Porch Pirate (Patreon)

If there was a future documentary of his life - unlikely, but a fun thought experiment - he could just hear the interviews with his mother and teachers now: Pat was such a good boy. Respectful. Studious. Always had a book in hand. He was going to go places.

He had gone places alright, though not all of them were places he wanted to go. High school had burned him pretty badly. Between grades, a budding social life, and the creeping dread of the adult world, he lost himself a little. College, for the short time he was enrolled, was even worse. By his first arrest, a stolen electric scooter of all things, his fate seemed etched in stone. He’d only be going bad places.

He’d look for a job tomorrow. It was the same thing he said yesterday - maybe the same thing he had said everyday since getting out of his three month ‘vacation.’

Right now, he thought, I just need something nice.

Sometimes he’d take an unopened delivery from a stranger’s house. And sometimes he’d find  something he could quickly sell. Sometimes it was useless garbage. Sometimes it was something nice for himself.

This morning’s haul was a book about CSS programming and a framed picture of an older woman with large hair. The picture would likely go into the trash. He felt bad about that. Maybe this was the last picture of Aunt Doris, and poor Johnny-boy was never going to see it.

It looked like good news on Grove Street though. A pretty big box sitting on the porch of a house where there was no garage and cars in the driveway. Neighbors didn’t appear to be home. Nobody was walking on the street. There didn’t seem to be one of those fancy new doorbells that had built-in cameras either. Where the hell did they come from, and how did they just seem to pop up overnight?

The plan, as always, was effective in its simplicity: Park the car, run to the porch, take the package, run back, drive off. Profit.

He checked the area. Coast was clear. He put the plan into action.

He tossed the box into the back seat before driving off. It was an awkward weight for the size of the box. Not too heavy, but with just enough weight. It made him think of a box of clothes. Clothes were sometimes good. If not for himself than for the consignment shop.

He drove down Grove, turned on Walnut, turned on Church, and made his way down to Cherry Creek Park. It had been his favorite place as a kid, a good place to spin around on the merry-go-round or to skip rocks across the water. Nowadays, especially since the closing of both the township pool and the ice cream stand, there just weren’t many good reasons for people to be here anymore. It was bad for the upkeep of the park. It was good for a thief who wanted to check out his score without anyone around.

The return label was from Cuddlez - whatever that was. It sounded infantile, and he was already dreading having to see a box of baby clothes. There was just about nothing he could do with those. He slid his pocket knife through the packing tape and opened the box.

He lifted the box’s contents out from the box, a single package. Diapers? The opaque white plastic packaging advised that this was a pack of 36 incontinence briefs. Maximum absorbency. Adult diapers seemed even more disappointing. He tossed the package back into the car, slamming the door shut. Back in the driver’s seat, he contemplated what he was going to do now. Drive around town? Go back home and use the computer? He wondered if maybe this was a sign that he needed to just buckle down and start making money.

I should save these diapers, he thought. It’s a good investment on my future when I’m poor and shitting myself because nobody wants to take care of me. God, he sounded so pathetic sometimes. He laughed to himself.

Driving towards his house, he thought about where he’d go to ditch the diapers. There was an unlocked dumpster behind the coffee shop on 14th - but that was also where he ditched the box of yarn he nabbed two days ago.

He watched an older man hobble along the side of the road, a younger woman at his side patiently guiding him.

“Fuck.”

Somewhere - back at that house - somebody probably needed these diapers.

This change of heart wasn’t completely without precedent. He had once returned a box of puppy supplies to a house where, he had hoped, there was a good puppy in need of spoiling. Still, he hadn’t exactly returned Aunt Doris’s photo, so he hadn’t quite reached his redemption arc.

Back onto Church. Back onto Walnut. He turned onto Grove, pulling up about half a block away from the house he had taken the diapers from. It seemed harder to return a box to the porch than it did to take it. The line “putting the pin back in the grenade” came to mind, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was relevant here.

In the 15 minutes since Pat’s pathetic heist, little had changed. There was nobody out walking around; no cars in the house’s driveway. The neighbors were either not home, or just out of sight. It was now or never.

He left the car further down the block, and put the bulky pack of adult diapers into the box. He quickly shuffled down the street, making a sharp turn up the sidewalk before arriving back on the porch. He was setting the box down in front of the door, almost exactly where he had taken it from in the first place, when the door opened.

Fight or flight? He stood motionless.

“Oh, are you delivering my package?” She couldn’t have been much older than he was. Her smug smile indicated that she knew more than she let on.

“I...well...I was down the street and I saw this box laying there, all torn open. I don’t know why, but I figured I might as well return it. Just in case it was something important.”

“Hmm,” she said, reaching into the open box. “Let’s see. Ah yes, diapers! Well, those are very important. It was a good thing you found this box then.”

He didn’t trust her tone.

“Well...I’m glad you got your box back, miss. I should be going and…”

“Why don’t you stay for a minute? After all, don’t you think you deserve a reward for having returned my precious diapers?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Perhaps I should rephrase my request. I’d like you to come inside. Because otherwise I’m going to have to call the police and give not only a description of the young man who stole a package off of my porch, but also a description of the car he drove. Oh, and the license plate number.”

“But...how did…”

“Ms. Mason...you don’t know her, but she’s the sweetest thing. She watched the delivery man drop off my package. And then, when she watched another young man take the package, she did her due diligence as a good neighbor and took down the license plate number of his car.”

“I don’t want any trouble…”

“Any more trouble than you’ve already caused? I can help with that. But I think you should come inside first.”

It was a bad idea, he knew this. The alternatives weren’t that bad. Maybe she’d call the police, maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe the police would talk to him, maybe they wouldn’t. But there were no pictures. No video. This woman still had her package. Was there actually a crime?

But...the last thing he needed was trouble. Even the police visiting him at home could trigger his mother - who was already at her wit’s end with him - to kick him out altogether.

He stepped inside the house, and she closed the door behind him.

It was just a regular living room. Couches, chairs, a TV on an entertainment center, coffee table, fireplace. It was notable only in that it wasn’t the torture chamber that horror movies had lead him to believe that this could’ve been.

“How often do you get your sticky fingers on people’s packages?”

“Oh...not often…”

“There’s no need to bullshit me. The more we’re able to have an honest conversation, the better I’d feel about not calling the police.”

“A few times a week.”

“Do you ever get anything good?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes?”

“What’s the best thing you ever got from a stolen package?”

“A video game console.”

“How much do you think that runs?”

“I don’t know…$300-ish?”

“Do you have a job?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Interesting.”

He wasn’t sure if she was trying to make a point or not, but she at least succeeded in making him feel pathetic again.

“But even then,” she continued, “aside from the best case scenario of landing a $300 video game console, how often do you get decent things you want? Or that are even worth the effort of re-selling?”

“Not often.”

“I didn’t think so. And so here you are, trying to steal my diapers.”

“I am sincerely sorry, ma’am. Honestly...it’ll never happen again.”

“I wish I had seen your face,” she said with a laugh. “You’re hoping for video games. And you get diapers. Adult diapers. And, let me tell you. These aren’t even those thin and discrete things you buy at the grocery store. These things are thick and bulky. They’re not cheap either.”

He just nodded, unsure what to do with that information.

“I don’t have to call the police. I will - make no mistake. But I don’t have to.”

“I...would rather you didn’t,” Pat said. His hands clutched each other, stretching out before him.

“Are you...begging me not to?”

“How can I make this up to you? Please.”

She carefully tapped her chin with her index finger, considering her options. Her lips curled into various grins and devious smiles as various options zoomed across her consciousness. He bit his lip, fearful of what she’d settle on that seemed fair to her.

“How do you feel about your life? Are you proud of the decisions you’ve made?”

“N-no, of course not.”

“Maybe you have some more growing up to do, yes?”

He shrugged. She probably wasn’t wrong, but what was she going to do? Take him back to school?

“Well, since clearly your mommy failed to teach you some morals, perhaps it's time someone did. Take off your pants.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“You do understand what I said, yes? Take off your pants. Here. Now.”

Her request - this request, of all requests - seemed too bizarre for him to even process. Did she really think he was just going to strip off his pants in front of a stranger in her strange home?

She watched him freeze in place and she sighed, reaching for her cell phone from the table.

“N-no...please.”

“Okay? So… Are you going to take your pants off for me?”

He nodded slowly. This was a part of that future documentary, for sure. At the very least, a letter to Penthouse. He carefully unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants, letting his loose-fitting jeans collapse to the floor, bundling around his ankles. His shriveled manhood - average at best, if he was being honest - pathetically flopping from him in front of her.

She smirked. “Very good. Now, let’s get you some long-overdue punishment, yes?”

She marched past him, sitting on a couch, straightening out her skirt, and then patting her lap with her hand.

He tilted his head, unsure of exactly what she was asking.

“Come here,” she said. She patted her lap again.

“Do you want me to...sit on her lap?”

“See? This is exactly how I know you need a firm hand in your life. No, I do not want you to sit in my lap. I want you to lie over my lap. Face down. Your bottom up in the air for me.”

A lightbulb went off above his head. “Wait...you want to...paddle me?”

“Do I want to? That's questionable. I had other things I wanted to accomplish this afternoon. But am I going to? Yes, I am. Now, please hurry up and get your pathetic tushy over here.”

He tried to imagine the conversation he’d have with the cops if she called them. Well I did steal her diapers...but I also returned them. Also, she made me take off my pants and wanted to paddle me. Is that also illegal?

He wanted to tempt fate. Whatever was happening now seemed insane. But...fate was rarely on his side anymore. Would the book be thrown at him? Would there have been anything worse than sitting back in the back of a police car, or on the street after getting kicked out, while thinking about how things would’ve been different if he had just let the crazy woman have her fun?

Pat slowly shuffled over to her, his head hung low. There were probably people who’d have paid for this experience. Hell, he probably would’ve paid for this experience if it were any other time, under any other circumstances.

He lowered himself over her lap. Just this position alone was humiliating and seemed to take years off of his life. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been over someone’s knees like this. Maybe his grandfather’s when he was six or seven? Probably not ever his mother’s. Maybe, he mused, this was exactly why he was in this position now.

It was just a few seconds while he waited for her to make a move - but it felt like hours. He came close to just asking her to just get it over with. Oh, she’d probably love that - him begging her to paddle him like a toddler.

Her hand connected with his ass. It was a perfect hit, connecting with the fleshiest part of his left ass cheek. The cracking slap thundered throughout the room as the surprising flash of pain spread through the rest of his bottom. She wasn’t kidding around. In fact, it seemed that she was well versed in doing this. Still, he bit his tongue, trying his hardest to remain stoic and strong. If he was going to take this paddling from a stranger, he was at least going to take it like a man.

The other cheek met her hand now, the perfect slap noise signaling her absolutely perfect aim. She hit hard and fast, and because she would frequently change her rhythm and pacing, he had no clue where and when the next slap was coming.

Worst of all? It hurt. The pain was growing intense, and her blows showed no remorse or relenting. The cumulative pain and humiliation had built to a point where he was losing his grip on his composure. Tears welled in his eyes until the dam broke, and they streamed down his face. But she continued; her hand connecting with his bottom over and over again.

He wasn’t crying now - he was bawling. An unearthly howl of anguish, unlike anything he had done since he was probably an actual toddler. Everything else faded away. He wasn’t thinking about how he had gotten into this mess, or of his worries about the law or his mother. He wasn’t even an adult anymore. He was a little helpless boy, powerless to fight the consequences of his own actions.

“Have you had enough?” she finally asked.

“I...I...please...no more...I’m sorry.”

“Were you a bad little boy?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“Tell me so.”

“I...I was a...bad little boy.”

Her hand was on his bottom again, but this time it wasn’t striking him. Instead, she gently rubbed his skin; her soft fingertips caressing and massaging him. The pain was still there - he suspected he’d be living with that for a few days - but her soothing motions brought relief. He cried, again.

“Now now, I know it’s hard. You’ve been such a naughty little boy for so long, and you weren’t expecting to get caught. But this is a good thing. You needed this. Didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“I thought so. This is good, then. I’m glad you came today. Because I think we can make sure you take home some very important lessons from this experience. Off my lap, child. I’d like you to lie on the floor for me.”

Somewhere in his jumbled collection of thoughts, he was protesting this. Yet again, this seemed so surreal and insane. The sort of thing that he could never tell anyone about, because they simply wouldn’t believe it to be true.

He got down onto the ground, as she asked, and laid on his back. His blistered bottom sent another sharp pain through his torso as it connected with the floor rug. He could leave. He could resist. He could argue that he had suffered enough. But he did none of that, instead he just wiped some more tears from his pathetic face.

She had walked out of his view for a moment, and when she returned, she held a thick white object that seemed folded in on itself. A sweater? Pants? Then, remembering what he had found when he opened the box, it became clear: One of the diapers.

“I’ll be leaving you with a parting gift,” she said. “I want you to wear this home. Everytime you move your body, or take a step, or when you decide to take it off, I want you to think about how you were treated like a naughty little boy today.”

He remained still. He could’ve had more agency over his body if he wanted - but in his mind, he was helpless. He stared up at the smooth white ceiling as he heard the diaper unfurl in her hands; it’s thick plastic and cushioning crinkling would no doubt stick with him just as long as the sounds of her hand striking his ass earlier.

She tucked the diaper under his sore bottom, folding it over his long-diminished manhood through his open legs. She carefully taped up the sides, sealing him tightly into the garment. He could immediately feel how thick and awkward it was around him.

“Well there you go, little boy. Now you’re wearing something much more fitting. How does it feel?”

“Thick…”

“As it should. And to think, you could’ve had all of these if you just hadn’t come back.”

He didn’t respond - there’d have been no point.

“I think I’m ready to set you free back into the world again,” she said. “I’ve done all I can do here. I suppose it's up to you now whether you go and try to steal some more, or go home and piss yourself like the little baby you’ve proven to me that you are.”

He sat up, feeling the thick diaper squish beneath him. His fears of having to walk awkwardly when he stood were proven to be accurate as he made his way onto his feet again. Taking a few steps towards his discarded pants, the thick padding crinkled and subverted any attempt he made to walk like an adult.

There was nothing left for him to say. He had been reduced to nothing, and she was able to summon a side of him that even he didn’t know he had in him. He pulled his pants back up, buckling the belt and straightening out his shirt. He wondered what the diaper looked like through his pants. Was it as obvious as it felt?

“Are we done here?” he asked.

“We are.”

His mind spun, thinking of what he wanted to say. Maybe he wanted to say nothing at all. But...there was one thing. He’d regret it later if he didn’t say it now.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes lit up, and for the first time, she seemed to offer a genuine smile - uninfluenced by smugness or maliciousness.

“Of course. And, you know, should you decide that you need some more lessons in behaving like a good little boy, you now know where I live. Just come knock on my door and let me know that you need Mommy to take care of you. I may even change your diapers, should you have an accident.”

He blushed, unsure if she was being serious or not. Though, this did recall a curious question from the back of his mind: “The diapers...who are they for?”

She laughed. “This wasn’t my first time punishing a naughty little toddler. I’m a married woman, afterall.”

His eyes widened. She gave him more questions than answers with that comment, and it seemed like an even better time to make his exit. Maybe he didn’t need to understand everything.

“My name is Pat,” he said.

“You may call me Mommy, if you need to call me anything at all.”

“Y-yes...Mommy.”

Shortly after turning off of her street, he was already thinking about how he’d be taking the diaper off the second he got home. As he turned onto Pine, he was thinking about how he might leave the diaper on for at least a little bit. By the time he turned into his driveway, he was wondering how soon until he could go back to the woman’s house.

Right now, he was going to look for a job. He had some growing up to do.