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

Drip.

Drip.

“I heard you were awake.”

It’s her. Mistress.

No.

Mommy.

“H-hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Well, I don’t really feel anything at all.”

“Is that the worst thing?”

“It’s probably for the best right now. Or so I’m told.”

Drip.

“How are you feeling,” she asks. Realizing she probably needs to elaborate a little: “About all of this. The experience as a whole. The beginning of forever.”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “There’s so much that still feels...cloudy to me. Can I ask you a silly question?”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Why am I here?”

“Like, literally?” she laughs. “Or, metaphysically? Are you having an existential crisis?”

“Oh...no...I just mean, like, here. Physically in this room.”

“Ah,” she says with a sigh. “You don’t remember?”

I shake my head.

“Permanence.” She looks concerned as she says this though. “You...consented to this, you know.”

Drip.

I say the word aloud myself: “Permanence.” I like the sound of it. I have a positive feeling about it, even if my questions aren’t completely answered.

“Do you not remember?” she asks.

“No…” But I feel it's important to add: “But...that’s not anyone else’s fault. I think I’m just...going through something right now.”

“Doubt?”

“I don’t think so. More like…”

Drip.

“...retracing the steps I took to get here. I’ll be okay.”

She nods. Maybe she’s not completely convinced. “If you’re not okay, I need to know.”

“I’ll tell you. Promise.”

“Get some rest. Let’s revisit this conversation later.”

As quickly as she appeared, she’s gone. I’m sad, her presence fills my heart with joy and completes me. I want to call out to her to come back, but I stop myself. Maybe she’s right - maybe it’s too hard to have these conversations when we’re not on the same page. And that falls entirely on me.

I’ve got another door to open.

Drip.

--

“Thank you for making the time to see me,” I say before taking a sip of coffee. I’m glad we’re here, at the cafe, as opposed to her house. The neutral space makes this easier.

Will I be allowed to drink coffee in my new life? Of all the sacrifices I’m making, coffee feels like one I’d particularly miss.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Sarah asks. She has a cup of coffee too, but she hasn’t touched it yet. “Do you know how many concerned text messages and calls I’ve gotten over the last few weeks? Friends, co-workers, your own brother! They’re all asking if I know what the hell happened to you.”

“Well…”

“And what am I supposed to tell them? We broke up a year ago, and I couldn’t keep tabs on you even if I wanted to.”

“I'm sorry to have put you in that position,” I say. “I didn’t know it would affect you like this.”

“What is it?” she asks.

I sigh. This is not going to be an easy conversation. “I’ve met someone. And I’m planning on spending my life with her.”

She looks absolutely crushed. “Okay? I mean, I guess I’m happy for you, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything else.”

“She’s going to be my mommy. I’m going to be her...baby.”

Her eyes narrow. “Oh. This is, like, a kink thing.”

I nod. “Yes. But...no. It’s going to be my life. A complete and permanent change.” I want to add that no pun is intended, but it seems in poor taste.

“So...what, you’re just going to wear diapers and drink out of a bottle for the rest of your life?”

“That’s the plan, yes.”

“There’s no way that’s sustainable,” she says with a huff. “Like, can you be reasonable for a moment? Which do you think is going to happen first - because both are inevitable: she gets sick of changing your diapers, or you get sick of being treated like a baby and want a regular life again?”

I wonder how naive I sound when I answer: “I don’t think either is going to happen?”

For a moment, she just sits in silence while staring at her coffee without drinking it. There’s a few moments when she starts to say something, but stops herself. I let her take her time. If this is the last time we meet, she can have all the time in the world that she wants.

“I was willing to give you so much,” she finally says. “And I did, didn’t I? We did so many things.”

“We did,” I answer. “It was good. All of it. But - and this isn’t your fault - I needed more.”

“How did you find her?”

That was a complicated question. It would’ve been hard to explain the rabbit hole I fell down in my search for the woman who sought the complete and utter servitude I so craved.

“Online,” I say.

“So what are we doing here? I don’t hear from you in months, and I mostly hear about you and your antics second-hand. And then out of the blue you show up in my life and ask to meet just so you can...tell me that you’re seeing someone else?”

“I’m not coming back,” I say. “Like I said...this is permanent.”

“You’re...going away?” She seems sad. Sadder.

“It’s more than that, I guess. I’m leaving my old life behind completely. I’m going to be someone new. Different.”

She sighs. “A baby.”

I nod.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she says. “I guess I wish that things were different, but…you and I aren’t a thing anymore. You made sure of that. I don’t have to think this is a good idea, and you certainly don’t need my approval.”

“I wasn’t here for that,” I say. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Well, this isn’t one bridge you’re going to burn.”

I wonder if she knows about what happened in my office.

“No?”

“Good luck. I honestly and sincerely mean that,” she says. “I hope you get exactly what you want. But if you don’t, just...give me a call, okay?”

“Please don’t wait for me, though.”

She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.”

--

Drip.

I’m on my feet and I’m walking around the room. Aside from soreness, I don’t feel too bad.

I’m wearing a diaper. It’s wet.

Permanence.

Drip.

“On your feet again, I see,” says Nurse Janey.

I smile. I know absolutely nothing about this woman, but I like her presence.

“Are you wet?” she asks. “Or…”

“Just wet,” I say. It occurs to me that she’s probably changed all sorts of my diapers and I blush.

“It’d be silly to be ashamed now wouldn’t it?” she asks, clearly noticing my face.

I have yet to open the mental door that holds the truth about why I’m here and what’s been done, but I’m starting to feel like it might not be necessary. I’m putting it together.

“Why don’t you lie down,” she asks. “We’ll get you out of this wet diaper and into a clean one.”

Drip.

I nod, and climb onto the table. She is quick and efficient, peeling off the wet diaper and wiping my underside down with the precision of a pit crew member for a racecar. There’s a gentleness in that efficiency, but it still lacks the slow and methodical, if not slightly less refined, experience I had with Sarah back in our times together.

Drip.

“What is this place?” I finally work up the nerve to ask as she tapes the new diaper around me.

“A doctor’s office.”

I give her a skeptical look and she laughs.

“We’re not covered by insurance, if that’s what you’re asking.” This doesn’t get much of a reaction from me, and she elaborates: “Sometimes people want things that other doctors frown upon. And we, here, simply believe that it’s your body and your choice. If you want something bad enough, and it’s something we’re able to do, we’ll help you out.”

“And I’m here because…”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” she asks. “I hope you know why you’re here.”

“I...I’m pretty sure I do. And I’m fine with that if I’m right. I’m just sort of lost in my head right now.”

“I hope you like diapers.”

“Ah. So…”

Drip.

“You’ll be using them from now on. Not only do you have no control over your bladder and bowels, but you’ll never have control over them again.”

“You can do that?”

“Apparently,” she says with a smile.

“Wow”

“So...yeah. The process is irreversible, I should add.”

“Good,” I say. “That’s perfect.”

Drip.

--

“You may not be able to hold your piss anymore,” Mommy says, “but your cock is otherwise fine.”

I blush as she snaps the small padlock of my chastity cage shut. I’m on my back on my new changing table, my legs spread open wide before her.

“Maybe someday you’ll get to enjoy it again,” she adds.

An hour into my new life after having finally left the clinic behind, and it’s a whole new world. Peter only exists in the memories of those who remember him.

I’m Baby now. It was the very first thing she told me as we got into the back of her Towncar together. No other name would be needed, as there’d be no other baby to be confused with.

“Where’s Murray?” I ask. I don’t actually care, but he’s been such a constant presence in my life for the last few weeks that it seems strange that I haven’t seen him lately.

“I’m finished with him,” she says. “He was to help me find my Baby, and he did his job. Truth be told, I think I’m happier for no longer having to speak to him.”

I nod.

“Let’s get your new diaper on,” she says.

She unfolds a thick white diaper in her hand, shuffling it back and forth in her hand to fluff it. An expert-level move if I’ve ever seen one.

“As we transition into our new normal, I’m going to be laying out some rules and expectations for you,” she says. “But...it also occurs to me that you and I haven’t spent a lot of time together. I think we’re going to get to know each other very well, but I thought we could both benefit from opening the floor to any questions you might have.”

She grips the top of the back of the diaper and carefully slides it under me, my bottom instinctively lifting into the air to give her clearance.

“What is your name?” I ask with a laugh. I’ve never realized before this moment how insane it is that I’ve made such sacrifices when I know so little about the one I’ve been making them for.

She, too, laughs. “It’s probably not very important to you,” she says. “You’ll never be referring to me by anything other than ‘Mommy.’”

Admittedly, the thought is pretty hot. A lifetime of servitude and devotion for someone whose true name is unknown to me.

“Maybe...don’t tell me,” I say.

“Forever is a long time,” she says. “You’ll learn a lot of things about me in time, as I will with you.”

“What if…” I can barely get the words out, and they’re not even my own. They’re the words of Sarah, haunting my conscience. “...you get sick of me?”

She grabs the rounded square bottle of baby powder, slowly twisting it open before liberally sprinkling it over my caged cock and open diaper. A small cloud rolls across my bare chest and I breath it in the tiny particles. It smells like heaven.

“Do you know why, more than any other reason, I chose you for this?”

I shook my head.

“Because we both want the same thing. You might think that someone in my position -someone with my clout - might have an easy time finding someone to fill this role, but you’d be wrong. I’ve met them all: pretenders, liars, and stupid boys whose eyes are much larger than their stomachs. If finding the perfect Baby were easy, I wouldn’t have ever spoken to Murray. So...no. I won’t get sick of you. We may not know each other yet. But we need each other.”

I find her words strangely comforting, even if her tone is just a tad too cold. She means well, I can already tell this, but I suspect we both have a lot of growing… Well, a lot of learning to do.

The diaper is pulled up over my powdered cage and I’m sealed into it. There’s an endless number of things I want to ask about. What am I supposed to do now? How much time will we spend together? When’s dinner?

But she plugs a pacifier into my mouth.

“That’s enough talk for now,” she says. “We’ll revisit this conversation later. Perhaps on your next diaper change?” She reads the disappointment in my face and adds: “Oh, don’t be too disappointed. You’ll be making that diaper dirty soon enough, I’m sure of it.”

--

She’s an important woman, which means that she’s also busy. I’ve spent most of my first day in her care in the room that she has deemed The Nursery while she checks in on me frequently. The Nursery is almost exactly what you’d expect it to be.

I’m still recovering. Acclimating. I’ve been born again and it would make sense that I need some time to adjust to my new surroundings. And my new life.

Laying on my back in the crib while staring up at the ceiling, I’m reminded of my bed in the clinic.

(Drip.)

I have to laugh to myself - I feel like I’m being haunted by that noise now. It’s firmly lodged in my head now, like a weird metronome that sets the pace for life.

I kind of hate it. But…

(Drip.)

I kind of love it.

My long spaced-out daydream is suddenly interrupted by an all-new sensation in my body. It starts as a familiar cramp in my bowels, but what follows is an entirely new spin on it - an effortless and uncontrollable flow of thick mush that fills my diaper.

I’ve messed diapers so many times in my adult life that there were some days where the gesture seemed more normal to me than using a toilet.

But this. Nothing prepared me for this feeling. It’s one thing to be told that I wouldn’t have agency over my bowels and bladder any longer. I believed the words but had no idea how that would actually feel. Well I felt it now. Or, rather, I barely felt it.

I feel a shame unlike any I had felt in a long time. This hits me harder than my disgusting display at my former employer’s office, or having my diaper changed by a stranger while in a drugged-up stupor in a strange clinic.

Right now, I feel infinitely small and pathetic. But, goddam, if this isn’t the shame I’ve been looking for. Every nerve in my body is twitching and I feel like I’m shaking. If it wasn’t for the cage attached to me, my hands would be in my diaper right now. Instead, I paw at myself through the diaper as the odor of my soiled bottom reaches my nose.

I reason that one day this will be completely normal. It might not even bring me shame - it’s just how things are. Somehow, this only fills with me more shame now -  knowing that one day I’ll just be a mindless pants-filling baby who doesn’t even stop to consider what he’s done.

All this dwelling on what I’ve done in my diaper and I failed to notice that I’ve been sucking on my pacifier like it was the most natural thing in the world.

(Drip.)

It’s not much later when Mommy returns. She looks absolutely exquisite in her tight skirt and blouse. She looks like she just walked out of a business meeting and directly into The Nursery.

Immediately, her nose wrinkles and she laughs while shaking her head.

“Is this what I have to look forward to?” she asks.

I blush and nod.

“Oh, you’re a stinky one,” she coos, circling the crib while staring down at me in my pathetic infantile state.

I haven’t removed my hands from the front of my diaper - I wouldn’t have been able to if I wanted.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

I nod frantically. If there wasn’t a pacifier in my mouth, I’d ramble; I’d gush.

“That’s perfect,” she says, an absolutely genuine smile spread across her face. “I had hoped you would be so infatuated with your new status.”

The tension in my body from being unfathomably horny and being unable to do anything about it has me melting into a puddle. My senses are dulling. I can’t focus.

“I was looking forward to this,” she continues, “but this is an absolute delight. Just look at you, Baby. You’re practically turning into a dumb little infant right before my eyes.”

She wasn’t wrong. Years of desire and lust were culminating in this moment - laying before Mommy in a loaded diaper while my cock was locked up, and all I could about it was grunt, moan, feel my diaper, and squirm around uncontrollably.

“I’d change you, but I’m thinking better of that now,” she says. “Perhaps I’ll let you get better acquainted with your new life for a bit. I’ll see you later.”

Pathetic and desperate noises come from my mouth. The pacifier falls out and rolls elsewhere, and even so, I can’t bring myself to use actual words.

For much longer than I’d ever care to admit, I hopelessly grasp my locked dick, while rolling about in my filthy diaper.

(Drip.)

--

We spend most of our time in the penthouse - a dreamland of sexual fantasies and deviance. It’s clear that regardless of what she does for a day job - and I still don’t know what that is - she’s made plenty of time for fun, and she’s had some good times here. I’m her good time now, and for a few weeks hers is the only face I see.

It’s inevitable that this would change, but I’m uncertain when to expect that.

“Tonight,” she says to me one afternoon while changing a heavily saturated diaper.

I rarely speak anymore unless she gives me explicit permission to. It’s probably for the best - nobody wants to hear the ramblings of a stupid little baby. Still, I hope that she elaborates a little.

After keeping me in suspense long enough, she completes that thought: “I’m having company. We’re having company.”

I feel the color drain from my face, which yields a smirk from her. She has yet to get sick of my humiliation, and I doubt she ever will.

“Seeing as how you’re the only Baby I will ever have, I’ve decided to throw a baby shower.”

I’m not sure I could look any more pale.

“The baby shower is not tonight,” she says. “I’m planning that for a few weeks from now. But in the meantime, I thought that maybe we should start preparing you. So for tonight, I just have two friends dropping in.”

I nod, but I can’t hide my terror.

She giggles. “Dear, did you even know that your little cock just spurted? A little pathetic burst of piss. Aw, are you nervous?”

I nod again.

“There’s absolutely no pressure for you to be anything other than what you are, Baby. Just a big baby, that’s all.”

It hadn’t exactly instilled confidence in me, but she did make a point. Whoever her guests were, they would only ever know Baby. And Baby had little to lose except for the remnants of my dignity. Which I’d freely give away should the chance arise.

Hours pass, and I’m besides myself as I try to imagine what it’ll be like when I meet new faces as Baby.

(Drip.)

“I’d like to introduce you to my baby,” Mommy says as her guests enter the penthouse. A man and a woman, both look to be the same age as Mommy, late-to-mid 30s, if I was to guess.

We’re gathered in the living room, and as they stand and greet each other at the door, I’m left sitting in my diaper in the playpen. I’ve spent a lot of time wearing only a diaper, but tonight I’m also wearing a powder blue onesie over top of it. My pacifier is in my mouth - a near constant presence for me anymore.

“Oh my,” the woman says, “now isn’t this something?” She’s cute with her short blonde hair and rosy cheeks. In a previous life I would’ve been very interested in asking someone like her out. Now, I’m very interested in her changing my diaper. Give it enough time...

Mommy laughs as she takes their jackets and hangs them from the coat rack. “I told you. He’s a sight to behold.”

The man looks familiar to me, though I can’t quite place his face. He steps up to the edge of the playpen, looking in at the big baby sitting in his diaper while surrounded by toddler toys. “You said he’s, uh, fixed?”

“No,” Mommy says with a laugh. “He’s not a fucking dog. But...yes. We did get a little work done.”

“And he can’t, like, hold it now?” the woman asks.

“Exactly,” Mommy says. “As dependent on his diapers as a newborn.”

“And you’re good with that?” the woman asks.

Mommy nods confidently.

“I don’t know,” the man says, still staring down at me. He looks intrigued. “I like the idea, myself. I worry that I’d get sick of a toy like this after a while. But I kind of like it.”

“Is that an offer to babysit?” asks Mommy.

“Oh,” the woman says with a giggle. “Are you serious?”

“I could be,” Mommy responds. “Serious inquiries only.”

Things begin to click. His name is Augustus Davenport, a local politician - maybe a state senator? I met him once at some sort of fundraising event. We shook hands and made small talk briefly. It was probably a blip of a moment for someone like him. I can see in his eyes now that he has absolutely no recollection of ever having seen me before.

“What does a typical day look like for you now?” Davenport asks. There are those who already think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew with your career - and I imagine they couldn’t guess that you’re also taking care of a large baby on top of everything else.”

Mommy scoffs at his mild condescension and lets it roll off her back. “You find time for the things you’re passionate about. I’ve been taking more remote meetings as of late. Diaper changes in between calls. I suspect it's not that different than it is for a mother.”

“You’re a mother too, now. Don’t kid yourself,” Ms. Davenport says, herself creeping closer to the playpen to get a better look at the main attraction.

“Well he does call me Mommy,” she says. “When I allow him to speak at all.”

“His diaper - how do you know when he needs a, uh…”

“Sometimes you don’t really have to ask,” Mommy says. “You just know.” She waves her hand in front of her face, and the two both laugh. Surprising, neither seem especially phased by it. “Any other time, I just check.”

“Well now I’m curious,” he says. “What’s going on in that diaper?”

“I could show you,” Mommy says.

“May I check?” he asks.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Please.”

Stress-pees, that’s what Mommy has deemed the phenomenon in our time together thus far. All of my functions are uncontrollable, but these are the nervous little spurts from my cock when I’m feeling especially tense. There are stress-poos too, and I’m hoping we don’t experience any of those today.

I feel a hot jolt of piss in my diaper as his hands immediately reach towards me in the playpen. But I don’t fight it. I’m a dumb baby, he can do whatever he wants.

If anything, these are the moments I love the most -having everything beyond my control while being reduced to just an observer of my own life.

(Drip.)

He shows a surprising amount of skill. With no hesitation or floundering, he dips a practiced hand under my leg into the leg band of the diaper to feel the padding inside. His fingers graze my testicles, sending a buzzing jolt through my body. He has kids. Or, he too, has had a diapered plaything.

“A little damp,” he reports to the two women.

“Unsurprising,” Mommy says. “He rarely just wets himself all at once anymore. I just feel like he’s in a near constant state of dribbling and spurting into his pants.”

“It’s cute,” Ms. Davenport says. She doesn’t elaborate, but I see something in her eyes. I can’t say for sure, but I almost feel as if it’s jealousy. Of...me?

“Shall I procure us some libations,” Mommy says with a smile. Mommy is many things - but a hostess isn’t one that I would’ve expected. Still, it’s not like I’ve seen a maid or butler in the penthouse since I arrived.

“What are you serving tonight?” Davenport asks, turning from the playpen to follow Mommy to the bar.

Mommy is giving him some options, and I can hear them talking, but I can only concentrate on Ms. Davenport, still at the edge of playpen and looking in at me with an almost bashful curiosity.

“Do you like this?” she asks softly.

I nod.

“This is what you want? Forever?”

I nod again.

“I...I’m curious,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t know if I want to do it forever. But...just one once, maybe? To try it out? I bet it feels incredible, yes?”

I nod vigorously.  “I’ve never worn a diaper before. But I would.”

I want to tell her to try it. I want to offer her one of my own. I look back to Mommy and Mr. Davenport, watching them discuss liquor, and I look back to Ms. Davenport who is staring wistfully at me.

She offers a final sign and gives me a little wave. “I think you’re wonderful. You’re going to have a better life than any of us.” She returns to the other two.

I like her. There was a sincere kindness in her eyes. I love Mommy, but it doesn’t stop me from crushing a little on Ms. Davenport.

(Drip.)

They all return shortly, drinks in hand,  and they sit around the playpen. The Davenports on the couch to one side, and Mommy on the other, sitting on her throne. For a while, they talk as if I’m not there at all. I’m just a decoration in the room. They talk about numbers and news. New restaurants. Property in the Hamptons. I’m reminded, occasionally, of my old life. Some of these things used to mean something to me.

I wonder what’s happening out there, in the real world. Which celebrities have died? Have I been replaced in my office yet?

How is Sarah doing?

Mommy occasionally glances into the playpen and smiles at me. She glows when she sees me, as I likely do when I see her. Nothing else matters anymore.

“Does he get off on his diapers?” Mr. Davenport finally asks, bringing the conversation back to me.

“He would like to,” Mommy says. “Though I keep him locked up for now. Given the chance - and he’ll get that chance eventually - he absolutely will.”

Mr. Davenport looks satisfied with that answer. Ms. Davenport looks like she’s salivating.

“I’m not kidding,” he says, “when you think he’s ready, I’d be interested in borrowing him.”

“What for?” Ms. Davenport asks. She doesn’t seem opposed.

He shrugs and strokes his chin. It’s not exactly an answer, but we can all guess at the powertrips he’s fantasizing about. I, for one, imagine his cock plunging down my throat while I kneel in dirty diapers.

I’ve never done anything like that before. But I would. In a heartbeat.

“Seeing as how there’s company,” Mommy says, revealing a key on a long chain around her neck, I suppose I could let him out of his cage for a little bit. If everyone is interested.”

“Please,” says Mr. Davenport.

“Yes…” Ms. Davenport says softly.

It’s settled. I’m nervous, but excited. My balls have been so blue I’d probably jerk off in front of the Queen of England if I had to.

Mommy prompts me to stand, and I do. She unsnaps the buttons at the base of the onesie, and she lifts it up, revealing my diaper to our guests. I wish I could see their faces. Especially as I know I’m a little soggy.

Carefully, Mommy pulls my diaper down just past my caged cock. She rotates me a little so that they have a better view of it. Some stifled giggles come from the couch as she then carefully unlocks the chastity cage before slowly sliding it off my shriveled cock. Then, with the same care that she used to pull my wet diaper down, she pulls it back up into place again, giving it a firm tug to make sure that it's not going anywhere.

“Now what would you like to see happen?” Mommy asks. I, too, wonder what they have in mind.

“You must be aching, eh, Baby?” teases Mr. Davenport. “I bet it wouldn’t take much.”

“Come here,” says Ms. Davenport. I take a few steps to the very edge of the playpen, where she reaches out and slowly strokes the front of my diaper.

Immediately, instantaneously, my cock is alive once again. There was a moment where I wondered if my body had just forgotten how to use this mostly useless thing between my legs, but I’m suddenly hard as a rock. Harder than I’ve ever been maybe.

“It still works,” Mr. Davenport says. Everyone laughs.

“How badly do you want to spray a sticky little mess into your diaper, Baby?” asks Mommy.

I turn to her, nodding erratically. Of course I want that. I want it more than anything.

“Have at it,” she says. “Do whatever you need to do to make that happen. Just don’t use your hands.”

I’m reminded of my days playing with Sarah, humping the floor in a wet diaper for her. Except then it took minutes of careful convincing and pleading on her part for me to do it for her. Now? The words have barely finished reaching my ears and I’m already down on the floor of the playpen, desperately thrusting my hips into my diaper for the amusement of Mommy and two strangers.

I hear their voices above me. They’re talking and laughing, though I’m so engrossed in my little project that I can barely make out what they’re saying. Occasionally I catch a stray word or two, and I realize that they’re not even talking about me. They’re talking about real estate again. Stock markets. Meanwhile, the decor is fucking the floor.

I love it.

(Drip.)

In my mind I’m running down the hallway. All the doors are open, even the doors I had yet to open. Past, present, and my hopes for the future - I see everything with clarity. I always have been, and always will be, a pathetic baby.

With an unexpectedly loud roar of a grown, I reach a climax. It doesn’t just feel good - it feels like the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. I don’t even care who is in the room watching me. I hope they liked the show. Next time, I hope there’s even more. They, too, should see what I’m willing to do.

(Drip.)

--

The room is dark when I’m shaken awake by Mommy. I realize that I’m sleeping at the bottom of the playpen, and realize I hadn’t left this since before our guest had arrived earlier that evening.

“What...time is it?” I ask. I’m disappointed in myself for talking at all, but she doesn’t seem particularly upset about it.

“It’s late,” she says. “Far past your bedtime.”

The room smells bad. I smell bad.

“Did I…?”

“Afraid so.”

“While...they were here?”

She nods, a soft and supportive smile on her face barely illuminated in the dim light of the room. “You worked yourself into quite the tizzy when I let you out of your cage. You conked right out. Then, later, you just...filled up your diapers. In your sleep. Without a second thought.

In the weariness of my sleepy mind, I’m mortified.

“We all enjoyed it,” she says. “It was the most precious thing. But now, let’s get you changed into a clean diaper, yes? Then we can go to bed.”

I nod, my thumb sliding into my mouth without so much as a single conscious thought.

She leads me by the hand back to The Nursery. This is it, I think. The true beginning of a world beyond any I had ever known before. I shit myself in my sleep in front of a politician. After humping a wet diaper.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Good.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“What did you think of our company?”

“I think...Ms. Davenport wants to play.”

She laughs. “You got that feeling too, hmm?”

I nod.

“We’ll have to invite her over for a warm bottle of milk sometime.”

I’m getting my diaper changed. It feels as exciting this time as it did the first time. As exciting as I suspect it’ll be the 1,000th time.

There’s a whole new world ahead of me. Baby showers. Play dates. Vacations. My biggest fear, back when I first started to daydream about this day after I first spoke to Murray, was that I’d look back on everything with regret. I was kind of sad that I didn’t miss it more, honestly.

But then again, I’ve always known what I am: A dumb pathetic Baby.

(Drip.)