Nothing but distant memories now, more like stories that happened to friends of friends. How I used to be different. Slimmer–no, not just slimmer–muscular. Yeah, I used to work out, the stories say. I chuckle as the captain’s hands reach around and pull me closer, gripping my fat, and I moan. So far away now, so far away it might as well have never happened, and as far as the captain is concerned, it never did. “How are you feeling slave? Good?” he whispers into my ear, and I shiver.

A captain, a guide, a navigator. A man who helps people who are lost in their lives. A captain. He’d claimed to be all of these things, when I’d met him. All I’d claimed to need was directions, but he’d known better, he’d brought be here, he’d redirected and rerouted my entire life to this moment, but we still weren’t at the destination. Close though–so close. “Are we there yet?” I ask anyway.

“Not yet slave, we still have a few changes to make in your route. Are you ready for one last trip?” the captain said into my ear.

I nod eagerly, but it’s already happening, he’s already guiding me through my life again. As we pass them, I can see some of the detours and intersections I had been down before. Briefly, I glimpse the moment I’d first decided to work out, when I was twelve, but I can’t go down that path anymore–instead, I fell in love with my fat, obese uncle, and decided to be as big as him when I grow up. Much of the new changes are subtle ones now–the radical changes are all behind me, the captain is only fine tuning my directions now. I’m bullied much more through school, and become a loner, engrossed with the conversations I have with older men online, about how much I want to serve them. I grow to dislike myself, I find myself worthless, and crave service as a way to make myself useful to someone. This in turn leads me into deep masochism, and by the time we reach the present time, I can already feel the changes ricocheting through me, and I pull away from his embrace–I’m not worthy of it.

Instead, I get down and clean his boots, showing the captain that I know my place–I understand where I belong in the world now. I’m not lost anymore–I’m just a boot worshiping, obese piece of scum, barely worthy of serving my betters. There is a sharp pain on my chest where the captain’s mark appears on me, naming me his slave and property, and I am honored that he has given me the privilege of serving him. I have found my place now, and I know in my heart that I will never leave this new path.

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