Chapter 1

A dim light crept through the window into the sparsely adorned room, with occasional waves of cool air from the ocean breeze. The matching white linen of the curtains, sheets, and rug became visible in the growing dawn entering the room. As the soft light continued its march, the white maple dresser and matching nightstand reflected the light with their clean sheen, seemingly providing extra illumination. The room was so clean that one would probably assume it was unoccupied. The only signs of life were slippers, a phone on the nightstand, and the long, lean lump under the bed’s covers.

Once the room was full of the morning light and the sound of distant wingull could be heard, the amorphous shape began to stir. Soon, a small foot could be seen emerging from the side of the bed, but only briefly before being tucked in again. Then the figure rolled to-and-fro very slowly, finally facing away from the window, long locks of blond hair now visible from the top of the comforter. Again, a limb emerged from the mass of linens–this time, a long, lean arm grabbing the phone on the nightstand. After bringing the item in close to the head of the jumbled sheets, there was a long pause and then a sigh. Slowly, the blob of covers and pillows gave way to the tall, lean form of a woman sitting on the side of the bed. Her long, luxurious hair hung over the front of her shoulders, and the lily-white skin of her flawless back reflected the morning sun.

This venus from the assorted bedding was none other than Cynthia, champion of the Sinnoh region. Arguably the most powerful pokémon master in the world and easily the most beautiful. No one could doubt that they were to witness the sight before them. The champion sat with her back slightly arched as she collected herself and shook off some of her somnolence. She pushed her hair over her shoulder so it now draped her back, exposing her perfect tear-drop breasts, sitting proudly on her chest. Even at the age of 39, her body showed no sign of sag or wrinkles, her bosoms still sloping upward to long, pointy nipples. As she tied her hair into a ponytail, she looked down past the sizable endowment to her flat stomach–currently curved inward with her posture. Between her long lean legs was a pair of bikini-cut black panties, with just a wisp or two of golden hair poking through the fabric.

Soon the envy of the battling world stood, the wooden floor creaking slightly. Her feet now enveloped by the slippers on the ground, she made her way to the closet across from the bed, her breasts bouncing slightly with the three steps it took to reach her house coat. With a rote sort of muscle memory, Cynthia swung the black robe around her and obscuring her beautiful body from prying eyes. Moving faster than before, she walked down the hall past a few doors to her ground floor bathroom, turning on the lights and closing the door behind her.

Grabbing the bottom of her robe and pulling it into one arm and lowering her panties to mid-thigh with the other, Cynthina lowered down onto the small toilet with a hollow-sounding thud. Her tight, muscular bottom depressed out only slightly as she sat, a testament to her active lifestyle and fanatical exercise. The golden-haired woman took a moment and exhaled, staring at the pastel painting of a staryu on the wall. Soon, she was able to unclench and release, the sound of her powerful stream echoing out of the bowl. She closed her eyes as a warm chill of relief washed over her body, the familiar if somewhat foul smell of her urine wafted up between her legs to her nose. The champion was rather high-strung, so moments relaxation were few and far between. Her intense nature made her the best, but she realized the toll in these times of ease.

After emptying her bladder, Cynthia rose and grabbed a few squares of toilet paper, gently wiping her womanhood–a tight innie vagina with a perfectly symmetrical blond triangle of pubic hair above. Being the perfectionist that she was, the woman always wiped an extra time, despising any leftover drops in her panties. Finished tending to her flawless sex, she donned her panties and washed her hands.

Cynthia made her way now to the rustic kitchen of her current abode, completely clean and spotless. As if like clockwork–because it was–the coffee machine sputtered out a single cup of black coffee into a small grey mug. Now seemingly lighter on her feet, Cynthia almost glided over to the coffee cup and took it in her hand with a sort of common grace, her footsteps barely audible even on the old floor boards. She walked to the windows at the front of the house and gazed out, the morning light still burning through the overcast haze in the sky.

A soft yellow light reflected off the blue ocean waves that came lapping up to the beach. Wingull floated mesmerizingly in the sky, seemingly stationary in the ocean wind. The golden sand of the beach completely abandoned in the morning hours save for the faint outline of a skittering dwebble. Sparse tall grass grew from the dunes before her, and the front corners of other vacation villas could be seen from the periphery of Cythia’s view on either side. It was quiet and empty. Such was the charm of the seasonal vacation village of Undella Town, where the Sinnoh champion was taking her research sabbatical in the Unova region. It being well into October, the champion no longer had to contend with star-struck fans or crowds at the few establishments Undella had. Summer was gone and so were the distractions. During these off-seasons, there were barely any businesses even open: a market, a tavern, a bus stop–and the Pokémon Center, of course. Despite all the modern technology of the day, Undella still felt disconnected, a many hours trip to larger cities.

Blissfully admiring her quiet surroundings, Cynthia caught a glimpse of a black dot. It was on the road that eventually turned and separated her villa from the beach. It came slowly growing in appearance, intriguing the woman. A dark human shape began to come into focus as it made its way closer, stopping every so often and then restarting. After minutes that seemed like hours, the figure was now turning to walk the stretch in front of the villas.

“He must be lost…” Cynthia said to herself. The figure walked while constantly observing his surroundings, with a hand over his brow to block the sun. It was a man in a black suit holding a large briefcase. Realizing how close the figure was to her home, Cynthia quickly stepped to the side of the window, hoping to obscure herself while still watching. She did not want to tip off this stranger that her’s was the only inhabited villa. The figure continued to walk.

“Don’t stop here. Don’t stop here.” She repeated over and over in a whisper. It felt like time stood still for Cynthia as the man moved in front of her entrance way. Cynthia’s prayers were answered and she let out a sigh of relief as she saw him move past her path and onto the next villa. With the adrenaline rush over, she slumped into a chair at the kitchen table facing away from the window. She did not realize how intense that had been, wiping away sweat from under her arms and breasts. Drinking her now only lukewarm coffee, she grabbed some papers from her table and began to read. She did her best to forget the unpleasant scare and jotted notes every so often.

The morning wore on for close to an hour as Cynthia read the disparate journals, newspaper clippings and tracings that were neatly organized on her table. She had amassed an exceedingly large collection of texts and drawings describing the mythical beasts of the region–the reason for her time here. As she put charcoal to paper in an attempt to draw one of the witness reports, a blaring “ding” rang in her ear. Her head shot up with a look of annoyance as she looked for the source of the disruption. After the sound happened again: she realized it was just the “service” reminder on her coffee machine. The champ got up and turned it off and returned to her work. She sat back down at her table and took up the charcoal again. With an exhale she returned to shading the mighty limbs of a legendary creature, but just then a new disruption emerged: a “knock knock” at her door!

Spinning in her chair almost immediately, Cynthia realized her nightmare had come true–the man in the suit was at her villa, offering raps on the door almost continuously. “Oh no. Damn.” She whispered to herself as she immediately pulled her body to the floor and crouched on her haunches, hoping to fall out of view of the window. She waited for over a minute, the annoying sound unwavering. The golden-haired woman pondered the best course of action as she stayed below the windowsill.

Cynthia’s POV:

Who would even come to Undella Town this time of year? On foot? This seems like a very deliberate journey he’s made, whatever it’s for. Who even knows I’m here? Did someone leak my location? Maybe it’s a nosy fan? Or someone with a business idea looking for an investor? Oh god, I hope they don’t want me to endorse something…I just wanted to do my work in peace…

Narrative:

Despite looking like she was cowering on the floor, Cynthia was a fearless woman. She bested all rivals in her region and tamed ferocious beasts on a daily basis. Looking down at her charcoal smeared hands, she started to feel the impetus to do something. Filth and dirt were her only weakness and the only way to get clean again was to make a decision. Remembering her grit, she rose and decided the path of least resistance would not work for this persistent caller. She winced as she grabbed the doorknob with her dirty hand, disgusted at the idea of making more of a mess in her pristine villa. In a swift motion, the door whipped open and the two strangers stood face-to-face.

“Can I help you?” the champion growled out from behind her teeth. Her glare would have intimidated a gyarados.

“H-h-hi! Hello! I-I…My name is Dean. I…er-that is…” The suited man tried to choke out in a much higher-pitched voice than Cynthia had expected. She stared down at him, having not realized until now that she towered over a foot taller than the visitor at her door–even in just her flat-footed slippers. The blonde woman waited impatiently for the interloper to say anything of substance, but not for long.

“Look, I have a no solicitors policy. I wish you a good day.” Cynthia said as she attempted to close the door in Dean’s face.

“Wait! Wait, I’m not here selling anything or whatever! I was sent here by the Pokémon League.” The suited man said in a desperate hurry “Again, my name is Dean and I work for the corporate office–”

“Tell them: they can send me messages by post. Good day, Dean.” Cynthia said firmly as she again attempted to close the door.

“Please! I’m so sorry! I just wanted to speak to you!” Dean said now with moisture forming in his eyes as he looked up at the statuesque woman. Cynthia paused with this outburst and stared at the emotional visitor at her door.

Cynthia’s POV:

Is he going to cry? I don’t remember league paper-pushers being so sensitive. He’s a strange one. He’s rather small, soft face, and messy hair. I’m used to middle-aged, balding bureaucrats being sent from the corporate office. Without a suit, he’d probably look like a university student or younger. Oh he just seems like a tender guy. I didn’t mean to make him cry. I’ll just hear his message out and send him on his way.

Narrative:

“Alright. Alright. Come inside and tell me. I didn’t mean to make you scared.” Cynthia said in a resigned voice as she motioned for him to come inside.

“I-I wasn’t scared.” Dean said unconvincingly. “It–It’s just that this is my first field assignment. I know how important you are, I’m actually a big fan…” the man sniffled and wiped his tears away as he continued.

“Sit, I’ll get you some water.” Cynthia said in an authoritative tone. “Field assignment” seemed a little extreme of a label for delivering a message, but she didn’t want to criticize the already fragile young man. “Okay, what does the League have to say to me?” She asked as she handed Dean a glass of water. She remained standing opposite the seated visitor across the table.

“Well, I’m from the Castelia City corporate offices here in Unova. Our counterpart in the Sinnoh region asked that we send someone to talk to you.” Dean spoke very quickly, obviously nervous to be in Cynthia’s presence. “They say you’ve been here in Undella Town for over two months. They assumed you would have returned to your post as Champion by n–”

“I have a right to unlimited time away from challengers if it’s on academic missions. That is very clear in the League bylaws.” Cynthia said cutting the young man off. She walked over to the sink and started feverishly washing the charcoal off her hands, facing away from Dean. “I’m doing important research here.”

“That’s true…You know, what you said about that rule. It’s just they say they’ve seen some odd charges on your League credit card. Rather expensive charges. Things like a beach villa, a Silph Co deluxe coffee machine, huge fees from the Nimbasa City archives…” Dean said in an almost fearful way, as he stared at the Cynthia’s firm backside through her black robe. He had obviously seen pictures and streams of the famous woman before, but was completely star struck by being in the presence of her beauty.

“That’s all completely necessary when conducting research in a foreign region.” Cynthia responded in a calm, but slightly defensive manner.

“Well, I guess my bosses were told by your bosses–” Dean started.

“I don’t have a boss. I’m the champion, Dean.” Cynthia corrected immediately, still with her back to the young man.

“Yes, yes. Sorry. M-my mistake.” Dean said blushing from his obvious faux pas. “I meant your corporate team, told my bosses that they think there’s a chance of fraud and–”

“Excuse me?” Cynthia growled as she stopped cleaning under her nails.

“I was sent here on assignment to audit your expenses for the League.” Dean said bracing himself.

“What? Absolutely not!” Cynthia exclaimed and spun around to face the shaken little clerk. Her lightning quick turn caused her robe to lift slightly into the air, but never showing more than her knees to the petite bureaucrat. Her top half, however, was a very different story. With the quick acceleration of the turn, her already perky breasts rose in the air as she spun, slapping together with a faint “plop.” The champion had forgotten her state of dress until just this moment, and she looked down and saw that in her impulsive twirl something had come loose. Her right breast was now fully exposed and wobbling, having popped out the top of her robe. Time stood still as Dean stared at her one exposed bosom. It jiggled back and forth, her nipple stubbornly always pointing slightly up. He blushed even more, unable to break his gaze.

“Eeeek!” Cynthia shrieked as she covered her right breast with her hand. “Get out, now!” she yelled. Her face was bright red from embarrassment and anger as she pointed at the door with her other hand. Dean was quickly roused from his stupor and ran out of the house, seemingly scared for his life. Two thuds could be heard upon his exit. One of the door slamming and the other of his fall as he tripped. The champion, still mortified, sat again at her table with her back to the window.

Cynthia’s POV:

Oh my god! That was awful. How could I be so stupid? I let a man in my home without my bra on? What was I thinking? I feel so exposed and embarrassed! I’m supposed to have an image of dignity, and now I’m just flashing office workers? Oh, and what about my image, now? The League thinks I’m just embezzling money? I’m Cynthia! I’m supposed to be perfect, not a floozy fraudster! I’ll give them a piece of my mind! That little stooge better be gone!

–Cynthia stared down at her chest–

…I really wish he hadn’t seen my titty.

Narrative:

As Cynthia sat and kept reliving the humiliating episode, her eyes wandered over to where the young man had been sitting. A small white piece of paper with plain back font was on the table. She grabbed the business card and squinted at it.

“Dean Rinky. Junior Clerk. Pokémon League–Castelia City Branch.” She read quietly to herself. “Rinky…Is that? And…from Castelia City…I wonder…” She mumbled. Visions of younger days long since passed flash through Cynthia’s mind. “Hmmm…” She grumbled as she got up and looked out the window, trying to catch another glimpse of her unwelcome visitor. Instead walking away down the road, Dean sat in the front yard of the villa, rubbing his knee with tears going down his cheeks. The front of his suit was now coated in a mixture of sand and dirt. “It couldn’t be right?…That had to be almost 20 years ago…But he does have her eyes…” The champion muttered as she wrung her hands.

She wanted this entire escapade over, but something was niggling at the back of her mind. Something she wanted to know. Whatever it was, it made her swallow her pride–no small feat–and open the door again. In a few steps she was standing over the pathetic visitor; no longer clutching his knee, but still forlorn. The famously clean woman looked on the disheveled young man with pity and slight revulsion.

“Come inside. We’ll get you fixed up.” Cynthia said, a sympathetic note in her voice for the first time that day. “Let’s go.” She said. Like a well-trained puppy, Dean got up and followed her inside. Soon he was seated at the same chair as before, his suit jacket removed revealing a short-sleeve button down shirt underneath. His shoes off and pants rolled up so as not to drag mud on the floor of the house. As he sipped the tea Cynthia had given him, she scrutinized his changed appearance.

The tailoring of his suit had given him a more imposing figure, broadening his shoulders and making his limbs look thicker. In reality, Dean was much scrawnier than he appeared. He had narrow shoulders and a very slight build. He had skinny arms and legs, and his feet looked much smaller without the shiny black dress shoes. Cynthia spied the empty shoes had some white padding inside the sole. “Lifts?” She thought, before Dean broke the silence.

“Please don’t send me away. I’m so sorry. I just want to do a good job on my first assignment!” Dean said through sobs. “It was a very long trip up here.” He looked at her with pleading, tearful eyes. Cynthia was taken aback by his complete breakdown and his last statement.

“Trip? Aren’t you just going to fly back to Castelia City? Don’t people here use birds like unfezant or braviary or–” Cynthia began before being interrupted.

“I don’t have any pokémon. Well, my mom got me a porygon a couple years ago to supplement my work computer, but he doesn’t fight or fly. I took the subway system here. From Castelia City I changed at Nimbasa City and then got off at the stop a few miles away from here. The bus didn’t seem to be running regularly this time of year so I had to walk and–” The sniffling office worker said before being cut off.

“You only have a porygon?” Cynthia said in a surprised tone. “Nothing else?”

“Well, I have a Rotom phone. That sort of counts, right?” said Dean in his weak voice.

“Not really…” Cynthia said rolling her eyes. As she spoke, the young man’s phone buzzed from his shirt pocket.

“Did I hear my name? Time for our daily routine, Dean_Man#1?” The phone announced in a metallic voice. “Your personal best was 1.36 inches on April 21st–”

“N-no. N-not now, Rotom.” Dean blurted quickly, his face blushing again. He gulped and smiled at Cynthia trying to act unbothered by the strange alert. Cynthia arched her eyebrow in silence for a moment trying to recollect her thoughts after the interruption.

“I’m sorry this trip has been arduous for you, but I don’t really have anywhere–” Cynthia began to say as she looked down on the sad, scrawny one before her. “Just rent one of the vacant villas with your company card, this town is very empty this time of year.”

“I don’t have a company card. My stipend only covered my trip here. I guess they did expect me to fly here on a pokémon and use the money for a room…” He said with his head hanging low.

“Alright, let me think.” Cynthia said in a put-upon tone. As her eyes darted across the room desperately trying to think of ideas, she caught a glimpse of the clerk’s business card again. “Oh, yes. Dean I want you to humor me for a moment. Is your mother’s name Sammy?”

“My mommy’s na–er, my mother’s name? Well, it’s Samantha. Why? How did–? Please don’t call my mom and tell her I screwed up!” He said with a whimper. Cynthia snorted at the idea of her calling an adult’s mom and tattling on him, but she could not dwell on the absurdity long. In a one in a million chance, he was who she thought he was. Just saying the name Sammy Rinky to herself gave her chills up her spine.

“No, no. I-I used to, um, know your mother. I’ve never seen your last name before except with her.” Cynthia managed to get out, obviously flustered. She pointed at the business card so Dean would understand how she knew his last name. Despite being rather pathetic, Dean was smart and caught on quickly. “I remembered she had a son named Dean after I saw the name on your card. You see, we’ve actually met before. You wouldn’t remember, you were just a baby.”

“Wha-what?” Dean said totally surprised. It was obvious he could hardly believe his mother knew one the greatest pokémon masters in the world.

“How old are you, Dean? 20?” Cynthia asked now sitting across from him at the table.

“I just turned 19 this month.” He said suspiciously.

“Yes, that makes sense. Your mother and I were–uh, roommates for a year or two when I lived in Castelia City. I moved out before you were born, but I reconnected with your Mom for a little bit after she had you. Then we–uh, I moved back to Sinnoh. That’s why you wouldn’t know me.” Cynthia said somewhat distantly, reliving many happy and sad moments from the past in a matter of seconds. “Anyway, I suppose I should say ‘it’s nice to see you again.'”

“Wow, mommy-er, my mom never mentioned you–I can’t believe she knew the champion!” Dean’s words cut Cynthia to the bone, but she knew he had no intention of doing so.

Cynthia’s POV:

I can’t believe he’s Sammy’s Dean. She really never talked about me, though? Damn. Oh whatever, but look at him! He really looks so much like her the more I stare at him. He’s got her slim face and cute nose. Those big green eyes. The freckles!

Oh, I think I have to let him stay with me. I owe her that much, right? Well, he’s a good boy–er guy. He is quite polite. Maybe we can sort out this expense issue too.

Narrative:

“Alright.” Cynthia said, her tone now much softer. “I guess you can stay in the spare bedroom upstairs, but don’t expect to stay long. We will sort out the audit and you will see I have my pristine reputation for a reason. Normally I wouldn’t let someone just barge in here, but I guess we ARE old friends.” Cynthia said with a little giggle. For the first time since she had met Dean, he smiled and looked relieved.

“Thank you, Champion Cynthia.” Dean said in his most gracious and polite voice.

“You can call me ‘Cynthia.’ Do you need help unpacking?” She said with a smile as she held his large briefcase with two fingers. “I can help you lay things out on–”

“No–no, er–I mean, that’s okay! I’ll be fine.” Dean blurted out as he grabbed the bag quickly from the champion. “I’ll go freshen up.” The tall woman stared in an amused shock, her opinion of the young man continued to soften with each passing moment and each memory of his mother.

After deciding to be hands off, she led him to the small room upstairs and let him be. Dean would emerge hours later and the two would share a quiet dinner together looking out the window at the very dark beach. Cynthia had accomplished very little today, but she hoped to learn a lot.

Ultimately, Cynthia was back where we found her at the start of the day: under the covers sitting up in bed. This time she had her Rotom phone, the glow of its screen the only thing illuminating the room. There was a coolness in the October air, and a light rain shower had developed outside. The pitter patter on her window the perfect white noise as she scrolled and scrolled on her phone. Her slender thumb dragging across the screen repeatedly, as if with purpose. Before long she had finally reached paydirt: a very old photo from her social media account.

The standard definition image was a candid shot of her and another woman holding drinks and looking off-screen. Cynthia looked very much the same 20 years ago as she did today, only her hair was a bit shorter. The other woman had long, chestnut colored hair with freckles around her cheeks. Cynthia’s companion was shorter in stature, but had slightly larger breasts. The small indent of her nipples could be spied through the natural fabric–the harsh light of the camera flash making it all the more apparent. While somewhat similar in frame, the brown-haired woman’s body sported much wider hips. The two women’s mouths were open and curled upward, obviously mid-laugh.

Cynthia scrolled to the bottom of the photo to the tagged section and looked at the name next to hers: “Samantha Rinky.” She instinctively tapped the name with her finger, but she already knew there was no profile left to link to.

The dejected champion zoomed the picture in on woman as her eyes went back-and-forth between her curvy hips and full, heavy breasts. Her other hand snaked below the comforter between her legs, her palm feeling the prickly sensation of her well-maintained pubic hair. Already quite moist, she slowly circled her finger around her hood, occasionally grazing her clitoris directly. The muscles in her foot spasmed occasionally with the repeated sensation, her body finally contorting with the ecstasy of her orgasm. Eventually her mind cleared after the intimate exercise.

Cynthia’s POV:

Oh, why did she have to come back into my head? I had buried her for so many years. I didn’t realize how much I had actually been holding back until that boy came here. Sammy was the only woman I had ever been with–I tried to brush it aside as a phase to protect myself. That wasn’t it at all. I know now that even with the most well-endowed man, I still didn’t feel the love and passion that those two years with her gave me.

Narrative:

Cynthia rolled over in bed, removing her damp panties and throwing them on the floor. Her face blank, but her mind in anguish over difficult memories: The break-up and her moving out. Her finding out Sammy had had a baby boy and the two reconnecting a year later. Then the second and final break-up. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she relived things that she had buried for good reason. “I wanted to pursue my career…I had to. I-I wasn’t ready for a family.” She feverishly thought to herself. Her mind raced like this until exhaustion overtook her, and she fell asleep with a tear still on her cheek.

*****

Chapter 2

In stark contrast to the gentle light that woke the champion up the previous day, Cynthia now startled awake to a “thunk” sound. And then another. The sound repeated rhythmically, emanation from her ceiling. Rising slowly from her bed, she collected herself and her clothes. Donning a grey sweatshirt and pink leggings she exited her room and made her way up the stairs. The sound grew louder with every step, until finally filling her ears completely. A light was pouring out of the closet just past the stairs, and inside was the noisy culprit–or culprits. Dean, in a white polo and baggy khaki pants was standing next to the rumbling washing machine, only noticing Cynthia when she was right on top of him, towering over.

“Oh, um, Hi Cynthia.” A surprised Dean said with a pleading smile on his face. Cynthia attempted to bury the contempt on her face, but there was still a hint.

“Very early for laundry, Dean. I hope you’re not washing your dirty suit. It’ll shrink.” The blonde woman said with her arms crossed, staring down at the diminutive young man. As he looked up at her she felt a slight pang of the same longing she had the night before. His green eyes, chestnut hair, and freckled cheeks made him the spitting image of his mother. Her icy look melted when she stared on his countenance.

“Oh, no, I know that. It’s my sheets! Er, well…” Dean’s smile faded and he trailed off as he realized he had hoped not to have this conversation.

“Why did you wash your sheets, hun?” Cynthia said, realizing only after she had spoken that she had used a term of endearment. This was not something she was liable to do, especially for someone she had met just yesterday. Before she could give it more thought, her guest spoke.

“I well, m-my sheets were musty. I just thought I could freshen them up!” He said unconvincingly. He cracked a desperate smile and began to twiddle his thumbs nervously.

“Well, alright. Let’s go downstairs and you can do what you need to do. I have my receipts and spending sheets in a folder in the kitchen.” Cynthia said, changing the subject. She thought the behavior was strange, but had done similar in the past. As a notorious clean freak, she had been prone to compulsive washing in the past. There was just something familiar about the whole situation to the woman, almost like Deja vu. She shook off the feeling and guided her little auditor down the stairs to the kitchen table.

As promised, Cynthia had a well-organized folder of receipts and notes for the little clerk, and even prepared a light breakfast of toast and fruit. While Dean read through the large stack of papers, she prepared their coffee as if in a trance. Her’s black, and his three creams and 4 sugars. It was after the two had both started sipping and nibbling their food that she realized she had prepared the beverage without any input from Dean. “That’s how Sammy had it…” she thought to herself as she saw him happily sip his very sweet coffee. Cynthia smiled at the little pencil-pusher as he continued to pour over the financials of her research mission. He would ask questions from time to time, but her answers were always satisfactory without need for more questions. Any apprehension of her audit was gone as she admired the son of her one-time lover.

While very polite, Dean was not as dry and professional as the League office workers she had endured in the past. In fact, he would often ask specifics about her research and respond with childish colloquialisms like “cool” or “wow!” Despite appearing very green, he seemed to comprehend her research, even if just from the layperson’s perspective. The conversation went for hours before an alert from his phone sounded. He pulled it from his pocket and excused himself to go upstairs. Cynthia sat with her head in her hands, staring off out the window.

Cynthia’s POV:

He’s so much like her, it’s almost intoxicating. He’s got her face, her habits, and he’s smart like her. The only thing is, she used to love raising and battling pokémon. She supported my dreams of being a master and would help me train. How could this boy–er man have only one pokemon?

Narrative:

“Why do you only have a porygon, sweety?” Cynthia found herself blurting out upon his return, again using a pet-name without thinking.

“Oh, um, well, my mommy–er mom, she, uh, told me I had better focus on my studies instead of battling. She got me a porygon, after saving up lots of money. She said he can power-up my computers with additional processing power for my work. He’s really nice and helpful, but I wouldn’t know how to battle him.” Dean said sheepishly.

“Has she ever mentioned battling? Didn’t she have a dewgong?” Cynthia asked skeptically.

“Oh, Dewey! He’s still around, but he’s more of a pet. I guess I forgot how old he was.” Dean said with a smile. Cynthia looked puzzled at how someone she knew so intimately could change so much, but she did not want to let on her special relationship with Sammy to her son. Instead, a new idea came to her mind: She could show her guest her collection!

“Why don’t you look at my collection from all these years of battling? I have some very rare Pokémon and items. Come back to my office in the back, I travel with some of it!” Cynthia said as she rose from the table and beckoned the young man with her hand. He took it and she led him to the back of the villa, his hand feeling surprisingly petite to the woman. In a moment they were in her study, with even more boxes of papers and bound books. One side of the room was covered in drawings and photos, while the other had her collection. Trophies, memorabilia, pokéballs. Dean quickly descended on the items with child-like wonder. Being an employee of the League, he was aware of their significance. Normally the prim Cynthia would not tolerate someone touching her prized items, but Sammy’s son had a special kind of power over her.

Before long Dean had donned the old luchador mask of Crasher Wake and a cape once worn by the dragon-master Lance at Cynthia’s suggestion. He jumped around the room like a child playing pretend, much to his host’s pleasure. “That’s what I was expecting from Sammy’s boy!” Cynthia said to herself. Dean was now swinging around a bent spoon originally owned by the psychic leader Sabrina when a “ding” could be heard. He had struck an ultra ball on the table, and it opened in a flash.

Cynthia looked on in horror as the worst possible outcome came to pass. Out of the ball appeared her high-level spiritomb–a spinning spector monster. The ghost pokemon was notoriously difficult to train, and a powerful one like this would only obey a master such as her. The phantom saw the unfamiliar costumed clerk before it, and immediately defended itself. In the blink of an eye a dark purple bolt shot from spiritomb and zapped poor Dean straight in the chest. “Back in your ball, Spiritomb!” Cynthia screamed. The monster obeyed, but too late. Dean had fallen flat on his back, still garbed in the silly dress-up outfit.

Cynthia rushed over to his side and crouched over his small frame. Her guest was in shock, unable to move or respond to her desperate questions. He writhed on the floor before becoming still. His chest rose with breaths, but weakly. The statuesque woman, either by the strength of adrenaline or the light-weight of Dean’s frame, scooped the clerk up and held him with his head over her shoulder. She ran through the house and out the front door, coming to the beach road at dusk. She turned her head from side-to-side feverishly looking for any sign of help. The only light on at this time of day and time of year was the Pokémon Center. “It’ll have to do!” She exclaimed to no one, as she jogged to the illuminated complex with the young man in her arms. As Cynthia arrived at the front, the wait for the automatic door to open felt interminable. She bounded through the entranceway to the main desk, her footsteps echoing through the almost empty facility.

“I NEED YOUR HELP! HE NEEDS YOUR HELP!” Cynthia cried out.

“What happened?” The Pokémon Center lady said, a look of fear in her eyes. The slim, pink-haired woman wore a pink dress and white apron. Her name tag read “Dina.” Dina stared over to another young woman, across the room behind the shop desk. There stood a slightly chubbier girl of the same age, clad in a blue polo shirt and grey slacks, her blue hair in a short bob. Dina locked eyes with the blue-haired shop girl, as if pleading for help. The shop girl just stood with her mouth agape.

“He was attacked–by a ghost pokémon! I think it was a hex attack! I’m not sure!” Cynthia said, but not in her usual commanding tone. The champion was at the mercy of these two teens. “He needs treatment!”

“This is a Pokémon Center, Ma’am!” The blue-haired shop girl called over, now trying to reason with the champion. “She only knows how to operate the machine for pokémon!”

“Well, what do you do for hurt people in this town?! There’s nowhere to go for miles!” Cynthia said exasperated and desperate. “Please!” she now begged.

“There is a human life-support system, I guess. I’ve never used it before.” The pink woman said, not seeming to understand the gravity of the situation. “I think it’s supposed to guide us.”

“You think!? Just do it! Where is it!?” The older woman said, now in a fury. Sweat stains were forming under the arms of her sweatshirt and at the small of her back. “Come on!”

“You have to help me, Kim!” The pink-haired girl whined out. The blue-haired girl, or “Kim,” agreed and all three went behind the counter to the back area. The complex was actually quite large and had many rooms and halls, but all very empty. It seemed the two teens at the front rarely got customers, let alone emergencies. After going into a room many doors down the hall, they all looked in apprehension at a large machine with screens, scanners and arms. At the front of the machine was a white futuristic looking stretcher component, only big enough for one. “Okay, put him on the platform” the Dina said. Cynthia did as instructed and lay Dean on the exam table. The employees pushed a large red button, and the machine began to hum. Soon contraptions were spinning and screens lit up.

“Step back, Ma’am. We will take it from here” The blue-haired girl said as Cynthia moved back to the wall and sat in a folding chair. The cold voice of the machine continuously announced orders to the two staff members. For their part, they did take their work seriously once they had been properly directed. The two girls buzzed around every part of the table positioning and adjusting their patient as instructed by the machine.

“Respirations detected. Cardiac rhythm acceptable.” The emotionless female voice of the computer announced. “Fingerprints not recognized. Full profile scan necessary. Remove obstructions if possible.” As with all the other commands the two caregivers followed the machine’s prompts and removed the clothing they could. “Step back. Initiating full profile scan.”

“He’s not registered with the Pokemon Center? Everyone is. How?” Cynthia thought to herself as she listened to the machine’s prompts. “Well, I guess he’s never battled. Wouldn’t come up.” She tried to watch what was going on, but the two women obstructed her view at almost every turn. Lights emitted from the base of stretcher at the same time as robotic arm swung out from the larger console. The arm had a long laser scanner on it that went up and down along Dean’s body many times.

“It’s trying to identify his trainer-class. Apparently, the system has measured statistics for all classes, helping it best treat and maintain the patient.” The blue-haired girl said as she read the manual for the machine, never actually looking up at the others. The arm continued to go up and down, making announcements as it went. “24 possible classes remaining.” And then “16 possible classes remaining.” And so on. Cynthia stared at Dean’s freckled, motionless face and cursed her negligence.

“You poor, baby. I can’t believe I let this happen to you. Oh, please be okay!” She whispered to herself. As guilt nibbled at her gut, the machine continued its scans and prattled its announcements.

“Sorry, Ma’am, what did you say his name was? I’m trying to build a profile for him.” Kim asked Cynthia in a soft tone, seemingly aware of the champion’s inner turmoil.

“Dean…Dean Rinky.” Cynthia said in a slightly detached way. She had trouble taking administrative matters seriously when her little friend lay ailing on the table. The sounds of triage all bled together like white noise, her mind now preoccupied by the myriad of bad outcomes that could happen. The blonde woman’s dark thoughts were soon interrupted by a most curious alert from the futuristic life-support system.

“Near completion on trainer-profile for YOUNGSTER DEAN. Final scans in process.” The robotic voice announced. The two Pokémon Center employees seemed unfazed by the status report, but our Sinnoh native made an incredulous look to no one in particular. “Youngster?” Cynthia thought to herself. Before she could ponder more, she was cut-off by another status report.

“Final scans complete. Preliminary classification mismatch with complete data-set. YOUNGSTER-class erroneous-” The system declared.

“Well, duh.” Cynthia’s thought immediately. “He’s 19 years old, he’s not a ‘youngster’ at all.”

“Profile created and complete for PRESCHOOLER DEAN. Diagnoses, recommendations, and associated equipment options now available.” The monotone voice said.

“Wait, what?!?” Cynthia said out loud this time, incapable of not verbalizing her surprise at least just slightly. Despite her shock at the overly youthful trainer-class assigned to Dean, the two other women in the room nodded as if enlightened by the new designation. The champion had been wholly unimpressed by the training or professionalism of the two small-town Pokémon Center workers, but she was now questioning their mental capacity. “Machine’s don’t have common sense, but how could these two dolts think his profile is correct? I guess he is a little short, but there’s no way–” The champion’s incredulous inner monologue was interrupted when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, still seated in a folding chair.

“We should look at your son’s results, Ma’am.” The pink-haired woman said. Cynthia was still too overwhelmed to correct being called Dean’s mom. She rose and approached the stretcher, taking in Dean’s appearance after the flurry of work that had been done on him. Her eyes began probing at his head. His freckled face was emotionless, eyes closed. The wrestling mask he had been wearing was now only wrapped about the top of his head making his floppy chestnut hair look particularly messy. Her eyes traced down his narrow neck to his now mostly exposed chest. The two teens had cut his white polo shirt open revealing his complete lack of definition or muscles. He was very skinny, but not emaciated–just sort of wimpy. Lance’s cape was still underneath him on the table, although he looked like a trick ‘r treater rather than an actual hero.

“He was playing dress-up when it happened, huh?” The blue-haired woman asked. Cynthia did not answer. “He had these big dress shoes full of white stuffing on. Was he trying to fit into his daddy’s shoes?” Cynthia’s eyes immediately shot to his bottom end and feet. The staff member was right, Dean’s feet were much smaller than they appeared with shoes on, and it seemed the foot-padding must have added a significant amount of height. Her eyes traced up his legs and thighs, noting a similar unimposing nature. Only now did she notice that the young man was totally hairless, being distracted by the reflective sheen off his shins. Her eyes finally began to trace between the upper thigh but found only the blackness of the cape in the void, no hanging flesh. As if frustrated, her eyes darted quickly up looking for his most intimate part. The quick movement of her gaze and the new revelation it offered left Cynthia awestruck for a moment.

Before her, a mere few feet from her eyes, was the smallest genitalia she had ever seen. An extremely thin tube of flesh sat on a completely hairless pubis. The little appendage lay slightly to its left, although its short length left any differences in positioning quite subtle. The small “manhood” was capped with a tiny pink head, adding no girth to the thing. It sat on a small fleshy pouch, showing no indication of two separate testicles inside. Like his soft face, the little package had a few freckles scattered about. Cynthia continued to stand in silence, coming to terms with Dean’s anomalous physiology. As she tried to catch her breath, a flood of memories long suppressed pounded into her consciousness.

“We didn’t realize how young he was when you brought him in. He’s kind of big for his age-er I mean tall not ‘big.’ Uh, that is, well at least he’s still young…” The pink-haired woman said, realizing her faux pas as she spoke.

Cynthia’s POV:

Oh my god. Dean hasn’t changed. He has NOT changed from 18 years ago–well at least not in that spot. I hadn’t really remembered much from those days until now, but it looks the same as when I changed him all that time ago! I thought it was small looking then, but now…Oh the poor baby–er little guy–er guy…I get it now, why he was put in the ‘preschooler’ class as a 19-year-old. The system can’t believe an adult has a penis that tiny. It couldn’t even believe a ‘youngster’ could. Oh, he must be so embarrassed! I can’t imagine when I was his age and having a lover his size…

I should never have let a sweet little one like that near my dangerous stuff! I feel so bad for being mean to him yesterday when he arrived. I can’t believe this sweetie was auditing me, he needs my protection not my receipts! As soon as I can I’ll wrap him up and take him home. I’ll make sure he’s all cozy and–WAIT. Wait. I have to remember he’s a big boy–uh, er, an adult. I can’t just make decisions for him. I’m not even his real mommy…Mommy…

–Cynthia’s eyes went wide and face pale with her last thought–

Oh no…I’m not going to have to contact Sammy about this, am I? It’s been so long, I don’t know what I’d say. I feel sick just thinking about it–

Narrative:

Cynthia’s frantic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a Rotom phone buzzing in Dean’s discarded pants on the floor. She looked for a moment and heard it say: “Dean_Man#1 it’s time for your scheduled break.” Before she could go pick it up, she was interrupted again by the two young women from the Pokémon Center.

“Hey Mom, can we read the print-out analysis from the machine?” The Kim asked while holding a long sheet of paper.

“S-sure. I’m not…” Cynthia began to say before trailing off, not correcting her mistaken identity. It seemed best to just move on, the facilities seeming an unideal place for an extended stay.

“Oh, okay. Let’s take a look.” Kim started. “Respirations and cardiac rhythm normal. Brain activity present. No wounds or damaged structures. It diagnosed the little guy with something called ‘spectral fatigue.’ Reading this, it seems there’s many cases of this every year, especially in a place called ‘Lavender Town.’ The recommendation here is just for rest. The patient will seem like they’re in a coma, but it’s actually more less serious than that. The auto-doc says to just expect a few days like this and then a short period of weakness afterward. Your little guy is going to be fine!” The pink-haired girl exclaimed seeming rather proud of herself after reading the summation. It was like she believed she somehow had a part in the diagnosis. “The system took some other metrics, sort of like a check-up. Want to hear those?”

“Sure, why not?” Cynthia said after a long sigh. For an extraordinary woman like her, the two air-headed employees were quite frustrating. She was used to interacting with people in the top of their field, not small-town teenagers.

“Okay, so it says he’s in the 98th percentile for height. 75th percentile for weight!” The pink-haired girl read enthusiastically, unaware that the patient was actually 19, making these percentiles useless. “Oh and he is 1st percentile for…uh…penile length. Hang on so let me read the explanation…” She mumbled to herself as her eyes darted over the page. “Okay, so 1st percentile means that 99% of boys in the preschooler class would have bigger…uh pee pees than him.”

“Uh huh” Cynthia said rather annoyed as she took another quick glance at the little pink button between Dean’s legs. She believed that most children would be bigger, but there had to be a more professional way to say that. Thank god he wasn’t awake.

“It says he has a m-meecropenis.” Dina sounded out as she read from the page. Her blue-haired colleague raised an eyebrow and grabbed the paper.

“It’s a micropenis. A micro!” Kim said in a haughty tone to her friend.

“‘Micro?’ I was going to say ‘mini.’ What do you think, ma’am?” Dina asked Cynthia. The champion put her hand on her face and then stared again at the topic of discussion between Dean’s legs. She felt another pang of guilt thinking of how embarrassed he would be if he was conscious of the discussion being had.

“It’s a medical term, dummy.” The blue-haired girl sniped back. “Your boyfriend must be pretty small if you think that’s only a ‘mini,’ though.”

“Oh stop! Steve is plenty big! He’s not a like a little baby or something.” The pink-haired girl said pointing at Dean’s tiny privates, now slightly more shrunken from the continued exposure to the cool air. “I was just trying to be nice, we Pokémon Center ladies are supposed to be nurturing. ‘Mini’ sounds better! His mommy is standing right here!”

“I wouldn’t want ‘mini’ or ‘micro!'” The blue-haired girl said before both erupted into giggles. Cynthia was fuming at this point, having lost any patience she had for the immature staff. It didn’t help that they were making fun of someone she was growing so protective of. The champion kept her composure, a herculean task in this context, and spoke firmly to the women.

“Can we please get him a blanket.” She said.

“Of course. Sorry.” The pink-haired woman said meekly as she sped off to find a blanket.

“Y-yes that reminds me–” Kim started, looking nervously at the champion aware she had annoyed her. “Can we get your contact information? We have to finish his profile and his mother as his emergency contact. Is that okay?” A long pause hung over the room as Cynthia contemplated the boundary that was about to be crossed. Before she had not corrected the two foolish girls when they thought she was Dean’s mother, but this was different. Putting herself down in official records seemed weightier. She looked over again at the sleeping boy, but not at his pitiful penis. She stared at his freckled cheeks and chestnut brown hair. His cute nose and soft face so much like Sammy’s. She felt her cheeks grow warm and a flutter in her stomach. Finally she responded:

“Let me give you my number.”

*****

Chapter 3

The night wore on without any change to Dean’s condition. Cynthia assumed no change was good, considering how recent the accident was. Time moved slowly as she endured the uncomfortable chair, her firm bottom becoming sore without near constant shifting. The champion had removed the silly luchador mask and had moved the boy to a small cot. Far preferable to the cold, hard stretcher. She had just started to doze when Dean’s Rotom phone began to chirp again about an appointment, emanating from his khaki’s on the floor. Instinctively, the blonde woman went to shut off the annoying sound, rifling through through the pants in the process. They felt baggy and heavy as she lifted them, but Cynthia simply removed the phone from the pocket and let them fall.

“Hello, where is my user: Dean_Man#1?” The phone asked. Cynthia walked over to the bed and touched Dean’s finger to the fingerprint scanner. “User recognized!” The phone said. “Dean_Man#1 don’t forget you are overdue for your 6:30pm appointment. And you haven’t done your daily routine either!”

“Mute personal assistant function.” Cynthia said annoyed at the noisy phone. She wondered what the “appointments” or “routine” were that the phone had been prattling on about since they had met. A concerned look came on her face as she stared at the phone screen. Without thought of the repercussions, the champion began rifling through the little office worker’s digital life with the swipe of her thumb. “I have to know what these alerts are–maybe he takes medication or something. I can’t let anything else happen to him.” She thought to herself.

Cynthia went to Dean’s browser and looked at his recent searches from the last few months. The majority were related to his trip up to Undella Town like directions or train schedules, although she did stumble on a few saved tabs:

– “Average penis size”

– “Is everyone lying about their penis size?”

– “How do I know my penis is small?”

– “3 inch penis is way too big, right?”

– “Can your penis still grow at 19?”

– “Ways to make your penis look bigger”

– “Do all penises hang?”

Cynthia’s POV:

“Oh, my poor baby. He didn’t know he was small until recently it seems…” Cynthia thought to herself, quickly glancing at the brown-haired patient to her right. “He must be so embarrassed. It’s like puberty forgot that one spot where his pee pee–er penis is. I feel like I’m invading his privacy, but I need to make sure these alerts he had set up aren’t important. I have to keep searching…”

Narrative:

Cynthia continued rifling through his data, next going to messages. Almost all contacts had a “(work)” after their name except for the one she wanted to look at most desperately: “mom.” The champion’s heart raced as she contemplated whether she should click on that message thread or not. She obviously had a recently renewed obsession with Sammy which made it feel a bit slimy, but this might be the only place they mention Dean’s needs. The blonde woman bit her lip and stared at the screen as she felt sweat start to form on her brow. “I’m doing this for him, not for me…” she lied as she tapped the conversation tab. She scrolled a bit wildly not knowing where to start on a thread that must have spanned years, seeing many “love you” and “kisses” messages. The motherly love of her former flame made a great warmness and affection well up in her heart. She was so moved she got up and sat on the side of the bed Dean was sleeping in. She caressed his thigh and then rested her hand between his legs.

Realizing she could be searching for hours like this, she performed a search for “alarm” and “routine” in the thread. The below section from many weeks ago popped up:

Mom: “Honey bunny, did you follow your alarm yesterday?”

Me: “Yes, mom”

Mom: “It’s just I noticed a little bit of a spot in the bed…”

Me: “I don’t know”

Mom: “Sweetie, it’s okay. Accidents happen. I just want to help you. I’ll wash it and I’ll see you after work.”

Me: “Thanks, I’m really sorry. I think I had a bad dream.”

Mom: “The one about the all the caterpie?”

Me: “Yes”

Mom: “I’ll give you a big hug when we get home. One more thing tho”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “When you use the potty, you have to sit down. Everyone is different and the DP is for sitting. Otherwise it’s like a slip and slide when I sit down.”

Me: “Okay, I’m sorry. It’ just. Nevermind. See you later.”

Cynthia contemplated the meaning of “a spot” and “the DP” for a moment before she was jolted back to the here and now. A warm and wet sensation hit the hand that was resting on the bed. She looked to her right to see a yellow spot forming on the white blanket that was covering her new ward. Instinctively she threw it off of little Dean only to see his tiny penis peeing in a small arc, now ending on the mattress between his thighs. She stared in shock and apprehension as the dull pittering sound continued.

Cynthia stood up and wrung her hands deciding what to do. The famously clean woman had no desire to get any more urine on her, but she felt so much pity for the boy and his little fountain. Steeling her resolve and remembering her new duty, she resigned herself to get a little dirty. Her eyes darted around the room looking for something to catch the fluid. She spied a beaker across the room near the door and dashed for it, her sneakers squeaking as she pivoted with the receptacle now in hand. On her return sprint to the bed, she tripped over her own foot and fell forward hands outstretched. She fell across the top of Dean’s legs with such a jolt that his unimpressive spout bounced about, shooting pee in all directions for a moment. The yellow liquid landed all over her arms, hair, with some droplets on her face. Burying her germaphobic tendencies, the champion ignored the bodily fluids on her person and positioned the beaker to catch his dainty stream.

“Your little dinky sure had to tinkle, huh?” She said to the comatose young man as he kept urinating. Finally, his micropenis was reduced to its last little drops, which Cynthia did her best to catch–the short length of the appendage making the positioning of beaker quite challenging. “I’ve got to keep a close eye on this little thing. It sure knows how to piddle!” She found herself saying with a laugh as she caught a glimpse of herself in the room’s mirror.

The woman was a disheveled sight, with droplets of yellow liquid spattered across her head and clothing, and her hair totally out of order. Looking down she had actually torn the left knee of her leggings and lost her right shoe in the fall. The pokémon master that was normally known for demanding perfection did not feel disheartened by her current reflection. A feeling of fullness and achievement filled her as she looked at the helpless one she was taking care of. Her mirrored face cracked a smile as she thought about her new role. “Is this what Sammy had been feeling this whole time?” She thought. Her pondering was interrupted when the door flew open and the blue-haired woman came in with a concerned face.

“I heard a crash, is everything–oh, you got a urine sample!” Kim said pointing at the beaker still in Cynthia’s hand. “How did you know the system requested one?”

“Mother’s intuition, I guess.” Cynthia said with a goofy smile as she handed over the now warm container. “Um, actually, do you have any pads or you know…uh, diapers for him?” She motioned to the still uncovered boy, his tiny penis poking out proudly.

“We assumed you already had some because he was wearing one when he got here.” The staff member said pointing at the khaki’s on the ground. “We should have some pads or training pants, especially for the “preschooler” trainer-class. I can bring an outfit too.” Cynthia nodded at this, as Kim left the room. She walked over to the still crumpled pants on the floor.

Cynthia’s POV:

Oh, he was wearing a diaper this whole time! That’s why his pants were so baggy and heavy! This explains the alarms too after reading his texts and that little fountain he just did–he’s been potty training! This morning when he was washing his sheets and the “spot” Sammy found in his bed at home. Poor guy’s little winky never grew up in more ways than one! He never learned to hold his teetee’s. I–

–Cynthia’s eyes glazed over as images and old memories bounced around her mind–

That’s why waking up to him washing his bedding was so familiar! I had forgotten. Sammy had her own problems with bedwetting! She tried to hide it from me when we first moved in together, but she would absolutely flood her sheets some nights! Oh, I should have been nicer then, but I am such a clean freak–or was…

Narrative:

The champion looked down at her piddle-riddled clothing and hands, again astonished at how surprisingly unbothered she was. Realizing this could happen again easily, she grabbed the clean diaper from the pants and brought it over to the still incapacitated little clerk. Attempting to get the pamper under his hips, she noticed he instinctively raised his hips. “I guess Sammy might still do this sometimes…” she said with a little smile. Before she closed the front, she admired the view from between his legs and thought to herself: “It IS very cute. Dean probably doesn’t want to know how similar this image is to all those years ago, though.” The statuesque woman giggled out loud.

With that episode over, the pokémon master left her charge and walked to the front of the complex where the same two staff members were at their posts. She went to the shop counter this time and spoke to the blue-haired Kim again.

“Can I buy a new outfit for myself as well? I had a run in with a little sprinkler” Cynthia said in warm jovial tone motioning towards her disheveled appearance. The woman behind the shop counter first shot a look to her coworker at the care desk before answering. The two were amazed at the relaxed attitude of the previously intense woman.

“I-I only have a few items for adult women right now. It’s our off-season in Undella Town, and we don’t usually do a big restock until spring. Here’s what we have…” the blue-haired girl said laying out the few items available on the counter. Cynthia made her selections and went to the public restroom, with a complimentary towel provided by the Pokémon Center. The tall woman chose the first shower stall, which had a small, dry staging area for undressing and then a spacious shower.

The sound of rushing water had a soothing effect on the champion as she felt the weight of the day–and pee–all wash away. The water cascaded on to her scalp fully saturating her long and full head of hair before being able to reach the other parts of her body. Soon streams flowed down the center of her chest and over her flat stomach. Two almost identical flows washed down her shoulders and then over her breasts, sloping up her perky bosom before falling off her erect nipples in drops. Her impeccable triangle of pubic hair had collected innumerable droplets that fell and reformed on the tips of her course hair. After soaping that pelt and her petite slit below, she stood for many moments with her hips thrust forward under the shower stream. She indulged herself with feeling of warm water focused on her sex.

The concern for her charge and need to investigate more brought the flawless beauty back to reality. She stepped back out to the changing area beside the shower and donned her new clothing. As she approached the line of sinks and mirrors, she took in her new appearance–a far more juvenile one. Her white t-shirt was emblazoned with a winking pikachu face, and her leggings were black with yellow lightning bolts printed all over. “Why do people like this rat so much?” She thought to herself before noticing one–or rather two small details. She had not worn a bra with the thick sweatshirt she had been wearing, but it was far more apparent now that she lacked the undergarment. Her hard nipples poked out in the white shirt, even having small shadows under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bathroom.

Cynthia’s POV:

Oh shoot. This looks a bit silly doesn’t it? I’m used to tailored suits and high-fashion. This looks like something I wouldn’t wear to bed. And I don’t really like my nipples on display like this…

Heh, well who’s going to actually see me? Dean? He’s just a helpless little boy–er guy–well, no “boy” I think. He not threatening at all, just my little baby. It’s funny. I was so embarrassed when my boob popped out with him yesterday, but if I had only known what he really was underneath the suit…It’s so hard to think of him as strange man anymore, after seeing his…

This is shirt is fine, I guess…

Narrative:

After the considerable task of drying her hair, Cynthia went back to Dean’s room. She took a seat at the side of his bed and accessed his phone much the same way she had before. Despite turning off the annoying PDA functions, written alerts were still coming in about a daily “routine.” The pop-ups were from something called the “MeasureIt” app on his phone. Feeling oddly at home on the young man’s device, she clicked the icon without apprehension. Shock and regret then washed over her, however, as a collage of pictures filled the screen, with the option to add one more. All the photos were of the top of Dean’s miniscule phallus, stretched next to a small ruler. The top of the collage said: “Best all time: 1.36 inches. Average all time: 1.09 inches.” Cynthia flipped through many of the pictures, all mostly the same. She stopped on a random one and stared for a moment.

Overtaken with curiosity, she took the phone with he screen facing up and placed it between her legs. The image of the tiny penis was still displayed, but now positioned as if it were her own. The picture was slightly magnified to the real thing, but only barely. She also noticed the ruler next to his “manhood” was actually a protractor that only went up to 3 inches–that short length still being totally unnecessary for his little thing.

Cynthia’s POV:

It’s one thing when you SEE it on him, but it’s another HAVING a little dinky like this. I see why Sammy was asking him to sit when he does his business–I wouldn’t know how to aim a little thing like this. I wonder if it would even reach through the zipper of a pair of pants? Also, where’s the hair? Does he shave? I–

–Her own ample breasts caught her attention, nipples still fully erect under the thin fabric. She looked about the room and then lifted her shirt.–

You know…Seeing them all together, they’re three of a kind! It’s like a third nipple between the legs! Oh, my goodness…I’m just imagining a normal penis between my legs and then looking at this. They’re supposed to hang! The latin root for “penis” means “to hang,” but his just pokes out like a cute button. Maybe it shouldn’t be called a “penis.” Oh I have to stop…It’s got to be so hard for Dean. Poor baby–er guy. He’s such a sweetie, but I need to remember to be sensitive. He probably hates being called “baby.” You know, what with having the size of one.

Narrative:

Cynthia stifled more giggles and her breasts jiggled from side to side, nipples stubbornly pointing up no matter what. With her chest contained again, she exited the app feeling a little more sorry for him–now knowing all the data. It did put to rest some worry though, knowing the “routine” he had been doing was not essential in any way. The feeling of relief was short-lived as she realized this had all been putting off what she was dreading most: calling Sammy. “Well I should wait until the morning at least…” she thought to herself as she saw the time was 3:12am–now a new day. Despite it being a twin-sized bed, the thin and fit woman managed to wedge herself between the wall and Dean. She was totally unfazed by sharing a bed with a man she had only known for approximately two days, not viewing him as anything other than a helpless little boy. As if by reflex the boy rolled and grabbed at the source of warmth in the bed, his cheek now resting on her soft and ample right breast. Instead of withdrawing, Cynthia smiled and felt the same warmth in her cheeks. The two drifted to sleep.

*****

Chapter 4

The room was dark, dimly lit only by the glow of various screens and indicator lights. Occasionally a quiet beep or tick could be heard from the high-tech machinery, but not enough to awaken the sleeping duo. Dean and fully embraced his new guardian in his sleep, his arm and leg draped over her lithe body. She cradled his head with the crook of her arm as it rested on her right breast. She would not realize it until she awoke later with tender nipple, but the young man had been latching on to her bosom through the thin shirt. Cynthia did not usually sleep soundly sharing a bed with anyone, but today was an exception. It was now 7:30am, but she showed no signs of stirring.

Cynthia’s Dream:

Cynthia was back in Castelia City, walking down a major thoroughfare of the bustling metropolis. Her dream then flashed to an apartment door opening and the smell of home cooked food wafting out. The sound of chopping and a slight flow of steam seemed to emerge from the kitchen into the foyer. Walking more inside, she spied a chestnut-haired woman standing at the kitchen counter, her backside facing Cynthia. Apart from the skimpy straps of a white apron, the woman’s back was totally nude. Her large, wide backside covered in familiar freckles. The cooking woman turned and revealed herself to be an apron-clad Sammy, her large, full breasts bursting from either side of thin garment. She had a look of joy on her face as she ran up and embraced Cynthia. Cynthia put both her hands on Sammy’s ample backside as they touched foreheads and smiled at each other.

In a flash, the scene changed to the two looking into a dark room from the doorway. A small figure was asleep in a racecar bed: Dean. The door closed and now the visions flashed faster to many scenes: Dinner at home, then quiet reading on the couch, and finally the two spooning in bed.

Narrative:

Cynthia’s face was curled into a smile as the images of what-could-have-been seemed to please her. The fantasy of domestic bliss was rudely interrupted as Dean’s Rotom phone began to ring, still sitting in the bed between the two figures. The annoying sound woke Cynthia up, but Dean was still too unwell to be roused by anything. The champion sat up and took the device in her hand, squinting to make out the writing on the screen. “I thought I turned these alerts off…” She groggily thought to herself. Opening and closing her eyes, the words on the display came into focus–to her horror! IT WAS SAMMY! Or as Dean had her listed in the phone: “Mom.”

Cynthia sat frozen in indecision, the call that she had been putting off was now banging on her door. How could she even start a call like this? Imagine calling your son and your former lover answers and says your sweet boy is in the hospital. Was there even a RIGHT way to do this? These questions swirled in her brain long enough that the phone stopped ringing. The champion exhaled in relief, but before she finished the ringing began again from the same caller. Completely unprepared and still barely awake, the annoying ringing pushed the champion to answer the call. She opened the phone with her little bedmate’s finger as before.

“Sweetie! The train strike went through, how are you going to–” Sammy said in a video call before stopping short and letting out a surprised “Aahh!” She disappeared from the screen and only a blank wall showed on Dean’s phone. Cynthia said nothing, mesmerized by her first look at Sammy in close to 20 years. Though it was only from the chest up, it was obvious the woman had remained in shape. Her chestnut hair was as lustrous as ever but now short in a French bob. Her green eyes and freckles still stunning, even on the small screen. Her neck was just as delicate and lean as before, leading down to her ample cleavage. Cynthia remained on camera during these tense moments before making a calm plea.

“Sammy, come back. It’s me. I was the audit that Dean came to Undella Town for…” Cynthia said in a soft voice. A pale-faced Samantha returned to the screen, running her hand through her hair trying to straighten up. She stared back at Cynthia with a concerned face, before speaking.

“Where is my son?” Samantha said, her voice cracking only slightly.

“There was an accident. You see–” Cynthia began to say, but the sound of the mother’s heavy breathing stopped her in her tracks. A high-pitched whimper could be heard coming from Samantha’s end of the phone before Cynthia quickly began a new sentence. “Dean is okay! I should have started with that! He’s here at the Undella Pokémon Center. He’s just resting!” Cynthia said directing the phone camera to Dean sleeping in the bed.

“What happened?” Samantha asked, sniffling. Still quite skeptical of the whole situation and her former lover.

“He accidentally ran afoul of a ghost pokémon while he was in town.” Cynthia explained, carefully leaving out that it was HER ghost pokémon. “I rushed him here because this place is pretty remote and it was the only thing open. They do have basic services for humans, apparently…”

“Well, what does he need? What’s wrong with him?” Sammy asked in a hurried manner.

“He was diagnosed with ‘spectral fatigue’ from the ghost pokémon. It’s actually quite common and just requires rest, although the sufferer will be quite incapacitated for a while. He’s going to be okay! I can send an image of the Pokémon Center’s readings right now. Hang on a sec.” Cynthia said in an upbeat voice, trying to keep the mother calm. She took the triage read-out from last night and quickly snapped pictures and sent them to Samantha. “Did you get those, Sammy?”

“I did. Let me just look…Don’t hang up.” The mother said, now looking at a different part of her screen, squinting her eyes. Many moments passed as Samantha’s eyes darted about reading and mumbling to herself. Her eyebrow was raised when she finally spoke: “Okay, I think I got the gist of it, but I have one question: why is he listed as ‘Preschooler Dean’ at the top?”

“Well, um, you see the system needs a profile for all patients. Actually for customers too.” Cynthia said as her eyes looked anywhere but into the camera. She wasn’t sure how Samantha would take the embarrassing situation her son was in. “Anyway, it did a lot of scanning and thought he was a ‘preschooler,’ well a ‘youngster’ first–but then a ‘preschooler.'”

“Why would it do that? He’s 19. He’s not THAT short.” Samantha said innocently cocking her head to one side.

“I’m pretty sure it was his little–I mean the machine probably got confused by the size of–” Cynthia trailed off afraid she would sound cruel or mean to the woman she found herself longing for so much. She then had an epiphany: the printout she had sent to Sammy! “Well, I think it had to do with the coincidental diagnosis it made–on page 6 I think…” The champion said trying to sound nonchalant. She sat silently admiring the beauty of her former partner, who was wrinkling her nose trying to read the aforementioned page.

“Hmmm okay. ‘1st percentile’ in length and girth of…means ‘99% of preschoolers would be bigger.’ Samantha mumbled to herself, directly quoting certain parts of the report. “Yadda yadda ‘this would indicate diagnosis of micro–‘ Oh, OH.” The mother closed her eyes and tittered just slightly, her cheeks growing red. “I understand what you were trying to say. So, I guess you know? You did see it all those years ago. I WAS aware Dean has a micropenis, I’ve known for a very long time.” Both Cynthia and Samantha seemed to relax in their respective seats after the last exchange. The tension faded as the two women shared a quick giggle at the situation.

“I became reacquainted with his little guy just tonight. The staff here stripped him during the initial craziness. It looks exactly the same…” Cynthia said about the appendage, but not in a mean way. There was an adoration evident, even if condescending.

“Yes, it never grew.” The brown-haired woman volunteered. “We went to many doctors, but that’s just the way he was built. I keep trying to tell him it’s very cute, but I know he’s so embarrassed…”

“That’s why I didn’t correct the ‘preschooler’ designation. The two women who stripped him got a very good view. They seem about his age. It sounds weird, but them thinking he’s very young seemed like it would embarrass him less–or I thought.” Cynthia said. “I had a question, though. I was looking for your number to call you and I saw a message you sent. What is his ‘DP?'”

“Oh, well that’s what we’ve called it for so long. His little ‘Deanie Peenie.’ You should know that–you came up with it when you first saw it all those years ago!” Samantha said with a laugh.

“I did?” Cynthia questioned. “I don’t remember, but I guess I have to applaud myself. It’s the perfect name for that little dinky! Oh, you have such a cutie.” The two ladies were now laughing and joking as they did almost two decades ago. The phone call Cynthia was dreading was now utterly intoxicating to her. She wanted this to last forever. “I also had a little escapade with the Deanie Peenie, you know about his other problem, right?”

“Oh, was he not polite when he went to your house?” Sammy said in a stern, motherly tone. “If he piddled all over your toilet seat, I am so sorry. I’ve sat down in his cold puddles before. I have told him so many times he has to sit when he tinkles. It’s not his fault, but such a little pee pee is almost impossible to aim. I took it like this about a year ago when he insisted he could stand…” Samantha said showing her finger and thumb pinched together, only the slightest space between them. “Even I couldn’t get every drop in the bowl. There’s nothing wrong with sitting. We do it, right? I’m sure a lot of little boys do it, too! Not that he’s a little boy…Well, little in the sense…Anyway, I am so sorry if he sprinkled all over the place–”

“No, no. Not exactly, Sammy.” Cynthia interrupted Samantha, who seemed like she would have gone on for another few minutes all by herself. “I noticed he has a frequent alarm to go to the little boy’s room. And we had a little accident in the bed here. And I caught him washing his sheets the other day…”

“Oh, yes.” Samantha said as her cheeks grew red with embarrassment. This was a problem that wasn’t just Dean’s, and Cynthia knew that better than anyone. “He’s still potty training. I think he’s very close to not needing the pads anymore. It’s a family–well, you know…I, um…”

“You used to flood your sheets three times a week?” Cynthia said with a devilish smile. “Or needed to change after a scary movie? Do you still?”

“Alright, alright!” Samantha said in a huff, although not actually angry. “I am much better now, and I’m going to help his leaky little Deanie Peenie. What happened in the bed?”

“Oh, I just got christened. That’s why I’m wearing this get up.” Cynthia said pointing the camera down her body, showing off her pikachu outfit.

“Hehehe.” Samantha giggled lightly her eyes totally transfixed on the new view. It seemed the silly outfit was not her interest, but the lithe body underneath. The champion was almost sure the mother liked what she saw, much to her excitement. Samantha came back to earth and said: “y-you pull it off well.” Cynthia returned the camera to her face and gave a wink before speaking again.

“Well, what should we do now?” Cynthia said in a sultry voice. “I can probably get Dean back to my villa, but he’s going to be out of commission for at least a few days. Why don’t you come up here and we can catch–”

“That’s why I was calling Dean, actually. There’s a rail workers strike for the subway system. I was worried how he was going to come home, but now I don’t know how I’m going to get to my poor baby.” Samantha said her eyebrows raised and mouth pursed. “I can take a ferry, but they run so infrequently and slowly, I won’t be there for over 24 hours…”

“Don’t you still have an unfezant? Just fly–” Cynthia began to say, horrified at the idea of having to wait to see her once and current obsession.

“I released most of my pokémon. I just have Dewey, but he’s very old now.” The brown-haired woman said with a sad frown. “Look I’m just sorry you are saddled with my son, I’m sure that wasn’t your plan for this trip. I know kids and getting dirty are really not your thing.”

“Oh no! He’s really a good boy. We got to talk for a bit before his accident. It’s actually been a bit of fun looking after him. As we discussed, he IS very cute. Why have you been hogging him from me all these years?” Cynthia said in a sing-song voice, wholly uncharacteristic to the woman Samantha knew.

“Uh, well…SOMEONE needed to ‘focus on their career,’ if I remember correctly.” Samantha said in a newly flippant tone, her intense stare in no way lessened by coming through a phone screen. Cynthia realized she had definitely touched a nerve and should not have been so blasé about the way she was speaking. It may have felt like old times, but it WAS almost 20 years later. That “old times” feeling was now miles away as any kinship of the past seemed completely sucked out of the conversation. “I’ll be there tomorrow night, most likely. Goodbye.”

The call disconnected and the screen went black, and Cynthia saw only her own sad face in the reflection. It was still there, whatever “it” was. “I just have to prove myself!” Cynthia thought. “I conquered all comers in Sinnoh, how hard can playing mommy be?” Cynthia kissed Dean’s forehead and began to stroke his hair. Even she was confused by this sudden turn in priorities, but she had trouble resisting the two chestnut-haired people that had just re-entered her life. The only response she could muster to the abrupt change was: “It’s complicated.”

 

The End.

 

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