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Part 1 I can’t say I was in a bright point of my life, literally or figuratively. The perpetual darkness of third shift work coupled with the lackluster performance in my freshman year of college and losing my girlfriend of two years only a month before had sent me down a spiral of depression that I wasn’t certain would have an achievable recovery. I thought when I graduated from high school that I’d had life all figured out. I would take the job working the night shift at the airport for a few years, then go on to become a hot-shot business man or advertising executive. The airport would provide me with free tuition to the university a few hours from my home town, and the degree would get me the rest of the way. I guess to tell you a little bit about myself... I’m Adam Stafford. I’m the youngest child of Dennis and Joanne Stafford, and brother to Megan. I grew up in a small community that kept me sheltered from just about everything not small-town or Jesus-y. My Dad is a pilot for United Airlines, my Mom an executive for the local hospital. They divorced my sophomore year of highschool in a very messy battle, and pretty much alienated everyone in the family from each other. We’ve all gone our own ways, really only communicating for weddings, funerals, birthdays, or normal holidays. Don’t feel bad, it really is better this way. I had a pretty good childhood, no major complaints. I was always outgoing as a kid, knowing that a sharp wit and self-deprecating humor would remove any ammo that any school bullies would seek to leverage. Not to be arrogant, but I was a cute kid. Unfortunately for me, the cuteness never really went anywhere. I never hit that magical growth spurt that would cause me to tower above my friends, dunk a ball, or set records of the track. I currently stand a slightly below average height of 5’6”. I also never seemed to experience the flood of testosterone that would sculpt my body like a Greek god either. I guess I just stayed cute and youthful when everyone else became handsome and matured. But, like I said, I was never really picked on, so I didn’t mind my height or looks. I was moderately popular by highschool, usually being known as the smart-ass class clown. I had no trouble maintaining a 4.0 grade point average while also cutting jokes constantly. My humor and confidence opened up doors for me. I was nominated to prom court my Junior year, and also started dating a beautiful girl named Sarah. She was a grade younger than I was and came from a well-respected family not far from mine. As my perverted uncle Nick would say “That girl comes from good stock.” She and I dated all through my senior year, never really had any fights, and my parents adored her and hers adored me. We were voted “Most Likely to Stay Together” by the yearbook committee and happily danced in the spotlight as homecoming king and queen... a real shocker since I didn’t play football. Sarah was heart-broken when I decided to move for school. She had known it was my intent, but I think she assumed I would change my mind because we were dating. I had considered staying a time or two, but with the still fresh divorce of my parents and my sister moving away to California for school, I knew I couldn’t stay in small-town America for much longer. After the initial shock wore off, we made the plan together that she would move in with me after she graduated and we would attend college together, live together, and live up to the expectations of the yearbook committee. My job, coupled with free tuition would allow us to get an apartment together and, down the road, we’d both graduate. We’d start a family, be rich and successful, and have a marriage so happy that our grandkids would tell their children about. It was that simple, and it all laid out perfectly. She and I did everything together while we dated. I loved it at the time, but later realized that the friends I had prior to us dating all seemed to have move on. I didn’t have any core friends anymore, she consumed my every waking moment. I don’t think she was trying to cause a falling out, I think she was just so in love with the thought of being in love that she couldn’t let go. Sarah and I were both each other’s first for just about everything. We awkwardly explored our raging teenage hormones not long after we started dating, both trying to build the courage to take things just a little bit further each opportunity we had. I can vividly remember the look on Sarah’s face when she touched my cock for the first time. It was over my shorts, but I could tell she tried to play it off like an accident as her hand slowly rubbed on my thigh. Of course having zero experience and a beautiful girl rub her hands on me caused some tenting to happen rather quickly. She noticed. It was the first touch that shot electricity through my body as we laid cuddled up on the chair in the den of her parents upscale country-chic home, a blanket covering our still-clothed bodies. She moved her hand away quickly at first contact. I could see her face from the corner of my eye, flushed with excitement, very lightly nibbling on her lower lip with nerves. After a few seconds, I felt her hand begin to creep back up. I heard her sigh audibly as she very carefully laid her hand on my now fully erect dick. I could see the faintest smile form on her face as she crossed the hurdle. Both of us were too afraid to do much else, but she did very gently rub for a moment before we heard the garage door open, signaling that our alone time was at an end. From that day on, we both pushed the envelope just a bit more. I took advantage of days she would wear skirts to school and use the ease of access to fondle her anytime we had some privacy. I’m happy to say that I was her first non-self-induced orgasm, right there under that same blanket on that same chair. I can remember hearing her try and stifle her moans, no doubt fearful of waking her parents directly above us in their bedroom. It nearly sent me over the edge as well when she sucked my fingers clean right after. One evening while her parents were out celebrating their anniversary, Sarah excused herself to the restroom in the middle of ‘The Goonies’ and emerged wearing only her baby blue thong and matching bra, her hair tied up with a white lace ribbon. She approached me, my jaw now slack from the beauty I was witnessing, and yanked the blanket from my lap. She settled in on her knees in front of me trying to appear confident and sexy, but I could see her trembling from nerves. I could tell how big of a step this was for her. She pulled my shorts and boxers down, nearly ripping them in the process, and stared wide-eyed at my dick. She never really looked closely at it while using her hands. She would usually play coy and keep watching TV while jerking me off. Now though, she was face to face. I can still see the shimmer from the chapstick on her lips as she very slowly moved her mouth over the head of my cock. She froze once it was in for what felt like an eternity. I could hear her breathing becoming rapid, and for the first time in front of me, I saw her hand move quickly into the waistband of her panties as she touched herself. As she began moving my dick in and out of her mouth, her hand motions became more rapid under the thin baby blue fabric. It wasn’t 3 minutes into the blowjob before Sarah had a massive orgasm, seemingly larger than the ones I could giver her with my own hands or tongue. She pulled her face away, a trail of saliva extending from the head of my cock to her lips and only said ‘fuck’. I believe it was at that very moment that Sarah realized that she had a passionate love for giving head. She attacked my dick after that, like there was nothing else in the world. She didn’t flench when I came, just swallowed and tried to keep going until I pushed her off due to the sensitivity. Things progressed from there. Sarah gave me head every chance she could, preferring to give orgasms rather than receive them. We finally had sex a few weeks after that, in the dark basement bedroom of a friends house. I was disappointed that she didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as I thought she would, opting after maybe 5 minutes to have me pull out and finish in her mouth. We didn’t have sex often, but when we would, it always ended in the same way. Everything in life was perfect, even after I moved… or so I thought. I went home many weekends and we seemed to pick up right where we left off. Everything was perfect. Until Sarah cheated on me, at least. I heard about it from a former classmate still living back home. He said he saw Sarah and some guy in a car together driving in town. He said it was a new looking BMW, a car that isn’t very common in our small town, so he took notice and tried to see who was driving. He didn’t recognize the guy driving, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was her, he got a clear view from the windshield as they passed on the road. He said he turned around to see what was up and after about 5 minutes of following them, he said he saw Sarah sit up tall, then lean her body across the center console of the car. He said he didn’t see her again for about 10 minutes and that the guy started driving pretty erratic during that time, and kept rolling his head around. He followed at a distance and eventually saw her head rise again and they carried on. He followed them until they turned into a restaurant. He circled the block and watched them walk hand-in-hand into the building. He even said she was wearing a little yellow sun dress... I knew it well. She always looked amazing in it. I guess it goes without saying that I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest as I listened to his recanting of the story. I trusted the guy and knew he wouldn’t be saying these things to fuck with me. I quickly got off the phone with him and called her, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried again, again right to voicemail. Finally she sent me a text asking what was up. I didn’t know what else to do so I said “Jeremy saw you two together. I’m bummed you never offered to give me road head.” Of course this elicited a call back right away. I was heartbroken, but I did appreciate that she didn’t try and deny anything. She didn’t lie. She said she wasn’t happy anymore and wanted to move on. By this point, I knew what she meant. I had started working third shift already and had a rapid decline in happiness. I was always cranky, always tired. She was right and I hated myself for it. “You’re not you anymore, Adam. You’re sad all of the time... you sleep constantly. You don’t strike up conversations on the phone, and that’s all we have most of the time since we can’t be together.” She had told me as I stared blankly at the wall of my kitchen, tears now flooding my vision. “I’m sorry you found out like this, but I’m glad you found out.” “Yeah, pretty shitty way of you breaking it off though.” I countered. She agreed. That was the last time we spoke. After Sarah ended it, I sunk further into a depressive state. My life revolved solely around work, school, and Netflix in my basement studio apartment. Typically I would wake up around 10 in the morning and catch the campus shuttle to class. The classes were specifically scheduled for employees of the airport, allowing us to work nights and attend school without as much sleep depravation. After class I would usually eat some dinner in the campus cafeteria and do some homework, then report in for my shift. I didn’t mind my job. It was easy compared to the manual labor most people had to do to pay for their tuition. I drove a tug around pulling trailers of packages bound for different planes all night. All... night... long. I could usually start my shift with a conversation with the dock supervisor and not talk to another person for the rest of the night. I was known as ‘Tug 4301’ and drove the exact route from the south dock to the west ramp, spots 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9, then back to the south dock to reload and do it all again. We weren’t allowed to have music, cell phones, audio books, or anything else to help pass the time due to FAA regulations, so I had hours to see the same sights, and have the same thoughts and internal conversations. At around 3 in the morning, I would park my tug back behind the south dock and begin the walk back to the shuttle to campus. From the bus stop, it was a brief walk back to my apartment. By this time, the vast majority of the factory employees had already departed, meaning the bus ride was usually as isolated as the tug. Back in the basement abyss, the daylight blacked out by thick curtains and a “Please do not disturb, I work the graveyard shift!” sign that the previous occupant had left behind, I ended my day with some concoction of frozen meals and another episode of The Office. Occasionally, I would think about Sarah. How her hair seemed to shine as intensely as the sun. How she would nibble gently at my lower lip when she would kiss me. How she would deftly put her hair up in a ponytail and lick her lips before she would push me back towards the bed or chair... or floor and nearly attack my dick. These memories would cease thanks to my self delivered orgasm, and I hate to say it... sometimes I would cry. I would always feel ashamed. By 5am, I would be asleep, waiting for the alarm to signal that it was time to live another instance of Groundhog Day all over again. It was nearly six months into this routine that I decided it was time to get help. I knew I was depressed. I scheduled an appointment with a counselor at school on a Monday morning. I didn’t work Sunday nights, so Monday was usually my ‘live like a normal person’ day, but I knew I was going to keep going down darker and darker paths until there was no return. Fortunately by this time, the nagging memories of Sarah had faded to an occasional jolt of emotion that would strike unprovoked, but would subside after a quick orgasm. “Have you been eating alright, you look really thin...” the counselor said as I sat in the chair across from her. The question reeled in my thousand yard stare. “Umm... probably could eat better, to be honest. I don’t have much of an appetite, really.” I awkwardly responded. I had lost a significant amount of weight in the past few months. At my high school graduation, I was nearly 140lbs. At my last work physical a few days prior, I was down to 116lbs. Even at 5’6”, I was looking too thin for my frame. “Adam, this is pretty serious. I think you need to see a doctor... this may be more than you and I can handle alone. You’ve got me a bit worried.” she said with a concerned look. “Will you do that? Will you promise me that you’ll see one of our doctors?” “Yeah, I guess so. Yeah.” murmured back. “And I want you to promise me, Adam... I want you to promise me that you’ll look after yourself until then. And I want you to promise me that you’ll come back and see me after your appointment. I’m going to schedule it. Okay?” “Yeah, of course.” I said, realizing that she was genuinely worried that I would hurt myself. “I will, I promise.” She smiled at that, and attempted to give me a reassuring pat on my hand. “Maybe you should hang out with some friends until then. Maybe try and have fun... see a movie, bowl, laser tag... try and not be alone if you can help it.” she said as she escorted me to the end of the hallway of the student health center. I smiled as best I could. I hoped it to be warm, but the look on her face told me that she could see right through the facade. The walk back to my apartment seemed colder than usual. I looked around at the other people navigating their way thought the urban campus with their heads slung low to protect from the biting wind and wondered if I was alone in feeling like this, or if there were others near me right now that were struggling just as bad. Maybe if I tried, I would find others like me and we could pick each other up. If I tried... but I really didn’t feel like trying. They probably wouldn’t either. I arrived back to my apartment and sat in bed, turned on Netflix, and opened up my laptop. It wouldn’t hurt to look and see if anyone was out there. Maybe grab lunch with someone, maybe a movie. I decided to check around on some of the school forums and Facebook to see if any groups were meeting soon. I didn’t see any that really caught my interest. I eventually ended up Craigslist thinking maybe there were some groups posting on there. I browsed for a while, nothing piquing my interest. I was about to close out the page when I saw the ‘Personals’ section and decided to browse that avenue as well just for the heck of it. The ‘F for M’ section was pretty sparse, most of the women looking were significantly older, had children, or were blatantly looking for money in exchange for company. While I wasn’t seeing anything that interested me, I was finding some thrill in reading the posts. Some were witty, some funny. Some were so sexually charged that I considered responding for a split second, kids or age be damned. I navigated each section enthralled by how some people were able to put themselves out there so openly, so anonymously vulnerable. I envied their cavalier attitude and only wished I could put myself out there like they did. I kept going down the rabbit hole, page after page, profile after profile. Some of the specifics people were listing were repulsive, but many made me jealous that I didn’t have Sarah to try them with. I wasn’t really prepared for some of the detail I encountered in the ‘M for M’ section, to say the least. I had never really given much thought to gay sex, it was something that went undiscussed in sheltered small-town USA. I didn’t have any issue with gay people, but I honestly didn’t give it much more thought than that. But the level of detail described of the litany of posts from just today... I didn’t have to use my imagination much. I clicked through post after post, caught up in reading the carnal nature of the post, intrigued beyond belief by what I was reading. Most of the posts didn’t talk about love or relationships, they talked about gritty sex. They talked about gang bangs and blow-and-gos. Anonymous mouths for anonymous dicks. It was enthralling. “Loving but Firm Professional seeking Young, Inexperienced to Nurture and Teach” the title read as I scrolled down the list, measured now by minutes scrolling rather than pages. It was lost in the sea of others, but it stood out to me for some reason. I clicked the link and stared intently as the screen flickered from the main page to the posting. “Hi, thanks for reading. I’m a 38 year old legal professional looking for a young boy between 18 and 22 to teach about sexual desire. Ideal candidate is slim and naturally submissive to power, and completely inexperienced with men. I want a boy I can build from the ground up. Must have an open mind. Message me if you think this is you, you’ll know right away if it is.” Fuck. I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but my heart began to race, my hands became sweaty, and my lips dry. I read and reread the post multiple times, each time exciting me more. It was as if instinct required that I replied. I straightened myself up in bed and began to search my laptop for a face picture that was generic enough to be lost in a crowd. I didn’t want this guy recognize me right away, just in case. I found a full body picture from earlier in the fall at a Halloween party back home. I didn’t dress up, but I thought I looked decent, and the ball cap I was wearing at the time obstructed part of my face. “Hello. I’m not gay, so I’m not sure why I’m replying to be honest. I've never been with a guy. I'm 18, a freshman in college. Something about your post. It struck me. I don’t even know what else to write. You don't have to write back if you don't want or if I don't fit what you say you're looking for." Attachment: 1” My heart was frantically beating in my chest as I hit send from my spam collecting Yahoo Mail account. I had felt more alive in these few minutes than I can remember feeling since moving to the city. I stared at the inbox, nearly expecting an immediate rejection reply or an email from someone back home saying they were cat-fishing and happened to reel me in. I stared at the screen for at least five minutes, barely breathing before setting the laptop down and getting up to use the restroom and grab a drink. I nearly dove across the room when I heard the ‘Ding’ signifying a new email. “Save 15% or more on car insurance with Geico”. Damn it. What the hell was I doing. I’m not gay. I’ve literally never even thought about it until 10 minutes ago, and now I’m so worked up to get the attention of someone writing on a public forum. I closed the laptop and walked over to the chair to focus in on Season 4 of The Office... yet again. Sipping on the Diet Coke and watching Dwight be Dwight and Jim be Jim, the urge to check again struck me. It had been some time, surely enough for some sort of response. I retyped the password into the Yahoo Mail page and saw the familiar ’Inbox (1)’ notification staring me in the face. I clicked, and went weak as the page opened. There it was. “Re: Seeking” I took a deep breath and clicked on the email that loaded painfully slow. “Hello. Thanks for writing. I know you. Don’t worry, not you specifically (although hard to tell with the photo so far away). I know your type though. I'm willing to bet that you just happed to stumble upon my message without really going out and looking for it. I have a feeling this is so new to you that you've really got very little desire in actually meeting anyone. If you are serious about at least meeting up and discussing more, send me a better picture. -Steve” With a slight smirk on my face, and my heart back to racing, I opened Facebook to find a better picture to send. I selected one from a family vacation in Hawaii. I had shaggy, dirty blonde hair and was standing shirtless in front of a waterfall on the Napali Coast. I was bronzed by the sun, and a smile beaming on my face. A tinge of pain hit me as I looked at the picture, I was standing there with Sarah. Her beautiful face staring up at me, a smirk affixed to her full lips, and her gorgeous body clad in a small red bikini. I drew in a deep breath and downloaded the photo to my desktop and cropped Sarah’s face and body out of the picture until only myself and the waterfall remained. “As requested. -Adam Attachment: 1” Sent. I felt as if I were going to vomit at that point. If this were a rouse, I was surely busted. It was clearly me in the photo, no mistaking that. A screencap of the conversation with my picture plastered there was surely enough to ruin any chance I had at a happy life, if malice were intended. Ding. Inbox (1) “Re: re: re: Seeking” “You’re perfect, baby. Perfect in every way. You are exactly what I was hoping you would be. My name is Steve. I’ve been pretty clear with what I’m really looking for, so I hope that you’ll understand when I say that I’m not interested in games and flaking out on meetings, etc. If you really are interested, and if you really are willing, I want to meet you face to face. Send me your phone number if you want to keep going. Attachment: 1” I double clicked the attachment, fearful that what I had conjured up in my mind would be a far stray from reality. The painfully slow wi-fi struggled to open the picture, but when it did, I was stunned. He was so handsome. Large, for sure. Not fat at all, but he had to be at least 6’6” judging by the SUV that he towered over. He had a stern smile and an intense gaze at the camera... it felt as if he took the picture specifically for me. His hair, his suit... he was the personification of masculine. I struggled to figure out how only a few hours ago I was numb and seemingly entirely heterosexual, and now I was lusting over a man. A dominant man... and I wanted it to happen so bad. I did everything I could for the next few hours to distract myself from the email. I had to be at work tonight, so no phone, no email. I knew if I wanted to go through with this, I would need to decide well before then. He was very insistent that the only content in the reply be my phone number. What if I sent it and he called while I was working? What if he began texting me with times and locations and I was unable to reply? I knew I had to decide now. Being the decisive and confident guy I am, I flipped a coin. Okay... heads, I send my phone number. Tails... I don’t. Simple. Leave it up to fate. With a deep breath, I flipped the coin into the air. Heads. “I’m serious: 555-776-2323 -Adam”

This is my first story, ABDL or otherwise- please be gentle with me 😉 I apologise in advance for grammatical, spelling or formatting errors- I tend to make these when I write while drunk, and I only write while drunk... This one is a slow-burner, but you can expect elements such as breastfeeding, regression and potentially MDLB in chapters to come. I welcome all constructive criticism/suggestions 😀 Jackson exhaled as his watch ticked over to 5 p.m. Friday afternoon. Freedom. It had been a long week—longer than most. To an outsider, being a work-from-home data analyst might not seem particularly stressful. But between managing an ever-growing workload and navigating the personalities—or lack thereof—on his team, the days took their toll. As the workweek wound down, Jackson caught himself counting the minutes until he could finally—finally—switch off from that side of his life and flake out for the weekend. He reached slowly for the power button on his PC, switching it off in a small private ceremony that brought him more joy than most things in his life. Most. He’d be the first to admit his personal life was only marginally more exciting than his work life—as if that was hard to beat—but at least he wouldn’t be staring into the void of his screen as endless data spilled through his site. He blinked—long, slow—and let the numbers and letters scatter from his mind as he stepped into the hall, walking slowly down the carpet to his bedroom. Shedding his button-up shirt and slacks—worn more out of habit than necessity for the occasional video call—he yanked his robe from the hook on the back of the door and slipped it on, savoring its softness against his skin. His eyes swept the spartan room—painfully aware that interior decor was not his strong suit—as he half-heartedly contemplated what the weekend might hold. His social calendar was as blank as his unadorned walls. He’d moved to the city six months earlier, chasing job opportunities after months of fruitless searching back in his quiet hometown. Ironically, he’d landed his remote position just days after settling into a small apartment on the fourth floor of an utterly nondescript block of flats. The building, mostly populated by quiet single professionals working in the bustling CBD, was perfect for an introvert like Jackson. The only recent break in the monotony had been a flurry of activity the previous weekend when a new tenant moved in down the hall. Boxes, a change table, and a few oversized stuffed animals had briefly clogged the corridor as removalists hauled load after load from the elevator, leaving clutter in their wake. Jackson had skirted the mess on his way back from the corner store, arms full of the meagre groceries he planned to subsist on through the weekend. Now, standing in his bedroom that Friday afternoon, he reached into the bottom of his cupboard for one of those provisions—a particular box he had both anticipation and a certain level of shame about. Digging around his shoes at the base of the shelves, Jackson felt a flicker of excitement as he pulled the cardboard free and carried it into the open-plan kitchen. He dropped it onto the bench with a satisfying thud, retrieved a butter knife from the drawer, and ran it down the taped seam until the top popped open. Inside: beer. He plucked a couple of bottles from the box and transferred them swiftly to the fridge, repeating the process until it was stocked. Then he paused, staring at the neat rows of shiny bottles glinting under the fridge light. He already felt a pang of guilt. He knew he’d try to pace himself—and he knew he’d fail. Sophie let out a breath of relief as she dragged the final box inside from the hallway. Moving sucked. No question about it. And this was the third time in just over a year. With a persistently controlling ex still lingering on the edges of her life, she’d been forced to uproot her small family again and again, each time hoping it would be the last. She turned to survey the stark interior of her new apartment—gray walls glowering back at her, tugging at the edges of her seemingly boundless optimism. She put her hands on her hips and bit her lower lip. No—this wouldn’t do. Within hours, the walls were under attack. A flurry of colourful, if not exactly coordinated, finger paintings, abstract portraits, and wobbly collages soon covered the once-blank surfaces. The artist? Her equally hopeful two-year-old son, Max, who bounced around the space, dodging—and occasionally tripping over—his mother’s busy feet. By evening, the apartment had been transformed into a swirling patchwork of colour, bursting with decorative joy. It didn’t always reflect how Sophie felt inside, but she knew she owed it to Max to surround him with beauty—even while their lives were being shadowed by an ugliness she refused to let him see. It dawned on her that hours had passed since the impromptu interior decorating had begun, and she scooped Max up to check his diaper, which as suspected was soaked within an inch of its life. Plonking Max onto the recently installed change table in his small room, she deftly stripped it from his wiggling form and dumped it into the pail, before taping him into a fresh one while simultaneously working to stop him running nude from the room. She smiled to herself throughout the process, this little chore strangely bringing her more joy than most other aspects of her life. Sophie loved being a mother, and all the little moments it brought with it. She hummed to herself happily as she fell back into her nursing chair, her incessantly moving son in arms, unpopping the buttons on her cardigan and unclasping the top of her nursing bra in comfortingly familiar series of motions. Max's wiggling subsided as he recognised the signals, and he homed in on her waiting breast instinctively. The two of them relaxed into the comfortable chair, finally relaxing, as if for the first time in days. Jackson awoke with a start. He immediately knew something was wrong, a deeply unsettling feeling that beat inside his chest with his heartbeat as he sat up in bed and frantically looked about the dark room. He was completely dazed, unsure where he was or how he got to be there, as his sleeping mind rebooted into normality- slowly. Thinking back to his last conscious memories he saw himself at his desktop, playing an RPG increasingly ineffectually as he cracked beers open one after the other until he could barely grip his mouse. Snapping back to the present he was assaulted by a wave of stimuli- a pounding headache at the forefront, followed shortly by overwhelming tiredness and... damp. He was laying in what could only be described as a swamp of sheets, wet about his legs and all the way up to his waist. No. This could not be happening. Not now, not to him- surely? Somewhere in the back of his memories tugged a familiarity, somewhere way off in his distant past. He brushed it off as he sat up in bed, incredulously dealing with the present. He'd pissed himself. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Jackson. You worthless idiot- imagine drinking so many beers you piss yourself like a toddler. How stupid could you be? Burning with shame Jackson arose and slowly gathered his bedding, casting aside a doona that seemed to have escaped the worst of the damage. He bundled it all into his laundry basket and sat at the end of his bed contemplating his dilemma. A more put together person would have a fresh set of sheets waiting to go in a cupboard or some such, but unfortunately that person was not him. He cast an eye to his dirty laundry 'floordrobe' as he slipped into some moderately clean basketball shorts and last remaining clean tee as he stood on unsteady feet and prepared to make his way 6 flights down to the buildings communal laundry room. The green glow of his bedside alarm clock read '04:21' and he felt a pang of relief that there was a virtually zero chance of running into anyone down there at this time of morning. 04:21 A sharp, almost piercing, wail brought Sophie out of her unconsciousness and she instinctively rolled to look at the time. Experience told her that the combination of hour and noise meant one thing- accident. She steeled herself as she rolled herself out of bed and stumbled toward her door and out into the hall towards Max's room, praying silently that it was the lesser of evils- "please not poop or puke, please...". She was more than equipped to deal with any bodily fluid as a mother of several years, but still... "Max honey, are you ok?" "Mummy... I wet" She almost let out a sigh of relief. Wet means a 5 minute turnaround to back in bed, maximum. "Its alright baby, hop up and I'll fix your bed". As she turned on the light in Max's room she was hit with the sudden realisation that his clean sheets and pillow cases were still packed away in a box in storage for her planned final run tomorrow. Sophie, you absolute clown, she chastised herself. How can you be so idiotic, don't you ever just stop and think ahead? What kind of mother are you? Sophie stopped in her tracks, sidelined by the sudden onslaught of shame and self-doubt that washed over her, until "Mummy?" She snapped out of her stupor immediately and rushed to her son. "Its alright baby- hop up and we'll go sleep in mummy's bed'. Minutes later Max was back in the land of nod, fresh pullup and pajamas adorning him. She wished she was so lucky, as she pushed his bedsheets into the wicker basket she thankfully had the foresight to bring to the apartment that day. She knew that somewhere in the basement was laundry room, and she was reasonably sure she would have it to herself so if all went to plan, a 20 minute wash and 30 minute dry would see her back in bed cuddling Max within the hour. Jackson stood at the ancient washing machine in his apartment building's basement, assessing the controls through bleary, half-drunk eyes. Intense wash. Gentle cycle. Woolens. Quick wash. Ah yes, that sounds perfect. Its pee right? Basically water, mostly. That should do it. Just then he realised that in his haste to come down here he'd not even grabbed his bottle of cheap laundry liquid to add to the machine. 'Ah well' he thought, 'its only been a few minutes since the... deed- it probably won't matter'. He slammed the door shut and watched his shameful articles begin to swirl around in the warm water, his mortification dissipating as the evidence of his weakness began to disappear into the ether. He stepped back and leaned against the wooden bench, heartbeat returning to normal and weariness beginning to overtake the adrenaline that had overcome him since his abrupt wake up. He slowly sank to the ground with his back against the wooden leg of the bench, letting himself drift- he knew from experience the piercing beep of the finishing cycle would bring him back around soon enough. Sophie stepped out of the spartan elevator into the basement hall, turning left and right in search of some sign to show her the way to the buildings laundry. It was dark down there, and she felt a slight chill that was not just the unheated level she was on. Seeing a glow at one end she made her way down with a small amount of trepidation tempered with a knowledge that she was more than capable of looking after herself. Nonetheless she felt quite relieved when she reached the light she had seen and found herself in a dingey laundry room, bordered by a line of aged washing machines on one side, and their drying counterparts on the other, separated by a giant wooden sorting bench in the middle. She plonked her wicker basked down on the benchtop and cast her eyes for the nearest washing machine, immediately noticing one running in the center- with a small start she recognised that she must have a fellow night launderer- but where were they? Catching her breath, Sophie guessed that they must have returned to their apartment, planning to collect their laundry at a more reasonable hour, and she relaxed. She was keen to meet her new neighbours, but she just didn't have it in her to chat it up at this late - or early- hour. She poured the contents of her basket into a vacant machine, and fumbled a few quarters into the slots to get it going, selecting a quick cycle in the interest of getting back to her warm bed as soon as possible. She leant back against the wooden bench in the center of the room, and slowly sank down to the ground in order to make herself as comfortable as possible for the... 28 minute... wait. As she closed her eyes and slowly sank into a lesser consciousness, she was brought suddenly back to the real world by a loud snort, or snore, immediately behind her. Jackson dreamt of home. Not Home- the home. Long passages. Rooms full of bunks. Loud angry voices, fighting words. Slamming doors. Broken sleep. Strange- to dream deeply of not sleeping deeply. Were he conscious, Jackson would have loved the irony. But he slept, deeply but not soundly. This was his usual retinue of dreams, shades of his past that haunted him when he was at his most vulnerable. He murmured, occasionally speaking single words of distress quietly, eyes flickering. His usual booze facilitated nothingness had been taken from him by his unfortunate earlier awakening, so he was left with what he avoided. Sophie stood up, trembling as she turned, expecting to find Him there, owner of the derisive snort she swore she had heard moments ago. But she found nothing behind her, just a bench and a line of driers, as before. She chastised herself for her moment of weakness, just a little girl scared of the dark- pathetic. But as she slowly went to return to her previous position, she heard it again- not quite the same, not a snort this time but some murmuring, mumbling- clearly human. She shot up again and backed up to her washer, dashing her eyes back and forth, seeking an explanation in the banality of this room. The noise continued- she wasn't imagining anything. But where the hell was it? She mustered every ounce of her courage and began to side step towards the hallway door, planning an escape if needed. As she rounded the edge of the bench she caught a glimpse of something distinctly human- a foot, splayed out on the opposite side of the bench from where she had been sitting. A cold grasp took her and she froze in her spot, willing herself to run, but as the moments past and the disembodied foot stayed motionless she mustered enough courage to crane her neck further around the bench to gather more evidence to guide her fight or flight instinct. From the orphaned foot, more body emerged into her field of vision. Skinny legs, pale. Blue mesh shorts, sports shorts. Then, a body- slim, not big or scary in the least. Courage building, Sophie stepped quietly around the bench to see a boy- no, a man, but barely- laying on the floor propped against the bench. Jackson dreamt of his mum, gazing down at him as he lay. Sandy hair, down to her shoulders, completely straight. He remembered playing with it as a small child, pulling it gently through his fingers like sand trickling through them on a beach. He fought to see her face, but it flickered and shadowed in his vision, never letting him glimpse a single feature. He felt like screaming, let me see her, but he couldn't get it out of his throat. He lay and groaned through his teeth at the injustice. Where are you? Why won't you let me see you? Sophie stared at the young man, clearly completely unaware of her presence and clearly dreaming- and not good dreams. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, recollecting many occasions watching Max in a similar state, wanting to help but knowing it was not her place to interfere with the natural process of dreaming. She also felt a touch of guilt, to hold this privilege of wakened vigil over someone powerless to choose their audience. She had the sudden urge to reach out and gently wake him, fix his immediate dilemma, and made her way a few steps closer in order to gently touch his arm, bring him to. As she got closer Sophie's nose caught a glimmer of a familiar scent- pee. She was immediately sure of her instinct- after all she had a very recent sample to go off. She froze and stepped back, sniffing herself and her pajamas to see if she had caught the remnants of Max's night clothes and bedding that she had held in her arms moments earlier, but found nothing of it about herself. Drawing nearer to the strange young man again the scent grew stronger, backing her earlier conclusion. She cast the eyes of a practised toddlers mum to the man's groin, but saw nothing that would explain the smell of urine- no telltale dark patch or dampness. She shook her head- clearly she was sleep deprived. Drawing back, Sophie resolved to do the smart thing and wake the young man by other means, and walking back over to the bank of washing machines she swiftly tapped the open door of a vacant one closed, the clack of the latch and beep of the display turning on causing a relative uproar in the quiet room. Jackson dreamt of him. The man who held all the power, over him, over everyone else stuck in that place with him. At first a shadow, towering over him, a small boy. The man grew taller as he, stuck in his past form of a small boy, cowered and froze. As the figure approached his features came into focus. Unfortunately for Jackson, he could see every part of the man's hateful face, from the pale skin, to the crooked nose and sunken grey eyes. He willed himself to run, fight, do anything- to no avail, as the horrid man loomed, pulling a long, dark strip of leather from his side and slowly raised it up to block out the sun, block out anything Jackson could see or hope to see. It fell towards him in slow motion, cascading down toward him, to its terminus until- CLACK! Jackson awoke with a start, fear gripping him and scream in his mouth. He jumped forward, tumbling into the driers in front of him and spinning to the noise. In front of him, on the other side of the laundry bench he saw a lady looking at him with shock in her eyes, leaning back to her bank of washing machines as if to put as much distance between them as possible. He slowly stood up, back against the cold metal of the machine, trying to make himself as small as possible, simultaneously out of the latent fear of his dreams, shock at the sudden confusing situation, and to not scare the shit out of the poor woman. "Sorry!" Sophie blurted, "I didn't mean to wake you up", she lied. "I'm sorry!" Jackson mumbled, although he wasn't sure what for, or what was going on for that matter, "I didn't mean to fall asleep". Sophie felt a pang of sympathy for the poor boy, who was clearly bewildered about what was going on around him. "I'm Sophie" she offered, not knowing what else she could possibly say in the situation. "Jackson" Jackson replied, wondering if he knew how to say anything else at this point. Silence surrounded them for a short while, before Sophie continued "Doing some laundry?" Jackson laughed, and then Sophie laughed as well. The absurdity of it. "Yep. Strange time to do laundry I guess..." he trailed off. "My son had an accident, and I didn't have any other sheets. I just moved here today. Yesterday I mean, I guess..." Sophie fumbled. Jackson almost had a stroke trying to come up with something adjacent to a reason why he would be here, at this time, doing laundry. "I... work from home" he started, then stopped. "Oh... that's nice" Sophie continued for him, unsure why he had offered that non sequitur. "I mean, I work odd hours, so this is my laundry time..." Jackson finished. Fuck. Would he have to do laundry at 4 in the morning forever to furnish that lie? "Oh, right" Sophie said, fake-knowingly, not knowing how else to respond. The silence hung heavy in the room for a while, until Jackson gathered his wits enough to further "So you're new to the building?" "Yes!" Sophie latched on, enthusiastically, gathering herself a bit, "Just today. How do you like it here?" "Its fine, I guess" responded Jackson, who had never really given it much thought, "Everyone's nice. Well, I mean, they keep to themselves. But there's never any problems". He didn't know what else to say about it. "Well, that's perfect". Sophie actually meant it- it was literally all she wanted in the world right now. All of a sudden their conversation was interrupted by a sharp beeping noise- Jackson's washing machine had finished its chore. He awkwardly made a show of slowly and unthreateningly making his way around the bench to collect his items. Watching him intently while putting on a facade of not doing so, Sophie suddenly felt silly for previously seeing this awkward, unassuming and ultimately, slightly cute, boy as a potential threat. He moved as if he was afraid an anvil might suddenly drop on him in the style of a looney tunes cartoon. Her acute empathetic senses caught something as he shuffled past her, a fragility she hadn't sensed in the men she had encountered before, although perhaps she was overcompensating after the initial shock of finding him and worrying he might harm her. "Well, nice to meet you" Jackson blurted out as he pulled his last item from the machine into his plastic basket, turning to make for the door. "Aren't you going to dry them?" Sophie queried, emboldened now. "Ah yes, of course..." Jackson murmured, "Woops". His face reddened. Sophie felt bad for calling him out, "I can just throw them in with mine if you like, I've got a few minutes left on the wash. I can drop them at your door on the way back up". Jackson didn't know what to say. He wanted to say no, I can do my own laundry thank you very much, but the words wouldn't come to him. He couldn't think of a good reason not to accept. "You don't have to do that, I'm sure you've got a lot of..." he trailed off. "It's fine" Sophie quickly replied. Not just because she wanted the room back to herself, without awkward conversation, but also because she was struck with a strange, almost maternal, urge to help this young man. "What's your apartment number" she continued before he could argue further. "603" Jackson replied, not knowing what else he could do or say in this situation. "Oh that's great!" Sophie smiled, "We're in 608, just down the hall I think" "That's great" Jackson forced, feeling unable to do or say anything else. He stood there for a minute, trying to recall what a normal person might do now. "Well... have a good sleep" Sophie gave him a nice smile, "I'm sure your basket will be fine out in the hall until you wake up" As Jackson rode the elevator back to his floor he thought about Sophie, of her pajamas with daisies, her beautiful smile that lit that dark laundry room up, her straight strawberry blonde hair. He kept thinking of her until he dropped into his unsheeted bed and his head hit the pillow, dropping him into a dreamless sleep. Sophie stood in the laundry room after Jackson left, wide awake now. Well, she thought, I guess the coffee machine will be working overtime today. At least Max had daycare today, so there would be a chance at a nap before the afternoon festivities. As she waited for her own washing to finish, she dragged Jackson's basket over to the front of a dryer to load up. As she pulled his faded navy blue sheets (may as well be grey now, by her reckoning) from the basket, she noted the multitude of holes throughout them, clearly well worn and well used- boys. She almost tutted out loud, and caught herself- don't become that kind of old maid, she chastised herself. As she leant to push his sheets into the machine, her nostrils caught that scent again, this time unmistakable.