The Diapered Poet

Tap. Tap. Tap.

In a cozy dormitory, the night’s serenity was broken by the sound of a tapping pen. Three slumbering Littles were oblivious to this, as their mushy diapers and soaked padding was enough to bring them into the cuddly warmth of dreams. Of course, the fourth Little was not so easily swayed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

At a wooden desk, lit up by a singular amber lamp, sat a frustrated freshman named Julia. She stared at a blank paper, whose surface was yet to be written on. The ebony-haired girl hadn’t changed since her last class, although the smell was masked by her roommates’ own odor. Something less subtle were the puddles forming on the wooden chair, and on the tiled floor. She didn’t care. She leaked all the time, she thought.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Julia looked at the clock. 8:30 PM.

“Frick! It’s late! Dammit! Why did that stupid professor move poetry time to tomorrow?! And there isn’t even a theme! How am I supposed to write anything of substance?!” She whisper-shouted, putting down her pencil with anger. She crossed her arms, pouting at the bond paper.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her pampers continued to leak out, as her attention was fixated on the blank canvas of words. It was almost taunting her, how empty it was. Much like a tantalizing bully, Julia wished it could be punished. Alas, this was no Big who lacked empathy, but an inanimate object.

“Grr...I hate you.”

She looked down, her gaze now fixed on her accident. Julia was impartial with leaky diapers, as long as they kept her warm. It was autumn, after all. And she hated the cold. Luckily, all of the coffee she had drank hours before was finally paying off.

“Hmm…” She patted the front of her pampers, and squeezed it. Yellow droplets fell to the floor, and the university baby giggled at the sight.

“Heh. Like a lemon!” Julia dangled her feet above the puddle on the floor, her short stature giving some distance from the cold, wet, tiles. She rocked back and forth in her mess, and with every motion, more and more pee squirted to the floor. The stinky load in her pampers found its way around her soft bottom, the sizable mess putting the ‘mush’ in ‘smush’.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
“Wait a minute...mush. Smush. Those rhyme! And ‘like a lemon’...that’s a part of poetry, right? Wait! I think I have an idea…” She bounced in her seat, eager to write. As her overflowing diaper continued to release its contents, her pen scribbled on the paper, ink filling up the blank space as quick as she filled up her pampers.

The next morning…

“Alright, everyone, who would like to go first?”

The crowd of Little students mumbled amongst themselves as they sat sheepishly on the rug floor, their poofy posteriors growing wet with anxiety.

“Oh! I do!” Julia shot up her hand, holding up the fruit of her labor.

“Wonderful! Just come here to the podium.”

In reply, she happily walked to the nearby stand, her soaked diaper sloshing back and forth as she walked. Julia was so excited for this moment, that she’d forgotten to wear tights under her skirt. But it didn’t matter, as it was an all-Littles’ class, and more importantly, it was her time to shine.

The short girl reached the podium, and was met by the sight of curious eyes, and classmates taking a dump in their diapers.

“Ahem. Alright! So, this one’s called, ‘Ode to My Diaper’.” She cleared her throat, and said the following lines;

“Oh, damp pamp,
How I love you so,
When you’re hugging my hips,
When you swing to and fro.

How you poof and puff,
How you stay so tough,
When I pee and poop,
You hold just enough.

But sometimes you don’t,
But I don’t fret
I tape up another,
I’m not done yet!

I like to go potty,
That said is true,
I like to go potty,
But not in the loo.
I don’t need a paci,
Or a bottle, without a doubt,
But if I don’t have my diapers,
I can’t push it all out!

And when I need a change,
You let the grown-ups know.
You get bright like a lemon,
And you’re ripe when you grow.

Oh, damp pamp,
How I love you so,
When you’re hugging my hips,
When you swing to and fro.”

She did a little bow, and the crowd clapped and cheered. Her classmates could truly appreciate her work; after all, it was meant for people like them. Littles.

[end]