Story #177: Because You Pooped in Your Snowsuit:

Story #177: Because You Pooped in Your Snowsuit (Content Tags: Slice of life, pantspooping, diaper pooping, made to wear diapers, humiliation, potty accident, desperation, seasonal theme) My mom had always been the overbearing type, the overprotective type. If I wanted to skate, then a helmet wasn't enough; there had to be kneepads, and elbow pads, and anything else that could be padded. If we were at the beach, then I got smothered in sunscreen and was given water wings that I was too strong a swimmer to need. The same had rung true for the colder months. Never once was I allowed out without adequate protection from the elements, and sometimes it got to absurd levels. I wouldn't complain about a coat or a scarf, I would welcome gloves and boots, but I ended up looking like a total dork whenever the full-on, puffy and cumbersome snowsuit got brought out. Sure, it snowed in the winter, and sometimes it could get pretty cold, but it wasn't like we lived in the Yukon or among the penguins in Antarctica. It almost never went below twenty, and most winter days were in the thirties or forties! The snowsuit was hard to maneuver around in and made me look like an uncoordinated toddler whenever I had to wear it. I would get teased about it by the other kids in the culdesac, and I couldn't really blame them for their bemused comments. If the shoe had been on the other foot, then I definitely would have been the one cracking jokes about being 'mommy's precious little bubble-boy'. Aside from being difficult to walk around in and being embarrassing, there were other issues that came from wearing the stupid snowsuit. For one, which is something that I'd been ignorant about, was that the zipper was prone to jamming in the cold. Combining that with the stupid mittens that my mom made me wear, there was a serious time consideration that had to be made when taking the puffy thing off. It was a one-piece outfit, which also meant that the whole thing had to come unzipped if I wanted to use the toilet. Therein was the source of my problem from last year. It had dipped a little below thirty and my mom had busted out a new snowsuit for me to wear; it was baby blue and much 'cuter' than a boy my age would be comfortable with, but there was no arguing with the woman whenever she bought me new clothes. That day in particular, I'd been excited for the heavy snow of the day before, because that meant there were a lot more options available for Winter activities outside. On that day, I had also made the horrible mistake of trying my Uncle's homemade five-alarm chili for lunch. It would only be a little later that I realized what all those alarms were really there to warn about. My cousin Jenny and I would go outside to play in the snow that afternoon. She was a little older than me, by a little less than a year, but she'd also always had a distinct height advantage; my parents insisted that I would catch up to her, and that girls grew faster than boys, but that never helped with the way she taunted me about it. What really didn't help was the dorky snowsuit I'd been made to wear. Jenny went out in a normal coat and warm clothes, and I had to go out looking like a dopey toddler. My snowsuit even had a little hood with bear ears, which only added to how silly I looked. She would tease me about how I was dressed, and it would keep coming up, but we otherwise preoccupied ourselves with building a snowman and pelting one another with snowballs. We had climbed a nearby hill with a couple of the neighbor kids, and we'd brought a sled to ride down. If my mom had known that was on the itinerary, then she would have undoubtedly flipped her lid about how 'dangerous' it was and how I would crack my head open. I'd been feeling a gurgling in my gut for the last half hour, but I'd kept putting off addressing it, because of what a huge imposition it would be to go inside and take all this off. By the time I was sitting on the toilet and then redressing myself, then it would probably almost be time for dinner! It just wasn't worth it, and I felt like enough of a big boy to instead hold it until I was done playing. That would prove to be a critical mistake on my part. I had started having farts that couldn't be held back by clenching my buttcheeks, and the pressure was beginning to escalate to dangerous levels in my bowels. Staring down the steep hill I was atop of, I couldn't help but fear that the intense speed of sledding would lead to a complete potty failure. "I...I don't know if it's a good idea..." I had meekly mewled to my cousin. To which she laughed at me and put her hands on her hips, "Are you really that scared? Are you really that big of a baby?" The other kids around us were quick to snicker and join in on the comments, and my pride made the final decision on the matter. With a belly that was cramping, I sat on the sled with my cousin and we shoved off. It was an exhilarating experience, and a lot of fun too, but it wasn't without consequence. We hit a few bumps during our descent and that was too much turbulence for my slipping control to handle. While halfway down the hill, and right after we'd gone over a stick submerged in the snow, I felt something solid pass past my buttcheeks. It happened too fast to really register fully, but at the same time, it felt like time had slowed down in the span of the moments where the log had touched the cloth. Emotionally, I could identify every wrenching second of the turd jettisoning into my underpants, but mentally it was too quick to comprehend. When we reached the bottom of the hill, I was very slow to stand back up, and all I could think about was that I had poop in my underwear. My cousin was gushing about how much fun the ride had been, and I was bashfully trying to feel the back of my snowsuit, to see if there was a discernible bulge from my infantile accident. That lump was merely the cork to a very bubbly bottle of champagne though. As I took a few awkward steps forward in the snow, knowing it was time to head back home and assess the damage, my gut started to go absolutely crazy. I had to stop and put my hand on my stomach, and then I let out a fart that ended up being a lot more audible than I'd assumed it would be. "Ewww! Stop farting, Billy!" My cousin had chided me, putting her gloved hands to her nose for emphasis on how gross I was being. "Ugh...I gotta go home. I-I need to use the bathroom." I managed to choke out, obviously refraining from mentioning the knob of stool that was already nestled firmly in the back of my dinosaur-printed briefs. I didn't make it home before bringing an extinction level event to those poor dinosaurs. If that first firm turd was the meteor crashing down, then what came next was the equivalent of every volcano on the planet erupting simultaneously and burying those dinosaurs in a molten hellscape of magma and sulfur. If the farting had been the first alarm, and the accident on the slope had been the second, then the remaining three were the nuclear strike that my bowels levied against my snowsuit. It started as I was walking, and no matter how hard I clenched my cheeks and stiffened my back, I couldn't help but send a Hershey squirt into my briefs with each step forward. That was always the beginning of the end in such a battle with one's own bowels; whenever your undies were being actively besmirched with each movement toward the toilet, then there really were only precious seconds remaining before the big explosion. And what an explosion it was! I remember stopping in front of my house, my bottom already sticky with sludge, and realizing that it was over. Those last remaining seconds were all about acceptance of what was about to happen, like the sickly feeling and the cold sweat on your brow before you realize you're going to puke. It came out like a geyser. High-pressure, high-volume, and with a sound so comical that a gross-out, toilet-humor cartoon would blush. It came in waves, each one announced by a note that sounded like a tuba full of pudding, and all I could do was to stand there. It must have been obvious what I was doing from all the sounds and my brazen body language, because my cousin was quick to express her disgust and run inside to tattle on me for pooping my pants. It wouldn't have mattered if she tattled or not though, because I absolutely destroyed my snowsuit with poo, and my mother would have quickly found that out. The day that had happened had actually been near the end of the big snow season in our state, and so there hadn't been a day that cold for the rest of the Winter. Even if it hadn't been, my thought had been that the new snowsuit had been ruined on its first outing and thus had been thrown away. But now it was a year later, and while I hadn't grown much, my cousin was even taller than before. She still laughed whenever she brought up what I'd done the year before, and I'd sheepishly had to make excuses about not feeling well that day. At the time, I hadn't really connected the dots on why I'd had such an urgent, explosive BM that afternoon. To me, it was just a freak accident. Which gave history a license to repeat itself, or at least to rhyme. My cousin was here again, my uncle was making his famous chili again, and we were having another big snowstorm that would make it very cold, but also very fun to play outside. Everything was lining up for a repeat performance, and the thing that would confirm that, would be the discussion I had with my mother about playing outside. It had been a little before lunch and the smell of a rich, spicy chili was filling the house. The snowstorm had settled and it was now just a serene scene outside with everything blanketed in white. What this meant to me, was that it was nearly time to go enjoy nature's beautiful bounty, by running around like a loon. And then my mom had pulled out that snowsuit again. Not a different snowsuit, but the *same* one from last year. Apparently she'd given it a vigorous cleaning and dubbed it ready for usage again; we weren't a very wealthy family, and I hadn't grown much, so she couldn't simply toss it out after one unfortunate use. The inside still had faint brown stains all over, and they even showed a great deal on the outside, especially around the butt. I tried to argue with her about it, but she wasn't hearing it; these kinds of outfits were expensive, and I barely ever needed to use them, so it didn't make sense to buy a new one because of some unfortunate stains. I could live with that, though I wasn't happy about it. The more controversial matter would arise after two heaping bowls of chili at lunch, when my mom casually informed me that I'd be wearing a diaper under my snowsuit. It was said so nonchalantly, that I laughed it off as a bad joke, but my mom wasn't laughing about it. My cousin laughed her butt off about it and that's when I realized that my mom was being serious. "What? Why?!" "Because of last year. Because you pooped in your snowsuit. I had more arguments to make on the matter, but they all fell short of convincing her that it was an absurd idea. With lunch out of the way, she led me up to my room, only stopping on the way to get a bag out of her room. Once I was being told to strip down, that was when I saw her open the crinkly package up and I saw a genuine diaper in her hands. Bigger than any diaper I had seen before this point; certainly bigger than I thought they came. Off went my briefs, and I had to lay on my bed as she powdered my butt like a baby; she taped the thick garment up and gave the front a gentle pat. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" She helped me into my old snowsuit, which was a little tight, especially with the extra padding around my butt, but she managed to get me zipped up. It was even harder than last year to walk around in the outfit, and the diaper made me toddle in a way that already made me look like I'd crapped my pants. Once I got the rest of my clothes on, I headed back down the stairs and was greeted by the judging eyes of my cousin, who was taking a look at my rear, as if to see if she could confirm I was wearing Pampers like an oversized baby. Before we left the house, my mom pulled me aside and gave me a stern look; she gave a miniature lecture on how she didn't want me to think that the diaper gave me a free pass to go potty in my pants. She pointed out that the package of diapers was pretty big, and that I'd be wearing them through the new year if I went in my pants. She didn't have to tell me twice; I had no plan to actually wet or mess in the diaper she was making me wear, though it did give me a false sense of security. Unfortunately, since I had made the same mistake as last year and eaten that dastardly chili, my fate had been sealed. Just like last year, my cousin and I went out to have fun in the Winter wonderland that nature had prepared for us. Snowman, snow angels, snowballs, it was all in the cards with this much of the white stuff on the ground. This opportunity only came a couple of times a year, so even in a diaper, I wasn't about to squander it. The other kids in the neighborhood didn't seem to notice that I was wearing a diaper under my snowsuit, though a couple did notice the faint brown staining on the back. I lied and said it was mud, to which Jenny smirked knowingly and shook her head. It was a couple of hours in when I was starting to feel a fullness in my lower gut. That familiar discomfort and cramping that had ruined my snow day the year before. I didn't want to take the same risks this time, so after a few nasty farts in my plush padding, I decided I should probably take a detour to the house. That was the plan at least, until Jenny grabbed me by my arm and informed me that we were going to stop at a neighbor's house for hot chocolate. "I need to go use the bathroom..." I quietly told her, to which she snickered and shook her head. "You can hold it for a few minutes. You're a big boy, aren't you? You can use their bathroom if you're really not able to hold it..." There was no arguing with her, not whenever she was pulling me by the hand to go where she wanted. I tried to resist, but it was a futile effort with our size difference in play. I got dragged along like a little tyke, tooting helplessly as I toddled across the snowy expanse. Within a few minutes, we were stepping into someone's house, and the cramps in my belly were getting far worse. I meekly asked about where the bathroom was, and the kid's mom looked a little surprised by the question, as if it was audacious for me to want to use their toilet. Still, she pointed me in the right direction and I quickly trotted off. Once I was in the bathroom, I ran into some more trouble. The first step was to get these dumb mittens off, and that was no simple task; the longer I took, the more sloppy the gas in my diaper became, and I felt a mushy squirt come out. Once the mittens were off, I focused my efforts on the zipper to the snowsuit, but it was jammed. "C-come on...please!" I begged the little metal handle, as more spurts of soft poop settled into my thick diaper. I frantically pulled at the zipper, pathetically whining and farting as I tugged harder and harder. It was too cold to budge, and I was running out of time. The chili was about to once again damn me, and I was still clueless that it was the culprit. **BRAAAAAPPP! SPLLLRRRRRT! PLORP!** It was over. There was no point in trying to take my snowsuit off now, because I had just let loose a flood of toxic sludge into my puffy babypants. It came out like a firehose full of smelly mud and I could feel the diaper swelling underneath my snowsuit to accommodate the tsunami of poop. I had no choice but to bend my knees and help the accident along. Wave after wave of flatulent feces filled my seat and I was just along for the ride. I had to admit that the experience was full of amazing relief, but such simplistic feelings were quickly overshadowed by the discomfort and shame that came with being a big kid in a poopy diaper. Apparently I had been gone for too long, because there was a knock at the bathroom door and the voice of the kid's mother, who was asking if I was okay. When I didn't respond, she opened the door and saw me standing there with a broken expression. I was sobbing and wincing as I helplessly filled my diaper. Another gassy gurgle erupted and the sound of splattering was clear as day. Sniffling and meeting my eyes with the shocked woman, all I could tearfully announce was: "I-I pooped in my s-s-snowsuit!"