Timberly, Ohio (or "How I Ended Up at Prom in Diapers") - Chapter 9

I know it’s been a long time, but here’s a super long chapter to make up for it! I’m currently studying abroad, and between exploring the country and adjusting to a different academic setting, I haven’t had much time to write, not that I haven’t been thinking about the story. Thank you to those who voted for me in the Story of the Year contest, and congrats to the winners!

Today’s chapter is brought to you by Aborigineland… where dreams come true!


Chapter 9

After a brief check with my schedule, I knew my next class was art and it would be on the second floor. The one class I was really looking forward to, and I was already ten minutes late for it! Had Ms. Grayson not checked if I was diapered during naptime, I wouldn’t have been delayed. It still grossed me out at the thought that she had checked if I was wearing a diaper. Did she actually unbutton my jeans and inspect me? Or, worse yet, did she just stick her hand down my pants? And all this without me waking up? Well whatever she had done, somehow I ended up in a diaper anyways.

I had a lot of difficult maneuvering with my extra padding on. The Sleeptite I had worn last night had been nowhere as thick, and the diaper Mom put on me this morning came off again before I could even sit up. So this was my first real experience since I was two years old walking around in a diaper. And I didn’t like how it pushed my legs apart. Now I understood why early walkers were called “toddlers”. The fact that I was self-conscious about my unbuttoned pants that no longer fit me didn’t help either, even though nobody was in the hallway to witness my discomfort.

Conveniently I had already been on the second floor for my French class, so finding my way up there didn’t take too long. Climbing the stairs in a diaper, however, was just as alien to me as walking in it. When I opened the door to the classroom, I found a young woman lecturing to several students sitting at raised-up round tables. Not one person I recognized from a previous class. Upon hearing the door, they all looked towards me. Still completely self-conscious, I blushed.

“May I help you?” the woman said.

“Yeah, I’ve been placed in your class,” I said nervously. “I’m new here and… sorry I’m late, and–”

“No worries,” the teacher said in a soft voice. “Just take a seat. What’s your name?”

“Amber.”

“Ah, so you’re Amber McCormand. Your name was on the roll sheet and I was thinking ‘I don’t recognize this girl.’ You can call me Miss Hart. You like art, Amber?”

“A little bit,” I said, only afterwards realizing how much of an understatement that was.

“Well get ready to love it. We’re currently learning about perspective drawing, which as I was just saying, is the reason why a road seems to get more narrow as you look down the horizon. If you just want to take an open seat, I’ll continue.”

I saw an empty stool next to a girl with blond curly hair, so I made my way towards the table and sat down. I became engrossed in Miss Hart’s lecture. At first I thought it would be another boring list of basics on how to draw this and that like what I was used to, but quickly I realized it was much more than that. This was interesting. I think that it wasn’t so much the content she was teaching but rather I really enjoyed listening to Miss Hart’s lecture style. She spoke with so much passion about art, even to each single detail like how to draw a specific angle. I even learned a few tips that I had never considered before. Then she placed a strange looking figurine in the center of the room. It had no recognizable shape, but it was long and thin with all sorts of “branches” coming out of it.

“I want you to all sketch this object,” Miss Hart said. “The catch is you may not get up from your seat. You need to draw it exactly the way you see it, from your perspective.”

The moment she stopped talking, the conversation amongst students boomed into existence, and suddenly I was in a very social and friendly environment. The blond girl next to me lent me a piece of sketch paper. We started chatting, and I learned her name was Emily and she was a senior. She seemed really interested in the fact I was from West Virginia; apparently she had only been outside Timberly once, and it was for a vacation to Aborigineland when she was seven!

Unfortunately neither of us could get too deep into conversation since we had a task at hand to draw the weird object, and we only had about half an hour to complete it. At first I tried to draw as detailed as possible, paying close attention to scale and shading. At some point, Miss Hart came over and commented.

“That’s pretty good, Amber,” she said. “You’ve got a knack for detail.”

“Thanks,” I responded, blushing a bit.

“For right now, just try to focus on the basic shape. That’s the purpose of the exercise.”

Great, now I was worried that I messed up. But at the end of class I understood why she told me to change up my technique; I would have never finished had I continued the way I started. In the last two minutes of class, Miss Hart had all of us hold up our drawings and compare the different perspectives. I was disappointed when the bell rang and class was over. For once, I was actually interested in what I was learning—something that hasn’t really happened since we played a three-week-long game of Monopoly in sixth grade math.

Luckily this time I didn’t have to spend too much time searching for my next class since I had already been to the gyms once before. As I headed towards the girls’ locker room, I was lucky enough to hear a familiar voice shout my name behind me. Turning around, it was Kamila trying to catch up with me.

“Hey!” she said. “You have PE right now, too?” I nodded. “That’s great. I’ve got a gym buddy now!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the locker room.

I was surprised how well kept the locker room was. Recalling my freshman year PE experience, I was accustomed to low lights in a gray, dirty room, with the constant smell of BO throughout. Here it was totally opposite; the room was bright, clean, and recently sprayed with air freshener.

I noticed everyone was grabbing green and white clothing from her locker. “Hey Kamila, do we have to wear uniforms?” I asked.

“Yeah, uh, oh, you don’t have one, do you?” she said, as she pulled out a pair of sweatpants. “You’ll have to go to the business office and buy them. In the mean time, wanna just borrow my shorts and extra t-shirt? Might be a bit cold, but we’re running the track today so you’ll warm up pretty quickly.”

Without much of a choice, I accepted the shorts. Now, I’m not a self-conscious a girl, but as soon as I reached for my jeans, I gave myself another reminder that I now had a diaper underneath me. In normal circumstances, this would tell me that I should not take off my pants… no way, no how. Of course, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be wearing a diaper in the first place. Luckily, I was nowhere near a normal circumstance, and I quickly saw every girl in the locker room displaying her thick white undergarment. My mind went numb for a few seconds; there was something surreal witnessing dozens of teenage girls in bras and diapers. I could not think of a word to describe what my mind was going through. The closest I got was “abnormal”, and yet I knew this wasn’t the right word. Everyone was still acting like a teenage girl; it was only the diapers that made the scene bizarre.

“I see you finally ended up padded,” Kamila said, breaking my train of thought. My jeans were bunched up on the floor sitting against my feet. I now looked like everyone else.

I refocused my attention. “Yeah, it’s kinda complicated.”

“Try me.”

I was about to explain the story when suddenly we heard, “Two minutes 'til roll call, girls!”

Kamila and I quickly finished getting dressed, and then we made our way outside to a concrete basketball court. All the girls in the class were sitting on the ground chatting to each other in their little groups. I happened to see Alexis, the spoiled girl from naptime. She was one of the few standing up, and I assumed she was “too proud” of her uniform to get it dirty. As I looked at her, suddenly she glanced back at me. I swear I saw a look of evil in her eyes.

The chatter died down when the coach emerged from the locker room. She was a big, muscular woman, and I could tell she was not one to mess with. Unlike my other teachers, I decided it was best not to introduce myself this time. Fortunately I didn’t have to, as I was already on her roll sheet and all I had to do was shout “Here!” when I heard my name. After roll call, we did some stretching warm-ups (I discovered how much harder it was to reach my toes while wearing a diaper) and then the coach said, “Okay girls. You’re running the track today. I want to see at least ten laps from each of you.”

We made our way over to the track and field. Kamila and I started off running, but after a quarter mile we switched to a walk. Not that we were the only ones. “That’s usually what happens,” Kamila explained. “Coach Green expects everyone to run, but after the first few minutes, she stops giving a crap and so we just walk. Track days are chatting days.”

“Yeah, that’s how it was at my old school too.”

“So you were saying before? How you ended up in that diaper?”

“Oh right.” I told her about what happened to me after naptime with Ms. Grayson and Principal Dixon. Although Kamila was listening intently as we walked around the field, the outcome of the story did not surprise her in any way.

“Dixon can be a power hungry moron from time to time,” she said. “Best just to do what he says and not think too much about it. Luckily, I’ve never had face-to-face time with him before. But it sucks that you got caught by Grayson. She’s my least favorite att.”

“Att?” I inquired.

“Uh, you know, changing attendant. If you don’t like changing yourself and you’d prefer someone to help, that’s what she’s there for.”

“You mean it’s her job to change teenagers’ diapers all day long?”

“Hey, it beats being a janitor.”

“Oh, and something I was wondering about her,” I added. “She mentioned she had checked me during naptime. Does that mean—”

“Yeah, during naptime the atts go around and inspect kids’ diapers, to see if we need changing and all—or I guess in your case, to see if you’re even wearing a diaper.”

“And if someone’s, uh, used their diaper?”

“Then they get changed right then and there.”

“While they’re sleeping?”

“Well duh.”

I cringed at the thought that the very mat I slept on about an hour earlier, someone had probably peed on it at some point in its lifetime. “Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?” I had to ask.

Kamila shrugged. “I don’t think so. Besides, it saves time from having to go to the changing room when we’re awake.”

I decided I would never fall asleep during naptime again. I didn’t want Grayson—or any other stranger for that matter—getting that close to me while I was unaware. It was bad enough being all naked while awake. It felt almost pedophilic.

We swiftly changed subjects and started talking about our favorite music. I had to roll my eyes upon learning Kamila was a huge Mama Gaga fan, since I stayed strictly in the alternative rock scene, but I promised her that it wouldn’t tear our new friendship apart. As I was ranting on about how much I loved the band PARFAIT, I saw that Kamila was no longer beside me. I turned around and saw her stopped in her tracks, looking like she was having an epiphany. Several seconds later, she was done and caught up with me.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Oh, I just had to pee,” she replied indifferently.

Now it was my turn to stop. “So that’s it? You just go wherever and whenever?”

“Duh, that’s what the diapers are for! What did you expect?”

“I don’t know, I thought you would go somewhere private.”

“If that was the rule, they might as well teach us to use the toilet as soon as we learn to walk!” Kamila exclaimed. I would have gladly pointed out that in the rest of the world, that’s exactly how it worked, but I had to remind myself that this little patch of land called Timberly apparently didn’t belong to the rest of the world.

Neither of us kept track of how many laps we did, so when Coach Green asked for everyone’s number of laps at the end of class, we both guessed “ten” to fit the requirement. Back in the locker room, I expected everyone would simply get out of their uniforms and back into their regular clothes. Instead, I noticed most of the girls were poking at and inspecting their diapers. Kamila, who already knew she was wet, was grabbing a new white diaper from her locker.

“Wait, are you changing yourself right here?” I asked.

“Of course,” she answered. “I mean personally I prefer the help of an att, but when I’m in the locker room it’s easier just to do it on my own.”

I looked back up and saw other girls were lying down on benches and diapering themselves. It wasn’t the diapers that surprised me; it was the fact that they were willing to expose their naked legs to the entire room. I even saw one girl take off her diaper, walk bottomless across the room, and then sit on a changing table in an opposite corner. To think I had been self-conscious before having a diaper on! But for Kamila, this was no biggie and she treated her self-diaper change the same way she treated putting her t-shirt back on.

I knew I had already bothered Kamila with too many questions today, but I wasn’t done. As we got dressed, I told her, “What I’m confused about is how you’re willing to wet yourself, even if there is a toilet close by and available.”

“Well that doesn’t really apply to me,” explained Kamila. “I don’t know when I’m going.”

My eyes widened with disbelief. “Not at all?”

“I mean, I can feel it while I’m peeing, but not until after it’s started.”

“Is that how it is with everyone?”

“No, it varies per person. Some can feel it while their going. That’s how I am… and same with Linus, I think. Some don’t realize it until they feel wet, and that could be right after they’ve peed or even a few hours later. My brother’s like that, although sometimes that happens to me too. Then there’s the rare few, like you, that have total control but still go in their diapers because, you know, it’s the rules and all. And last there’s the poor bunch that are totally clueless, unaware that they’re peeing or wet afterwards. They only know by constantly checking their diapers, or having someone else help them.”

“You said it’s rare for people to have ‘total control’?” I asked.

“Extremely rare,” answered Kamila. “Most don’t get that ability 'til they’ve graduated from school. Of course I wouldn’t be surprised if you lose it in a few weeks or so.”

“What do you mean? You think I’ll wake up one morning and suddenly forget how to go to the bathroom?”

“No, not exactly. But eventually you might find yourself peeing without realizing it, just 'cause you’ve grown so used to diapers.”

I shuddered. “Doubt it.”

“Oh yeah?” challenged Kamila. She turned to a girl who was taping herself up a few benches down. “Mandy, when did you move to Timberly?”

The girl sat up. “The summer before sixth grade,” she said.

“And you were potty trained before coming here right?” Kamila asked.

“Of course.”

“But not anymore?”

“What do you think?” Mandy said, motioning towards the white cloth she had finished fastening to herself.

I was shocked. Was I really going to become incontinent, simply because I was forced to wear and use diapers now? I refused to believe it. Something about this didn’t add up. “Doesn’t it bother you that you didn’t need diapers and now you do?” I asked Mandy.

She stared back at me as she pulled her jeans up. “Not really. I barely remember what it was like to use the toilet. Don’t think I’m missing out on much.” With that, she grabbed her backpack and left the locker room.

“B-t-dubs, those pants look ridiculous on you,” Kamila commented on my clothing. I had slid my jeans back on, but I still could not get them to button up.

“When I bought them I didn’t exactly think I’d have to accommodate extra padding,” I responded. “Guess I’ll need to buy some looser jeans.”

“Hey, we should go to the mall together on Friday. You can get new clothes and we’ll just have a good time.”

I had no reason to say no. “Sure,” I answered.

But Kamila wasn’t done. “Even better! Why don’t you sleepover at my place that night? We’ll have a slumber party!”

“I’ll have to check with my parents first.” I knew they would probably say yes, and they’d be happy I’d already found close friends on my first day of school. But something told me that I should wait before making an answer.

“Alright, just let me know tomorrow.”

Re: Timberly, Ohio (or “How I Ended Up at Prom in Diapers”) - Chapter 9

Good to know you still care about this, because I for sure do!

It was a good, easy reading. I like how you cocktail together things and the final flavour of your recipie.

Re: Timberly, Ohio (or “How I Ended Up at Prom in Diapers”) - Chapter 9

i also am glad to see this story continue. Please do not wait to long to give us more.

Babychris

Re: Timberly, Ohio (or “How I Ended Up at Prom in Diapers”) - Chapter 9

I am glad I continued to read this wonderful story, it makes it easy for me to suspend disbelief, and think there may be places with laws such as this due it being a big world.

Re: Timberly, Ohio (or “How I Ended Up at Prom in Diapers”) - Chapter 9

Yep, keep up the good work.