Saturday, September 3, 2016
Wet... abundant moisture bringing prickliness in having peed in his diaper a third time... hungry, house devoid of sustenance... the market closes. Peter sends some emails, hoping no client desires to meet. He has yet to give thought as to how he avoids that.
Then comes the reminder shock, the collar zinging. He must retreat to the basement, await the unknown arrival of probation Officer Abby Bates.
From the small bedroom window he carefully checks the street. No pedestrians, no dog walkers, he dashes for the stairs. In stepping through the basement door, there comes relief, certain no one has seen his collared near nakedness. More steps, down to the basement, needing to cuff and hood himself, he has a moment to inspect. The workers have had a busy morning. Two vertical steel poles have been installed, floor to ceiling. There is floor tiling beneath and much plumbing work... a floor drain.
Water pipes now extend from the laundry room ending with faucets. And then the eyes focus on a curious piece of furniture... a chair... straight backed... restraints for the ankles at the front legs. A folded up tray looms over the back. Peter blinks his eyes. It is essentially a high chair but enormous when compared to that used for toddlers.
No time for more inspection, he fears an early arrival, punishment for not being properly positioned. Cuffs in place, velcro straps folded, he slips the hood over his head, kneels between the new poles and feels about, grasping the steel as instructed. His grip encounters eyelets, spaced every six inches, cuffs undoubtedly to be secured.
He waits in darkness, sensing the irritating acid of his own excretions. Time passes, unknown. He waits, he waits, he waits and then the unthinkable happens. There comes grumbling... below. The day has passed without emptying himself there, normally a morning function.
‘No’, he curses, ‘don’t do this to yourself’. He fights, clenching his gluteus maximum muscles in defiance of nature’s call. Where is Miss Abby? He so much needs her, needs to be unlocked. The stench of urine is foul enough.
The battle continues... but in time is lost. Odorous sludge joins the watery excretions of his diaper... thick, warm, oozing slowly. He closes his eyes in shame, realizing the basement reeks... and such will greet his Parole Officer... she in charge. Are there tears? The cloth hood absorbs. He is grateful.