Back to School

Chapter 1: How it All Started

Six months ago, I was beginning my sophomore year in the psychology department, specializing in human sexuality. Like many people in psychology, I had his own share of mental issues to work through. For one, I was a gay ABDL, and even though my classes involved looking at sex in a detached, non-judgmental way, I still carried a lot of shame about it and kept it to myself. I had a mentor in Dr. Stannopoulis, an ambitious young professor, and also an authority in the field of human sexuality. It was in Dr. Stannopoulis' class that I finally got the courage to write about my fetish. The Dr. was greatly impressed, and he offered to co-publish an article with me based on the paper, but I wasn't ready to do that – what if people who knew me found out about it? Dr. Stannopoulis didn't take it very well at first, and I was afraid I had lost him as an ally and mentor, but he calmed down eventually. Then, just after finals, something terrible happened.

I woke up to a loud knock on my dorm room door. My roommate and I looked at each other confused as to who it could be. "Open up, it's the RA, I know you're in there."
I got up groggily and opened the door to see Samantha, the RA, huffing with her hands on her hips.

"You're going to have to let me in. I've got a tip that you might be hiding drugs in your room.

"What?" I asked, surprised. "I don't do drugs! Come in and see for yourself!"

I stepped back to let her in and after a quick inspection, she opened my dresser drawer and pulled out a bag of marijuana.

"No drugs? Explain this then."

"I- that's not mine!" I had no idea where that baggie had come from, I had never touched the stuff.

"That's what they all say!" She sneered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call the police, and you will be evicted from the dorms for violating school policy. I hope this is an example to all of the students who think they can just do what they want without any consequences."

"But- but- but- but I..."

And thus began my long ordeal – of losing my housing, of losing my financial aid, of having to explain to my parents why drugs were found in my room. Even they didn't believe my claim that they weren't mine – and my Dad said that when I got home, I was in for the biggest whooping of my life. But luckily there was one sympathetic soul on campus, and that was Dr. Stannopoulis. He told me he could help, so I scheduled a meeting with him in his office.

"I'm glad you came, Nick. I'm sorry you've had to go through all this."

"But you believe me, right Dr.? That the drugs weren't mine?"

He sat back and appraised me. "Maybe they weren't, but unfortunately you've already lost your privileges of financial aid and campus housing, so it doesn't make much difference at this point."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But you said there's a way that I can finish my program. Tell me, what do I have to do?"

"The only way I can see for you to stay enrolled is by finding a new source of funds. I know just such a source, but I warn you," his eyes flashed for just a moment, "it's a bit... unconventional."

"I don't care if I have to sell a testicle, you've got to help me!"

"Very well. I'll tell you. We have a generous grant for an experimental program over the summer that would pay for your room and board, and your tuition for your final two years. It involves regression therapy – do you know what that is?"

I nodded my head, thinking back to the experiments in the 70's that were meant to retrain people who had gone down the wrong path by mentally turning them into infants.

"Yes, we talked about it in class. We're doing an updated version of regression therapy – an intensive ten-week program to test the limits of the human psyche. If we succeed, it could have huge repercussions for our legal system, and rehabilitation in general. It's a big commitment, and we haven't found anyone willing to volunteer, but," The Doctor eyed me carefully, "based on your predilections, I thought it might be something you'd be open to." My heard raced in my chest as the full meaning of what he was offering hit me.