Exclusive - "Proving it" - Part 1

Ngatea

Max wakes up thinking of Jessica’s smile. He thinks of the freckles dusting her cheeks, the strawberry-blonde hair that frames her face.

Max thinks of Jessica and he feels nothing but love for her. Love and devotion. Obedience.

Because he’s a good puppy.

Opening his eyes, he’s surprised that she’s not there, looking down at him.

He’s alone in the room. Is that normal? Is that right?

There’s enough sunlight coming through thin curtains for him to see. He sits up, looks over at the toys neatly arranged on shelves, looks down at the half-completed puzzle on the floor. He runs his fingers over the cartoon characters decorating the duvet.

It’s strange, until it isn’t. Max smiles, pushes the covers away, and looks down at his underwear. Brand new, a gift from Jessica. So white and chunky, so comfy. In case he has an accident; in case he does something silly.

Silly. The word makes him smile more, stretching out his legs, wriggling his toes. And a stiffness, building between his legs, as his penis wakes up, pushing insistently against the fluffy cotton of his briefs.

He should reach down there and touch himself. He should be silly. Because he is empty-headed, he is an innocent little boy.

According to Jessica. According to the rules of his new life.

Where she takes care of him because he doesn’t know how.

She feeds him because he is helpless.

She dresses him because he is clumsy.

She washes him because he is messy.

She calls him a name. Something sweet and funny.

Silly puppy.

He grunts, he grins. Just thinking it makes his penis harder.

There’s a bundled blanket down by his legs. He pulls it up, groans out loud at its fuzzy softness. He strokes the pattern; rainbow stripes.

Another gift from Jessica; Max’s special blankie.

And he remembers:

He can’t tie his own shoelaces.

He can’t count his fingers.

Puppies can’t do any of those things. Especially silly puppies.

And what would Jessica say, if she came in right now? If she saw him writhing, if she saw him touch himself, grab himself?

What would she say?

Silly Max! What a silly puppy! Jessica’s here, sweetie. Jessica’s gonna take care of everything.

Max grasps the blanket tightly, pushes with his hips, squirms. He’s ready to call for her, ready to cry for…

He settles. He pushes the blanket away, keeps his hands by his sides.

Because Jessica isn’t her name anymore, not since last night.

She said her name was Mummy.

Max takes a deep breath. He can slow down his racing thoughts, he can cool down his warming blood.

Jessica isn’t Mummy. That doesn’t work. They’re the same age, for starters.

He looks down at his body. Muscular arms and legs, broad shoulders, and flat stomach. He’s fully grown, despite the special, soft, underwear. Despite the special, soft thoughts in his head.

This isn’t his room. It’s somewhere new. He doesn’t belong here, and a cold, liquid fear makes his stomach feel suddenly empty and his bladder seem suddenly full.

He sits on the edge of the bed, feet firm against the wooden floor. A cold morning; he needs more clothes, he needs Jessica to dress him up, snug as a bug.

He frowns. He is hungry, he is confused. He should go to the toilet, but he doesn’t know where it is.

Max blinks. But he knows where the bath is because he had one last night. A mess of bubbles and laughter, yellow duckie toys in the water with him as Jessica washed him, sang to him, laughed with him.

That was after dinner. After drinks. After Jessica told him that he was too tense, that he needed to relax. That he should take off his shoes and socks, that he should let her show him around the house.

Jessica. She’s not his mother, that’s impossible. Despite her claim, and despite Max’s strong sense, whispered between his cloudy ears, that she will take care of him, that she has to take care of him.

He stands up, rubs at his face. He will need to shave because he is a grown-up. Even though he is wearing little boy undies or something even more juvenile. Even though he is in a room filled with toys.

He holds out his arms, flexes his muscles. There is a weight and definition to his biceps because he works out. The same for his legs. Countless sit-ups and workouts have kept him slim, muscular, and toned.

He is fit and strong. But that’s not how he feels inside his head.

Because something happened last night. After Jessica told Max that he needed to relax.

Who is she, anyway, if she isn’t his mother? (And she isn’t, even if she says she is, even if she behaves like a mother, taking care of him, hushing, and stroking and holding and loving him).

It’s not his house. He’s away from home, out of his depth. He looks around the room for his clothes, his wallet, his phone.

Nothing but kids stuff. He doesn’t open the closet, sure that he already knows what’s inside. He doesn’t want to see childish outfits in his size. He doesn’t want Jessica to dress him up.

Although from the twitching between his legs, perhaps he does.

He opens his mouth, dry lips parting, to call out for her. But what will he call her?

Will he call her Mummy?

No. That’s absurd. She has tricked him, somehow.

She took advantage because Max is simple. Max doesn’t have a lot going on upstairs.

His penis twitches again, reminding him that he must like it this way. That he has signed on, somehow.

How? When? He looks over at the bedroom door. There’s a rug, rainbow patterned. It looks soft, it looks as though it would tickle his feet. And there’s something about rainbows that makes Max’s mind feel softer, feel like it might melt into nothing.

But it’s just a rug. Why does it seem so significant? And why is he afraid of walking over to it?

It’s a puzzle, and one that cools the twitching between his legs as he considers it.

He looks down at the other puzzle, the one at his feet. The simplest of jigsaw challenges. How many pieces? Max’s mind feels slippery as he counts.

But it’s a better problem to wonder about.

He counts, and he doesn’t use his fingers, even though that’s easier. He looks over each colourful piece in turn.

Eight. Eight pieces. Clever boy. Clever puppy. The brilliant part, the sheer inspiration, is that the puzzle itself is of a puppy. There’s the pink tongue, there’s the black collar, there’s the wagging tail.

The puppy isn’t barking, not for real, it’s just a puzzle. But Max can imagine it barking, he can almost hear it in his head. Because he can pretend, just like Jessica said last night. He can pretend all kinds of things.

He grins. Some of the pieces are already in place. It would be easy to complete it. He could crouch down right now and finish the puzzle. And then he can show it off to Jessica.

Max is ready to squirm again, he’s ready to wriggle. He’ll get down on all fours, just like a puppy. Just like Mummy’s silly-

“Good morning, sunshine!”

Max looks up from the puzzle to find Jessica standing on the rug in the doorway. She’s wearing blue jeans and a rainbow-patterned jumper that matches the rug. So many rainbows.

Jessica isn’t really his mummy. She’s something else. But what?

“Look at you,” she says, “Up already. You’re such an early bird.” She doesn’t remark on his lack of clothing, she doesn’t seem to think it strange that he’s standing in just a pair of thick, white briefs. And then she grins. “Or are you an early puppy?”

That’s a good joke, but Max manages not to smile. He clears his throat. He won’t call her Mummy. He shakes his head.

Jessica puts her hands together, and for a moment Max is sure that the woman is going to start praying. “You’re not feeling silly this morning,” she says mildly. “But I bet you’re hungry.” 

This time, Max nods. To hunger. To addressing at least one need.

Jessica’s smile returns. “Let’s have brekkie.” She holds out her hands and beckons him to her.