This is the fourth part of Alicia’s story. You can start at the beginning here.
The bell for fourth period rang like two seconds after I slid into my class. As I headed to my usual seat, next to Sammy, I noticed lots of eyes on me. I was the only one unseated, and I had a skirt on, so it made sense, but I couldn’t help wondering if my diaper was showing, so I felt the bottom of my skirt as I walked to make sure it hadn’t ridden up anywhere. It hadn’t, luckily.
I took my seat and Sammy gave me a little wave and smile. I gave her one back. Although I have a lot of friends left over from previous years who I still like to sit with in the morning and at lunch, I don’t have classes with any of them this year except Sammy. She’s in my last three classes of the day. Naturally, that means we’re closer than I am with my other friends.
I mostly keep to myself and pay attention to the lesson or task at hand during the classes in the first half of my day, but during the second half of my day, I like to chat with Sammy pretty often. That’s why we sit at the back of all three classes.
My butthole seemed to have tightened up while I was running to class, so I wasn’t too desperate to poop anymore. After the teacher took attendance and started running through a slide presentation, I turned to Sammy and started a conversation about a fun new game I’d gotten on my phone a couple days before.
Our conversation shifted and lengthened as conversations do, and eventually the bell rang. I scribbled down the homework instructions and walked out into the hall with Sammy, our conversation having been automatically paused by the class transition. In the hall, Sammy let me know she had to use the bathroom and pulled me in with her when we reached it. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
Inside the bathroom, she went into a stall and started peeing, loudly. I waited for her by the sinks.
When I caught sight of an empty stall’s toilet in the mirror, it triggered something in me and I got the strong urge to poop again. The tip of my first turd started coming out as Sammy’s stream slowed. Please, hurry up, I silently begged her, hoping getting out of the bathroom would make my urgency go back down again.
Soon enough, she exited the stall and came up next to me to wash her hands.
“Can I see your rash?” she asked.
“Uh, no. Sorry,” I said quickly, focused on my butt more than on her.
“Why not? You know you can trust me. I won’t say anything mean about it.”
“I . . . Just . . . Maybe later.”
She turned her attention from her hands to me as she finished wiping them on a paper towel. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just . . . feeling a little sick right now.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. You wanna go to the nurse?”
“No. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go to class.”
“Okay, sure. C’mon.”
And so, we headed to class. Unfortunately, my urgency didn’t subside as we walked. Maybe only running could do that trick.
But, wait a second. Why did I have to hold my poop all the way in if my diaper was keeping it from coming out anyway? I laughed as I realized how silly I was being trying to hold it.
“What’s funny?” Sammy asked.
“Old rules,” I said without thinking.
“Nothing, really. . . . Let’s walk a little faster. I think if I sit down I might feel better.” And that was true, because I was going to relax my butthole when I sat down. I felt like I would need the chair to relax.
When we got to the far back of our classroom, we took our usual seats. Immediately afterward, I let go and my turd rammed up against the seat of my diaper for the third time. Relief flooded my body and I let Sammy know that I was feeling better already.
Realizing I’d basically skipped my last class in favor of talking, I made a mental note not to get quite so far off track during this class. It worked, and I only talked to Sammy intermittently during it.
It felt weird walking to my last class with a turd a quarter of its way out my butthole, but I did it as normally as I could manage. Despite what I thought was a good effort, Sammy gave me a weird look.
When we were almost at the door to class, she asked, “Are you still feeling sick?”
I was already prepared. “Nah. I’m just walking like this because of the rash.”
Sixth period was basically the same as fifth, just with a different lesson, although I did start having a little pain in my butthole. After the bell rang, Sammy and I walked out to the car pickup area together. As we walked, my pain worsened and I somehow grew urgent again, but I told myself and my body there was nothing I could do about it until I found my dad.
A relieved smile spread across my face as I noticed my dad’s car was at the front of the car pickup line. I ran over to it, barely saying goodbye to Sammy, and jumped into the backseat. I threw my backpack off and leaned up to the front. Tonya was already buckling her seatbelt in the passenger seat, the seat she always whines about if she doesn’t get it, but I barely noticed her.
“Dad,” I began, feeling a lot of things but still searching for what to say for a second, “I’m still holding it. What do I do?”
“Hold on just one more minute,” he said as he drove out of the car circle and into the parking lot. He parked in a space that was pretty far from other cars, then turned to face me.
“Okay,” he said. “Now you can slide down your skirt, un-tape the diaper, and squat down over it to poop. I’ll turn away.”
And he did. I didn’t have any arguments about the plan, given my urgency, though a small part of me said, “Really, this is what I waited so long for?”
I slid down my skirt at the speed of light, then grabbed for one of the tapes on the diaper. But my hands were shaking from my desperation. “Dad, you have to do the tapes,” I said in a whiny voice. “My hands aren’t working.”
He turned around with a raised eyebrow, then saw my hands. He reached back and undid the top tapes in half a second. Then he turned away slightly and removed the bottom tapes. As he turned away completely, I pushed away the front of the diaper and moved my butt up into a squat.
I didn’t even have to push. One turd. A second. A third. A fourth! Each smashed into the previous with a slight gurgling noise and they all combined on the seat of my . . . underwear?
Oh, right. I was still wearing my black underwear that I’d put the diaper on over the night before. Realizing that fact but not really caring about it, I dropped my butt back down in relief and exhaustion. The whole poop fiasco had taken a lot out of me. As my butt hit the diaper, I felt my turds smush together even more beneath me. Only then did I notice the extreme warmth they’d created. It was a pretty great feeling result, oddly enough.
“Dad,” I said, my eyes halfway closed, “I’m done.”
“Okay,” he said, still not looking at me. “Just tape the diaper back up. Or, if you can’t, at least hold the front up and I can come to the back and tape it for you.”
“You can look, Dad,” I said. “I’m still in my underwear from yesterday.”
He scrunched his eyebrows and looked. “Oh. I forgot you were wearing those.”
“Yeah,” I said, opening my eyes fully again. “Me too.”
“So, do you think you can manage taping yourself back up?”
“Yeah.” I reached down and attached the tabs of the diaper to the cloth without much effort. It felt like I’d made it too loose, but I didn’t really care. I could adjust it before I got out of the car, after I fully recovered from my bowel movement.
Apparently, my dad didn’t have as much tolerance for the looseness, though, because he reached back and pulled my top tabs closer to the center of the diaper. It felt tight enough after that simple adjustment.
As he retreated back into his seat, I heard my sister snort. I turned to my right. I’d forgotten she was there. And she’d rolled down her window. How had I not heard that happening?
“You’re such a baby,” she said, then laughed as she turned away. Had she been watching that whole thing? My cheeks went red. My urgency had largely blinded me of her presence before, but now that I was done pooping, I felt the embarrassment she would have caused me earlier if I’d had room for it in my mind.
My dad turned on her before he even got his car out of park.
“Your sister’s not a baby,” he said. “She’s nothing like a baby. She’s agreed to be a test subject for the product I’ve been working on for months. She’s making sacrifices for my sake. That’s a very adult thing for her to do. And if anyone here’s a baby, it’s me. She can control her elimination like a normal adult, but I go without any control, like a baby. If you don’t think of me as a baby, you definitely shouldn’t think of her as one.”
He stared at her for a second, then turned his attention to his mirror and put the car in reverse.
Did you enjoy the fourth installment of Alicia’s story? Do you look forward to more Fiction posts? Please leave me a comment or a like to let me know!
2 thoughts on “Fiction: Alicia, Part 4”
I would like to see you continuing this story. It is very good.
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Thank you! I already have plans for the next installment. Hopefully I can write it this week.