His little complication 18+ ddlb

Chapter 9

LUKE

And so we went back to a familiar spot - the same cheap room in the same cheap motel with the same cheap bed covered with same cheap sheets.

“We’re already comfortable here,” he said when I asked why he chose this place. “And it’s affordable too,” he added with a chuckle.

He led me in and closed the door. He held my hand and guided me towards the bed. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since he kissed me, but at that instance, it was pounding so hard that I felt it would explode out of my chest at any moment. I didn’t know what he had in mind and the uncertainty was quite terrifying.

And, admittedly, very thrilling.

Will he kiss me again?

Will we undress?

Will we make love?

Will we...

Oh s**t! What the hell was I thinking?! He’s a guy. A guy! I don’t hook up with guys! I never have and I never will!

Did I give him the wrong idea about me by not reacting negatively to his kiss? Did that make him think that I liked it? Did that make him think that I wanted more?

I should talk to him about it. I should voice out my thoughts and express my concerns. I should inform him, outright, that this wasn’t how I rolled... that I wasn’t gay, contrary to his insistence.

I was about to open my mouth when he removed his shirt.

Whatever words were planning to roll out of my tongue were pushed deep into my throat, causing me to gulp.

The full expanse of his bare chest was beyond massive. Every inch of his torso was bulging with fibrous prominence, even in areas that I didn’t even know could accommodate muscles. Purple spots were sprinkled all over his upper body, however, remnants from the bruises and the wounds that have yet to heal. Still, those didn’t ruin the splendor of his mighty form.

He threw his shirt on the bed and it landed next to me. It was light. It shouldn’t even have produced a sound when it fell. Still, I felt my entire being shake when it happened.

He proceeded to approach me.

I knew I had to do something.

Or say something.

Whatever.

I had to stop him.

“A-Are we... are we going to... f**k?” I asked, my voice fluttering with tremendous anxiety.

Stupid!

Of all things I could’ve said, I chose that ridiculous question.

But he just flashed an even wider smile.

“No,” he answered, softly, like a whisper. He dropped on top of me, supporting his upper half with his powerfully built arms so that he could suspend his body as it hovered over mine. “We’ll do something better.”

“S-Something... better?” I repeated, bewildered and horrified and excited at the same time.

He twisted his body to the left, positioning himself to sit right next to me. “I know what’s wrong with you, Luke,” he told me.

“That I’m gay?” I assumed what he was going to say next, ready to counter his assertion.

He didn’t acknowledge what I said, though. “Have you ever felt responsible for anything your entire life?” he asked instead.

“Huh?” I was bemused by his query. “I’ve been engaged with a variety of work for the past decade,” I informed him. “I finished college. I even pursued some odd jobs to support my education. So to answer your question... yes, I’ve been responsible for a lot of things throughout my life, actually.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he sneered. “Have you every been responsible for something because you chose to be responsible for it... because you want to be responsible for it and not just because you had to?”

That made me pause to think about his inquiry. My studies. The jobs that I’ve had. My career. I’ve been responsible for everything that they entailed, yes... but did I really choose to be responsible for them, as Jack has asked? Did I really want to be responsible for them?

Or was I responsible for them only because I was placed in situations that allowed no other option?

“I... I don’t know,” I replied. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Maybe, that’s where your misery lies, Luke,” Jack said. “Maybe, deep inside, you feel that you’re incapable of deciding things for yourself because every function you’ve performed up to this point wasn’t of your own choosing... because you’ve been living your life based on other people’s expectations... because you’ve anchored your own happiness on what would please those around you.”

“What’re you driving at, Jack?” I demanded to know. He was beginning to sound like he was speaking in riddles.

“I want you to give me this night,” he replied almost instantaneously. “Tonight, I will present to you a responsibility... a responsibility which you may or may not undertake. It doesn’t matter what your choice will be. What’s important is that you and you alone will decide if you’ll do it or not.”

This was getting even more befogging.

“And what will I be responsible for?” I asked.

Jack smirked. “Me,” he said curtly, confidently, proudly. “You’ll be responsible for me.”

“I... I don’t understand...”

“It’s simple, really. Tonight, you will take care of me.”

“A-Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Then why should I take care of you?”

“Because tonight, I’ll be a baby.”

What the f**k?!

Immediately I was reminded of the few things I’ve read on Google this afternoon. I couldn’t remember them exactly, but some of the words flashed in my head. Infant. Eroticism. Neo-p********a. Age imprinting. And something about an error in s****l development.

Could Jack possibly be suffering from any of those conditions? All of those, maybe?

Oh s**t.

He suddenly held my hand and I almost cringed. Then his mouth approached my ear. “Your baby,” he whispered.

And again, my head transported back to the first night we spent in this damn room... when he slipped out of consciousness... when he had a nightmare... when he began acting weirdly... when he started talking like a child... when he called me daddy...

Quickly, everything was making sense.

Jack was more than just someone who failed to outgrow diapers. He was also, according to what I’ve read, an adult baby... and he wanted me to take care of him.

The thought alone was repulsive.

He was a grown man. A big man. A mountain of a man.

How was I supposed to care for him?

Why would I even want to care for him in the first place?

“It’s your choice, Luke,” he said, this time with a skittish beam.

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t answer him.

He reached for the gym bag he brought with him. He opened it up and searched for something. After a couple of seconds, he brought out an object which I didn’t initially recognize - round, plastic-like, blue, with a tubular protrusion that was seemingly made of rubber...

My jaw almost dropped on the floor when I realized what it was.

A pacifier!

I didn’t even have the chance to ask him why he had one. He quickly put it in his mouth and began to suck on its n****e without even abandoning that flighty grin.

Then he stood up, right in front of me, his groin leveling with my eyes. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down. He stepped out of the pair and presented all of himself to me... tall, strapping, ruggedly gorgeous, and almost naked save for the diaper he was still wearing.

I could already hear in my head what he’d tell me next. Do you like what you see? It’s your choice. Take it and I’m yours.

But he didn’t say any of those.

He didn’t say anything at all.

He just kept smiling that same kittenish smile...

Until it disappeared without warning.

His lips, previously curved upwards like a wide and smooth ‘U,’ quickly twisted upside down into what looked like an exaggerated frown. His eyes, previously sparkling with provocative intent, swiftly became despondent and watery as if he was at the verge of tears. His nose, gloriously shaped with regal opulence, scrunched into a flatter form that expressed discontent. His body, usually propounded with satisfied pride that bordered on arrogance, hunched into a crook as his shoulders dropped to form a bend and his back arched forward to form a curl.

I was taken aback by his sudden transformation.

Yet. I waited for him to speak... to explain what he was doing... to assure me that this wall all part of what he has planned for tonight.

His lips began to shiver. He was about to talk. A reason was forthcoming.

“I’m hungry!” he yelled with a vastly different voice. Strident. Nasal. High-pitched. Whiny. It was like someone else was speaking through him.

“I-I’m sorry?” I responded, confused by what he just said.

“I’m hungry!” he repeated as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Hmph!” he breathed out, showing his indignation.

Indignation for what, I wondered?

Because he was hungry?

Or...

Because he was expecting me to feed him?

No f*****g way!

I haven’t agreed with this game he wanted us to play. He couldn’t possibly presume that I’d just do whatever he asked me to do.

“Feed me!” he screamed again, even louder this time around.

“Shhhh,” I replied as I immediately, I placed my finger over my mouth to hush him up. There may be people occupying the rooms adjacent to ours. I didn’t want them to hear him like this. That would be so embarrassing.

But he didn’t listen.

“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!” he kept screaming, louder and louder with each repetition. He was jumping up and down the floor. His hefty mass made the ground quake with every fall, producing loud clonks that even the people from the parking lot would be able to hear.

The situation was quickly becoming very scandalous.

“Okay!” I was constrained to agree. “Just... be quiet... I’ll get you something to eat...”

His mood suddenly changed. Gone was the glower on his face, replaced by guileless elation... an unbridled kind of exhilaration over a matter that seemed so simple.

I got up from the bed and looked around the room. I couldn’t find anything that would satisfy Jack’s hunger. The closest I saw was an electric kettle and some pouches of instant coffee on the dresser.

“That good enough for you?” I asked him as I pointed at the complimentary sacks.

“Hmph!” he blurted as, once again, he gave me an angry glare.

“No coffee then?” I concluded aloud. I kept searching. And thinking...

If Jack’s acting like a child, then I should come up with something that a kid would like. I did see a vending machine outside, but it only served sodas and beers. The only minimart that I knew of was around two or three miles away and I doubted that I could leave him here considering the state that he seemed adamant to portray.

And so I kept searching until I saw the gym bag right beside him. Jack drew out a pacifier from there earlier. Perhaps he had something edible inside that he would enjoy.

I marched towards his bag and grabbed the handle.

“Hey! That’s my stuff!” he protested, displeased by what I was doing.

“You said you’re hungry,” I reminded him. I went on to explore his bag. “Let me see if there’s something here that you can eat. That alright?”

“No!” he vehemently spurned, causing the pacifier that was dangling from his mouth to violently sway from side to side. He hopped on the bed and kept jumping up and down as he continued to scream. “No! No! No! Don’t touch my stuff!”

I’d love to believe that I’m a patient man, but his actions and his unreasonableness were starting to irritate me. The fact that I didn’t even know why he was doing what he was doing only made me even more annoyed at what was happening.

I didn’t listen to him. I kept searching his bag despite his loud protests.

And then I found something... amidst the shirts and a pair of pants and a couple of spare diapers and what looked like a fireman’s outfit (which came with a rather bulky hat) was a small can of powdered milk. I read the label.

PediaSure Plus

Classic Vanilla

For Children 3 to 12 Years Of Age

I didn’t think that Jack being an adult baby was enough of a reason to carry something like that around, so I just thought that maybe this particular brand had some special nutrients that helped him build his muscles.

I found something else, though... something that was buried deeper in the contents of his bag.

It was a feeding bottle.

Now, that was a little more difficult to find an excuse for,

It just proved to me that this... condition... that Jack had was so severe that he had to bring with him these things wherever he went.

He was still bouncing up and down on the bed, completely unaware of how huge and heavy he was and how the bunker could break at any time if he’d keep doing it. He wasn’t complaining anymore, however. He seemed delighted to see that I found his milk and his bottle.

I showed him both items. “These good enough for you, I guess?” I asked.

“Uhuh, uhuh, uhuh!” he answered animatedly. He started to jump even higher, hence crashing even more forcefully on the clamorously creaking bed. He had to stop doing that, and soon!

“You want me whip up a bottle for you?” I feigned ignorance.

“Uhuh, uhuh, uhuh!” he gave the same zealous reply.

“Okay, but only if you’ll stop jumping,” I tried to barter.

“No way! No way! No way!” he chanted with mocking laughter. He was taunting me with his defiance.

“Stop, or no milk!” I gave him an ultimatum.

His jigs slowed down, eventually, to a halt. His mouth was curved into an inverse bow as if he was despairing over his defeat.

I must admit, I felt a tinge of satisfaction when I saw him like that.

“Good boy,” I commended him. A second later and I wondered why I even said that. Good boy? Boy? I called him a boy? That might’ve given him the impression that I was a willing participant to this stupid charade he was imposing on me.

I shook my head, disappointed at myself.

But a job had to be done.

He needed his milk to make him shut up and prevent an even more disgraceful situation.

I read the instructions on the canister. A scoop of powdered milk for every two ounces of water. I proceeded to the kettle and filled up the bottle with eight ounces of warm liquid. Then, as per the direction given, I dropped four scoops of milk and sealed the nursing flask with its lid. I shook it a few times and presented it to him.

He swiftly grabbed it from my hand. He lied down the bed. He bent his legs until his knees were at level with his groin. He placed the n****e between his mouth and sucked.

And then he began to gag as he threw the bottle away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I worriedly asked as I caressed his arm. He was still struggling for air.

“Hot...” he mumbled. “Too... hot...”

“Isn’t milk supposed to be served hot?” I asked before realizing that Jack was, in his mind, supposed to be a kid and kids don’t really like warm drinks. “Oh... sorry... I think I should’ve used cold water, huh?”

Jack grunted and groaned as he slammed his arms and his legs on the mattress. He was at the verge of another tantrum. It seemed like he was about to scream his lungs out once again.

I had to do something to calm him down.

“I can ask the lady at the reception desk for some cold water,” I suggested.

“No!” he bellowed as he furrowed his brows.

“Maybe she has some... uhm... chips...” I tried to reason out.

“No!” he yelled once more. “You can’t leave me alone here! I don’t like being alone!”

“Okay... well... how does pizza sound?” I offered. “I can call for a delivery...”

“No! I hate pizza!”

“But kids love pizza,” I argued.

“Well, I don’t! Hmph!”

“If not pizza, then what do you want to eat?” I was already losing my patience.

“I don’t know! Just feed me!” He was still shouting, still grumpy and still uncooperative.

“How about some Chinese food?”

“No!”

“Burgers?”

“No!”

“Tacos?” though I knew there wasn’t any Mexican resto in this side of Northampton.

“No!”

“Jesus Christ! Just tell me what you want, okay?” I found myself yelling at him.

That caught him by surprise. He took a few step backwards as his scowl gave way to a look of fear. It was very uncomfortable seeing him like that - a fully grown man, enormous in every way, retreating in fright just because I scolded him.

“Hey,” I said with a mellower voice as I tried to atone for my sudden fit of rage. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. It’s just, well... I’m getting really desperate here. I don’t want you getting hungry but I don’t know what I can offer you.”

I thought that was enough to pacify him, but then, his eyes began to swell. his nose began to crumple, and his mouth began to shake.

All of a sudden, he burst into tears and began to wail. He wailed so hard that I was certain it caused some alarm from the other guests who surely heard his loud howls. Panic started to grip. If Jack would continue like that, it was just a matter of time when someone would come knocking on our door.

Astonishingly, however, the alarm I felt speedily subsided. Quite unexpectedly, I was no longer concerned about the scandalous consequence of Jack’s action.

No.

I was feeling something else.

It was concern.

Concern for his mental state.

Concern for his emotional wellbeing.

Concern about the particular need that he wanted me to fulfill, expressed in the fatuous manner that he chose to assume.

“Hush now,” I spoke as gently and as affectionately as I could. “It’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

But he didn’t stop crying.

“Work with me here,” I told him. “We can come up with something. Together. I just need you to tell me what you’d like to eat.”

His sobbing only intensified, so much so that he was beginning to choke on the snot that most probably ran down his throat.

“See?” I tried to point out. “Crying isn’t good for you, so stop it, please...”

He didn’t comply. He kept weeping to the point that he retched. I thought he was going to throw up.

That was the last straw.

This act he was putting up was taking its toll of his physical health.

It had to cease.

I had to be firm.

“Jack!” I called his name with a steely tone. “Stop crying!”

The seriousness in my voice penetrated him, that much was certain. His wails softened. He looked at me. There was terror in his eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of horror that one would feel in response to impending danger. It was the type of foreboding born from shame and guilt and the realization that he has done something that wasn’t right.

Still, he kept sniveling.

“No more, okay? Stop it!” I ordered him once more.

It should’ve ended there. He knew I was mad. He knew he had to obey me.

But, again, he didn’t.

He let out a loud roar as he violently juddered his own body... a wild display of defiance.

And then he began choking once again.

That was it.

With intentionally powerful steps, I marched towards his side of the bed and forcibly grabbed his arm. He didn’t expect that. The shock should’ve made him shut up, but still, he kept growling with scorn.

“You just won’t listen, huh?” I said without hiding my displeasure. “Come here then.” I sat on the bunker and pulled him towards me. My intention was to haul him forward until he was lying, belly down, on my knees.

But he was too damn strong.

I tugged and tugged and he just wouldn’t budge.

I had to use both hands to make him lose his balance. Eventually, he fell on my lap in the position that I has planned. But he was a heavy, heavy man. My upper legs felt like they were squashed when his body crashed on them. I grunted a bit as I bit my lip, trying my best to stifle the pain I felt.

Jack was still snarling rebelliously.

“I told you many times... don’t cry!” I declared. “But you didn’t listen. Is that how you should behave?”

He replied with unintelligible scream.

“You’re supposed to be a boy, right?” I tried to remind him. “A good boy. That’s not being good now, is it?”

“Let me go! Let me go!” he yelled.

“Only if you’ll promise to behave,” I proffered.

“No!” he screamed obstinately.

“No?” I wanted to know if he was sure about his answer.

“No!” he repeated with an even more booming scream.

“Very well,” I said.

I didn’t think about what would happen next. I didn’t picture it in my head. I didn’t calculate the pros and cons of what I was about to do. I didn’t deliberate on it as much as I did with most of the choices I’ve made in my life.

I just acted on instinct.

I pulled down his diaper and stared at his ass. I was amazed that it, too, was as solid as the rest of his physique. But I didn’t dwell on such thought, no matter how much I wanted to.

Something was needed to be done.

I raised my hand high in the air.

“One last chance,” I warned him. “Will you behave or not?”

“No!” he bellowed once again, even more defiantly than before.

And I dropped my hand.

Fast. Hard. Mercilessly.

It smashed into his bare buttocks.

A loud, almost sickening thump followed.

Then, a yawp of pain.

It was followed by ear-splitting cry of torment and impudence and inhibited remorse.

“Stop crying!” I commanded again.

Still, he wailed.

And I struck his rear one more time, harder than the first.

A thud.

A howl.

And everything settled down into subdued whimpers.

Then I smiled.

I smiled as Jack continued to sniffle on my lap.

I made him stop weeping by being steadfast. I didn’t yield. I didn’t waver. I stayed strong. And I won this battle of wills.

It was an empowering feeling.

Emancipating.

Liberating.

I had power over someone. Over him. And it felt good.

Somehow, it cleared my mind of doubts. It dissolved what I thought were limitations to what I could do and accomplish in my life. It made me believe that I was worth so much more than what I was giving myself credit for.

And it was all because of Jack... acting like a child... allowing me to be responsible for him.

Right there and then I realized what his plan really was... and what I had to do to make it work.

He was playing his role.

I just had to play mine.

“Did that hurt?” I asked him, tenderly, lovingly.

“U-Uhuh,” he mumbled, still sniveling.

“I want you to know that I didn’t enjoy that,” I informed him. “I don’t like hurting you like that. But sometimes, I have to... when you’re hard-headed... when you’re hurting yourself. Do you understand?”

He just nodded. I could feel his tears and his snot seeping through the fabric of my pants, moistening my thigh.

“Good,” I said. “Now, please, when you think of me, don’t think about the times when I have to spank you like this. Instead, I want you think of something else.”

“What?” he asked crabbily.

“I want you to think... no... I want you to remember... that daddy’s always here and that daddy loves you.”