Rehab

[Horndog]

Chapter 1

Without a clear direction for himself, Martin McShane decided to check into rehab. The 35-year-old actor was widely known for his roles in popular 1980s TV shows. In the early 90s, he became a movie star and became a very successful actor until he developed an addiction to alcohol. His success rapidly declined as he became extremely volatile on the set. Film crews and his fellow actors felt uncomfortable working with McShane. After a decade of starring in box office flops and low-budget indie films, McShane decided to enter rehab though he felt that he was pressured into attending. He was under the impression that he was not an addict, but rather he chose to establish an intimate relationship with the bottle. It was the only remedy to his life, which he often referred to as his "cancer."

It may be true that McShane chose to be an alcoholic, but he knew that he lost his way, but he didn't care. The alcohol powered his overwhelmingly brutish selfishness. Even though he loved his family, his wife and his kids, he felt the pain and pressure of accommodating their wants and needs was unbearable. As long as he could taste the sweetness of free-flowing liquor, he was satisfied. But as soon as he entered the Reseda Recovery Center, he felt empty, alone and weak. His fame and fortune no longer shielded him from intervention. After riding high for almost 15 years, he had no more bottles to drink, no more joints to roll, no more cocaine to snort and no more heroin to shoot. The party was over.

Wearing a white t-shirt, a brown sports jacket and dusty blue jeans, McShane sat in the lobby of the center, waiting to meet Dr. Penn, the facility's supervisor. Though he was waiting to see Dr. Penn, he didn't want to be cured. He didn't want a doctor to tell him that he had problems. He already knew he had problems. Even the term "doctor" bothered him. McShane thought to himself: what good are doctors anyway? He thought, "They're people like me except they wear white lab coats, act like pretentious assholes who forcefeed their patients perscription drugs that make their patients sicker than before. If I wanted a fix, I'd go to the bar down the street. Fuck them."

An attractive, long red-haired employee of the facility approached McShane. Though she was dressed in white, her beauty and slender appearance negated his criticism.

"Martin McShane, yes?" she asked as he adjusted her eyeglasses.

McShane licked his lips, placed his hands on his lap and said, "Yes ma'am."

"I'm Layla Bradley, Dr. Penn's assistant." She offered her hand to shake. He kissed her hand instead.

"The pleasure is all mine." McShane grinned, but grimaced once she brushed his saliva off the back of her hand.

"Charmed. I want to show you the room where you'll be staying until your treatment is complete. Come with me."

McShane followed Bradley into a small, yellow-painted room with a single bed, a desk with a set of drawers underneath, a mirror which was placed on the same side as the door. McShane's eyes drifted to the floor as he analyzed the size dimensions of the room, which he already deemed as inadequate for his personal taste. He didn't want to insult Dr. Penn's assistant so he bit his lip, took a backpack off his back and threw it onto the bed.

"I tell all the incoming patients that we are not a fancy hotel, but we will try to make your stay enjoyable as best as we possibly can," said Bradley as he stood in the doorway. McShane looked at the bed, then turned around to Bradley.

"It's better than a prison cell, right? It's better than sharing a room with a cellmate who wants to make you his bitch. Don't want that."

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone," commented Bradley. "But at least you're in good hands here."

"Whatever."

"Dr. Penn will be with you shortly. He'll tell you about the treatment we provide here."

"I'll take a whatever with a shot of whatever."

As the door closed, McShane looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn't believe what he became. He looked like he was at least 15 years older. His once thick, black hair was thinning out. He was dark circles under his eyes. He was unshaven, unkempt and lost. Even at 35, McShane didn't feel that his personal image would change dramatically. This is who he was. Nothing was really going to change, he thought. Nothing mattered. His plan was to complete rehab, appear before flashing lights of cameras and tell everyone that he was fine, but he wouldn't have to go about his life differently. His apathy was irreconcilable.

McShane walked around the room, checked the room's small closet and the drawers. It seemed like he would wait an eternity before the doctor arrived. He wanted to find something that he could get his fidgety hands on. When he opened up one of drawers underneath the room's desk, he found a pair of purple pajamas with a plethora of yellow-collored moons and white stars all over. They looked like children's pajamas, but when he looked at how big the pajamas were, he realized it was pajamas for adults.

"What kind of pervert would wear kid jammies to rehab?" McShane asked himself. "What a fruitcake."

Dr. Penn opened the door and McShane quickly put the pajamas away. McShane pretended to smile as soon as he saw Dr. Penn. The elderly doctor, in his mid 60s, calmly walked over to McShane and shook his hand. Immediately, McShane thought the doctor was a complete pushover. To McShane's surprise, the doctor was dressed casually. He wore a red-plaid shirt, brown pants and black sneakers. The doctor's appearance amused the actor, who traditionally never appreciated formalities.

"Nice to met you, Martin. I want to get on a first-name basis with you -- and by the way, you can call me Richard."

"Okay, doctor," replied McShane with a dry sense of humor.

"You're right, I am a doctor, but I'm not the kind of doctor that's going to sit down with you and wag my finger and waste your time. I know you don't want to be here."

"Well congratulations, Richard, how did you ever figure that one out?" McShane snapped sarcastically. "My wife told me to come. She's all, 'You have to go because you have a drinking problem, wah-wah-wah,'" he mocked. "And I said, 'Look, baby, I'll go but only if it means you'll shut up, and she did. All that nagging... couldn't put up with it."

"But this is really about you and how you need to get better," said Penn before closing the door behind him. "And I'm sure you heard that from other people -- and it gets really aggravating after a while, doesn't it?"

"Shit yeah, it does."

"Great, so I'll cut to the chase. At my facility, I have a really unique approach to dealing with recovering addicts -- and sure, it will be a little strange at first, but after a while, you will naturally accept it and it will become a part of your life."

"And your 'really unique approach' is what exactly?"

"I'll show you, but first I have to ask you to take off your pants."

McShane raised an eyebrow, coughed and cleared his throat in shock. "Wait, what? Are you some sort of freak?"

"Not at all. I'll tell you what: lay down on your bed and close your eyes."

"Wait a minute. Hold on, hold on. Okay, so you're not treating me to dinner and a movie first?"

The doctor laughed and shook his head. "I'm not going to even touch you, Mr. McShane. No, my assistant, Layla, is going to participate in this exercise."

McShane's eyes opened wide. He smiled, chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully as he sat down on the bed.

"Oh, alright. Sure, I can see where this is headed," McShane joked and laid back as he was instructed.

"It's not what you think, but I bet you will be pleasantly surprised."

The doctor left the room. McShane didn't know what to expect, but he liked Bradley. He thought of a number of ways he could seduce her. Even though he had a wife waiting for him, McShane couldn't resist entertaining his other, most lustful addiction. If the doctor meant that his rehabilitation methods included sex with a beautiful, young woman, he didn't want to be cured. Maybe another stint of rehab would do him some good, McShane thought. He didn't care if the public perceived him as a lost cause. If rehab meant getting laid, he would continue his drinking binges.

Bradley arrived with a large, black duffel bag. She set the bag aside and looked at McShane as he relaxed on his bed with his arms folded behind his head. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and chuckled. He followed his chuckle with a deep, seductive growl.

"We barely know each other, but you can't stand to be away from me for even a minute," he teased.

Without acknowledging his comments, Bradley unzipped the duffel bag and slowly removed its contents. McShane noticed some very peculiar items. There was a plastic container with the words "baby powder" written on it. She set it on the end table by his bed. Then she took out a package of baby wipes. McShane wanted to say something, but he kept his lips sealed for the time being.

"So you're the kinky kind of gal, huh? Want to get freaky with some foreplay?"

When she brought out a thick, disposable diaper, he knew something was up. She gave McShane a very cynical look as she hovered over him and started to undo his belt and pants zipper.

"Hey sister, where are you going with this? This isn't my cup of tea."

[diaperpt]

Seems like the good start of an interesting story. Looking forward to chapter 2. How willingly is he going to accept this? Hmmm...

[Inky_Wonky]

Wooow, what a start for a Rehab and an excellent story. Sounds like this McShane fellow needs to be knocked down a few notches to get his head on straight, and this will do him good.!?

[Fulldiaper]

I like it, I like it a lot. Please continue!

[mblues]

Great beginning. Looking forward to more! Thank you!