Stupid Baby Story Club, Part 2: Locker Room Trash [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

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Two: Locker Room Trash

“You sound different,” my mother said on the phone.

“Does it sound like I have a cold?” I asked. “Because I sneezed a few times this morning and I was worried I was coming down with something. But it might have been some dust, too.”

“No,” she said. I could always tell when she was smiling a little, even when I couldn’t see her face. “I just mean that you sound less…down?”

“Down? Like…depressed?”

“Well I didn’t want to say depressed. But maybe?”

“Hm.”

“I’m guessing school is going better?” she asked. “Making friends? Joining groups or something?”

“Uh, yeah, sorta,” I said. I had to momentarily hold the phone away from my face as I came close to laughing out loud.

It was too soon to say if I had actually made friends yet or not. But this Stupid Baby club felt like something. The first ‘something’ I had going for me in a long while. Even if the idea of it was making me nervous. Right at that moment, as I strolled across campus while talking to my mother on the phone, there was a large pink disposable diaper in my dorm room–hidden under some clothes in my closet.

I found that I couldn’t think about the diaper too much. It was simultaneously exciting and terrifying. Just as weird and foreign as the idea of ‘adult babies’ still seemed to me, weirder was the idea that this clean diaper was a ticket to my initiation in this club. I’d have to wear it. I’d have to…experience it? Tell mostly-strangers a story about it?

“Did I lose you?” my mother asked.

“Huh?”

“Did you not hear me?”

I supposed I hadn’t. Maybe phone calls weren’t the best time for deep contemplation. “No, I’m sorry. There was, uh, some stuff going on in one of the courtyards and I missed what you said.”

“If there’s stuff going on, we can always chat later,” my mother said.

I appreciated her giving me an out. I wanted to talk to her, but now I was thinking about diaper-clubs and it was getting harder and harder to focus on our conversation.

“I’m sorry–I see some people I know,” I lied. I was certain that this would give me a graceful exit. My mother wanted, more than anything, for me to have a healthy social life while at college.

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “You go have fun. Give me a call later if you have a chance.”

I appreciated her saying ‘if.’ It gave me another out for later on. If I didn’t call her back today–or even tomorrow–it could be construed as just me not having a chance.

“Will do. Love you.”

“Love you too, Sasha.”

After slipping my phone back into my purse, I realized that I had no idea where I had been going before I took the call. Maybe to get some food? Maybe I was just…walking? I considered wandering around aimlessly a little longer, until inspiration hit, but I already knew what I wanted to be doing.

I wanted to look at my diaper again.

I made a 180 on the sidewalk, and marched right back towards my dorm again. The closer I got, the more excited I got. It was so stupid. It was a fucking diaper–no college-age girl was supposed to be excited about that.

Somewhere near the Common Center, I hear some guys talking off to the side. I didn't think much of it at first–it’s a university campus, and there’s people everywhere. But I hear a familiar voice in the mix. I slow my footsteps and glance to my right, seeing a group of guys laughing and chatting.

Chuck.

It’d be unfair for me to do any sort of ranking of the members of the baby-club at this point–considering that I had only met them exactly once–but my takeaway from that first meeting was that Chuck was my least favorite of the group. The jock. 80s teen cinema had taught me that every group had to have one. The obnoxious and over-confident dolt who probably had a heart of gold.

As far as I could tell, Chuck did not have a heart of gold. Though I supposed he had plenty of time to prove me wrong.

Still, he was one of them. One of…us, though it felt way too soon to say something that bold–I doubted I was part of an ‘us’ yet. Not until I…used my diaper and told a story about it? I wasn’t entirely clear on that.

I waved at him. Just a simple and polite wave. The ol’ ‘Hey, how are ya doing?’

He scoffed. Literally scoffed and shook his head like he was disgusted.

Okay, fine. Lesson learned.

But that wasn’t the end of it. One of his cronies had noticed his sour reaction and glanced in my direction.

“Chuck, you know her?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head again. “What the hell are you waving at?”

I sighed, frustrated that I had seemingly broken secret-society code by acting like I knew him.

“S-sorry,” I called out over my shoulder as I quickened my pace. “I thought you were someone else.”

I had come incredibly close to being a little more aggressive with my apology. ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone a little cuter.’ But there was no way that I would ever be capable of pulling that off.

Behind me, I could hear them laughing and joking around. My pace hastened further as my cheeks grew a deep shade of red. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I was nervous that I had just fucked myself over. I wondered if Chuck would text the rest of the group–maybe they had some sort of group text that I had yet to earn a spot in–and explain that I had made the fatal error of acknowledging him outside of the group. They’d all vote, via text, that I shouldn’t be allowed to be in the group. They’d change their secret meeting space. Mama wouldn’t return my texts. Flo would, probably, threaten to kill me again.

Back at my dorm, I’m as disappointed to see my roommate Lara as she is to see me. We don’t hate each other–as best as I can tell–but we’re both big fans of alone time.

I almost apologize to her for showing up at the room I live in, though I’m able to bite my tongue.

“What are you up to today?” she asks, an obvious attempt at trying to determine how much time she’ll get to herself.

I shrugged. “Not sure. Have some classes this afternoon and…”

Tonight would be the next meeting of the club. Unless I got a message telling me not to bother showing up–and I was almost expecting that after my run-in with Chuck–my plan was to attend. I locked up for a moment as I tried to think of how I’d explain my late-night absence to Lara. But then it dawned on me–the most simple explanation.

“...I’m supposed to hang out with some friends tonight,” I finished. There was probably something to be said about how the friends-excuse hadn’t come to mind sooner. I imagined it said a lot about me.

“Oh?” she asked, seeming kind of surprised. I didn’t blame her.

“Yeah, so I might be out for a while tonight.”

“Well, uhm, have fun,” she said. I wasn’t entirely sure that she believed me.

I needed to see that diaper again. I wished I could’ve pulled it out of the closet and held it in my hands for a while. Maybe open it up and feel the interior padding. Maybe take a good strong sniff of it.

I…may have done that before, I’m slightly ashamed to say. I didn’t expect it to smell like anything. And it didn’t, really. It smelled vaguely of manufactured plastic and chemicals. Maybe the slightest hint of something floral–probably the smell of something else that had been in the purse that Flo kept the diaper in.

I opened my closet and dug through some clothes until I found the diaper. I couldn’t do much besides look at it. Oh, wow. There it is. I poked it. It crinkled a little as my finger pressed into the plastic backing. There was no way that Lara could hear it, but I blushed a little anyway.

When I glanced behind me, I saw that Lara was reading from a massive tome of a textbook. I quickly snatched the diaper out of the closet and slipped it into my purse before closing the closet door. From now on, I’d be carrying the diaper with me. Just in case.

Just in case what? No idea.

I stared at my phone for most of the afternoon, just waiting for a text to come that would tell me not to bother showing up at the meeting. I had even started typing out a text to send to Mama.

“Look, I don’t know if Chuck has told you or not yet, but I think I made a huge mistake today by waving to him while he was with his friends. I’d totally understand if everyone decided that I shouldn’t be allowed to be in the group anymore. I promise that, from now on, I won’t ever wave to anyone else in public again.”

I didn’t send it. I was being ridiculous–as I had a habit of. If they had something to say to me, they’d say it.

By the time I was walking through the darkened campus, ready to meet up with the group in Garcia Hall, it seemed safe to assume that I hadn’t been uninvited.

This was confirmed upon finding the group waiting for me in Room 214–same as last time. They were all there, waiting for me with smiles on their faces.

“You came,” Mama said, standing up and hustling over to me so that she could hug me. I hugged her back, almost bursting into tears for being made to feel so welcome.

I nodded. “Hi everyone.”

They all said their hellos and/or nodded. Even Chuck, who just gave a simple wave from the corner of the room–a wave not too dissimilar to the one I had tried using on him earlier.

“I was nervous you weren’t going to show,” Neil said, patting the seat of an empty chair next to him.

I scratched my head: “Am I late? I thought I was on time.”

“Perfectly on time,” Drake said. “Most of us usually end up getting here a little earlier.”

“Except for Flo,” Chuck said. “She’s usually late.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Flo spat. “Early, too.”

“Alright, alright,” Drake said. “We’re all here, that’s all that matters.”

I took the seat next to Neil. I was feeling excited again. Not that I wasn’t–in between the anxious moments I thought I was getting kicked out, I was still looking forward to seeing everyone again–but I was now very excited again. Once again, this little group–as weird as it was–felt right to me.

“Are we ready to go?” asked Drake.

Everyone nodded. I nodded too.

“Very well, welcome back to the Stupid Baby Story Club. Tonight, we’re continuing with the theme of ‘It’s Personal.’ Tonight’s story is brought to us by Chuck.”

“Before we start,” Mama said. “Let’s do one last potty-check. Does anyone need a change?”

“Check Flo’s diaper,” Chuck said, the tone of his voice suggesting that he was teasing. “I think it’s a little stinky.”

“It is not,” Flo said, her head whipping around to face him. “It’s dry as a bone!”

“Flo, it’s okay if you need a diaper change,” Mama said. “Do you want some help?”

“I don’t need a damn diaper change!”

“I think he was just joking,” Chuck said to Mama.

“Well, you know, I just want to be sure,” she replied. “Just in case.”

It made me wonder what would’ve happened if I had been wearing my diaper. If I had…used it. If I said that I had wet my diaper, would she have changed me? It seemed ridiculous, though it also gave me goosebumps.

Why don’t you pocket that daydream for later.

“Alright,” Drake said. “I think we’re good to go, then. Chuck?”

“Right. Well…here we go then.”

- - -

Locker Room Trash

I don’t know–have any of you ever spent time in a locker room before? And I’m not talking about high school gym class either. I’m talking about the locker room of a team. It can be a crazy place. Everyone just feeds off of everyone else.

Like, before a game. We’re all excited, individually. We want to win. We want to show off everything we’ve been practicing. We want our family and friends and school to be proud of us. We want to defeat the opposing team so badly. And each of us just amplifies the emotions in everyone else. Crazy things start happening when you get twenty-something guys pumping each other up. Songs break out. There’s cheering. Chanting. Sometimes things get broken.

And the inverse is just as possible. If we’ve had a particularly grueling practice or, god-forbid, we lose a game–the locker room is like a funeral. Everyone’s bitter and dejected. Everyone wants to blame everyone else. Again, some crazy things can happen when you get twenty-something guys acting miserable around each other. I’ve seen fist-fights erupt over some guy’s water bottle falling off a bench.

I was new to the team two years ago, but I wasn’t new to football locker rooms. I knew what to expect.

Sure, there was a little bit of hazing. Nothing too bad. People get whipped with towels in the shower. Your face gets drawn on if you fall asleep on the bus to a game at another university. Whatever. Just brush it off.

There’s a few ways to make the experience easier. For one, you can just prove yourself out on the field. Make a few good plays–score a few points if you can–and suddenly the team stops giving you as much shit.

But also? It helps to just not be a baby about it. The guys who get picked on the most? The ones who let everyone know how much it bothers them. The ones who try to run away and hide. The ones who try to say something to the coaches. The ones who plead for people to leave them alone.

We had a guy like that on the team last year. Andy Dimpton. He was a wide receiver from some high school in, like, Rhode Island? Fast as hell, and I had never seen the guy drop a ball–we were lucky to have him on the team. Of course, he was also built like a scarecrow and the wind could blow him over. The most timid guy I’d ever met, too.

As you can imagine, he quickly found himself in the role as the team’s favorite punching bag. Some of the guys on the team–the ones who had been around the longest–they were merciless with him. They’d break into his locker and hide his clothes on him. They’d pull his towel off from around his waist whenever he came out of the shower. They started calling him Big Baby because he perpetually looked like he was about to start bawling at any moment.

And me? Well, you know, it was my first year too, and I wanted to fit in. I didn’t want to be another Andy Dimpton. So, you know, I…played along. Did a little teasing when I could.

[“Jesus,” said Neil, shaking his head. “You teased him too?”

“Does that really surprise you?” Flo asked.

“Guys, let’s just let Chuck tell his story,” Drake said. “We can talk about that later.”]

I fucked up one day. Pretty badly, too.

So, I like…diapers. I mean, that shouldn’t come as a shock, considering that we’re all here right now, right? Some people say that they don’t know how they got into their kinks–they just stumbled into it and it just fit, right? But not me. I know where the diaper thing came from.

I used to wet the bed when I was a kid. My mother did her best to have patience with me when I was younger, but the older I got, the more pissed off it made her. By the time I was 12, if I wet the bed, she’d immediately empty my underwear drawer and get me a pack of those Goodnights training pants. Then, I’d have to wear those–and only those–until I could keep them dry overnight for a week. This went on for a few years…longer than it should’ve, probably. The most goddamn humiliating years of my life too. Can you even imagine being 13 and going to school in a pull-up because your Mom hid all your underpants?

(That’s pretty fucked up.)

Later in my teens, it stopped being as much of an issue. I was doing my own laundry, and I think Ma realized she couldn’t keep me in diapers while I was in high school. We never talked about it. She never asked if I was still having issues, and she never apologized for how she used to treat the situation. It was just…out of sight, out of mind.

But…diapers. They were the naughtiest, most shameful, thing in the world. Exactly the kind of thing that a sexually-awakening teen needed to jump start some fucked-up kink.

Anyway, I’m in college. I’ve graduated from pull-ups to, like, the real deal. The big diapers. I know you know the ones.

I kept a stash in my dorm room. Still do, too. I don’t get a chance to wear them all that often, though. Between football practice, games, and…well, having a social life, there’s really never a time when I’m by myself to piss in a diaper and masturbate.

(Way to rub it in that everyone else has a social life in college.)

Maybe you know the feeling–that one where you’ve been away from your kinks and private time for so long that they slowly become the only thing you can think about? Weeks had gone by without me touching my stash, and I had diapers on the fucking brain. All I wanted was just enough time to crawl around in one and, uh, you know…use it.

The more desperate I got, the more chances I was willing to take. Normally, I’d never wear a diaper out in public. The absolute last thing I needed was to have the top of a diaper peaking out over the top of my pants. University Athlete Charles Stone Wears Diapers–I could just imagine that being the headline on the campus newspaper. But I needed to wear a diaper.

So one afternoon I took a chance. I put on a big thick diaper, pulled up my pants, and went to class. And for a while, it was good. I had wet myself once or twice and I had a little bit of a waddle as I walked around. I was extremely self-conscious of it, but the thrill of strolling around in my wet diaper was worth it.

But then I met up with some guys from the team. They were going to head over to the field and run some drills and they wanted me to join them. I tried to get out of it, saying I had other places to go or be, but… These guys, you can’t really say ‘no.’ Remember, it was my first year on the team and I didn’t want to be Andy Dimpton. So I went over to the field with them.

All my gear was in the locker room, so it wasn’t like I had to go back to the dorm room. As terrified as I was of getting caught, I thought I had a pretty good plan: Once we got to the locker rooms, I’d duck into the adjoining bathroom, take off the diaper, and toss it in the trash before getting changed in the locker room.

And that worked. Flawlessly. Soon, I was on the field with the guys, and nobody had any idea that just a few minutes before, I had been a pissy little bitch.

[“Wearing a diaper–wet or not–doesn’t make you a ‘bitch,’” said Neil.

“I don’t think that’s what he’s saying,” Drake said. “I think he’s saying that he felt like a ‘pissy little bitch.’ That was how he perceived others viewing him if they knew the truth.”

“Right,” Chuck said, nodding. “But if you were sitting there in a wet diaper,” he added, talking to Neil, “I’d call you a pissy little bitch too.”

“Just…tell your story,” Mama said, rolling her eyes.]

I honestly had forgotten about the diaper. After a few hours of running around, it was the furthest thing from my mind. The diaper was gone, and I knew that I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Of course, things didn’t exactly go to plan. Kyle Wallace–this massive bear of a guy, and a senior–he was all hyped up after running all those drills. And, of course, you get one guy riled up and suddenly the whole locker room gets riled up. Everyone’s just being especially rowdy. People are playfully throwing things at each other. Calling each other names. Lots of laughter.

Andy Dimpton is there too, and he heads off to take a shower. And Kyle’s got this shit-eating grin on his face.

“Watch this,” he says to the rest of us.

We watch. He goes to the bathroom and returns a minute later with the trash can. The whole fucking trash can.

(Oh no.)

And we can all guess what he’s going to do. He’s probably going to dump the trash on Andy while the guy is in the shower. Even if I didn’t know what was in the trash can, I’d have probably thought it was a bad idea. It felt like a step over the line between hazing and just being a complete fucking dickhead.

But, also, I know what’s in that trash can.

Now, I can’t just tell him to stop. I mean–I should. I know I should. And in the thousands of times I’ve replayed this moment in my head since, I truly wished that I had said something instead. But at that moment, I didn’t want to be that guy. I didn’t want to be another Andy Dimpton.

So I said nothing, and let it play out.

It went about exactly as you’d have expected it to. Kyle went into the showers and tried to dump the trash on Andy. It wasn’t all that successful, honestly, the trash just kind of fell on the floor around Andy instead of on him. But there, among the wads of paper towels and energy bar wrappers, was a giant balled-up diaper.

I thought to myself: It’s just garbage. Nobody cares what’s in the garbage. They’re not going to look at it. Study it. Analyze it. Because who would do that, right?

But Kyle sees it, and for reasons that I still can’t quite figure out, he goes in for a closer look.

I’ll never forget his words, hearing them echo off the tiled walls of the shower as we watched from the locker room: “There’s a fucking diaper in here.”

Everyone rushes to see it. I don’t know why people need to see this diaper so badly–maybe it’s just the absurdity of it. Maybe it was just the way Kyle had said it. He could’ve said “There’s a fucking banana in here” and we’d all have come running, just because of how surprised he sounded.

There it is–my bloated diaper, isolated on the floor of the shower, kicked away from the rest of the trash.

Everyone is laughing. It’s obvious that this isn’t a baby’s diaper. There are no babies on campus, and this thing is huge. There’s only one question everyone has now: Who wears diapers?

Everybody huddled in that shower is looking at each other suspiciously. Me too–I’m glancing at everyone wildly, as if I was just as confused about where that diaper came from.

“Is it yours?” Kyle asks Andy. He picks it up–he literally picks up the dirty diaper in his hand and holds it near Andy’s face as he asks. “Do you piss yourself like a little baby?”

“Fuck you,” Andy says. “I don’t wear diapers.”

“Are you sure?” taunts Kyle. “Is that why you don’t like to hang with anyone? Because you’re afraid that we’re going to smell your dirty pampers?”

But, for once, Andy isn’t backing down: “How do we know it’s not your diaper? Maybe that’s the reason you’re always a dick–you need to get your diaper changed!”

It’s a pretty good comeback, and it summons an epic “Oooooooooh!” from the other guys.

It escalates into a fight. Very quickly, it’s not even about the diaper anymore–it’s about a guy who is sick of being picked on and a guy who isn’t about to back down while thinking he’s the alpha.

There’s not much to say about the fight. You see one locker room fight and you’ve seen them all. They barely even touch each other–there’s a horde of sweaty guys between them, trying to keep the peace.

The aftermath is pretty ugly, though. When the coaches demand explanations, Kyle’s seniority has most of the guys taking his side, insisting that it was actually Andy who had instigated the fight. Andy ended up getting a thorough tongue-lashing before being made to do a deep clean of the shower.

I felt for him. I felt guilty. Even if I wasn’t the one who had gotten in his face, it was my diaper that threw the locker room into chaos. Still, I wasn’t about to say anything to anyone–including Andy. I just hoped that, in time, we’d all forget about it and move on.

But nobody forgot about it. People started calling Andy ‘Baby.’ They’d tape baby diapers to his locker. They’d steal his water bottle from the sidelines and replace it with a baby bottle.

Heaven forbid the guy made a mistake on the field–as it would cause the rest of the team to mock him with questions about whether or not he needed his diaper changed before the next play.

I could tell that he wanted to let it roll off his shoulders, but it was wearing him down.

One night, as I sat all alone in my dorm room in a diaper…

[“Aw,” Flo sarcastically cooed to Chuck. “Did the little boy finally get some diaper time?”

Chuck seemed poised to respond, but thought better of it when he caught Mama’s disapproving look.]

One night, as I sat alone in my dorm room in a diaper, I realized what I had to do. I had to come clean to Andy about where the diaper had come from. I needed to let him know that it was my fault.

I had no idea what was going to happen after that. It wasn’t going to fix the problem with everyone else making fun of him–and I certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth to the rest of the team. But maybe Andy and I would have a good conversation about it and we could figure something out together.

In hindsight, it wasn’t a good plan. It was barely a plan. But I was so overcome with guilt that I felt like I had to do something.

One night, after practice, I asked if he wanted to grab some food with me. He agreed, and honestly, I think he was pretty thankful that anyone was giving him the time of day without teasing. We went out and grabbed some fast food burgers and went back to my dorm room. My roommate, at the time, was out off campus and it seemed like a good place to have a private conversation.

Things were actually going well. We were hitting it off, and I think we were both in need of some friendship. The more we talked, the more we seemed to have in common. We could’ve actually been friends. If it wasn’t for the fact that he brought it up himself, I had been thinking I’d skip the entire diaper conversation.

“So, hey,” he says. “What’s up with the whole baby thing? Why can’t anyone just let it go?”

“You know how the guys are,” I say. “They get something in their head and… Well, it’s like a fucking hive-mind. Nobody thinks for themselves and they just go with whatever someone like Kyle says.”

“I just…I’d love to know where that fucking diaper came from,” Andy says. “Because it doesn’t seem fair that it’s my problem now.”

I took a deep breath, not sure if I was actually going to go through with this conversation or not.

“Andy, I, uhm, need to tell you something.” The words just sort of popped out of my mouth before I was even ready.

“Oh, okay.” He looked a little worried. I guess, if I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t know what to think either.

“I, uh, know where the diaper came from.”

“What? You do? Where?”

“I… Well. It was my diaper.”

“Wait, what? Did you try to set me up with the diaper?”

“N-no,” I say. “I didn’t know Kyle was going to throw a trash can at you. I mean that I…”

“Oh,” he says, the truth suddenly clicking. “It was your diaper. You wear diapers and you had just…thrown that one away.”

I nodded. I had no idea what else to say.

We sat there in complete silence for a minute or two, though it felt like an hour. I kept hoping he’d say something, but he just stared off into space.

Finally, he did speak: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Huh?”

“When Kyle got in my face in the shower? Or when Coach was talking to everyone after. Or…in all the days since while people have been harassing me and calling me a baby. You knew that it wasn’t my diaper and you never said anything.”

“I mean…it’s not like I could tell everyone it was my diaper.”

“But you didn’t have to,” he says. “All you had to do was have my back. All you had to do was stand up for me. Fuck. I mean, now that I think about it, even if it wasn’t your diaper, it’d have been cool if you were on my side.”

He was right. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Why the hell were you wearing a diaper anyway?”

It’s another one of those moments that I’ve come back to countless times since, trying to think if there was a better way to have handled it. But as I sat there in my dorm room with him, I felt like I owed him the truth. I thought, maybe, if he knew the real reasons why I wore the diaper…he’d forgive me.

[“Really?” asked Flo. “That seems like really bad judgment. Even for you.”

“Stressful situations make us do crazy things,” I said. I almost didn’t want to chime in at all, but I found myself relating a little to Chuck at this point in his story. I felt like I had been there before–desperately seeking others’ approval by any means necessary.

“Uh, thank you,” Chuck said to me, looking a little caught off guard that someone was defending him.]

I told him the truth: “I sometimes like to wear diapers.”

The look on his face was simultaneously of surprise and disgust. Of all the reasons that he might have guessed, me liking diapers was clearly not one of them.

“You like diapers?”

I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing. I couldn’t have told him it was for a medical reason? I wanted to go back and try again, but the cat was already out of the bag.

“You’re, like, one of those guys who get off on acting like a giant baby?” he asks.

The question feels like a punch to the gut, it’s so full of judgment. And he’s right, but not completely right. I’ve never been an ‘adult baby.’ My kinks tend to start and end with just diapers. But I wasn’t going to try and explain that to him.

I decided to try taking the conversation in a different direction. “Maybe you and I can talk to Coach about this. Like, we don’t have to tell him the entire truth…but we can team up and see what we can do about the harassment you’re getting from the other guys.”

He shakes his head, still stuck on an earlier part of the conversation. “You like wearing diapers?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you wearing one now? Is that why you brought me up here? To, like, show me your diaper or something?”

“N-no way, man. I just wanted to talk. I just wanted to–”

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me your diapers.”

“I’m not wearing them right now.”

“Wherever your diapers are, take them out and show them to me.”

Of all the possible outcomes, this was the one I had expected the least–Andy revealing himself as just as much of an alpha as any of the other guys in the locker room.

Look, I’ve been playing sports all my life. I’ve been on all sorts of teams and I’ve been around a ton of guys. I’ve managed to never be the guy getting picked on–so I thought that made me one of them. One of the alphas. But the truth, as I learned in that moment, was that I wasn’t one of them. I had just been lucky. Lucky that there was always some guy on the team who was a bigger target.

And now, in a room with just me and Andy, I was the biggest target.

I went and fetched my diapers from the box I kept under my bed. I didn’t keep many on hand–just two or three. But that was more than enough.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he spit. “I’m the guy getting baby bottles thrown at me, and being asked if I shit myself, and yet you’re the one who has actual adult diapers under their bed?”

I didn’t dare answer that question.

“Put one on,” he says.

“What?”

“You heard me, Chuck. Put one of those fucking diapers on, right now.”

“But, Andy, come on. I just…”

“It’s the least you can do for me. After all the humiliation and bullying I’ve endured, the least you can do is show me what a real diaper-wearing baby looks like.”

In the moment, that made sense to me. In hindsight, I’m not really sure why it would’ve. But, there in that room with him, I believed that I owed him that much. To show him what it looked like when I wore a diaper.

I tossed all but one of the diapers aside, tucking that last one under my shirt so I could leave my dorm and go to the bathrooms down the hall. I figured I could change into it in a stall and then come back and lower my pants for him.

“No,” he says, holding a hand out to stop me. “Do it here. I want to see.”

I can’t explain to you what I was scared of. I didn’t think he was going to hurt me, nor did I even think he was going to run and tell everyone else what he had seen. But I was terrified of him nonetheless. And, too, I wanted to do right by him. I felt I owed him this–no matter the discomfort to me.

(Is it bad that I’m on the edge of my seat? Is it bad that I’m excited by this turn?)

So. I do it. I pull down my pants and boxers, and I awkwardly try to put a big diaper on myself while standing up. I’ve seen–both of us have seen–plenty of naked men in our lives. Such is life on a team. But I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself, fumbling with the thick padding as my dick just dangled helplessly between my legs.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He just sat there and stared at me. It was like he was studying me, you know? Analyzing me. I almost wished that he would start laughing or calling me names. Anything would’ve been better than the cold mysterious quiet.

Somehow, I got the diaper on. It wasn’t straight, it wasn’t tight enough, and it probably looked like a literal toddler put it on himself, but it was on.

“There,” I say to him. “You happy now?”

“Not really.”

“What else do you want me to do then?”

“Get on your hands and knees,” he says. “Crawl like a baby.”

I lowered myself to my hands and knees. There wasn’t much vacant space in the dorm room to crawl around, but I took a few awkward and shaky strides forward.

Still, he didn’t look amused. He didn’t look like he was enjoying this. He looked angry. It almost looked as if my eagerness to do as he asked made him lose even more respect for me.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I still wasn’t going to point out that this wasn’t the sort of thing that I did when I actually was enjoying a diaper–let alone the added scrutiny of him being in the room with me.

“I just wanted to see what a real baby looks like,” he says. “So that when the other guys start mocking me and putting goddamn baby diapers in my locker, I’ll remember that this is what an actual man in a diaper looks like.”

“What can I do?” I ask. “Do you want me to talk to the guys? Talk to the coach?”

He shook his head. “What for? Unless you crawl around the locker room in a diaper so that they can all see you as I see you right now, I don’t think you’re ever going to get me off the hook.”

“Well, I could–”

“Don’t bullshit me me,” he spits. “Don’t pretend you’re actually going to do that. Because you’re not, right? You’re not going to go and show the whole team that you’re a little diaper-wearing infant.”

“Okay,” I say. “So what do you want?”

He responded by unzipping his pants, opening them up. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to–it was clear what he wanted and what I was expected to do.

I’ve never sucked a man’s cock before. I’ve never touched another man’s cock. I’ve never even considered it. I’m not, like, homophobic. I just… Well, I just never thought that I wanted any of that.

In that moment though, watching him reach into his boxers and pull out a cock that was easily bigger than mine–I didn’t bat an eye. I still thought that I deserved whatever comeuppance he believed I was owed. And if he wanted me to suck on his cock, while I was on my hands and knees–diapered–I was willing to do it.

(My panties are moist. I think I’m kind of ashamed of that–but then again, I’m kind of not.)

I’m not gay. I’m not bi. I’ve never craved a dick since that moment. It wasn’t some sort of transcendent experience that made me rethink everything I knew about myself.

[“That’s a shame,” said Neil. “We could use a guy like you.”

“We?” asked Chuck.

“The gays,” said Neil, nodding.]

At that moment, though, I just knew what I had to do. And I was willing to take one for the team–even if the team was pretty much just me in a diaper. I thought about telling him that I didn’t know what I was doing, and that I had never done anything like this before. But he knew that already. The point wasn’t that I was to sexually please him–well, at least not primarily. The point was that I was to be humiliated. The point was that he was proving to me that even though he was getting teased in the locker room, I was the pathetic loser actually wearing a diaper and doing whatever it took to be respected.

I wrapped my mouth around his cock and tried my best. The first few minutes were pretty awkward. He took my head in his hands and guided me up and down his shaft, occasionally slapping the side of my face when my teeth were getting too close to his skin. But eventually we seemed to be in sync. He didn’t even have to guide my head anymore–I had found the right series of movements and the rhythm to pleasure him on my own.

And I was pleasing him. I knew this because of the way he moaned. The way he shoved his cock as deep as he could into my mouth–often until I had to pause and try to catch my breath. I knew it from the things he said.

“Are you sure you’re not some sissy little princess, diaper-boy? I’ve never had a girl suck cock as good as you’re doing it right now.”

(Oh my.)

I won’t say I hated it. I won’t tell you that I liked it either. But. I won’t say that I hated it.

He finished on my face. When it became clear that he did intend to keep me on his cock until he climaxed, I grew increasingly nervous about how that would go down. I was terrified of him pumping his load right down my throat. I just…I couldn’t even imagine doing that. But at the last minute, he shoved me off of him so that he could erupt directly onto my face.

And that was how he left me–sitting on my dorm room floor in a diaper, with my face covered in his c*m.

[“We really need to revisit the ‘no-touching-ourselves’ rule,” said Neil.]

I’ll tell you this now, since I told you everything else–and because I know that what we say in these stories doesn’t leave the group: I pissed myself in that diaper after he left. And after that, with my face still a mess, I jerked off in my diaper.

If he had stayed, I’d have done it in front of him, too.

Andy stayed on the team for the rest of the season. The bullying slowly diminished until it finally stopped. I heard some guys say that they had just gotten tired of the joke, but I don’t think that’s what killed it. I think Andy Dimpton was a different guy after that night in my dorm room. He started walking with his head held up a little higher. When people made jokes about them, he looked them right in the eyes–seeming to challenge them to say something else.

In the locker room after our last game of the season, I watched him and Kyle Wallace give each other a hi-five. Andy had done it–he had managed to turn around his reputation and become one of the alphas.

And I was still in the absolute middle of the hierarchy–mostly ignored.

Andy never said a word to me again. He didn’t so much as look at me. It was like that night never happened. Or, that night–and me–was so insignificant that he never bothered thinking about it afterwards.

He transferred to a different school last year. I couldn’t tell you why. As far as I know, he’s never told a single person about that night. Certainly nobody else from the team.

Meanwhile, the team has forgotten him and moved on. There’s new freshmen on the team to tease and pick on now. I like to help out with the hazing when I can. It’s important to let the new guys know where I believe I am on the food chain. And, too, I like to remind the other guys on the team that I’m not on the bottom of the barrel. I’m not a baby.

So, no, I probably haven’t learned a damn thing. Except that I can’t ever let my interest in diapers come anywhere close to my life on the team.

- - -

“It sounds like there’s another lesson to be learned too,” Flo said.

Just about everyone rolled their eyes, bracing themselves for what was surely a tasteless joke.

We were right: “You’re good at sucking dick,” she said. “You shouldn’t let that skill go to waste.”

That got a little snicker out of Neil, but nobody else seemed to react to it. Admittedly, it took a lot of willpower to prevent myself from breaking out into a giggle fit.

“Wow,” Drake said, seemingly ignoring Flo as he looked at Chuck. “Thank you for sharing that story, man.”

“Yeah, sure,” Chuck said, shrugging.

It was kind of surreal. I found myself getting lost in the story as he told it, and I found Chuck to be surprisingly sympathetic. A guy who was unsure of himself. A guy who made a mistake and wanted to correct it. A guy who was willing to sacrifice some of his dignity to make someone else feel better about themselves. I wouldn’t say it was relatable, per se, but it painted a much different picture of Chuck than the one I had in my head.

And yet, as soon as the story was over, and as I watched him shrug off Drake’s compliment, he suddenly looked like the same cocky jock I thought he was.

“Alright,” Mama said. “I guess that’s going to do it for tonight. Sasha, how are you feeling about things?”

“Uhm, good,” I said, nodding. “I’m…liking this.” I wanted to add ‘a lot,’ but I didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Did you wear your diaper yet?” Flo asked.

“Not yet.”

“She’s got time,” Mama said.

“Whose story is next week?” asked Neil.

“Mine,” Flo said.

“Make sure you wear your diapers next week,” Chuck said. “Her story is probably going to make you spurt in your pants.”

“Nah,” Neil quickly retorted. “That’s just you, man.”

I almost believed Chuck. His story had already left me feeling a little hot and bothered–and I had never once thought about two men together before. I was quite interested in seeing what Flo would bring to the table.

And that was it. We made some small talk before saying our goodbyes. Then, we were on our ways, splitting off in different directions.

“Hey, hold on a second,” a voice said from behind me as I walked towards my dorm.

I turned around to see that it was Chuck.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Hey, uhm, real quick,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I just wanted to apologize about earlier.”

“Apologize? For what?” For making my panties moist with your story about sucking another man’s cock?

“For earlier today, when you waved to me. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. I just…”

“Right, no, I get it,” I said, nodding. “Your story made that pretty clear. You have to keep that kink-life locked up real tight.”

“Exactly.”

“I won’t do that again,” I said. “Promise. If I see you walking around, I’ll just keep walking without acknowledging you.”

“I appreciate that,” he said. “But also, I was actually going to say that, like, if you want to get together some time, we could, uh…”

“Oh yeah, sure,” I said. “Maybe we could grab dinner or something?”

He shrugged. “Well, I was thinking more, like, you could come over to my place? Or I could go to yours?”

“Oh.” The implication of his request was starting to dawn on me. He didn’t want to be friends. He wanted to hook up. Or, perhaps, whatever the diapered-adult equivalent of that was.

Heart of gold, my ass.

“Yeah, here’s my number,” he said, seemingly under the assumption that I was on the same page.

I took his number and gave him mine. Begrudgingly. I probably could’ve said no or explained that I wasn’t interested in whatever he wanted. But, such is life when you’re so far down on the totem pole–it gets real hard to say no.

Admittedly, as I walked home that night, there was a little extra bounce in my step. I had friends–or something like friends. And a boy’s phone number–which I couldn’t say had ever happened before. It was way too soon to tell my mother about this, as badly as I wanted to.

But she’d probably hear it in my voice anyway.