My Pathetic Life [Tier 3] (Patreon)

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Now

“I have company coming over tonight,” she says to me as she walks through the living room.

“Oh. Uh…who?”

“Does it matter to you?”

I sigh. “No, I guess not.”

Then

I don’t think there was a specific moment that changed things for us. Sometimes things just work out that way–no matter how hot and heavy a relationship starts, you eventually look at the bigger picture and realize that it isn’t exactly what you thought you wanted.

I didn’t know what I wanted from my life at the time–I was young and stupid. I was still trying to figure myself out. All I knew was that I wasn’t sure that she was the person I wanted to end up with. I didn’t think I needed any more reason than that.

I broke the news to her one night at her apartment. I was careful about every aspect of it–I didn’t wait until the very end of the night, I was sure to only blame myself, and I had been very clear that I thought she was an amazing woman who deserved a relationship with a partner who was better suited for her than I was.

And she said: “No.”

Now

We are getting ready for another production of the little play that we put on when she entertains her male companions.

Hers is the role of the powerful woman. She who, indisputably, rules the roost. The conqueror. The queen. The goddess.

Mine would be the role of the jester. The butt of all jokes. The lousy excuse for a man. The pathetic example of what happened when you dared defy the wishes of The Queen.

“Do you think, maybe, you could change my diaper?” I ask. “Before he gets here?”

She laughs. “How bad is it?”

“It’s wet, but…”

“How wet?”

“Wet enough. If I have to wet again it might, uhm, leak.”

“But it’s not leaking now?”

“N-no…”

“Then you’ll stay in that diaper.”

“What if I do leak?”

“Then you better hope that you don’t make a puddle on the floor. Or you’ll be licking it up.”

Ding-dong. That would be tonight’s guest for this performance of My Pathetic Life.

Sometimes I would be sent to the door to greet whoever it was. Sometimes, I’m hidden away so that I could be revealed later–a little surprise to drop on someone after a few good rounds of fucking. Tonight would be a scenario I called ‘in situ’–I’d be crawling around on the floor of the living room when he entered, as if he had just walked into our home on a normal night.

“Douglas,” she coos while opening the door. “I’m so glad you could make it, sweetheart.”

The man–tall and broad-shouldered with very little hair on his head–bends down to kiss her. I’ve never seen the man before, but it looks as if they have a little bit of a rapport with each other. Maybe this is who she’s been spending the last few nights with when she wasn’t here.

“A pleasure to be here,” he says, his voice gruff and manly. Almost the exact opposite of my tone, really.

He scans the room, as a new visitor is wont to do. Surprisingly, I’m one of the last things his eyes land on. Does he know I’m there, and he’s chosen to save me for last? Or does my sudden appearance at the end of his investigation come as a surprise?

I’m never sure how much her ‘friends’ know about me in advance.

“Ah,” he says, his mouth curling into a grin. “And who do we have here?”

“This is the baby,” she says. The baby. It sounds like a previously discussed topic to me.

“He’s smaller than I expected,” he says. I’m curious to know what he was expecting. Taller? Chubbier? I’m still an actual adult dressed up like an infant.

“He’s kind of petite, isn’t he?” she ponders aloud, stroking his chin. “I think that’s what I like about him. You can just believe that he belongs in diapers.”

“Yeah,” the man says, lumbering forward so he can get a better look at me. He’s studying me. Can he tell how bloated and full my diaper is, despite being under a onesie? “A little cutie.”

“He won’t be in our way much,” she assures him. “Unless you want him to be.”

“You said he sucks cocks, right?”

“Mm,” she nods. “I did say that. And it’s true.”

“Gotta be honest with you,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about that since you told me. I kinda want to see if he could get those little lips of his around my shaft.”

She shrugs. “There’s only one way to find out, right?”

Then

I didn’t think I was being forced to stay in the relationship. If I really wanted to, I could’ve just left and not come back. She wasn’t going to chase me down, tie me up, and drag me back to her place. I could’ve just walked away, and that probably would’ve been that.

When she refused to break up with me, I took that to mean that she saw a future with me in it. I admired that, and it made me want to stick around. I wanted to see what she thought we could create together

“You should move in with me,” she said one day, almost a week later.

It felt like it would be an odd thing for me to agree to, considering that I had just tried to break up with her. But she had a great job and had an amazing apartment–and it was a much more appealing option than continuing to endure my father’s bad jokes, skim milk, and farts while I lived with him.

And so I moved in.

One day, not long after, she came home from the grocery store and pulled a package out of one of the shopping bags and handed it to me. It was a pack of disposable razors and some shaving cream.

“What is this for?” I asked.

“Your face,” she said. “I think I’d just like for you to have a more clean-shaven appearance.”

I wasn’t exactly rocking a full-on beard at the time, but I had been kind of fond of the stubble I had maintained as part of my aesthetic. Still, it seemed like an easy enough change to make for her.

“Okay, sure.”

“And one more thing,” she added.

“Yes?”

“While you’re at it, I’d like it if you shaved off all of your pubic hair as well.”

“Really? But…”

“I would like it if you did.”

I wasn’t crazy about the idea, but again, it seemed like a small sacrifice to make. It wasn’t like anyone else was staring at my pubic hair–or lack thereof. If that’s what she wanted to see down there, I didn’t see any harm in it.

Later, I would realize that I misunderstood her. When she refused to break up with me, it wasn’t because she thought we had a bright future ahead of us. It was because she wasn’t done with me yet.

Now

I’ve sucked cock before. Never before I had moved in with her–but plenty of times after. I’m still not convinced I’m any good at it–but nobody ever complains. Clearly, it’s not important if I am good at it or not–the important thing is that her friends have a pathetic little mouth to stick their cocks into.

The tall man’s cock is big–easily one of the biggest I’ve ever seen.

“He needs practice,” the man says.

“He has a rubber cock I make him practice on,” she says. “I think you’re just bigger than what he’s used to.”

“I’m just sayin’. It’d probably feel better if I just fucked his diaper.”

“Is that what you want?” she asks. “I could arrange that.”

“Or I could just fuck you.”

“With that thing? You’re going to break me in half.”

“Let’s go find out,” he says, sliding his shaft out from my lips.

“You don’t mind if he watches, do you?” she asks–pointing at me, still kneeling on the floor with saliva dripping down my face and neck.

“He ain’t gonna shit himself while we fuck, is he?”

She shrugs, flashing me an especially naughty smile. “Oh, he might.”

Then

By the time I realized that she had her hooks in me, it was too late.

I was living in her apartment. I was driving her car around. I was working at a job that she got for me through ‘friends’ of hers. We were sharing finances. There was little in my life that was purely ‘mine’–most everything had her fingerprints on it somewhere.

We stopped having sex. We even stopped sleeping in the same bedroom–me and my belongings slowly migrating into the spare room.

“I’m not sure this is working for me anymore,” I said to her one evening. “Is this even a relationship?”

“Do you want to leave?” she asked. “You’d have to find a place to live. You’d probably have to find a new job. And, well, what part of our finances do you believe is owed to you? I’d like to see what my lawyer had to say about that.”

In other words: Deal with it, or else.

And there was more: “Are you that ungrateful? I’ve given you everything you have, and you act like it’s not enough? You’re not a man. You’re just a pathetic little boy, aren’t you?”

“N-no…I mean…”

“Say it. Tell me that you’re a little boy.”

It was a mantra that I’d adopt from then on: It was better to just do as she asked.

“I’m a little boy.”

“I thought so,” she said. “On your hands and knees now. Show me how a little boy crawls.”

Now

I missed when I could fuck her like the tall man was fucking her now. I missed when I could fuck anyone.

She was on her back, legs straight up in the air, as he rapidly thrust himself into her. While her body still seemed to be intact, she certainly sounded like she was being broken in half by his cock. From the moment the tip of his shaft entered her, and not stopping since, she carried on with a loud series of moans and yelps.

I wouldn’t have put it past her to embellish the sounds of her pleasure for my benefit–I’d heard her make quite a racket with less-endowed men. But I believed these noises to be the real deal.

Every once in a while, the man turns his head and stare at me, a big smile on his face as he fucked her. “Look at me, boy,” he seemed to say. “Look at what I’m doing to her while you’re sitting there in your diaper.”

Trust me, sir. I know.

I’m sitting in the mushy padding of my diaper, slowly shifting myself forwards and backwards in it. Sometimes, I try to match the speed at which one of her friends is fucking her. I stand no chance of keeping up with this guy, however.

Not every time–but sometimes–I can get off in my diaper just by rocking back and forth like this. It takes a while, so it’s most likely to happen when she’s with someone with a bit of stamina.

“Oh…fuck,” the man barks. “I…I’m going to…”

I can hear the frustration in his voice before he surrenders to his more primal urges–his speed slowing considerably as he moans and grunts.

“Seriously?” she asks. “You’re done already?”

He tries to save face: “Well, you’ve got this super-tight pussy and…”

“Look at him,” she says, pointing to me. “He’s humping a pissy-fucking-diaper and he hasn’t cum yet.”

And so that’s that. The big-dicked man attempts, briefly, to try and rekindle the magic, but the moment has already passed. He takes the hint, gathering up his things so that he can be escorted to the front door.

So it goes, sometimes. There’ll probably be another man in his place soon enough. Maybe even tomorrow night.

“And you didn’t even poop yourself?” she asks, returning to the bedroom finally.

I shake my head.

“I’m surrounded by disappointment.”

“S-sorry,” I mutter. “If you want, I could try…”

“No, this is a good thing,” she says. “If I took your diaper off of you, do you think you’d be able to fuck me any longer than that human-tree-trunk?”

“Well, I, uhm…” I have no idea what my stamina is like anymore. But I’m not about to pass on her offer to let me into her pussy for the first time in a very long while. “I can.”

Failure. I can’t even get my cock inside of her before I start spurting–unloading myself onto her belly as I hovered above her with a look of horror on my face.

“Disappointments,” she says again. “Surrounded by them.”

She opens up the soaked diaper I had been wearing up until a few minutes ago and squats over it, emptying her bladder into the already saturated padding. The diaper does its best to absorb what it can, but the rest trickles out from the sides, forming a puddle beneath it.

“Lick it all up off the floor,” she orders. “When you’re done, I’m putting this diaper back on you. I’ll tape it shut with packing tape if I have to. And then you’re going to go to sleep in this.”

Then

I could see where this was going long before we got there. I was already shaving my pubes, sucking my thumb and crawling around the house for her pleasure. I figured that it’d just be a matter of time before she decided that I should start dressing the part as well.

I expected an announcement. A grand unveiling of the next phase of her humiliating machinations. But when the diapers finally surfaced, I was surprised at how subtly they had been slipped into my life.

I opened my dresser drawer one morning, grabbing some clothes to change into after I took my morning shower. To my surprise, however, I found that the drawer that was usually filled with my briefs and boxers was suddenly filled with diapers. Big, thick, disposable white diapers.

I went to her room, a diaper in hand, ready to challenge her about this move. Even if I had known diapers would be coming, I didn’t like the fact that they would just immediately replace the adult clothing I owned.

Of course, she was waiting for me–already having predicted this argument. She sat on the edge of the bed, her short skirt allowing me to glance right up the insides of her thighs and into her pantied crotch.

“I can’t wear these to work,” I said. “I can’t wear these out. L-look, if you want me to wear them around the house, I will. But…you have to give me options.”

“No,” she said.

“Please. You know I’ll do anything to make you happy. But you’re asking for a lot here and…”

“That’s right,” she said. “You will do anything to make me happy. So if I tell you that you’re going to wear big diapers all of the time, then do you know what I expect you to do?”

“Y-you expect me to…wear big diapers all of the time.”

“Good boy,” she said, nodding.

“But I, uhm, wasn’t agreeing to that. I was just answering your question and…”

“Do you want to make me happy?”

Such a tricky question, and one I probably couldn’t answer with any form of: “Yes, but…”

And so: “Yes.”

“Well? Diapers would make me happy.”

There were options. I could have resisted. I would likely have lost just about everything I had–and would probably be sleeping in my old bedroom at my father’s home by the end of the day. Was that worse than just wearing a diaper?

I sighed. “Fine.”

Now

She’s entertaining another gentleman in the living room tonight. I’ve been asked to stay in my room. The door is closed. I expect this to mean that at some point, she’ll be opening the door to make me a surprise guest.

I feel another urgent cramp in my midsection. The suppository she ‘gifted’ to me earlier seems to be working its magic. Won’t be long now.

I hear them talking. She’s giggling a lot–she does that when she flirts. In fact, I think the only time I hear her giggling is when she’s flirting with other men. It always works, though. Even me, who knows better, hears the way she laughs at a man’s mildly-at-best funny joke and can’t help but fall for her a little all over again.

His voice sounds familiar to me. Could be that it’s just a type of guy she’s dated before. Or maybe this is even a repeat customer. I can’t hear the words he’s saying, but I keep my ear pressed to the door anyway, just listening to the music made between his confident tone and her giggling. It’s a song that makes me jealous. We–me and her–used to make music like that.

No, wait. On second thought, I’m not sure that we’ve ever had conversations like that. These days, I often forget that this all started because I told her I wanted to break up. I wanted a relationship where I could spend hours on a couch giggling with someone–and I didn’t think she was it.

And now, here I am, trapped in a room–in a diaper–listening to her have those sorts of conversations with another man.

I feel another cramp in my bowels. I was hoping to put this off for as long as I could, but there no longer seems to be any such thing as a ‘better’ time to fill my diaper. It either happens before I’m introduced to tonight’s guy, or it happens while I’m in his presence.

Fuck it. I squat down in front of the door and just surrender to the building pressure in my guts. The swampy deluge instantly fills the back of my diaper, pushing into every vacant space that it can.

And now I notice that the house is silent. There’s no talking. No giggling. Just footsteps, getting closer and closer to the door.

I should maybe stand up–do whatever I can to not look as pathetic as I feel at this moment. But I don’t think I can–I feel another wave of cramps building, meaning that round two is on its way now. I’m not sure where it’s going to go in this diaper…but maybe that’s her problem for later.

The door opens, and there they are–looking down at me with big smiles on their faces.

“Oh my,” she says, hand to her mouth like she’s actually shocked by what she’s seeing. “Were you in the middle of making your boom-booms, baby?”

“Is he really doing what I think he’s doing?” the man asks, shaking his head in disbelief. She’s already answered his question, but he seems to need to ask it regardless.

The man doesn’t just sound familiar to me–I realize it is a voice I actually know rather well. It’s Trent–my boss from my job. The job that she was able to get me, once upon a time.

Then

The craziest part of my new life in diapers was not actually the act of wearing and using diapers–though that was still plenty crazy. The craziest part was how quickly it just became normal. A week had passed since diapers suddenly appeared in my underwear drawer, and I had already given up the hope of using a toilet again.

I didn’t think that I had changed–rather, I believed that I had just adapted. I limited my intake of liquids before going to work. I tried to hold my bowel movements for when I was home–rewriting the daily schedule I had lived by for the previous 20-something years of my life.

Wearing diapers out in public wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. People just weren’t paying attention to that sort of thing. No matter how thick or crinkly the diaper would be, nobody seemed to give a shit.

I’d have thought she’d be happy with this progress–but she only ever seemed to be annoyed when she spoke with me or changed my diapers. While she never came out and said it, I often wondered if she was mad that I had been managing to acclimate to the new diapered lifestyle she was forcing on me. She wanted to see my cheeks bright red. She wanted to see me cry. She wanted me to beg her each and every day to give me back my ‘big boy’ underpants.

“You like this, don’t you?” she asked one day, as she spread my legs wide so that she could wipe up the brown smears from my bottom.

I

“I…uhm…”

“No, it’s okay that you do,” she said. She smiled–she rarely did that when we were alone together. Or, if she did, it was a sinister sort of smile. A mischievous one. “I wasn’t expecting this, that’s all.”

“I wasn’t either.”

“I’m not going to stop,” she said. “I’m not, one day, going to change my mind and decide that I want to make you my darling husband. I’m not going to give you back your boxers.”

She stopped herself short of saying that I had a choice to make–staying or going–but she didn’t have to say it aloud. The question was there for me, hidden between the lines. I could go, and maybe salvage something that resembled a normal life. Or, I could stay, and be her baby.

“I know.”

Now

“Tr-Trent…”

“Unbelievable,” he tutted, shaking his head. “I’ll admit, I was kind of curious how the night would play out when she invited me over for cocktails tonight. I knew you lived with her…I just didn’t know she was keeping you as a pet.”

“Seriously?” she asks Trent. “You thought he and I would be together?”

“Obviously it makes sense to me now.”

“You didn’t know that he wore diapers to work?” she asks.

“Y’know…I had heard rumors,” Trent says, stepping into the room so that he can walk around me. He’s studying me; taking in the whole scene. He seems to spend the most time behind me–likely staring down at the jam-packed seat of my diaper.

The next wave of cramps hits me. It’s far too late to attempt to save any of my dignity, so I don’t even try. I grunt and moan as I push more soft and sticky grossness into my diaper.

“Rumors?” she asks, seeming to ignore what I’m currently doing.

“Some gals around the office said they thought something was up with him,” Trent shrugs. “I guess he smelled like pee one day. Or baby powder, I don’t remember.”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Not only am I squatting in front of my boss–loading my diaper as he watches–but now I’m learning that people already know more about me than I thought they did. People who saw me almost everyday–at a place that I saw as a sanctuary from the humiliation that consumed the rest of my life.

“Sounds like my little one,” she shrugs. “Though I suppose he doesn’t do this at work, does he?”

Trent laughs, playfully patting me on the back. “Nope. But now that it’s all out in the open–or at least, it will be when I’m back in the office tomorrow–maybe he’ll be able to. I mean, is there any point in hiding it after that?”

They both laugh–and I have no idea if he’s being serious or not. I come close to just dropping onto my knees and holding my clasped hands up towards him–begging him to keep this all to himself.

“You shouldn’t have kept this to yourself for so long,” he says to her. “We could’ve been having fun with this.”

“I didn’t know you’d be interested,” she shrugs.

“Me neither.”

She steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him closer. Their lips meet.

I see something there–something I don’t normally see: A spark. I’ve watched her kiss many men, and I never see her face light up like it is now. I wonder how long she’s had her eye on Trent–or if, somehow, it’s seeing how he reacts to me that’s driving her sudden passion.

“Fuck me?” she asks, pulling her lips away for a moment.

“In your room?”

“In here.”

“But, he’s…”

“I like when he watches,” she says.

“Right, but he stinks.”

“So you’re telling me that if I lie down here on his bed and spread my legs open…” She proceeds to do just that–backing up into my bed before tipping herself over so that she’s on her back with her legs up in the air. She spreads them apart, exposing her red panties beneath her dress. She pulls aside the panties. “...you’re not going to come and fuck me?”

He looks down at me and laughs. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He doesn’t disappoint her. It’s the longest I can remember her ever having sex for.

Then

It didn’t come as a surprise when she announced that she was going to start having ‘male company’ over at the apartment. She was a woman with needs–needs that she either didn’t think I could fulfill, or didn’t want me to fulfill. I expected this.

“Don’t ruin this for me,” she said to me. “You’re going to stay in your room the whole night. That shouldn’t be hard for you, yes? It’s not like you’ll need to use the toilet or anything.”

“I…I’ll stay in my room,” I said.

I didn’t see the first few men. They came and went without ever needing to interact with me. Sometimes I heard their voices. Sometimes all I heard was her moaning in the bedroom.

I thought I’d see a change in her. I figured that once she started getting some good dick again, she’d ease up with me. But no. I saw little change in her demeanor each day. In fact, there were days when she seemed more miserable than she did before she started inviting men over.

“I have a friend coming over tonight,” she said to me one morning.

“I’ll be sure to stay in my room tonight.”

“No,” she said. “I think he should meet you.”

“M-meet? Me?”

“I told him all about you,” she said. “Believe it or not, he found it very interesting.”

“When you say that you told him ‘all about me,’ do you mean that you told him about…”

“I told him you’re a diaper-wearing infant who still needs his bottom changed after he makes his poopies,” she nodded. “Yes, I told him all the important stuff.”

“Wh-why would you tell him that?”

“I’ll do as I please,” she said. “And you’ll do as I please as well. Understood?”

“Understood.”

That night, the man–whose forgettable name has since slipped my mind–came by. I was made to answer the door, wearing my diaper and a onesie. Pacifier sticking out of my mouth. They laughed at me for a while, making me crawl around and suck my thumb. He put his hand on my diaper as I pissed myself, laughing as he felt it getting warm.

“I probably shouldn’t be so blunt,” she finally said to her guest. “But I think it’s time for you to fuck my pussy.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “If I must.”

“But he’s coming,” she said, pointing to me.

“Him? You’re not, uh, expecting me to have some sort of three-way with you and a guy in a diaper, are you?”

“I don’t expect you to stick your cock in his diaper,” she laughed. “I just want him there. Watching.”

And that seemed to work. Sure, I had heard her moan or yelp from her bedroom before, but it was nothing like the sounds she had made on this particular night. It made little sense to me–this guy seemed average in just about every way. And yet, I had never seen her face glow like it had when she finally climaxed–her eyes locked on me as she did.

Now

Trent makes repeat appearances at the apartment, showing up a few nights in a row. As the weeks go on, I begin to see him almost every night–just as I see him in the office every day.

As far as I know, he hasn’t told everyone about me or my diapers. Maybe he doesn’t have to–maybe everyone knows all they need to know. Now that I know there are rumors, I start to notice the little grins all around me at work. The way peoples’ eyes follow me.

Once in a while, he’ll call me into his office.

“I want to see how your diaper is doing,” he says.

“I-it’s dry.”

“And I should trust the words of a baby? Pull down your pants. I’ll look.”

He doesn’t want to change my diapers. He just wants to see them. He wants to laugh at me for wearing them. Sometimes, it feels like he just wants to be in on her joke.

Clearly, the two are developing feelings for each other. I’m curious where this is going to go, as this sort of thing has never happened before. They’re young, affluent, and healthy. I can see marriage in their future. A home. A family.

And then what? What about me?

They have sex almost every night. Sometimes I’m made to watch. Sometimes, I just hear them from my room.

I may be wrong in this observation, but…I’m almost positive that she seems to enjoy sex a lot more when I’m there. Especially when I’m in a dirty diaper.

“Trent proposed to me tonight,” she says one night.

“Oh? Did you, uh, accept?”

She nods. “I think it’ll be good for us.”

“Us?”

“You and me, yes.”

“I mean…is that what he wants?” I ask. She can be rather persuasive, I know–but I find it hard to believe that she can convince Trent to keep me around as they start a life together. Especially when all I have to offer are dirty diapers.

“If I want it, he’ll want it too,” she says. “Unless, of course, you want off of this ride now?”

“R-really?”

She shrugs. “Is that what you want?”

It’s a difficult question to answer, given the little information that I have. How much do I have for myself if I am cut free? Do I have money? A job? A place to live?

Do I have diapers? Someone to wipe my bottom for me? Someone to feed me cocks?

“What do you want?” I ask.

“You know what I want,” she says–all but making my decision for me.

Then

“What are you even doing with yourself?” he asked.

My father and I have never seen eye to eye. We could get along when we needed to–and I imagined that when most folks saw us, they’d think we were incredibly tight. Our issues were always under the surface–old wounds that were thought to have been healed over long ago, despite the scar tissue still being there.

“I’m working,” I shrugged.

“Are you still living with that woman?” he asked–skepticism in his voice at the uttering of ‘woman.’

I got that. I left his home–my home, at the time–in a big rush to go and be with her. And prior to that, I had said very little about her to him.

“I am.”

“Are you married?”

“Did you get a wedding invite from me?” I asked.

He laughed–a sputtering sort of noise, not unlike an old car coming to life. “Boy, you left me high and dry to go live with this lady. I haven’t heard from you in months. For all I know, you’re married with three children.”

No, just one child…

“I’m still living with her,” I said.

He chuckled to himself. “Keeping your dick wet, is she?”

“Sort of.”

“So?” he asked. “What’d you need from me then? Why did you make me drive all the way into the city to get coffee from this place? It’s too expensive, and it tastes like shit.”

“I just wanted to chat, Dad.”

“You ever hear of a phone?”

I sighed. I had forgotten how cantankerous my father could be. It was making this conversation a lot harder than it had to be.

“Look,” I said, deciding to just put it all out there. Well, most of it. “Let’s say that I was rethinking some of the decisions I’ve made. What if I wanted to come back to your place for a while? I don’t have to be there permanently–I just want to get back on my feet again.”

“Back on your feet?” he asked. “You in some sort of trouble?”

“N-no,” I replied, shaking my head. “Just…if I left her. If I needed a place to go. Could I come home?”

“I had to dip into my savings to cover the bills that you used to pay,” he said.

“I know, but…”

“And you used to do all the cooking and cleaning. Guess who has to do all that now?”

“You?”

“Well…I hired a lady who does most of that for me. But, still. That’s pricey.”

“I get it,” I said. “You depended on me and I just packed up and left. I know that wasn’t a good situation for you, but it won’t be like that this time.”

“No,” he said.

“No?” I wasn’t sure what he was declining.

“No, you can’t come back and live with me.”

Now

“Well something needs to change around here,” Trent says. “And I don’t mean his goddamn diaper.”

It’s been going on like this for a week now.

An invitation had been extended to her to come live with him in his home. She had accepted the invitation, with the stipulation that I was to come with her. He said he’d think about it. And he did–for about an hour or so. And then he said: “No, I think it’s time for you to give up your freak,”

They’ve been at each other’s throats since. I hear the arguments that take place behind the closed bedroom door. And too, I hear the arguments that take place right in front of my face.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” she says. “I’ve known him longer than you. And you like him.”

“No,” he quickly retorts. “I tolerate him. For you. But how long am I supposed to be playing along at this weird game? He’s a grown man that poops his pants for your pleasure.”

“You liked it,” she says.

“I liked seeing you happy. But now I want to see us happy. You and me. And I don’t think we need him to make that possible.”

“You’re wrong,” she says.

To this, he laughs. “Are you serious? Given the choice between your big baby and a good husband, you’re choosing…the pathetic baby?”

It doesn’t help that I’m sitting there in only a soiled diaper, my stink expanding to fill every nook and cranny in the room.

Then

I didn’t actually want to leave my life with her–I just wanted to see if I could. The answer was surprising: No.

Or, if it was possible, it was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

Which hadn’t troubled me as much as it should’ve. It made staying–and staying in her bedroom in my dirty diaper while she fucked other men–a little bit easier.

“I have a friend coming over tonight,” she said to me one day.

“Okay.”

“I think I’m going to want you to suck his cock. Do you think you can do that?”

I had never done that before. But I’d try it. For her. “Sure.”

Now

“I have company coming over tonight,” she says to me as she walks through the living room.

“Oh. Uh…who?”

“Does it matter to you?”

I sigh. “No, I guess not.”

“He’s nice,” she shrugs. “Friend of a friend of a friend. We got drinks a week or two ago.”

“Does he, uh, know about…me?”

“I gave him the basics,” she says. “He’ll probably be surprised by what he sees.”

Trent was gone, as was my job. I wasn’t working at all now–she didn’t think I needed to. A recent promotion at her own job had, apparently, covered most of the difference my lack of income created. Of course, she probably never needed me to work in the first place.

“Do I have to suck his cock?” I ask.

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe.”

“Enema or suppository?” she asks.

“I, uhm, probably don’t need either. I haven’t gone all day, so I’ll probably be bursting at the seams by tonight.”

“Even better,” she says, clapping her hands together. “You know that's my favorite, yes? When it’s natural?”

“I know.”

“Well, just do your best not to have an accident sooner. I mean…if you do, you’re going to be wearing it until tonight anyway. So just keep that in mind.”

“I will.”

I have something on my mind. It’s been there for quite a while, too. The timing never seems right to talk about it though. I wanted to say it around the time that she broke things off with Trent, but it felt too selfish then. But, of course, maybe there’s not ever going to be a good time for a talk like this. Maybe I just need to do it.

“Hey,” I say to her. “Can we talk about something real quick?”

“Of course,” she says. “What’s on your mind?”

“So…I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh oh.”

“I know,” I laugh. “But…uhm…”

“Go on,” she says. “Whatever it is, you can say it.”

“Look, we’ve known each other for a while, right? A long while? And I know I’m not like the guys you usually sleep with. I’m not this big muscle-y hulk. I’m not some witty lawyer. I’m not a fucking lumberjack.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever slept with a lumberjack,” she says.

“Ivan?”

“Oh right, right. Forgot about him. Alright, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“Well, you know, it’s hard to be around someone for as long as I’ve been around you without picking up a feeling or two, you know? Like…I know our relationship is kind of strange and atypical–but that’s exactly what I like about it.”

“I like it too.”

“R-right. So when things with Trent didn’t really work out, it made me kind of nervous, you know? Because, like, there’s always going to be men who want to sleep with you. Who want relationships with you. Who want to get to know you and ask you to marry them. And if I’m going to be the thing that gets in the way of those big relationships… Well, I just think that something needs to change.”

“Do you want to leave? Is that what this is about?”

“No, no. Not at all. Quite the opposite. I’m thinking that maybe…you and I make some changes to our life together. I mean, you can still go out and have all the sex you want to. I won’t bat an eye. But, too, maybe you and I can…have an actual relationship? I’d love to be your boyfriend. Your husband. Your life-partner. You know I’d take such good care of you. Anything you wanted–anything in the entire world–I’d do it for you.”

“Hrm,” she hums. “Do you know why I keep you around?”

“I…I hope that I do. Is it because you love me too? Because you like my company? Because, as weird as our world is, it’s still the world we want to be in together?”

As if I should expect any other response than: “No.”

“Why?”

“It’s because I can’t get off in the bedroom unless you’re sitting there in a shitty diaper. Believe me, I’ve tried plenty of times to have sex without you around, but it just does nothing for me.”

“Wait. So…”

“You’re an accessory,” she says. “A toy. A tool. A glorified vibrator that occasionally shits his pants. A feature, I might add–not a bug.”

Her words should feel like a punch to the gut, but I think I’ve always known this was the truth. This is the way it is. This is the way it will be.

“Alright,” I say. “I’m, uh, going to head back to my room. Let me know when your friend is coming over.”

She nods. “I’ll call for you when I’m ready.”

It’s tempting to be upset about it, but I also know that I’m not alone. She’s just as dependent on me, I’m realizing, as I am on her. She’s provided the illusion that I could just leave throughout the time we’ve known each other, but if it came down to it–if I actually tried to walk out that door–I doubt she’d let me.

I feel a mild gurgle in my abdomen. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

In my room, I collapse on my bed, letting my hand absentmindedly squeeze and rub the thick diaper between my legs as I try and imagine who might be coming to visit tonight. I think about things I could say–body language that I could use–to better convey that I’m a pathetic baby.

When the curtain comes up again, starting another episode of My Pathetic Life, I figure I should give the best possible performance.

This is all I have.