Private Evening - Mitchell's Unconventional Stay

Ben’s apartment was a study in controlled chaos—bachelor-style furnishings, minimal decor, the kind of space that spoke to temporary existence. The walls were a muted gray, windows offering a view of the city’s distant skyline. Mitchell followed Ben inside, his large body moving with the uncertain gait of a child-minded individual.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Ben said, his voice low and deliberate. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

Mitchell’s cartoon t-shirt hung loosely, his pamper pristine at the beginning of what would become an unusual evening. Ben’s living room seemed to contract and expand around Mitchell’s adult-sized frame, the space feeling simultaneously too large and too small.

The routine began predictably. Mitchell started banging on the hardwood floor, his large hands creating a rhythmic percussion that echoed through the apartment. Each movement was a strange dance between adult physicality and child-like behavior.

His body tensed, muscles shifting in a familiar pattern of preparation.

Slowly, he began to load his pamper.

The mess spread—warm, soft, expanding across the back of the pamper. With each movement, the pamper sagged, growing heavier. Ben watched from the kitchen, his expression a mixture of clinical detachment and something more complicated.

“Take these,” Ben said, producing gas pills. Mitchell complied without hesitation, swallowing them with the unquestioning obedience of a child.

The pills worked quickly. Mitchell began to fart—explosive, thunderous releases that filled the quiet apartment. Each gaseous eruption seemed to push more into his already loaded pamper. The smell grew intense, transforming from merely unpleasant to overwhelmingly pungent.

The pamper turned brown, beginning to leak at the edges. Brown stains spread across the white material, a testament to Mitchell’s complete loss of control.

Ben set up a small portable crib in the corner of his bedroom, its metal frame clicking into place with mechanical precision. “Naptime,” he said simply, the words carrying a weight beyond their simple meaning.

Mitchell climbed in, his leaking pamper a visible reminder of the evening’s activities. He drifted to sleep, the apartment silent except for his rhythmic breathing. The brown-stained pamper pressed against him, a constant, uncomfortable presence.

Morning came with clinical efficiency. They returned to the daycare, Mitchell moving as if nothing had happened. His large body blended into the routine of institutional care. Ben acted normally—another day in their carefully managed world.

No one would know about the night away—the quiet moments, the hidden experiences that defined Mitchell’s unique existence. The apartment would reset, the evidence erased, another secret absorbed into the landscape of their complicated relationship.