Angie knew she was in trouble when she felt the dampness between her legs. She no longer could attribute it to the hotness of the weather. Looking down she saw the drip, drip, drip of her pee puddling on the concrete. The final stage of her illness had begun and Angie knew her old life was very much over.

She had contracted the AR Virus about nine months before. She was in denial immediately and absolutely refused to believe anything her doctor had told her. She never went back to see her. She had in fact changed nothing of her lifestyle to accomadate her illness. She did nothing differently. The doctor had said within a year that the changes would begin and that after eight monthes or so Angie should not leave the house alone, in case something happened.

Now here she was,out of her house, alone, and she had just peed her pants. Meaning that by this time tommarrow, she would be less than six monthes old, sucking her toes for pleasure and peeing in her diapers out of necessity.

Sitting in the cooling wetness of her pee, Angie contemplated her situation. What the hell was she going to do? She hadn't arranged to be taken care of. Usually,with AR paitients, this is taken care of by the ARPA (Age Regression Protection Agency). But her illness wasn't registered by her doctor because she had refused to agree to it. Even though registering was important, it wasn't the law. Angie couldn't be forced to register.

The cold truth was she was about to become helpless and had no one to be her Mommy and Daddy.

She decided to act, before she couldn't help herself anymore. She sloshed and dripped over to the nearest payphone. She punched in the numbers and bit her lip as she waited for the line to be picked up. It was. She spoke with a nervous hesitation.

"Hi, Sheryl... will you raise me?"


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