Tale #10: Whatever It Takes (Part II: Upping the Stakes)

Tale #10: Whatever It Takes (Part II: Upping the Stakes) (A Sequel to ‘Tale #3: Whatever It Takes’) (Content Tags: Messing, wetting, diapers, Goodnites, intentional and unintentional accidents, humiliation, sibling schemes, pretending to be dumb, slice-of-life, ongoing story) "I think you're getting pretty close. You should probably do something really big though, y'know? Something that really drives it all home." The fifth grader's advice reflected the man's own opinion, but it wasn't coming from the same vibe of positivity. The two stepbrothers, split by about a decade of experiences, had very different ideas on how this would all end. They both shared a vaguely similar goal, and could probably agree on similar methodologies, but the intention couldn't be further apart. Terry, the twenty year old burnout, who wanted nothing more than to avoid getting kicked out for being a lazy bum, was willing to sacrifice much of his dignity and adult autonomy in pursuit of an easier life. He wasn't blessed with enough foresight to see how poorly that might end up being for him, or how badly he might be fucking up both his life, and his relationship with his stepmother. And then there was Timmy, who was just shy of eleven, but whose perfect little life had hit the terrible hiccup of encopresis. His body had turned on him, it had turned him into a pantspooper in diapers, and his mom had gone full mommy-mode to coddle him like a helpless toddler. Unable to change the state of his bowels, and knowing his mother wouldn't take his complaints to heart, it was his prerogative to lower Terry to a level that took the heat off himself. Similar goal: to help Terry lean into his history of developmental delays, toileting troubles, and special ed classes, so that he didn't have to get a job or go to college. Dissimilar goal: to push Terry so far beneath him, that Timmy's own potty problems became small potatoes, and he no longer had to deal with smother dearest. Was Terry at all aware of this deception? Of course not. Terry already wasn't the brightest, nor did he presume malice from a baby stepbrother whom he thought he had a healthy relationship with. Did Timmy hate Terry and want him to suffer? No, not really. Timmy was just a selfish little boy who was looking out for his own self-interest, and he hadn't thought much about the destruction he'd be aiding in committing. Neither boy was mature, and neither had thought things through to their natural conclusion. All that mattered to each of them was the agenda that they were committed to enacting, for their own selfish gains. "Yeah, I think I'll have a few more pee accidents first, during the day. Then, I think I'll kick it up a notch, and that should do it. She'll forget all about kicking me out of the house, and I can get back to maxin' relaxin'." Things thus far had been going well for Terry, at least by his own twisted metric; he'd wet the bed enough for a plastic sheet and Pull-Ups, he'd stopped wiping his ass altogether to dirty his underpants, he'd had his first daytime soaking recently, and he'd been practicing being dumber and more helpless. All in the course of two weeks! The original date to be kicked out was a month, so he still had two more weeks to convince his stepmother that being kicked out wasn't an option. Two weeks to prove he was completely unprepared for the rigors of adulthood! Timmy frowned and twiddled his thumbs, "Peeing your pants is okay...But I think you should probably speed things up more than that. She's gotta think you're basically a big baby, right?" A big baby... That didn't fully sit well with Terry. "Well, sort of...I mean, I don't want her thinking I've gone full retard. I just want to be pathetic enough to be given a pass on working and stuff. If I push too far, then she might stop letting me do stuff that I actually want to do, you know? No offense, but some parts about being a kid really suck." Timmy furrowed his brow at the halfhearted mettle being demonstrated before him. It wouldn't do any good to just have his mother's attention split between her two boys, he needed her to fully focus on the train-wreck that was her stepson. "But if you don't go far enough, then she might just extend the whole deadline thing, right? That might buy you time, but she'll probably still expect you to do stuff. You were in the special classes, right? Maybe you should try acting like those kinds of kids; I bet they're not having to go to work or college right now." Terry would give him a pat on the head and a weak smile; he would affirm to Timmy that he had a 'handle on things', and patronize him with a thanks for the thought. Then, the halftime huddle would end, and Timmy would be left quietly seething in his bedroom. Well, more than seething now; he would be stewing, not just in his frustration, but in the emotionally propelled pantload he'd launched while getting worked up. Getting the poopy diaper taken care of could wait. Timmy had plans that needed to be drawn up and eventually enacted; if Terry wasn't going to go the distance, then it'd be Timmy who dragged his sorry butt across the finish line. The next few days would go as Terry planned them to. Everything he was already doing would continue on as normal, but he'd also throw in a couple more daytime wettings to move the dial. The practice he got in with peeing himself in the morning, to simulate his bedwetting, had made it a lot easier to let go in his pants; slowly but surely, he was training his bladder to be more flexible with where it was emptied. On the third incident, his stepmother would pull him aside and mention two things: first, that it might be prudent to start wearing his bedwetting briefs during the day, and second, that she was considering a urologist for him. The first declaration had been fully expected, and it had actually been a little surprising that it'd taken this many pairs of pissy undies to reach; honestly, he'd expected the daytime Goodnites before the daytime wetting, just based on how poopy his underpants were on a daily basis from his lack of wiping. The second had been considered a possibility, but it was a less welcome permutation to things. With how fast the onset of all of this had been, it made sense that a professional medical opinion might be consulted, but it admittedly complicated things. It was hardly a crisis, but it did mean that he'd need to be on his toes. The more he considered it though, the less troublesome it came across; in fact, he may even be able to work the doctor's examination of him to his benefit! There was nothing medically wrong with Terry, and that'd surely show on any tests, but that'd also rule out that the accidents were a physical malady. It'd prove either that he was doing it on purpose, or that he was having issues of the mental sort, and he liked his odds on which one his stepmother would gravitate towards believing. Her desperate need to baby someone, the overly maternal instinct that was being supercharged by the current predicament, it would push things in his favor. Terry saw the way the switch had flipped with Timmy, whenever his pantspooping problems had sprung up. That'd been a boon itself, because before that, she'd been far more grouchy and stern about everything in the household; her demeanor had been sullen since Timmy had turned nine, whenever he'd really started to push away 'mommy' in favor of independence. If Terry had been a more clever man, and if he had just enough stomach for responsibility to play caretaker, then he could have gotten the same ultimate result with less impact to his dignity. He could have pushed Timmy further into the baby role that their mother was already trying to drag the fifth grader back towards, and by playing the responsible part of a big brother, then he would have easily avoided getting on his stepmother's radar as a lazy layabout. The same scheme that Timmy was smart enough to figure out for himself, could have easily been used against him by Terry, but that boat had already sailed by now. Denigrating Timmy might help to distract the woman, but after everything Terry had pulled the past two weeks, he wouldn't be escaping her gaze. Wearing the XXL Goodnites during the day was more comfortable for Terry, which he would quickly discover. He didn't have to worry about staining cushions with his skidded underwear, and he didn't have trails of urine coursing down his legs for every fake accident. It made having those daytime piddles a lot less stressful, since he could just soak the Pull-Up whenever, and wait for his stepmother to check him and notice. The trip to the urologist was a success too, at least by his own metrics. Plenty of tests were run, but nothing would point toward an infection or bladder damage; the young man had gotten proficient enough with relaxing his bladder, that he was even able to piss his Goodnite while standing there with his pants off. His stepmother had been discussing the accidents with the urologist, and giving a full history of Terry's autism and toileting problems from his youth, and Terry had decided it a good moment to punctuate the point. A slight push, which hardly showed on his face, and a dull hiss would interrupt their discussion. The two would look over at him, just in time to watch as his Goodnite stained yellow and swelled outward, becoming like a smelly water balloon between his pale thighs. Terry would pretend at first to not notice, and then as if wondering what they were staring at, he'd look down and give an 'uh-oh'. The urologist would recommend another avenue of exploration: psychology. Terry knew that was a distinct possibility, and a Google search had at least yielded that he had a decent amount of time to prepare for perfecting his acting skills. Getting an appointment with a psychologist was something that'd at least take a good week or more, regardless of how good his stepmother's insurance was. He'd seen one when he was younger, whenever he still struggled a lot with all his issues, but it was doubtful he'd be seeing the same one again. That had been a childhood psychologist, and that man had already been pretty old at the time, so he was likely retired by now. That was good, because it meant he wouldn't be dealing with anyone who had a basis of reference for how Terry should behave. It meant he could really lean into the autistic tendencies, and his stepmother would be so smitten by her need to coddle, that she likely wouldn't even think to mention how different he'd been acting only a few weeks prior. Another day or two would pass, and Terry would be left wondering if it was time to up the ante or not. Timmy had been less than subtle with his hints that Terry was delaying the big guns, but truth be told, Terry wasn't fully sure if they were necessary. His stepmother hadn't uttered a word about the deadline since the daytime accidents had started, so he thought it was possible that he'd already reached the point he needed to get to. Why dig deeper if the treasure chest was at his feet? But Timmy had been plotting away, quietly conspiring to give Terry reason to push harder at things. Once he saw how placated that Terry had become, he decided it was high time to give the older boy a swift kick in the butt. So during a diaper change, where Timmy laid on his back and tilted his head to the side, so that he didn't have to make embarrassing eye contact with the person untaping his fuming babypants, he decided to give that kick. "I haven't seen Terry packing anything, does that mean he's going back to school? Or did he get a job?" It was portrayed as innocent, like Timmy was just a curious younger brother who was confused by the lack of urgency, when the deadline was approaching so rapidly. Timmy knew he couldn't ask too excitedly, or rudely, because that may be seen as antagonistic. The last thing he wanted was for his mother get defensive over the lazy slob in the adjacent room. The woman appeared a little surprised by the question at first, but she didn't let it stop her; she lifted his ankles and began to clean him up, all while considering what he had asked her. "Well, sweetie...Your big brother has been having some problems lately, so I've been showing him some leniency on that." "Oh, you mean peeing his pants? Does that mean I don't have to do my homework, or any chores? Since I've been having accidents?" The woman frowned and shook her head, "No, Timmy. That's not what that means. Terry just needs a little extra time, that's all. I'm not going to make him leave the house when he's having problems, but I still expect him to do what I asked." Timmy didn't push the matter any further than that. If he nudged too hard, then the result may end up counterproductive to his original intent; just making his mother give it some thought, so that she remembered her own demands of Terry, should have been enough to throw some fuel on the dying flame. If not, then he'd have to take more extreme measures, but he really hoped that wouldn't be the case. Plan B was far more a gamble, and one that had the chance to backfire hard on him; he'd keep it in his pocket, but there it would stay, until no other option remained. The backup plan involved leaning harder into his own babying, as to make her less likely to feel the need to baby Terry; that felt like a surefire way to make her put a fire back under him, but it might also spell the end for the maturity he still desperately clung to. Fortunately, the prodding question would work out in Timmy's favor. The next day, while Terry was playing a video game in the living room, his stepmother would approach with a slightly more serious demeanor than she'd been giving him lately. The young man assumed she was coming to check his Goodnite, which he had dampened earlier, and which had some serious skids already. "Terry, I know you've been stressed out lately, but the end of the month is coming up." His blood chilled to ice in his veins. Terry paused the game and turned his attention to the woman, desperately hoping she wasn't about to say what he thought she was. Had all his efforts still not been enough? "I'll give you some grace, because of everything going on, but we need to have a discussion about your plans. I need to know that you've made a decision to pursue: job applications or college applications. You only have a week left to show me one or the other, or else we'll be having a serious talk about things. Okay, honey?" Had Timmy been right? Everything thus far hadn't placated his stepmother? He was just getting some grace on an extension? He nodded his head, "R-right, okay...I'll...I'll let you know what I've figured out, by the end of the month." The woman smiled and ran her hand through his hair, "That's my handsome young man." Handsome young man wasn't going to cut it; Terry needed to be her special little boy, her simple-minded baby. A handsome young man was someone whose life would still be dictated by lofty expectations. Expectations that he really didn't want to have to meet. It was time to push further, just like Timmy had warned. Terry needed to give a reminder that he wasn't fit for either of those gateways of adulthood, and that his place was still firmly in the carefree realm of adolescence. He knew what the next step was, but now it would be a matter of how the performance should be staged; he hadn't practiced doing the 'other thing' in his pants yet, and there really wasn't much time to get to work-shopping it. Terry would have to play things fast and loose. It'd be the next afternoon that he set things into motion. He'd made sure to hold back his bowels since last night, to assure that his desperation became very real; the young man, like his stepbrother, was typically very regular. Skipping his nighttime and morning BM meant that his gut was screaming at him for evacuation. His stepmother had taken the pair out to lunch at a simple burger joint, which felt like the perfect setting to be pitiful. An accident at home would have been fine, but it lacked a certain level of stakes that would elevate things to the next level. He needed to make it undeniable that he couldn't be trusted to be a big boy in public, not just at home. He had a mouth full of fries whenever the cramping hit full swing. His stepmother was preoccupied with wiping some ketchup from Timmy's chin, much to the boy's blushing ire, which gave Terry a chance to lift his bottom gently from his chair. One push, two pushes, three... A very soft grunt verbalized uncontrollably from his throat, but it thankfully went unnoticed. He felt the steamer crowning as it struggled to pass his buttcheeks, his sphincter still going off of a decade of strict training to keep poop out of his pants. As he continued the heaving, he briefly made eye contact with Timmy, who himself appeared to recognize what Terry was up to. The load finally began to descend, and like a boulder rolling downhill, it picked up speed quickly. The first sticky inch had required him to move heaven and hell to achieve, but every inch after carried the beautiful inevitability of inertia's consequence. The Goodnite had the thankless job of accepting every crashing ounce of the turd's grandiosity; the heat of the freshly laid log radiated, the mostly solid mass forcing the bedwetter pants to bulge out tremendously in the back, much to their complaint that such a task wasn't a part of their job description. Terry had to lift himself further up, to accommodate how big the firm mound added up to. It felt as though he was housing a cantaloupe behind him, at least in terms of weight. When he felt that the bulk of it had exited, he slowly lowered himself back into his chair, and he could feel the lengthy load mashing against his backside. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar, even if it'd been the better part of a decade since he'd felt it. The clinging warmth was almost like an old friend, and just like an old friend, it'd be helping him out of a jam. The earthy aroma only took moments to start wafting around their table, since the Pull-Up was wholly inadequate for suppressing such a scent. Timmy would obviously be blamed first, and for all Terry knew, his baby stepbrother had a similar fullness in the trunk, but eventually the blame would land directly at Terry's feet. Terry would escalate things as much as he needed to, and the simmering steamer underneath him was perfect proof of that. He would do whatever it took, and unknowingly to him, so would Timmy.