura added, "Live it up, Ron! Take your shirttail out too! It's halfway out anyway, you might as well go whole hog!"

Ron grinned and sighed as he took his shirt out of his pants. Laura had been right about relaxing, even his ulcer had stopped hurting. Despite the apprehension that he felt earlier, he suddenly felt relaxed and….loose. Both of his feet seemed to have gone to sleep simultaneously. There was a strong tingling feeling that surrounded both feet and was racing up the rear of his legs to his bottom. He moved around a bit in an attempt to improve the circulation in his legs, but instead of alleviating the odd sensation, it intensified it. Strangely though, there was no discomfort that he'd normally associate with the feeling of pins and needles that he was experiencing. The sensation was an altogether pleasant one as if he was being revitalized and energized. As he ate another chicken nugget, even his tight-fitting dress shoes felt comfortable for the first time in years. He wriggled his toes around in his shoes surreptitiously and discovered that his shoes had seemed to have gotten larger. The tingling sensation reached his ears and became a light tickling feeling when it reached the top of his head. Ron felt wonderful! He giggled in spite of himself, causing Laura to say as she forked up her last oyster, "Eat up, Honey, after dinner we can talk!"

When Ron reached for another piece of chicken, he was surprised to see that his rolled up cuffs reached almost up to his wrists again. He quickly rolled them back again as one of his shoes became so loose that it fell to the restaurant floor with a thud. For some reason he found the experience extremely amusing and he laughed out loud as he felt an intense tickling sensation at his groin. His reaction to the weird sensations he was having produced a sharp look from his wife. Ron stopped laughing immediately. For some reason, his wife's reproving glares had always reminded him of the way his mother had treated him when he was a small child. He would have never married her if it wasn't for the money her parents had left her when they died while she was going to college. The money he had married had allowed him to take a sales job which forced him to be out of office most of the day. They didn't need the small paycheck he brought in every two weeks. The job was really an excuse to get away from his wife and visit his mistress of the month.

As the sensation in his groin diminished, Ron felt a delightful lightheadedness come over his consciousness as a prickling feeling came over the back of his head. He picked up one of the crayons and slid paper to the edge of the table to doodle while he thought about the session he had had with his mistress an hour earlier. The girl had the most fantastic boobs he had ever seen on a woman! If Laura had boobs like hers, he'd have never felt the need to keep a mistress on the side. Laura was a good lay, but her flat chest reminded him of a teenaged boy. Laura had tried to please him by wearing padded, lacy bras, but when they made love, the reality of her flat chest turned him off. Of all the parts of sex he enjoyed with his mistresses, he liked fondling and sucking on their boobs the most. As he idly colored the page the restaurant had provided, he forgot all about dinner.

Laura smiled at Ron's behavior, knowing that the "special" meal she had ordered for him was beginning to affect his mind. In a few minutes, he'd be absolutely helpless. When that moment came, she'd open up the blue nylon bag under the table and use its contents to finish him off. Just the thought of doing it to him made her grin in anticipation. She'd open the bag and with a few deft movements, "Bang!", it would all be over. She'd no longer have a husband who stepped out on her and refused to let her adopt a baby to love and coddle. Laura's grin became broader as she considered her husband's fate and how much she was going to enjoy being a mother.

Ron was so engrossed in his coloring that he never noticed the expression of anticipatory triumph on Laura's face. After few minutes, he picked up the second crayon and began to add additional color to the page. He noticed with some frustration that for some odd reason, he was having trouble staying within the lines. He threw down the crayon and picked up the third crayon, believing that his sudden lack of artistic ability was an inherent fault of the crayon. After a moment he realized he was neither drawing nor doodling, instead he was scribbling with the crayon in his fist like a small child. He threw the crayon down in disgust and went back to eating his dinner as the strange sensation intensified and cocooned his body like a babe's fleecy flannelette blanket.

Ron reached for another piece of chicken and noticed that his chair seemed to have gotten smaller. The table came up to his chest and he could barely touch his plate that sat just six inches away from the edge of the table. The tickling, tingling feeling that ran thrills up his spine gave way to an inner scintillating sensation that started deep within his bowels and seemed to radiate out to his fingers and toes. He felt so good that it was difficult to remember to eat. Laura wiped her lips with her napkin and laid it beside her plate of pearly clean oyster shells before she reached over the table and helpfully pushed his plate to the edge so he could continue to eat. He took another piece and began chewing it as his other shoe fell off his remaining foot unnoticed. Ron looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time as his mind began to wander. Everything Ron saw was surrounded by shifting multihued aura that danced and whirled in the most fascinating patterns. When he looked down and saw that his dress shirt was draped around his legs like a sleeping gown, he smiled at the odd transformation of his clothes. The tiny rational part of his mind that remained gibbered in fear, but the rest of him felt too good to worry about small matters like the state of his clothes. He had never worried about his clothes before in his life, so why should he start then? When he moved his bottom to make himself more comfortable on the cushion which had suddenly become huge, his change and wallet-weighted pants pulled themselves from beneath him to slide down his legs soundlessly and land on his shoes. His briefs lay pooled about the middle of his thighs as if they were ten sizes too big. Ron stopped eating and stared down at his underwear in wondering disbelief at his sudden near-naked state. His confusion was interrupted with a curt command from his wife, saying, "Finish your dinner, Ronnie!"

His mental confusion made her order impossible to resist, although he was a trifle vexed that she had used the name his mother called him when he was a small child. "Why did she call me Ronnie? I'm not a little boy," Ron puzzled as he picked up the next to the last piece of chicken and ate it.

Laura looked at her "soon to be" ex-husband with a smile on her face. His chubby fingers and face told her he had regressed to about three and a half years old. Once he finished his chicken, he'd be ready for his milk. She moved her chair around to his side of the table and began to cut up the final piece of chicken into small pieces while he chewed and watched her with wide, innocent eyes. When he swallowed, she turned his chair towards her. Laura took his napkin from his lap and tucked it loosely in the neck of his shirt to act as a bib, then ladled up a bit a chicken in his dessert spoon. Ronnie looked around the room with a perplexed expression as she put her hand underneath his chin and began to spoon-feed him. Ronnie was so disoriented by his regression that he made no objection to being fed like an infant. He couldn't understand why his clothes had fallen off and how the table had grown. All he knew was how the pleasant tingly feeling that had enveloped his entire body a few minutes before seemed to center itself around his lips and cheeks. Laura's hand held his entire chin as if she had suddenly become a giant. She loomed so large over him that he felt small and helpless by comparison. He was comforted when he saw that her face seemed to be lit from within by some pure light of its own. She looked as if her head had been framed by luminescent crown of the Holy Madonna on a painting created by an Italian Renaissance artist . He couldn't remember Laura looking so radiant. From his experience, only brides, pregnant women and new mothers had that look.

"Come on, Ronnie! Open your mouth like a good boy!", Laura said in a maternal tone as she brought the spoon close to his mouth, "Here comes the Choo-Choo! Open up the Roundhouse doors!" He opened his mouth almost absent-mindedly as Laura said, "Chugga-chugga, woo-woo!" as she fed him one spoonful after another. His mouth seemed so incredibly sensitive! He savored the taste of the tiny pieces of chicken as he rolled them around his mouth before he swallowed them. Ronnie could taste the chicken not only with his tongue, but with the insides of his cheeks as well. He couldn't remember when the simple act of eating felt so glorious! The tingling in his mouth increased with every minute until he wanted to moan in an ecstasy of sensual rapture. Within minutes, he had finished the last shred of chicken as he continued to shrink down to the size of a eighteen-month-old baby.

Seeing that Laura's husband had completed the solid portion of his meal, their waiter informed Maurice, who returned and quietly placed one of the wooden high chairs in front of Laura's chair. Laura tenderly lifted Ronnie from the chair and laid him on the carpet beside the table. She pulled his tent-like dress shirt over his head and drew the diaper bag she had secreted under the table close to her. In a few minutes, she had lifted his legs and placed a thick, disposable nighttime diaper beneath his bottom. Laura took a small container of baby powder from the diaper bag to dust his pubes and bottom thoroughly before rubbing it into his soft, hairless baby skin. He wriggled in delight at Laura's tender ministrations. Ronnie watched with wide puzzled eyes as she pulled the front of the diaper up between his legs before she fastened the tapes so his diaper fit snuggly around his tiny chubby waist. She closed the container of baby powder and placed it back in the diaper bag while Ronnie made small aimless movements with his arms and legs, stopping every few moments to gaze at his hands in obvious bewilderment. Laura withdrew a white cotton lap-shouldered T-shirt from the bag and slipped it over his head, working his hands through the sleeves before she pulled the bottom hem down even with his diaper. Then she hoisted him aloft and sat him in the high chair. Maurice grinned and dipped into the right outside pocket of his jacket to remove the white terrycloth feeding bib with green trim he had placed in his pocket some hours earlier. He stood behind the high chair and removed the napkin from Ronnie's shirt before he ceremoniously snapped the bib around the baby's neck. Laura smiled broadly when she saw the silk-screened legend on the bib in a childish script; "When I'm hungry, I scream Louder and Louder for Louder's!".

When he was finished, he snapped his fingers loudly, causing Laura's waiter to rush over with a small capped four ounce baby bottle that was half-filled with the Chef's special baby formula and place it on the table in front of the high chair. Maurice silently pointed with a single finger to the crayons and empty chicken plate, causing Laura's waiter to gather up the silverware, dish and crayons and place them on the serving tray on the folding table.

Laura looked questioningly at the baby bottle on the table and asked, "Could you answer a question for me, please? Why did you bring him formula? I didn't order it. I thought the dinner alone was enough to make him a baby again. Besides, I had other plans when I said he'd drink milk this afternoon."

Maurice smiled and said, "There are only two ounces of formula in the bottle, Madam. I'm quite sure he'll still be thirsty when he finishes the contents of the bottle. The effects of the dinner are temporary, Madam. You indicated when you made reservations that you wanted him to remain a baby forever. For that, the Chef's secret 'baby' formula is required to prevent him from returning to his former state. As you were made aware when you made the reservation, Louder's Chef required that a 'special charge' be made for his efforts this afternoon. The extra charge was for the formula since it is not part of our usual fare. When I told you of the danger of what you were planning, it was this formula to which I was referring."

"You mean the danger wasn't from being transformed?", Laura asked in surprise.

"Certainly not, Madam. The chicken dish you ordered for your husband is safe enough for any child. However, the Chef's formula is untested and there is an element of risk in its use. It is all up to you, Madam. If your husband doesn't drink the formula, he will return to his normal age at some time in the near future. It may take a day or be as long as a week, but sooner or later, without drinking the formula, he'll return to his former age. The effects of the dinner are unpredictable in that respect. You made your wishes known when you made the reservation and the Chef created a formula that he believes will make the effects permanent without side effects. However, there is always the chance that your husband may die. You must choose and choose wisely, Madam. We have done our best. The final decision is up to you," Maurice answered.

Laura nodded her understanding and the two black-clad men departed as Laura rolled up her husband's adult clothes and shoes into a tight bundle and set it beside her chair.

Laura she reached into the diaper bag and took out a shopping bag she had placed in the diaper bag to use to carry her ex-husband's clothes out of the restaurant. Then Laura moved her chair in front of the high chair and took the baby bottle from the table to prepare it for Ronnie. By the time she had uncapped the bottle, his teeth had all but disappeared into his gums and he had begun drooling incessantly. Laura gave him the bottle and was pleased to see that his restored infantile instincts made him put the nipple in his mouth and begin sucking immediately. Laura was enchanted with how adorable Ronnie was becoming; his long aquiline nose had retreated with his clef chin into his face to give him the cute little button nose and rounded, receding jawline of a baby as his cheeks ballooned out with the characteristic bulge of an infant that was still nursing. Even his matted hair had reformed itself. Within minutes, his hair had shortened as it had become baby fine and golden yellow. His brown eyes had changed color into a beautiful azure blue while staying the same size, giving them the wide, innocent look of infancy.

Moments later, Ronnie's sphincter became flaccid at the same time that his dwindling bladder became taut and inelastic. He peed freely, thoroughly soaking the crotch of his thick nighttime diaper while he kicked his legs in shear delight at being able to indulge himself simultaneously in the twin pleasures of nursing and peeing. The baby formula warmed his tummy while his equally warm pee splashed over his pubes and crawled around his bottom in a most satisfying way. She watched closely as he continued to dwindle in size and age before her. About three-quarters of the way through the formula he stopped getting smaller. He stopped sucking for a moment and pulled the nipple from his lips as a childish grin of evident enjoyment came over his face. Laura sniffed and smiled as she realized that he had pooped in a diaper for the first time since he was a toddler.

Laura took bottom of the bottle in her hand and held it for him to suckle. She waited until he had finished off the bottle's contents and tenderly pulled the nipple from the nine month old's mouth to stand the empty bottle on the table. Laura wiped the milky drool from his spit-wet chin with the terrycloth bib before unsnapping it from his neck. She placed the milk moistened bib on the table before she bent down and reached into the diaper bag once more to withdraw a baby blue receiving blanket before taking little Ron-Ron from his high chair. After tightening the tabs on his disposable diaper to prevent leaks, she wrapped him in his blanket and sat back in her chair with him comfortably arranged on her lap.

Laura unbuttoned her blouse as she said, "Now that you've had your din-din, baby, it's time for you to have a special drink while we have our little talk!" She drew him close to her as she unfastened the cup of her nursing bra and lifted her breast out of her blouse to present her nipple to his lips. He grabbed her teat eagerly and began to suckle as she said, "I just LOVE the smell of baby powder on you, Sweetheart! You're so sweet smelling that Mommy could just eat you up! Mommy promises that you won't ever smell nasty and funky again like you did when you were a man! Ahhhhh, baby, if you only knew how good it feels to nurse you! You're what I've been wanting all of my life."

She dropped her voice to a whisper and told the infant nursing at her teat, "I know about your mistresses, Darling, and I forgive you! You're much too sweet and adorable now for me to hold a grudge against the man you were. You're going give me a baby to love and nurture just like you promised. Since you'd had a vasectomy and you couldn't father my baby, you're going to take the place of the baby you couldn't give me! The bottle of formula you just drank will make sure that you'll never get any older, Sweetiepie. You've always enjoyed expensive Napoleon Brandies and fine wines. Just think, you've just drunk the most expensive drink ever made by a restaurant! Just two ounces of formula cost me ten thousand dollars!"

She covered his head and her breast demurely with the blanket and patted the blanket over the area of his diapered bottom affectionately as he continued to suckle. He squirmed in pleasure and drew her milk-engorged nipple deeper into his mouth without thinking. Laura looked down at him and said gently in a soft maternal voice, "You'll always be Mommy's little Ron-Ron! Mommy will breast feed you and keep you in nice, soft, comfy dydees forever and ever! When we get home, you'll find a simply darling little nursery that's waiting for Mommy's baby boy. In a day or two the shock of your change will wear off and you'll realize what's happened to you. Even though you'll always have an adult mind, in a couple of weeks until you'll have gotten accustomed to being an infant again. You see, Sweetheart, some areas of your brain will be affected a bit from being regressed into infancy. In a day or two, you won't be able to read, write or do arithmetic. After that, the vocabulary of words you understand will get smaller and smaller until you'll only understand about three hundred words."

"Poor Darling," Laura continued after unfastening her left cup and switching him to her other breast, "You won't even remember what the names of the three basic colors are. But that won't matter very much, because you have the body of nine month old baby. You aren't physically capable of walking, talking or feeding yourself. You wet and make messes in your dydee just like any other baby your age. Within a week, television, books or adult conversation won't mean anything to you. You'll still have your memories of being an adult, but only the sights and feelings you had about your past will remain. With a vocabulary of only three hundred words, you won't be able to ruminate about your past except to remember that you were a bad boy and that Mommy punished you by turning you into her adorable baby. I think you'll enjoy playing with the nice baby toys that Mommy's bought for you. Once I'm sure you've made the adjustment, Mommy will enroll you in Dinah's Daycare so you can play with other babies your age. Won't that be nice?"

The small portion of Ron's mind that had been unaffected by the transformation wanted to scream in horror at what Laura had planned for him, but the transformation had been too thorough. His baby fingers kneaded Laura's teat as his mouth desperately suckled from her pap, swallowing after each tiny jet filled his mouth with the rich flavor of human milk. Hating himself and his lack of ability to control his need to suckle, he continued to rhythmically press her engorged nipple against his hard palette with his tongue while his cheeks created a vacuum to pull the milk from her breast. Even though the adult portion of his mind was repelled by the act of nursing, it still took pleasure from the presence of the huge nipple which filled his mouth.

Instinctively, Ron knew that Laura was right about his near future. In the condition he was in, it wouldn't take long for him to regress emotionally into infancy. She had made him absolutely dependent on her for everything. The adult portion of his mind knew with almost certainty that if he tried to speak in his present condition, nothing would come out but a baby's meaningless babble. Not only had she reduced him to the status of an infant, but she had effectively isolated him from the adult world by taking away his powers of communication. The only cries for help he could make would be an infant's wail for attention. Once his vocabulary was reduced to that of a toddler, then his thinking would be little better than an infant. If she was right, and he had no reason to doubt her claims, his mental abilities would be reduced to those of a two year old. His education would be wiped away, leaving a tabla rosa which would remain forever pristine. The memories of his adult life would be useless to him without a linguistic map to assign meaning to the events of his life. His memories would have the same meaning for him that a toddler would have as he witnessed adults making decisions and managing their lives in his midst, i.e., none. With growing horror, he realized that once his psyche was reduced to thinking like a toddler, he'd be perfectly happy playing with baby toys.

Ron knew that he was beaten. There wasn't any way to call his lawyer to sue Laura for divorce or anything else. The worst part was that the adult part of his mind actually enjoyed nursing and having his diapered bottom patted patronizingly by his wife/Mother. When she had rubbed the baby powder into the skin of his crotch, it had felt so good he could hardly stand it. If his genitals had been more mature, he'd have ejaculated on the spot. Ron could well imagine his reaction to being bathed daily by Laura; he knew that the physical sensations of being scrubbed into absolute cleanliness, followed by a massage with baby oil before he was powdered and diapered would be so pleasurable that he'd giggle with delight throughout the entire procedure. The very thought of being babied and coddled in such a fashion made him want to cringe in abject revulsion.

When they got to the car, Laura planned to strip any personal belongings out of his clothes and wallet that might be used to link his clothes to him. She intended to make a small detour and drop off the bag of clothes and shoes at Goodwill's parking lot supermarket depository on the way home. Once they were home, she would use her heavy shears to cut up his wallet credit cards and driver's license into small pieces and throw them in the trash for pickup the next day. The private investigator had been paid and called off the case a week before, so her husband's movements weren't being watched. Laura had told the investigator that she intended to confront her husband with the evidence of his misdeeds and intended to divorce him if he didn't stop stepping out on her.

Laura had given Dinah the spare set of keys to her husband's expensive car which Dinah would drive from Louder's parking lot and leave in an unsavory part of town with the keys left in the ignition. Laura would follow her and pick her up to drive her home afterwards. Dinah had agreed to help Laura with the tacit understanding that Laura would sign a four year contract to enroll her "baby" in Dinah's Daycare. When that period elapsed, he'd be enrolled again and again as each contract came to its termination date. The car would be stolen within hours and vanish to some unknown "chop shop" where its pieces would be used to repair other cars. Laura had instructed Dinah to dress up as if she was going out to dinner to give her an excuse to wear gloves. The only fingerprints on the car would be her ex-husband's and the thief who would unknowingly assist them with their plans.

After twenty-four hours had elapsed, Laura would call the police and report that her husband was missing. Before that, of course, she would make a frantic sounding call to his company asking if he had been sent out on a business trip and had forgotten to tell her. A day or so later, she would call the police and tell them that the household safe had been riffled. She would ask the private investigator to begin a search for her husband after telling him that he had mysteriously vanished and the household safe had been robbed. The private investigator would tip the police that the thief was probably the husband and reveal that he had discovered that the fugitive had a known history of womanizing. The investigator would inform them that the man's wife had told him that she intended to confront him with the evidence and threaten to divorce him if he didn't mend his ways. The police would shake their collective heads at the unfaithfulness of some men and mark the case of the missing husband and the burgled house safe closed. Since he was the owner of the missing goods, no crime had been committed.

If the auto thief was inadvertently caught or the "chop shop" was raided, the police would think that either the car was deliberately abandoned by her husband as he fled with a probable female companion or that he and the cash had met a just end in the bad area of the city. Either way, they wouldn't waste their time looking for the poor woman's husband. They had more pressing crimes to solve rather than looking for a wayward husband. Her husband would disappear without a trace and no one would waste their time looking for him. "If what I'm doing is criminal, then I've just pulled off the perfect crime!", Laura reflected, "No one will ever find out that my 'adopted' baby Ron-Ron is actually my husband Ronald. If they ask about the similarity in names, I'll say that I named him after my husband. No one will think twice about that. It's natural for a woman to hope that the man who abandoned her come home after his mid-life fling at freedom."

After a few weeks, Laura would tell the private investigator to abandon his search for her husband and pay the investigator's bill. Dinah had given Laura the name of the person who worked in the clerical section of a hospital in Texas who had provided a falsified birth certificate and private adoption records for three thousand dollars to the woman whose baby had been enrolled in her Daycare. Two thousand dollars more had induced the counterfeiter to produce medical records that indicated that the infant suffered from a rare disease which would keep the baby from maturing like a normal infant. The records indicated that the condition would caused the infant to have the mind and body of a nine month old baby for the rest of its life. Laura would tell her friends sorrowfully that he had riffled the family safe for all the cash they had on hand for emergencies and had taken their collection of gold coins after he had discovered that she had arranged for the adoption of a baby boy from a private adoption agency in Texas. She would tell them she wasn't surprised at being abandoned by her faithless husband and reveal what the private investigator had turned up about his sexual activities. She would hold her baby tightly to her bosom as she would reveal that she had been struck by tragedy with her baby as well; her little baby suffered from an untreatable condition that would make him an infant forever!

Maurice arrived with the dinner check and placed the black leather folder with the bill on the table as he cleared the Laura's dishes and baby bottle and placed them on the serving tray himself rather than have the waiter do it. "Was everything satisfactory, Madam? Did your husband enjoy the 'child's' dinner you ordered for him?", he intoned ritually as he placed the dishes on the tray for the busboy to remove.

Laura smiled up at the Maitre-de and said, "Everything was just perfect! Thank you so much!"

Maurice allowed himself the half-smile of a Maitre-de who's patron is well-pleased with his efforts. Then he said a low, business-like tone, "The discount chicken plate that you ordered is on the bill for your supper. May I ask how Madam wishes to cover the special charge? I would like to remind Madam that she has been told that Louder's does not accept personal checks."

Laura flashed a stern glint at the man and asked sweetly, "Not even a Certified Cashier's Check for the 'special' charges? I'd be happy to wait while you call the bank to verify it. I'd rather not put the entire amount on my credit card. Records, you know," she said with a winning smile.

"Madam is the soul of discretion," Maurice said with a tight smile of understanding, "I think that in this particular instance, Louder's may waive the rule for a Certified Cashier's Check."

Ron-Ron eyes drooped from the effects of the alcohol in his mother's milk. He smiled sleepily, needing to be winded. Laura noticed that he'd stopped feeding and slipped her hand under the blanket to put her breast back into her blouse and button it modestly. She lifted the blanket from Ron-Ron's head and began gently patting his back as Maurice asked solicitously, "Would either of you like anything else, Madam? Perhaps some dessert for Madam?"

Ron-Ron belched loudly as the air he had swallowed escaped his stomach. Both adults smiled at the infant's noise and the sleepy look on his face. Laura said as she put her platinum Master Card on the leather folder with the bill and slipped a Certified Cashier's Check for ten thousand dollars along with a hundred dollar note between the covers of the folder, "I think that this dinner satisfied both of our needs completely, Thank you! Please ask our waiter to add a thirty percent gratuity to the bill for his services when he totals it."

As Maurice picked up the folder with the bill and check, he smiled broadly and said, "I hope that Madam's experience at Louder's was everything she expected. We were pleased to have you and your baby as our guests this afternoon. The Chef has asked me to tell you that if you wish to come in again and have him prepare regular baby food for your little one, that the charge will be the same as the regular child's plate."

Ron heard the Maitre-de's question and attempted to protest although Laura's milk had made him so sleepy that he could barely think. He contested in an infant's babble, "Aaaaga…magaaba…ga-ga..ma…da!"

Laura snorted derisively as she took a pacifier out of the diaper bag and popped it between the sleepy infant's lips to silence him. although he was almost asleep, his instinctive need to suckle caused Ron-Ron to begin pulling the nipple of the pacifier to and fro as he drew it into his mouth rhythmically while he clenched his tiny fists in pleasure. Laura used a diaper pin to fasten the ribbon that had been knotted to the ring of the pacifier to Ron-Ron's T-shirt as she said, "Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid that this little baby isn't ready to be weaned. Nor will he ever be! I'll feed him a few tablespoons of puréed baby food at every meal, but his main source of food will be his mother's milk. He's going to be Mommy's little titty baby forever!"

Maurice smiled and said, "As Madam wishes.." He was about to turn around when he added, "Still,…in a few years, Madam might think about asking the Chef for one of his dishes that he prepares for our younger clientele. We like to please everyone here and he has a special pizza for diners between the age of eighteen and twenty-five. He told me that he'd be pleased to make it to your exact needs for no extra charge."

Laura smiled and said, "I'll bear that in mind. Right now, however, there have been enough changes in our household. I'd like to let the dust settle before I make anymore changes at the present."

"Madam is prudent," Maurice intoned before taking his leave of the table.

When Maurice returned with the charge slip in the black leather folder he said solicitously, "One hopes that Madam's male companion will be pleased with his new lot in life."

Laura chuckled as she signed the credit slip. She said as put her card away in her purse, "I'm sure he'll be extremely happy once he gets used to the idea. As I told you over the phone when I made the reservation, all he'd really mastered in life was sleeping, eating, soiling his undies and hitting up women for sex. The only reason Ron worked was to provide an excuse to get out of the house so he find women who were willing to let him suck on their big boobies. Since I'll be nursing him a minimum of five times a day, he'll have all the titty he needs. He won't have to do anything but play with his toys, crawl at Mommy's feet, nurse, make messes in his dydees and sleep. It's the perfect job assignment for him. The only real change for him will be that he'll be under my watchful eye every minute of the day when he's not at the Daycare center. His toys will be less expensive, but I'll make sure that there's more of them so he won't loose interest. If he makes a mess in his dydees, well…that's what disposable diapers were made for. I'll see that he'll stays 'squeaky' clean and sweet smelling unlike his old, odoriferous adult self. He'll be loved, pampered and adored like any infant. As for forcing him to crawl at my feet, well…that's his punishment for being unfaithful. At least this way, I'll know he isn't running around on me! He's not old enough to walk yet and never will be! From what you've told me about the regression process, he'll lose his vocabulary over the next two days and will only be able to think like a toddler. Once that happens, he won't even be able to think about rebelling against my authority. I don't foresee any problems with him. He'll be my contented baby forever!"

Maurice nodded and said in farewell as her courteously pulled back her chair for her, "Wisely is it written in the Holy Quran that 'when Allah has determined a man's doom, he causes his needs to draw him to the place where his fate will become known.' My I extend to you the wishes of all of Louder's staff that you and your baby find the happiness that you have been seeking, Madam."

"Thank you, Maurice, I'm positive we will," Laura answered as she put the strap off the diaper bag on the shoulder opposite the one where Ron-Ron rested. She patted him on his blanket wrapped and diaper covered bottom, inducing him to unconsciously utter the satisfied coo of a contented infant as she continued, "I know that I have what I've always wanted and after a fashion, so has Ron-Ron. He'll always have a woman looking after his every need and won't have a responsibility in the world. His little bottom and pubes will even be massaged after every diaper change with baby lotion or oil. Whenever he wants some titty, his Mommy will be there for him. No man ever had a job that was more suited to him.

While his transformation will require that he'll have to sacrifice some of his mental abilities, their very absence will preclude his missing them. As for his feelings, he was an emotional infant anyway. I know that the number of pleasures he can experience will be fewer in number, but they'll be much more intense now that he's a baby. I'm sure that both he and I are going to have a ball in our new roles with me as his mother and him as my baby boy! I think the change will suit him well!"

Laura chuckled in anticipation of her ex-husband's coming humiliation when she told Maurice, "I can't wait to call my friend Dinah over to my house to see what he's become. I'll let him crawl around at our feet while we discuss the contract for his care at Dinah's Daycare Center. Even with a two-year-old's vocabulary he should be able to understand that Mommy is making arrangements for him to spend his days with other babies just like him! I know that forcing him to crawl around the floor of the Daycare and interact with babies his age will complete his final transformation back to complete babyhood. Within a month, he'll be a baby in both mind and body!"

With that final statement, Laura stood, taking her pocketbook in her right hand and held it under Ron-Ron's bottom as she made her way to the foyer with Maurice trailing behind. Maurice held open the inner door of the restaurant and watched as the Madonna and her reborn babe left the restaurant to begin their life together anew. Ron had heard her statement and buried his face in her the nape of her neck as she walked out the door. With a sudden shock, he knew that Laura would make the perfect candidate to be his Mommy. Ron-Ron whimpered as he realized that Laura was serious and would never let him grow up again. He would be her baby forever! He shivered in her arms in a paroxysm of utter horror at the culmination of her plan for him. He was so frightened that by the time that they reached the car, he had peed his diaper again, making him realize the futility of contesting his plight. As she securely strapped him into the baby seat which she took out of the trunk of the car, and mounted in the back seat, he realized that he was in truth, a baby again and needed a Mommy to care for him. With a sigh of surrender, Ron-Ron put his thumb in his mouth unconsciously and began sucking it as Laura started the car and began driving home.

"Yes, indeed, Madam, you are right," Maurice whispered quietly to himself as he repaired to his station at the front of the restaurant, "Your husband was a merely a child pretending to be a man. He shall be happier as your babe. Elsewise I could never have made the reservation for you in good conscience. May the Blessings of Allah go with you both."

Happy Hour's earlybirds would be arriving soon and he was needed to sort them out to maintain order in his allotted portion of the Universe. It was difficult to insure that each of the restaurant's patrons who visited Louder's at "Happy Hour" was became happy or at minimum contented with their lot by dining at Louder's. Mortals spent their energies so unwisely and worried about the most inconsequential things. The lot of a Genie who had been commanded to be the Maitre-de of Louder's Café was not an easy one, but it was more interesting than spending five hundred to a thousand years cooped up in a tiny bottle or lamp. Studying humanity and the nature of the Universe for three thousand years had been interesting to be sure, but there was nothing like actual interaction with one's subject to give one a feel for one's scholarly pursuits.

When one is immortal, one must by need find a hobby, and Maurice had found his; humanity and the structure of the Universe. For him their study was a pleasant pastime that whiled away the centuries.

"There are worse things than being a Maitre-de, or for that matter, becoming the babe of an adoring mother," Maurice reflected as he took up his station again.

Finis coronat infans

Copyright © 1998 by Jennifer Loraine