Farm Boy (mm AR oral)

I never had any doubt that I would have a son one day, but getting there turned out to be an even bigger problem than I had ever expected. First off, I am a gay man, and I don't need to tell you how hard it is for gay couples to adopt. There was another major problem - my partner of over 5 years wanted absolutely no part of it. Rich refused even to talk about it. His arguments against it were reasonable enough, but I knew that this logic masked his true reasons. Rich and I had lived together as partners for years, but he always insisted on maintaining a "plausible deniability" about us, and about himself. He didn't exactly try to pass himself off as straight, but he did want to make sure that no one assumed he was gay either. He disdained effeminate men, and I hated it when he made homophobic remarks about them - not just because it was mean, but because I thought it was hurting his own emotional well-being. Rich gave the impression of being a very confidant, "together" kind of guy. But his masculine bravado was simply his trying to compensate for his own feelings of inferiority. To him, the notion of two gay men raising a child together was just too much. His illusion of "normality" would have been shattered, and he simply could not - would not - deal with it. I had urged him for seek therapy, and to work through his problems, but he refused. The pressure from this double life proved too much for him, and he finally moved out on his own. I doubt he'll ever be able to accept himself as gay. I suppose he will just live out his life in this self-imposed exile of his – he is a lost soul.

I soon learned that as difficult as it was for a gay couple to adopt, it was even worse (read: impossible) for a single gay man to do so. I may have exhausted all of the conventional possibilities, but I was not without options. You see, I am a scientist by profession and a geneticist by specialty. Over the years I have worked as consultant to many projects both in and out of government, and as such, I have had the opportunity to work with the brightest minds in the field, and had access to their research. This has given me, I think, a unique knowledge of the subject of human aging, from which I have developed certain theories with regard to how to slow, or even reverse, the aging process. These theories remained untested for some time, there being no way I could conduct such a study under the watchful eye of the National Institutes of Health. Eventually I applied for corporate funding and set up my own shop. Within a year I was ready to proceed.

The knowledge and the skill had brought me to this point, but having the guts to actually go through with it would be the tricky part. There were ethical, moral, and not least legal, problems with what I was proposing to do. Performing non-reversible, untested procedures on unwilling subjects (to say nothing of kidnapping) more or less violated every medical oath I had sworn to uphold. And yet, once I was relatively certain the procedure would work, I never doubted that I would try it. The real problem was in finding the right subject. While it would have been ideal to find someone willing to undergo the procedure, or at least someone without a family, I realized that I wouldn't have the luxury to pick and choose. I would simply have to keep my eyes open for the right opportunity, and be prepared to act swiftly. I've always believed that if one plans carefully enough, the details will take care of themselves. As it turned out, the details wouldn't have to long too wait.

It was about 3 months after I had perfected the procedure. My laboratory tests (on animals of course) had gone perfectly. I had no intention of sharing this knowledge – as far as my corporate sponsors knew, I had met with only limited success in slowing the aging process in some laboratory animals. In any event, I was returning home to the Bay Area from a conference at a large mid-western university. I had already checked in and was seated in the departure lounge when I became aware of an interesting little scene playing itself out at the departure gate. A farm family was seeing off their apparently college-bound son, and I must say he was spectacular. Six foot four, 200 pounds of prime Iowa beef; he had dark blonde hair, green eyes, and just a hint of the goatee and sideburns (so popular today with teens). He could easily have stepped right out of the Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. As our flight was called, I watched with intense interest as the young man and his family said their good-byes. The mother, tears in her eyes, kissed her little boy goodbye. He kissed his grandma on her cheek, then his little sister, and shook hands formally with his dad and grandpa. He then approached another good-looking young man. Slighter of build and shorter, he appeared to be of Italian or Mediterranean descent, and was clearly not another brother. A friend, I assumed. The two boys hugged each other warmly, as the father looked on in disapproval.

"All right - break it up, girls," he said. The college boy was clearly embarrassed by his father's remark, but the friend merely rolled his eyes. Finally, the college-bound stud turned to his older brother. He was about 23 or so, and a shorter, thicker version of his kid brother. He wore a John Deere cap and looked every bit the farmer. The two brothers sort of thumped their chests against one-another, and the older brother grabbed his younger sibling in a bear hug. Then - and I barely caught this - a sly grin on his face, he gave his kid brother an affectionate pat on the backside. It seemed an innocent enough gesture between two young men, and it probably wouldn't have registered were it not for the younger brother's reaction. He pulled back from his brother's embrace abruptly and blushed deeply. Visibly upset and embarrassed, he stammered quick good-byes and hustled down the ramp to the plane. Despite all previous notions of who my subject might be, or under what circumstances, I knew now that it must be this young man - this Iowa farm boy. There was something about this boy - he was the one.

I followed him down the ramp at a close but inconspicuous distance. I was desperate to sit with him, to draw him out in conversation and assure myself that he had quick, intelligent mind I wanted. He wasn't in my row as it turned out, but luckily for me the flight was only half full. When he selected the window seat in an empty row in the rear of the plane, I took the aisle. He didn't look too pleased at having to share the row on such an empty flight, but I smiled at him nonetheless, nodded hello, and introduced myself.

"Cameron Lee Collier," he said, extending his hand formally across the center seat. "Pleased to meet you, sir." He had a firm, confidant grip – I liked that.

"Are you from Des Moines?" I asked.

"Nah - I'm from Leon - small town about an hour from here."

"So," I said, "it looks like you had the whole family to see you off..."

"Yeah, and my best bud. Everybody but my older sister, I guess. She's gonna meet me when we land."

"Oh... so you're going for a visit?"

"Nah. I'm going to college... I'm just gonna stay with her and her husband for the night. Sarah and Dave live just outside of San Francisco, so I guess we'll drive to school tomorrow afternoon sometime."

"What college?" I asked.

" Berkeley," he replied.

I whistled in response. "Do you have an athletic scholarship?"

Cameron beamed. "Academic. I do wanna play lacrosse in the spring maybe - ya know, walk on..."

"No football?"

"Well - I played for my high school team, and everybody told me these guns would get me a free ride at State," he said, patting his muscular biceps. "I don't guess anyone ever thought I was smart enough to get a full academic scholarship anywhere though."

I couldn't believe my luck. Cameron seemed to a nice, polite young man. Smart too, judging by the college that he was to attend. Berkeley doesn't give academic scholarships out to just anyone.

I was more certain than ever that Cameron was the one!

"Your family must be very proud of you, Cameron," I said. "And I'm sure your sister will be very happy to see you for a few days."

"I guess so. I'm awful eager to get to school though..."

"Is your friend going to college too?" I asked.

"Tony? Yeah - he's going to Iowa State. We were gonna room together there, but then I got the scholarship at Berkeley. Dad was glad, too. He doesn't like Tony too much."

"Why not?"

"I'm not real sure. I guess part of it is that Tony was in the band at school, and Dad said that men belong on the field, not marching around in some gay outfit."

Just then, one of the flight attendants, a good-looking young man, walked down the aisle to make sure our seatbelts were fastened. He smiled at Cameron, and held his gaze for perhaps a second too long. "My name is Todd. If there's anything I can do for you boys, just give me a call. Especially you, handsome…" Cameron stiffened and again blushed furiously. "F**king faggot..." he said under his breath as the man passed down the aisle.

I was shocked. "Pardon me?"

"Oh, sorry – I was talking to myself I guess. It's just we don't really get many queers back home. They just give me the creeps is all. It's the one thing that worries me about going out to California, ya know?" Just like Rich, I thought. Well, he didn't know it, but the "queers" in the Bay Area weren't going to trouble him at all. I said nothing though - his homophobia and narrow-mindedness were a product of his upbringing and were most likely masking some insecurities of his own.

Cameron continued, "So anyways - like I was saying. I'm real eager to get to school. I couldn't wait to get off that farm, to get out on my own finally. Ya know? I mean, I've lived my whole life doin' what everybody tells me: my folks, my teachers, Coach. Even my brother... I will miss Tony though, I guess." His voice trailed off. I nodded. If all went well, of course, Cameron's independence would have to wait another 17 years or so.

As the plane taxied down the runway, Cameron reached down and pulled a magazine out of his backpack, and thumbed casually through it. I noticed, however, as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, that he didn't seem to be reading the Sports Illustrated that he appeared to be. When Cameron nodded off shortly after takeoff, and I glanced over at the magazine lying open in his lap. Inside the Sports Illustrated was a muscle magazine – again, nothing particularly odd about that, but why would he hide it? I looked over at the slumbering young jock as he dreamed, no doubt, of the new life stretching out before him. He didn't realize it, but that life was about to take an abrupt change of course.

Now – a few words about my "rejuvenation drugs" (for lack of a better term). In a laboratory setting, a slower process is desirable to allow adequate time for observations and the recording of data. However, my purposes required a fast acting drug that would incapacitate the subject during the actual transformation. For some time now I had been carrying with me at nearly all times, a small parcel which contained everything I would need to properly administer the drug, and take possession of the subject with as little risk of detection as possible. It contained new clothes for the subject, some supplies, and a hypodermic gun. The hypo gun would allow me to inject the drug through clothing, and required no preparation – I just had to press it against the subjects arm or leg, and fire. The canvas carry-on bag I had with me now contained these items, and would be large enough to accommodate the subject's things as well.

Once I was sure that Cameron was asleep, I quickly reached into my bag and pulled out the hypo gun. I pressed it firmly against his thigh, and pulled the trigger. Cameron started awake.

"What the fu…" he began, but before he could finish the exclamation, or even the thought, he slumped heavily back into his seat. His head lolled from side to side. He tried to bring his hand up to his brow, but he was too weak and his hand dropped back into his lap. I leaned toward him. "Are you all right?" I asked. Cameron's eyes darted about and he tried once again to stand only to fall back again, this time slumping forward in his seat. I reached over and placed my hand upon his muscular chest, pressing him back into an upright position. Cameron swallowed hard. "Help me…" he croaked, barely above a whisper.

"Don't you worry about a thing, Cameron," I said, taking his hand in mine.

"I'm a doctor, and you are going to be just fine." He weakly tried to pull himself out of his seat again, but he clearly wasn't going anywhere. "Please…" he begged, "do… something… I… can't…" His voice trailed off.

"There, there…" I said by way of comforting him, "You just sit still and I'll take care of you." Cameron didn't seem to take much solace in my assurances. He was fully conscious and aware, but the drugs had made him extremely weak and just a bit foggy. He appeared visibly distressed, but he wouldn't have much chance to put up a fight. He could barely move, much less cry out for help. I have no way of knowing for sure what has going on in his head – he has never had the opportunity to tell me, of course. But he must have been quite confused as well as frightened. He didn't know that he had been given a shot, only that he had awakened suddenly, and just as suddenly had fallen into a state of near paralysis.

I looked around us – we were more or less alone at the rear of the plane. No one was sitting within 5 rows in front of us, and the plane was empty behind us. Very lucky for me. The seatbelt sign blinked off. I turned and placed my hand on Cameron's leg.

"Cameron," I said to him, "we need to get you back to the bathroom."

He looked scared again. "I… can't…" he whispered.

"Don't worry son – I'll help you," I said as I reached over and undid his seatbelt. I grabbed him around his broad shoulders, and pulled him to his feet and into the aisle. No one was looking. He stood there dumbly, swaying on his feet. If I hadn't had my arm around him he would have fallen right over. He raised his hand as if to his brow again, but dropped it before it made it halfway there. His arms just dangled at his sides.

"Don't… feel… so… good…" he said. "not… sure… I… can…"

"Don't worry," I said as I began to walk him down the aisle, "I've got you." His weight was a bit of a burden, his legs barely supporting him as he shuffled his feet toward the restroom. Had anyone noticed this activity, they would have assumed that I was helping an airsick young man back to the restroom. As it was, no one paid us any attention.

Luckily, the restroom was one of the new "handicap" facilities, which are provided on the newer planes. It was, nonetheless, quite crowded for two grown men – not that that would be a problem for long.

"The first thing we are going to have to do," I said, my hand resting upon his shoulder – both to calm him and keep him steady on his feet – "is get you out of these clothes."

Confusion clouded his eyes. "What's… wrong… with…?"

"Don't you worry, just do what I tell you and everything will be all right." He nodded dumbly in response and lifted his hand to fumble lamely with his shirt. "You're all thumbs, Cameron," I teased as I reached around him and began to undo his buttons myself. In doing so, I found myself pressing up against Cameron's back. His breath caught, and he looked nervous again. I slipped his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. Without missing a beat, I reached down and unbuckled his belt. He tried to push my hand away, but there was no strength in his hand.

"Please…" he pleaded desperately as his pants slid over his hips and to the floor.

"Shhhhhh…" I whispered into his ear. He said nothing, but I have no doubt that it was at this moment that he began to realize that all was not as it appeared. What could I possibly be up to, he must have wondered. Here he was, totally helpless, being undressed by some stranger. Maybe he thought I had put something in his drink earlier – no wait, he never even got the chance to get a drink on the plane, had he?

Cameron now stood before me, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. His pants were bunched around his feet and a small medal hung between his pecs from a gold chain around his neck. He was shivering. It was probably the air conditioning against his bare skin, but I could read the fear in his eyes too. He must have just assumed I was going to take advantage of this situation sexually. Of course, that had never been my intention at all. But standing there so close to this young stud, I really couldn't help myself. I was breathless now myself. Cameron was a champion, and I don't think I had ever seen such a chest before. He had a broad, powerful back, and a strong, thick neck. Fine blond hairs dusted his massive pecs, and ran down his six-pack abs in a fine line into the waistband of his boxers. His shoulders were broad and strong, but not over-muscled. He had the arms of a quarterback - huge biceps and strong forearms – and his legs were strong and smooth. This was a body that you know hadn't spent much time in the gym – it could only have developed from hard work in the fresh air, working the soil in the heat of the Iowa sun. There was a naturalness about him that all the weight training in the world could never accomplish.

I gently laid my hands on his chest. His breath caught – here it comes, he must have thought. I ran my hands over his rippled abs and nuzzled his neck gently. He sighed audibly as I pressed up against his ass. I rubbed my hands over the front of his shorts until I could resist no longer and reached down into his boxers. I wrapped my hand around his cock, and as Cameron moaned loudly, I felt it jump in my hand. Finally, I tore off the boxers and revealed a cock that was as near perfection as the rest of him. Not so large as to be a monster, it was about 8 inches. His balls were the size of lemons, and hung low in the sack. Well shaped and moderately thick, his cock fairly dove down from his blond bush. A foreskin revealed only the very end of the darker head. I sunk to my knees in front of him and ran my hand over his smooth asscheeks covered with only the faintest trace of peachfuzz. I nuzzled the fine golden hairs of his bush. He smelled like Ivory soap.

I looked up into Cameron's eyes and tried to imagine what he must be thinking – standing helpless as a strange man fondled him. It had to have been the last situation that growing up on an Iowa farm had prepared him for. I ran my tongue along the underside of Cameron's cock, and it sprang to life as he inhaled sharply. His body shuddered slightly. I smiled up at him as I pulled back the foreskin, freeing his darker glans. He shook as I took it into my mouth. He tasted slightly of sweat, and as clean and fresh as the outdoors.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that Cameron might have been a virgin. I imagine that it isn't all that uncommon, particularly in the heartland. Sure he was a stud, but I'd wager that he never got anything more that a quick handjob in the back of a parked car or in dark movie theatre, or more likely – some experimentation with his older brother or this Tony. The thought that a stud like Cameron might never have had a blowjob seemed to me a terrible waste, and I wanted to do this for him now. I wanted to make sure that Cameron didn't start his new life without at least having one. It was a shame, really - that his first blowjob could necessarily be the very last one he would be getting for a long, long time.

His cock was a steel pipe now, which confirmed for me that he must be digging it at some level. This must have compounded his confusion even more. What's wrong with me, he must have thought, why am I getting off on this? Perhaps he wasn't thinking that at all. I thought back to Cameron's reaction to his brother's fraternal pat on the ass, and the high school friend his father so disapproved of. Could Cameron's homophobia be the result of some doubts about his own masculinity, based on some "experimentation" with his brother, or relationship with the friend? He would never be able to confirm it, but I had already drawn just that conclusion.

A light sweat formed across his chest and brow, and his breathing became deeper. Cameron seemed to be resisting, but I couldn't miss the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm. His cock began to twitch lightly in my mouth as his muscles clenched. I looked up into Cameron's eyes which were clouded with confusion, fear… and pleasure. Finally, his cock now seemed to take on a life all it's own as his hips began to buck uncontrollably as primal instincts that neither the drugs nor his own inhibitions and fears could prevent. Cameron bellowed as he shot a truly massive load.

"Oh… yeah…" he breathed. I swallowed hungrily, not wanting to waste a precious drop of Cameron's cum – the last he would shoot in his life as Cameron Lee Collier.

Cameron must have wondered why all this was happening to him and what was going to happen next. Was it all over? Would I dress him and lead him back to his seat, or would I just leave him there? Maybe he was thinking that this hadn't been all bad – there was a faint trace of a smile on his face as his softening cock slipped out of my mouth.

"Jesus…" he mouthed breathlessly, and allowed his hand to rest lightly on my shoulder. I think it was his way of showing some gratitude for the fine blowjob he had just received.

I smiled at him. "Don't thank me just yet," I said, as Cameron's smile suddenly faded. He flushed deeply, and his eyes rolled back into his head momentarily. He shuddered and swayed on his feet, and a faint, weak moan escaped his lips. It was happening – finally all my planning was about to pay off.

At first it was imperceptible. I'm sure he felt the strange sensation engulfing his whole body before he perceived any of the physical changes, but the transformation had already begun at a cellular level. I studied his face carefully, watching for the first signs, but I couldn't see anything yet either. It was only when I looked into the mirror that I noticed something. There wasn't any one thing, of course – it was still too soon. Rather it was a combination of a thousand subtle changes. Now I could see it – Cameron did look thinner and slighter…and younger. It was at that moment that I caught the terror in Cameron's eyes. He had noticed it as well, and it had shaken him to the core. Cameron turned his body toward the door as if to make his escape, but I grabbed him by his shoulders and spun him back to face the mirror. He was so weak and helpless now that I kept my hands on his shoulders to keep him from collapsing as much as to keep him still. He wasn't going anywhere.

Cameron and I both watched his image transform in the mirror before us. The broad shoulders that defined his classic "V" shape fell in upon themselves, practically dissolving under my hands. His massive chest seemed to deflate under them. His pecs, built from so many years of hard work on the playing fields and on the farm, simply vanished. The powerful muscles of his neck diminished, making his Adam's apple more prominent before it too began to shrink. Cameron's big upper arms – his "guns" as he had so proudly referred to them just a few minutes before – withered as the muscles disappeared under his skin.

The years seemed to melt away. Cameron gave every appearance at this point of being a gangly 16-year-old. His sideburns and the stubble on his chin and upper lip – a young man's early effort at a goatee – grew finer and lighter and faded into light peach fuzz before disappearing altogether. The six-pack of his abs became obscured as a thin layer of baby fat formed at his middle. All the while, Cameron must have noticed the restroom seeming to expand around him. No longer a 6-2 stud, he had shrunk to nearly a head shorter than my 6-0. Cameron now looked little more than 14 years old, and stared wide-eyed as his manhood faded away. Everything he had worked for, everything he defined himself by, everything that made him a man – suddenly gone.

"Noooooo…" Cameron whimpered, his voice cracking like a frightened adolescent. The pleading in his eyes seemed to be asking: "What are you doing to me?" As is it was, his mouth only formed the silent word: "Why…?"

Cameron's head now barely reaching my chest, the medal he wore around his neck hung below his bellybutton. I ran my hands across Cameron's chest, and felt the blond hairs growing finer and finer. Just bare moments later, only a few fine, light hairs surrounded his nipples. Finally, they too were gone. The treasure trail leading down from his bellybutton across his flat tummy faded to leave only the smooth, bare skin of a child.

Not that there was much to be seen at the end of that trail anymore. It almost broke my heart to see tears in those big green eyes as Cameron stared at his diminishing cock. It had so recently been an 8 inch steel rod, but we watched together as it appeared to pull into itself – into his body. His pubes now grew finer and lighter, just as his beard and chest hair had, until finally they were completely gone, leaving an immature little thing, denuded and exposed, where his once proud cock had hung. He watched in horror as it pulled closer and closer to his body until all that remained was a tiny button, with a now more prominent foreskin, poking out about an inch from his hairless belly. His lemon-sized balls shrank to mere marbles, and then receded into his body leaving just his empty little sack. "Noooooo…" he cried out suddenly, and grabbed at his tiny cock, pulling at it as if trying to stretch it back to normal, "Pleeeeaase no…" But it didn't change a thing. If anything the childishness of his speech seemed to upset him even more. Cameron had now passed back to the other side of puberty – he could have been anywhere from 13 to 10 or so now.

The changes were much less substantial now – Cameron was a boy now, and he was becoming littler with every passing minute. He continued to grow smaller and smaller, and more and more immature. Within only a few minutes, he was 8. By the time his head slipped below waist high to me, I figured that he had reached the level of a little 5-year-old boy. His hair had grown much finer, lighter, almost white.

He whimpered again, in a small, weak child's voice, as his eyes fell below the edge of the counter. I reached down, grabbed the little guy under his arms, and lifted him up. He was so little and light, and I held him tightly against me for a moment before I carefully stood him unsteadily on the edge of the sink. He was a toddler now – no more than 3 years old, and still growing younger. Cameron stood there on his wobbly little legs, and stared into the mirror. Did he see himself in the mirror, I wondered, or just some small child staring back at him? Suddenly, the gold chain holding the medal slipped over his tiny shoulders, and slid to the counter at his feet. He stared in disbelief.

The transformation was more or less complete, and the effects of he drugs were beginning to fade. Cameron began to whine and struggle as I picked him up again to try and calm him. It must have been scary for the poor little guy, so accustomed to looking down on the world, to suddenly be picked up and held like that. The wriggling little boy I held in my arms bore little resemblance to the stud that had strode onto the plane not one hour ago. Gone was the cocky, college bound jock, and in his place remained this tiny, wispy-haired baby, no more than 18 months old. I laid the struggling little boy down on the changing table. Cameron squirmed and wriggled on the cold plastic surface. He looked so helpless and weak, and I knew he was confused and terrified as well. I was not sure whether at this point he could even understand me, but I wanted to talk to him, to comfort him.

"Cameron – I need you to listen to me. I know this all is really hard for you to understand right now, but everything is going to be all right." He kicked his little feet in the air and whimpered. "You are my little boy now, and you are going to grow up as my son. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" Cameron whimpered again. "I'm going to be a good daddy to you. I'm going to raise you so you can be a better person. I don't think that were a bad person before, but I know I can make you better. I want you to like who you are… So you see, Cameron – in the long run, this is really for the best."

I reached down with one hand into my carry-on case, using the other to hold Cameron steady on the table. When he saw the diaper in my hand, he exploded in panic and sheer horror. I AM NOT A BABY, he seemed to be screaming to himself. Of course, the only sounds he was actually making were the angry and wails of a frightened baby. Cameron was crying so hard that he could scarcely catch his breath, and working himself into a full-blown tantrum. His hands were balled into tiny fists as he kicked his little feet in the air in anger and panic. Suddenly, a little fountain shot out of his peanut, more or less straight up in the air. Cameron was stunned into silence – how could he have peed like that without even knowing it was coming? Well, one of the short-term effects that I had observed while perfecting the procedure was that there was invariably excessive fluid in the subject's system after the regression. This, of course, would resolve itself in the natural way – it was likely that Cameron would be wetting himself a lot over the next couple of hours. At least he'd be getting used to it. Until he was potty-trained again, wet diapers were going to be a big part of his life. I quickly placed the fresh diaper over his little firehose to keep him from making a mess of himself. Cameron began to cry again, this time not so much from anger as from despair. I took his tiny hand in mine and folded it into a fist with the thumb sticking out. I tried to guide his thumb into his mouth, but he kept turning his head away. Cameron was fighting, though – you could see it in his eyes – determined to hold onto his manhood, his adulthood, his identity; fighting to resist the impulses that must now be asserting themselves. I suppose he knew what would happen when the thumb found its way into his mouth, and wanted to resist. But the instincts were stronger than his will to fight, and once I finally got Cameron to accept the thumb into his mouth, he was helpless to resist the compulsion to suck it. Soon his cries quieted, and I was able to start cleaning him up.

"Cameron – I know that you were looking forward to school, to being on your own. That can't happen for a while now though, and I'm really sorry that there isn't another way. This is going to be very hard for you at first. But you have to believe me that it will get easier. You will forget your old life in time. You will get used to being a baby – my sweet, little baby boy – and soon enough you will be growing up again."

Cameron sucked steadily on his thumb, and although he had quieted down some, he continued to whimper quietly to himself. I knew how frustrated and hopeless he had to feel. In any case, I figured I had better get the little guy dressed, and get us back to our seats before we attracted any undo attention. While it no doubt felt like an eternity to poor Cameron, we had been in the restroom for no more than 15 minutes.

I grabbed his feet together, and lifted Cameron's skinny little bottom off of the table. As I slipped a fresh diaper under him, he moaned quietly to himself. I can only imagine what poor Cameron must have been going through. Waiting for years for his moment of freedom, he had not one hour ago said goodbye to his family and his life on the farm to begin his new life of independence. And now, for no reason that he could fathom, he found himself more dependent than he could ever remember being. He had been reduced to a helpless, thumb-sucking baby, and worse yet, he was about to get wrapped in a diaper. The fact that he would soon no doubt be filling that diaper could only have increased his misery.

As he lay there crying and sucking his thumb, he had a firm hold on his little peanut with his free hand. I had assumed that it had just been a baby boy's reflex, but when I pulled his hand away I saw what he was trying to hide. "Oh," I teased, "has Daddy's little boy got a little stiffy?" Cameron's cheeks again burned deep red. I peeled back his now more prominent foreskin to expose the little nub and wipe it clean of his recent pee. His breath caught at my touch and he squirmed on his back as his little feet kicked lightly at the air. I could tell that, despite himself, he liked the way it felt. I sprinkled him with lots of baby powder, and as I gently spread the powder down the little crack of his ass, and all around his little peanut, his cheeks flushed again and Cameron moaned helplessly in what could only be pleasure. I smiled down at him, and pulled the diaper up between his legs and taped it tight. Once I had him diapered, I started to get him into his new clothes. He fought my efforts, but he was never even able to force himself to pull his thumb from his mouth, much less slow me down too much. Despite his feeble efforts, I soon had him dressed in a cute little pair of yellow Osh Kosh overall shorts, T-shirt, and a pair of little sneakers.

Once I had him dressed in his new outfit, I sat Cameron on the edge of the changing table. He gazed past me at his reflection in the mirror as I gathered up all his old things from the floor. I noticed that something lying on the sink had grabbed his attention – he was staring at his medal. I picked it up and studied it. It was a little larger than a Quarter, and read "Leon Tigers" over a Roman numeral IV on one side, and the image of a tiger superimposed over the letter "L" on the other. Cameron had evidently lettered each year during high school. As he stared at it in my hand, his upper lip began to quiver. He seemed to be reaching for the medal, so I placed it next to him on the table. I continued to pack away his adult clothes – he wouldn't be needing them again. He stared down at the medal for a few moments before reaching down to pick it up. Cameron awkwardly tried to grab hold of the medal in his tiny hands – hands had once been strong enough to withstand the daily work on the farm, yet dexterous enough to throw a curve ball. His hands had thrown so many touchdown passes that Cameron had gone all state three years in a row. But now those hands were too uncoordinated, too small and weak, even to close firmly around a medal barely larger than a quarter. After no small amount of effort on his part, Cameron was finally able to awkwardly pick up the medal with both hands. However, no sooner was it in his hands than it found its way into his mouth, and he couldn't have looked more surprised. He hadn't intended to do that. It was as if he just couldn't stop himself. When I gently took it away from him to put with his other things for safekeeping, he became visibly agitated, and his eyes grew wet with tears. I watched as his mouth struggled to form words that he was now unable to speak. His mouth opened and closed, and he finally, with great effort, babbled a string of meaningless gibberish. He tried again, but his little head sunk as he was reduced to tears. That little medal was a symbol to him of everything he had lost: his strength, his manhood, and his independence. "There, there," I said, slipping the medal into my pocket. "Daddy will give this back to you when you are bigger. You are just too little to play with it now…"

I picked him up and held him against my chest. He pressed his face against my shoulder and cried deeply. I gently caressed his back in hopes of comforting him, but I have to think that his distress was so great that there was little I could have done for him just then.

As I opened the door to the bathroom, Cameron clutched at my shirt with his tiny hands. During the short walk back to our seats, his eyes darted all around the cabin, as if he were taking it all in for the first time. Which I suppose he was, in a way. He was so much smaller than he had been just a few minutes before that it must have taken on an entirely new perspective for him. And of course, his now infant brain would have had some difficulty in processing all of the different information. I took my seat by the window, and strapped Cameron into the center seat. He immediately began to struggle against the seatbelt. I reached over and tapped his little shoulder to quiet him.

"Now Cammy, sit still like a good little boy," I chided him. I meant it as a gentle reprimand, but he started like a frightened little bunny. I knew it would take time for him to adjust to his new role, but for the moment, he was just terrified of the BIG MAN who had such complete control over him. It must have been an impossibly hard pill for the cocky young stud to swallow. He pouted in anger and frustration, but settled quietly into his seat anyway. He looked lost, unsure what was happening to him, or what to do.

Cameron fidgeted quietly in his seat for a few minutes, until the cabin crew brought the beverage cart down the aisle. He turned his head toward the commotion, only to see his old friend from earlier – Todd, the flight attendant – looming above him. Cameron froze, a look of abject horror on his face, as he stared up at the man whom he had wanted to punch so badly just a few minutes before. I doubt he was thinking about that now. Rather, he looked as though he would gladly crawl down through the bottom of his seat if he could have. Todd looked a little confused, as if he were looking for someone. He briefly glanced into the adjacent rows, no doubt trying to figure out what had happened to the handsome stud that was here earlier. "Hey there," he said, collecting himself finally, "I didn't see you before, little fella..."

"Well," I replied, "he was asleep when I boarded, so I may have had him covered with my jacket."

He laughed. "That explains it, I guess," he said as he ruffled Cameron's fine blond hair. "I know I would have remembered seeing such an adorable little guy!" Cameron blushed furiously at that, and his upper lip began to quiver as if he would cry.

"I'm sorry, handsome - I didn't mean to scare you," he cooed to Cameron.

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "He just isn't used to strangers yet. He needs to toughen up a bit."

"Well," Todd said, "I think I have something that will make you feel better, little guy…" He pulled a little pair of "Junior Pilot" wings out of the pocket of his apron, and pinned them on the front of Cameron's overalls. Cameron looked at the little pin, and just began to cry. It was hard not to feel bad at the little guy's humiliation.

"So then, what can I get you boys to drink?" asked Todd. I ordered a beer for myself, and handed him a baby bottle. "Could you fill this with apple juice?"

After he had filled it, he tried to hand it to Cameron, who refused to even look at it, much less take it from his hand. I took it and held the bottle out to him, and again tried to get him to take it - he continued to refuse it, turned his head away and closed his lips tightly. Finally I was able to force the nipple into his mouth. No sooner had it passed his lips then I saw his little cheeks begin to unconsciously work. The expression on his face revealed his frustration and disgust. His own body was betraying him, and he could no more resist sucking on his baby bottle then he could quit breathing. After a moment or two, I pulled the bottle slightly back from him, and his lips had to strain to reach it. His little arms waved in the air, grasping for it now. He took the bottle finally and nursed greedily, frustrated no doubt by his need for something that humiliated him so. Despite himself, the bottle calmed him and he quietly sucked it dry. He sat there then, the empty bottle lying in his lap, and stared off into space as a thin line of drool ran down his chin. I reached over and gently wiped it away. I guess the little guy was trying to figure out how all of this had happened to him, and more importantly, how he could escape this unthinkable, unbearable fate. I don't know what sort of a plan he thought he was developing, but events were soon to take the wind completely out of his sails.

We were about forty minutes out of SFO, and the plane was just beginning its initial descent. The Fasten Seatbelt sigh had just gone on. Cameron had been had been quiet and still for some time, and I figured that he had taken a nap. But as I reached over to adjust his seatbelt, I saw that he was wide awake. He wore an expression of complete hopelessness on his face. I then noticed the smell, and realized why poor Cameron was so despondent. The little guy must have been sitting there, plotting his next move when, without any warning or any way for him to stop it, nature took its course. He had messed in his diaper. I gave him a little smile, then leaned over and kissed him on top of his head. "Aww... c'mon Cammy - these things are going to happen to you now, and you can't let this upset you so. You are just going to have to adjust to the fact that you aren't the BMOC anymore – and won't be for a long, long, time. You are just going to pee your pants and poop yourself and drink from your bottle... You're a baby now - my little baby boy - and I'm going to raise properly this time." Cameron made no effort to speak, but his quivering upper lip and wet eyes told me what he was feeling.

"You need to let go of your past, Cameron - this is your life now, and the sooner you get used to it the better off you'll be." Tears were running freely down Cameron's chubby little cheeks as I pressed the call button.

"Now let's get you out of that dirty diaper..."

Todd appeared in an instant. "Can I help you with something sir?"

"Yes - my son just messed his diaper. Can I take him back to change him?

"Sorry sir, but we'd prefer if you just changed him here, if that's all right."

"No problem - do you think could you give me a hand though?"

"Certainly," he replied, as I picked Cameron up from his seat and held him out to Todd. When he felt himself being grabbed from behind by the same guy he had felt so superior to just a short while ago (and not to mention the fact that he now had a load in his pants), he began to fuss and whine. He really didn't want this guy touching him. Todd held Cameron under his arms while I laid a changing blanket over the aisle seat and unsnapped his pants. Todd then laid the little guy down on his back.

I hunted under the seat for the diaper bag while Todd tried to keep the squirming baby occupied. I attempted to finish undressing him, but both Cameron's hands were clamped down tightly over his sodden diaper. I had to pull his hands away and got the diaper off, I could see that it was not simply a little boy's reflex to grab at himself when scared or nervous, and once again, his little peanut was sticking straight out. Baby Cameron was sporting another stiffy. A real baby could never have been as embarrassed as Cameron looked. But then, I doubt that these erections were being caused by the same reasons. In fact, I think that this was further proof that Cameron had been repressing his true sexuality, that the side of him I saw earlier in the men's room showed his true nature: Cameron really did like to be manhandled.

"Is that normal?" Todd asked.

"Yeah, "I replied, "it happens to baby boys sometimes..."

Todd smiled and shook his head. "You've sure got a tiny little thing there, don't you?" he teased, much to the baby boy's humiliation. Todd then tickled little Cameron under his chin, and the poor little guy couldn't keep from smiling a bit despite himself.

"Don't worry, little dude," Todd whispered to the squirming baby, "You'll grow up to be quite a stud someday, and I bet that little peanut of yours will make all the other boys jealous…"

Cameron looked like he was in another world as I wiped him clean and sprinkled him amply with baby powder. I picked up his legs and raised his behind off the seat so I could rub some ointment on the beginnings of an angry diaper rash – yet another reality Cameron would have to get used to.

I asked Todd to hold Cameron steady while I got a fresh diaper. "He just won't seem to sit still today." As soon as he saw Todd reaching for him, he began to fuss all the more. "See – I can't leave him go for a second…" Cameron squirmed as Todd grabbed his little legs in his one strong hand. He was clearly unhappy to find himself being manhandled by someone he had considered to be "less than a man" just a couple of hours before. For him to be so helpless in Todd's hands must have been the most humbling and humiliating experience imaginable, to say nothing of having his red little ass exposed for all to see. Cameron fussed in protest, but eventually he just gave up his struggles. Todd held him gently, and Cameron just lay there as docile as any baby, staring off into space, too ashamed to meet Todd's or my eyes as I slipped the diaper under him and buttoned him up.

Todd was called to the front of the plane. "So long, handsome," he said as he gave Cameron's wisps of blond hair a tussle. "You are definitely going to break a lot of hearts some day." Cameron pouted silently as I buckled him back into his seat. After a few minutes, his little head began to nod, and his eyelids grew heavy. A thin line of drool ran down his chin as he drifted into a light slumber. I watched him as he slept. He was a beautiful boy, with long eyelashes, fair blond hair, and chubby cheeks. His dimpled little knees were just visible under the cuffs of his Osk-Kosh coveralls. I reached over and gently wiped the drool from his chin. Without waking, Cameron turned his head toward me and opened his mouth. His little cheeks strained as if he were waiting for his bottle – Cameron's instincts were asserting themselves very strongly.

Cameron slept fitfully as the plane made its final approach, but was jostled awake when we finally touched down. He blinked his eyes drowsily a few times, and looked around at his surroundings, as if he were disoriented. I suppose he was - so much had happened to him in so short a time that his infantile mind had little chance to process all of it. I suspect that – for a moment – he thought he had dreamed all of it, and that he was still the stud athlete heading off to college. Then he yawned deeply and stretched. He held his tiny hands out in front of him and stared at the pudgy little fingers with rising panic. He stared up at me, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Looking UP at the BIG MAN, and his own infant hands right in front of his eyes, must have brought the reality and the hopelessness of his situation crashing down on the little guy. "Cameron, it wasn't a dream," I said gently, "but everything is going to be okay now. You really ARE a baby, only now you're MY little boy, and I'm going to make sure that you are raised properly this time – everything is really going to be okay."

Cameron knew he was trapped. He was nothing but a tiny, drooling baby and he was powerless to do anything about it. He pulled at the seatbelt that confined him. I doubt he really believe he thought he could get away, or that that would do any good – rather, he was trying to escape this horrible fate.

As the plane reached the gate, I gathered up my belongings and shoved Cameron's backpack into my own larger bag. Cameron wriggled as I freed him from the seatbelt and picked him up. He buried his face in my chest as we walked off the plane and into the terminal. He had to have been scared by all the people, now so much bigger than the former jock, and by the vastness of the space surrounding him. It must have made him feel incredibly tiny and weak - a big change for him. I'd wager he'd never felt helpless before in his life.

I found a quiet corner near the baggage carousel and set my carry-on bag down beside me. I held Cameron at my shoulder, and he clutched at my jacket, partly because of all the frightening activity surrounding him, but also, I suppose, because already he instinctively felt safer nestled tightly against me. My bags appeared on the carousel sooner than I had expected, so I put Cameron down for a moment, standing precariously on his little legs.

I know I should have been more careful, but I had only been a "daddy" for a couple hours, and I honestly had no idea he would be able to move so fast. Before I even realized what was happening, Cameron was off, weaving his way unsteadily toward a tall young woman on the other side of the carousel. She was as blonde and attractive as Cameron, and was unmistakably his sister. She seemed startled when she saw this tow-headed little boy toddling toward her. Recognition flashed across her face, and I feared that – at some level – she recognized something familiar about him. Before Cameron could reach her, though, she was joined by a tall young man holding the hand of a small boy of about 3 or 4 years. I was amazed at the resemblance between Cameron and the boy, whom I now knew to be Cameron's nephew. I was immediately relieved – she must have briefly mistaken Cameron for her own son!

Cameron now found himself face to face with his own little nephew. Well, not face to face – the nephew was actually about a head taller, and looked like an older version of Cameron. Cameron stared at the boy – his mouth hanging open in surprise – as it dawned on him that he was smaller, weaker, more helpless and immature, than even his own baby nephew. The crush of humiliation shown clearly on his face.

Cameron held his arms out to his sister, who of course had no idea who this little boy was. Cameron's mouth again struggled – trying to form some word. I rushed over and quickly reached into my jacket pocket, fumbling for a moment before I found what I was looking for. I brushed it lightly against my jacket and plugged the pacifier firmly into Cameron's mouth. I don't think he even knew what hit him. I thought he might try to spit it out for a second – I'm sure that he wanted to – but soon enough his little chubby cheeks were pumping away. Cameron's desire to call out to his sister – his last desperate effort to get his life back – had been overwhelmed by his pathetic need to suck on the binky.

Cameron's sister leaned down and lightly caressed his little cheek. He looked so sad - so lost - as he cried silently, tears running down his cheeks as he suckled away on his binky.

"What a cute little boy you have," she said to me.

"Thanks," I replied. "You too…" I gathered up my things, and hefted Cameron up to my shoulder again. As I walked out of the terminal, Cameron stared over my shoulder at his sister, unable even to call out to her, and frustrated by his own inability to act. He raised his little arm and reached out toward her as we passed, and craned his neck as if to extend his last glimpse of his old life, now lost to him forever. I know that anyone who might ever read this would probably question my motives. I know that I was taking Cameron away from a family that loved him very much in their own way. I know that I was taking a young man's future away from him, and replacing it with one of my own choosing. I know that the adjustment to his new life would be painful for Cameron, and the loss of his independence, so fleeting, very difficult. But I also know that, on balance, everything I was doing was for the best. I now had my son, and Cameron would have a father who would love him for who he is, and make sure he had the confidence and assurance to succeed in life. I would be able to give him all the advantages he never had in his old life. But most importantly of all, I would make sure that Cameron grew up to be well adjusted, and comfortable with who he has. I would spare him the pain that I had seen myself. I know the cost of the life he was heading for, so I have no doubt that I did the right thing. In time, I'm sure Cameron would know it too…