Permanence, Part 1 of 2 [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

“How has his temperament been? Has he been responsive at all?”

“Pretty groggy, but that’s about it. He mostly just sleeps, but I’ve seen some open eyes once or twice.”

“As to be expected. Don’t be surprised if that continues through at least the rest of today.”

“So...was it a success?”

Drip.

“So far as I can tell, we did everything correctly. We’re obviously not going to know just how successful it was for a while yet. But I suspect we’ve achieved exactly what we intended to.”

“So…”

“Yeah...I think he’s going to get exactly what he wanted.”

“Wow. I...can’t even imagine...”

Drip.

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to be our problem soon enough. But...people want what they want. Hopefully he was sure about this.”

“What if he’s not?”

“Well, it’s too late for that.”

Drip.

--

I’m hogtied. I’m lying on my belly and my arms and legs are pulled behind me and bound together. A wet diaper is wrapped around my face. I wet the diaper. Sarah wet the diaper too.

“That was good,” Sarah says from somewhere behind me.

“Agreed,” I answer.

“Ah shit, I forgot you’re all tied up.”

“And there’s a diaper on my head.”

“Please. If I left that there for the rest of the day you’d fucking love it.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“I’m sure you would be. I, on the other hand, have other things to do today. Things that don’t involve tying up my boyfriend and fucking his ass with a rubber toy until he comes all over my carpet.”

“Are you sure?” I say. “Because...I’m still here. Ready and willing for more.”

“You have to clean my carpet for me today, by the way,” she says. “You can do that while I run errands?”

“I was hoping you’d just leave me tied up like this?”

“Tempting,” she says. “But you’re going to get a diaper rash...on your face.”

She unties me, and even though I was disappointed for that time to come to an end, it did feel good to have use of my limbs again. I slid the soggy diaper from my face and dropped it to the ground with a heavy thud.

“You smell like piss. Take a shower please. Then clean my carpet.”

“Fine, fine.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the start of everything - this moment right here. The moment I realized that I hungered for far more than the occasional playtime with my girlfriend. And don’t get me wrong, she was incredible. On most days she not only kept up with me, but was often able to lap me. But for her, these were moments. Encounters. Sessions. Little trips into forbidden worlds from time to time, when she had a moment to spare.

I wanted more. I needed more. I didn’t want a trip. I wanted to relocate.

I turned the shower on, but I didn’t get into the water. I waited until I heard her leave the house and turned the water off before going back to the bedroom. I fished the dirty diaper out of the garbage can, unfolding it and laying it out on the carpet. I sat in it, feeling the cold damp padding fill my cracks and crevices.

“Mmm.”

My cock is hard and I’m rubbing it again. It’s almost been rubbed raw already just on account of humping the floor earlier while there was something lodged in my ass, courtesy of Sarah. I’ll have a chapped dick later, but it’ll have been worth it.

Honestly, Sarah should keep me in chastity. Mental note to myself to bring that up to her later.

Sometimes I climax, only to collapse into a state of sleepy regret. This isn’t one of those times, as I’m almost immediately ready to go again. My appetite for pleasure is insatiable, and I worry that there may not be a point where I’m able to walk away while feeling completely satisfied.

As cosmic law would dictate, however, it is in this moment - the worst possible moment - that Sarah returns.

“I forgot my purse, so I had to drive all the way back and…”

For a split second she seems amused, but the smirk almost instantaneously vanishes.

I have to say something. “I...didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Nothing…” Though that’s clearly a lie. My dick is in my hand, and I’m mounted atop a beyond-saturated diaper. I haven’t showered. If my face is as red as it feels, I probably look like a tomato.

“Is this what happens when I’m not around? Was...was everything we just did not enough for you?”

“Of course it is! I just…”

“Do you have a problem?”

Yes, probably. “No…”

“We’ll talk about this later.” She spins on her heel and searches elsewhere for her purse. When she finds it, she leaves again without saying another word to me.

--

Drip.

The lights come and go. Sometimes they’re sudden and blinding, while other times my eyes just slowly adjust to the fluorescent white that fills the room. Sometimes I can just stare at the ceiling. Sometimes I can move my eyes a little, but even that gets exhausting.

These drugs - what the hell did they hit me with? It’s probably for the best.

Once in a while there are voices hovering above me. Once in a while their voices become clear and I can listen in, while other times it's just background noise.

Drip.

Like the dripping. I don’t know what it is, honestly. It sounds like a drippy faucet in a metal sink. Every few seconds there’s the sound of a heavy drop of water falling and colliding into the hard surface below. Sometimes I can tune it out, but sometimes I choose to focus on it. It’s a signal of time’s progression. It’s all I have most times; my only companion.

It’s how I know I’m awake. I thought it would drive me crazy - and maybe, given enough time, it will. For now, though, it’s a welcome part of my world. It’s my entire world.

Drip.

When I don’t hear the dripping, I know I’m somewhere else. I’m dreaming, or just deep in the recesses of my mind. Most often, I find myself in an endless hallway filled with doors. I’m here often enough that I don’t think it’s a dream. It’s a place my mind has created for myself. All of the doors are closed, and I have a vague idea what’s behind each of them. Some doors I’m willing to open, while other ones I need to avoid for now. This is what I do with my time, I slowly walk down this hallway, opening doors.

It’s my way of compartmentalizing things. It’s easier this way.

I open another door.

--

When I look back on when Sarah and I broke up, the timeline gets a little fuzzy. I can’t remember which events preceded others. I just know that, generally, a few things happened at the same time.

I wanted more. It was a vague desire, but I knew that I’d recognize ‘more’ when I found it. The things that Sarah did with me? Diapers? Humiliation? Getting tied up and used? Those were the only things that I cared about. And one day I said to myself: You know what? You only live once. If I want to be a big pathetic submissive baby fulltime, then that’s what I’m going to do.

I think I broke up with Sarah so that I wouldn’t feel guilty about using her for her excellent domme skills - when she was in the mood for such things.

No, that’s not right.

I think Sarah broke up with me because all I cared about was wearing diapers and getting fucked.

Paid sessions with women I found online got me by for a little while. Again, I’m not proud of it, but there was probably a little bit of overlap between when I was hiring sex workers and when I was still seeing, and playing with, Sarah. But this was far from viable in the long term. For one, it was expensive. And, too, they were experiences that did little for me emotionally. The weeks that followed my breakup with Sarah were pretty bleak - mostly moping with brief interruptions of getting pissed on in a hotel bathroom.

I don’t remember the exact place that I found Murray, but he came from some hidden corner of the internet. At first I thought that we were looking for the same things and we seemed to form a bond over them. But as time went on - and it wasn’t an especially long time - I started to sense ulterior motives. He was more interested in what I wanted and fantasized about than he was in talking about his own interests. There was always this subtle pressure being applied. “If you had the chance to actually experience these things, would you?”

Of course I would.

My suspicions were finally confirmed one evening as we exchanged messages: “While I’ve enjoyed our conversations, I think I should tell you a little more about myself. I represent someone else. Someone who might be interested in you and your willingness.”

If I had been any other person they would’ve walked away. Hell, if this had been any other time, I too probably would’ve walked away. But I craved more in a way that I had never wanted anything else. I was very interested and told him as much.

We got to know each other better.

--

Drip.

I’m at some sort of...facility. Institution? I want to say that it’s a hospital, but that doesn’t seem accurate. It’s at least some sort of doctor’s office. I’m trying to remember why I’m in a doctor’s office. I think I used to know. It’s locked away somewhere, behind one of the doors.

Drip.

What kind of fucking doctor’s office has a dripping faucet anyways? It couldn’t possibly be a very reputable one.

Or, maybe this is just the kind of place you have to go when you want certain things done.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It’s been a while since anyone has come in to check on me.

Maybe, while I wait, I’ll open another door.

--

I’m on my hands and knees in a swanky uptown penthouse. I’d have thought that things like velvet and leather had gone out of style, but it works here. It could just as easily be 1977 instead of 2021.

It smells like lavender. Actually, it smells like a lot of things, but there’s this ever-present lavender scent in the background and I wonder where it's coming from. The other scents - I know where they’re coming from.

Baby powder. Sweat. Urine. Some, but not all, of those scents are coming from me; but they could just as easily be coming from one of the other babies.

‘Babies.’

There’s four of us crawling around on the plush carpet. We’ve all been stripped nude except for our diapers. One of the others has a pacifier in his mouth. Another has a bonnet on. I’m just in a diaper.

“Cute,” she says. There’s no softness in her voice, nor does there ever seem to be. She walks through us, analyzing and critiquing our forms to herself. I straighten my body a little, stiffening some. Her gloved hand gently bounces from exposed back to exposed back, her fingertips dancing on our skin as she walks past.

She’s gorgeous. She almost seems unreal - the embodiment of power. Murray has hinted at who she is in the past, though that’s all I have to go on. I don’t think she’s that much older than me. She’s someone important. Government? Corporate? Whoever she is, Murray claims the world is wrapped around her finger. Still, she too hungers. She doesn’t want a pet - she wants a baby.

“We had many applicants,” says the other person in the room with us. I know him only by the name Murray, despite how much time I’ve spent with him over the last few weeks. “These were the four best.”

“Interesting,” she says. She pauses at one of my fellow babies, a slightly pudgy baby with an  adorably boyish face. In another time and place, I’d want to crawl on top of him and put my lips on his. Her hand grips his face by the chin and she stares deep into his eyes. I can see his expression - he looks both hopeful and terrified.

“I like him too,” Murray says. “He’ll do anything you ask him to without question. And I do mean anything. Believe me, I put him through the ringer.”

Him too? I’m jealous. I wonder what review Murray would give her of me.

“He looks pathetic,” she says. “Like a little puppy dog. I’d almost feel bad about ruining this one.”

“I didn’t have a problem with that,” Murray says with a laugh.

She walks to the next one, the bonnet-wearing baby. Her hand again strokes his back as he looks up to her obediently.

Murray weighs in with his review: “An excellent dick sucker.”

“That does me little good,” she says. “Did you consider my needs in the audition process? Or just your own?”

“W-well…” Murray stammers, caught off guard by her sudden shift in temperament towards him. “He’s eager to please. He is very passionate about pleasuring and…”

“This one won’t do,” she says. To bonnet-baby: “I have no use for you. You may leave.”

“Fuck,” bonnet-baby mutters. He slowly rises to his feet and waddles from the room, his head hung in disappointment. Back to the staging area where he’ll likely get dressed again and go back out to the real world.

It’s worth noting that the room doesn’t smell any less like piss with his absence.

“You,” she says to me as she approaches. Her hand tilts my head up to look at her, her gloved fingers resting under my chin. “Do you believe you are worthy?”

I nod.

“I like him,” Murray says. That’s all he says.

“You like all of them, yes?” she asks. “That’s why they’re here.”

He laughs. “True. But this one is a well-rounded choice. Obedient. Eager. Willing to learn. A jack-off of all trades, if you will.”

She scoffs at the pun. Honestly, the other babies are probably on the same page. We’ve all had just about enough of Murray at this point.

“Piss yourself for me,” she commands.

I’m ready for this moment. I’ve been holding it for a while, having decided only to release it if asked. I didn’t want to be pacifier-boy, whom I suspect to be the soggy bottom currently stinking up our area with his unauthorized wetting.

I release my hold on my bladder immediately, feeling my diaper sag and swell as I saturate it. It feels so good - I’d go as far as to say that with my chin rested on her fingers, and while looking up into her eyes as I piss myself, it’s the greatest piss I’ve ever taken in my life.

To my delight, she cracks the smallest of smiles.

“Very good,” she says. It’s still said coldly and matter-of-factly, but that’s all I need. “Do you feel relieved?”

I nod against her hand.

She removes her hand from under my hand and moves on to the last baby, pacifier-boy. She has a short conversation with Murray about him, but I can’t be bothered to pay attention. I’m floating. I’m elated. Even if this is as close as I get to being chosen in the end, I feel so satisfied.

“...can’t even hold his bladder,” she’s saying as I focus again. “Did you piss yourself, baby?”

“Y-yes, mistress,” pacifier-boy says.

“Did you choose to piss yourself in my presence?”

He plucks the pacifier from his mouth. “Yes,” he answers. A bold strategy; or maybe a misguided one.

“Without permission? You may leave.”

“But…”

“But nothing,” she says, her back already turned as she walks away from him. “Babies in my care will either have no control over their bladder or they’ll await my command.”

“You heard her,” Murray hisses, “let’s go. Get out.”

Pacifier-boy doesn’t stand and walk out of the room as bonnet-baby had. He crawls out from the room instead. I commend his commitment, even in defeat, though I can’t help but wonder what made him think that wetting his diaper early was the way to go.

She’s gone now too, leaving just myself, pudgy, and Murray.

“Congratulations,” he says. “It looks like you both made it to the next round.”

--

Drip.

That moment had the opposite effect on me than what she probably expected. I didn’t seek a better balance between my desires and my vanilla life. Instead, I asked myself how I could live a life where I got exactly what I wanted. And from that moment forward, that’s exactly what I sought - regardless of how many bridges I had to burn to get there.

And I burned them all.

Drip.

I’m unconscious again for a while, and when I wake the two strangers are back in the room.

“...very well,” one says, the masculine one.

“Hey,” I say. They both turn to me.

“Well well well,” the other, a female, says. “Look who finally decided to join us.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Groggy.”

Drip.

“Yeah, I bet. That feeling probably isn’t going to go away anytime soon. But are you in any pain?”

“No,” I answer. “I don’t think so. Should I be?”

He shrugs, which isn’t the answer I was hoping for. “It might come later, it might not. I wouldn’t worry much about it. You’ve been recovering and healing well so far, and with the drugs we’re keeping you on - the good stuff - you might just get through the healing without feeling any pain.”

“I can’t really feel anything at all,” I say.

“Well, that’s the rub,” he says with another shrug. “It’ll all come back to you eventually. Well...most of it.”

I want to know more. I want to know why I’m here and what this means for me, but I’m afraid of the answer.

“Thanks,” I say instead.

Drip.

“My name is Mr. Kellogg,” he says.

“Dr. Kellogg,” the woman corrects him.

“Right. Uh, right, Dr. Kellogg. And this is Nurse Janey.”

“Hello,” she says with a wave.

“You’ll be here until you’ve recovered,” he says. “Not much longer now, I suspect. Then you’ll be released back into her care.”

Her care? I had a few questions about that too.

“Alright, I’ll be in later to check on you,” ‘Dr.’ Kellogg said. “Janey, take good care of our patient.”

She rolls her eyes at him as he leaves.

“I’m sorry for the lack of...comforts here,” she says with a shrug.

Drip.

“What’s with that faucet?”

“Oh...is there something wrong with it?”

“It just drips and…”

“I can fix that. Maybe the ring on the faucet just needs to be tightened or…”

“No. That’s okay. Maybe just leave it. For now.”

She shrugs. “Sure, whatever. Hey, I’m sorry for the, uh, breach in privacy.”

“What do you mean?”

“The diapers,” she says. “I’ve got to, you know, get in there and change a few times a day. Not that there’s really any other way around it. And, like, I guess you’re used to them?”

Drip.

“Oh,” I say, processing the new things I’ve learned about my time in this room. “Yeah...it’s cool. You’re just doing your job.”

She laughs. “I am. No offense, but if I wasn’t getting paid for it, I wouldn’t want much to do with it.”

This admission is curious to me, as I would think that feeling would be a given for someone in her role. I suspect she knows more about me than I thought she did.

“Oh, so you know that I…”

“Wore diapers before you got here? Yeah. I’m not judging. I just...hope you like them.”

I open my mouth but… No, leave that door closed for now.

“I’ll check in on you in a little bit. There’s no TV or anything in here. Are you going to be okay? I could get you a radio or something, or…”

“I’m fine.”

I’ve got other places to be.

Drip.

Drip.

--

Murray leads me down the hallway. I’m nude again, except for my diaper and the collar around my neck which is attached to the leash that he holds. I’m crawling at his side, like a dog, as he leads.

But this is it. The moment of truth. We’re going to see Her and she’s going to tell me whether or not I’ve been chosen. My heart is beating so fast that I feel like a hummingbird. I want to throw up; maybe fill my diaper. I want to cry. She’d love that.

“In here,” he says, stopping at the black door. “Just you and her. Good luck.”

He disconnects the leash from my collar and I hear his footsteps echo down the hallway away from me. I sigh and push my way through the door.

“Hello, Baby,” she says. She’s not sitting on a chair - it’s practically a throne. An enormous masterwork of sharp angles and leather panels. Only a goddess could sit atop something so astonishing.

I crawl before her throne, and I remain on my hands and knees, looking up at her. I smile, but I don’t say anything. Don’t speak unless told to - it’s the very first thing I’ve learned in this journey. An unspoken, yet critical, law.

“You’ve had quite the journey, haven’t you?”

I want to speak, but I’m hesitant.

“You may speak, Baby,” she says. “Though I wouldn’t get used to it.”

“Y-yes, Madam,” I say.

She scoffs at the name I’ve used. “Never cared for that much. It’s fitting, yes. But I’ve known ‘Madams’ and they’ve always felt...different. Older. Do you think I’m old, Baby?”

“No...not at all.”

“I’m younger than you,” she says with a shrug and a smug grin. “Younger than your body’s physical age. But we both know you’re just a wittle baby, yes?” Her ability to effortlessly work her condescending baby talk into conversation renders me blushing and humiliated.

“Yes, Madam. Er...Miss…”

She laughs. “It’s not important what you call me now. It may be later, but not today.”

I nod.

“What is it that you want most from this? Where do you see yourself at the end of this?”

“I want…” I know, in my head, what I want. It’s not explicitly defined as much as it's just a set of feelings and experiences I see at the end of a tunnel. I’m not sure that I’ve ever really explicitly proclaimed what I wanted.

“Go on,” she says. There’s something new in her voice. Warmth?

It makes it easier to find the answers within myself: “I want...everything. Complete and total submissiveness. I want to be reduced to nothing, and to exist only at the whims of someone more powerful. You. I am nothing. I’m a baby. I want to be your baby. A pathetic little diaper-filling baby.”

“And you’re sure about that?”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation or delay in my answer.

“I too am seeking something from my baby,” she says. “I’ve done this in the past, you know. I’ve kept little baby pets. Playthings and toys and diversions, the lot of them. They exist for these fleeting moments and I have my fun - and they certainly have theirs - and then I’ve cast them aside. It’s cruel, I suppose, but I’d wager most have willingly taken the position knowing that this would be how it ended. Do you assume as such now?”

“I do.” It’s hard to admit to myself, let alone say aloud, but it's the truth.

“This time is different, I can assure you of this. I tire of the search for willing and able babies to play with. I seek...permanence.”

“Permanence?” I know, or at least I think I know what that means. It’s simultaneously the best case scenario and the scariest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

“The other candidate...he’s not as enthused about the concept. I don’t say that to persuade you either way. And, truth be told, I wonder if I should have been more upfront about that in advance. We’re far too deep into this process to start over, so if neither of you are interested in such a thing...perhaps I put that idea back in the drawer for now and try again next time.”

I surprise myself, even, with my response: “I’m...not opposed.”

“Is that so?”

“I mean, I’ve never given much thought. Like, serious thought. It’s a fantasy, you know? Maybe...the dream?”

She nods and smiles. Her presence is always so commanding and authoritative, and this is the first time I’ve seen her so...human. “That makes me happy to hear. But I want you to think about it. If, that is, you would ultimately be willing to pursue permanence.”

I agree with her on that. “What would it entail?”

She nods and contemplates the question carefully. “To use your words? Complete and total submissiveness. You will sacrifice every vestige of your former life and you will craft a new one here with me. You will be my servant and baby, both. You will only know serving me. You will know only the pleasure that you give me, and the pleasure I give to you. This is not a fantasy trip, nor is it a vacation, this would be an all-encompassing world.”

I nod.

“Diapers at all times. Bottles. Cribs. It’s all you’d ever know.”

I nod.

“You wouldn’t just shyly ease yourself into this new role - you’d take a confident leap into it immediately. Tell me, what is your name? The one you were given at birth?”

“Peter.”

“Well Peter would be dead. Nobody would ever see or hear from Peter again. You’d be given a new name and a new life.”

I nod again, my heart absolutely bucking from my chest.

“Permanence,” she says. “Do you have questions?”

I’m unsure if it looks better if I do or don’t have questions, but maybe it doesn’t matter. If pudgy-baby couldn’t commit to this request, but I could, I can probably ask anything I want to.

“This is...forever?”

“Does the word ‘permanence’ confuse you?”

“I...no. But...forever is a long time. One day I’ll be old. And you too. And things could change or…”

“I know what I want, and I know what I’m in for,” she says. The question is whether or not you are.”

I don’t give her a definitive answer right now. But I knew what the answer was almost immediately; she likely did too.

Of course I wanted this.

--

Drip.

Drip.

Well, I can’t open that door without opening the door next to it. It’s one of the doors I had been hesitant to open. But this seemed like the time to do it.

The single most difficult day of my entire life so far. The death of Peter.

Drip.

--

It had been a hard week. My ability to focus on the life I had known was dwindling as it was slowly overwritten for hope towards what came next.

Of all things, my office job was hit the hardest. Nothing seemed more trivial or inconsequential to me as this did. Assignments had piled up on my desk. Emails were going unanswered. I was coming into the office late and leaving early. None of this was an intentional slight against my employer - I had just been completely checked out.

I had a good reputation stemming from a good work ethic. It probably took longer than it would have for anyone else for people to start realizing things were askew with me. People were making excuses for me. Assumptions were made about my workload or schedule. Yet, slowly and surely, everyone started to see it for what it was: I had changed.

Nobody knew what to do with me or even how to approach me. It had been such a sharp turn away from the coworker they knew that there seemed to be little consensus on how to address this shift.

I had already been wearing diapers pretty regularly, but I was now wearing them 24/7 in preparation for the life that awaited me. To my knowledge, nobody in the office knew this. But...this too had become something I was more lax on as of late. The part of my conscience that was once dedicated to keeping my kinks and desires in check against the real world was fading and my diapers were getting far more use at times that were less ideal.

Everything seemed on course for the dam to break, and I often wondered which would happen first: I’d get fired or I’d quit.

When I saw that it was my manager, Sandra, calling my desk phone, I knew that the time had come. I didn’t know what the outcome would be, but I knew what the conversation would be.

“Peter? Do you have a few minutes? Maybe you could drop by my office for a little bit and we could talk.”

You don’t have to go out like this. You can still hold onto your dignity.

But I didn’t need dignity where I was going.

I liked Sandra. I liked just about everyone I worked with, but I especially liked Sandra. She had been good to me, and always had my back. I suspected this conversation would be even harder for her than it was for me.

Still, my anxiety was tying itself up in a knot in my gut. From experience, I know that this doesn’t bode well for my current diaper.

“Would you mind closing the door behind you?” she says. I do so before taking a seat at the opposite side of the desk from where she sat. In her large office chair, she reminds me of Mistress in her throne. The reminder is powerful, and I almost immediately feel myself becoming smaller.

“Hello,” I say.

“Peter...what the hell is going on with you?”

I sigh. I want to answer her, I really do.

“For years you’ve been the model employee. When new people start, I say to them: ‘See that guy? That’s Peter, and if you just do what he does, you’ll be fine.’ But now, in a week, you’ve absolutely trashed any reputation you’ve had here. You’re not responding to people. You don’t do anything. And…”

It’s hard to hear her say it, and judging by the drop in her tone, the hardest part of what she has to say is yet to come. I don’t want to hear it, but I need to hear it. “And?”

“Peter, people are saying things about you. Like...you aren’t hygienic? Lois swore to me this morning that she that you...smelled like urine? And she thinks you were wearing a diaper? Look...it's none of my business, and you don’t owe me any answers to that. But, if something is going on with you, maybe you need to get it resolved. Or else I don’t think you’re a good fit for our office anymore.”

My heart is pounding. My bowels twist, begging for release in response to my stress. I retain control, but there’s a difference between the control I have now and the control I once had.

“Can I tell you the truth?” I ask.

“Some sort of explanation would be nice, yes.”

“I’ve decided to make some changes in my life. I’m...going to be a baby.”

“Excuse me?”

“It's all I’ve ever wanted,” I continue. This is more than she will ever need to know about me. In fact, there’s a 100 good reasons why I shouldn’t say anything at all. But at this moment, I just need to say these things. “I didn’t always know it, but once I realized that such a thing was possible, I just knew that this was it for me.”

“I’m...not sure what you mean, Peter.”

“Do you know why I smelled like piss? Because I pissed my diaper. And I’m surprised that’s all anyone’s reported to you. Because I’ve done far worse than that in the last few days. Yesterday? I messed my diaper. Like, absolutely filled it to the brim while sitting at my desk. I thought for sure that somebody was going to say something. I had the good sense to go change myself immediately, but still.”

“Wait...diapers?”

“Oh Sandra, you have no idea. I’m going to be a baby. Forever. And so I have to get used to it, you know? The diapers and the reliance on them.”

“Peter...maybe we need to talk about you taking a break or -”

“I’m going to leave today, and I won’t be coming back.”

Sandra can’t keep up. She’s still minutes behind me in the conversation, and I can see it in her eyes that she’s short circuiting. She doesn’t even know how to direct this conversation. She can’t.

The need to empty my bowels is strong. I continue holding it - but I’m wondering why? It’s such a silly thing to do. Such a Peter thing to do. And Peter is dying. So…

I lean to my side and lift my leg a little, an unconscious gesture that my body does to make a little room in my diaper. I barely even have to think about it; I simply release and my body does the rest. It rushes from my body in a loud and sudden burst. A thick and mushy mess spreads throughout the bottom of my diaper and spreads in every direction possible. There is absolutely no doubt about what just transpired. Her mouth hangs open in astonishment, and she just about retches when I reposition my body, sitting back on my ass again, further spreading my achievement.

“Did you...you…”

I probably don’t have to actually answer her. The smell permeates throughout her office. I feel a little bad about that - that’s going to be here long after I’m gone.

“I’m sorry,” I say, hearing my voice lose a surprising amount of maturity. “I went potty in my diaper.”

“Go,” she finally says. “Just...leave.”

I stand up, the load in my diapers dropping down to the bottom of my diaper with a heavy flop.

“Sandra, I’m sorry,” I say, genuinely. “I…”

“Just go. Please leave. Your belongings will be sent to you later.”

I want to tell her not to bother, but it’s time to just leave.

It's a long walk through my office in a loaded diaper. Nobody knows what happened, but most everyone can tell that something is up. Given the rumors going around about me, my waddle, and how I imagine I currently smell, it’s probably not too hard for some to make an accurate assumption.

I’m out the door and I’m gone.

That bridge is burned. Just about everything else is taken care of. Apartment. Car. My connections to friends and family were severed a while ago.

There was only one bridge left to burn now.

Sarah answers on the first ring. “Peter?”