Student Body [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

I want to thank all the patrons who voted in the surveys I posted last month that helped guide this story. This story is a long one, and I hope I did your votes justice. Enjoy!

1.

I realize that I’m ten minutes late, but I’m not especially bothered by it. I didn’t want to be here in the first place. It was only as a favor to Andrea - and she had to have known that I wouldn’t be too enthused about it.

First things first - there’s no coffee. Scratch that, there’s coffee, but only about ⅓ of a cup left in the carafe. Who would even leave that much in a pot of coffee? Drink it. Throw it out. But don’t just let it sit there for the poor sap who wants a full cup of fucking coffee.

Andrea, bless her, seems oblivious to the frustration I feel. But her guests, Stacy and Brett? I suspect that they are well aware of the passive-aggressive message that the small amount of coffee that’s left sends. If you wanted coffee, I imagine they’re thinking, you should’ve showed up 10 minutes ago.

“Oh it doesn’t look like there’s much coffee left,” Andrea says with a shrug. “Should I make more.”

“Don’t bother,” I say. The two guests say nothing. I swear they exchange a smug glance.

They’re from the campus newspaper. I’ve never read the thing, personally. In fact, I didn’t even realize there was still a campus newspaper at all. Who was reading this thing? Or, did it only serve to give people like Stacy and Brett something to do?

“Okay, Justin,” Stacy says as I take a seat at the table. “We wanted to write a piece about your recent successes on campus. Between your near-perfect academic performance, and your recent re-election as student council president, you certainly seem to have the attention of most of the...

“I know why you’re here,” I say. “I assume you aren’t out interviewing just any student, right? Just the ones who’ve actually accomplished something?”

Andrea shoots me a sour look.

“Right, well…” Stacy quickly composes herself. “Sorry, I guess I just wanted to set the stage for the angle I wanted to take for this story and…”

Before I can even stop myself, I spit out: “You’re the writer.” I might as well finish this thought: “I trust that you’ll be more than capable of spinning my answers into any narrative you so choose - but I also trust you can handle that part later. When I’m not here. For now, why don’t we focus on just asking me the questions that you’ve deemed important.”

There’s an audible sigh from Andrea. I promised myself, and her, that I wasn’t going to be difficult tonight. Yet, here we are.

“Fine,” Stacy says, glancing up to Brett who rolls his eyes. He probably didn’t realize I could see him. “First question.”

“Good,” I say. “Just get right into it. Let’s get this over with.”

She gives a short sigh. “How do you balance student body politics with academics?”

“Skill,” I say quickly.

She pauses, clearly waiting to see if there was more to my answer. But there isn’t.

“That’s it? Skill?”

“Yes. What? Were you expecting more?”

“Your reputation for no-nonsense decision making won you re-election by an impressive margin. You’re on track to graduate head of the class. Either of those accomplishments would be impressive on their own, yet you may just pull off both. Not to mention your performance on the baseball team. There are a lot of students - even future students - who would like to look at these feats and find inspiration for themselves. And so I ask you for some wisdom or guidance to impart on them. And you can only offer: ‘Skill’?”

I don’t mean to, but I have to laugh. “Just because I’m able to achieve these things doesn’t mean that I have an obligation to act as a mentor for everyone who can’t. Do you know who inspired me?”

“I don’t,” Stacy says, her deadpan voice signaling that she probably already knows exactly what the answer will be.

“Nobody.”

She nods, her suspicions confirmed. She continues: “Next question.”.

Brett snaps a photo with his camera suddenly, the flash lighting up the entire room.

“What are you even taking a picture of?” I ask.

“The...interview?”

“It’s a school newspaper, not People Magazine! Why don’t you just take a photo of me in a student council meeting? Or, like, anything that’s more interesting than me sitting here being interviewed in my girlfriend’s apartment.”

Brett shrugs, but has nothing else to say. Not that it matters.

“You know what?” Stacy says. “I think we’re good here. I thought an interview would be a good opportunity for the student body to get to know one of their most impressive peers, but I think we’re better served with just providing a brief summary of your accomplishments.”

Finally something we can agree on. I just shrug.

“Let’s get going,” she says to Brett. She packs up her tape recorder and notebook while Brett puts his camera equipment back in the bag. With a meek wave, they’re out the door and gone.

“What a complete waste of time,” I finally say to Andrea.

I expect her to relate and to see just how pointless that little endeavor was. But, instead, she says: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?”

“She wasn’t just here for the paper. She was here for me, because she’s my friend and I asked her to come to my apartment and interview you. Why? Because I foolishly thought that maybe other people would see the things about you that I like.”

I scoff and laugh. “Well I’m nobody’s inspirational story.”

“Yeah, I learned that today,” she says. “Among other things.”

“Oh? What else did you learn?”

“That you’re a fucking entitled baby.”

“You didn’t just learn that,” I say with a smirk. Was she flirting with me?

“Let’s try that again,” she says. “I already knew you’re a baby. What I didn’t know was that you were willing to show everyone else that too.”

That felt a lot less like flirting.

“Andrea,” my tone is a little softer now, “I’m sorry about that. I just...you know how it is with me. I’ve always got a lot on my plate. I just get caught up in these moments that feel...trivial.”

“Trivial to you, perhaps,” she spits. “Do you know what’s trivial to me?”

I didn’t bother answering, as I knew she’d tell me anyways..

“Your desire to be kept in diapers while you’re here.”

That hurts.

“Look...I might have been a little...harsh before, but…”

“Oh? So now you apologize to me? When you worry that I’m going to cut you off from your little kinky playtime?”

“Andrea, I… I need that, though. I…”

“Yes, yes, I know. You’re so important and busy and special and...whatever else it is you are. And sometimes you just need that feeling of being swaddled and treated like the little baby you felt you never got to be.”

“You’re mocking me, Andrea.”

“Well you insulted me tonight. Not to mention that you insulted both Stacy and Brett.”

“What was a photographer even doing here?” I shout. “I’m in a meeting every day, and yet he comes here and takes a picture of me looking annoyed at your kitchen table?”

Her eyes were daggers and I almost immediately regret that little outburst.

“I think you should leave,” she says.

“Wait...no. Andrea, please. I just…”

“I’m not interested in hearing your excuses,” she continues. “Do you have any idea how often I have to defend you? If anyone on this campus has a good impression of you, I assure you, it’s only because of something I said. I’m starting to think that it’s not that everybody else doesn’t know the ‘real’ you. I think I’m the one who hasn’t been listening to everyone else.”

I feel a wave of guilt and shame wash over me. The feeling doesn’t last especially long. I never wanted people to dislike me. But...at the end of the day, I just didn’t care what anyone else thought. She certainly didn’t need to defend me. I never asked her to.

It seemed pointless to stick around and argue about this any further. “Fine, I’m leaving.”

“We both know you’ll come crawling back,” she taunted. “Literally. You’ll be crawling on my floor again, the next time you want me to put you in a diaper.”

I had heard enough, and the door to her apartment was slamming behind me.

--

2.

Less than a day later, I was back, knocking on her door.

“Justin.” She didn’t seem at all pleased to see me. I didn’t blame her.

“Angela. You didn’t answer my texts. Or my calls. Or my email.”

“Or your smoke signals,” she says. “Or your carrier pigeons. Or the mariachi band or the billboard truck.”

“I never…”

“That’s called ‘a joke,’ Justin. You should make more time for yourself, maybe you’d develop a sense of humor too.”

“I make time for myself…”

“I didn’t answer your calls, or texts...or email, because I’m mad at you.”

“Right. And...I came to apologize.”

She sighs. “Did you come to apologize because you’re sincerely sorry? Or because you want to piss yourself in a diaper?”

“I mean...can’t it be both?”

“Are you serious right now?”

I shrug. I’m not sure what she wants me to say. I already apologized. Can’t we just move on?

“We have a good thing going here,” I say. “I know that I can come off sounding kind of...brash at times. And I’ll try and do better with that. But can we not let that come between the things we have here.”

“Things,” she mutters. “Do you know when my birthday is?”

I didn’t have an answer to that.

“Do you know my favorite band?”

No response.

“Favorite movie?”

I wasn’t sure about that one either.

“Come on. I took you to see it at the cinema!”

Still nothing.

“Right. So, really now, what am I to you? Because I’ve been calling myself your girlfriend. I’ve been putting fires out for you left and right. I know your birthday is March 11th. I know your favorite band is Steely Dan - for reasons I’ll never understand. I not only know that your favorite film is Apocalypse Now, I know that it's specifically the director’s cut. So, I ask you again - what am I to you? A source for you to unload your kinky fantasies on?”

I dislike feeling put on the spot. This wasn’t hard. We could simply acknowledge that things could have been different and then we move on.

“Fine, I’ll just...go. Again.” I motion towards the door with my head.

“Wait,” she says.

I let out a sigh of relief, not actually wanting to have to go through with walking out the door.

“Yes?”

“Go to my bedroom,” she says with a frustrated sign. “I’ll get the diapers.”

--

Interlude: From Andrea’s Journal, Part 1

From the very beginning of our relationship, he played all his cards slowly and masterfully. He was a genius and a star athlete, yet he was deeply misunderstood. According to him - and said in a ‘woe is me,’ dramatic tone - nobody could truly understand his life.

And I fell for that, hard. I’m ashamed to admit it - but seeing that kind of emotional faultline is like catnip sometimes. I want to jam my fingers into it and break it open, only to be the glue that fixes it up - better than it ever was before. The handsome scholar and athlete has a dark side that nobody understands - except me. Delicious.

He slowly reveals the next card - “the secret.” If I’m to know about this thing - I’d be the only person to ever know about it. I must promise to never judge him for it. Oh yes. Yes, please. Share with me your most wild insecurities. Anything. I promise that I’ll embrace it.

So he wants to be swaddled. He wants to sleep on my lap. He wants to suckle from my nipples. He wants to suck his own thumb. Slowly, methodically, he laid out a path to lead me down. Every step of the way, I’m there for him and I’m on board.

Suddenly he wanted diapers. And I don’t back down. I can’t now. I assured him that I was in it for the long haul. I don’t yet realize that my own insecurities have me locked into an unhealthy cycle of my own that I wouldn’t be able to fully break out of until after he was gone. So, yeah, I put him in diapers. Changed his diapers.

And it was fun and thrilling, in a strange way. This guy was getting national attention for his achievements, and I’m the one he comes home to at night because I’m the only one he can trust to put him in a diaper. He wanted to alleviate the stresses and pressures of his life by acting like a baby - and I’m the one who can help make that happen. I want to be in that role.

Everytime he acted like a brat to one of my friends; everytime he stubbornly refused to go somewhere, or do something that I wanted to do - I told myself that it was okay. One day, all the strange things I did for him are going to pay off and he’ll show me how much value I have.

Any day now.

--

3.

By the time she walks into the bedroom, one of my thick baby-blue diapers in hand, I was already on my back in her bed. My pants are off and I’m in my “diaper position;” my legs curled towards my chest and my feet sticking up into the sky. I no longer felt shame like this.

I made it a point not to question the actions of others. I was responsible for myself - and everyone else was responsible for themselves. Still, I was curious about Andrea sometimes. What did she get out of this? Power, as best as I could tell. Were the roles reversed, it's probably what I’d have wanted too.

“Mommy,” I moan, almost unconsciously. I’m ecstatic to see her with my diaper in her hands. Like nothing had changed. No damage done. The world keeps spinning around.

“Someone’s ready for their diaper, yes?”

I’m nodding very enthusiastically.

“How does it feel to have such a special little secret?” she asks as she gently pulls my legs up to slip the opened diaper under me. “Just about everyone here has their eyes on you, yet here you are - getting put into a big thick diaper.”

“Mmhmm.” She could play me like a fiddle - stroking my ego while reminding me what a little baby I was.

“You should keep your diaper on all day today, don’t you think?”

“Wh-what? But…”

“I know, I know. You’re a busy boy. You have places to go and things to do. But nobody knows you’re wearing a diaper. Nobody has to know, right?”

Only on rare occasions had I strayed far from the sanctuary of one of our apartments while wearing a diaper. But I liked it, and I had remarked on more than one occasion that it was something I wanted to do more often. It was as she said: all eyes were on me, and the idea of traipsing, diapered, all over campus amidst that attention was quite possibly the pinnacle of my fantasies.

She was too nice. Too kind. Protective. Like a true mother, maybe. Sometimes I thought she had a more maternal instinct than my actual mother - though I didn’t dare step foot into that psychological minefield.

Andrea was always nervous. What if I was spotted with a bulging and padded ass? Or what if someone thought that I smelled like piss? Or...something even worse.

But now, with her suggestion, she seemed to be offering this fantasy back to me on a silver platter, and I was absolutely lapping it up.

“No,” I said softly. “Nobody would have to know.”

She finished taping the diaper up. She had come a long way since we started, and I was really  admiring her nice and straight application of it. I doubted anyone could do it better.

“See? I think this is better for you, personally.”

“You...you do?” I slowly sat up in the bed, my thick diaper crinkling beneath me.

“Well, sure. With all those big important things you have to do, who has time for potty breaks?”

“So you think I should…”

“Use your diaper? Oh yes,” she says. “I wouldn’t even think about it. I mean, don’t you have other things to think about instead?”

“Well yes...”

“That’s perfect, then,” she coos. “You’ll wear your diapers all afternoon!”

“What if...I need you to, uh, change me?”

“You know where I’ll be, silly. Come and see me and I’ll take care of your dirty diapers.”

“I have to attend a lecture this afternoon,” I say. Without even meaning to, I realize that I’m speaking up a little so that I’m sure I can be heard over the sound of the crinkling diaper. “After, I have a meeting with Dr. Chaver. Then I need to be at the Student Council office for a meeting at eight. What if...you came and met me on campus?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment; she just stares at me. She seems a little frustrated again, and I’m hoping that this doesn’t turn into another argument. Not now. Surely, she can just give me this moment and save whatever is on her mind until later.

“I can do that,” she finally says. Thank fucking goodness. “But if I’m going to make the trip onto campus just to change your diapers, you better give me something worth changing. You can do that, can’t you?”

I blush while I trip over my words a little. “You...don’t think I should do...that, do you?”

She just shrugs.

“Andrea...but...I’ll be at school! And there will be people everywhere, and...”

She shrugs again. “If you want to be a big baby today, and you want me to come and take care of you, then I think that’s how it needs to be.”

I scoff. Then huff. Then I throw my hands up in frustration. I’m thinking about all the ways this could go wrong. But...this is what I asked for. I’m having trouble determining if we’re playing my game or hers now.

I’m rambling now: “Would you like that? If I did? I mean, I don’t think I can. But maybe? I don’t know. I think I’d like that. Fuck. No, I know I’d like that.”

“You tell me what you want to do, baby.” She doesn't call me cutesy names often, and it always flusters me when she does.

“Fuck. Alright. Let me...think about that. I’ve got a lot going on today. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

“To get diapered, obviously,” she says nonchalantly.

“Right.” I laugh to myself, maybe a little louder than I intended to. I feel like I’m getting away with murder. I imagined that we’d be fighting all day in her apartment, and this is the furthest thing from that.

I get dressed, I kiss the top of her head, and I’m out the door.

--

Interlude: From Andrea’s Journal, Part 2

The truth about Justin? He’s human. Maybe he’s a little smarter. A little quicker. A little more analytical. But Justin seemed to transcend his peers mostly on account of dedication. He half-assed nothing. He didn’t study so much as he absorbed the written word. He didn’t just practice baseball, he analyzed every pitch he threw and studied the very motions his body made to consistently play his best.

He didn’t have many friends. The closest he had were study partners and professors he was friendly with. It was a miracle that we were actually dating - I just didn’t think he would make the time for it.

In hindsight, it’s hard to look back and not see myself as a means to an end. Maybe I was wrong - hopefully I was wrong - but it seemed more and more likely that I had a very specific role in his life as his strange kinky surrogate mom.

His ‘babyspace,’ as he called it, was the only thing in his life that seemed to allow any sort of chaos and spontaneity. Everything else was stuck in schedules and routines. Everything else was overanalyzed and broken down. But when he slipped into a diaper and started crawling around, it was like he was another person altogether. The rest of his life melted away and he seemed content just being. For the longest time, it was why I was so happy to indulge him; I just needed to give him a break from, well, himself.

Admittedly, Baby Justin was often my favorite version of him. It was the only time he seemed willing to be himself.

--

4.

There is no hope of me focusing on this lecture. First of all, it’s a lecture on Advanced Capitalism in the 21st Century - a series of lectures that has consistently almost rendered me unconscious for the last few weeks. It’s almost insulting how well I’m doing in this class, given the lack of effort and attention I’ve put it into it. I keep meaning to just use this time to do something else instead. If I wasn’t the type of person that people noticed, maybe I could get away with playing hooky.

Second of all, and further complicating this lecture, is that I’m wearing a diaper. I’m hyperconscious of the muffled crinkling noises that come with almost every one of my movements. And while nobody sitting around me seems to notice, I intend to keep it that way. The end result is a series of slow steady movements.

I feel like a fucking robot.

This feels like an unnecessarily precarious situation, and one of my own making. I’m excited to be wearing my diapers out in public, and I’m thankful that Andrea agreed to meet me on campus after class to check on me. But I have a busy evening ahead of me, and I haven’t exactly thought this through. Was I really going to meet Dr. Chaver while wearing a diaper? And what of the Student Council meeting?

Beyond that, just what was Andrea expecting me to do in my diaper? She strongly hinted at the desire for me to...well, do more than just wet myself. But I couldn’t possibly do that. Not here in a lecture, surrounded by other people who knew who I was. It was a hot concept, but not a realistic one. If I didn’t go through with that, I had no doubt that she’d understand.

Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t have any fun. It had been quite a while since I had used the restroom at all, and my bladder was just begging for the satisfaction of relief. If I could somehow wet myself here, while in lecture, it’d be a fun little diversion from this spoken-word hell - while giving Andrea something to do when she came by later.

Except that it’s harder to let go into the diaper than I thought it would be. I want to. My body wanted to. I feel all the right muscles going through all the right motions, but then...nothing. Everything just stops at the last second. I try again. And again. The best I can do is to make a little grunt as I feel a single spurt of piss spray into the diaper.

“You okay?” the girl sitting next to me asks quietly.

“Huh?”

“Oh, you just...made some sort of noise.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper. She absolutely does not need to know that I was trying to piss myself.

It goes on like this for most of the hour and a half I’m there - a constant back and forth war between my bladder. I would think that I’m about to fill my diaper, only for my nerves to get the best of me and nothing would happen. Finally, as the last few minutes of the lecture arrive, I manage to piss myself a little. It’s not much, but it’s something.

I have absolutely no idea what the lecture covered. It’s the curse of these diapers. I put one on, and nothing else matters.

I’m actually proud of myself. I feel like I achieved something. I want to show it to Andrea and I want her to change me before I have my meeting.

I hastily text Andrea: Class is wrapping up now. Nobody can tell I’m a little damp.

Her reply comes about five minutes later: Damn.

I’m unsure if this is humor or honest disappointment that I haven’t sprung a leak. Do you think you could meet me before my meeting with Dr. Chaver?

Do you think you have a diaper worth my attention? she replies.

Please just come, I say. I don’t want to see Dr. Chaver in a dirty diaper.

I’ll come down there. But if I think your diaper can hold more, then I’m just going to turn around and leave without changing you.

Fine, I text back. I don’t believe her. I like her “mean mommy” bit, and it is a little titillating, but this is hardly the time for it. I have important people to see and important places to be. I can’t be waddling around in dirty diapers. She’ll have to change me as I am. Or...maybe I could just ditch the diapers altogether tonight.

Which, sadly, seems like the best option. In these moments of clarity, I felt like a fool for thinking this would play out like a fantasy, rather than a disaster.

I’m doing my best to wait patiently for her. I wish I had arranged for her to make her way to campus sooner, since I knew she’d be walking, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. I sit in the shade by myself, hoping that nobody recognizes me and wants to talk.

It’s just a few minutes, but it feels like hours. I finally see her crossing the courtyard, and I excitedly run to her.

“Andrea! I...need you to change me.”

She scoffs. “Well hello to you too.”

I don’t want this to turn into an argument, so I try to stay on topic: “I don’t have much time and…”

“Did you go potty in your diaper?”

“No...Andrea, not so loud!” I twist my head over my shoulders to see if anyone else around heard that. Thankfully it seems that nobody is the wiser.

“Nobody can hear me,” she says. I’m not sure that either of us really believe that. “Now, tell Mommy. Did you go potty in your little diaper?”

She’s a little more bold and brazen in this role than she normally is. It worries me, because this is a version of her that I’m not familiar with.

“Why...are you being like this?”

“Answer my question first,” she says.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Well then, big boy. Let’s go have a look at your pampers and see what’s the matter, hmm?”

She grabs my hand and she’s marching back into the building I had just come from.

“Where are we going?”

“Did you expect me to check you out here in the courtyard? I certainly can, if you want. I figured you’d at least like some discreteness.”

How did I not see this coming? I was so caught up in the immediate thrill of bouncing around campus in my diaper that I failed to consider how this played out. Where, exactly, was I expecting Andrea to change me? I’m now overjoyed that I hadn’t actually made a bigger mess of myself.

“I don’t know where we’re going to find a place that will accommodate you changing my...uhm…” I can’t even bring myself to finish the sentence.

She, however, seems to have no trouble: “A place where I can change your diaper? I’m not sure either, but I’m sure we can find a place where I can give your dirty bottom the attention it needs.”

“What are you doing?” I whine, feeling a wave of warmth on my face. “Why are you being like this?”

“Is that how you’re going to talk to me? Because I can turn around and go back home, taking these diapers with me.”

“Okay, okay. I just...don’t want anyone to know.”

“A lie,” she says. “You want everyone to know what a big baby you are, don’t you?”

I don’t even want to acknowledge that. I just let her drag me down the corridors of the building as our eyes scan for options. There are less classes here this time of day, which has greatly reduced the amount of traffic, but the building was far from abandoned. Even the bathrooms here were barely big enough for normal bathroom activities, let alone the space we’d need.

She points down a darker hallway, before dragging me into it. There’s a number of smaller classrooms that don’t seem to be in use at the moment, nor is there anyone walking around over here. This may be the sanctuary we need.

She tests a few doorknobs before finding a door that opens. The dimly lit classroom looks like it hadn’t seen use in a while, given the stacks of old dust-covered chairs and desks pushed up against the walls.

“Now then,” she says, wasting no time, “let’s get a look at that diaper.”

I’m hesitant. We’re in unfamiliar territory and nothing about this little game feels safe. I had much more to lose than she did.

“My diaper,” I say, trying to prepare her for just how little I’ve used it, “it’s just…”

“I didn’t come all the way down here just to hear you talk about it,” she says. “Pull down your pants and I’ll take a look for myself.”

“Here? But…”

“Where else would you like to go? Because this is as good as it's going to get.”

My hands are on my waistband, but I'm hesitating.

“I can do it for you, if you want?”

Yes, that’d be nice. But...no, not now. I quickly unbuckle my belt and lower my pants to my knees, revealing the diaper that she had put me into back in her apartment.

“I’ve seen a lot of your diapers,” she says, leaning forward to investigate it. “This one doesn’t look like it’s in need of any sort of emergency changing.”

She tucks her hand under the diaper, between my legs, and feels around to see just how used it feels. I already know that she’s not going to like what she finds.

“This is disappointing,” she says, right on cue.

“I know, but -”

“You had me come all the way down to campus for this? You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“But, I did wet myself.”

“Barely.”

“I have my meeting with Dr. Chaver coming up, and I just worried that...I’d smell like pee.”

“Well you don’t. Which is a shame, because if you did, I’d order you to march right into his office in that condition.”

I’m blushing yet again. “Look… What if I just, you know, took the diaper off?”

“Excuse me?”

“I just...I changed my mind. I don’t want to wear a diaper anymore today. I think this was a mistake. Bad timing, you know?”

“Changed your mind? Justin, you came to my apartment today, asking me to put you in a diaper. You asked me to come to the school and change you. I keep making time in my day for you and your diapers, and then you just decide to say ‘Nah, I don’t want it anymore’? Does my time not have any value to you?”

“It’s not like that!”

“Then what is it like? Because I’m starting to feel like an appliance. A robot. My only function is to satisfy your kinks.”

She’s not wrong about me having essentially wasted her time, though I can’t even begin to process the rest of that right now. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I thought I knew what I wanted, but…”

“You’re going to stay in the diaper,” she says calmly. “You do not have my permission to take it off.”

“What? But…”

“You heard what I said.”

“I mean, I can just take them off myself, you know?”

“True. But do so at your own peril. Because if you decide that you’re going to take off your own diaper, then you’ve also decided that my time is worthless.”

I know what she’s getting at. But I need to hear her say the words. “Are you saying that -”

“You either play by my rules, or we don’t play at all. And I don’t just mean today.”

I laugh. I don’t even mean to, but this is the last conversation I expected right now. “So you’re saying that if I don’t keep this diaper on, you’re going to break up with me?”

Now she laughs. “Regardless of what decision you make today, I want you to consider what it means to be someone’s boyfriend.”

“And if I don’t take it off, just how long do you expect me to keep this thing on?”

“Until I take it off of you.”

“And when will that be?”

She says it again: “Whenever. I. Decide. To. Take. It. Off. Of. You.”

“Okay, but after my meeting, I have to go over to the Student Council office for a meeting. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“That’s not my problem,” she shrugs. “I’ll find you when I’m ready to check your diaper again. Unless you decide to just take it off - and I trust that you’ll respect me enough to tell me if that’s the case. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear from you again until I let you know that it’s time.”

I open my mouth, but I’m not even sure what I want to say. She has nothing else to say either - she just leaves me, walking out of the classroom. I quickly pull my pants up. My mind is completely scrambled right now, and I have no idea what I should do.

I’ve got a few minutes, so I take a seat in the dark classroom, contemplating what comes next.

--

5.

“Justin, it’s good to see you.”

Dr. Chaver has the firmest handshake. It’s been the model I’ve tried to base my own handshake on. Everything you need to know about the man is right there: strong, confident, powerful.

“Likewise, Dr. Chaver.”

“Come inside,” he says, waving me into his office. “Do you want something to drink? I have some bottled water. I might even have a can of Diet Pepsi if you want.”

“I’m good, thank you.”

I take a seat across from him at his desk. His walls are decorated in certificates, awards and achievements - the sort of shrine to success that I one day hope to have.

“I’ve got to say, of all the students I’ve taken on as mentees over the years, none have made me look as good as you have.” We both laugh at this, though his laugh seems both more natural and less forced than my own. “I thought I’d check in with you, and see how you’re holding up. Is there anything I can help you with?”

In just these few short moments since I’ve taken a seat in his office, I find his voice fading into the background. There’s only one thing I can think about and it’s in my pants, rustling about with a volume that I swear he has to be able to  hear. There seems to be no reaction on his part though.

“I’m good,” I say, not completely sure what question I’m answering. “You know how it is...the closer we get to graduation, the further away it seems to get.” This is my boilerplate answer for just about anyone who asks me how school is going. I’ve been using it for so long, I’m astonished that nobody has called me out on recycling it yet.

“It’s that all-important final year,” he says. “Look, I get it. All the pressure. All the questions you must have about what’s next. All the questions that everyone else must have about what’s next.” He laughs. I laugh too, though I’m just following his lead. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“That’s the way these things go,” I say with a shrug. Generic enough to maybe by me a few more minutes in this conversation without being too invested.

“The truth,” he says. “Well, look, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I had a few programs that I thought you might be interested in. I think a student of your exceptional caliber could really benefit from…”

I still have to pee. My bladder is absolutely aching, and the small amount that I was actually able to piss earlier has only seemed to increase the pressure further. But it's different now. My body seems to have gotten over whatever stage-fright I had earlier and is now completely willing to unleash itself like a fire hydrant. I’ve gone from trying to wet myself to trying not to wet myself.

Not here. Not now.

“...and, I mean, you look at some of the people who came out of this program - Pete Buttiieg, for example - and I think you have an idea of what something like this can do for your professional aspirations.”

I wish I knew what he was talking about. I wish I could focus. Focusing is the thing I normally do best. It’s how I got to be the student I am. But I get put in a diaper and I just...lose it all. It’s all-encompassing. I want - I need - to be the baby. I’m regressing.

Fuck. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. This is a losing battle, and I quickly realize that this isn’t a matter of if it’s a matter of when. I will be losing control at some point.

“That’s incredible,” I say, again not responding to anything in particular. Meanwhile, in my diaper, it starts as a trickle, and grows into a steady stream. “I’d like to hear more about that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, giving an approving nod. “Good, I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ll give you some reading material on it that you can take home and look over. Also, are you familiar with the Chester/Lincoln Foundation? Because they’ve been doing some incredible things over the last few years, and someone with your academic performance would probably…”

His voice is once again in the background. He’s in another world altogether. That stream is a full on river and all I can do is sit perfectly still and hope that as my diaper swells and thickens between my legs, without any sort of leak.

Dr. Chaver stops talking for a moment, tilting his head with a look of concern.

“You still with me, Justin?”

“Oh, uh… Yeah. Yeah, I’m...here.”

“Are you sure? You looked like you were spacing out a little bit there.”

“I’m okay,” I say. It’s obviously not entirely true. I did just piss my diaper here in his office, right in front of him while he was talking to me. I’m terrified and nervous as hell about the situation I’m in now. But there’s this shameful feeling of enjoyment too.

“We can continue this conversation later if we need,” he says.

I don’t want to leave, but he’s thrown the option out there and...maybe it's for the best.

“You know what? I’m so sorry. I was very excited to meet with you this afternoon, but I’ve got some other things on my mind and -”

“Say no more,” he says. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. Why don’t I shoot you an email later with some more information about the programs I mentioned today and then, whenever you’re ready, we can meet again and go over it some more.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

Another amazing handshake. I practically run out the door, without so much as a pause to consider whether or not my diaper is audible or if it had leaked at all.

I briskly walk through the halls, my phone is in my hand and I’m typing a message out to Andrea: I did it. Completely flooded my diaper. Totally saturated. I think this is deserving of a change.

I don’t send it.

I’m not fond of her rules, but they hang over my head. I either need her to come change my diaper now, or I need to take off my diaper and just go on without it. But both actions seem to come with consequences. Did she mean her threats? Would she actually end our relationship if I just took off the diaper at this point? It put a sinking feeling in my stomach just thinking about it.

For now, I’d just stick with the diaper and cross my fingers that she shows up to save me before it gets too late. Whenever “too late” would be.

--

6.

Time is running out. I don’t have many options left. The situation seems to grow more complicated by the minute.

I need to be at the Student Council office soon - there’s a meeting tonight that I’ll be expected to speak at, and in advance of that, I promised to help go over the outline for the meeting with some other members. But I don’t think I can go like this. It’s just so risky; the Student Council president, showing up in a soaking wet diaper?

It’s possible that nobody would notice. If I had absolutely no other choice.

But I can smell the diaper. I smell like piss.

Worse, while my bladder may have found relief, my bowels are now demanding release of their own. It's been a slow-building pressure cooker inside me, and I was able to ignore it for a while, but we’re past that point now.

I send Andrea a text message. Just a simple: Hello. No response, and that was a half hour ago. I expected no less. She said that she’d find me when she was ready to change me, but with so little time left, even if she was to show up now, there’d probably be barely enough time for her to change me out of this diaper. If we could even find a place to do it.

I need to start making judgment calls. I need to figure out what I’m going to do about this damn diaper.

I sigh. Okay fine. I lose. It’s time to give in, fly the white flag and tally up the dead. Today hasn’t gone as I planned, and I suspect that it’s not going to go much better once I talk to Andrea again. But at the end of the day, I’m a fucking adult, and I’m an adult with responsibilities.

I enter the men’s room, intending to discard the diaper, use the toilet, and emerge a cleaner - if not single - man.

Twenty minutes later I emerge from the restroom. I’m still in my diaper. I couldn’t do it.

Right on cue, there she is. Andrea is standing in the hall near the Student Council office.

“Andrea...I...hi.”

“Justin. How’s everything going for you?”

“Fine. Well...no. Not that fine at all.”

“Shall we check on your diaper again?”

I start to shush her, but instead I check the time on my phone. I’m already late for the meeting in the office. I wonder if I could’ve had this conversation with Andrea 20 minutes ago if I hadn’t gone into the men’s room.

“I don’t have time,” I say. “I have to be in there now.”

“But aren’t you wet?”

“Yes,” I say with no hesitation. “Very.”

“That’s a shame, then.”

“I’m just meeting with some of the other officers to go over the outline of tonight’s meeting. The general Student Council meeting is taking place in the conference room down the hall. Maybe in between this meeting and that one, you and I can…”

“Look for me after your meeting,” she says. I swear she’s smiling, but I can’t tell if she’s being mischievous or just smug. She’s certainly happy with herself. She’s played me perfectly this whole day. I’ve played myself, really.

“Fine,” I say before rushing into the office.

It’s all another blur to me, similar to my time in Dr. Chaver’s office. People are asking me questions and shoving printed pages in my face. I offer some generic answers, mostly “yes” and “no,” while barely skimming over the things that people hand me before handing them back with nods of approval.

I feel like I’m waddling. I’m not even conscious of the crinkling noise anymore. Either it's not, or everyone’s being real polite in not mentioning it. Also, I’m now 100% certain that I smell like piss. The scent seems to follow me and it lingers in the air around me. As best as I can tell, nobody has pinned it to me yet, but I’ve definitely witnessed a few noses wrinkling in the air as they try and figure out what that scent is.

The worst part is obviously the pressure inside of me. I feel like I could let go at any moment. I’d just have to lower my defenses slightly, and there’d be nothing stopping everything inside of me from rushing out.

I have no idea where this ends. If I do happen to find the time to meet with Andrea before the general meeting, I still need to, well, empty my bowels into the diaper - or else nothing really changes between now and later. I just have more questions than answers.

Randolph is here, and he looks distressed. More distressed than usual. “Justin, bad news.”

There is no way that this news is any worse than what I’m currently dealing with.

“Okay?”

“Stacy Ebberitt and Brett Kutzen are in the conference room for the meeting.”

The names sound vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite find the mental energy to figure out how.

“They’re from the campus newspaper,” he says.

Fuck, that’s where I knew them from. Yesterday - in Andrea’s apartment.

“That’s fine,” I say. “They were doing a piece on me for the paper. They interviewed me last night. They probably just want to get some more material for that.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Randolph says.

I’m growing impatient. “How do you figure?”

“I talked to her for a minute or two. You know, just feeling out what they were there for. She didn’t sound too happy with you.”

“I should think not,” I say. “We didn’t get along well last night.”

“I don’t think they’re doing any sort of complimentary piece on you. It sounds like a...hit piece?”

“Huh?”

“Like...she’s ready to blast you with some tough questions while there’s an audience.”

I scoff and shake my head in frustration.

“Just...be ready, yeah?”

“I always am,” I mutter. “Don’t worry about me.”

I check my phone again. Ten minutes until the general assembly. I can’t afford to be late if Stacy and Brett are going to be there with the intent of getting some sort of revenge at the expense of my reputation. I storm out of the office and I look around the hallway for Andrea.

“Andrea?”

No answer.

I text her: Andrea. I need you. Now.

After a minute of pacing and staring at my phone, she replies: I went to get some coffee. You’ll have to wait a few minutes.

I don’t HAVE a few minutes, I respond.

Her reply offers no sympathy or helpful alternatives: That’s too bad.

So now what, I text back. My choices are to either shit myself in front of the student body or to use the bathroom and violate whatever rule you made up?

Why don’t you pick one and see what happens?

I’m done. I’m not playing your game anymore. Goodbye. I drop my phone into my pocket and storm off to the bathroom.

--

7.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the bi-weekly general weekly assembly of your Student Council.”

There are three white tables set up at the head of the conference room, with a row of us sitting behind them looking out over the rest of the room. There’s about 100 chairs set up for students who wish to attend, though we rarely get more than 30 or so. The meeting is also being streamed on the school’s website, though I’m told that even less people watch that stream live.

Andrea’s in the audience. Of course she is. I don’t even see that supposed cup of coffee in her hands. Did she make that up?

“To recap the previous meetings minutes, Student Council Secretary, Luann Pierson.”

“Thank you. At our last meeting, on September 16th, the following events were discussed and reviewed…”

My eye’s catch Andrea’s again. She’s smiling smugly. I don’t get it, honestly. I just don’t get it. What was up with her today?

She thinks that I’m sitting up here right now with a soaking wet diaper on and bowels that are about to erupt. She doesn’t know that I went to the restroom.

Not that it would matter if she did know. Because I couldn’t go through with it. I walked into a stall, closed the door, and couldn’t even bring myself to pull my pants down. And if someone was to ask me ‘why?’ I’m not sure that I could answer that.

I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I have no idea why I’m even in this room. I know why I’m supposed to be here, but I don’t think I should be. I’m a grown man on the verge of messing my diaper. I thought I wanted that. In every fantasy I ever had, this was how I imagined it playing out. But at this moment, I don’t care for it at all. I’m a powder keg waiting to explode.

“...and that about covers it,” Luann says, wrapping up the recap of the last meeting’s minutes. “Before we open the floor to new matters, here’s your Student Council President, Justin DeMile.”

I’m sweating. It’s not that wet and drippy kind of sweat, it’s more like this mist that just sort of surrounds my body. Every fold and joint in my body feels damp. In general, and I’m not even talking about my diaper, I feel moist. I quickly approach the podium, ready to get this over with.

“Ah...well…” I stand up and shuffle through my notes. I had meticulously planned for tonight’s meeting for days, as I always did. But as I looked over the crowd - so innocent and unaware of the troubles that plagued me right now - I just didn’t care about anything that I had originally wanted to say. “I’m going to keep it brief tonight.”

And I do. In a quick and efficient bullet-list style, I run down the major points I wanted to make. The Student Council budget. Petitions for the administration. New event plans. I have more to say about all of them, but it's just not happening tonight. Judging by the reactions of my peers on the council and the audience both, there’s a mix of relief and frustration about my new delivery system.

“Oh...well, thank you,” Luann says.

Other people are talking now, that’s good. They can go through their little tangents, while I sit here and focus on not losing control. Everyone has so much to say, and its torture.

I’m tempted to leave. In fact, all things considered, it’s the best option. I’m flirting with disaster, and this is the worst possible place for disaster. But I stay right where I am. I look back to Andrea again, and she is clearly enjoying the show.

“Let’s open the meeting up for concerns, comments and feedback from the student body,” Luann says. “Just raise your hand.”

Good. This section of the meeting usually flies by. Either nobody has anything to say, or someone has some incredibly mundane question that takes a second to answer. Then? We’re done.

Stacy raises her hand. Of course she has something to say. She, too, has a smug look on her face.

“Yes, go ahead,” Luann says to her.

“I have some questions for our president? Justin?”

I sigh and stand up, stepping back to the podium.

“Yes?” I ask. “What can I answer for you?”

“In your recent campaign for re-election, you cited that…”

I’m not listening to that. I can just tell by her voice and her mannerisms that she’s on a mission. I hurt her feelings last night when I refused to play nice and give her a little puff piece for the unimportant school newspaper. So now? She was going to come to my home turf and try and make my life difficult. She was going to bring up supposed ‘hard-hitting questions’ in the hopes of catching me off guard. And if she did? Bam! It was going into the school paper.

Good luck getting someone to read it though.

I’m a million miles away. I’m thinking about my flooded diaper. I’m thinking about going to the bathroom. I’m thinking about the feeling of Andrea finally changing my diaper.

Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? That's all I really wanted. It was what I wanted all day.

I can’t hold it anymore. If I could, if I had any bit of energy left, I probably would’ve given up anyways. I spent too much time today fighting it, but it’s time to just give in.

I’m a baby.

I feel my bowels contract and the heavy load slide from me into my diaper. I groan, literally groan, at the satisfaction of release.

Yes, finally. This somehow feels like the grand finale in an entire afternoon’s worth of discomfort and uncertainty. This was what I needed and craved. I push even harder, as I want to expel every single ounce of it into my diaper.

“Justin?” Somewhere out there, somebody’s addressing me in what is otherwise a completely silent space. Stacy, I realize, is still talking to me. Had she been talking to me? Rattling off a series of complaints and “gotchas” in an attempt to not only get me back for the prior night, but to bring some sort of noteworthy buzz to her mostly-forgotten newspaper.

Whatever.

For a moment - a split second that I imagine will feel like a decade when I look back on it- I’ve found the feeling I’ve always been looking for. I’m a completely helpless baby filling my diaper with no sense, or care, of where I am and who is around me.

But it’s just that - a moment.

The room is silent. I’m waiting for the sound to come rushing back all at once as I wake from my brief venture into my mind, but it doesn’t. The room has completely stopped. All eyes are on me.

Even Stacy, my current nemesis, seems to have lost that look of smug hostility, instead looking as concerned as everyone else.

“Justin?” she says again. “Are you...okay?”

I have no clue what this room thinks they’ve witnessed. My peers on the Student Council, the students in the audience, Andrea herself, the TV camera…

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I...I need to go.”

And I’m gone. I’m out the door and in the hallway. I have no idea where I’m going to go. I can’t even run if I wanted to, the mass in my full diaper has made rendered me unable to do much more than awkwardly waddle.

There’s a voice following me: “Justin, wait.”

It’s Andrea, of course. She wouldn’t miss this for the world.

I don’t even know what to say. I have yet to fully process the ramifications of that moment at the podium. The only thing that comes to mind is: “Happy now?”

To my surprise, her answer is: “Yes.”

“What the hell? Andrea? What the hell was today about?”

She grabbed my wrist firmly and towed me behind her. Once more, we were exploring the dimly lit sections of a campus building, except now we were in a place that probably would’ve been bustling hours ago, but was now entirely still and quiet.

She pulled me into the first open door she found, just a small assembly room that looked like it was used for some other campus organization; something to do with horses, judging by the pictures on the walls. She closed the door and locked it.

“Have you learned nothing today?” she spat.

“Learned? Jesus, Andrea, I spent the entirety of the afternoon waddling around in a dirty diaper because you refused to change me. And I couldn’t even do it myself because you’re threatening to leave me.”

‘Why?” she asks. “Why do you think I was threatening to leave you?”

“I have no idea.” Maybe in another place at another time I would’ve been able to think more clearly. Right now? I smell absolutely ripe. I’m disgusting. There’s no way that I can think about whatever sort of morality lesson this is supposed to be.

“You take,” she says. “You take and you take and keep on taking. The world revolves around you. You’ve got this chip on your shoulder because of your success, and so you think you’re above everyone else.”

“Untrue.”

“If you believe that, you’re lying to yourself. You hurt my feelings last night. And then you came to my apartment today, giving me the worst apology I ever heard. And...I just gave up on you. I’m done. I’ve been done with you. And the more I think about you and what you do for me, the more I’m sure of that.”

“So then what was today all about? You put me in a diaper, remember? You gave me rules and…”

“I was fucking with you,” she says with a laugh. “I mean, that sounds mean, but I don’t even care. I was having fun. I wanted to see how far you’d take this. Just how important are your diapers to you? Let’s be real. You weren’t following my ‘rules’ because you wanted to keep your girlfriend in your life, right? You didn’t want to lose your Mommy. Your fantasy enabler.”

“Fine. Maybe...you’re right.”

I had never thought of it that way. But it didn’t matter, because she was right. I should feel ashamed, but I don’t. I’m just annoyed.

“Do you want help with your diaper?” she asks.

I sigh. Of course I do. I nod. She was expecting that answer. She sets her backpack, still probably carrying the extra diapers and whatever else she brought to campus with her earlier today.

“There’s no hiding it now,” she says. “You’re just a selfish baby, aren’t you? That’s all you care about. That’s all you want.”

“I don’t know, I -”

“Sit on the ground. In your diaper. Do it now.”

Fuck. I want this so bad. There’s absolutely no way that I can just ignore that demand, no matter how impractical and ill-advised it is.

So I sit down. Right onto my dirty diaper. That firm mound is immediately displaced, filling every vacant space it can find. The strong stench wafts up to my face.

“That felt good, I bet?” she says.

I nod.

“Is that what you like? Feeling like a messy little baby?”

She knows the answer to this. I don’t want to answer her, but I do anyways: “Yes.”

“Look at you. The president of the Student Council who shit himself at the podium and goes running off so he can sit on the floor in his dirty diaper. Do you even know where you are right now?”

I shake my head, blushing.

“Me neither. But I hope these horse girls come into their room tomorrow and wonder why it smells like a diaper.”

It’s all too much. I’m overwhelmed with everything. Every single little facet of the day hovers over me and I can’t bring myself to address any of it. The only thing I can do is to further retreat into my little-self.

I’m erect.

“Do you want me to change you?”

I nod.

“Ask me to change you. Beg me.”

“P-please....change me? I...well...can you? Please?”

“That was pathetic,” she scoffs. “Seriously? That was the best you could do? I’ve heard you beg better than that when you were at my apartment and wanted me to just put you into a diaper in the first place.”

“But...I’m here...and…”

“I don’t care. I really don’t.”

What else was there to lose? Certainly not my dignity.

“Mommy,” I said, reaching my arms up to her, “please change me…” My words were slurring, to the point where ‘please’ almost sounded like ‘pwease.’

“Go on,” she says. “Tell me why I need to.”

“Mommy...I...made a dirty diaper. I’m very stinky.”

She laughs, casually waving her hand in front of her face. “Yes, you’re right about that.”

She kneels down next to me, quickly unpacking her bookbag. A fresh diaper. Wipes. Baby powder. I almost protest the last item - but what would be the point?

I’m eased onto my back and she pulls my pants off. Completely off. My pants and my shoes are tossed aside, and I can hardly believe that this is the place I’m going to get my diaper changed. Someone could easily walk by and see what's happening inside this room if they wanted - the door has a sizeable window that probably wouldn’t leave much to the imagination.

The tapes of my current diaper are peeled back, and opening my diaper reveals two things - the absolutely massive mess I’ve left in there, and my hard cock.

“Absolutely disgusting,” she hisses. “But, you don’t seem to mind it much, do you?”

I say nothing.

Her hand is on my cock, playfully tugging at it. “How do you feel about this?”

“I...like it.”

“Of course you do. Give me your hand”

I do so without hesitation, planting my right hand into hers. She guides it between my legs on the other side of my full diaper.

“I’m going to play with your little cocklette,” she says. “And you’re going to feel your disgustingly full diaper while I do. I want you to be reminded of the things you did that got you to where you are in this moment.”

It sounded like it would be awkward, but it's not. She’s slowly, steadily, stroking me off, and my hand is cupping the bottom of my filthy diaper. I’m pressing it tightly against my skin. It’s incredible. It’s the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done period, let alone on campus.

The entire experience is over in moments. My emotions - my hormones - were already on fire, and I’ve just been waiting for the moment I could release at all. She simply created the opportunity and put the finishing touches on it.

“I’m...I’m gonna…”

“Already?” She laughs. You really are a little boy.

I erupt, spurting all over her hand. She immediately has the baby wipes on hand and wastes no time in cleaning her own hand first before opening the diaper again so that she can clean me. Slowly and methodically she cleans between my legs, wipe after wipe carrying away the catastrophe I created. It’s easy to forget where we are, or where I was ten minutes ago. Nothing about this feels real, and I’m left completely uncertain of where I’ll be ten minutes from now.

The wipes and the old diaper are bundled up and a new fresh diaper is slipped under me. She does not skimp with the baby powder. Layers of it. I cough from the cloud that envelopes my face. The new diaper is taped closed around me and she stands up and steps back.

“There,” she says. “All done.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“I mean it,” she reiterates. “I’m done. That was it.”

“What? But…”

“Good luck,” she says, zippering up her bookbag. She’s left the wipes and baby powder on the ground.

“You’re just going to go?”

The door is open and she’s gone.

I scramble to shut the door behind her. After I do, I’m left with...everything. A dirty diaper, baby powder and some baby wipes. Memories, including some very recent ones that I haven’t even had the chance to really process yet. And a lot of regret.

I call her. She doesn’t answer.

I text her: Andrea, come back? I’m sorry.

I wait a few minutes, but there’s no answer. I put my pants back on. I take everything that was left on the floor and just scoop it up and throw it into the trash can.

On the other side of this door is a vast and uncontrollable unknown. I know what I did - I messed my diaper in front of, effectively, the entire student body. But do they know what I did? What does my reputation look like on the other side of this door? Is Stacy planning a hit piece against me in the school newspaper? Do rumors start spreading about how the Student Council President shit himself in front of everyone?

I’m going to spend a few more minutes in this room, wherever I am. I know everything I need to know about this place to know that, for now, it's a safespace.

I’ve got some things to think about.

--

Epilogue: From Andrea’s Journal, Part 3

I’m not sad. Nor mad. There was a minute or two where I worried that something was wrong with me for feeling indifferent about it all, but I got over it.

Sometimes you can know something without thinking you do. I think I knew that Justin wasn’t right for me for a lot longer that I was conscious of it.

Should I regret the way I treated him? I don’t see why I should. We both got what we wanted. He got to experience that little public-fantasy he thought about. I got to throw my hands up in the air and say “fuck it.” You know what? It was fun. I enjoyed it.

For most of our relationship, I felt like I was just a tool being used to support him. I was a toy. I just flipped it around. Forget anything I might have said before - manipulating and ultimately humiliating Justin was the most fun I’ve ever had with him. So much so that I am often tempted to call him up and see if he wants to do it again.

I haven’t yet. I might, though. Someday.

He’s fine. People like Justin, you can’t actually stop them, you can only slow them down a little. Class President. Best GPA in the class. Enrolled in graduate studies overseas, last I heard.

I’m back in the dating pool. I, too, graduate this year. Then it's off to the real world with its “real” problems. I suspect the next time I deal with diapers, it’ll be with actual babies.

That seems less fun, honestly.

I’ll call him. Someday.