Long Story #5: Tricks and Treats (I. The October Scoreboard & II. Like a Real Astronaut)

Long Story #5: Tricks and Treats: An Anthology (Volume 1) I. The October Scoreboard (Content Tags: Diapers, messing, wetting, fear, humiliation, sibling antagonists) The air reeked of poop, pee, and shame, with just a lingering tinge of fear; there was nothing new, nothing unexpected about it, not whenever every October brought the same frequently supplied bouquet of scents. Of the three in the room, any of which could be accused, who was the culprit? For whom did the malodorous mayhem originate from? There were two tykes, twins, who appeared no older than first grade at the most, and then there was a boy who towered over them, who looked to be closing in on shutting the book to prepubescence. To most, the answer should have been a guess between the twins; October was a spooky month, was it not? And for tiny tots, who may only just be six, it wasn't unheard of for that fear to manifest into something more embarrassing. Maybe it wasn't the most typical response, but it wasn't completely out of pocket. The answer was actually tricky though, because the real culprit was the one still shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind; the one to be blamed was the tween with his legs bowed out, his pants suspiciously dry and tidy looking, but also conspicuously bulky. "Hehe, got him again!" One twin cackled. "Nuh-uh, I got him! I scared him more!" The other twin argued. The older boy didn't intervene to settle their petty argument, he just stood there with his cheeks pinked and his eyes still damp with the tears of his wounded pride. The month had hardly just begun, and this was already his fourth accident. Just like every year. Sam was a decidedly average sixth grader; perhaps he was a little on the small side, and scrawny to boot, but he was pretty sharp. His meekness and his anxiety had been core components to his personality for as long as he could remember, but they generally laid subdued for most of the year, only bubbling up during rare times of shock. October though, the spooky month of Halloween, was thirty-one days of inescapable terror. He hated ghouls, goblins, ghosts, and things that went bump in the night; jump scares made him jump out of his skin, and he jumped at the sight of his own shadow. No, not just jump, and not just flee. Evacuate. Not in the manner of hurried departure, but in the way where he emptied the contents of his bladder and bowels into his pants. A witch's cackle? A wolf's howl? The goofy boo of a ghost? All made him hose his pants, and if he was particularly unlucky, then he'd leave luggage in the trunk too. It'd always been this way, and it was why he so hated how long the autumnal month seemed to last. It was the only month out of the year where he had to trade his underpants in for something else. Something more protective, something with more heft, something that could contain the shameful conclusions that fear resulted in, as to guard his clothing and the carpet from unfortunate stains. It was a month of diapers. Full time, day and night, from the beginning of the month to the last minutes of Halloween. There wasn't anything more embarrassing to him than this change in wardrobe, which had been going on since he'd been pottytrained as a preschooler; he'd hoped that their necessity would wane as he grew older, but unfortunately he hadn't gotten any more brave in his age. His little siblings, a pair of twins named Mandy and Mitchell, had made a game out of it the last few years. Once they had become aware of Sam's little problem, and the solution forced upon him by their parents, they had taken great glee and pride in their ability to force a reaction out of him. From the first to the thirty-first, they kept tally of who scared him more, with the winning score earning not only bragging rights, but half the other one's trick-or-treating haul. One point for a gasp or flinch, three for a jump, five for a scream, ten for piddling, and twenty for poo-poo. The highest possible achievement in the game was to cause either a leak or a blowout, with a pee leak being worth thirty points, and a blowout worth fifty. Sam's parents didn't know about the game, but even if they did, he didn't know how useful they would really be in stopping it. They were pretty hands-off when it came to conflicts between their kids, and they thought the twins were little angels; besides, it was already mortifying enough that they had to enforce a diaper rule on him for a whole month, so he didn't want to look like even more of a baby by whining about being scared by a pair of little kids. If anything, it would probably only extend his diapering period to more of the year, if they thought that he couldn't even handle a little spook from his siblings. Thus he was on his own, again. And after the twins had just jumped out of his closet, wearing monstrous masks, he was standing with a diaper full of his own droppings, again. "Well, that's eight points for jumping and screaming, at least." Mandy counted. Her twin sniffed the air, "And I think at least another twenty for dookie. Am I right, Sam? Or did you go pee-pee too?" "I-I didn't do either! Get out of my room!" The pair looked between one another and grinned, and then like the gremlins they were, they each pulled on one side of his pants in unison, to tug them down to his ankles. In a flash, the white shine of his diaper was revealed to them; the garment sagged heavily between his pale thighs, the front faintly yellowed with urine, which Mitchell prodded with an accusatory finger. "...Squishy! Yup, he did a pee-pee." Before Sam could slap at the boy's hand, he felt the warm load behind him getting pressed hard against his messy backside with a squelch. "Ewww! And a big, icky poo too!" His younger sister cackled. "So, that's thirty, right? Plus eight...Thirty-eight points!" "But who gets it?" "I guess we'll hafta split it, fourteen for each of us." Sam stood there awkwardly, feeling powerless to do anything about it, while his siblings came to an agreement on the division of their reward. His humiliation, his fear, it was worth nothing more than points on a scoreboard; his most embarrassing yearly crisis was reduced to little more than a silly game between children. Then, with their squabbling settled, and their points assured, they would casually leave his room; Sam could only assume they were off to plot more devious scares against him, to test the scope of his capacity for fear, and to amuse themselves with his wimpy reactions to the smallest of frights. He sighed and sat down on his bed with a nasty squish from underneath him, the diaper taped to him being well spent and clearly full. It was only the third day of the month, and looking at the large package of diapers on his dresser, he knew he would probably be going through each and every one. It was going to be a long month. II. Like a Real Astronaut (Content Tags: Diapers, messing, embarrassment, intentional usage, soft) "Well, sweetheart...I just think that you'll have a really hard time getting out of your costume, and you know how easily accidents can happen. It doesn't make you a baby, it just makes you prepared, like a big kid would." The soothing words coming from his mother's mouth were meant to pacify his fury, but they did little to actually comfort him; how should he be taking this new, that his bodily control was so distrusted, that something so extreme could be seen as a viable solution. Not just viable, or effective, but appropriate, or prudent. It spoke very little of him and his capabilities, and yet, his disapproval was only founded in his own pride, not in the reality of the situation at hand. His mother wasn't being needlessly cruel to him, she was sincerely worried that he might have an accident in his Halloween costume. It wouldn't be the first time. Cooper hadn't been the most reliable in the accident department in the past; whenever the urge to go came, he certainly seemed to have less time than other boys his age, to heed the call of nature, without nature then punishing him for doddling. It was critical enough that his doctor had written him a note for school, to allow him to go to the bathroom whenever he needed to, instead of debating the need for a pass. Accidents were relatively rare by now, since he had gotten a handle on going frequently throughout the day; at worst, he maybe had one every quarter, and his nights had thankfully dried up years ago. Last Halloween, he had gone as a Digimon, which amounted to an orange sleeper with a zipper in the back. Halfway through the evening, he'd felt the need to go, and while a neighbor had been gracious enough to open her home to him, his zipper had been less agreeable; his underpants had fortunately contained the bulk of the load, but it'd been a shameful event that had cut his trick-or-treating very short. This year, he was dressing up as an astronaut, and it had been right before it was time to gear up, that his mother had dropped this on him. A thick, white rectangle. A diaper, meant not for babies, but for big kids. He could have died of shame right there, whenever she'd shown him what she expected him to wear for the evening. Cooper had put up a whining fuss, at least as much as the stern woman would tolerate, and he'd attempted to give her his word that this year would be different, but she was quite insistent on inadvertently making his costume more 'authentic', and could he blame her? The astronaut costume wasn't the easiest to get in and out of, and while he might be able to point out last year as a fluke of circumstance, there was nothing to assure those same circumstances wouldn't reappear for tonight. On some very small level, definitely subatomic, he found himself actually agreeing with her points. Last year had been mortifying; it had been a frightful event for all the wrong reasons. Like it or not, a diaper would have saved him a lot of public embarrassment, and it would have saved his costume from ruin. Thus, begrudgingly, he gave in and agreed to wear the darn thing. It was only for one night, wasn't it? The costume was already so bulky, that it probably wouldn't even be perceptible to the most scrutinizing of glances! That was his way of coping, which he continued to delude himself with throughout the whole process; getting diapered for the first time since preschool came first, followed by the arduous process of putting his costume on, which became especially difficult with his legs so bowed. Twenty minutes later and he was set to go: bottom powdered and padded, suit snugly taut to him, and pumpkin pail recently washed for use. His dad had taken him trick-or-treating the year before, so it was his mom's turn to do the deed this time, which additionally made sense with the diaper situation. He yearned for the upcoming year that his parents would let him just go with his friends, but alas, he wasn't there yet; it felt even further away now, since he felt so infantile. The evening would go as typical as could be expected, at least for a time. Cooper would trot up to each door, while his mom hung back with the other chaperones in the street, and he would ring the bell or knock. The same tired phrase for each door, which really just felt like a password to get free candy, like a cheat code. "Trick or treat!" House after house, candy upon candy, until his pail was more than halfway full. And then, the cramping came, just like last year. It was such an inopportune time too, since they'd traveled outside the neighborhood to continue the pilfering; he wouldn't dare asking a complete stranger to relinquish their potty to him. They were also too far from home for him to make it, even if they headed back immediately. When the urge came, he had mere minutes to act, and walking around with his thighs spread by the diaper, that would only shorten the timer. Cooper clenched his cheeks, a cold sweat coming over his forehead, but he tried not to show how much discomfort he was feeling, or the dreadful anxiety that was coursing through him. A night of joy and delight had quickly soured. Why were his bowels so irritable on tonight of all nights? That often seemed to be the case, that his own body would betray him when it seemed the worst time. It was the same reason he'd had to quit soccer a couple of years previously, because every weekend before a game or during it, he would inevitably mess his shorts. Anticipation and anxiety seemed to work interchangeably for him; so whether the upcoming situation was good or bad, his body would falter, so long as it was important enough. Cooper's steps slowed, and his next display of the Halloween mantra was a lot quieter; the battle was being lost with every passing moment. Toots were slipping out, short and quiet, thankfully muffled by the thick padding around his backside. With every furtive fart, he could feel things moving closer to his personal doom. His mother noticed his dour attitude as he returned from one of the doors, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Did they give you candy corn?" "No, mom, umm...I have to...Y-you know..." She looked confused for a split second, before blinking as the realization set in. "Oh...Oh! Well, uh, do you think you can hold it until we walk back home?" With a defeated frown, the boy shook his head. His mother looked to pity his circumstances, but she gave him a pat on the helmet and kept a level tone. "That's okay, honey. That's why we prepared, right? Just let go, and I'll take care of it when we get home. We can even finish the street, if you're up for it." What an odd permission to be given, at his age, to be told directly that pooping in his pants was okay. His mom had never been mean or punitive about his potty failures, but she'd also never been so lackadaisical about them either; it would appear the presence of the diaper had made a big difference in the situation. Cooper was torn, but he was also at the end of his rope. The load was going to happen regardless, so wouldn't it be better for it to be on his own terms? His own call? It wasn't much, but it was something, right? His mother led him away from the group of parents and children, so that he could do his dirty deed in privacy. Finding a large pumpkin to squat behind, he was given another comforting pat, and his mom said she would wait for him on the street. Cooper appreciated the small dignity of being able to privately poop his pants; it hardly made up for everything else, but it was better than nothing. With a deep breath, he got down on his haunches, using the pumpkin to balance himself, to steady his stance. Contracting the muscles of his tummy, gritting his teeth, and squinting his eyes, he held back no longer. A single steamer would first make its way out into his diaper, making the garment softly rustle as it accepted the offering; the taut material of the costume made it difficult for the diaper to push very far outward, making the log immediately coil into a warm pile that pressed against his backside. Before the sticky load had a chance to fully settle, or to begin cooling, a rush of much softer droppings rapidly plopped behind it, the amount so high and sudden, that he could feel the muck spreading toward the front. Cooper let out a couple more trumpet notes, a little more mush, and the trial was complete. He'd really just pooed his diaper, like a real astronaut, in the middle of this person's yard. He gently put a hand on the swollen backside of his costume, and he could feel the heat radiating against his palm; the smell was very faint, but he suspected fumes would seep out over time. Waddling back to his mother, the stool squelching with every bowlegged step of his compromised gait, he was embarrassed, but also relieved. It was a lot better than letting it all go into his costume, like last year, and nobody else would have to know about it. The diaper had been the right call. With a weak smile, he rejoined his mom, who gave him a soft pat on his squishy rear, and they continued down the street to finish filling his pail as prodigiously as he'd filled his Pampers.