🕑 Added 2025-05-10 19:29:30 +0000 UTC
Story #198: Reaching for the Reigns
(Content Tags: Slice of life, gritty reality, treated as mushbrained, messy diapers, humiliation, adult protagonist)
Autonomy, independence, freedom, adulthood.
Was it really so much to ask for? Or was it truly as pie-in-the-sky as he'd been made to feel? Was he really just not capable of ever really 'growing up'?
Having a job, having his own house, pursuing relationships, making his own choices.
Were those things really as out of reach as they seemed? Could he not grasp them if he was only given a chance to try? Was he truly destined to live in the arrested development of childhood?
The cumbersome garment around his waist would suggest that he was indeed destined for such a fate. The posters of superheroes that decorated his walls, and the media that he was content to consume, those were also nails in the loathsome coffin that was his future prospects.
It'd always been this way for Arthur. He'd always been behind, and he'd always been different than the other boys his age. From the hazy days of kindergarten to the final days he'd spent in high school, all of it speckled with varying splotches of special ed.
He wasn't a complete imbecile, though he also wasn't one to rely on for wit; he'd been below the average, and that'd offered its own struggles, but the real culprit had been the severity of his neurodivergence.
Well, one of the culprits anyway. If looking deeper, then one could notice that there had been a partner in crime to his ASD; just as culpable, and vigorously stoking the flames, was his overbearing mother. It was by her hand, her misguided edicts, that his development had been stunted far more than it should have been.
She had always treated him as being mentally and emotionally fragile; all the milestones that he'd already been delayed in, she had kept him from even attempting until it was embarrassingly late to be reaching them. The sippy cups hadn't left the cupboard until he was halfway into his first year of middle school, and he hadn't cut up his own food until he was nearly an adult!
It was that way with everything, from ditching training wheels to swimming without floaties. Nothing better represented that shameful upbringing than the fact that he still wasn't really pottytrained!
That was partly his own fault, of course, and his condition did make it difficult to follow the signals that his body tried to give him, but he'd gotten virtually no support in actually overcoming such a struggle. Several times over the years he had tried to discuss it, to talk about leaving diapers behind, but it'd always just been waved off with a noncommittal 'we'll talk about it later'.
But later never came, and he'd grown all too complacent with shitting himself like a toddler. An act that he begrudgingly took great pleasure in, that his condition amplified the experience of, but one that he knew he should be ashamed of.
How was he supposed to get a job if he was pinching loafs in his pants? How could he live alone if he couldn't even change himself? What woman would want to be intimate with a loser that packed his oversized Pampers full of hot, smelly shit?
All of the new milestones that he dreamed of reaching, all of the privileges and pleasures of adulthood, and they all felt locked behind one particular step that he'd never learned. Pottytraining was a gatekeeper that he couldn't keep ducking; there was no 'special ed' or 'resource room' for grownups.
His younger sister was starting her first year of college, and his little brother had his first girlfriend, but what of Arthur? What was the last accomplishment that he could even point to?
He hadn't even technically graduated high school, at least not in any real way. The other teens got to walk the stage and be handed a regular diploma, but he'd had to waddle up there to only receive a 'certificate of completion', and that'd only been because he'd made a point of not staying in SPED until he aged out of it. He'd already been a year older than everyone there at that point, since he'd had to spend extra time getting his ducks in a row.
That giant crowd, with all the lights and noise, it'd been a nightmare for him. He'd wanted the experience of graduation, just like everyone else, but he hadn't even been able to completely handle it. He'd pushed a big pole of crap into his diaper as he stood bowlegged beside the principal; one of the pictures of him was literally showing his facial expression as he strained to squeeze it all out!
That was the last milestone he could point at, and it'd almost been two years since then. He'd in many ways only devolved since that moment; as embarrassing as SPED and the remedial courses had been, they had at least forced him to stimulate his brain in some way, and keep up a certain level of decorum around others.
But since then, he'd just been spending time around the house. He didn't really have any friends to go hang out with, nor did he have any activities that'd change up his daily routine. He instead watched a lot of cartoons, played a lot of video games, and somewhat frequently found his hand slipping down the front of his diaper.
It was all hedonistic crap that did nothing to forge his future, and there was nobody trying to push him to amount to more! His siblings basically thought he was retarded, and his mother fully assumed that he'd always be little more than a large child, so his indulgence was indulged. He'd been fine with it at first too, to be done with school and allowed to just have fun instead, but the reality had grown to be lackluster, and it'd left him wanting.
Glancing around social media, and seeing what fun, productive lives that his former schoolmates were leading, was instrumental in awakening his ambitions from their slumber. They were in college, or they were working, some were dating, or traveling!
And where was he? In his childhood bedroom, sitting at the computer with his flabby belly hanging over the waistband of his adult diaper.
Was he expanding his horizons? No, he was dulling an already dull mind.
Was he working a job and making money? No, he was farting and shitting in his pants like a retard.
Was he in the arms of some beautiful woman? Not even close! The only action he saw was repeatedly beating off in his own filthy diaper; his pitiful little member would only know poopy Pampers, never pussy.
Hell, he even saw or heard that other classmates from his SPED class were doing real things! Kids, some of which, he'd once had the smug knowledge of knowing he was smarter than! Sure, whatever jobs they were working were menial and simple, but that was still better than what he was doing.
It brought up similar feelings that he'd had back in school, whenever someone lower-functioning than him, would make him look bad by at least being in underwear or pull-ups. Students who were genuinely retarded, via clinical diagnosis, and they'd laugh at him for his inability to keep logs of shit out of his pants; they'd mock that he still wore diapers like a hapless toddler!
Even if they didn't laugh or tease, Arthur could still feel that gap between their abilities. The chasm that represented the one skill he wished he could master.
With all the psychogenic damage that he'd accrued while perusing these social media sites, he had become hungry for more than he had. He grew to be testy and irritable, he became impatient and started to resent the hand that he'd been dealt more than ever before. He didn't want to let himself degrade more than he already had, and he was no longer content with contentment.
These burning feelings aside, there was still the grand barrier that was reality. Regardless of how motivated he felt to become better, there was a finite amount of improvement that he could reach by his own hand, and even with all the help in the world, there would still be a plateau that was significantly shorter than others.
He might not have been bright, and he may have had lofty ambitions, but he wasn't so deluded that he thought he'd be becoming a rocket scientist in this life. His wants were relatively humble, and by measure of any other young man, they were simply the bare minimum standard expectations. All he wanted was to be a grownup.
The first step he had taken on this journey of self-actualization was to write down all the goals he had: move out, get a job, get a driver's license, get a girlfriend, become fully pottytrained, and get into some form of higher education.
There were many other goals, smaller ones, that he'd expect to meet along the way, but the big ones were his primary focus. If he was able to succeed with the big ones, then the small ones would be easy as pie. A surge of pride coursed through him as he wrote each one, the young man letting his mind wander and daydream of what things would be like if he were to accomplish them all.
Fantasies of him coming home from work, that he got from the education he received, in the car that he drove, to the house that he'd bought, and getting a welcome smooch from the woman he'd courted. Then she'd lead him back to their bedroom, and she'd sensually tug down his trousers, and there would be a very mature pair of boxers to greet her!
He'd dreamed so hard and gotten so excited at the fantasy he'd concocted, that he hadn't even realized that he'd shit on himself until his little brother had knocked on his door to announce it was time for dinner. The majesty of that other world had faded in an instant, and had instead been replaced by the sticky feeling of hot mush packed against his buttocks and oozing underneath his taint. The acrid odor had humbled him immediately, but it hadn't broken his spirit.
He kept this list to himself at first. As much as he wanted the support of his family, and as much as he wanted to believe that they'd be proud of him for showing some initiative for once, he also feared that their response might not be so kind. Even if they didn't intend to be cruel, he could easily see that their genuine reaction might be lacking, and that such a response would cripple his motivation.
So he instead looked toward the internet to figure things out; endless Google searches with misspelled words, few of which actually brought him any closer to accomplishment. Arthur would find plenty of material that claimed to make things easy for a young adult to understand, but his reading comprehension was poor, and even if it wasn't, the adult world was still a massive struggle to navigate. He didn't understand what APR was, or how taxes were supposed to be done; he didn't have a line of credit, and he didn't even know his own social security number!
Understanding things became like slaying a hydra: he would start on one topic, but then he'd have to search for a dozen more to just understand it, and then each of those searches would require searches. It made it painfully clear just how sheltered he'd been from how the real world operated! It made him understand that he still had the naive eyes of a small child.
It quickly became obvious that it was all too much. The strife didn't cause his desires to sway, but he did come to accept that this wasn't something he'd be able to do on his own. If he was able to pick up some momentum, then perhaps the rest would slide into place, but he would need a boost to get started.
The obvious choice was his mom. Arthur's sister was too condescending and busy, and his little brother was still only twelve, so it wasn't like he'd be much help with such adult matters. The problem was deciding on how he should approach things with her; she never intended to hurt his feelings, but her words often betrayed that she didn't believe he'd ever be independent.
Arthur didn't believe that she'd intentionally try to hinder him, or steer him away, but he was afraid that she'd treat it as an unserious matter.
He wasn't wrong.
It'd been a muggy afternoon, and Arthur had been trying to get a little exercise in the backyard, as he found that physical self-improvement would be an important step to getting a girlfriend. This mostly consisted of him lazily kicking his brother's soccer ball around the grass, but it was enough to fill him with a sense of accomplishment.
His mother had been out there as well, tending to her flower garden, and she'd called him over to give her a hand with lifting a bag of soil. Arthur was happy to help, as it made him feel capable, and he stuck around to help spread it as well.
Feeling that this was a good moment to make mention of his future plans, he sluggishly approached the topic with a comment about how good he was at accomplishing tasks. She idly agreed with him, likely not fully listening, and he used that affirmation as an ignition point for what he really wanted to discuss:
"Like...Umm...I could probably do something like this, as a, uhh, job."
"That's right, sweetie. You're doing a very good job."
Her response showed either how little she was paying attention, or how little she thought he was capable of seriously discussing employment opportunities. Her eyes were focused on her flowers, not on her son.
"N-no, I mean, like getting money for doing it."
"I already give you an allowance, Arthur. I don't think asking you to help me with the gardening is asking too much."
Her tone became a little more firm and focused, but she still wasn't understanding the point that he was trying to make. She was still talking to him like he was a fussy child that wanted a handout.
"No, mom, that's not what I mean...! I'm saying I could go work at a shop or something..."
The woman finally tilted her head back and looked at her son, though her sunglasses hid exactly what she might be thinking as she did. Her lips pursed, perhaps trying to decide if Arthur was playing pretend or being genuine.
"Work at a shop? Did you want me to dig out the little plastic register that you and your brother used to play with?"
Arthur felt his face grow warm as he realized that she was talking about the preschooler playset, which was likely deep in the garage or attic by this point. She thought he wanted to play pretend!
"N-no, mom...! I'm talking about...about..." He stammered and shifted on the balls of his feet, getting worked up.
"...About getting a real job! Where I can make money and be a grown-up!"
Just as he figuratively dumped his purse in front of the woman, his body decided to go the more literal route, and a juicy fart blasted into the back of his bulky adult diaper. The flatulent force rumbled the garment, and before Arthur could reign in what was about to happen, his bowels took the executive seat.
There was a dry crackling, and there was a gentle crinkling; two sounds that he and his mother both knew well. They were the first few notes of the shameful symphony that Arthur so often played for his family, whether he wanted to or not; it was a rude rondo, a crass crescendo, a smelly sonnet.
No, in this specific instance, it was a diapered dirge, an embarrassing elegy, a requiem for a 'retard'.
The log of shit came hard and fast, and all that Arthur could do was to scrunch up his face like a toddler and give his knees a slight bend. It was a large one; it was a titanic turd that tented the seat out so quickly and profusely, that his pants couldn't hide the knobby shape that had appeared in the back of his diaper.
"G-guuuh!" Arthur stupidly grunted, as if taken by surprise by the prompt evacuation of his own bowels.
His body gave him no other option but to push harder, to redden his face more darkly, and to stain his chin with the straining drool of an imbecile, all in the service to jettisoning the gargantuan pillar of poop into his diaper. It was hardly anything new for him, but it'd come at a terrible moment.
"...Oh, sweetie. Are you going number two?" His mother gently asked, sounding unsurprised.
The discussion had ended before it'd even begun, or at the least, it'd been impeded by the humungous hurdle he now hauled in his Huggies. He wouldn't let himself be deterred, but it'd only be a steeper uphill battle to fight, for him to discuss employment prospects while flat on his back on the changing mat, with two pounds of dump being unwrapped.
Becoming a proper grown-up wouldn't be easy, especially as long as he was still making poopies in a diaper like a dumb, little baby.
