Suggestion Box

Chapter 2
Chapter Two

The trio pulled their bikes up in front of Brady’s house, the younger boy simply letting his fall into the yard while Colin put up his kickstand and Chase leaned his against the garage door. Though none of them had said a word on the way over, Brady’s silence – aside from the fact that neither Chase nor Colin had ever seen him go more than a few minutes without talking – seemed different somehow. It seemed in some way invasive to ask Brady what he planned on doing with his turn, and what’s more, there was a sort of gleeful, detached determination in the boy that kept his friends at a distance as he led them to his home, and that feeling seemed only seemed to intensify when the three of them stepped onto Brady’s porch, when he turned to Colin and held out his hand. He hesitated for a moment before sighing and handing the device over, the younger boy hefting it in his palm the way a marksman would a perfectly-calibrated nine millimeter.

“Okay,” he said as he looked up and unnerved his friends with the hungry grin on his lips. “I’ll be right back.”

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Colin held his hands up. “If you think I’m letting you go in there by yourself, you’ve got another – ”

“Just hurry up, Brady,” Chase said as he shot a glance at Colin that immediately silenced the boy. “We can’t stand out here all day.”

Brady smiled and nodded as Colin rolled his eyes and stepped off the porch with Chase just a step behind. The boy watched them go before opening the door and entering his living room, where a young man laid out on the sectional pushed up against the far wall. He looked up and scowled at the teenager’s entrance, setting the beer in his hand next to the quartet of empty bottles on the coffee table as he methodically pushed himself to his feet in an exercise in intimidation that he was clearly well-practiced in.

“That’s funny,” he said as he crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on Brady. “I could’ve sworn I told you that I don’t want you around the house while I’m home.”

The boy grinned and wrapped his fingers around the device as he locked his eyes on Andrew’s. His step-brother, as a recently-minted member of what the media liked to call the Boomerang Generation, had returned to his parent’s house shortly after graduating college due to what he claimed to be an inability to find a job in his field. As far as Brady knew, neither his mom nor his step-dad ever brought up to Andrew that the problem might be that he had received his degree in nutrition studies with a 2.1 GPA – they seemed content to let him laze about the house and turn a blind eye to the torments he regularly visited upon his little step-brother, just as they had done before he had struck out for college. The young man, visibly annoyed by Brady’s uncharacteristic bravado, narrowed his eyes and took a step forward.

“Are you listening, dumbass?” Another step forward. “I’m telling you to get out of my sight before I beat the shit outta – ”

Brady raised the phone to his lips.

“Andrew.”

The young man froze mid-stride, his arm jutted forward in a stiff display of intimidation, the darting of his eyes the only evidence of the fear and confusion and utter helplessness that had seized him. The boy could barely stand still for the giddiness that bubbled within him, hardly believing that he had finally arrived at the moment he had dreamed about for as long as he could remember. Though he now held the power to make his stepbrother commit any number of any embarrassing acts there was but one grand humiliation Brady desired to bestow upon him, one favor that he’d been waiting over a decade to return.

He had been only four years old and practically still a baby when his mother remarried, desperate to claim the status of big boy but unable to do so as long as he was still scampering around the house in his double-thick disposables. The divorce couldn’t have come at a worse time, landing smack-dab in the middle of his potty training and at once laying waste to the boy’s confidence and cooperation in the matter. It wasn’t until shortly after his step-brother and step-father moved in that his mother cajoled him into giving it another shot. A few struggles and a number of accidents later, the boy – bursting with pride – graduated to Pull-Ups. Of course, he still needed help going to the bathroom, and his mother and step-father believed Andrew when he told them that he could babysit Brady while they went out, that he’d be happy to take his little step-brother to the potty when the time came.

It was the first time the two of them had ever really been alone together, and so it came as a significant shock to Brady when Andrew’s attitude soured the instant the grown-ups left the house, when he forced the boy into his room and commanded him to keep quiet until they came home. Though he was confused and hurt Brady still tried to make the best of it, playing by himself until he felt the warm pressure that signaled that he should get to the potty as fast as his little legs could take him. He’d never gone by himself before but at the same time was far too intimidated by Andrew to ask him for help, and so he endeavored to make the expedition a solo one – until he realized that his stubby little fingers couldn’t undo the button on his blue jeans. He whimpered and whined and fiddled with the fastener until the need became too great for him to fool around any longer, the fear he had of his step-brother outweighed by how desperately he wanted to avoid wetting himself like a stupid little diaper baby.

“An…Andwew?” The boy peeped as he padded into the living room, one hand pressed against his groin. “I gotta go potty.”

The eleven-year-old turned to Brady, rolled his eyes, and immediately returned his attention to the television.

“So go,” he said as he changed the channel and sank into the couch. “And don’t bother me again.”

“But I need your helllllp!” Brady whined, now using both his hands as he hopped from foot to foot. “Pwease, Andwew! Gotta go weal bad!”

Andrew smirked and glanced over at his distraught little step-brother.

“I thought you were a big boy, Brady. Only babies need help going to the potty. So if you wanna prove that you’re not a baby I guess you’re gonna have to take care of things yourself.”

Any begging Brady might have had left in him died in his throat when the pressure became too great to bear any longer, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes when he realized that Andrew had no interest whatsoever in helping him. He let out a high little cry of pure desperation as he turned and dashed into the bathroom, hopping up and down and fumbling with the button anew in hopes of a miracle. The relief that washed over him when the tiny bronze circle slipped through the slit was nothing short of euphoric, Brady crying out in pure joy at his accomplishment, at having proved himself to be a big boy.

And then the dam burst.

All the happiness that surged through his veins a moment ago flooded out of him as quickly as the pee escaping his failed bladder, the boy’s mouth agape as his eyes slowly drifted downwards to take in the sight of him completely and helplessly soaking his Pull-Ups. He tried to stop the flow after the initial shock had passed but it just kept coming and coming, his training pants growing warmer and heavier with each passing second, the horrified little boy drenching them so badly that the moisture began to appear on the fly of his jeans in dark little spots that spread like a rash across the denim. When the last few drops soaked into the soggy plastic he sniffled and rubbed his eyes and blinked back the tears that threatened to burst through at any moment – he may have wet himself like a little baby but he wasn’t going to cry like one.

“Jeez. Guess your mom shouldn’t have taken you out of diapers yet, huh?”

Brady looked up to see Andrew smirking in the doorway.

“Dumb little baby.”

He shook his head in disgust and left. Only then did Brady’s pride finally fail him, fat tears streaking down his burning cheeks as he curled up on the floor of the bathroom and jammed his thumb in his mouth, crying all alone in the bathroom in his soaked Pull-Ups until his mother and step-father came back from their date. And as though it wasn’t bad enough that Andrew had refused to help, he even covered for himself by saying that Brady hadn’t told him that he had to go. The boy, far too devastated to mount the barest defense against the lie, simply sucked his thumb in silence as his mother cleaned him up and put him back in the diapers that he would be wearing until the shame of being the only one in his preschool class that wore them motivated him to give potty training a third, successful attempt. The memory, seared into his consciousness, played in Brady’s mind for what seemed like the millionth time as he brought the phone to his lips, as Andrew stood immobile and helpless before him.

“I think it’s fair to say that you haven’t been much of a big brother, Andrew,” Brady said. “But I guess it’s not entirely your fault – after all, you kinda had the job thrust upon you, and it’s not as though you’ve ever had someone to look up to as an example of how it should be done.

“But maybe we can change that.”

Brady trembled in excitement.

“From now on, things’ll be different whenever we find ourselves alone. You won’t be the big brother anymore – I will. When it’s just you and me, your name won’t be Andrew…it’ll be Baby Andy. And whether it’s feeding yourself or getting dressed…”

He bared his teeth.

“…or going to the potty, you’ll need your big brother Brady to help you with every last little thing…because you’ll be far too little to take care of yourself. And you won’t ever remember the times that Baby Andy comes out to play – you won’t even remember me giving you this command.”

Brady took his finger off the button and watched Andrew closely, waiting for the first hint that his command would actually be followed. He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds after he finished speaking, Andrew - before Brady’s wide, spellbound eyes – suddenly seemed to grow bashful and uncertain and cowed before his step-brother. He pointed his toes inwards and absently swayed his hips and – in a sight the boy knew he would never forget as long as he lived – pushed his thumb between his lips. He didn’t dare to so much as blink as he raised the phone in front of him and began recording the exploits of adorable little Baby Andy, as he looked into his step-brother’s eyes and saw the horror and hatred that poisoned his gaze, as the boy realized – with a tiny little giggle – that Andrew was still in there.

“Buh…Bwady?” Andrew peeped around his thumb in a tiny, lisping voice, pressing his free hand against his groin as a crimson tinge came over his ballooning cheeks. “Baby Andy gah go potty. Nee’ Bwady hewp.”

It was almost too much for Brady to handle. The beers Andrew had chugged over the course of the day had returned with a vengeance and now seemed to be making things very uncomfortable for Baby Andy. He choked back a laugh and put his free hand on his waist.

“He does, hmm?” Brady asked in a tone dripping with syrupy sweetness. “Does Baby Andy need to go pee-pee? Does he want to make pee-pee in the potty like a big boy?”

Andrew nodded fervently as he pressed harder on his groin, the rate of his thumb-sucking increasing by the second as he hopped from foot to foot and squirmed in growing discomfort. Brady bit his lip so hard he nearly drew blood.

“But then again…” he grinned, “if you were really a big boy you’d be able to go by yourself, wouldn’t you? After all…only babies need help going to the potty, right?”

Andrew whimpered as his pee-pee dance grew more and more desperate, eyes shimmering with tears as Brady tapped his chin in mock thought.

“Well, I guess I could help you,” he sighed. “But only if you do something for me first.”

The boy smiled and leaned towards his distraught step-brother.

“Say, ‘I’m a baby’.”

Andrew’s eyes widened as he let out a long high whine, caught between having to betray his infantile sense of machismo and the fear of wetting his pants right in front of his big brother. It was the sensation of a solitary drop leaking out and soaking into his boxer briefs that made the decision for him, his eyes shimmering with tears as his expression became one great blush.

“I…Ima baby.”

Brady cupped his ear and leaned closer.

“I can’t hear you!”

“Imaaa bay-beee!” Andrew cried as a solitary tear dripped from his chin.

“Say, ‘I should be in diapers.”

“I…I shuh be in dipees.”

“Because I’m too little to use the potty.”

“Cuz I’m too widdle yoo pah-teeeee!” Andrew howled as two more drops saturated his undies. “Pwease hewp, Bwady! Baby Andy gah go potty now! Pweeeeeaaaaaaaaseee!”

Brady straightened up and crossed his arms.

“No.”

Andrew stared at his step-brother in open-mouthed shock, his infantile mind hardly able to comprehend that his big brother could be that cruel, distracted from holding back the flood just long enough for it burst through. The hot hiss of Andrew rocketing a full bladder of urine into his jeans filled the room as the extent of his accident made itself known first through a tiny dark spot that appeared on the fly and grew with frightening speed and then through the dark navy rivers that branched out of that lake and streaked furiously down his pant legs. Brady felt his cheeks flush as his step-brother wailed and pressed both palms against his groin, succeeding only in soaking his hands with pee as his expulsion began seeping into his socks, squelching about with every step the devastated overgrown toddler took. The teenager couldn’t say what it was about the situation that excited him so – he assured himself that only a sicko would get off on watching a grown man piss his pants, that it was the sensation of being in control, of having forced Andrew to wet himself that gave life to the raging hard-on that he squeezed through the fly of his jeans. Meanwhile, the inconsolable young man sobbed openly as – with a shiver and a pathetic little whine – he squeezed off the last few drops and jammed his thumb back into his mouth, so in need of his favorite comfort object that he put up with the taste that came from sucking his own pee off of it. Brady chuckled and patted his step-brother on the head.

“Dumb little baby.”

With a few taps of his finger he stopped recording and sent the video to his inbox, slipping the phone into his pocket as he turned and left the house. Andrew’s lower lip quivered as he plopped onto his butt with an audible squish, able to hold back the storm for a full three seconds before he allowed himself to be overtaken by his sorrows. He bawled and squirmed about in his completely drenched jeans and boxer briefs, howling and drumming his heels against the carpet in a wretched tantrum as Brady stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. Colin and Chase had looked up and past their friend when the door opened but got only the barest glimpse of Andrew and couldn’t say with any certainty what he was upset about. They turned to Brady as he mounted his bike and looked back at the front door.

“So…” Colin said, “Should we get going?”

Brady smiled and held up one finger. A second later there came a very adult and very angry shout, perfectly clear even from the curb.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Brady’s smile widened.

“Yup,” he said. “Let’s go.”

 

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