Daily Free-Write February 15, 2021 (Patreon)

Note: Special Request. A prolonged messing scene.

"You know what I mean?”

A pale chick with black eyeshadow and a lace choker is talking to you. What was she saying just now?

“Uh… yeah, totally,” you say, slowly looking around and trying to piece together where you are as you scan the room. You feel slow… your movements, your thoughts. Sloth-like.

Your head finally turns far enough for you to see your hand. Something bright red glowing from a hand-rolled cigarette. Smoke rising from your fingers. You pass it off to her.

“Finally,” she says, taking a drag. Her eyes turn red. Glassy. Now she has that slow look just like you. She stares off into space. Where the fuck are you?

Thoughts seem to assemble themselves slowly, as if only catching up to you now. Couch. Mandala Tapestries on the walls. That kind of place. You know what I mean. Smoke filled room. Archway leading to more spaces. More people on couches. Pillows. Looking just like you. No, wait. Mirror. The thoughts start assembling themselves more quickly.

Vertigo. Some strange sensation moving through your body. What does it mean? It’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t quite comprehend the signals coming from your body. You manage to stand up. Gravity tells you it is not your friend. Your stomach shifts. A sudden weight in your stomach.

Where are you? You grunt at the pain in your gut. Some sort of hippie commune? Is this one of Brad’s friends’ flop houses? Where are you? You stumble forward. A sudden urgency you feel. Like you have to go somewhere… do… something…

“Bathroom…,” you blurt out. “Bathroom! I need a bathroom!” Slow motion seems to snap into the present, sending you several rapid steps forward toward the arch that goes into the next room. Almost there.

SMACK!

You hit glass. Fuck. It was a mirror. What the hell.

Laughter behind you. It’s that chick. She’s laughing her ass off. She’s already pissed her leggings, and it’s spreading out beneath her. A pain shoots through your gut. Shit. You’re about to do something much mor embarrassing if you don’t get to a bathroom. You know what I mean. Shit. That’s what you’re about to do.

You have to find a bathroom. You feel like you’re slowly regaining control of your legs. Your body and your brain are finally reconnecting. You wish they hadn’t. You are already aware that you probably won’t make it to the bathroom, wherever that might be. What the hell did you smoke?

People are gathered in the hallway, chatting, drinking, laughing. Party or just a casual Sunday brunch? You don’t care. You’re on a mission now. You allow yourself to fall slightly forward and your tumbling becomes a sprint.

“Bathroom. Have you seen a bathroom? Where’s the bathroom?” Everyone seems to be too slow or incomprehensible to understand.

The demon is knocking at your back door now. A turtle, just beginning to poke it’s head out. No. This can’t happen. You won’t let it.

Your face goes red with the effort. Finally you find someone that you can understand. They point you in the right direction. You stumble-run forward. That orange door. That must be it. It’s beginning to come out now. You couldn’t hold it. But you have to try. You couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t try. You know what I mean. Your cheeks begin to get wet with tears as your resistance weakens. You begin to cry out as you clench as hard as you can but it forces its way out anyway. Bubbles out from between your cheeks and fires against the walls of your underpants. Your steps become ginger. Like you’re walking on eggshells. Trying to keep yourself from touching the muck that has forced itself into your pants. You whine. You cry. You give up.

No point in stopping it now. The moment you stop resisting, it all explodes out at once. A loud blort ringing through the room, deafening your ears, filling your seat with warmth and relief. Your pants are beginning to get heavy now. The orange doorknob seems to recede further and further as you reach out, and still find yourself too far away. You sob. It’s not fair. You were so close. Second by second, your seat droops lower. You can feel it forcing your legs apart, forcing your knees to bend. And then at a certain point, it flips. You’re done agonizing over what happened, and now you just want that desperate feeling to end. You squat and push. It’s the only way you know to make that urge go away. Squat and push. You lean forward, using the door as your support as you grunt and strain. And your cock is rock hard as you force as much as the mush out of you as you can, forcing your cheeks apart until your butthole feels like it’s going to turn inside out. Hurts so much it feels good. You know what I mean.

And then you realize it. Your hand is on the doorknob. The knob to the bathroom door. You could cry. You’re where you wanted to be this whole time, and it’s way too late. You turn the knob anyway, moaning as another shudder passes through you and you fire another blast into the back of your pants. Pressing against the back of your shins now, almost big enough to be your own personal beanbag. And as the door slowly opens, your jaw drops. This can’t be right. There’s nothing in here but a crib, a dresser, and a padded table. There’s no toilet in here!

A tall woman in a nurse’s uniform stands up. Her red lipstick and cat-eye glasses standing out against her white outfit. The room smells like baby powder.

“Is the little one messy already? I knew you would be back soon.”

Little one? Messy? You back away, but she grabs your wrist. Too fast for you.

“What’s the matter, baby? You were just doing the toddler squat and groaning like a cat in heat a second ago. Don’t tell me you didn’t fill your pants on purpose. You were practically drooling with pleasure.”

You unconsciously wipe your forearm over your mouth and it comes back wet. Forget practically, you were drooling.

“Well, come on in here. That diaper isn’t going to clean itself off, you know what I mean?”

You wish you didn’t. Wait. Diaper? You look down. You realize that all you’re wearing is a superman baby-tee, and the thickest diaper you’ve ever seen. You look back up at her, completely confused. The tugs at your wrist forcing you to waddle forward.

“I guess this means you’re in,” she says.

“In? In what?”

She laughs as if you made an excellent joke. “You came back. So you decided to stay! We’re so happy to have you, Baby boy. Our new house baby. You’re very lucky, you know. We don’t get openings often.”

House baby? No! You struggle feebly, but the truth is, you just want the diaper off. She lifts you up onto the table like you weighed no more than a doll and you winced as you felt the mush spread up your back and forward over your balls.

“Don’t worry, little stinker. We’ll get you set in no time, and then we’ll show you off and make the announcement before beddie-bye time in the crib.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you manage choke out. The world tilts as you fall onto your back, your legs in the air.

“Bad baby!” she says, smacking your thigh hard. You cry out in surprise. “You’ll be getting a soaping after this.”

“I’m not a baby, lady!”

“Then why did you come crawling back in full poopy pampers?” She pulls a strap over your chest pinning your arms in the process. “There. That’s better. No falling off the table now.”

You struggle and squirm til your red in the face, even though part of you knows this is what has to happen. “You’re so fussy, boy. You clearly need to relax. Do I need to get someone to bring you some more smoke? That will help.”

With your arms pinned to your side all you can do is feebly kick your legs and whine as she opens the door and calls out to someone.

“The-the girl… The girl in the other room. P-p-pissed her pantssss,” you manage to say.

“Oh she did, did she? Well, they’ll have her in a diaper soon too, I imagine. Though she’ll have to go home when she sobers up. Unlike you, she’s just a visitor.”

She came back holding a burning little stick like the one you had in your hands earlier. You know what I mean. A joint. She puts it to your lips.

“Inhale, baby.”

Against your better judgment, you inhale. Hold it. Breathe out, filling the room with acrid smoke. You never could resist a good J. Things slow down once more. You feel good. Relaxed. Where are you? Who is that nice lady taping up your fresh diaper? She pats the front.

“All done!”

You can’t really understand her but she smiles so you smile too, and clap like she claps. She picks you up on her hip and carries you out. So many sounds and colors surround you. Smiling faces. Cheers. Applause. Everyone is so happy to see you. You suck on your fingers and feel warmth growing between your legs. Some part of you knows this is wrong. You never meant for this to happen. But it’s hard to hear your better judgment over all the fuss they’re making about you, through all the hands reaching out to pet you, caress your cheek, scritch that secret spot behind your ear. I could go on, but what would be the point? It would be like reading Shakespeare to a baby, you know what I mean?