Weaponised Incontinence in a World of Late Bloomers

Weaponised Incontinence in a World of Late Bloomers
By Felix_Lewis

Hi all,
This is my first attempt at an ABDL story. It is written in Australian English, so be prepared for the term ‘nappies’ for diapers, and perhaps some Australian-local contexts and concepts. Any strange or common concepts will be explained in parenthesis.
To figure out if you’re interested, I have here a short synopsis of what will be involved:

This story takes place in an alternate present, where a mishandled global catastrophe created an embarrassing epigenetic condition for future peoples, causing most young adults to need nappies until they’re about 16-18.

It follows the perspective of a nappy-free Nick, and his angst for his nappied and seemingly antagonistic step-sister, Laura. They’re in their last year of school, just trying to get through the popularity contest, mess, and expectations that come with it. This story features frequent messing and wetting.

The plot, characters, and world are the main focus of the story, but if you’re doing the old “ctrl+f ‘poop’, ‘mess’, ‘wet’”, you’re also in the right place. There will be lots of messing and wetting scenes. If you do a ctrl+f search for “()” , you will find the start of each wetting and messing scene. No missing them due to my verbosity, and no need for plot if that’s not your thing!

(Mostly) all characters in this story are 18+, so you don’t have to worry about feeling creepy reading it either.

There are 6 “Parts” to the story, and I’ll be releasing it in these parts.

I hope you enjoy!

Prologue

The rude chill brushed Barry’s brow, skimming by on a breath of wind which rode down the wide and dead street. The road in front of the hospital, which at this time would usually host a mess of cars and sirens, lay a barren in the cold, July fog. Leaves stirred in a lonely eddy.

Barry had been standing in the silent line for near on an hour now, kept company in his now-permanent spot by the slow rustling of clothes and occasional cough - fits of spluttering which tore the line into a further frightened silence. Eyes would stare.

His cloth mask kept him warm, although nurses - with only eyes visible through the all-encompassing scrubs - had come to hand out hot water bottles earlier. Barry had refused. He was young, and about as fat as eight years between his favourite pubs had let him become. He would be fine in a bit of cold.

Those with the disease, though…

Over two years since its inception, the fluttering illness had hitch-hiked eternal sneezes all across the wide globe. It wasn’t deadly, however. Barry had sat on the couch with it in the first few months, enjoying time off work between bags of chips and litres of cold water. Sure, it knocked you out for a week, tops, but barely a percent of a percent of people got anywhere close to death. It was a blow-over, everybody believed so.

Then they found the side effects.

It was almost funny when they first appeared. Funny, at the time, to lock people away in fear of a sickness just because a few pollies shat their pants. Barry chuckled against the fog, remembering the first Murdoch rag which blasted the MP who pissed himself on the open floor of Parliament. His hot breath steamed from his mask, and a voice behind him asked;

“What’s funny?”

Barry turned. A young woman stood behind him, her long hair tied into her scarf which wrapped around her mask, her hands held stiff in a long coat. He hoped that she was legitimately asking the question, rather than chiding him, because he was going to tell the story whether she thought him mad or not.

“Who thought,” he said, already chuckling, “that a politician pissing themselves in Parliament would lead to this…” and he gestured about at the great nothingness that the morning peak had become. “A guy missed the pisser in Canberra, and it stops the whole world.”

“It is a little crazy, isn’t it,” the woman nodded along, and craned to see the line stretching long behind her. “Masks, to lockdowns, to empty streets, vaccines…really got to figure out who was crazy, you know.”

“I really figured out that I can’t stand my Dad,” Barry laughed, nodding along. “Every second thing from his mouth was some cry that the country had turned into a dictatorship. You’d think they were rolling tanks through town. I had to move out. Finally turned me into an adult.”

“I found out that my Auntie was an anti-vaxxer,” the woman replied. “Never gave my cousins any jabs at all, it turns out. I should have known, from all of those Balinese statues she kept around the house. If she knew I was standing in this line…I tell you, she’s got the ingredients of this jab on speed-search.”

“Ah, I know,” Barry smiled, but his positivity faded. Not a lot of people seemed to comprehend the risk of a life of uncontrollable bowels and bladders. The disease had evolved to make that a reality, somehow - although he hadn’t caught that mutated strain. They thought that it might even do worse, but the anti-vaxxer types would call anything of the sort fear-mongering. “Ah well,” he repeated, then, “ah fuck.”

“I know,” the woman said, her eyes meeting Barry’s again. “I hope it works.”

“Yeah, same…” he chuffed, and movement caught his eye. Ahead, people shuffled. The hospital doors had flown open in the long distance, and Barry could just make out the sign on the door.

VACCINE CLINIC

Those at the front of the line waddled in, orderly to the cold day.

“I guess it’s time,” he turned, tipping his head to the lady.

“You know,” she said, shuffling forward with him, “you’re probably the first stranger I’ve met in a year.”

“I reckon I’m about the same,” he smiled, although not with his eyes, so the woman couldn’t see it. “Barry’s my name.”

“Ingrid,” she nodded.

Part 1

40 years later

Chapter 1

Nick, feeling his knees crack, squatted to sit on the concrete steps under the near-spring sun, joining his mates with a sandwich in hand. They always sat here during lunch times, on the embankment steps which overlooked the school’s front oval. A too-aggressive game of footy bashed its way across the field, taking boys to the ground with feverish abandon.

Lachie, his KFC chips slopping out of his mouth like a spent durry (cigarette), spluttered on his story.

“…I mean, she was all over me at Michael’s last weekend.”

“Mate, she was not,” Tom cut in. “I don’t know what planet you were on, space cadet.”

“My rocket-ands crash landed on her hips mate, that was the planet,” Lachie insisted, then turned to Nick. “You saw, right?”

“Saw what?”

“Me and Christy!”

Nick chuffed. He hadn’t actually seen anything happen. What he had seen, was Christy trying politely to make Lachie fuck off.

“Yeah, nah, not sure about that one, champ.” Nick said, biting into his sandwich. “Maybe Johno knows something. Why don’t we ask him when she gets over here.” And he pointed towards the boy approaching, footy in hand. Being noticed by none other than Nick Petrios, Johno’s face raised a massive grin, and he waddled faster on over.

“Nah, no way,” Tom said, standing to his full and unimpressive height. He yelled at the poor approaching boy through his curly, red hair. “Turn that crinkle butt around, piss pants. We’re not playing footy with waddlers.”

Johno’s whole face fell, pulling his shoulders down with it. He pivoted meekly, taking his nappy-laden ass with him and back out to the oval.

“Gee, Nick, you can’t just point at the babies! Then they think they can join.” Tom said.

“Didn’t think he’d keep waddling-on over,” Nick shrugged.

“The gaul to even look at us,” Lachie said, and gestured to his body. From his smoothly-cut, wiry-haired chin, to his barrel-like gut, his stone fists, and his notably napply-less shorts. Lachie was quite the statue, if the Romans were in the fashion of carving brick-shithouses.

“Surprised he didn’t shit himself,” Tom added. “Or, maybe he did. Not our fault.”

Nick laughed, although he thought Tom’s words were a bit too mean. It wasn’t their fault that the rest of their cohort hadn’t figured out when they needed to go to the toilet. That was, strangely, the norm for most until they got to 17, or even older.

Nick had figured it out at the ripe age of fourteen, well before many of his peers, and driven by his sheer determination to be attractive to girls. Nobody who shat their pants was cool or hot - that fact just stood to reason. One of the infallible constants of the universe.

Now, four years on and in Year 12, his flawless pants streak had gifted him a handy and tight friendship circle, something that was sacred and never to be breached.

Hadn’t really given him the luck with the ladies like he thought it would, though.

“Hi boys,” a voice came from behind. Nick turned, to see Cassie glide down the stairs, Luke and Emily in tow. Her long, dark hair shimmered to the sunlight as it flicked around her head. Her body moved to a wide-hipped gait, trapping Nick’s eyes in a pendulum. Beneath her skirt would be no nappy - not that Nick thought the boys would kick her out of the group even if she did wear one. Cassandra was too beautiful to be excluded from any cool clique.

“Hey, Cass, maybe you can solve this one.” Lachie said, standing to greet her.

“Oh, bloody hell, Lachie,” Tom palmed his face.

“So, me and Chrissy at Michael’s party…”

“The answer is no, Lachlan,” Cassie chided, strutting her long legs by him to sit on the lowest step. “She was not interested.”

“Ah, poop,” he deflated.

“Hey, speaking of poop…” Tom laughed, and pointed across the steps. Moving towards the group with purpose was Laura, Nick’s step-sister. Her school skirt puffed and bobbed atop the thick nappy underneath, giving the impression of wider hips than was humanly possible. Her strawberry hair, pulled into a messy bun, bounced with the waddle of her step.

“She’s got a bloody towel between her legs,” Tom mocked.

“Yeah, but she’s still hot,” Lachie nodded, thoughtful.

“Oh, shut up with that,” Nick demanded - he wouldn’t hear it. “What happened to Christy-lust?” But in his head, he sighed, wondering just what was so important that Laura had to tell him now. Why did she always make a point of showing up when he was with his friends?

“You might have a nappy to change, by the looks of it,” Tom nudged Nick.

“You shut up, too,” Nick growled.

Lachie heckled as Laura came within talking distance. “Resident changer is out for lunch. He’ll be on duty later.” And he laughed, nudging Tom. Laura, stern-faced as ever, planted her foot to the step and met it with a smirk.

“You’re one to talk, Lachlan Fuller,” she beamed, “Still pissing the bed - not a mighty-high horse to yell down from.”

Lachie’s whole body flushed red, and his brow furrowed. “I’d rather piss the bed than piss my pants in the bed,” he retorted. “Anything is better than getting dressed like a baby.”

“Sure, fine, tell yourself that,” Laura rolled her eyes, landing them on Nick. “Dad says he’s picking us up from school tonight. Meet by the round-about at four.”

That was so important? Nick grumbled to himself. We have the next class together, she could have just said it then…”I’ve got band anyway,” he said to her. “I don’t need a ride from your Dad.”

“Alright, I’ll pass it on,” she said, turning immediately on her heel to leave. As she did so, the bell rang.


Nick went to the toilet on his way to class, books carried precariously above the trough as he pissed into it. In the back of the bathroom sat a changing table, and a stand-up change place, which were both occupied by two boys in his year level, cleaning themselves up. Nick remembered those days - he’d hated it, lining up for ten minutes to get the royal service of pulling smushed shit out of your own ass-hairs. His determination was the one thing Nick was able to take real pride in, and the memory made him beam.

His smile shone all the way to biology class, where he found Laura sitting front and centre before the teacher. His grin then faded. He shuffled into the almost-full room, taking his usual desk near the back left of the class. Here, next to the HVAC unit, the climate-controlled air blew away from him and into the class. This was the prime real-estate of each classroom, where the smells of dirty nappies and clouds of baby powder were magically blown away, never to bother him. Satisfied to be once more in his king’s throne, Neil pulled out his books, and followed the teacher’s notes.

The class had been studying genetic theory in the past few weeks. Nick understood the concept of genes - that somebody had traits, which could be replicated, and made things in the body. But the mechanism of it? He stared at the whiteboard in despair, watching as diagrams slowly morphed into obscure satanic markings, devouring the wall in blackness. Each new word building on some concept which had already flown over his head minutes ago. Given time, Nick could figure this out, but in time with a class like this?..

“And so, what do we call this kind of mutation?” Mr Caldwell asked, and Laura’s hand was the first raised.

“Epigenetic,” she said.

Epigenetic? Nick coughed. Where the fuck did the ‘epi’ come from?

“Caused by an outside influence changing a gene expression,” she continued.

Gene expressions can change? But, what’s the got to do with the…aw, shit.

“Can anybody think of a good example?” Mr Caldwell asked, and before he could even acknowledge Laura’s hand, her mouth opened.

“The Novello-Virus plague,” she said. “It famously created an immune response which altered the nerves in our lower abdomen.”

“Yes…exactly,” Mr Caldwell grumbled, annoyed at the speed of her response. “Novo-2 is the reason why we all take so long to be able to control our movements. Now, have a go at the questions on page 238. They’re exam style questions, so they’re useful. Try and help each other if you don’t understand.”

Ha, if you don’t understand… Nick shook his head, and flicked to the correct page. On these sheets, the devil was incarnate once more, his powerful ritual sketches zagging across the page’s margins, making evil the knowledge held within. Nick tried to comprehend the diagram, but nothing of it could click. Not even the words on the page made sense - each italicised term was connected to every other, forming a chain of incomprehension which bound the book to an endless, circular glossary. Frustrated, Nick turned to Georgie, who sat next to him.

() Unfortunately, she was also staring blankly at the page, but Nick thought that she couldn’t be as lost as him.

“Hey, G,” he said, and the girl shifted, her butt crinkling beneath her tartan school skirt. “Do you get this Epigenetics stuff?”

Nick had thought that she’d shifted to face him, but she instead looked absently ahead. He then heard the distinctive hiss from under her skirt, as she let her mind run, wetting herself. Nick could see the nappy sag as it poked from between her legs, expanding out of her skirt. Half of the class turned to the sound, silent giggles passing between friends as they privately mocked the girl. Just over half of the cohort were free of nappies now, and they were surely keen to mock those who weren’t.

“I see…” Nick hummed, unable to capture Georgia’s attention. A plastic crinkling approached, and Nick turned to it, to find Laura making her way to his desk.

“Did you go, too?” He asked.

“No, I can help you,” she huffed, and leaned over and onto his desk.

Nick sneered - it wasn’t enough to try and hang out with him, or answer all of the questions in class, she’d now try to tutor him?

“Sure, go ahead,” he grumbled, with no other options.

“Epigenetics is when an external factor changes gene expression, right?”

“Sure, I guess,” Nick chuffed.

“Okay, well it is.”

“How?” Nick asked. “How does it matter? You’re already built, so what does changing genes matter?”

“Because your cells are constantly dividing and replacing themselves,” Laura explained, “so any changes to your genes will eventually be seen in all of your cells.”

“Yeah, okay…but how does it happen in the first place?”

“Because the thing you come into contact with either reacts with your DNA, or it changes chemistry in your body which reacts with your DNA.”

“I…” Nick wanted to ask more, but he understood the concept now. Why was it such gibberish a minute ago? How was it that Laura knew the better way to explain this than the teacher?

How did this great lesson come from somebody who couldn’t even manage to stop shitting their pants?

“Thanks,” Nick said, although with no sugar to his smile.

“You’re welcome,” Laura nodded, sharing Nick’s grit. She pulled herself up, and waddled back to her seat.

Chapter 2

Magical smells wafted from the kitchen, dancing throughout the house and up the stairs. These called Nick, dragging him from his top-storey room down into the living area for his favourite meal of the day - dinner.

Oh, how his Mother was a good cook. Nay - a chef. That was her true calling, of course. The one career which she refused to entertain. It felt like she flopped between bosses, into and out-of life-altering decisions, a resident to all sorts of offices across the city over the years. For the past two, she’d managed to hold herself down to managing a family-run fashion shop. Who knew what came next.

Neil helped bring the plates to the table, then took his favourite seat - the one with the prime view of the TV over his mother’s shoulder. Tonight, a beautiful pot of stuffed zucchinis cooled atop a wooden block on the dinner table. Nick spooned the four bowls full, one for each guest of the table, then took his eager seat to wait.

Hauling himself from the couch, his Step-Dad, Greg, rose. His long and lanky limbs paraded themselves across the hardwood, reaching halfway across the house in no more than three steps. He took his seat opposite Nick with a smile on his angular face. Nick had lived with Greg and Laura for about seven years now. And still, the situation never felt like a fair family. It was obvious, no matter how much respect Greg tried to pay towards Nick, that he favoured his daughter and was more lenient on her. She who could never let him down. Nick swallowed resentment, because to act happy and respect Greg made his mother happy, so he would do it.

Nick heard the loud crinkle before he saw Laura. He craned his head, watching her bounce towards the table from the stairs. Laura was a lazy dresser around the house - certainly, Nick would never get away with what she did, even in his nappy-days. She wore her thick white nappy exposed, white powder drifting from her arse with each heavy step. Her hair was long and worn down, atop an oversized red hoodie. A cloud of powder puffed up from her exposed waistband as she plonked her butt on the chair next to Nick. Laura smiled at him.

“Don’t wait for me,” Nick’s mum, Julia, called as she bustled about near the sink. “Get started.”

With the signal given, Nick launched his shovel of a spoon at the dinner, enjoying it immensely. Soon, his Mum joined the table, and the rush of cutlery slowed to allow for conversation.

“What happened today at school?” She asked.

“You know, nothing much.” Nick said, intent on eating.

“I helped Nick in biology today,” Laura beamed, glancing a smirk to him as she spooned up zucchini. “We were studying Epigenetics.”

“Ah, like Novo-2,” Greg chimed in.

“Yeah, exactly, Dad,” she smiled, “Nick didn’t get it at first, but I helped to explain it to him.”

Greg beamed, and his attention turned to Nick. The young man went red, falling into his seat.

Yes, they already know you’re smarter than me… he grumbled to himself. You’ve always got to remind them, don’t you. “She did,” he said flatly.

“You’d think with the money we pay for that school, it’d be the teachers who taught the classes, not their brighter students,” Mum chimed in, annoyed. Nick sighed to the saving grace; the deflection from his embarrassment. “Did you ask the teacher to explain it again?”

“Eh, I don’t like asking too many times,” Nick said honestly, “you know, after they’d already spent so long explaining it once.”

His mum frowned, then dug back into her food. A lull fell to the table with it, where everybody seemed too consumed by eating to talk.

()Then Laura grunted, and Nick heard a plastic rustle.

She’s shifted her weight onto her furthest ass-cheek, aiming her nappy towards him. Staring off towards the TV, her face was caught in an absent concentration, gritting as she grunted again. Her hands now gripped at the edge of the table, hands strained. The seat of her nappy, pointed at Nick, shifted, something inside wriggling and poking out as she pushed.

“Oh you’re bloody kidding me…” Nick coughed. He turned to his parents in disbelief, who didn’t seem to have even noticed. They only paid attention to their dinner, Laura’s grimace and grunting falling on deaf ears.

He watched in disbelief as she strained further. Finally a hard mass shifted into the seat, her nappy bulging out to smush against her chair. She sighed, smiling, and pushed again. The nappy billowed out once more, a second lump crackling louding as it came, swelling under her ass . Laura sighed again, happy as anything, and sat squarely back down on the mess.

Nick couldn’t believe it - pointing her ass towards him and shitting in his general direction. How could somebody so clearly bright, so intelligent in any other setting, so annoyingly favoured, get away with shitting themselves at the dinner table? Nick’s stare begged with his parents, who hadn’t even looked up or to each other yet.

Finally, the smell of fresh shit and talcum powder caught his nose.

“That’s yours to change,” Julia said to Greg, and the man grunted a nod.

“Never change a nappy just as it’s messed - there’s always more,” Greg offered his wisdom, still focussed solely on his dinner.

How was the lumbering man so utilitarian as to ignore the smell of his daughter’s mess as he ate his food? Nick tried to hone his focus with such intent, wafting the scents of the pot to his nose with the zucchini. The effort of self-deception was dizzying, and he had to settle with just not enjoying the food as he shovelled it in.

() Laura crinkled again, and Nick’s eagle gaze locked to her, brow furrowed.

This time she squatted just off the seat, gripping hard to the table, but turned her head to hold Nick’s gaze as she pushed, smirking. Her whole body tensed, then a gurgle and squelch blew from her ass. The nappy bubbled from behind, squirming as a wad of liquid mess rushed to fill it. The odour was immediate, and deadly. Nick almost gagged - he wanted to cry, that he had half of his dinner left. He looked at the last zucchini in dismay. There was a second squelch - he wasn’t even expecting it - followed by a loud sigh as Laura finished off her bubbling, liquid mess. The legholes of her puffy and bulging nappy now showed brown. She took a slow seat, lowering herself onto the shifting mess, then raised her spoon back to her mouth as if nothing had happened.

“I’m going to eat on the couch,” Nick said, lifting his plate.

“Smart idea,” Greg agreed, but didn’t dare shift to move with him.

Nick moved, totally stunned. He just didn’t get it - how could a girl so smart not have figured out the toilet yet, or basic etiquette? He mused that one day it would just come to her, like everything else seemed to do with Laura - learned and adopted effortlessly to the highest degree. Sitting on the couch, he craned his head back around to her.

To Nick, it felt like her entire existence was designed to piss him off.

Chapter 3

“Mate, I would end you at Mario-kart,” Tom grinned, ruffling Lachie’s hair as the boys walked the long path from the train station to school. Nick was glad for his morning free of Laura - on her own accord, she took the earlier train, to get to school way before classes started. It suited him - one less nappy to stink up the carriage.

“Mate, this is old ground,” Lachie insisted, pushing the boy off. “I’ve already smashed you on every track, multiple times.”

“That was years ago!”

“You’ve been practicing?”

“Of course I have. You can’t be a champion with no practice,” Tom grinned. Truthfully, a few years ago the lad had gotten into speedrunning, and failed miserably to run the game in anything resembling ‘speed’. He hadn’t picked up an N64 controller since.

“You are challenging Rainbow_Road_69 here, Lachie,” Nick chimed. “Fastest thumbs on the N69.”

“You know it,” Tom smiled.

“He’s years out of practice,” Lachie rebutted.

“And the years between now and my last speedrun is about the same as between the speedrun and you last beating me,” Tom added. “You can’t hold superiority four years after a fact.”

“Okay, bet,” Lachie said. “But let’s make this juicer.”

“I like juicer,” Tom agreed.

“Even ground - we won’t play the N64 version. Let’s do Mario-kart Wii.”

Nick’s stomach dropped. He immediately knew where this was going, and he dreaded the next sentence which he knew was coming his way.

“Nick’s got it at his place. Why don’t you invite us around tonight for the showdown,” Lachie suggested, and Tom lit up, nodding along.

Nick fell inside himself, growing nervous. Guests to the house, especially in the hours that parents would be arriving home from work, were in the domain of Grumpy Greg to approve. Whilst Nick’s Step-Dad was nice enough, there was one time when he demanded peace and cleanliness, and that was when he walked into his house after a long day at work.

Strangely, for everything Nick didn’t appreciate about the man, he respected this rule. Nick and his Mum were living in Greg’s house, after all. Coming home to a clean and peaceful home was nice. Nick knew to uphold this sanctity.

Beyond that, Nick knew that Greg didn’t like his friends. He thought that boys like Tom and Lachie were bullish and crude. Of course, Greg was right, but Nick liked his friends for their rough character, and for the shock of the more serene moments which came from them. His friends were men of surprising extremes. They certainly weren’t to Greg’s taste.

It would be a lot of effort to convince Greg to let the boys come over just after school - he’d likely suggest a weekend, or barre the activity all together. Nick went to say as much, when Cassie arrived.

“Hi, my favourite boys,” she joked, skipping up to the circle. Nick immediately lost his train of thought, and was now stuck at the station waiting for it to steam back to him. Unfortunately, the next train to arrive thought that he’d better check Cassie out, and he found himself sitting in its first class pullman carriage.

Far out, she’s got a nice ass. And hips to match, it seemed. They puffed out almost cartoonishly, holding her dress alight.

“Hey, wanna watch me smash Tom and Mario-kart?” Lachie asked her, his energy still high. “We’re going to Nick’s house after school to play it,” Tom added.

Nick cringed.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Cassie beamed. “As long as you’re okay with me beating the lot of you.”

Cassie was in? Suddenly, Nick had much fewer reservations about prodding Greg for permission.

“I’ve just got to ask Greg if I can have people over,” he butted in. “We should be fine, though.”

“Oh, Greg loves me, it’ll be fine.” Lachie waved a hand, “3:30 train, all.”


At recess Nick fumbled with his phone. He pulled himself around behind the art buildings - apparently the old smoker’s paradise, before the school cracked on to it - and dialled Greg’s number.

He was nervous. He desperately wanted Cas - his friends - to come over, but wasn’t sure how to approach this conversation. He held little reservation in admitting that Laura would know the right strings to pull, but he wasn’t going to stoop to asking her. He was a big boy who didn’t mess himself, he could call up his step-dad.

Nick dialed the final number, and the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Nick almost became relieved, he could see the excuse forming ‘oh, hi Greg’, as the man walked into his door, ‘I tried to get onto you, but you didn’t answer. I’m sorry, we tried to keep things tidy’, yes, that would work. It…

“Hello, Nick?” Greg’s voice crackled.

Damn it. “Hi Greg,” Nick splattered nervously, “I was wondering if I could have three friends around after school, to play video games.” His voice fumbled the words. A silence was drawn. “I’ll make sure that everything is clean before you get home. You won’t even hear us - we’ll be in my room.”

Greg hummed, then nothing. Were Nick wearing a nappy, he’d have peed himself.

“Three friends, hey?” Greg mused. “Would they be Lachie, Tom, and Luke?”

“Lachie, Tom, and Cassie,” Nick corrected, and Greg chuffed, as if he was amused to hear a girl’s name.

“Right, usual suspects,” Greg said, then, “you’re just playing video games?”

“Tom wants to verse lachie at Mario kart.”

“No drinking?”

“None of the sort,” Nick bit his tongue. Of course, Nick had assumed this, but Greg was right to suspect it. Tom, Lachie, and Luke could be rowdy when they wanted to be. It had happened before. “This is year 12 after all, we shouldn’t be drinking on school nights.”

“Yes, you’re screwed on…” Greg said, implying that the others weren’t. Nick understood. “Yes, that’s all fine, Nick. Your friends are welcome around,” Greg said finally, and rather quickly, “Just get them to go home before dinner - I don’t want other parents thinking that I neglect to feed guests.”

Nick was stunned. How had this been so easy? Maybe he’d turned on some unknown charm, or he’d done some unknown deed to land in Greg’s nice-books.

Maybe the man just pitied that Nick had to eat dinner next to his soiled daughter.

“Thank you, Greg!” Nick beamed. “I really appreciate it.”

“All is good,” Greg agreed, “just keep the place clean for when I get home.”

“And keep out of your hair,” Nick finished the sentiment. “You’ve got it.”


Nick whistled on the way to his next class, elation in his veins after he confirmed the good news with the boys - and Cassie. Most importantly Cassie. Nick was surprised that she wanted to come around to his - even though she was effectively ‘one of the boys’.

It’s not like they weren’t mates - they’d hang out at lunch sometimes, they’d talk at parties, but never one-on-one. No, Nick didn’t have the confidence for that. She’d certainly never been to his house. It seemed to push at some barrier of their friendship that she so jovially accepted the offer. Nick just hoped to high heaven that his room was clean enough for a girl. He thought about what damning articles might be on that unmade bed of his. Eh, if only he could distract them all downstairs for five minutes whilst he tidied up…

() His thought was interrupted as a girl from the younger year level, walking towards him, stopped in her tracks. Her eyes bulged wide, her knees buckled inwards, and her hand darted to her butt. A rude squelch and slop accompanied from under her school skirt, and the girl was held in stunned silence. Wet farts continued to blurt from the girl’s nappy. Nick disdainfully caught a waft of the toxic mass as he walked by. He gagged at the terrible stench, and was thrown into a strange thought.

Why does Laura grunt so much when she goes?

He’d never thought it strange that Laura put so much deliberate effort into her filling her nappy, but she always did. Most teens - even himself back in the days when it applied - couldn’t stop themselves. You’d be particularly self aware to even catch yourself off guard when relieving yourself. It just sorta happened - that’s why you weren’t toilet trained. The girl he just passed - now waddling off towards a change room - must have been training right now to have known what was coming.

Eh, maybe Laura’s just constipated a lot, He shrugged, although something further nagged at him. The way she smirked at dinner - was she fucking with him? Saving a poo just to mess with him? How could she even do that?…

“Hey, Nick,” he heard from behind, and turned. There stood Laura, her hair tall in its bun, her shirt tucked into her skirt over the obvious bulk of her nappy’s waistband.

“Ah, the brainiac,” he greeted, “what do you want?”

“I heard your friends are coming over tonight,” she said, and Nick could swear that mischief rose with her voice. He gritted his lips.

“Yes, they are,” he wormed out. “Who told you?”

“Lachie, of course.”

Yes, Lachie, the weak link. Was he just teasing that he thought Laura was cute, or was he serious? Nick couldn’t imagine anybody being serious about such a thing.

“I did a pretty good job convincing your dad,” Nick grinned, remembering to be boastful. “You know how he hates Lachie and Tom. Got him right on board. I wonder what him warming up to me means for you…”

“I think you’re just lucky that he’s only got positive things to say about Cassie,” Laura teased.

Nick’s brow furrowed.

“He’s never even heard of her,” he puzzled. How did Cass change his mind?

“Well, she didn’t, until I put in the good word this morning,” Laura smirked, twirling her skirt. “I told him that she’s toilet-trained, and he thought that it must have made her a good influence to have hanging around me. I also mentioned that all of your friends are toilet trained - it’s like, your thing. He seemed impressed - I don’t think he knew that you all valued it so much.”

Nick grimaced, his confidence waning. He’d really believed that he’d spoken through to Greg, but this achievement wasn’t his. Just like everything else seemed to do in the eyes of his family, this success found its roots with Laura. He grumbled, eye twitching, but had nothing else to say but “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Laura smiled, and skipped off, away to her next class. Nick hummed, his mind racing. Laura was up to something, but what would she do?

Chapter 4

Nick slammed on cupboard doors, folding clothes at lightspeed to cram them into appropriate spaces. Used tissues were relegated to the tissue box for later rubbish sorting. The covers were thrown over the bed - laid smoothly rather than evenly, just for the effect of cleanliness.

He’d told his friends downstairs that he needed to use the loo quickly, and had distracted them with ice-cold water. He hoped that they suspected nothing.

Finally, the room clean, he strolled downstairs to fetch them, and pile them all into his abode.

The first event of the evening would be Lachie versus Tom, on each championship cup, it was decided. Nick fired up the Wii, and handed the remotes to his mates, who licked their lips and twitched their thumbs in eager anticipation. They sat on the beanbags at the foot of the bed, right in front of the small TV, whilst Nick took his place on the edge of his bed. He’d presented Cassie with his office chair, the bees knees of modern ergonomic comfort, and she seemed to pause at her options. Finally, as the first track started, she lay down next to where Nick sat, taking the centre of the bed, close to him.

Nick was petrified. The skin of her arm was within a hair’s distance of his leg. He swore that his leg hair even touched her - like some strange forcefield of sensors bolted to his thighs. He sweated, unable to squirm away as he was already squashed on the edge.

Cassie must have sensed his aroused discomfort, for she grunted, pulled herself up, then sat down on the bed instead, placing the bowl of popcorn and chips between her and Nick.

Nick was certainly a lot calmer in this position, and grabbed a mighty handful of snacks, deferring any talking. Cassie seemed unfazed- maybe Nick was just imagining her reactions - and the two of them relaxed to watch the war ahead.

It was clear that, somehow, Lachie had an advantage in this game. Tom’s speed and reflexes on his old N64 - lovingly painted over, into the ‘N69’ - did not transfer to the Wii. Perhaps he relied too heavily on his experience and reflexes, because Lachie’s thumbs outpaced him in each moment requiring agility and wit. Lachie played the game expertly, hanging back in the mob to get the best weapons, then holding onto them until the perfect moment to ruin Tom’s lead. In the end, his strategy prevailed, and he won three of the four cups, causing Tom to slump in defeat.

“Alright, who’s facing the champion next?” Lachie asked, beaming from behind the controller. The room paused, all glancing between each other. Nobody wanted to get their ass handed to them.

So Nick had a better idea.

“I think you’ve destroyed enough egos today, mate,” Nick said, “I reckon me versus Cassie next,” and he turned to her. “Your choice of map.”

Cassie nodded along, her face cool. “I wouldn’t underestimate me, Nick,” she teased.

“I didn’t. Maybe I thought you’d be a better challenge than Lachie,” he teased, and she chuckled along.

“Alright, then,” Cassie said, shifting forward on the bed. She held her hand out to Lachie. “Hand over the remote, tiger. Let me show you how it’s done.”

He reluctantly handed her his controller. Nick tried the same trick on Tom, but the boy was nowhere near as jovial in playing along. His twitching hand reached straight for the chips, which he used to pacify himself. He then shifted residence to the office chair, to watch from a distance.

Cassie chose rainbow road. Which, of course she did. When you want to prove your worth, it’s the one track to choose. Nick could see right through the facade - or so he thought. He wondered, briefly as the lights counted to green, which approach would be a better flirting tactic; would he let her win, to boost her ego, or would he crush her, just to show her how good he was?

When the light went green, Nick found that he didn’t have a choice.

Cassie was good - good enough that beating her was a challenge. She and Nick seemed to pull the same tricks, as if they’d both been practising the same moves, waiting for the next party to show off. The fun had been called off, real competition in its place, which Nick could see from a glance had consumed Cassie’s face. It was a hot race of equals, right up until the third lap. Nick had been drifting a corner, out ahead, when a surprise from behind blew him off the track. A blue-shell, not even from Cassie, had knocked him out of contention. He ceded his defeat, bowing to his opponent.

“I don’t think I really earned that,” Cassie said, awkwardly accepting the bow.

“Well, you dodged the blue shell and I didn’t. That earns some recognition.”

“Maybe,” she hummed.

There was a knock at the door.

Nick’s head turned, and before he could greet the person on the other side, they had already entered.

Laura strode into the room, and much to Nick’s surprise and relief, she was wearing pants around the house! At least that’s not whatever she’s got in store, he thought, remembering that his friends’ permission to hang here today was her doing. She wore a loose, cropped top, and a baggy pair of trackies (tracksuit pants, joggers, etc.) which didn’t quite disguise the thick nappy hidden underneath. In the free space between the hem of the short top, and the waist of her pants, poked out her ruffled nappy waistband. It crinkled to her every step.

“What do you need?” Nick asked before she could speak.

“Oh, I just wanted to see what all of the fun was about. Maybe challenge the champion to a race.”

Nick knew that there must’ve been some trojan horse hidden within the request - it couldn’t have been Laura’s plan to just waltz in here and smack his friends at Mario kart.

“Nah,” Lachie piped up, rummaging through the bean bag. “I don’t really want to beat a baby. Seems unfair.”

“How can you control a Kart if you can’t control your piss?” Tom added. Nick knew for a fact that it was much more than her piss that Laura couldn’t control, and knew from experience never to underestimate her. He turned to Cassie, who’d gone red in the face, grimacing away from the boys. Nick read the second-hand embarrassment, and thought maybe he should give Laura a go. That seemed to be what Cassie thought, anyway.

Against his best caution, Nick handed her his controller.

“You versus Lachie,” he said. “If he beats you - ”

“When I beat you,” Lachie clarified.

“ - you…I don’t know…leave us alone until everybody goes.”

“And if I win?” Laura asked.

“You get…my dessert after dinner?” Nick mused, unsure of what seemed like a good prize. He had no idea what Laura might want.

“I was more thinking something gross, like you all have to do a shot of Dad’s ouzo or something,” Laura shrugged, then strolled to take Tom’s vacated bean bag. “Sound fair?”

“Eh…” Nick wanted to object. If his friends shotted Greg’s grog, Laura could easily twist that as stealing the old man’s drinks, and Nick knew that would go down worse than the ouzo. His friends would never be allowed over again. Plus, Greg had been specifically concerned about drinking.

“Yeah, that’s a deal,” Lachie smirked, and Nick cursed under his breath. Lachie took Cassie’s controller, and chose his level. In the TV’s reflection, Nick could see Laura’s intense focus. Her fingers were still as bolts, welded to her palm, tense and ready.

Nick already knew that a mistake had been made.

The race blew into action. Lachie took a fast lead, rampaging his way through the pack of racers. Meanwhile, Laura drove backwards, and lined herself up at an obstacle. Then, she sat her character still.

“You’re desperate to leave us the fuck alone, aren’t ya, piss girl?” Lachie teased, but Laura smirked, silent. He lapped her then, with the full ensemble of characters bumbling in his tail.

Laura chose that moment to boost.

Her kart bounced off the obstacle, then flew high, over a boundary of the map, clipping through the terrain. Then, when her character was picked up, she was set down behind the finish line, and drove over to complete a lap.

Then she reversed again.

Lachie was sweating, just halfway through his second lap when Laura clipped the stage once more, finishing her second lap in an instant. On his split screen, the end of his second lap was just in sight, and Lachie drifted towards it, water running down his forehead.

Laura clipped the terrain again, as if it was nothing, and crossed the lap for the third time.

The race came to a close, the bouncy music rumbling the room as the TV replayed her calm roll over the line. Lachie lost a hold of the controller, letting it bounce to the floor. He was gobsmacked.

“Yep,” Laura smiled, placing her remote down. “Nice win, Lachie.”

“That’s insane!” he pointed his palm to the screen. “How’d you do that?”

“Practice.” She shrugged. “Look up the ‘lap-skips’ next time you’re bored.”

And with that she stood, hands to her hips, quite pleased with herself.

“God, I hate ouzo,” Tom shuddered, watching her rise. “Why’d you have to lose, Lachie?”

“I won us a free drink. Try that for perspective.”

Laura nodded, said “I’ll be back, and then I’ll leave you alone,” and skipped off, out the door and down the stairs.

God damnit, Greg won’t be happy, Nick gritted his teeth.

“Did you know she could do that?” Tom asked.

“I had zero idea,” Nick said. “Aw, man. I hate ouzo. I hate it more than Greg loves it…”

“I’ve never had it,” Cassie said, “I’m only 17.”

“Yeah but we all know that means nothing between you and parties, Cassie,” Tom chimed. “You’d marry a cider. Fuck it, you’d marry the whole ten-pack.”

“Maybe I would,” she chuffed. “But do you reckon I’d marry an ouzo?”

“Shotgun wedding, maybe.”

Just then, the door creaked open, Laura sauntering back in. She carried a tray in two hands, four shots already poured into glasses sitting atop. Even accounting for the nappy, her step looked strange to Nick as she tracked into the room. Maybe it was just her concentration in holding the platter still, but Nick could swear that her gait was wider than before - her hips swinging around in her pronounced nappy waddle.

She swayed her legs on over, plastic ruffling all the way.

And then it made sense.

() Nick caught the earthy, musty aroma before Tom declared it. The whiff of fresh poo radiating from Laura’s padded behind as she waddled past sweetly with drinks. Still, she was without a hint of a grin.

*There’s the trojan horse…*Nick sighed.

“Christ, you stink!” Tom coughed, holding back none of his disdain. He recoiled in the office chair, elbow shooting up to cover his nose. Nick thought that Tom was overreacting - this was a very mild mess, did he not know how bad it could get?

“I do?” Laura quizzed, her face dropping to confusion. She took a hand from the plate, patting her tummy to feel for its fullness. “I don’t feel like I have to go, but maybe…” and replacing her hand to the tray, she popped her knees and stuck out her butt. Her body and face tensed as she grunted.

“What are you doing!” Nick finally caught his senses.

“I don’t feel like I have to go,” Laura shrugged, standing straight again.

“No, love, it’s already in your pants, believe us!” Lachie said.

“Come on, put the drinks down and get your stinky ass out of my room!” Nick demanded, standing off the bed. Laura turned, handing the tray to Tom, and forcing his hand to catch it instead of covering his nose.

“I just don’t think I messed…” Laura said in a voice sweet and innocent, and craned herself around to peer at her backside. She threw her leading hand to her nappy’s back waistband, and before Nick could object, pulled it open, peeking down her ass crack.

Everybody’s eyes watered.

A cloud of pungent fumes puffed from her frilly waistband, blanketing the room in deadly gas. Tom’s eyes watered, his hands stuck on the ouzo tray and unable to defend himself. Lachie fell from his bean bag, using limp limbs to throw himself towards the far wall. Cassandra launched herself up the bed, banging her funny bone into the headboard.

“Oh, looks like I did mess, huh,” Laura declared, her grin devious.

“Oh, you think so?” Nick growled. “Come on, get out.” And he grabbed her arm to pull her to the door.

But she stood firm, planted to the carpet of his room.

“Looks like you need to change me,” she said.

“Me?!” Nick fumed, then tugged. “Do it yourself.”

“Well, you’re the one who promised Greg he’d come home to a clean house. I don’t think this…” her eyes rolled to her pants, “…is clean.”

Nick’s own eyes drifted to Laura’s nappy, poking out above the trackies’ waistband. Nick had indeed promised Greg a peaceful return home to a clean house. He knew that the man would chuck a hissy fit at the mildest inconvenience to his immediate enjoyment of his abode. Nick had foolishly taken responsibility to deliver these conditions.

But surely Laura, after making this mess of his afternoon, could just do this herself.

“You can’t do it?” he asked. “I know you won’t just sit around like this.”

“I don’t do a good job,” Laura shrugged, “Dad’ll smell me as soon as he gets home. He won’t be happy with you.”

He won’t be happy with me? Nick grumbled, his mind construing into the tangled thought process of a Greg. WWGD? Certainly, Greg would come home and smell a poopy nappy. He would find the poopy nappy, and undoubtedly instead of blaming Laura for messing herself and not cleaning it up, he would blame Nick for not taking care of it, given his promise of cleanliness. In fact, Laura would be praised by Greg for attempting to clean herself, and Nick would be sledged harder for allowing her to do it, knowing it would make Greg upset. Laura couldn’t possibly be the star child if her problems were her own fault, and hers to solve.

But maybe Nick was prepared to take that bullet today. He did have the ouzo to blame on her.

“I’ll clean you.” Lachie offered, with all too keen of a grin.

“Yeah, nah,” Nick held a palm to stop the lad. “You absolutely will fucking not. Bloody hell, let’s get this over with, Laura.”

“I don’t think I can wait up here,” Tom gagged, almost crying. “It’s painful to breathe.”

“Yeah, wait downstairs. Help yourself to the TV,” Nick grumbled, his afternoon over in an instant. “I’ll be down soon.” And with that, he pulled Laura out of the room, across the hall, and to the changing table of the upstairs bathroom.

An innocent smile plastered across her face, she happily jumped onto the high, cushioned bench, wrestling with her pants. Nick dug through the nappy cupboard, looking for an appropriate replacement. Pink and frilly, with big letters saying ‘I absolutely suck as a human being’ would do the trick…

“You suck, you know that?” Nick said, pulling out a fresh nappy and slamming it on the bench. He now found Laura lying down on the table, her legs spread and bent, so that her feet sat soles-down near her ass.

“Your friends are stuck up,” she said, her face red.

Nick thought that he saw embarrassment across those cheeks - but he couldn’t have. Laura was just moments before smiling and giddy, her plan well executed. He didn’t buy the bait of her phony humiliation, instead remaining silent.

He reached for the tapes, pulling them from the plastic and lifting back the nappy’s front. He was prepared for a mighty mess, given the smell, but saw only a small, clay-like mound stuck between her ass cheeks. It looked like a pain to clean, and he frowned.

() Laura’s hand snatched at his. Her eyes were wide and ablaze.

“Put it back.” She demanded in a whisper.

“What?”

“Put it back on!” She yelled, her leg twitching. Nick seemed dumb to the urgency, sceptically pulling the top band back to the girl’s stomach. His finger fiddled at the tapes.

The nappy jerked at his fingertips, caught only by the tape. Laura’s legs squirmed as a hot mess splattered into the nappy, the recoil almost tugging its waistband from Nick’s grip. Slimy shit gurgled beneath the padding, bursting to the splutter of the girl’s ass, forcing the padding further outwards. Nick, mortified, let his gaze drift slowly to the scene.

The nappy bulged at Laura’s waist, saggy and oozing at the leg holes.A spurt of liquid mess painted the table to either side of the nappy’s seat, projected from the crevice of her legs.

“Oh, my, god,” Nick and Laura uttered in unison - although for different reasons.

Then she said, “wait, keep holding,” and grunted, her legs hunching up into the air. Straining, she pushed out a final spurt of mess, which bubbled rudely against the seat of the nappy. Then, silence.

Finally, Laura wrenched her chest up, peering past her stomach to see the mess. Her face immediately dropped, stunned.

“You clean me, I clean the table,” she suggested.

Nick was numb. He didn’t consider this to be much of a deal, but he nodded to it anyway, waiting for her to lie back down.

Then, watching for any change in Laura’s expression, Nick carefully pried open the front of the nappy. Oh, how he now wished for the mess which he’d seen before.

What greeted him was about 100 times more pungent and stomach turning. An ocean of milky-brown cream sloshed in the valley between the leg-bands, mushy, putrid chunks spread within. Luckily, due to the nappy being bloody-well off at the time, it hadn’t caked all of her skin, making this job a little easier. Still, the muck seemed to flow down into the space of her ass crack, and Nick wondered how far back it went.

. He didn’t quite know where to start, but made an effort anyway. First, he taped the nappy back closed. Then, finding the dire-situations rag, he laid it under Laura’s bum and back, with her full cooperation. Liquid mess had leaked to the small of her back, almost pooling to her crop top, but luckily it was saved.

Then, he untapped the beast. Deft hands had the brown river styx held within, which quickly made its way into a biohazard worthy plastic bag, and then the bin. This job seemed like a needless waste of wipes, but there was too much shit to stink up the shower, so wipes it was.

One would expect wet-wiping your step-sister’s soiled ass and vagina to be pretty up there with the weirdest, most uncomfortable tasks imaginable, but Nick and Laura had long ago grown past the awkwardness. This was a job which he resented only because of how frequently he did it, not because it gave either of them the icks.

. Then, baby powder applied, Nick slipped the new nappy under her and taped it up tight. Not even waiting for her approval, he turned the exhaust fan onto max speed and washed his hands, ten years wiped off his life.

“Rag and table are yours to clean,” he said through the mirror’s reflection, watching for her nod. “Better check your top, too.”

Well, he’d have sworn that she’d deliberately fucked with him back in his room, the way she paraded about with a perfectly timed and smelly nappy. He’d have sworn that her need to push, and her ritual, impeccably convenient timing, meant that Laura had some level of control over herself.

But after that shit-show?

That display looked a lot more like a regular teen - alerted at the last minute, no ability to stop it.

Still, with his afternoon in shambles, Nick had to believe that Laura had some control over her bowels, and that she was using it to fuck with him.

He just had to find better evidence to prove it.

2 Likes

Part 2

Two Weeks Later

Chapter 1

Nick stared at the instruction paper of the assignment, trying to fabricate any idea of what to write about. Ms Bartlet, his English teacher, had dropped no hints whatsoever, other than to rave of the importance of choosing an interesting topic for the discussion.

The task didn’t even feel that difficult; find a piece of persuasive text, where ‘text’ apparently also meant movies, plays, theatre, advertisements, any piece of media, and break apart the language used within. Nick had to try and fit the ‘argument types’ and appeals which they’d learned in class to a text.

Any text

And, he’d probably have to regurgitate it for the end of year exam. This was, after all, preparation for those pesky exams. Those ones who’s grade determined what course, and which University, you’d be eligible to even kiss the ass of.

No pressure…

There seemed to be so many obvious examples. Clearly, a long form ad would do - one of those 5 minute charades about a sticky roller, diet shake, or bullshit exercise equipment. They so clearly suited a task of persuasion, but maybe that was half the issue. They were too up-front about trying to persuade you, and Ms Bartlet hated an obvious analysis. Nick needed this to be good.

Well, he did know somebody who was smart enough to help him.

Somebody who lived in his house and outshone his school work.

Nick hated to admit that he might willingly require Laura’s help with anything, but he had motives other than succeeding in English. He had been keeping a sharp eye on her over the past two weeks, watching for the ‘slip-ups’ that he’d caught on to. Real nappy-dependant teens, even those who were trying to ditch the habit, never seemed so content with their situations. They never seemed so aware of their movements, nor did they have the ability to hold them in - to save them for a later time more convenient to their antagonistic plans. No, Nick was convinced that for some reason, the perfectly successful Laura was determinedly holding on to her last major crutch in the eyes of others. She was purposefully remaining in nappies.

Nick didn’t have the slightest clue why, but he figured it was in line with her devious mind - to weaponise incontinence in this world of late bloomers. Whatever it was, he intended to find her motivation, then expose it. Getting her help, so that he could more closely scrutinise her, would be the first step in that plan.

That afternoon at home, just as Laura walked in and trudged up to her room, Nick accosted her. She flung her heavy bag onto the bed, grabbing her school shirt and ripping it free from her skirt’s waistband. Untucking the shirt was always Nick’s priority, too.

“Woah, hey,” she startled as she noticed him in her doorway. “What do you want.”

“You’re not the only one just admitting themselves into rooms,” Nick remarked back, and Laura grunted, waving her head to gesture him in. Nick obliged.

Then, instead of stopping what she was doing to listen, she unbuttoned and pulled off her skirt. Nick flinched to look away, although this wasn’t weird. She walked around with just a nappy for pants in the house all the time. Even then, Nick had seen inside the nappy many, many times. Her taking off the skirt in front of him broke no boundaries, but it felt like it should have. It was strangely personal.

Only slightly deterred, Nick went on. “You get the English assignment about persuasive language?”

Laura’s face scrunched, puzzled. “Yeah.”

“You got a topic yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind helping me with mine?” Nick asked, which melded Laura’s caution into a boastful grin. “Like, with the whole thing, that is. Not just the topic.”

“You want my help on your assignment?” she asked, chuffing.

“Yes, I would.”

“Couldn’t get any of your toilet trained friends to help out?” she cooed. “I still use a nappy, doesn’t that make me too dumb to be seen with you?”

Nick bit his lip. Even though she was playing, Nick wasn’t about to have the basis of his internal superiority thrown out just for this. Yes, Laura still was annoying and…lesser…for her inability to control herself. Sure as hell didn’t stop her from being smart.

“Not within this house,” Nick spun his response, and Laura rolled her eyes, ceeding to the game.

“Fine, sure,” Laura nodded along, her mind buzzing behind her shifting gaze. She twirled to her bag. “Although we live in a favour economy. I won’t do this for free.”

“You want me to pay you?” Nick coughed. Certainly he wouldn’t pay money to be close with Laura, even if it would expose her secrets to him.

“No, not like that,” Laura scoffed, “I help you, you help me. Economy of favours, not cash.”

“Oh, okay,” Nick nodded, then found his ammo. “I could help you toilet train.”

Laura went white, and Nick couldn’t tell if maybe he’d in an instant drawn too much suspicion to the cause he was trying to monitor. She seemed to rub off her embarrassment however, dismissing it with a hand wave. “No, something realistic, idiot,” she chided. “Like, you proof-read my next few papers, or buy me a pack of nice nappies, something like that.”

Nick had caught Laura off-guard with his comment, and it validated his concerns. What would happen if he did try to train her? Laura was hiding something with her dismissal.

He had drifted off, and came back to earth to see Laura staring at him, waiting for something.

“Well, take a seat,” she reminded him of some instruction passed.

“Now?” he quizzed.

“Yes, we’ll start now. I’m not doing anything. Are you?”

“No?”

“Then sit.”

Fine. Nick took a seat at Laura’s desk, and she dragged across a bean-bag from the other corner of the room, placing it next to him. With it, she bought paper, the assessment topic sheet, and a pencil. She laid them down before Nick.

“What have you got so far?” she asked.

“Anxiety, mainly,” Nick joked, but Laura regarded him sternly, shifting the pencil his way. Nick took it. “I mean, Ms Bartlet hates obvious topics, so I’m stuck on what to do.”

“What ideas have you thrown out?”

“Advertisements,” Nick said. “They’re too obvious.”

“Yes, good choice,” Laura nodded along. Strangely, her positive acknowledgement set his stomach giddy. It was a good feeling to be validated by somebody he thought was so smart.

God damn, he hated that he felt that way.

“Well, let’s look closer at the context of the topic,” Laura said, and drew a second pencil out of seemingly-nowhere. Nick hoped that it wasn’t from her nappy. “So, we’ve been looking at the Appeals of Argument in class, right?”

“Yes, sure,” Nick agreed.

“So, any topic that we pick, should include language that has logos, pathos, and ethos in it, right?”

“Are those the Logical Fallacies?” Nick asked, and Laura’s whole expression dropped to bewilderment.

No…” she sighed, then straightened herself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.”

“News to me,”

“They’re the three appeals. The appeal to logic, emotion, and ethics.”

“Right,”

“And for a really winner topic, we’ll want to choose a singular text which uses all three. I think you’ll find that most advertising only uses a single appeal, for a tighter message.”

“Makes sense to me,” Nick nodded along, understanding the words individually, but not together. “What did you pick?”

“I won’t muddy your choice with my topic,” Laura waggled her finger, “but I’ll give you my second pick: a news segment.”

“The news?” Nick quizzed, putting together all of the soundbytes of information he remembered from recent English classes. “But people use the appeals to lie. The news doesn’t really lie. People just say what happened.”

“That’s absolutely not true,” Laura sighed, “and we’re not just looking for lies, we’re looking for ways to present arguments, to try and convince an audience that your version of things is correct. That’s the point of the assignment.”

“Sure,” Nick nodded, although he was lost now. What did presenting arguments have to do with the news? He hated to feel so behind, especially when Laura was always so ahead of the curve.

“You are right, though, lies are the best place to look for the three appeals.”

“I’m right?”

“And the best place to look is ‘Fake News’,” Laura said, getting her phone out. “And not, like, the ‘Fake News’ that politicians and twitter hordes cry about, I mean the real Fake News.”

Real fake news??”

“Conspiracies, Nick,” Laura smiled, “Catch up.” Then, something had loaded on her screen. It was a video from old-times, back before Novo-2 had really taken its hold. Nick knew this from the fashions. Just the first still of the video showed lots of tight and difficult-to-remove pants, with the old singular fly-and-button fronts. Not a nappy bulge in sight.

“We’ve got lots of time before this thing is due, and I don’t want to baby you through it,” Laura said, taking time for the sentence to sting, “but watch this video and the recommended ones after it. If you can find the way that these people use numbers, fear, and ‘rights’ as argumentative tactics, you’re already halfway there.”

Nick fumbled with her phone, and feeling guilty about stealing it for too long, sent himself the video’s link. He was surprised by how open and helpful Laura was being, especially seeing no dastardly plans springing from her words - except maybe for a pack of nappies or extra homework. He made sure to thank her, before leaving for his room.

“Watch the video,” she said as he showed himself out, “and we’ll work on it again tomorrow night.”

Chapter 2

A game of field hockey sprinted its way across the school’s pitch, drawing all observer’s gaze with it. The ball had been launched down the left wing, soaring straight through an opponent’s legs to land on Laura’s stick. She sprinted off with it.

Nick sat, watching from afar with Tom, Cassie, and Lachie. It was just half an hour after school finished, and usually students wouldn’t wait around to watch the inter-school games, but the girl’s 2nd’s hockey team had done surprisingly well this season - better than the eternal losing which Verity Grammar was used to. Their success had drawn a crowd.

Parents were also in attendance today, Nick and Laura’s amongst them. His mum stood proudly by the fenceline, a signature nappy-bag slung over her shoulder. Laura had run out at her last change of the day, and mum had been her gracious rescue coming to the school with more supply. Most parents carried a similar tote as they watched.

Laura’s image of the perfect child, past her apparent incontinence, was an institution supported by her sports-field performances. For somebody with baggy padding between her legs, she was incredibly agile, picking the ball on her stick and weaving it between two defenders. She was coordinated, too, lining her shot from between her pounding feet, sweat running past her eyes. Her arms wound for the hit, and the smack of the ball echoed across the pitch.

Rocketing straight past a set of sticks, the ball flew towards the goal.

Where it hit the goalie’s shin-guard.

The crowd’s anticipation was released in a unison sigh, the ball cradled by a defender and smacked back through the attacking lines, down the right wing.

“Far out, almost had it,” Lachie commented, more in to this game than Nick had expected. His eyes were glued to the ball like a cat to a fly.

Nick, however, was watching his step-sister.

As a high-forward, she didn’t chase the action as it paraded towards the opposing goal. Instead, she caught her breath, walking circles around the half-back attempting to tag her.

But something came across her face.

Nick recognised this moment, and his gaze squared on, blood pumping. This was a face which all teens knew well, because it was plastered across the mug of any toilet-trainer. The classic ‘oh no, gotta go!’.

His step-sister turned to her coach, waving across the field. Finally, the man’s attention caught, she pointed back towards the changerooms, dancing on two feet. The coach conferred with one of his players on the bench, then gestured Laura away. She jogged to the boundary line, then quickly to the changerooms off side, straight past the row of her team’s bags which sat outside its door. She entered the bathrooms empty-handed.

Maybe her bag is inside, Nick thought, wondering what Laura was up to. Firstly, she’d held her movements, obvious by the urgency of her jog and the tightness of her expression. Secondly, she’d entered the bathroom with no nappy - so her supply must be inside, right? But then he spotted her bag sitting on the centre of the outside bench. Laura had run right past her stash of nappies.

She’ll come back out for them once she realises, he concluded. He was no longer surprised that she could hold herself, but he was surprised that she’d forget a nappy when doing business.

As expected, she emerged about a minute later, face clean of its urgency. Nick nodded smugly, knowing that she would need to grab a nappy from her bag.

Only, she didn’t. Laura stepped right past the nappy bin - kept outside the changerooms to keep the stink out - without depositing a dirty gift. She even went straight past her bag, jogging towards the bench.

He then remembered that she didn’t even have more nappies - Mum did.

Still, she went nowhere near Julia. Instead, Laura ran straight to her coach, and took a seat next to him, waiting for the interchange.

One wasn’t allowed to play sport with a wet or dirty nappy. It was the same as a blood rule - change it, then come back. Her coach made no sniff, no noise, only a smile.

Laura wasn’t wearing a new nappy. She’d held herself long enough to go to the bathrooms, and emerged satisfied without a change.

Did she just use the toilet?

Chapter 3

Nick sat again by Laura’s desk. He had watched the conspiracy video in previous days, and been dragged down a youtube rabbit hole like no other. Therein were hours of news segments, videos from moronic thinkfluencers of the time, and hundreds of analysis videos from the whole political spectrum. It was all, really, too much information - a lot of it flying over his head - which left him dizzied at what to believe. He found it difficult to choose a singular video to analyse after the whole ordeal, so chose the one which Laura had started him with. He walked her through his findings.

“…and this here. I don’t know if their statistics are correct, but they keep bringing up this idea that the virus wasn’t deadly, using death numbers. So that’s the appeal to logic, I’m guessing.”

“Okay, very good,” Laura praised, spreading the examples Nick had written across the table. “I like it, but we need to go a level deeper.”

“How?” Nick already thought he was being deep - and had the help of a generation of youtubers before him. How did he get it wrong?

“Well, you say that this death statistic is an appeal to logic, but you can’t just leave it there. There’s more in here.”

“Like what?” Nick quizzed. Despite Laura’s clear intelligence in all things school, he still found it strange to get academic advice from a girl in a thick, white nappy. She sat at her desk next to him with it exposed, as she would always wear around the house. Only, today she wore one of her cropped tees, making the nappy extra noticeable as it puffed between her legs, forcing them apart.

“They use a death statistic. Why death?” She asked.

“Because…that’s how we measure the severity of a pandemic?” Nick said.

“But it’s not, not in the case of Novo-2,” Laura said, tapping her pencil. “The virus caused a huge number of hospitalisations, and gave people many long-term illnesses rather than killing them. The discussion around safety measures was aimed at keeping hospitals from being filled up, and the environmental impact of a world full of nappies.

“So, it’s a red flag that this conspiracy talks about death. What kind of an appeal is it really?”

“Death is fear, so it’s an emotional appeal?” Nick guessed.

“Exactly,” Laura nodded. “Although, I suppose you could argue that their position against an emotional argument is an effort to make them appear as a more logical arguer, which is an ethical appeal…”

Nick frowned, “So what’s the right answer?”

“Well, there isn’t one,” Laura smiled, shrugging, “That’s the point of the essay. Prove what you want!”

Nick supposed that he could have proven whatever he wanted without Laura’s help, but he found himself enjoying her detailed explanations. Where he might have before thrown his hands at there being three levels of correct answer for this simple death statistic line, he was kinda getting it now. He peered amongst the other quotes he’d collected from the video, and could see his own ideas coming together.

“This one here,” he said excitedly, pointing to the quote. “Here they say that scientists are paid by the government, so in kahoots with the government, and so are untrustworthy sources. That’s an appeal against the authority, so an ethical claim, right?”

“Yes,” Laura nodded.

“But its also emotional, right? Because they’re assuming that you dislike the government, and trying to transfer the hate over to the scientists.”

“Yeah, that’s a really good take,” Laura praised, smiling at Nick. “You’re getting it. You’ll have this essay down no problems.”

Nick, once again, felt great satisfaction in the girl’s praise. He’d never sat down with her like this before, but even just two sessions had taught him one important thing.

Laura was smart.

And sure, he knew that, but this wasn’t just school smarts, which you could prove through a scorecard. This was real brain-speed, make the connections, abstract ass thinking kind of smart. Where Nick got stuck making the first connection between quote and persuasion method, Laura was already six thoughts deep, six abstractions down, building links between concepts he hadn’t even considered considering! Her thought sphere was bigger, more inclusive, and making interfaces between objects which only she could know to connect. This was an intelligent woman with which he sat.

And to Nick, all that this seemed to affirm with that yes, the only thing he had over Laura was that he didn’t shit himself on purpose. And even then, the on purpose part was just a strong suspicion - one he hadn’t definitively proven just yet.

Nick spun about in the office chair, hands behind his head, letting himself be satisfied with his progress instead of bogged in his insecurities. Laura’s room was sparsely decorated and impeccably maintained. On his spinning-tour of her room though, he noticed something he’d never seen in here before.

Laura had painted miniatures on her bedside table.

“Huh, you paint D&D miniatures?” He asked, bringing his seat prematurely to a stop. Laura turned in her chair, her nappy crinkling under her.

“Nick…of course I do,” she sighed. “You’ve lived with me for seven years, how don’t you know this?”

“I’ve never seen you paint them, or bring them up here,” Nick noted, scratching his chin. He supposed they weren’t that big, or expensive looking, so easy to miss. But why had she never talked about them? “You’ve never mentioned them.”

“I go to a games night every Wednesday, you numb-nuts,” she chided, giggling. Nick went red from being teased.

“I thought that meant board-games. I didn’t realise you were a D&D nerd.”

“Nerd? Ouch,” Laura laughed, although from the tone, Nick knew that she was hurt.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Nick said, finding himself apologising. That’s something he’d never expected to do sincerely to Laura. “I mean, I’ve always wanted to try playing, but I dunno. I’d be scared of doing something that people call so nerdy, you know? Like, is that why you call it ’Games Night?”

Laura shook her head, a defensive smile coming to crawl across her lips. She tipped her head away from Nick, joining him in looking at the figures.

“Sometimes, dude, you’ve just got to do things that you want to do, you know?” she said. “Stop living through other people’s perceptions. Just do what you want. Would you play D&D if nobody knew you were playing it?”

“Probably,” Nick agreed.

“Do you want me to teach you?” she asked. Nick wasn’t expecting that. Why was Laura being so nice when he’d pretty heavily, although only passively, insulted her? Still, he had to think about the offer. It seemed serious.

“Not yet,” he said, honestly. “Maybe after school’s totally done, if the offer stands.” And he smiled, expecting some affirmation. He got no response.

“Laura?” he turned to face her.

() She stared ahead, biting her lower lip. From between her legs, from the soft and fluffy nappy, came a trickle. Quickly, it turned into a loud hiss, streaming out as the front of the nappy stained yellow. It ballooned between her legs with the advancing line of piss, until it sat yellow stained between her legs, bulging and squishy.

“Ignore that,” she instructed, although Nick didn’t.

“You need a change?” he asked.

She dismissed him, waving a hand. “It’s just a piss, it’ll hold more,” she insisted, then said, “but I’ll keep that in mind for when I poo. It’s getting close to that time of day.”

“Please, forget I said anything,” Nick only half-joked, taking that as his cue to leave.

Chapter 4

Later in the week, Nick found himself alone at recess. He was early to the usual spot, finding only cold grass on the strangely cold day. Still, the sun came down, and he knew that his friends would meet him here soon. As long as no piss-pants decided to come and befriend him.

Especially not Laura. He could not be seen being friendly with her. He couldn’t even believe that she had been friendly with him during their study time. There must be some plot brewing, he just wasn’t sure what.

“Hey, where’s the other boys?” a girl’s voice asked from behind. Nick craned his neck around from his box of strawberries, finding Cassie’s shadow cast over him from the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Cassie,” Nick greeted, his face flushing red at being alone with her. It was almost like he forgot how to talk, as if a snail crawled up and died in his throat. Nick had talked endlessly to Cassie all day any day, in a group setting. Now she’d caught him alone, and his group-confidence was stripped away, revealing his real social skills.

“They’re…uh…I don’t know,” he said, failing to find any joke to make her laugh. Cassie didn’t seem fazed by a lack of witty line, instead taking the opportunity to sit next to Nick. His heart raced, and he scooted away, making more room for her.

“I haven’t had a chance to say it yet, but thanks for inviting me around to Mario Kart the other day,” Cassie said.

“Oh, that?” Nick laughed, nervous just to talk. “That was nothing. Thanks for coming - and sorry about my sister.”

“Oh, Laura?” Cassie pondered, “You don’t have to apologise for her.”

“Eh, I feel that I do,” he insisted, awkwardly. “She’s really good at getting in the middle of catch-ups with friends.”

“I think that you handled it really well, though,” Cassie said. “I mean, the other boys were really rude, especially given that Laura’s not their sister.”

“Step-sister,” Nick felt the need to remind Cassie, instead of thanking her for the compliment. He kicked himself in his mind. “Thanks, though. I mean, I have to live with her. I have to make things peaceful, at least.”

“I don’t know, I just wish that Lachie and Tom weren’t so obviously projecting their insecurities, you know?” Cassie ranted, and Nick wasn’t sure he caught on. “I get why they’re glad to be out of nappies, we all are, but they don’t have to be so rude to people who still need them. Clearly they’ve got nothing better to feel cool about…”

Cassie assumes that I’ll connect with that? Like that’s not also my only point of superiority? Nick quizzed to himself. She was taking a far mightier jab at him than she realised - although it was a jab that Nick was at least self-aware of.

“Yeah, well, Laura’s smart enough to make anybody a bit self-conscious, let’s be honest.” Nick found himself praising her, which wasn’t what Cassie was expecting. The girl seemed to shrink into her shell. “Of course, I reckon if she’d have challenged you, you’d have beat her.”

Cassie laughed - thank god - but politely disagreed.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, “Although, on a rematch of me and you, I definitely think you’d win.”

“You reckon?” Nick asked. “We were too evenly matched.”

“Well, why don’t we try again?” Cassie suggested, and stood again. Nick wondered where she was going just a minute in to sitting down. “Want to come over to my house tonight? I’ve got an old PS1 and Crash Team Racing. It’s almost the same.”

To Nick, the challenge sounded entirely different, but he wasn’t about to call out the inconsistency of the offer. Cassie had just invited him over to her house, privately. This was not to be missed.

Then Nick remembered that Laura had agreed to help him tonight on the final read and critique of his essay. The thing was due in just over a day. Would he abandon a chance at a good grade for a chance with his crush?

Would he hang out with this super-hot girl who was out of his league, or his piss-pants sister?

“3:30 train?” he asked.


Cassie’s house was less than understated. In fact, it was elaborate - the kind of house that McMansions were the ripoff version of. Marble columns adorned the doors, which led into some grand and twisted entrance lobby. There was a staff member in the kitchen - yes, Nick saw that right, the house had staff - who greeted the pair as they went to ascend the stairs. Nick followed, feeling simultaneously creepy, and graced, at the modest view of Cassie’s wide ass and swaying hips he had following her up the stairs.

In the central room of the upstairs area was an eye-bogglingly large TV, resting opposite an equally imposing, yet plush, couch. Cassie sat Nick on the couch as she went into her room to get out of school uniform - something which Nick never found himself doing after a day of school. Was that something that girls would find gross? He hoped not.

She emerged not long after in jeans and a low-necked tee. It took Nick a small moment after first seeing her again to catch his brain, and in that time she walked around the couch in front of him, squatting to fiddle with the TV.

And his only thought? She looked more proportional in jeans. Maybe they just flattened her ass and hips - they were tight.

Soon she had the old PS1 up and running, and handed him one of the long-cord controllers. It took Nick a while to find his feet in the game - in which he’d had limited experience - resulting in Cassie handing his ass to him for the first few laps. After about six tracks, Nick decided to call it her win, and the two turned off the playstation, settling in for a cheese platter which the staff had provided, and whatever was on TV.

There had been limited banter so far, and Nick was hoping that a bit of cheese and T.V would help - although truthfully, he was just nervous to exist alone in Cassie’s presence, especially so in her house.

“Are there any teen shows not about nappies these days,” Cassie grunted as she flicked through the streaming channel’s options. “I mean, really. It’s like all of them, hey?”

“There’s always retro-shows,” Nick suggested. “You know, all those old sitcoms people apparently found funny. I reckon the humour doesn’t really work any more, though.”

“Glad you think so,” Cassie nodded, then shifted closer. With cheese on the far-away, island coffee table, Cassie had to move practically right-up to Nick to reach any of it. Her calf brushed, then rested on his, and he had to pretend that it didn’t make him giddy. The bloody was, certainly, flowing from his brain and towards his dick. “So many guys still think the jokes hold up, but half the time, those shows are so cringy, and just borderline racist.”

“And yet you’re going to hate on all of the nappy shows?” Nick teased, clearly the girl had a lick of new-aged propriety to her name.

“Eh, I see enough piss-pants losers and babies at school, don’t you agree?” She asked, shocking Nick. That certainly wasn’t her opinion earlier. “We’re finally free of it, and I’m sick of seeing stupid babies all over TV. I want to see some shows of teens like us, you know? Those who are living normal lives!”

Nick didn’t necessarily like the tone, or the hypocrisy he’s witnessed, but Cassie was hot, so he let it slide.

“And what’s a normal teeen life then, if not sitting in a room full of other kids pissing themselves?” Nick asked, and this made Cassie laugh, snorting. She shifted herself to face Nick on the couch - although in doing so, their legs no longer touched. Nick pictured he’d seen a sign in what was an entirely accidental touch. His stupid horny-brain was looking for stupid signs.

“Ha, I guess you’re right,” she smiled. “But, I don’t know. Give me something like Gossip Girl but without the ‘diapers’. Something with romance, and friends, and ridiculous drama-driven subplots.”

“Drama being a part of life, I see it.” Nick nodded along, “but romance? What romance is there when so many people can’t control their bowels?”

“Oh, there’s some,” she said, her eyes locking with his. Those deep, green eyes looking into his, Nick’s heart almost missed a beat. This was a sign if ever Nick had seen one, but he was petrified of making a move. If he was wrong, that would be the nail for the coffin of this friendship.

“What, who?” Nick asked. He fought his reluctance, shifting himself to lean towards Cassie. His hand crawled across the small gap of couch between them, all without leaving her gaze.

Then her face dropped red, then white, her eyes wide in fright.

Fuck, Nick bit his lip, knowing he’d ruined it. How did he read that wrong? He backed away, but Cassie still held herself stiff, petrified.

“Cassie?” Nick asked, freaked out, until he looked down.

A dark patch was working its way from her crotch, down and across the girl’s jeans. She was pissing herself. Silently.

“Oh! Dear…” he jumped off the couch, which flushed her face red again from the embarrassment. “Shit, are you alright?” he asked. “I can help, stay there.” and he got up, although had no idea where this girl’s accident and nappy supplies would be, or even if there were any in her house. Most houses with teens had them, though…

“I think you should go,” she managed to blurt out, still stuck to the couch.

“Are you sure?” Nick asked, finding himself backing away. “I can help clean you up. I’m good at it - you know, dealing with Laura…”

That really wasn’t the right thing to say. What was he implying, that he’d help take her clothes off and strip her down naked? God, that was dumb. He was just trying to be helpful, but Cassie’s sudden change of face made him regret offering a hand at all.

“I’ll, uh, see you in school,” he said, stumbling towards the stairs. “I liked hanging out today!”

Chapter 5

Nick sat in his English class the following week, listening to an example essay being read to the class aloud. The example was from one of the other year twelve classes, one that had impressed the teachers so wholly, that they’d photo copied it to be read out in all other classes as the example of the perfect essay.

It belonged, of course, to Laura.

As Nick listened, he mulled over his own returned work. From all of the extra hours he’d put into this, discussing it with the school’s star student, to just sitting on his own and committing to more research and effort than he’d ever done before, he achieved a 7/10. Or, a 70%, because it was 14/20 in reality, but 7/10 made it sound nicer, somehow.

Nick’s english average, so far, was 65%. The last two weeks of work did not feel like just 5% extra. He was furious.

And after he stopped blaming Ms Bartlet for being jaded against him, a little stuck up, and clearly not open enough to consider his new and improved points of view, Nick started to attribute some blame to himself.

If he’d have studied with Laura instead of going to Cassie’s house, he might have achieved 5% extra. That must have been the power of a Laura-branded proof-read.

Nick even found it easy to regret hanging out with Cassie at all. He’d made sure not to mention her accident to anybody - as it seemed like some sort of unwritten agreement - and everything went back to normal between them. It had been a week, and neither of them had acknowledged any minute of that afternoon at all. Nick still had a great time with her, but he was convinced, through her silence, that maybe he’d misread her completely. Perhaps, when she pissed, her face was both mortified for peeing her pants and having to reject him. To be fair, that seemed more likely. Cassandra could not have been flirting with him.

And after all of these thoughts, nearing the end of the star essay, Nick finally considered how much Laura’s brilliance shat him off. It still perplexed him that she could be so absolutely brilliant of mind, so capable of wooing their family and teachers, and yet she still shat and pissed her pants. And somehow that was still all that he, and anybody else of his persuasions and skills, had above this girl. It was both massively damning to any body who cared, and a total non-issue to the rest. Laura was brilliant, yet she shat her pants. What kind of a world was this?

He found himself wishing for Cassie’s ideal - Gossip Girl without the ‘diapers’. At least in that world, Nick would feel justified in his rank below Laura, rather than bitter and vindictive.

Laura had chided Nick’s choice to hang out with Cassie instead of coming to study. She thought that Cassie was some bad influence - despite a week ago using her as leverage with Greg, so that Nick’s friends could come over (and so she could parade her smelly nappy in their faces…what a strange bloody occurrence).

Nick had protested, saying that Cassie didn’t think such awful things of Laura, and thought that everybody had been too harsh on her. He suggested that Laura might find an ally in Cassie, if she wanted it. (Nick, of course, refused to mention that Cassie had, half a day later, complained about babies and ‘piss-pantses’, wishing that they would get off her TV and out of her life. Cassie was, however, incredibly attractive, and so this memory didn’t compute where it should have in Nick’s brain, as the blood was being used on his dick at the time. He, instead, refused to dwell on the fact that Cassie had said such things at all).

Of course, remembering all of these things had emboldened Nick against mess-pants Laura’s advice, and driven his confidence to confront Cassie about their last-week’s hangout. Once English class ended, Nick found himself marching towards Cassie’s locker, where he dutifully waited.

Each minute by her locker turned into a hard slog. Somebody’s guts must have hated their diet, because the worst stench known to man sat stirring in the hot, crowded bay. All eyes glanced about between lockers and exits, nobody acknowledging or owning up to the horrible mess. But it sat somewhere, between somebody’s cheeks. Nick wished all the more for the world free of these babies.

Finally, Cassie arrived, holding her nose tight.

“Hey,” Nick said, standing away from her locker. Cassie smiled at him, but looked around hastily - likely to see who dropped the bomb.

“I was going to come and find you,” Cassie said, much to Nick’s surprise. “I don’t think this is a great place to talk.”

“Me neither,” Nick agreed, finally moving to cover his nose. Much better.

Cassie quickly rummaged through her stuff. With the next pile of books loaded on her arms, she said ‘follow me’, and led Nick away towards her next class. He followed dutifully.

“I’m sorry I was weird,” Nick said, starting the conversation. “I knew you must have felt awkward, I just wanted to offer a hand. I only realised how inappropriate it was after.”

Cassie laughed, shaking her head. “You’re a real smooth-talker Nick. I knew what you meant, don’t worry about it.”

“Phew, I’m glad,” he joke swatted sweat from his brow, then said, “I thought we had a fun time, before that.”

“We did,” Cassie smiled. “I’m sorry for being blunt, then…and all week. I think you handled it very respectfully, and I appreciate you being quiet about it.”

“Oh, of course,” Nick nodded. “That’s not the kind of thing you make somebody embarrassed about, or tell.”

Cassie smiled again, chuffing to herself. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Then there was silence, Nick not knowing where to take the conversation. He wanted to ask how she felt about the whole hang-out, although didn’t know how to phrase it. He still wasn’t convinced that she had any feelings, and wasn’t prepared to risk asking. Instead, Cassie spoke to fill the silence.

“I’m thinking we should hang out again,” she said, much to his surprise.

“I’m down for that, if you are,” Nick smiled, careful not to appear too eager.

“What about this saturday night then, in town?” Cassie suggested. “We could get ice cream, maybe go to a bar. I know a good place off the train line.”

A bar? Nick quizzed to himself, isn’t Cassie 17? Well, she was the one who came up with the plan. Clearly she could execute it, somehow.

“Sounds great,” he said, finally.

“Great,” she smiled. “We’ll figure out details later in the week.”

Interlude I: ‘The Great Shittening’

Two Years Ago

Johno had been feeling good all day.

Oh yes siree, it was a brilliant day for a bit of Shakespeare - a sunny and beautiful Ides of March. Year ten was a few weeks in, and the Easter long weekend was soon to come. Sure, winter was on the way, but with a few lovely days like this hanging on to this early Autumn, Johno was nothing but smiles.

Not five minutes later, the world would change.

It was Johno’s turn to read a part of the passage aloud to the class. Well, Johno considered himself a bit of a Shakespeare Buff, what with his involvement in the school’s musicals. He stood to read, his smug confidence exuding, his nappy rustling as it squashed between his legs.

His guts twisted.

Then they fired.

One moment he was sitting, the next, he was shitting. It was inconceivably quick and all encompassing. The pain crippled his core, sending him stumbling off his feet. He fell first to his desk, then was forced to his hands and knees as the most powerful bout of liquid, molten shit he had ever known assaulted his ass.

Johno was crying - screaming even - as his helpless asshole was forced open by the liquid spew. He couldn’t stop it, for at each moment he vyed for control, his guts defied him and pushed harder. It was as if he’d been pumped full of water and attached to a vacuum.

His nappy drowned, and the screaming and chaos of all around was blanketed by his cries for help and mercy. As fast as Johno could read ‘Julius Caesar’, the classroom had evacuated, teacher and all.

And still, ten minutes into being alone, Johno was still shitting. Brown liquid had long ago breached both waistbands, and broken through his nappy’s legs, staining his shirt and pants brown in long and rusty streaks. Kids lined the windows to the class, peering in from their safe distance.

Legends say that Johno communed with God. His mind, eviscerated by pain and cramping, broke through to heaven and spoke to the Lord. He asked God for almighty forgiveness - for mercy against this suffering. He asked for it to end.

And God answered the plea. Immediately, and somewhat suddenly, the ass-fountain was over, and Johno collapsed into the obscene pool of his own making.

This might have been the resolve for Johno, but this was far from the end.

The classroom was quickly declared a ’Bomb Site’, which was the school’s colloquial way of designating a space unusable due to nappy-overflow or accidents of the pants variety. Due to hygiene protocols - mainly brought about by the Novo-2 epidemic - any bomb site would be barred from use for a day following a deep clean.

And boy, did this place need a deep clean.

Johno was laughed out of school that day. Nick remembered seeing the poor kid limping into his mother’s car, showered down and dressed in the clean clothes of lost property.

What nobody knew, as they laughed at him trudging in ill-fitting clothes, is that Johno received a merciful fate in what was to come. He went home clean, which was more than anybody else could say.


On the day after Johno’s incident, thick air hung in the school’s hallways. An omnipresent and musty pong had settled in all corners and nooks, circulating like an unwelcome fog through the corridors. The school appeared tinted in sepia wherever one smelled it. It was enough to have kids checking over their shoulders, tensions rising.

Johno was stuck at home, shielded from the crowds as he was cooped up sick. The laugher and rumours flittered from lip to lip, passed like notes which flowed between hands and desks. It was soon that the whole school knew of it, but not all chuckled to the story. Building anticipation smothered the glee, and nobody was quite sure from where the tension was building.

Until it exploded again.

On that day, there were three separate incidents.

And on the next, there were seven, with ten classrooms and one toilet block locked off as bomb sites.

Those next three turbo-diarrhoeas after Johno had felt the full force of school ridicule, but by the fourth kid, there was an undeniable unease which had penetrated the school’s joint psyche, a parasite burrowing into each student’s mind.

Who will be next?

Will it be me?

And certainly, by the time that Cassie’s friend Emily - a poster-child of the nappyless lifestyle - had been forced to the ground just at the door to the toilets, projectile shitting through her undies and skirt, there was nothing but sympathy.

Sympathy and fear.


On the fourth day the fog hung oppressive.

Who would be next?

Kids, braver than ever, poured onto the school grounds, packing into now crowded homerooms. With ten classrooms decommissioned for the deep clean, the teens had been bunched like tinned fish, festering in a sweaty heat. Eyes rested like opposing magnets, refusing to settle as they scanned rooms, waiting for somebody to twitch, then double over.

The school received a call at 8:35, 5 minutes into the official school day, and just as the last of parents’ cars drove from the gate. It was from Johno’s mother, calling with a warning.

Her son had gastro, and a particularly virulent strain.

The school sent out the warning, a text to all parents not to bring any more kids to school, no matter what. Unfortunately, the message came too late. The school was ten classrooms down with kids bunched up ass-to-dick between the walls, a virus sifting amongst them.

Disaster was coming.

The Great Shittening

It was only half an hour later when the first screams reigned.

Pain struck an unfortunate swarm of kids at once, who were shoved out onto balconies, into hallways, and out to the dirt to crumple in their pain. The yells echoed throughout the whole school, warning of the guts which writhed and exploded into unprepared and frightened nappies.

And once it started, the scream never ended.

Once constant cramp made a mexican wave around the school, doubling kids over like hands around a stadium. It was a current of kids, electrically connected, juiced by an endless battery of cramps. Lines stretched outside toilet blocks, kids waiting so long that they succumbed where they stood, making the worst messes of all.

Nick heard the screams, the constant wail which never ended.

He sat in science class, his back stiffer than a womaniser at a strip-show, his brain strung like spaghetti between power poles. Nick, how tragically average he was, had nothing except for the ability to not shit his pants. He was one of five in his year level to master it so far.

Nick couldn’t lose that status. The stakes were too high.

Mr Perkins droned on, writing something which Nick was still struggling to understand. By god, Nick would rather wet himself than continue doing physics. He really would. The only thing he found he could focus on today was his gut. Nick had felt fine all day, and the day before that, and the one before that. The day was already half over - almost exactly half over by the clock - and Nick hadn’t felt a thing. He’d be fine.

He’d be fiiiiine.

He heard a squelch.

What was that?

His hand darted to his own ass. No, Nick was fine, but a scream behind him tore the lesson apart, sucking the sound out of the room, drawing attention and total silence.

Becky was gasping, clutching the desk. Her hand covered her stomach, clasping like a soldier to a fresh bullet wound. Nick swore he saw the blood festering there. Her face flushed red, and then she screamed.

Her grenade had its pin pulled, and there was an explosion from her ass.

Shrapnel obliterated her nappy, chunks flying from the leg holes, mess and squirt flung from the impact zone. Nearby students leapt from the blast, falling desks to create barriers for refuge. The classroom formed trenches, surrounding the muddy pit of Becky, which formed the front-line and no man’s land.

“Somebody help the poor girl. Get her outside!” Mr Perkins decried, but nobody shifted from their barracks. Becky couldn’t even find the strength to hold herself off the seat. Further putrid, liquid shit mushed into her pants in a fountainous squirt, shooting up her crack and pooling at her shirt. It was an abhorrent display.

Then Nick felt a pang. Something stirred in his guts.

And in an instant it was knocking on the door, writhing at his arse.

“Mr Perkins, I’ve got to go!” Nick called, and leapt up, running for the door. He launched into a sprint, and with each step, with each bounce, he could feel the pressure of shit building, oscillating against his arsehole and gut.

It would break the gates.

Nick threw himself around the corner, through the locker bay, and came to the upstairs toilet. There was no line, a miracle! Some sign stood on the door, but he ignored it, smashing his shoulder into it.

Nick bounced off, falling to the ground.

The shit gurgled in his ass, ready to burst out on impact, but Nick found all of his grit, and all of his strength, tightening his arsehole to its maximum pucker. Standing, running back to the door, he saw the sign.

‘Bomb site - closed’

“Oh, fuck off!” He yelled at the door, then glared wide eyed out into space, staring for his next option. The toilet blocks sat on the quadrangle court, two at ground level, two on the first. From his vantage, Nick could see the opposite, ground-floor toilet block across the court and down a level. No sign was plastered on its door, and as he stared, three boys rushed from it, noses held in tight grips.

“No, line, perfect!”

Nick, feeling the beast bashing at his pink gates, had no time for stairs. He eyed off the drainage downpipe to his right, and leapt onto it. The unit swayed and cracked to his weight, and he thought it might break, but it held its ground, letting him slide down it fire-pole style to the ground.

Once there, he sprinted across the yard.

This time, when he threw his weight at the toilet door, he fell through it, then through the next door, until he was staring at the salvation of toilet stalls.

There were three, all occupied. And unfortunately, a line of a single person stood waiting to use them.

And the smell was voilent.

There was no other way to describe it. The air in this room had fists, which it used to ram down your throat and finger your uvula. It was reaching into stomachs, whole-fistedly grabbing bile and drawing it up, ready to spew.

The river styx ran the length of the floor, from the toilet stalls to the central drain. It was a river of hot shit, the evidence of previous casualties, which ran open and rotting through the bathroom. The air freshener unit, beaten and weary, coughed a pitiful cloud of scent into the room, then gave up and returned to negligent sleep.

The room was a symphony of screams and turbulent waterfalls, each obscene sound echoing long off the stucco walls. The man ahead of Nick bounced helplessly between his two feet, his fingers practically rammed up his arsehole, preventing the inevitable.

A stall opened, and that man ran within, not even waiting for the flush.

Now Nick waited.

He was sweating. A beast gurgled in his guts, screaming for release. The demon, with its spicy and liquid hands, clawed at his arse with vengeance and nails. It pounded its pitchfork to the gate, desperate to pry it apart, to emerge from its foul underworld and into the mortal one. Nick broke a tear, feeling the beast crowning, birthing slowly, and against his will.

Not a stall budged. Not a cry nor long-drawn fart stopped.

Nick eyed up the urinal, it’s shiny silver trough taking the wall next to him. It had a drain, and a flusher.

He had run out of options.

Anything is better than pants he wailed. In his last moment, holding the raging devil at the gates of peril, Nick dropped his pants and backed up to the urinal.

And Nick let the fountain rip.


Laura trusted her nappy. She’d lulled herself into complacency today, watching the world thrown into panic around her. It was a strange day, but in the end, she wasn’t afraid. This was what nappies were for.

And hopefully she could keep hers from overflowing.

She and Lachie sat on the oval at lunchtime, watching the school burn down around them. There was nothing but abject chaos. Kids were running around headless, vying for toilets. On the grass just beside the building blocks, kids were throwing open eachother’s nappies, changing outside just to be free of the bathroom’s stench and disease. Every second kid had brown stains running down their legs, and the more unfortunate seemed to have the radioactive shadow of a nappy printed onto their clothes in brown paint, washed-out shit having exploded from every band on the garment.

Actually…that horrified Laura little.

Lines of cars now piled down the driveway, picking up distressed and messy kids. Where Johno at least got a shower and clean clothes, there were no such amenities for the casualties of today. There was only stench and shame.

Laura tried to enjoy her lunch time with her friend. Where they sat, away from the chaos, it was just a sunny afternoon, like any other near the autumn equinox. She felt fine, too - but according to the legends, so had everybody else, right up until they suddenly didn’t.

“You know, that’s a good way of looking at it,” Lachie said to her, smiling. “Why haven’t I thought of that before?”

“Because you’re not talking to the right people, that’s why,” Laura said, then tapped her own temple. “You won’t find perspectives like mine in Nick.”

“Hey, Nick’s plenty smart,” Lachie smiled, “He’s just…”

“Emotionally dumb.”

“Yeah,” Lachie nodded. “I dunno. It’s hard not being taken seriously, you know?”

“I get ya.”

Laura and Lachie had been paired for a humanities project a few weeks ago, and it was the first time that the two of them had ever talked. Now they had hung out a number of times during the school day. Although, to Laura, it felt like she’d become some secret rendezvous, with their meetings hidden from Lachie’s friends behind excuses and explanations. He was ashamed to hang out with her, and it hurt her.

And this wasn’t because she liked him - sure, Lachie was a sweet boy, but he had a different face around his friends - it was just plain embarrassing to be somebody whom others felt ashamed to be friends with. That was shameful, and it hurt.

Lachie, though, had grown in talking to her. She could sense it. He had opened to her about pieces of his life that she could tell he’d never really expressed, and asked for her advice on all range of topics - from bedwetting, to dealing with your parents’ divorce. He was becoming mature through their friendship, and she hoped to break through to him fully, so that she might stop being an embarrassment to be seen with.

So she could be proud of who she was.

Then a tingle hit her guts.

And it came hard.

“Oh my god…” she yelped, then stood. “Oh my god, it’s happening.”

“What is?” Lachie asked.

“Dude, run away,” she instructed, but he didn’t move. “I said run! I’m not doing this around you.”

But it was too late for that. Without even a flinch of restraint, her nappy bubbled and drowned in a horrifying squelch. The hose of her arse opened at full throttle, her guts dropping brown and mushy with a bursting explosion of shit against the seat of her nappy. Lachie screamed, then ran, sprinting away as Laura faced the beast of the belly.

It roared into her nappy.


Nick was on high alert, keeping the toilet in sight all lunch time. Most of his friends had left for home, but he was too afraid to catch the train, so had gone to phone Greg for a lift.

But his mobile was dead.

It was in his moment of panic that he found Laura, who was practically sprinting towards his locker.

“You’ve got to help me!” they each pleaded in unison, then stopped, waiting for the other to go first.

“Call Greg and get us outta here!” Nick spat, holding up his dead phone and pointing to it.

“You have to change me, please!” Laura cried to Nick, who’s face dropped with his stomach, turning to immediate sickness. Nick had seen enough what this gastro smelled like and looked like, he really wasn’t prepared to open up a freshly ruined nappy and find out all again.

“Really?” he gagged.

“Yes, really!”

“Isn’t this something you typically ask a crush to do?…” Nick deflected. Still, would he stay at school for the rest of the day just to avoid changing it? The train would be no easier to catch at the end of the day than it was now.

“Nick, I would never subject another human to this.”

“Ah, good. I’m not human…”

“You’re the only human actually good at changing a nappy,” she gave the compliment which was more of a punishment to receive. “Please, god, please help me!”

“You’ll call Greg?”

“Yes!”

“Fine, okay…”


Greg had raced to the school - although not by Laura’s accord. A desperate text had gone out from the school’s central server, calling all parents to pick up their kids.

Of course, Nick would never know that.

Laura had laid herself down on the grass of the oval, her nappy bag spread open like a triage kit, and Nick had earned this car ride.

That nappy was brown from waistband to waistband, totally stained from crotch to tailbone. It seemed a miracle that it hadn’t been a blow-out - Greg really spent good money on the essential things.

Nick had seen the way Laura’s entire private area was painted brown, and decided that this work of the devil was for no wipe to fix. In a moment of genius, he picked up his drink bottle and squirted it down her ass, hosing away most of the mess.

Then, without much care, he tossed the previous nappy aside, and put a new one under her, doing a job fit for a peasant. This was no day to be precise.

And the crudest nappy change on earth had earned him a car-ride home.

Thank God.


The school shut its doors for a week, reverting to online classes as they deep-cleaned the entire place.

Legends would be told of The Great Shittening, and all of its survivors - those who walked away without the need to wash their clothes.

Nick was one of the few.

Part 3

Chapter 1

Finally home, after a long day of school, Laura marched up to her room.

The best moment of the day, she found, was when that heavy-ass bag slung off her shoulder and rocked the bed frame, because that was when she could finally get c o m f o r t a b l e.

Sure, there wasn’t anything particularly stiff or unforgiving about the basic school shirt and skirt. They tucked in fine over a nappy, and if you got the right sizes, then it all worked out and wouldn’t bother you.

No, this wasn’t about the comfort of material or fit, it was about how the clothes made her feel. Truly, Laura felt the most herself, the most relaxed, in clothes which she wouldn’t be caught dead in outside of the house. Door locked shut, she speedily ripped off her shirt, then pulled the skirt over her head, saving the effort of shimmying it down over her thick and fluffy nappy. The thing was already wet, spreading her legs with its bulbous, expanded padding, but it would take more. No need for a change yet.

Then, from her closet, she pulled a patterned and fuzzy legless onesie. The romper had mid-length sleeves, came all cozy right up to her neck, and had three buttons underneath to hold her nappy tight to her skin. She gleefully threw the soft garment over her head, rushing to pull it down and over her butt with excited hands. Her face flushed red from giddy when, finally, she reached between her legs and pulled the back section around under her, buttoning the two halves together.

Her wet nappy, long ago gone cold, was squished up into her skin, and it was fantastic. Using both hands, she mushed it there, front and back, feeling it rub into the crease of her legs, feeling it pushed up against her parts. Then, satisfied and comfy, she had more important tasks to deal with.

She pulled her computer from her bag and placed it onto her desk. Laura had a CV to proof read, before she sent it off. She had applied for a job at a boutique just a week ago, and liking her resume, the manager had asked for a cover letter. Laura sat down, and the sun caught her eyes through her blinds.

Oh shit, the washing. She’d promised Julia that she’d get the clothes on the line before the woman had returned from the shops. Laura shot up and danced down the stairs, squeezing past Nick who came the other way with his bulky school bag.

Swinging around the stair’s bannister, she launched herself into the laundry, collecting the basket on her race through the door. She set it down before the front-loading washing machine on the ground, and squatted down to its door height.

() With her ass to the ground, a familiar feeling came to Laura’s behind.

She needed to make a pushie.

Laura grinned, excited. Messing happened at least once every day, and Laura was excited for it damn near every day. Simply put, Laura just liked using her nappies. She’d managed to control her movements since damn-near the age of ten. In fact, the only thing keeping her in nappies was just that she wanted to be in them, and that it was still acceptable. Hell, there was still a good 10% of fully grown adults still in nappies these days. Some people never gained control, and Laura could just hide behind that guise forever.

Still, there was something off about admitting that she shit her pants or crapped them on purpose. That sounded too vulgar, the language too laced in judgement. Instead, Laura made messes, messies, and pushies, and that was how she liked it.

Feeling the need to go, already in a squat, she didn’t hold herself back.

Laura tensed and grunted, forcing out her pushie. The tough head of the log met the resistance of the soggy nappy and the onesie, making Laura strain. Refusing to ‘cheat’ and pull back her nappy, she grunted and bore down harder. The mess poked at her nappie’s seat, but refused to go further, breaking off to stick between her cheeks.

Laura reached back with her hand, feeling the small nugget squashed up against the seat of her onesie. As Greg always said, ‘a mess now always meant more to come’, and that’s what Laura loved most about her nappies. It wasn’t like she had to sit on the toilet until she was done. If the poop wasn’t ready, like it wasn’t now, she could always just go about her day and wait until it wanted to come. Plus, that let her sit in the first half of the mess for a bit, which made her giddy.

Deciding to wait until later, and enjoying the feeling of the nugget squished up between her cheeks, Laura loaded the basket full and made her way out the back, sliding doors.

Coming to the clothesline, she picked through the wet items and slung them over the line. () Reaching up to hang a sheet, facing away from the house, Laura’s tummy grumbled and her ass gurgled. Now was the time to finish her pushie.

Another thing Laura loved about her nappies was the ease. Instead of making her way to a designated spot, all she had to do was bend over and push, wherever she was.

Bending her knees, holding on to the sheet, Laura pushed against the nappy. This time, her guts were ready. A now soft and gooey mess bubbled from between her cheeks, forcing out the seat of her nappy. Against the constraints of the onesie, there wasn’t much room for her squishy nappy to expand for the poop. Instead, when Laura grunted again, squeezing out more hot pushie, the mushy muck oozed up into her crack and towards her front, sticking hot to her skin. She pushed one last time, squishing one last wave of clumpy, thick muck into her pants. Laura sighed, standing tall and feeling the hot mess shift around as her legs drew together.

A voice called from behind. “Did you make a mess?” It was Julia’s, and Laura turned to face her step mum, who stood hanging out the rear door.

“Yeah, I did,” she nodded.

“Do you need a change?”

If Laura were any other teen, she’d have said yes, but she knew that she was about to take a seat on her desk chair to do work on her CV, and Laura would’d miss squishing in a mushy mess like this for anything.

“No, I think I still need to go,” she said, and it might have been true. Julia took this at face value, ducking back into the house.

Laura quickly finished hanging the clothes, and waddled her way back upstairs. The hot mess sludged in the droopy seat of her nappy, which had already ballooned to accommodate her pee, forcing her legs apart into a toddler’s gait. She waddled up the stairs, and finally reached her desk chair, which she plonked herself down in with a fat grin.

Her nappy seat hit the chair, and immediately the mush was squished out into all directions. One wave of mess coursed back into her crack, climbing up to the nappy’s waistband. The other part surged forwards, covering her crotch from leg-bands up. Then for the best part - she rocked back and forth, setting the mess further along its path, squashing it right out to her leg-bands. Finally, settled and with a filthy nappy, Laura opened her computer.

Her English paper flew out from between the lid and the keyboard, and Laura lunged to catch it, further squelching the mud in her pants. She cringed, hoping that it didn’t go past the waistband at the back - she didn’t want to take off and wash her onesie.

Paper in her hand, Laura frowned. A 17/20 wasn’t what she’d expected, and she was reminded of it again as it teased her from inside that bold, red circle on the first page. Laura had studied a news article about Aboriginal communities, written just after Cathy Freeman’s win at the Sydney olympics. It was a strange time, some Australians first discovering that prejudice existed under their noses, and that they were the perpetrators of it. Laura felt that she knew the history of the event well, and that her argument went into deep enough abstraction on the topic to be a first class essay. Why then had it remained under a 90% grade? Laura had long ago beaten the 90% hurdle over the head in every other topic. What the hell would it take to push this essay over the line?

Now that she was annoyed, the gooey clay mess in her nappy didn’t feel so lovely as it did sticky and restrictive. She tossed the paper aside, trying to comb back her mood, and navigated to the CV. She might not be able to impress her english teacher, but she would knock the nappy off this store manager.

She settled in to write.

Chapter 2

That Saturday afternoon, Nick was milling about the house with his stomach through the floor. He was dead nervous, and had been all day, in which he did absolutely nothing but stay inside the house, lest he forget to get ready for his big date with Cassie tonight. It was a lonely day, both parents out, and Laura not getting home till an hour or so ago.

Oh jesus, what’s the time now? he jittered, and rushed into the kitchen to stare at the clock. Nick had a 5:30 train to catch to the bar in town, which meant he’d have to leave the house at 5:20, which meant he’d have to mentally prepare to leave the house at 5:15, which meant…

It was 5:15.

*Far out! That had snuck up on him. He jumped in place, then clawed desperately to control his shaking limbs. His legs were stuttering like clockwork, wound on a steel reel of anxiety and released. If it weren’t for the four pass-overs of extra-strength deodorant and cologne, he’d probably be wearing a dark blue shirt right now instead of a light one.

Nick had five minutes to prepare, so he checked his things again.

Wallet? Yes, that was in the front left pocket. Phone? He patted his right pocket, and felt nothing. He wheezed, wide eyes darting around his immediate space, until he saw his phone held in his hand. Nick grumbled, and set it into his right pocket. Money? Nick pulled out the wallet and opened it up, finding about seventy dollars - most of the money he had right now - for drinks between he and Cassie.

Far out, a bar was an expensive idea. Why didn’t we just drink at her house?

5:17, the clock read.

Right, time to sit on the couch for two minutes, then get up, and walk out the door. Nick said, pulling fast steps to the couch. Like a stone thrown onto custard, the couch’s cushion was non-newtonian to his stiff body. Its comfort seemed to reject him, forcing Nick to be tenser still.

To his right, Laura galloped down the stairs. She wore her hair down and straightened, framing a well made-up face which was blushing red. Surprisingly, she had real clothes on, and nice looking ones at that. Where was she off to tonight?

“Nick, I’ve got an emergency,” she started, and Nick’s head snapped back to the clock. 5:18.

“I don’t think I’ve got time to…”

“Can you change me? I made a big mess, and I’ve got to leave the house in, like, ten minutes for a job interview, and I really need to be clean for it.”

Now that Laura mentioned it, Nick could smell the stiff odour as it wafted over. It stunk of sulphur, and Nick could picture just how gooey and muddy the inside of that nappy would be, like spoiled chocolate left in the sun. It made his stomach turn.

“I…no, I don’t have time,” Nick said, and stood from the couch. He’d have to leave now if he was going to make it. “I’ve got to catch the train.”

“At what time?” Laura asked, and Nick paused.

“Like, now.”

“Then you’ve already missed it.”

“Fine,” Nick grumbled, “5:30.”

“You can make it to the station in five minutes if you walk fast, come on!” Laura begged, her red face desperate. Nick’s anxiety panged, a thread of it tugging him towards the door, towards the train.

“Dude, I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t,” he insisted, and bounced towards the front door. Laura growled her frustration, stamping a foot.

“Nick, you’re being so selfish!” She bit, “I really need this job. Can’t you please help me out?”

“You need a job two months out from year twelve exams?” he hissed, “I don’t know how deluded you are, Laura, but that won’t help your grades. You need to settle down and pause a few hobbies, is what you need.”

“Oh. my. God. Please?” she pleaded. “I can’t be dirty to an interview, I just can’t.”

“And I can’t go getting your shit all over my favourite clothes before a date, either,” he growled, peering down to his outfit. He bloody loved this outfit, and had spent long enough making it nice today.

“This is all because of your date with Cassie?” Laura scoffed, baffled. This seemed to wind her up even worse. “I can’t believe you’d even go on a date with her. That girl is such bad news.”

“Harsh words for somebody asking me to wipe their ass,” Nick goaded. “Clean yourself, baby.”

“But I won’t get it all off by myself. Not for a mess like this.” Laura groaned. “You’re juggling my future with some date?”

Nick was seething. He craned his head to the clock, to see it tick over to 5:22. He was late now - or, he was by his admittedly over-cautious schedule.

“Nup, I’ve got to go. You shitting your pants is your problem,” Nick insisted, throwing hands up before storming to the door.

“That’s not fair,” Laura huffed, “you know I can’t help it.”

To this, Nick paused in the door, shaking his head. He turned, to look her in the eye.

“I’m pretty sure you can help it, actually,” he said, before barging out onto the front garden.

Then, free of her anger, he ran for the train.


Laura seethed as the door closed, furious. She glanced at the clock. 5:22 - that gave her eight minutes to get out of these nice clothes - which were markedly not nappy-friendly - change this sodden nappy, and get dressed again. She could feel the expansive pushie weighing down her nappy, tugging at her hips. Luckily, it hadn’t spread, but it was still caked all up and over her ass, clinging to the skin.

She shuddered, a hand reaching to feel the mess through her jeans. This really was Nick’s fault. And no, not because he wouldn’t change her - she’d mainly expected that. No, because if he had have left earlier, she could have just used the toilet like a normal person and been on her way. It wasn’t like she made messies on accident, but if she had have used the toilet and flushed the thing, then he would have immediately known that either she doesn’t need nappies, or assumed that she was toilet training. Nick would have then told their parents either way, which would’ve absolutely put a damper in her plan to stay in nappies forever.

She trudged up the stairs to the changing table, determined not to spread the mess any further.

Why was Nick being such a dick, anyway? Laura had helped him out all week bringing up his grade, and been nothing but nice to him recently. Couldn’t he meet her half way on that instead of being rude and stubborn?

And all for Cassie too…that seemed to be the worst part. Nick thought that Laura might find an ally in Cassie, but he was wrong. Laura had tried that once, and she had been burned. Laura didn’t even know Cassie that well, but their one meaningful interaction had shown that the pretty young lady was nothing but a selfish, immoral pest squirming inside a beautiful shell.

Once at the changing table, Laura carefully removed her jeans, then threw aside her blouse and jacket. Then a thought hit her:

I could have just waited for him to leave, then flushed…

Fuck! That was a brilliant plan! Why was she such a stupid smart person?

Well, it didn’t matter now. Her poor nappy bore that mistake, clogged and sagging without the jeans to hold it up. She undid the tapes as quickly as she could, and the thing fell to the floor with a sorry thud. A pile of thick shit was smeared from the centre, right up the back of it. It smelled awful.

Laura knew that her ass would be a total mess, but she didn’t have the time to lie down and properly take care of it. She grabbed the box of wipes, reached around, and desperately scooped away. Her hand turned brown as she plunged it in, signalling the worst to come. In one or two wipes it got notably better, but after that, each subsequent wet-one emerged from her crack with a sleighter streak of brown which just wouldn’t go away. It was as if her ass were coated in paint, and she was brushing it with thinners. No matter how many wipes she used, the final streak wouldn’t budge.

Laura didn’t have time for this.

Fuck it, she resolved, grabbing a fresh nappy - a thin one which wouldn’t show. She laced the thing with talcum powder, then sat in it atop the bench, pinning the sides. Usually, a streaky ass was totally fine - what was poo to a nappy? - but this really was not the time for leftover poopies smeared up her bum.

Hoping that the talcum would cover the scent of the evidence, she raced to pull her jeans up, then threw her other items on. Then, grabbing her handbag from the kitchen on her way out, she ran for the bus.


Thankfully, Laura arrived to the bus early, and the bus had arrived by the schedule, leaving her plenty of time to wait around and catch her breath on the walk to the boutique. She was shown through to the backroom, where she waited for the manager.

Laura was keen for this job, and she hoped her pain-stakingly crafted resume and CV showed that. She had limited job experience, sure, but Laura knew that the achievements she wrote about demonstrated that she was punctual, screwed-on, had great initiative, and could dedicate brain-space to memorising a catalogue of clothes. From this job she would get money, but would also get access to discounted, cool clothes. If she could secure cheap going-out outfits for her friends, she knew that they’d all have fun nights ahead. It was the perfect job for university.

Across from where Laura sat, the door to the backroom opened. A tall woman, clearly older, yet scant of any signs of her age, walked in with a beaming and eager smile. As they entered, Laura caught a slight mis-step come across on the woman’s face, and couldn’t decipher what it was before the manager had corrected herself. She took the seat opposite Laura, the young girl’s documents in hand. She reached out a hand to be shaken, which Laura took.

“Hi, I’m Stacy,” the woman smiled. Their handshake was sloppy - weak.

“Laura,” she smiled back, already feeling uncertain.

“Your resume and CV are quite impressive, Laura. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You write very well,”

“Thank you.”

“And certainly have a lot of hobbies and awards to your name.”

“Thanks,”

“But unfortunately…:”

Unfortunately?

“…I don’t think I can offer you the position today.”

What? But I haven’t even said anything yet? Laura fumed, but tried to hold her face. What had she done between walking in the door and sitting down here?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Laura said, trying to maintain her politeness, “I thought that my skills matched, and I’m very interested in fashion - especially the kinds of clothes you sell here.” I’m wearing one of your blouses right now. Surely you’d know that.

“They do, indeed,” Stacy agreed, then laid her papers flat on her lap. “Unfortunately, though - and this is nothing against you as a person - we’re just not looking for somebody who isn’t toilet trained.”

Laura, caught off guard, blushed. She peered to her crotch - these jeans almost totally hid and flattened her nappy. They just made it look like she was dragging around a great ass. Plus, she’d put on a really thin nappy. How could this woman tell?

“The smell gives it away,” the woman explained, and Laura died a little inside. “Unfortunately, controlling your bowels will affect the shopping environment we’re aiming for in this store.”

“But, but…” Laura stuttered, “I’m sorry. I had to clean it myself just before I came, and…”

“In the real world, you’ll be cleaning all of your own nappies,” the woman said, shutting Laura down, then continued as Laura sank into her seat. “The customers won’t be so understanding, believe me. It is a shame though, because you’re so perfect on paper.”

“I understand,” Laura coughed, swallowing the tears which she could feel coming. Truth was, she wouldn’t even need a nappy at work, she would have just used the toilet. She would have worn a pull-up though, because she didn’t have total control over her bladder yet.

“Once you’re done with nappies, I’d really like to see you apply here again, though,” the woman smiled, standing. This was Laura’s cue to do the same. “It shouldn’t be too long, right?”

“Right…” Laura agreed, standing. The woman’s hand was extended to be shaken, and again Laura took it, accepting her defeat.

“Thanks for your time today,” Laura said, not even looking the woman in the eyes.

“Thanks for coming in.”

Chapter 3

Nick rounded the corner and stepped into the bar, nobody guarding the door as he did so. I guess that’s how Cassie got in, he pondered, then looked about the space, to try and find the girl.

The abject coolness of the bar struck Nick. The space bathed in dim - almost dun - red and gold light, which bounced off the satin gold and polished wood surfaces which glinted all about. Plush, brown sofas sat out in the back section, with closed in and intimate booths lining the bar’s sides from front to rear. A central, horse-shoe shaped bar took the centre of the room, guiding guests from front to rear. Nick walked in, following its curves.

In the back right-hand corner, sitting politely and cross-legged on a brown leather couch, sat Cassie. She peered up from her phone as Nick came into view, waving the awe-struck lad over.

Awe-struck, because she looked breathtaking.

Her eyeshadow and blush, sitting atop her tan skin, glittered under the mood lighting, drawing Nick towards her like a moth to a lamp. She wore tight dress and sneakers, under a small denim jacket, each square inch of fabric sticking perfectly to, and accentuating, the curves of her dark-featured body. Emerald green eyes broke the darkness to meet his gaze.

Nick felt that he’d dressed a little more formally than Cassie, but also knew that it didn’t matter. This girl looked good by virtue, not by clothing. She stood as he drew near, arms out for a hug, which Nick happily obliged.

“Glad to see you made it,” Cassie smiled, pulling out of the hug. She sat herself down, patting the seat for Nick to do the same.

“Yeah, was getting dicey towards the end. Laura tried to pull a nappy-emergency on me.”

Cassie chuckled, sitting back. “They mess it, they change it. That’s what I say.”

“You’re 100% correct,” Nick laughed, settling into the couch with her. He noticed the drinks menu on the coffee table, and lurched forward to grab it. “Have you been here before?”

“Only once,” Cassie nodded. “It’s just such a good place, I had to come back.”

“Oh, it’s pretty cool alright, great suggestion,” Nick agreed. “You need to look at the drinks?”

“I know what I want, but give me another look,” she said, sitting forward to meet him. The front of her dress, which swooped low, hung down as she leaned forward, displayed her cleavage which sat squished between her arms. It was probably the hottest thing Nick had ever been confronted with, and it took the full willpower of both his brain cells to ignore the sight, instead setting his lazer-gaze to the menu.

Nick wasn’t sure why he was looking, though. He knew that he was going to just get the second-cheapest pint on the menu, and tonight that looked like some pacific ale. Nick hadn’t really developed enough taste to be picky with alcohol yet, so thankfully, this place wasn’t as pricey as it appeared.

“I reckon I’ll get the house cider,” Cassie smiled, letting the menu rest in Nick’s hands. “Do you might getting the round?”

“I was expecting to get it anyway,” Nick grinned. “It’s the right thing to do…” on a date, he was going to say, but realised he’d never clarified what this night was. Judging by Cassie’s boobs, he assumed this had to be a date.

“And I walked out of the house without my ID, stupid mistake,” she shook her head.

“Huh, you’re eighteen?” Nick asked, “I thought you planned an illegal bar hop tonight.”

“Yes, I’m eighteen,” Cassie feigned offence, slapping Nick on the wrist. “You were at my party.”

“I was?” Nick quizzed.

“Last school holidays, remember? We all went out to Ditzies?”

Yes, Ditzies, the local private-school-kids club, complete with three dance floors of total trash. How could he forget the experience?

“You are right, I do remember that,” he said, standing from the couch. “I’ll be back with your cider.” And he took his cash, sauntering over to the bar.

When he returned with his drinks, the night raged on.

The tropic beer was surprisingly good, and even better for its difficulty to swallow quickly, forcing Nick to go slow. Cassie moved from the house cider onto the house wine, cementing her status as a thankfully cheap date. Growing tipsier and tipsier, the conversation flowed more naturally, both Nick and Cassie settling further into the deep couches.

Nick realised that Cassie must have been nervous too, because the wines really did their part to loosen her out, and draw her smile right the way across her face. To his bad jokes she flicked her hair and laughed, grabbing at her drink.

Then, eventually, grabbing at Nick’s arm.

The first time it happened, his brain fell out his ear, the butterflies beating his tummy walls as if they intended to come free and eat the room. As she held it there, though, he became more comfortable, even placing his hand atop of hers. Then it found its way to her leg, then finally around her waist, holding her close-tight on the couch as the night stumbled away under them.

Soon, it was nearing 10:00pm, which honestly wasn’t all that late, but they’d been drinking for a solid four hours and were just about falling over slurred words. Nick had, unfortunately, run out of money, and expressed that the date might have to come to its premature end. That’s when Cassie, a bright idea coming to her mind, cupped Nick’s face and held it still. Straight into his face, she said:

“Let’s go back to mine, then. Plenty of drinks there.”

Well, the prospect of more drinks did seem appealing. The prospect of Cassie’s house moreso. Nick was sure that his face was reacting aloud to his internal monologue, because Cassie chuckled along to its contortions.

“Sounds great!” he said. “Why end the night here?”

As they stood to leave, Cassie held his hand, and they walked together off to the train station. It was only a short train ride, spent in a weird and giddy silence, to get to Cassie’s house. Once there, she snuck him over the gate - refusing to buzz it - and pulled him around to the side of the house rather than through the front door.

“There’s stairs around the back,” she said. “Right up to the TV room, they go. Don’t want the staff seeing me drunk.”

Nick figured that made sense, and he nodded along, allowing himself to be dragged down the hedge-lined side yard. They came to a set of stone stairs at is end, which Cassie led Nick up, and finally into the top floor of the house. The door there was unlocked, and Cassie pulled Nick into the TV room, then silently across the carpet to her room, where she closed the door.

Cute fairylights hung in the room’s corners, setting the tall-ceilinged white space into a flickering haze of green and blue. Given Nick’s half-drunk state, the lights turned the room into a flickering fuzz, making the walls appear soft like felt. He settled comfortably where he was put, on the warm couch by the window.

He watched Cassie from his smiling stupor as she backtracked towards the entrance, throwing her sneakers and jacket aside. The dress turned out to be sleeveless - just two thick straps coming up from the body to hold her cleavage into her chest. Between his liver and his dick, there wasn’t much blood left for Nick’s brain, and he sat staring stupidly as she pulled a tequila bottle and whiskey glasses from a hidden cabinet, pouring a drink for them each.

“Thank you,” Nick said, taking the drink. He didn’t feel like it just now, with how his head spun, so he set it aside on the floor. “Gotta settle a bit. Sitting down makes it hit all at once, you know?”

Cassie did seem to know. She nodded thoughtfully, and looked for a place to rest her drink. Instead of right beside her, which was free, she peered past Nick, to where his drink sat on the floor. She then crawled across the couch to lean right over Nick, grabbing onto his leg for support as she placed the glass down.

Then she turned, the barrel of her dress, and her glistering green eyes, staring Nick right in the face.

There was a moment of tension, before they both pounced.

Nick grabbed Cassie’s waist, and she straddled his legs, her body falling into his. Their lips locked and twisted together. Her arms writhed and grabbed, pulling at his shirt, and their faces melded. To Nick, it felt like she was trying to take his shirt off, so he played along by pulling at the right strap of her dress, caressing it off her shoulder.

With a lustful grin, she nodded along, pulling down the other strap and then unzipping the dress entirely. Nick, ever a gentleman, took note not to fondle and squeeze the incredible and round boobs which dangled before his face in lacey lingerie. They were perfect specimens, begging to be cupped, held to her body by a bra so laced and red that it made Nick blush.

Controlling his urges, Nick fumbled with his own shirt’s buttons, racing to undo them. Cassie joined in, her keen hands zipping ahead of his to tackle the shirt. She pulled the garment open, and pressed herself against him.

Nick, feeling an uncharacteristic surge of confidence, grabbed a hand under Cassie’s ass, and with the other behind her back, he squatted up from the couch and lifted her up, her limbs wrapping around his body. Then, he shuffled the two of them over to the bed, onto which he ceremoniously dumped her down.

She laughed along, loving it, and Nick lay down next to her, holding her head in the nook of his elbow. They made out. His hand wandered, first prancing around her tummy, and then testing the limits, crawling lower and lower. At each gate - each subsequent movement towards her pussy - he paused and checked, catching her approving gaze before dancing further onwards. His hand tucked under the remnants of her pulled-down dress, finally finding the racy undies hidden underneath. Her rasping breath, which moaned to his advance, propelled Nick on. With her arms grasping at his body and holding it tight, his adventurous fingers finally touched the silky lip of her pussy.

Cassie gasped, the tension breaking her, forcing her to arch her back. Nick then pressed further, sliding by the lips and rubbing against the clit on his way to her vagina.

It was wet, like, really wet. So wet that her undies were soggy against the back of his hand.

Just then, Cassie jolted, sobriety coming immediately to her eyes. Nick’s hand jerked out of her pants, just as she sat herself up, face of fright.

Before Nick could ask what was wrong, she’d leapt off the bed, and rushed out of the room.

Nick’s heart suddenly dropped, as he cued into what happened. All of the tipsiness left him instantly.

Oh god, I pushed her too far. Nick’s hands felt suddenly dirty. He stared at them, the glistering clear wetness bouncing off the adventurous one. He wiped it on her sheets, trying to dry them of his shame, but they still smelled strongly of pussy and piss.

Cassie had seemed into it, but she was drunk. Well, they were both drunk, but that was never an excuse.

Oh God. Nick thought he’d done the right thing - he’d waited for all of the right signs before advancing - tried to get every nod and moan of approval, every grasp and urge to continue. Still, a moan to a wandering hand was never sufficient for a ‘yes’. Suddenly, he felt that her prying and lustful hands must have been pushing him away, trying to stop him. Were those groans of pleasure instead groans of struggle, or fear?

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What have I done?

Still, it seemed the whole time that she was absolutely into it, so where did he cross the line? He didn’t remember pushing any boundary too far.

But clearly he had.

Nick heard a toilet flush, and soon after Cassie poked her way back into her room. As she stood there, in just her lacey bra and pull-up, he tried to urge an apology out, but they all seemed to come at once, cramming in the doorway of his mouth. None came through before Cassie could speak.

“I just got my period,” she said, pointing to the pull-up. Nick’s brain had glossed over the training-pants just a moment ago - he didn’t even find it weird. Still, despite her affirmation that there shouldn’t be anything wrong, Nick knew that there was - that she was deflecting, and trying to make him leave. She knew that no man would try to fuck a girl in a pull-up.

Nick was going to be honourable about it.

“I’ll get going, if you want,” Nick said, standing.

“No, you don’t have to,” Cassie insisted, taking his seat on the bed. The invitation didn’t sound genuine, however, and Nick ignored it.

“No, it’s fine. I’m…I’m sorry,” he said, no excuse or apology actually coming out. Nick bowed his head in shame, then pulled at the door. “I’ll see you at school.”

Before he could walk out of it, however, Cassie jumped up and grabbed at his shoulders, spinning Nick around. With her hands linked behind his neck, she pulled him in for a peck on the lips.

“I’ll see you there.”

Now Nick really had no idea what was going on. He felt guilty for the giddy grin which overcame him, and he turned quickly, leaving out the back door.

Interlude II: Ditzies Does it Again

Two Months Ago

The disco lasers lit up all the walls of the club, dancing in a dizzying pattern that could make any sober person feel drunk. At the bar, opposite the DJ, teens leaned across the strangely-high, eternally wet serving surface, yelling desperately into the ears of bar staff who had long ago gone deaf to the pounding thud all around. This was Ditzies, the classiest place to be seen out between the school terms.

This was, strangely, a place where Laura loved to be.

She and her friends gathered in the darkest corner by the cloak room, huddled closely together to fend off male attention. They waited for Jamie, the last of their group, to be cleared by the bouncer and come skipping down the entrance corridor.

“What did he pull you up for?” Claire asked Jamie as she bounced into the gathered circle.

“I don’t think he believed I was toilet trained. Really bloody took his time to walk through all the rules,” Jamie huffed, rolling her eyes. “Like, mate, we know the rules.”

“Well, can you blame him?” Evie laughed, pointing to Jamie’s skirt. It was meant to be a tight, pencil number, but had to conform around the crinkly bulk of a nappy underneath. “You came with a full-on toilet bolted to your ass.”

“Wouldn’t have been an issue if one of you stingy princesses gave me a spare pull-up at pres (pre-drinks, the gathering to get tipsy before heading out).”

There were spoken rules about toilet training in clubs, and then the more important unspoken rules. Laura knew these well, as her status of ‘poo-pants’ outside these walls demanded it.

The spoken rule - the one which the bouncer spat through your ears if they noticed your nappy - was that using a nappy is forbidden in the club. If they can smell it, or they see you doing it, they’ll boot you out.

What this really meant was that you couldn’t mess in a nappy, or have piss running down your leg or staining your clothes. In reality, most teens wore a pull-up to the club because otherwise the lines for the toilet would be out of control, especially in the ladies’ bathrooms. That way, you got one solid piss in without needing the toilet, and bouncers would generally turn a blind eye if you changed yourself in the bathroom. Of course, if they had it out for you, even pissing your pull-up would be your eviction sentence.

This strange norm affected the fashions, too. Amongst those on the dance floor there was a clear dichotomy between tight and loose clothing. The tighter your clothes, without showing the seam or crease of protection underneath, the more status you seemed to garner. This worked for both boys and girls, with girls wearing insanely tight and short skirts and dresses, and boys wearing the skinniest jeans and pants known to man.

There was, then, the other side of this crowd, to which Laura belonged. She, and many others, didn’t really care to cover-up their nappies. It was almost a statement - and it would have been a more powerful one if it didn’t put you under the watch of bouncers. For this crowd, loose and puffy clothes were their uniform. Girls wore fashionably baggy pants and shorts, or skirts which hugged the waist but fanned out towards the knee. Boys wore regular pants, which honestly looked much more comfortable to dance in than their tight counterparts.

That said, it was rare to find boys sporting nappies or pull-ups in the club. Whilst it was almost universal for girls to wear them, given long toilet lines, boys somehow avoided that problem by having half of their bathroom’s wall dedicated to a metal trough which they pissed on. That was hardly more civilised than a nappy, Laura though. Boys were also more eager to peacock how ‘grown-up’ they were, which usually led to more piss-stained, tight pants than anything. Laura could even see an example now, a poor boy waddling in skin-tight pants past her group and towards the door, a dark streak down his leg, and the bouncer pushing him along.

Tonight, Laura wore a black dress which stuck tight to her chest and waist, but puffed out below the belt into a pleated skirt. Underneath that, she wore her regular nappy, which puffed out almost far enough to be seen underneath her dress. Laura figured that this way she’d get two or three solid pees in before needing to change - and it let her make proper big poopies between leaving the club and making it home.

In her purse, though, she carried a pull-up for the change, as it fit better in the little bag. Laura hated pull-ups - she felt naked without a proper bulky padding forcing her legs apart. If she ever was forced to toilet train, Laura figured she’d have to stuff towels in her undies just to feel normal.

With Jamie now back in the circle, and the chatter dissipating, the group lost its momentum, wide eyes staring out into the possibilities of the club. It was always the case that each member of the eight-strong group was here for a different crutch - some came for the RnB, some came for EDM, some came for the sing-along nostalgia classics, and some were here for just the drinks and dark corners. Tonight, it didn’t seem like anybody was here for boys, which was understandable, but turned the night into an obstacle course, as it was guaranteed that boys were here for the girls.

Of course, the other logistical trouble of the night was that, like a good game of D&D, one should never split the party, especially not in a dungeon like this. Somehow, the one-faced group of eight would have to tailor its night to the interests of every member, whilst behaving as an amorphous blob. Usually, this logistical nightmare was Laura’s domain, and she walked out from the group, towards the stairs.

In this club, the upstairs room generally catered to sing-along classics of last decade, which was always the best place to start the night. The unison group shifted behind her, holding hands to form a chain.

On this floor, familiar faces came into view. Most kids over 18 from school would come here on a saturday, and they all seemed to be dancing to classics. Laura immediately spotted Cassie, wearing a tiara, with Luke, Tom, Lachie, and finally Nick over at the far-side bar. She walked her friends away from that group, over to free space on the opposite side of the dance floor.

Half of the group disappeared to get drinks, and with the party split, their space was immediately invaded by incoming revelers. By the time drinks had been passed around, the mosh had formed to all sides of Laura’s circle, and they bunched in to dance with only their hands.

Something brushed Laura’s dress from behind - probably the guy dancing right up to her back trying to expand his own circle. Then, she felt it pat her nappied bum. Laura would not stand to be touched like that. She immediately turned, a face of fury, to find Lachie standing behind her, his hand still retracting.

“Bit wet, hey?” He teased, slurring. Laura growled.

“You’ll be in a minute, if you don’t apologise,” she bit back, sloshing her drink in the direction of his crotch. Lachie, sensing the danger of a stain on his pants, backed cautiously into the circle of dancers behind him. That, of course, didn’t gain him much ground.

No words coming from his mouth, Laura sloshed the drink again, which made the boy yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He pleaded, scraping his way across the floor. Laura smirked to his hobble away, although wished that maybe it hadn’t taken the threat of wet trousers for him to see how horrible his actions had been. This boy had a painfully obvious crush on her, so shouldn’t he be trying to show his best self?

Still, Laura sucked up her surprise and hurt, turning back to her group of friends to keep dancing.

Although now her illusion of safety for the night had been ruined, and even the sanctity of the friendship circle couldn’t claw it back. Laura danced uneasily for hours to come.

The night wore on, and with its coming tipsiness, Laura eventually forgot her caution as the group migrated between the dancefloors. Her nappy hung soggy between her legs - as did the pull-ups of a few of her friends - turning her tight dance into a wide-legged step. It weighed down more than Laura expected for one pee, tugging at her hips by the straps. Perhaps she’d peed once more without realising it - Laura didn’t have perfect bladder control when drunk.

She did, however, feel the pressure building in her bowels, and turned to her watch. It was only 1 in the morning, much too early to make a pushie in her nappy and call it a night. Instead, she’d have to waddle her way over to the toilet and line up for a stall.

Laura split from the group, heading towards the entrance where the toilet block was. The boundary between the club and the women’s toilets was a portal to another dimension. Inside, her white sneakers stuck to the wet and putrid floor, as if the place was tiled in vodka and bubble gum. A girl cried hysterically into the mirror, a group of women unknown to her surrounding and holding her through the ordeal. Under the sinks sat two sets of bins - one for paper towels, and one for nappies and sanitary products. A bin for nappies was a legal requirement, although a female bouncer was stationed opposite the door, watching for anybody trying to dispose of a messy nappy within. Those caught with a messy nappy would be kicked out, although wet nappies earned a blind eye.

Each stall was full, although Laura was the only girl waiting. She planted herself right at the edge of the first cubicle, waiting for one of them to open. Another girl appeared waiting behind her, and within a minute there was a line already winding out the door, feet tapping.

Laura still had time before her body needed to go, as she’d expected to walk into a line like the one forming behind her. A lifetime of messing nappies had made Laura unskilled at forcing herself to go when a toilet arose, as she only went when the poo was ready and bursting to come out. She started to sweat, wondering if she needed to go enough to even do a poo now. She could feel the pressure of the line behind her, and didn’t want to be the person to hold it up, making somebody mess their pants.

The door right in front of her jiggled, the indicator on the handle flicking over to ‘vacant’.

I guess I’ll have to be ready, now.

The person behind meekly pushed the door outwards using their shoulder. One hand was held behind their back, and the other shielded their brow, as if they were fending off golden-hour sun. To this strange and crouched stance, Laura immediately attributed drugs, but changed her mind when she recognised the woman behind the hand and their sparkling tiara.

“Oh, hi Cassie,” Laura greeted. Laura had no problem with the girl - only her friends - and had always been keen to get to know her. She wanted to glimpse the mind of anybody who would willingly hang out with Tom, Lachie, and Nick.

Instead of handing back the joyful greeting delivered to her, Cassie’s face ran white, her body stiffening. Then, another look overcame her, a sneer which Laura thought was disgust. Laura palmed her own face, wondering if she’d done something to draw that reaction.

“Hi, shit-pants. Can’t you keep clean for even a minute?” Cassie said, practically yelling. Laura froze, looking about the bathroom to see if Cassie was talking to anybody else. All eyes seemed centred on Laura now that a loud fuss had been made, including the guard on the other side of the room. She didn’t know what was going on.

“I am clean, I…” Laura went to explain, but was cut off as Cassie shouldered into her. On her way through Laura, Cassie’s hidden hand fell against Laura’s chest, pushing some plastic bag into her. Laura grabbed it by instinct, and Cassie let go.

“Not a single word about this,” the girl whispered, then stumbled quickly away, leaving Laura with a package. Even through the plastic bag, it was warm in Laura’s hands, and it stank. Peering down, Laura realised that Cassie had handed her a wrapped up and messy nappy.

Laura gagged, lunging for the bin to get rid of the hot potato. She landed a perfect rim-shot to the bin from across the bathroom - on any sports court, it was a play to be met with rapturous cheer, but Laura couldn’t celebrate past her disgust.

Why the fuck did she hand me her shitty nappy? she grumbled, then it hit her. Since when did Cassie even use nappies?

“Hey, come on,” the bouncer called from across the room. Their hands flew to the air in annoyance, and they waddled towards Laura. “You know the rules.”

“What?” Laura quizzed, because she realised what was really going on here. Her face flushed with anger, and she pushed it down to remain calm. “That girl just handed me her nappy, I didn’t…”

“The girl in the tight leather pants?” The bouncer-lady asked, pointing out the door. There, snaking past the line, Laura could see the last remnant of Cassie’s tightly-covered ass. No crinkle or bulge to it. She seethed.

“The very same,” Laura groaned.

“Look, come on nappy-pants, your night is over,” the guard said, grabbing Laura by the wrist. Laura was sure that one of the girls behind her in the line - that long-ass line - would have said something, but nobody did. Nobody spoke as Laura was dragged from the bathroom, kicked out for a nappy she didn’t mess.

There was one thing that Laura did know, and she pondered it as she and the guard passed by Cassie on the way to the front door. Cassie was very insistent that what happened stay a secret, and whenever somebody was insistent like that, they had something to lose.


Laura stood to the side of the club’s entrance, waiting for her friends and watching the entrance line shuffle along. She’d put a message in the group chat that she was booted out, and now had to wait for somebody to see it, and somebody to join her in going home. She didn’t feel safe getting home alone, and barely felt safe standing out here alone, on the cold-turning night. Luckily, the large line of bystanders provided her with some confidence.

She still needed to poo, too. That was the real kicker in this - she’d tried to do the right thing, but didn’t even get to do it. Well, at least now she could take her time and make messies in her nappy - although she wasn’t about to do that right here, in front of the crowd. For one, she didn’t like messing in front of strangers like this, where she was alone in front of an audience, and she also didn’t want to draw their ridicule.

Unfortunately, she wouldn’t feel safe standing anywhere else, so she just had to hold it. That was easy for now, but the need to let go was rising.

“Laura?” a familiar voice called. She turned to see that Sarah, Claire, and Jamie had come out, abandoning the club to respond to Laura’s plea. She was surprised that so many of her friends had sacrificed their night. She flushed warm, thinking that her friends cared for her.

“What happened?” Claire asked.

“I got framed, is what happened,” Laura grumbled. She peeled herself from the wall, wandering downstream of the street towards the taxi rank and KFC. Her friends followed, not questioning the direction. “Somebody handed me their dirty nappy and ran off. Security didn’t believe me.”

“Jesus christ,” Jamie coughed. “How scummy can people be? That’s gross as.” (I’m told “that’s ____ as” is an Australian / NZ thing, and other english speakers will ask “that’s ___ as what?” There is no what, it’s just as. It’s like saying as fuck, but it’s more varied than that, and we clearly transcended the need for the fuck at the end…)

“Who was it?” Sarah asked.

Laura paused. It would be easy to give Cassie away - to implicate her immediately, but would that story be believed? Cassie hadn’t been seen in a nappy for at least two years.

And was Laura keen to rat her out just yet?

“Didn’t know them,” Laura said. “Real low move.”

Finally, away from the crowd and between bars, the girls came across a patch of relative darkness. Laura’s tummy churned, calling her to make her poopie. She stopped in her path, although her group had stopped one step earlier, Jamie pivoting back towards the club and the nightlife strip.

“Well, that’s great news, you didn’t shit yourself!” Jamie said, all smiles. “What’s better news is that we can just go to another bar, because you didn’t poo and you won’t smell like it.”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea…” Laura said, her pushie finally crowning against her ass. It was ready to come, and she wasn’t sure she could hold it any longer.

“Why not?” Jamie asked.

“Wherever we’re going, we better get in there quick,” Sarah said, “I need to get to the toilet.”

Toilet, that word did it for Laura, and her control lapsed, her eyes glazing over. A wet gurgle puffed from her nappy, and it was followed by an expanding bulb of mess between her cheeks. It was solid and sticky, quickly pushing outwards against the seat of her nappy.

“No, don’t drop anchors yet!” Jamie pleaded, although she was too late. “There’s a whole night to be had.” They called it ‘dropping the anchors’, because once you’d messed yourself, no McDonalds public bathroom amenities could get rid of the smell even once cleaned up, and your night was over.

Laura grunted, and with a final push came the last bubbling of hot mess into her nappie’s seat. The end product was a hot and stinky load, which drooped her nappy down beneath the hem of her dress.

Jamie was furious, her eye twitching. She grumbled, throwing her hands down and staring longingly at the stirp of bars which ran down the never-ending street ahead.

“Well, if we’re dropping anchors…” Sarah said, bending her knees. Her face strained, and a rude, bubbling, and concerningly wet noise erupted from her behind. Laura could hear the toxic mess squelching into the girl’s well-hidden pull-up, squirting chunks at a time.

“You don’t even need nappies!” Claire gagged, swatting away the fumes. “What did you do that for?”

“You know, when in Rome,” Sarah shrugged.

“We’re not in Rome.”

“Oh, extrapolate the phrase,” Sarah shook her head. “When in nappies, do as a baby does, Claire.”

“No thanks,” Claire winced. She stepped towards Laura, before realising that it didn’t smell like roses other there either.

“Fine, anchors are down, let’s go home.”

Part 4

Chapter 1

On the Monday after Nick and Cassie’s date, fliers passed between select lockers, exchanging hands in a secretive and exclusive circle. As Nick entered the senior school building, he could sense a rumour bubbling into life, fluttering between ears on baseless whispers.

Eyes followed him as he moved through the quadrangle.

He could feel their hot attention burning laser lines into him - snipers from all directions, their full attention drawn. A rumour about Nick was wafting in the morning breeze, he knew it. He could sense it.

And Nick was certain that he knew what it was about.

Cassie told… his stomach froze over. He’d unintentionally assaulted her, and now he was reaping the deserved seed which he’d sown. Nick had been too horny, his salty and misogynistic teenage dick the fat-ugly truck driver to this unceremonious cavalcade. Nick had pushed a poor girl’s boundaries, he had made a victim of his hands, and now he would be shown his deserved punishment. Cassie had every right to tell any soul what had happened, and Nick earned the privilege of bearing the consequences.

Nick wished that he could find peace in this, but the uncertainty of it all was about to make him cry. He never pictured that in being an awful person, he’d start feeling so god-damned sorry for himself.

He rounded the locker bay and came to his locker. To his surprise, when Nick opened it, an unfamiliar leaflet floated out. Nick caught the thing before it fluttered to the floor, and examined it.

*Party at mine this saturday. Come along.

No nappies allowed

Whole year-level welcome.

Love, Daz*

Nick’s mind hung back, racing backwards through the tunnel which his vision had apparently been racing through. Was Luke’s party the cause of all the rumours? It was possible, given the controversial and determined exception of anybody in nappies - about half of the year level which he claimed to invite.

Wait…why do we call him Daz? Nick quizzed. The boy’s name was Luke Simpson. Where the hell did people get Daz from a name like that?

Oh well… Nick shrugged, shoving the leaflet back into his locker. This wasn’t the important issue right now. He pulled out the books for his first class, then raced off to find Cassie.

He had to properly apologise.

Then accept his fate.


Cassie was nowhere to be seen that morning. Nick had searched her locker bay low and high, and even waited outside her homeroom. There existed no sign of her.

And all through it, he could feel the attention which landed upon him, lapping and grating him like the waves of the incoming tide. Nick found himself weighted under the incoming seawall, trapped beneath this ocean of drowning anticipation.

It made the first two periods unbearable, waiting for the resolve, noticing staring eyes flicker away just as he caught them.

It was almost unbelievable when, just as Nick stepped out of the classroom into recess, he walked right into Cassie. He literally barged into her as he stumbled from the doorway, and she fumbled with her books, just catching them.

“Nick,” she greeted, and he could have sworn that she was smiling, but that mouth could have been anything really - from a grimace to a defensive facade.

“Hi, Cassie…” Nick mumbled, unprepared for this interaction despite his hours of stewing over it. Emily, and another friend, Diana, had been walking with Cassie, and their stares fell grimly upon him.

What had everybody been told?

Nick couldn’t do this here.

“Can I chat with you somewhere…privately…now?” he asked. Cassie’s face quizzed, but those of her friends turned downright dangerous, almost snarling.

“Yeah, of course,” Cassie smiled, “I wanted to ask you something anyway. Let’s head to your locker.”

“Great,” Nick squirmed, his dread fully coalescing. Now he would have to say the apology, and it would have to be good. He still wasn’t sure what would come of it, though. Whenever he’d worded an apology in the past, there was always some semblance that you were looking for forgiveness - that perhaps somebody had misinterpreted your actions, you didn’t mean for it to hurt so much, and that maybe the person should meet you halfway somewhere.

On this issue though, there was no clawing back, no compromise. This was an apology to admit that he was a poor human being. He had no idea how to approach a situation of no reprieve. What would be sufficient?

Cassie’s friends were dismissed, and stared ungraciously as they walked away. Cassie then shifted, and Nick moved alongside her, off to his locker.

“I’m sorry about Saturday night,” they both said in unison, then halted where they stood.

“You’re sorry?” Nick coughed, his brain whirring. “What on earth are you sorry for?”

“What are you sorry for?” Cassie threw back, equally confused.

“I…I sexually assaulted you!” Nick blurted in a course whisper, admitting it aloud for the first time. Strangely, he didn’t expect to convince Cassie of this fact before apologising for it. “I pushed you so far that you had to make up a medical reason to get out of it. I know you didn’t have your period. There was no blood on my hands!”

“Nick…jesus, no…” Cassie said, then frowned. “You thought you did that?”

And before Nick could speak, she continued.

“You would have done that?”

“I…no…” Nick choked. Had his guilt not proven that, yes, he would have done it, even if he didn’t intend to? “Jesus no. I thought I was getting approval from you. I thought I was doing all of the right things, and then you got scared and ran away. I realised when you left that I never actually asked…”

“Huh…” Cassie quizzed, her eyes glazed in her thought. “I never noticed that…”

“You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on, here,” Nick said, wishing to push this conversation away from his shame. “Because I’ve been rightfully expecting police at my door the whole weekend.”

“You could have texted me, you know?” Cassie said.

“I didn’t want to do that without a proper apology! You can’t say sorry for something like that over text.”

“I mean, yeah, that’s fair enough,” Cassie nodded, agreeing. “No, Nick, I had a really good date with you. It was great, and you did not do anything I was uncomfortable with.”

“Are you sure?” Nick asked, not believing it. His anxiety hadn’t been caged and boiling over for this.

“Yes, absolutely,” Cassie said. “Don’t you remember me pushing your hand down there?”

Nick tried to remember that detail, but honestly couldn’t. His body had been held inflated by pressurised anxiety for over 24 hours, and it steamed out of his ears, letting him fall to a puddle on the floor.

Nick would never forget to explicitly ask for consent.

“I don’t remember that,” he said, finally.

“Well, I did.” Cassie insisted. “I didn’t get my period, but I did have discharge. I just thought that was difficult and gross to explain. You touched it, and everything…”

That would explain the lack of blood. Nick felt quite content now in his puddle.

“You don’t know how much shame I’ve felt over the past two days…” Nick blurted from his content pooling.

“You really didn’t need to,” Cassie said. “Although, I’m really glad that you have enough sense and self-reflection to think you’ve hurt somebody. Consent is something not a lot of guys really understand.”

“Me included, apparently.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Cassie chuckled. “You were very careful when we were on my bed. It took some very obvious signs to get you to keep making moves,” she bit her lip, reminiscing, then continued. “Anyway, anyway, I enjoyed the night, I really did.”

“I’m very glad, because I did too.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to meet at mine before Luke’s party on Saturday? We can go in together.”

Nick very much liked the sound of that. He jumped from his puddle, leaping for joy.

“Yes, absolutely!” he beamed. “A nappyless party…it’ll be just like your dream reality - Gossip Girl without the nappies.”

“Haha, I suppose it will.” Cassie agreed.

And he turned to leave - although to where he wasn’t sure, because the pair were already on the way to his locker and that was the only place he was headed anyway - but paused, a question on his tongue.

“If you’re fine with what happened on saturday,” he posed to Cassie, “then what’s the rumour that’s flying around the place?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard yet?” she grinned, leaning in. “Johno’s home sick again. People think he’s down with The Shittening - take two.

“For all of our sakes, I sure hope not,” Nick laughed.

Chapter 2

Nick saw Laura later in the day when he came home. This was the first time he’d really seen her since his date with Cassie, given that he spent Sunday morning with Lachie and she had spent Sunday night with Sarah and Claire. He found her standing over the kitchen island bench scooping greek yogurt into a bowl of fruit, wearing nothing but a thick nappy and a lilac crop top. When she saw him, her face drew a sneer, which was quickly hidden.

“Good to see you too,” he grumbled, trudging into the kitchen to fetch a banana.

“I heard you’re going to Luke’s party on Saturday,” Laura said - really, a fine opener. Combined with the earlier expression, Nick was sure that Laura had some scheme bubbling away, ready to hatch. All he had to do was take her bait and find out.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, settling onto the bench. Laura picked up her yogurt bowl to face him. “No-nappy party, you know. Should be good. I’m going with Cassie.”

“Little birdies told me that already,” she smiled, too sweetly.

What is she planning? “Well, I mean, it’s not a secret, is it?” Nick asked.

Laura shrugged, pivoting to bounce towards the telly. Nick found himself following. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what you’ve told your friends, but Cassie has told nobody.”

Nick halted. He’d thought nothing of Cassie wanting to discuss their date and the following party in private, away from her friends, when he thought he’d assaulted her, but that wasn’t the case. Had she not mentioned their date to anybody?

No, this was just one of Laura’s tactics. Nick couldn’t give away too much information - in this exchange, he would be his own weak link.

“Why do you think I’d trust you, poo-pants Laura, for gossip? You and your friends don’t exactly run in my circles,” Nick rebutted, throwing away the question.

Laura smirked. “My ears get around, don’t you worry about that.”

“Fine,” Nick huffed, blowing her off, he found his seat on the couch’s head as Laura lounged across it. She lay on her back, yogurt resting on her chest, and her legs tucked up to her butt. “What does any of this matter anyway? I’m going to this party, and you’re not.”

Laura laughed at the assumption, shaking her head.

It couldn’t be… Laura had said nothing, but Nick heard her loud and clear.

“You’re coming to a nappyless party?”

Laura nodded, smile spreading across her face.

“You?” Nick quizzed again, glancing at the puffy nappy which splayed her legs apart. “Who would you even go with.”

“All of my friends,” Laura said. “You know, Claire, Sarah, Jamie…”

“How will you get into a nappyless party?” Nick asked. He knew that Laura could control herself - or, at least, barring any fantastic evidence in the last weeks past the hockey game, it was an almost certain suspicion - but perhaps she now knew that he knew it.

“Without a nappy, of course.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve never gone without one a day in your life. You’ll surely shit yourself.” He laid the bait, waiting for her to take it. Nick still thought that this was some insane plan from Laura. If anything, she would just make a scene of herself. He didn’t see how a self-sabotage ditch to forego nappies could bite him on the arse.

“You think I’m scared of that?” Laura chuffed, shaking her head. “I mess my pants every day, dude. I’m not afraid of a little pee and poop.

“The nappyless, on the other hand,” she continued. “I think it bothers the toilet-trained much more than it bothers me.”

Nick’s face fell, and Laura must have seen it for her grin grew astronomical.

What did she mean by that? Nick’s mind buzzed. She didn’t mind pooping her pants, but toilet-trained did…was Laura going to do something to Nick’s four-year bathroom streak? Was that her threat?

This had become a nuclear-level standoff.

()The crinkle of a nappy, and a light crackling sound broke Nick from his daydream. Laura lay beneath him with a scrunched and strained face, her body tense, and her legs folded to her ass.

The seat of her nappy was expanding, poking outwards as a mess silently pushed within.

“Oh, come on!” He growled, standing off the couch. Laura grunted, her body squirming. Her face went red and her legs writhed about in the air, until finally a squishy crackle rumbled from her nappy, and she relaxed.

“I am not cleaning that,” Nick folded his arms. “That’s a Greg-job.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet, don’t worry,” Laura sang sweetly. “It’s never done on the first push.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Nick said, thinking of that awful change a few weeks ago, where he had to hold the nappy to her tummy for dear life. Speaking of changes, Nick was reminded of Saturday night, of that one change he hadn’t done.

“Don’t suppose your new boss lets you shit on the job?” he asked, remembering the job interview which was coupled to that night. Thank god her mess didn’t stink - yet - so he could stick around to tease her for her successes.

“Oh, don’t be such a dick,” Laura said, shying away, and Nick could immediately sense the hurt in her voice and see it paining her face. How had he gone too far just now?

“Didn’t think I was that rude,” he shrugged. “You applied for a job, remember? When’s the first shift.”

“I didn’t get the job, shit-nuts,” she said, her eyes rolling. Laura pulled herself up to sit on the couch, which drew Nick to cringe. How did she so nonchalantly mush her shit into her ass like that?

“Didn’t get the job?” It clicked for him. He seriously hadn’t expected that. “Why not?”

“They wanted somebody with more toilet training,” she said. “I wore a nappy which didn’t show under my clothes, and she loved my resume and thought I’d be a perfect fit…”

Yes, I’m sure they did…

“…but she could smell poo on me, because I couldn’t clean myself well enough. So I didn’t get the job, because I had to change myself.”

Nick thought that he might have felt guilty, to be the cause of her singular failure in life, but purposeful embarrassment was the game which Laura levered against him all the time.

To him, this was finally the nappied brat getting some comeuppance.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, just sincerely enough. “I guess they were right, though. Can’t have people stinking up the store. Maybe training is something you’ll have to consider.”

And before he could hear her reply, before she could see the grin which formed across his face, Nick turned to leave, marching towards the stairs.

He never expected so much glee in having his first real victory against Laura, but he knew that she especially deserved this blow.

What he didn’t want to consider, however, was what revenge his bratty step sister had in mind for such a transgression of her ego.

He chose not to ponder it, instead taking his victory.

Chapter 3

The night of the party came quickly around, and apart from a few wordless nappy changes, Nick and Laura had barely spoken.

It was strange then, that in the afternoon of a busy Saturday, after days of avoiding each other, Nick ran into his step sister in the local bottle-o (grog / alcohol / liquor shop).

Nick had been tasked with collecting tonight’s drinks by Cassandra, who was busy all day, off at a dancing rehearsal. He had happily obliged, given that she would host their small pre-drinks, and had planned his trip to the grog shop right before he’d get dressed and head over. Coming into the shop’s sliding doors, hit with the sanitary smell of a Saturday night in situ, Nick made a beeline for the spirits section. Cost-to-alcohol calculations were one of the only things in Nick’s intelligence-repertoire, and he knew exactly what he was going to buy for an efficient and tasty time.

It was no surprise, then, when he found Laura inspecting one of the bottles of vodka which he had come to buy. At least at the store, her nappy was less obvious. It was pressed up under a pair of jeans, the waistband hidden by how high the jeans rode up her stomach.

Nick remembered to be cool, and sauntered his way over once he’d spotted the girl, confidently grabbing the bottle next to the one she held.

“I see you’ve done the math, too,” he said. “Not surprising.”

“If you’re here, then I must have done the calculations wrong,” Laura frowned, placing the bottle back. “Just getting yourself drunk for cheap?”

“I’m here buying drinks for Cassie, too,” Nick said. “You know, because I’m a generous, young gentleman.”

“Cassie is a cheap date, I guess,” Laura shrugged, lips drawn. “Truly a top-notch gentleman you’re making of yourself, Nick, buying based on the price-to-drunk ratio.”

Nick snarled, cursing Laura’s quick tongue. “She likes vodka and vanilla coke, alright. I know what she wants.”

“Ah, I see,” Laura hummed. “You did the bare minimum. Here’s your earned pat on the back.” And she reached out to pat Nick’s collar, but he flinched out of the way. “I’m sure she’ll love it - alcohol really helps her to pass her movements. I hope you keep a toilet in sight.”

That’s not what Nick had expected. “Excuse me?” he said.

“Oh, you know, poor girl. Happens to the worst of us - including me.”

“What are you implying, Laura? That she pisses herself?”

“I know she’s done at least that much when hanging out with you,” Laura said, tapping her chin, “and alcohol never helps with that, does it? But hey, at least she feels that comfortable around you.”

How did Laura know about Cassie pissing her pants on their kart-racing night? Nick hadn’t told anybody, and Cassie would never have dared to. Where did Laura get her gossip from?

“Anyway, I’ve got to keep looking. My friends demand drinks too.” Laura said, and moved away, shifting down the aisle. “Good luck with your cheap date.”

Nick was left perplexed. Laura either was the exact centre of all gossip in all the known universe, or she had an incredible sleight-of-tongue which could wind any victims in a snare of their own assumptions. It became obvious now that the girl’s dump-stat was bowel control, the points from which she used to max-out her intelligence.

How did she know about Cassie pissing herself? Such a rare event - so rare, he’d never heard of it happening before to Cassie - and one shared in secret.

Nick realised that whatever Laura was planning tonight, she was far too many steps ahead of him, and he was doomed.


Laura walked out of the grog shop with the second cheapest bottle of vodka. She’d have escaped with the cheapest, if Nick hadn’t arrived and forced her to take him down a peg.

That young man was landing himself in trouble. Laura didn’t know what Cassie wanted with him, but Laura knew that Cassie could be heartless and devious, and she pictured that Nick was going to get badly hurt in whatever was to come.

Clearly, Cassie had Nick trapped squarely in her snare. Laura only wondered what the vixen had offered her brother to earn such loyalty.

She had a plan, though, to ruffle the feathers of the couple, and break apart Cassie’s motivations. Luckily, the recipient of her bought bottle of vodka would help her to execute it. The cheap liquor was not intended for Laura’s underage friends, as she’d told Nick. This bottle was for an old friend - somebody whom Laura was not surprised had invited her over for pre-drinks before the party.

Laura would be pre-drinking and rocking-up with Lachie.

It was unexpected that he ask her to the party, but not unforeseeable. The boy’s crush had been obvious for years. Laura had no idea what she’d done to be so enchanting to the lad back in year ten, but her impression had withstood the test of time, and even the pressures of his antagonistic friendships. So much so that he still thought to ask her places, in the hopes that she’d say yes.

It wasn’t even a friendship which Laura had wanted to let rot away. Lachie was the one who had become nasty to her, at the behest of his image. Nick and Tom had taken that potential ally from her. They had corrupted him in the way that boys do when they had to grapple at their straws of superiority, and Lachie had conformed.

Then the boy had turned really rude, growing inexcusable. His insecurities oozed from him, printed on his face and clothes in bold letters.

At least that made him easy to read.

Laura might usually have rejected his advances, as they often were crude things, but going to this party with Lachie offered a unique opportunity which she couldn’t ignore. Laura had already formulated a plan for the night to expose Cassie’s character to Nick, but entering with Lachie would afford her social leverage to get much closer than she’d previously hoped. It fit very well into the night she saw unfolding.

Laura just hoped that Lachie didn’t think this was a date, because she’d been very clear that those were not the grounds on which she had accepted his offer, and that she just wanted a drink with the man. Perhaps, though, accepting such an invitation was a universal calling card of romance, despite her insistence otherwise.

Laura would just have to wait and see, and let him down easy.

Chapter 4

Nick and Cassie sat in the back of her Mum’s car, lips interlocked in a disgusting display. Her Mum, who had to steal glances in the rear-view mirror for road-safety purposes, tried to keep her eyes glued ahead, ignoring the action taking place directly behind her. She sat stiff as she drove.

This was in stark opposition to Nick and Cassie, whose bodies flowed fluidly into and between each others’ curious, writhing hands. Tonight Cassie wore a mid-length, white dress, whose long-sleeved bodice was made of twisting lace around a plunging neckline. Nick had worn his white pants to match, with a black, sheer top. It was probably the most adventurous thing he’d worn out, and it was Cassie’s idea.

He was surprised that this girl, whom he’d only been on one official date with, was so keen to let his personality shine. He let his hands roam up and over her laced waist, clutching into the groove of her hips. Her body was insane, and a joy to squeeze and hold near. Nick himself couldn’t believe this situation - he was hooking up with somebody who, to him, was the hottest girl in school.

There had to be some catch - but there wasn’t. This was just reality. Tongues dancing between mouths, lips intertwined and melding with each other.

Life was good, man.


Laura arrived at Lachlan’s house to find the man with hair amess, not yet dressed, and with an open beer can in hand. Whilst Laura had come prepared, made up, and ready to shock the party, Lachie looked like he hadn’t even thought about waking up yet today.

Why’d I bother with the vodka if he’s already got beers?

“Still getting dressed, I see,” Laura commented as he let her in. Lachie smiled dumbly, somehow shrugging off the attack to his character, and showed her in towards his couch. The house was dark and empty, and although it was quite well made-up, the turned-off lights past the sunset hour cast it into a dingy moonlight. Laura accepted her seat, throwing her purse and nappy-bag down to the side, although felt uneasy in it.

“Sorry to be unprepared, had a lot to sort out today,” Lachie said, scratching his neck. “But I’m going to go and get changed now. Want a drink while you wait?”

Laura thought that if she needed to preserve her control tonight, she should probably start drinking at the party rather than before it. Still, she hadn’t taken her nappy off yet, so she had a fall-back.

“Yeah, why not. If you’ve got coke and a glass, I’ve got the vodka.”

“Got you covered,” Lachie said, and wandered off into his kitchen. He came back with a half filled, and sparkling clean glass of black fizz. Laura was glad to see how clean the kitchenware was, and cracked open her bottle to pour it in. Just a baby-sip, so that she could preserve herself.

Lachie showed himself out of the lounge room, but poked his head back in, as if he’d forgotten something.

“Oh, and you look really nice. Should have said that,” he said, then disappeared again.

“Thanks,” Laura said as flatly as she could, but found herself blushing. She had on the tightest pair of jeans she could find around the house, to really impress anybody who assumed she’d never make such a party. On top of that, a black top hung off one shoulder and came down to the high waist of the jeans, where it puffed out in a frill. She currently wore a thin nappy underneath it all, but would take it off before they left.

After five minutes Lachie re-emerged from the darkness of the hallway, into the dim glow of the TV which Laura had helped herself to. He wore a suave and crisp shirt, tucked into patterned trousers. His mid-length, blonde hair was gelled back, revealing the razor line of his usually-hideous undercut. The boy really did scrub up well, and whatever favour his style had earned him was ruined when he pulled a second beer from thin air, cracked the tab, and downed it in a single swoop.

“Well, you were charming until that,” Laura noted, making the boy blush.

“I thought the chug added to the outfit.”

“Maybe at the party it would.”

“Right,” he hummed, frowning, and slammed the dead can onto the nearby kitchen bench. “Time to go. I’ll drive?”

“You’ll drive?!” Laura gagged. The boy had put down two beers in 20 minutes, he couldn’t be in a fit state to drive, even if it were legal for 18-year-olds to have any alcohol in their system behind the wheel. Laura was offended that he’d even suggest such a thing. “You just necked two of those things, and you think I’ll feel safe in a car you’re driving?”

“What, this?” Lachie said, peering to his can, he then laughed, and tossed the it to Laura. Why he assumed that she’d catch it, she never knew, but somehow the can landed in her outstretched hand. Lachie was bloody lucky that none of it landed on her, because if it did…

Examining the can, Laura saw that it was a boutique soft drink.

I didn’t take Lachie for a man to be boutique anything, she grumbled to herself. Why is he closeted-cool instead of just owning it?

“It’s a soft drink, no alcohol involved.”

“I got that far,” Laura said, placing the can on the coffee table. “You’ve got cool tastes - why do you hide it?”

“Eh, don’t need to go rubbing things in people’s faces,” he said. “But I’m bringing the pack of them to the party tonight.”

“To mix with our vodka?” Laura asked.

Lachie tilted his hand from side to side, frowning. “Probably later on. I’ll piss myself if I get on the drinks too early. Don’t tell anybody I said that.”

Laura laughed, then stood from the couch. “Safe with me,” she said, and a hurt look came to the boy’s face. She wondered what she’d said wrong. “Don’t worry, I don’t judge.”

“Oh, I know that,” he smiled again. “I’m just wondering, will you be alright tonight? I’ve never seen you without a nappy.”

Laura then remembered her predicament - she had to find his bathroom and change. She had her sole pair of underwear in her nappy-bag, ready for the night.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got some control,” she said, choosing not to elaborate further. “Speaking of which, where’s your toilet? I should change out of it.”

Lachlan showed her the bathroom, let her change, and soon, the two were on their way.


Nick and Cassie stepped out of the car, his lips painted bright red by her lipstick. She reached back in for her purse, when her Mum threw a duffel bag back from the front passenger seat.

“Don’t you want your full bag?” her mother asked, but Cassie grumbled.

“No, Mum, I don’t need it,” she said, and slung her purse over her shoulder. Nick could see the girl had gone red, but chose not to comment.

What’s so embarrassing about a bag? he wondered.

With the door closed, her mum zipped off, leaving them to step down the long, concrete driveway to the party. Luke’s house was built onto a hill which sloped down to the back of the block. A steel shed sat at the bottom of the hill past the house, which the driveway ran to. It’s pivot door was pulled down, but from the cracks poured disco lights and party smoke out onto the concrete and lawn. Nick extended a hand for Cassie to take, to help her down the slope in her heels. She accepted it, but with a particularly ginger grip for somebody who’d been ramming her tongue down his throat a minute ago.

In fact, once they cleared the house, not even at the end of the slope, she released his hand entirely, taking a step to the side as people came into view.

Nick felt a little hurt by that, and was reminded of what Laura had told him - did Cassie’s friends know that he and her were hooking up? As the pair came into sight of the crowd, Emily and Diana screamed in that piercing, annoying scream that drunk girls emitted, and shuffled across the grass over to them. The party was held in the backyard to the right of the shed, with a good thirty people standing on the mown grass with drinks in hand. In the centre of the affair, a goon sack (boxed wine bag) hung from a hills’ hoist (revolving clothesline - google it), with teens waiting underneath the spinning drink for their turn on its teat. Next to that, a bonfire bubbled away in a pit.

No safety hazards there… Nick considered, as Emily and Diana made their way over. Cassie greeted them in open arms, and it was in that moment that Nick realised neither of the friends had come to say hi to him. They swooped Cassie up in some shrieking yammer, and escorted her over to the fire pit. She made no fuss as they did so, not once looking over her shoulder to Nick, or giving him any signal to follow.

He’d been left there on the driveway, like a cold, wet dog.

Nick looked down to the near-full bottle of grog in his hand, and the litre of soft drink in the other, and thought that he better find the esky (ice-bin, cooler), or else they’d go warm.

“I’m just…gonna find the ice…” Nick called to Cassie as she was pulled away, but she gave no response or acknowledgement.

Cool, cool, cool, he pouted, then peered about. He couldn’t see the host, Daz, nor Tom or Lachie out here in the grassy backyard. There wasn’t even a sign of Laura out on the grass - Nick and Cassie must have been really early to beat the nerd here. He shrugged, and looked to the shed. The dancing spot was probably where his mates would be, so he ventured towards its side door.

The steel sheet door crunched on its rusty hinges, scraping painfully against the concrete floor. Smoke billowed from its crevices, pouring out onto the grass as it swung open. Lights bounced across Nick’s face, and it took him a moment before he could comprehend the space.

A squashed circle of friends jumped on the concrete, dancing to the wub which bounced out of two, giant speakers. Amongst them, Tom and Luke were grooving out.

The rest of the group, however, was made of all Laura’s friends. Nick could see Claire, Sarah, and Jamie amongst them.

Then Laura is here already, Nick thought, and lugged his vodka and coke over to Luke. The raving man, noticing Nick, ejected himself from the dancing circle, and embraced his friend.

“Nick, Nick, Nikkie-my-boy, glad you could make it,” he said, delivering Nick a large slap on the back. The shock of it almost had Nick drop his vodka.

“Nothing could have stopped me from coming,” Nick said, trying to match the energy. “Any place for drinks?”

“Ah, those,” Luke gestured to the bottles. “Yeah, behind the speakers there’s a fridge on its back, filled with ice. Chuck them in there.”

“Fridge full of ice, got it,” Nick said, although past the smoke he couldn’t see this mysteriously repurposed fridge. He assumed that the appliance must have died long ago, or else Luke was dumber than he looked.

Nick nodded a greeting to Tom, who continued his dancing, and made his way over and past the speakers. Sure enough, an old 50’s style fridge was shipwrecked on its back, it’s door held open like a treasure chest. Nick placed his bottles inside, and set the lid back down.

“Could you open that back up?” a girl said over his shoulder just as it shut. Nick obliged, opening it as he stood and turned.

Claire had come for a drink.

“Hey, is Laura here?” Nick asked her. She searched for her cans in the slosh, humming.

“No, she was coming on her own,” Claire said, standing with her drink. “Thought you’d know where she was. I was about to ask you the same.”

“I’ve got no idea,” Nick said, feeling uneasy. Laura had managed to cover her tracks for the night, and this did not bode well. As always, Nick wondered just what the girl’s end goal was.

Still, here for the night, and assuming that Cassie would brush him off again, Nick waltzed over to Tom, and joined the dancing circle.

“How’ya goin’, mate?” Tom asked, slapping Nick’s hand.

“Yeah, good. Good ride here…” he said, mind travelling back to the make-out session.

“You come with Lachie?” Tom asked.

“Lachie? Nah, thought he’d already be here,” Nick said, “I came with Cassie.”

“With Cassie, did you? You cheeky devil, Nick,” Tom grinned, smile from ear to ear. “Fun ride, was it?”

“Aw, you know how it is mate. A little fun,” Nick teased, and Tom cheered.

“You’re just the best, aren’t you, mate?”

Nick nodded, although felt hollow in his celebration. Cassie wouldn’t even be seen dead next to him at this party - was she ashamed of their intimacy? That didn’t make Nick feel so special, even after Tom’s eager cheerleading.

“Anyway, righto about Lachie,” Tom said, continuing his dancing. “Tell me when you see him. I owe him 5 bucks.”

“Not like him to miss the start of a party,” Nick hummed, but quickly forgot his concerns. There was dancing to be done - and, weirdly, Cassie to avoid, at least until she came crawling back to him.


Lachie pulled his shitbox to the gutter, just a few houses down from the noise and lights. Laura decided that the boy was a fine driver - extra courteous, and not a hint of rage, even when he’d been cut off in the worst way she’d ever witnessed. He was more level headed than she’d remembered.

Clearly he’s just better on his own than he is with his mates.

She picked up her nappy-purse by instinct as she left the car, and Lachie gave her a tut.

“You’re not going to need that, not in jeans,” he said. “I thought you were up for making a splash?”

“Not a literal one!” she laughed.

“Yeah, well, no nappies, no nappy bag. I reckon that’ll send the full message,” he urged her on, “You wanted to rock up as bad-bitch Laura, and here you go.”

“B-B Laura indeed,” Laura nodded along, and let her hand drift from the bag. “As long as you’re always in sight and don’t leave without me. I’ll need some supplies later on.”

“You can trust me,” he winked. “No further than viewing distance.”

“Good,” Laura smiled, and clambered out of the car. She and Lachie descended the driveway together, side by side.


Nick had stepped outside after maybe five songs, feeling the blood beat around his body from all of that dancing. His heart seemed to pump it out of his skin, letting sweat bead all over. He must have looked a mess, but he was having fun. He gulped down the last of his drink, and considered getting more, but feared entering the sweat-shed again.

It was at that moment that he peered towards the party exit, thinking the street would probably be the best place to cool down. He took a step towards the concrete, then halted.

Around the corner of the house came Laura and Lachie, arriving together.

Whatever plan Laura had been threatening, it had been well underway tonight before anybody could have realised it, and his good mate Lachie would be the collateral damage.

Nick was furious.

Chapter 5

Nick sauntered his way over, a wide handshake offered to Lachie as the couple came towards the backyard.

“Mate, good to see ya,” he said. Lachie saw the extended hand just in time, and fumbled with his phone in order to reciprocate.

“Yeah, mate, good seein’ ya,” Lachie nodded along, pulled in by Nick’s strong grip.

“Laura,” Nick nodded, letting his mate free. Lachie stumbled out of the tight hold, catching his footing on the grass. “Can I have a word?”

Lachie looked ashamed as he shrunk away, clutching to his cans of fizzy drink. “Gimme the voddies, I’ll put it in the esky,” he said to Laura, and she handed him the bottle .

“Good afternoon, Nick,” Laura greeted formally, and Nick huffed.

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Nick grumbled, getting straight to business. “But I want my mates out of the crossfire. You and I both know that Lachie has a soft spot for you, and I won’t have you tearing his heart out just to shit on me.”

Laura scoffed, shaking her head. “Nick, please,” she soothed. “I know he has a crush, I told him that this is no date. I’m going to give you my word now that I’m not going to embarrass you tonight. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why did you risk being nappyless to come?”

“My agendas tonight run a little higher than you or Lachie’s pay grades, Nick,” she said, talking down to him. “I know that might be hard for you to comprehend.”

Who is even above my station for Laura to hate? Nick grumbled. As far as food chains went, Nick was one of the sole survivors of The Shittening, one of the first out of nappies in the year level, and one of the founders of that group. Nick was, without blowing his own trumpet, just about one of the coolest guys in school now that he was in year twelve. Nick could only think of one other person who shared that rung and nappyless-streak with him, and she’d been avoiding him all night.

Laura’s going to fuck with Cassie, isn’t she?

Lachie returned just then, holding a drink out for Laura. It looked like a vodka-and-coke, but he must have dropped the bloody coke cans before he got them to the fridge, because it was fizzing like a geyser. Bubbles almost boiled over the edge of the strange drink. Laura grabbed it with a sweet smile, and took her first sip.

Nick turned to Lachie, hoping to get him away from Laura. “Hey, I think Tom’s got something for you,” he said.

“Yeah, he should do,” Lachie nodded. “You seen him yet?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him. I’ll take ya over,” Nick smiled, and led his friend away. Laura did not follow.

I’ll have to keep an eye on her, Nick thought as he slunk away. Still, if Cassie was going to avoid him - for whatever reason she was doing it - it would be difficult to get close and warn her of what was to come. Once in the rave-cave, he pondered his next move.


Nick finished up a game of beer pong inside the shed. He and Tom had their asses handed to them by Luke and Claire - and really, that was the best way for beer pong to be. If drinking was the aim, and you only got to drink more the harder you ‘lost’, then why play to win at all? This was a scam which Nick and Tom had been running for years. If you lost the game without sinking a single of the opposing team’s cups, then that was ten drinks for you and ten for your mate. It was an absolute profit.

Usually, Nick entertained this con wholly, but he’d been roped into it tonight by Tom, when he’d rather be watching Laura and Cassie. Whilst Cassie didn’t enter the rave-cave, he did see Laura come in and make her way over to the fallen fridge. She took her bottle of vodka and shipment of coke, making a deliberate effort not to look at Nick as she traversed the space.

Nick had to wonder what the girl’s end-game was. If she got drunk, she’d probably lose control, right? Without nappies, it seemed like Laura’s only plan was to make a fool out of herself.

When he was finally able to draw himself away from the beer-pong table, he stepped out into the backyard to observe the girl’s plan in action.

There, across the yard and its healthy fire, Nick spotted Laura chatting in a group with Lachie, Cassie, and Cassie’s other mates. Laura was topping up Cassie’s drink, with his bottle of vodka.

Nick supposed that Cassie could avoid him no longer. He marched his way over to the group.

Laura spotted him from a mile away, tightening the lid to the long glass bottle. She gestured to him as he rounded the hills’ hoist, inviting the circle to watch. In that moment, he had to adjust his demeanor severely, wiping the aggression from his step. With Laura, Nick really was always on the back foot.

“I don’t suppose you were always friends with my friends, were you?” he asked Laura, trying to remain cool. She scoffed.

“Maybe I should be,” Laura chuckled, and took a sip of her now-calm drink. “I mean, you left this beautiful lady without a drink.” And she tipped the bottle towards Cassie.

“Perhaps a drink refill was what I came to do. I just had to find my vodka bottle first.”

“Over an hour into the party?” Laura quizzed, “Your poor madame was parched. Is that any way to treat your date?”

To the mention of ‘date’ Cassie’s face dropped red, and her friends Emily and Diana eyed each other with a confused, almost offended glance. Nick went to explain why he hadn’t yet filled his Cassie’s drink, but the girl spoke up just as his lips moved.

“You think Nick and I are dating?” Cassie asked Laura, almost incredulous. “Come on, we’re just friends.We just arrived at the same time tonight. Right, Nick?”

Cassie turned to Nick, her eyes begging him for an answer - to play along. On the perimeter of this small circle, all attention fell to him, awaiting his answer. Nick felt his stomach fall out. Just friends? He’d assumed that he and Cassie were at least interested in each other, if not actively on a date. That said, he’d never clarified that with her, not today, and not on either of the other dates.

Nick might have been scant on the details in his recounting of their dates, but he had mentioned their involvements to his friends. He could understand Cassie not wanting to divulge all of the details - which were admittedly embarrassing on her part - but he was hoping that she’d at least mentioned the dates themselves.

“Yeah, that’s right. Just friends,” Nick swallowed his pride. Emily and Diana seemed to smile at that, although Laura’s grin only frew wider.

“Is that the case?” she asked. “I mean, what about two weeks ago, when you abandoned our study session to go and hang out at Cassie’s house? Or just last saturday, when you two went out to the pub and then back to hers until late? Didn’t think the two of you were that good of friends.”

Cassie’s eyes were hanging out of her skull, vessels breaking in their whites. With all of the crumbs on the floor, Nick was more than happy to admit that romance was in the air. Cassie, however, spoke before him once again.

“People can hang out alone, Laura,” Cassie insisted. “We’re not going out.”

“Sorry, I must have misinterpreted the late nights and Nick’s giddy faces. I was just getting excited for my step-bro,” Laura frowned, shrugging.

“Looks like it,” Cassie pouted. “I’m not even attracted to Nick, we’re just friends!”

Not even attracted? That was a harsh step to divert Laura’s questioning. Whilst Nick kinda understood denying the dates, so not to explain them, he didn’t see the need to be so brutal with it. His face fell red from embarrassment, and he grabbed Laura by the shoulder.

“Come on, we need a chat,” he said, tugging her off the group. But she kept her feet planted.

“What can’t you discuss here?” she asked.

“Lots of things,” Nick said, pulled at the girl. “Come on.”

Laura allowed herself to be pulled along, off past the fire and up to the back wall of the cottage-style house. A drunk lad stumbled around them as he tripped off the back stairs, off into the firelit backyard.

“What’s your game here?” Nick growled. “You said you weren’t here to embarrass me, so what’s that all about?”

“Embarrass you?” Laura chuffed, offended. “I’m trying to liberate you, idiot. She just admitted loud and clear that she doesn’t like you. I’m trying to get you to see that she’s not a good person like you seem to think.”

“Maybe what Cassie and I are is a conversation we’d rather have privately, so we can work it out.”

“She just said that you’re not even attractive.”

“She was trying to divert the attention and questioning!” Nick said, strangely backing-up Cassie’s point of view. He didn’t picture that tonight had positioned him to do so, but here he was, defending her. “I mean, Cassie is big business, and so are her secrets. When you sit on the top of social ladders, you tend to want to avoid points of gossip like this. I don’t think that’s something you’d understand.”

“Please, Emily and Diana have already chewed Cassie’s ear off about this, couldn’t you read their faces?” Laura said. “She would have told her friends about your first date. Of course, they disapproved, and now you’re the guilty secret.”

“Why does that matter?” Nick rebutted. “I can climb my way back from there.”

“Why does it…?” Laura huffed, shaking her head. “Nick, how many more times are you going to hang out with this girl, get invited to parties where she walks away from you, and spend time orbiting her in public like a lost and hungry dog whilst she claims you mean nothing to her? How long are you going to wait for a scrap of approval in public?”

“As long as it takes, I guess,” Nick shrugged. “We just kissed first, like, a week ago. You have to let things brew longer than that.”

“Nick, you’re dense,” Laura said, fingers rubbing her brow. “You’ve got to have a little more self-respect than that. You’ve got to value yourself a little higher than to degrade yourself in the chase for a girl just because she’s astronomically hot. I mean, ask yourself, she’s hot, but is she worth it? I’m telling you, she’s not good, and you just saw it.”

“Laura, you put us both on the spot…”

“She put herself on that spot! She went farther than I pushed her!” Laura growled, then sighed, giving up. “God, I should have just let you play-out your own night. She would have done the same to you asking why she was avoiding you, then maybe you’d have learned your lesson.”

Nick was deeply hurt by Cassie’s words and reaction - especially her refusal to own their intimacy in public. Her abandoning him at this party had hurt him more than he cared to admit. Despite that, it was so easy to be mindlessly contrarian against Laura’s onslaught, and he didn’t want to cede this argument to her yet. He’d rather win this fight than admit that Laura had a point.

“You know, you didn’t have to drag Lachie into this plan of yours…” Nick said, trying to swing the conversation so that he didn’t have to cede any amount of defeat. Laura quizzed a look at him, confused by the pivot.

“I mean, you’re right, I didn’t,” she said, immediately giving ground to Nick. “He was the one who invited me here. And I made sure to tell him that I wasn’t interested, and he accepted that. I didn’t drag him in, but he made my plan a whole lot easier.”

Nick was caught off-guard by Laura’s willingness to agree with him and meet his unvoiced concerns. He’d come here to argue, but she’d come to make a compromise, to convince him in some way. Nick, in a strange moment of brilliance, could see Laura’s claims to ethics and emotion in her persuasive methods. He smiled at the opportunity to make a logical connection.

“I see,” Nick nodded, unsure of what to think now. If Laura really was trying to help him, then why? What did she know which she wouldn’t just plainly state to him?

“So, then. What was this plan of yours?”

Laura went to answer, but swallowed her words, staring past Nick and into the party. He turned, following her surprised gaze to find nothing at its focus. He quizzed her with a glance.

Laura’s tummy whined, breaking the strange silence.

“Nick,” she said, slowly. “Where is the toilet?”

Where was the toilet? Nick hadn’t scoped it out, and that was an awful misstep in retrospect. One had to be aware of lavatories when drinking was involved. He couldn’t see one in the backyard, and he knew nothing of the layout of the house. He also couldn’t see the host, Luke, in his brief scan of the garden.

“I’ll ask Lachie,” he said, thinking that Lachie and Luke were close mates. “Hold on.”

“I don’t think I can,” Laura said. “Hurry, please.”

Nick took the sign, jogging back towards his group of friends. Cassie barely shifted as he came close, which bothered him, drawing his frown.

Lachie wasn’t even there. It was just Cassie, Diana, and Emily.

“I…uh…” Nick gulped, met with one entire dismissal, and two disapproving gazes. “Did anybody see where Lachie went?”

“To the toilet, I think,” Diana said, pouting.

“Ah, cool,” Nick said, and scanned the yard once again, looking for Tom or Luke. He caught Laura’s desperate gaze, urging him onwards.

“Any of you know where that is?” he asked hurriedly.

“Yeah, in the house,” Diana said, unhelpfully.

“Cool, thanks,” Nick grumbled, and turned. Laura was grappling at her stomach, face marked with pain. He now felt that he’d doomed her by wasting time and asking around. He went to jog back over to her, to scoop her off into the house, when the music stopped.

Nick halted to the silence, against his compulsions to run on, wondering what had caused it. He first thought that the power must have gone out, but the lights were on.

“Oh, fuck,” Laura grunted as her stomach rumbled and whirred.

All attention fell to her, standing underneath the house’s rear spotlight.

Then, a wet and sloppy fart trumpeted from her jeans, breaking the quiet. () It was immediately followed by a long and mucky squelch. Laura whined, her face strained. Nick could hear the sloppy shit pouring out of her arse. It came in long and wet bursts, sloshing into the seat of her jeans. A brown rusty streak worked its way down her pants’ leg as the onslaught continued. She turned, unsure where to stand in the oppressive light, revealing the large, dark lump which had grown between her cheeks, and the brown streak which climbed to her waistline. Slushy mess continued to bubble into it, pushing against her pants. Laura finally turned into a blow-out, liquid mess splashing up into the small of her back, staining her top and spilling over.

Then it stopped. The momentum, which had been so quickly sucked from the party, finally returned, but with cruel intent. It was twisted from loud and slurry conversations into pointed fingers and harsh whispers of gossip, the whole party erupting into a sudden ridicule. Everybody knew that somebody would have an accident at this party.

And although Nick had suspected it would be Laura, he hadn’t expected that he would care.

He felt awful for her. Nick felt compelled to do something, even if that was just tugging her from the spotlight and the grassy stage. He shifted to move, but was held back by a hand meeting his. Its fingers found their way around his, taking his hand in a gentle hold. Nick paused, and glanced to his side to see Cassie there, a smug and growing grin plastered to her face.

She finally came to him when all eyes were diverted.

“How embarrassing,” she said, chuckling. “Poor girl comes here to try and embarrass us in front of our friends, what did she expect?”

“You know, I don’t think she’s all that sad about shitting her pants,” Nick said, a strange determination filling him. “She does it every day.”

“Well she should be,” Cassie said. “That’s what she deserves for putting us on the spot.”

“Is it, though?” Nick asked, feeling uncertain. “You think anybody deserves this level of ridicule when they’re trying something new and being brave?”

“You think her spilling our secrets to the world is brave?”

“So, we’re a secret, are we?” Nick asked, dropping Cassie’s hand.

“Well, yes. It’s nothing serious, is it yet?” Cassie shrugged. “I don’t see the need to tell everybody just now.”

“When were you going to tell me that?” Nick asked, his inner self-worth drawing itself forward. “I liked you, but it’s like you’re ashamed to be seen with me.”

Just then, Lachie came into sight, spinning about the confused and deer-eyed Laura. She seemed to clutch to him, hoping for some rescue, but he pushed her off. Then, as she stumbled, he reached for the front waistband of her pants. He grappled her by the belt buckle, pulled her waistband out, then dumped his drink down her pants.

The small wet patch stained, but in its wake another one grew, running fast down her leg. Lachie had made Laura pee herself too.

He burst into laughter, struggling to stand. He went to lean on her, but she threw him off and watched him fall against the house, chuckling madly. The whole party seemed to burn alight with the inertia of it all, the waning whispers giving way to a monstrous cackle.

At his side, Cassie erupted along with the crowd, consumed in the mania. Nick was frozen. If he laughed, he could have his dream hot-date, and keep his life-long mate. If instead Nick listened to his gut, he could deliver Laura some much needed mercy.

Nick couldn’t laugh at this.

He chose mercy.

Chapter 6

Nick barged through the manic party, pushing aside those caught in rapturous laughter. When he came to Laura’s stage, he found rage in her whirring stare. The poor girl stunk, both of piss and shit, and must have thought that after Lachie’s betrayal, nobody was coming to help her. She gritted her teeth, molten frustration oozing out.

“Nick, I swear! If you…”

“Where’s your nappy bag?” Nick asked, and held out his hand to her.

“My nappy bag?”

“Surely you brought it with you?”

“Its…it’s in Lachie’s car,” she said, then raised a brow. “You’re going to help me?”

“Of course I am,” Nick nodded. “You just helped me.” And he turned his attention to Lachlan, who was writhing on the floor, cackling.

“Right, mate,” Nick said, grabbing the thick boy by the scruff of his shirt. “Get that nappy bag, now.”

Truthfully, Lachie had about 20 kilos on Nick, and Nick couldn’t lift the boy up from the front by his clothes, but he still hoped the intimidation worked.

It didn’t.

“Fuck off,” Lachie said, “and laugh a little.”

“At this?”

“You hate Laura, come on!” Lachie wheezed.

“I guess I don’t,” Nick grumbled, and shoved the boy back down. As Lachie lay there, Nick rammed his hand into the boy’s pockets, fishing for his keys. He found something there - although it felt like a collection of things - and he pulled it out.

The keys fell out first, followed by a bottle of laxative.

Nick choked on his disbelief. He threw the bottle at Lachie’s red face, and snatched the keys from the dust. Finally, Lachie attempted to pull himself up, laugh exhausted.

“So you’re the cunt behind this, then,” Nick said, standing.

“Yeah, of course,” Lachie said. “Laura’s a mean person. She told everybody that I pissed the bed! I’d only ever told her that, and she just threw it back at me one day. I didn’t think you’d care about me playing a prank on her.”

“Well I think this was a step too far for revenge, mate,?” Nick said, pointing to Laura behind him. He spun to face her. “I don’t think that she…Laura?”

When he turned, Laura was not where Nick had just left her. He followed the heads of the crowd, which were turning towards the centre of the backyard, past the fire. Sure enough, at the combined focus of their attention, he found Laura marching through the grass. She grappled with Cassie, who was attempting to make a smooth getaway, and spun the girl back to the crowd.

Cassie was more shocked at being handled than having the attention fall to her, and immediately flung a hand to her nose, complaining of the smell.

“Lovely of you to orchestrate this,” Laura said to Cassie, speaking for the crowd to hear. “Extra funny when you’re not trained properly yourself…” and she grabbed at the hem of Cassie’s dress, pulling it all the way up to her waist. Laura made a grand gesture to what she had revealed, her smug grin forming.

Until she actually looked, as everybody else had done, and saw Cassie’s red and lacey undies.

“Wait…what?” Laura barked. “You…oh, never mind.” She lunged, dropping the skirt and reaching for the cup of a bystander. Before Cassie could move away, Laura plunged the girl’s hand deep into the liquid, and tugged her back into the spotlight by the hem of her dress.

Cassie, held hostage and with her undies again on display, immediately wet herself. Pee spurted through the holes of the lace, although some was trapped and sent coursing down her leg.

Then, with a loud crackle and pop, a large and sloppy turd dropped into her undies. The entire party flinched in shock, with Cassie on the verge of tears. Her undies rumbled, and a glob of shit flopped from the side of her panties, falling to the ground with a wet thud.

Laura finally released Cassie’s dress, although the embarrassed girl could move, as her face drew as red as her undies, and the front of her white dress stained dark.

Nick could barely believe what he’d witnessed. Or, he could absolutely believe Cassie wetting herself, because he’d seen it once - maybe even twice, now that he thought about it - before. What he couldn’t believe was how ballsy and cocksure Laura was. How did she know who had set-up this insane night? How did she know that Cassie would lose her bowels in that moment?

As he sat there pondering, something cold and wet splashed against his crotch. Nick could feel the liquid seep into the fabric of his white pants, moisture held tight against his skin. Suddenly, a clock ticked in his head, and his mind was flung back years in the past, to the feeling of a soft stream of pee occupying his pullup. Piss was coming.

Yanking his mind back to the real world, he found Diana sour-faced and in front of him, an empty cup in her hand.

“What the fuck was that for?” Nick asked.

“For what you did to Cassie,” Diana remarked.

“I…what did I do to Cassie?”

“This?” Diana gestured to the poor girl, who was running off into the shadows of the back yard. Nick growled.

“You think I’m smart enough to make some convoluted plan?” he quizzed. “Fuck off, use your brain.” And he pushed past the girl, trudging towards Laura who stood proud right in the centre of the backyard, at the centre of the night’s collective attention.

“Come on you, let’s get out of here before more drinks are thrown around,” he ordered, and Laura nodded. She bounced quickly into his shadow - which was great, because Nick was becoming desperate to piss. He could feel the liquid pooling at the head of his dick, begging for release, pressure piling behind it.

It felt like an impossibly long walk just across the yard, with eyes following him. He wanted to ascend the stairs into the house, to find the bathroom, but the path was clogged with observers, and Nick wasn’t sure if his bladder could handle both the bounce of the staircase and the fumbling against the crowd.

Plus, did Nick have time to find the toilet?

“What will we do?” Laura asked - strange that she would fall back on him, the dumb one, for answers in such a moment where he was braindead. He could only think of holding in pee, looking for an appropriate release. His pants seemed to cry for him that they would take the holy load, but he could not let that happen. Nick would piss anywhere but in his pants.

He was a survivor of the Great Shittening.

“I’m going to change you,” he spewed out his answer, remembering the task at hand. “To Lachie’s car!” And he swung his hips to speed-walk up the driveway. Each step was its own crying agony, piss sloshing against his bladder walls, oscillating down the pipe of his dick. The pressure was building, and it was just too much.

He was 1 metre from darkness, 1 metre from escaping the prying eyes of the night, which he was sure followed him.

Laura pulled ahead, skipping towards the front gate. Watching her move like that was too much. Nick couldn’t hold.

There, at the first line of shadow, he unzipped his pants in the middle of the concrete and whipped his dick out. Nick let forth a mighty, gushing stream.

It really wasn’t polite to whip your dick out in a place like this, and Nick hardly considered this better than pissing himself. He hadn’t held until he found a toilet, or even a good looking bush.

But it wasn’t his pants.

“Hey, you’ve got the keys,” he heard Laura call from behind him. Nick had pocketed them, and didn’t particularly want Laura rummaging in his pockets whilst he stood dick-out.

“Give me a moment,” he said.

“Hold on,” Laura laughed, and scurried over. Nick turned away as quickly as he could, stream swinging to the front lawn. “Oh, I thought you were pissing yourself.”

“Not today,” he said, the stream slowing to a stop. He shook his soldier there, tugging its head for each last drop, then wrapped it back up behind the zip. “Let’s get that nappy.”

“Not going to wash your hands?” Laura sneered as she led the charge towards Lachie’s car. “That’s kinda gross.”

“You’ve literally got sloppy shit all up in your pants. Don’t talk to me about gross.”

Once at the car, Laura took the keys from Nick and pulled forth her nappy bag. She then regarded it with a frown, wondering what the next step could possibly be.

Nick took the bag, finding in it a singular nappy sitting in the big plastic packaging which the whole set had come in. There were also a few wipes, although Nick figured they wouldn’t do much in this circumstance. An idea came to him.

“Take the jeans off. We’ll use them to wipe you down, then chuck them in the big plastic bag.”

“You want to totally ruin them?”

“Then put that nappy on, even if you’re not totally clean. That’ll get us home.”

“I mean, sure,” Laura said, “but I think I’m going to make a mess of that.”

“Fine,” Nick said, keen to get this done and get out of here. “Lay on the grass.”

Laura did so, and Nick prepared for the worst thing he was likely to ever see. Sure, Nick had seen worse messes come out of Laura’s nappies - she’d had plenty of blow-outs before which he’d had to mop up - but this wasn’t a nappy. Those white god-sends were designed to keep the mess in one place, tucked right up into the ass. Jeans, though, weren’t meant for holding shit, there was no telling where it might have gone.

Laura undid her button and then the fly, shimmying the pants down past her hips. Once there, the abhorrent smell was released, and Nick gritted, fighting the waistband to pull them down further. He found that - and thank the lord - Laura was not a fan of sexy undies. Most of the insane mess was mushed up in her great, pink bloomers, which had stained brown all over her ass. Only the liquid poo had escaped out and down her jeans. This was easily wiped away by the fabric as he pulled the pants off, and then cleaned up with a quick use of a wet wipe.

With the jeans off, and most of Laura clean, Nick reassessed his plan.

“Right, lift up. Nappy’s going on,” he said, unfolding the thing.

“But…I’m not clean at all!” Laura protested.

“Yeah, but I’m not opening up those undies here, leaving an anchor all over this poor fucker’s lawn and your clothes. The nappy will contain it until we get home.”

“What will I do for pants?” Laura asked.

“Since when did you care about pants?” Nick asked, and tugged at the girl’s leg, getting her to raise her ass. He slipped the nappy under her, and tied it tight over the mess. It sure did seem silly, but it would do the trick until they got home.

“Right,” Nick said, dusting off his hands. He drenched them in the sanitiser kept in Laura’s bag. “I cleaned up that, I’ll hand the keys back, you call a cab?”

“Got it,” Laura agreed. Nick took Lachie’s car keys and jogged back towards the party, hoping not to stir any further trouble.

Luckily, none came for him.