Baby's Medicine (Micro Fiction)

The last of the early experimental pieces. This one's a little dark. 

If you enjoy these short stories, please let me know! I've got more coming from the stream marathon, but I'm also happy to continue writing more if my patrons like them. 

I sat on the floor, sucking on my toes. I didn’t particularly like the taste, but I also didn’t particularly have a choice. I would rather have been reading a book, maybe catching a film at the theater, going out with friends. My body didn’t particularly care what I would rather be doing.

It was the drugs, the ones they gave me to ‘level my moods’. I couldn’t remember when I’d first been given them, but they kept me out of the driver’s seat. I’d heard my caretaker - my babysitter, really - explain that I’d been hurt, that I was in need of constant care, that if I didn’t have my medicine every twelve hours, I could get aggressive and hurt someone. 

She didn’t know. Nobody knew that I was in here. All they could see was a grown man with the apparent mind - and clothing - of an infant. 

My body decided it was bored, so I rolled over, crawling towards the play pen. My diaper rustled as I moved, reminding me that even basic control of my bodily functions was gone. For a moment, I could see the TV in the other room. A football game was on, but I couldn’t see who was playing before I’d moved past it. My hands started stacking blocks. 

If they just slipped up once, I’d have a chance. I’d gotten close, before, felt the drugs fading, felt my control return. I’d never gone long enough to be able to speak, to say I was still here, before another bottle got pushed in my mouth and I drank it down, tasting the chalky drugs that kept my mind blank. 

I felt a little pressure, and my body decided to push, dribbling pee and forcing muck into the seat of my diaper. No, I wished, knowing what was coming next. No, no, no- 

Giggling, I rocked back, sitting down with a disgusting squelch beneath my padding. My body might have had the instincts of an infant, but it was still fully grown, and apparently it seemed to like the feel and sensation of sitting down into a stinky diaper almost as much as it liked…

Oh, god, please don’t- 

My hands rubbed on the front of my onesie, pressing through the thin fabric and the thick padding. I could feel myself growing hard, and I rolled onto my back, rubbing harder, faster, my mouth moaning as I willed myself to stop. 

It was no use. I couldn’t stop myself from doing this any more than I could stop myself from filling my diapers, from sucking my toes, from drinking the medicine every day that took away my control. 

I felt nothing but shame as the pleasure washed over me and I rolled over, suddenly tired. My eyes closed, drowsily, and… 

I woke up to see my caretaker leaning over me, a smile on her face. “Well, aren’t you a little stinker? Why don’t we get you cleaned up?” 

She reached down to help me sit up, and I realized that while I’d been asleep, the contents of my diaper had leaked out the back, staining my onesie and leaving a mark on the floor. 

My caretaker clucked her teeth, ruffled my hair, and said, “Well, I guess it’s time for a bath, isn’t it?” 

She wasn’t strong enough to carry me, but she led me to a bouncing stroller, what she called ‘the fun chair’, agitating it so that I rocked up and down as she pushed me to the bathroom. 

My fingers felt tingly, and as I looked at the clock, I realized how late in the day it was. Bedtime would be soon, but with the delay to get washed up, I hadn’t been given my medicine yet. 

Mind racing as she filled up the tub, I tried to get control of my body. It was hard, but it was working. I made my fingers wiggle. I could direct my eyes around the room. 

As she stripped off my onesie and wiped me down, I managed to babble, “Abba!” 

She looked at me in surprise. “Well, aren’t you a little chatterbox tonight?” 

Words. I need words. “B-bbabab!” I tried. “Habba!” 

It was no use. She got me mostly wiped down, then paused. “Wait here, baby!” 

I did. I obeyed, willing myself to hold still. I had control. 

By the time the bath was done, I was going to have even more control. I would be able to speak, to explain myself, to- 

My caretaker returned with a bottle of a creamy liquid. My medicine. She’d noticed the time, too. 

“Why don’t you drink this and enjoy the water?” she asked, helping me into the tub, sitting me down in the warm, soapy water. 

I shook my head. I actually shook my head, saying desperately, “Namma babba!” 

“Ah, don’t be fussy,” she chided, pressing the rubber nipple between my lips. Despite my control, instincts still took over, and I started to drink. 

No. I can’t lose control again, not when I was so close. No, no, no- 

She leaned in, ruffling my hair again, and whispered, “Did you think we don’t know you’re in there?”