Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 5 added 12_18_13

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Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 5 added 12/18/13
Date Published: December 13, 2013, 1:46pm
Written By: Whetoric

Chapter 1: Outcasts
Dylan still held on desperately to a shred of hope that this school year would be fun. Doubtless, he only held onto such hope because the only other option was despair. Fourth grade was supposed to be different, he had been told; he and the other kids were almost in the double digits in age, certainly they’d be more mature now, his mom had suggested. Despite having yet to make any friends in his first three years at this school, he somehow hoped this year would be different.
Dylan lined up for class in the brisk September morning, and noticing at least half of the kids were from his class last year. His heart sank as he recognized the same kids that had picked on him throughout the third grade. “Maybe they won’t remember me” He hoped, avoiding eye contact as the teacher more firmly instructed to make a single file line.
The children filed into class with the chattering of the more popular kids discussing their summers. Dylan found his seat in the third row and placed his backpack on the chair attached to his small desk. He saw Tom, one of the main instigators of his bullying from last year, shoot him a smug, evil little smile. He quickly diverted his gaze, downward, noticing the desk next to his was already occupied.
“Hi” Dylan said to the boy next to him, summoning up his courage; his neighbor had not been in his class last year, which was a good start at least.
“Hi” The boy returned sharply, looking him up and down in a predatory sort of way, as if sizing him up.
“So, umm, what class were you in last year?” Dylan asked hesitantly.
“I went to a different school.” The boy responded, a little gentler as he noticed Dylan’s discomfort. “My name’s Paul, what’s yours?”
“I’m Dylan, nice to meet you.” He said, offering his hand, and the other boy shook it briskly. Dylan breathed in a little deeper, at least the first kid he had talked to this year had gone okay.
Morning recess came and Dylan followed Paul out onto the recess grounds.
“You went to this school last year right?” Paul asked as they walked out towards the soccer field.
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, where’s your friends?” Paul asked heading towards the corner of the field.
Dylan continued following Paul’s pace, not bothered that they were walking further away from the throng of children. “I umm,” he started, faltering, “Is it okay if I hang out with you?”
“Sure,” Paul replied shrugging, though Dylan could sense the kid kind of wanted to be left alone. Instead, Paul put up with Dylan’s presence as the two sat under a tree, on one of the large roots protruding from the ground, at the edge of the school yard. Cars occasionally passed by on the street behind the chain link fence a few feet from this final large tree “So, umm what’re you into?”
“I like video games,” Dylan replied happily, “and reading and stuff.”
“Me too, which games?” Paul said, finally a little more relaxed.
“RPGs, and the Zelda games, and those kinda ones.” Dylan specified.
“Me too, that’s cool. You ever heard of Magic?” Paul asked.
“What, like tricks?”
“No, like…”
But before Paul could explain about Magic: The Gathering, the duo noticed they’d been surrounded by four other boys, looking down on them from their standing positions.
“Looks like the crybaby’s trying to drag the new kid into his baby-club.” Tom, a boy with slicked down hair, said as he gave a menacing grin to Dylan.
“Just leave me alone Tom,” Dylan whined, not looking up at the four.
“Kid,” Tom said, addressing Paul, “Don’t hang out with this baby. He’s a total wuss.” With that Tom took his foot and shoved Dylan in the shoulder, knocking him off the root and onto the ground.
Dylan felt tears welling up in his eyes, but bit down on his lip hard, trying not to. Paul seemed to be an okay kid, he couldn’t let him see what a baby he was. “Go away, Tom, you dummy!” Dylan said, sniffling as he pulled himself up and went back to sit on the oversized tree root. His hand instinctively felt instead his pocket for his paci, but it wasn’t there. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be, his mother had convinced him to stop taking it to school at the beginning of last school year. Still, he’d had it with him all summer and it was a shock that it was suddenly gone again.
Paul watched with an apathetic disinterest as the four boys further surrounding Dylan, glaring down at him.
“Why,” Another boy said, “What’re you gonna do if we don’t go away?” He pinched Dylan’s arm, twisting the skin. Another boy shoved him of the root again, into the dirt with a light thump. Suddenly, Dylan was bawling, the shock of hitting the ground and these kids picking on him being too much for him to handle. He knew Paul would leave with the other kids now, that he’d be alone for another year, but the whole thing just hurt too much, he couldn’t handle it. He covered his face, just in case another blow was to follow.
“Fuck off.” He heard above him. Dylan took his hands away from where he’d been holding his face to see Paul standing, squaring off, in front of the other four.
“What, you’re going protect that stupid crybaby?” Tom asked in disbelief.
Paul didn’t answer, he simply punched Tom in the face, dropping Tom to his knees as he howled in pain. Paul simply balled his hand into a fist again and looked to the other three. Tom may not have made a sound, but Dylan could see tears were in his eyes as the other three helped him up and they walked back towards the classrooms.
“Thank you,” Dylan said, barely above a whisper as the other kids left. He felt utterly pathetic in front of the new kid, who had gone out of his way to beat up Dylan’s tormenter.
“Do they pick on you a lot?” Paul asked
“Yeah,” Dylan said, embarrassed about the fact.
“That sucks,” Paul replied, but the bell rang and before they could continue their discussion it was time to head back into class.
Dylan was in a whirlwind of emotion between morning recess and lunch. He desperately wanted to ask Paul why he had saved him, whether or not he wanted to be friends, and just, why? Paul, Dylan realized, probably didn’t understand what social suicide Paul had committed by helping him out. He had been the torment toy of his grade, the scapegoat whenever kids got in trouble, for two years now.
The other kids would pick on him until he cried, then he’d tell on them, and would get in trouble because the other kids would always claim he started it. Adults believed the kids in the majority, so Dylan was almost as used to detention as he was used to being hit and pushed around. He was elated to have a potential friend in Paul, but just as worried about Paul’s life being hurt by being associated with him.
It might’ve started because he was still using his pacifier in the first grade, or maybe because he didn’t like sports. Dylan couldn’t remember how the bullying had gotten started, but it just spiraled worse each year. He found himself remembering those previous instances and increasing his anxiety all the way until lunch.
At lunch, Dylan managed to find Paul in the lunchroom, and began to voice his concerns. “Everybody hates me here,” Dylan said as the two of them sat at an otherwise empty table. “I’m sorry if I get you in trouble.”
“Why do they hate you?” Paul asked, between mouthfuls of spaghetti.
“Cause’ I cry. And, I’m fat, and cause I don’t like playing sports. And… I dunno.”
Paul considered the kid in front of him. He hadn’t really known a kid like Dylan before. The kid was certainly nerdy, it was clear his mom dressed him. And, sure, he was a bit chunky, and definitely a cry baby… Still, it was kinda neat that he had protected someone. He was still apprehensive about this town though, and even about Dylan. His parents thought a change of place might be good for Paul but Paul himself still wasn’t so sure.
Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted a little to the right, feeling a squishing sensation beneath him. “Dammit” Paul thought, outwardly working hard to keep any indication of something being wrong off his face.
“Does it smell like poop to you?” Dylan asked suddenly sniffing at the air.
“No” Paul replied and, as far as he was concerned, it was true. His parents complained frequently enough when it happened, but most of the time he didn’t really smell it when it happened, he just felt it when he moved. Still, he decided the most prudent course of action was to get the hell outta here before anyone noticed.
“I’m done,” Paul said suddenly, picking up his lunch tray and going over to the trash can, even though he was only half done. The load swayed slightly but mainly stuck to his butt cheeks as he walked. Paul appreciated that, it made the accident less visible. The teachers were already letting the kids go out to play, so Paul just headed back out into the field with their approval.
He’d not gotten far when he realized someone was following him.
“Wait up,” Dylan said, huffing. “I finished quick, we can hang out.”
“I wanna be alone.” Paul said stiffly, turning around to glare at Dylan, who immediately shrunk under his gaze.
“Okay,” Dylan said sadly, watching as Paul turned back around. Suddenly Dylan noticed something. The slight sag at the back of Paul’s pants, the way he had smelled poop before and a little bit of the smell now… Maybe he could help Paul in his own way.
“Paul?” Dylan ventured carefully,
“What?!” Paul shot back angrily.
“If you pooped your pants…” Dylan said, just loud enough so Paul could hear him, “I won’t tell, and I can show you where the nurse is.”
Paul looked Dylan up and down, several times. “Fine, show me.”
Dylan nodded and the two headed quietly off the play yard and down the corridors towards the administration offices for the elementary school.
“I come down here sometimes to keep the kids from finding me.” Dylan said as Paul walked next to him in silence. “The nurse is really nice, she’ll let you sit in her office if you want.”
“Hey Dylan,” The nurse said as Paul and Dylan walked into the infirmary.
“Hi Ms. Casey,” Dylan said back happily.
“I see you have a friend with you today?” Ms. Casey returned. Dylan nodded happily.
“I umm,” Paul stammered, trying to look around the room. “I can clean up myself, I just need a sink and stuff, I mean…”
“He pooped his pants.” Dylan said matter-of-factly.
“Oh dear,” Ms. Casey responded, “Should I call your parents?”
Paul just sighed, looking between Dylan and Ms. Casey. "No, I just, do you have some air freshner or a sink or something. Ms. Casey nodded, with a look of worry as she directed the nine year old to her restroom.
Paul emerged about fifteen minutes later, as lunch was nearing its end. Dylan and Ms. Casey were talking happily about Ms. Casey’s young child and how she had started preschool; Dylan adding his own input from his memories of preschool.
“I’m done.” Paul stated.
“You still smell like poop,” Dylan added, just as a notation of fact. Paul started to take offense and then realized if Dylan had meant to hurt his feelings, he could have done so much more easily.
“I can’t smell it.” Paul said, shrugging. Ms. Casey had already looked into the bathroom and was relieved to see it was relatively clean with the exception of a few splashes of water.
The two headed back to class, joining up quietly with the line that had formed after lunch. A few kids commented on the poop smell, but the source was never discovered.
They found out, after being called into the principal’s office that afternoon, that Dylan and Paul were to receive recess detention for the rest of the
week for picking on Tom. Dylan protested loudly but Paul just shrugged as if he was used to the injustice.
************
“So, how was your first day of school?” Mrs. Nailor asked his son as he hopped into the car.
“It was fine, I guess.” Paul said wistfully to his mother.
“Did you poop?” Mrs. Nailor added, disappointed as she caught hold of her son’s scent.
“Yeah,” Paul replied, ashamed, as he got out the garbage bag his mom kept in the car for him to sit on when he’d had an accident. This one wasn’t leaking through his jeans, but his mom made it clear he was to use the bag –ever- time.
“Paul, your father will be so upset. You went almost five days this time.” Mrs. Nailor said, shaking her head as she turned the car towards her elder son’s middle school.
“Look, can we just not tell dad?” Paul asked desperately. He was dreading the regular dressing down which would occur upon his father’s discovery of his accident.
“I can’t” His mother replied sternly, “There’s no secrets between your father and I”
Paul just sat there, feeling like the shit he felt in his pants until his brother got out of school and jumped in the car.
“What’s up?” His older brother Scott asked, thumping down on the seat next to his brother and wrapping his arm around him. Paul smiled in return. Scott never said a thing about the poop, even when they had shared a room and it stunk because of him. At least they had their own rooms now that they had moved houses. One less thing for Paul to have to feel bad about.
It was almost five o’clock by the time Mr. Nailor got home, and Paul was already starting to forget the annoyance of the day, relaxing and playing video games with his bro.
“So, you shit yourself on your first day of school?” Mr. Nailor said, disgusted as he walked into the living room. Paul tried to ignore the statement but his dad was soon standing in front of him, blocking his line of sight to the T.V. “Aren’t you disgusted with yourself?” He asked.
“I don’t feel it okay.” Paul said, throwing the controller onto the couch, “What do you want me to do!”
“Don’t you talk back to me.” Mr. Nailor yelled back, bearing over his nine year old son. “You’re nine fucking years old, I’ve taken you to the damn doctor. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Fine!” Paul screamed back. “I don’t know what to do, okay?”
“Try using the toilet like a damn two year old!” His dad shouted back.
“I can’t” Paul screamed, feeling tears forming in his eyes. But he wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction, instead choosing to run out of the living room and back to his own, slamming the door behind him.
“Oh yeah, great job Frank.” Mrs. Nailor said, walking into the room, “That’ll really help Paul.”
“Stacy, what the heck do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” She shrugged, “But not that.” An uncomfortable look passed between the couple for a brief moment before Mr. Nailor broke the silence.
“Scott, do you know what’s wrong with him?” Mr. Nailor asked, looking at his eldest in desperation.
“I don’t think he can feel it, dad…” Scott said, but Mr. Nailor waved his hand dismissively.
“That’s bullshit.” Mr. Nailor declared, “The timing is too annoying, and he uses the toilet for days on end sometimes. It’s gotta be for attention or something.”
Paul stayed in his room the rest of the evening, dreading that this new town would be exactly like the last one he had been in.


Author’s Notes
I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this, although I felt I needed to write it and I hope some of you are enjoying reading it. I am definitely going somewhere with it, it’ll only be short to mid length- 5-10 chapters. This piece is less fantasy than I usually write, so it’s a little out of my comfort zone. (Don’t get me wrong, still an ABDL fantasy) but I’m working very hard for plausibility and pulling real life situations from a number of sources to conglomerate into these two boys. Sorry if my technical writing gets worse, I don’t like humiliation, serious conflict, or negative emotions particularly, so writing about for the sake of realism is difficult and I figure I’m making errors I can’t see. Please critique if you have the time, always nice to get feedback.
My admission- I tend to write safe fluff, so I apologize if it’s a little off.
Posting the story- It used to be everyone posted new chapters in new threads. Now it seems half reply in the thread half make new threads. I’m going to go with posting in the same thread because I think it’s easier for forum goers to find the whole story, if they want to, and it keeps the forum more organized.


Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 2
“Ms. Kirshall!” A student cried out from her desk. “Paul pooped his pants again!”
The room chuckled and snickered as the call rang out for the second time that week. Only Dylan looked on in pity as Paul endured the shame yet again. Paul glared defiantly at the class as he sat back in his desk. He could feel the mess in his pants now that the girl behind had called it to his attention. It felt kinda nice, even if he was a little annoyed at everyone losing their composure over it. It wasn’t like he could do anything to fix it now.
The first time he had done it in class, last week, all hell had broken loose. It was as if the kids were witnessing the end of the world. Paul had expected it to be embarrassing but not nearly as big of a deal. His old classmates had gotten used to it though, he’d forgotten that, and this was a smaller town- not used to dealing with a pants-pooper in their fourth grade classes.
He’d learned at his old school though not to try and hide or act ashamed. That just brought out the bullies, and then he’d have to beat them senseless. No, Paul just glared down at worst ones, daring them to say something, and they might later, just like he might punch them in the face.
Dylan had assumed, on that first day, that Paul’s accident was a one-time thing. The first two weeks with Paul had quickly dispelled that theory. Paul seemed to poop his pants once every two or three days, sometimes multiple days in a row, and he often smelled like he had even if his pants didn’t seem full.
“Dylan, walk Paul to the nurse’s office.” Ms. Kirshall said coldly, as Dylan nodded. The kids were getting a little more used to it by this point, so there were simply mutterings of disgust and snarky glances aimed at Paul. The two got up amidst subdued jeers of the “two babies going to the office.” Ms. Kirshall quieted them so that the lesson could continue as the two left the room.
“You okay?” Dylan asked as the door closed to their classroom.
“I’m fine.” Paul snapped. Paul always snapped when he was caught in poopy pants. Dylan didn’t know what to do about it.
“We’re friends, right?” Dylan asked.
The last month had been amazing for Dylan. Paul had taught him to play Magic: The Gathering, a card game Paul usually played with his older brother. Paul and him had talked about their love of video games, and they were even planning to hang out this weekend. Dylan was so excited to have a friend, he realized, it was worth having the smell of poop around. Even if he didn’t like the smell, he liked Paul a lot more than he disliked the smell. Paul was just so sensitive about it though, he was always kinda cold, but he got mean when Dylan tried to bring up the poop issue.
“Yeah, we’re friends,” Paul said, calming a little.
“So, um, can you tell me why you keep pooping your pants?” Dylan said softly.
“I don’t fucking know. Drop it.” Paul said, barely controlling his anger.
“Maybe I could help…” Dylan added.
“How?” Paul replied, just barely below yelling, “How can you fix it? No one can fix it. Everyone knows I shit myself. Everyone hates me because of it.”
“I don’t hate you,” Dylan said, sniffling, rubbing at his eyes. He knew Paul hadn’t really meant to be so mad at him but he couldn’t help how Paul’s tone made him feel.
Paul immediately regretted the outburst, he’d never met anyone as sensitive as his new friend- it was definitely the reason everyone picked on Dylan so much. He didn’t mind sticking up for Dylan at all when the time came though, it was the first time he ever got to protect someone else. The first time someone had… been his friend even though they knew about his problem.
“I know,” Paul said, “My brother doesn’t hate me either. But everyone else does.”
“Even your mommy and daddy?”
“Yeah, they yell at me all the time.” Paul replied bitterly. Silence carried between the two for a few more steps.
“What’s it like?” Dylan asked, quietly, though it seemed to him as if the question still echoed off the hall they were walking down.
“What?” Paul replied, uncertain he’d heard the question right.
“What’s it like pooping your pants?”
Paul fought his instinct to yell at his friend. Dylan had never mocked him for pooping his pants like everyone else always did. Sure, Dylan wrinkled his nose in disgust like the rest- even if he tried to hide it, but then, Dylan still hung around too. Was this an honest question? It seemed like it had to be…
“It feels sticky and warm.” Paul said as he contemplated, “sometimes I smell it, but it kinda smells good to me.”
Dylan just nodded, not knowing what to say but still interested in his friend’s habit. They were arrived at the nurse’s office and Dylan had to head back to class alone. His thoughts turned to his pacifier at home, his own babyish habit, and suddenly he felt himself get anxious as the desire to suckle overcame him. He popped his thumb in his mouth, carefully looking up and down the hall to ensure no one was around and allowed himself a good minute of suckling before he headed back into class. It was a poor substitute for his pacifier, but he was willing to make due in a desperate situation.
Dylan could barely pay attention to the lesson as the teacher droned on. He really wished he hadn’t thought about his pacifier because now it was all he could think about. It was making him a little antsy. He tried to re-concentrate his thoughts on Paul’s poop problem which, for some reason, piqued his interest. The idea that Paul’s parents hated him for it didn’t sit well though.
That evening, at home with a pacifier in mouth, he decided to ask his mom about it. The whole issue of poopy pants just wouldn’t exit Dylan’s mind and his mom seemed to know about everything- when she had the time to explain it to him.
“Mommy?” He asked around the paci.
“Yes, baby?” Ms. Spencer said from the kitchen where she was cooking heating up dinner.
“If I pooped my pants, would you hate me?” Dylan asked.
“Of course I wouldn’t hate you,” Ms. Spencer replied, walking in to the room, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Did you poop your pants?” She asked, a little apprehensively and very surprised.
“No,” Dylan said, laughing a little to cover for his embarrassment at the idea. “I just… could I be a baby again mommy.”
Oh, that again. Ms. Spencer thought sadly. “You’ll always be my baby,” she said sweetly, patting his back as Dylan gave her a hug. Her son was the weirdest dichotomy of maturity and childishness simultaneously. She could leave him along all day and he wouldn’t get into any trouble. He cleaned up after himself, cooked for himself, but he still kept his pacifier and, more than once, had expressed unhappiness at growing up.
“I know, but…” Dylan tried to express the thoughts going on in his head, but it wasn’t formulating right. “I… Paul poops his pants and his parents hate him. If I pooped my pants all the time would you hate me?”
“Honey, I’m sure Paul’s parents don’t hate him, they just get upset sometimes. And, of course, I would still love you even if you pooped in your pants every time you had to go, although it would be really icky and stinky.” Ms. Spencer added wrinkling her nose, “I’m glad you’re a big boy and can use the toilet now.”
“I know,” Dylan thought another moment, “Mom, could I have some diapers?”
“Why honey?”
“I dunno,” Dylan replied, trying to edge around giving a reason. “So I can play baby sometimes?” He finally offered.
“Sure, I can pick you up a pack of disposables the next time I go shopping if you want.” Ms. Spencer agreed, still a little surprised, “I wouldn’t tell any of the kids at school though, they might make fun of you.”
“I know…” Dylan whined, obviously he’d never breathe a word of it to anyone but Paul. Then again, it wasn’t like making fun of him for diapers would be any worse than what they already did. He was hit occasionally, and mocked daily, it hardly seemed to matter whether his classmates had any real ammunition or not. Still, he had no intention of giving them something else to mock him about.
**********
“I can’t do it.” Dylan said sulkily, as he tossed down the controller.
“You want me to beat him for you?” Paul asked, as Dylan nodded his assent. Paul reloaded the game and went through the dungeon which had just gotten Dylan killed.
It had been awhile since he’d been to another kid’s house to play, and it was his first friend in the new town, so Paul was pretty excited. His parents had been reluctant to let him go, but they’d relented when his older brother had intervened on his behalf. It pissed him off sometimes, his older brother trying to make him feel better, he knew his big bro was cool, that he didn’t have the same problems, but he didn’t need his big bro’s pity. Besides, sometimes it felt like his big bro just stood up for him because it made his big bro look even more responsible and mature by comparison.
At first, Dylan had been a little reluctant to have him over. Certainly, his mom would think it was weird if his nine year old friend pooped his pants. But, then, that’d be more embarrassing to Paul than to him. So what if it smelled? Paul said he liked the smell sometimes, maybe Dylan could get used to it too. Besides, on the weekends Dylan’s mom was out of the house most of the day- either pulling a weekend shift or hanging out with her own friends., she probably wouldn’t even notice.
“See, that’s how you do it,” Paul said, as he worked within the boss’s attack pattern to beat him.
“That’s awesome,” Dylan replied as Paul finished off the boss and got to the next save point, “You want a snack?”
Paul nodded and Dylan got up to go to the kitchen. Paul leaned back on his arms, looking up at the T.V. as he suddenly felt a warm mass sliding into the back of his pants. He berated himself inwardly for an instant as he realized what he had done, even if it had come without warning. Just as quickly, he tried to remember it was just part of who he was- even if his dad swore it wasn’t, and just tried to settle in and enjoy the feeling. With that decided, Paul restarted the game, figuring he might as well find something fun to focus on.
When Dylan walked back into his room, the scent of poop was strong enough that it couldn’t be ignored. Without saying a word, Dylan walked over and opened the windows, happy that the coolness of September meant it was pleasant to have air flow.
Paul glowered as he tried to ignore Dylan and focus on the game. He never apologized about it, not to his parents, and not to Dylan, even though he sometimes felt bad when he could tell his accidents made other people uncomfortable. In some ways it made it worse not being able to be angry with Dylan, as that was how he usually handled his accidents against his parents, but Paul had learned by now it didn’t take much more than a mean look to bring Dylan to tears.
“It’s okay,” Dylan said, giving Paul a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could poop my pants too, sometimes.”
“What? Why?” Paul sputtered in utter disbelief.
“Cause’, it’d be like being a baby again.” Dylan said conspiratorily, “If I show you something, promise you won’t tell?”
Paul nodded.
In response, Dylan pulled a pacifier out of his dresser drawer, showing it to Paul with glee. “I’ve had this since I was a baby, I still use it sometimes.” Dylan sighed, “I guess the kids at school are right about me being a baby- I just wish I really could be a baby.”
‘Sometimes’ was an understatement, Dylan admitted to himself, he used the thing every night and most evenings at home. It had been killing him all afternoon that it was sitting right in the drawer and he couldn’t use it. Now that Paul was embarrassed though, Dylan felt like he could suffer some embarrassment as well.
With that, Dylan popped the pacifier in his mouth and sat back down next to Paul. Paul was in shock. He’d never imagined someone –wanting- his problem. Dylan was a weird kid; everyone at his old school had just made fun of him, called him disgusting, poopy pants, and a baby, Dylan didn’t seem to be bothered by his problem at all. Now Dylan was, it seemed, sort of jealous? He obviously had no idea what it was like, and that was starting to make Paul angry.
“This isn’t fun,” Paul said sharply. “Everyone knows what you’ve done, and they hate you for it. They call you names and stuff.” Still, Dylan did look really happy sucking on his pacifier. Maybe he really did want to be a baby. He just had no idea what it would entail.
“So, thesh all already do that to me.” Dylan said sadly, the pacifier still in his mouth.
“And my mom and dad punish me all the time!” Paul added, “At home they’re like 'why can’t you go in the fucking toilet like your brother!” and ‘are you doing this for attention’ and ‘you make everything smell like shit.’ Do you have any idea what that’s like?!"
“No,” Dylan said apologetically, pulling the pacifier out of his moth. “It’s not fair your mommy and daddy are mean to you. My mom’s not home much, so I don’t know what she’d do.”
“Do it then,” Paul said finally.
“What?” Dylan replied, in shock.
“If you think it’s so cool, if you want to know what it’s like, poop your pants too.”
Dylan felt his heart racing at the prospect. He looked at Paul with a kind of seriousness he didn’t know he had in him. He didn’t want Paul to be angry, he wanted him to realize that Dylan really wanted to be his friend and understand.
“Okay,” Dylan said finally, getting onto all fours. He hadn’t gone since yesterday, so it should be possible. He grunted, trying to push, and getting no result. In frustration he tried again, his face turning bright red as he pushed out his butt.
A wetness in his crotch began as he realized in pushing he had accidentally released his bladder in the process but Dylan didn’t stop, finally feeling a semi-solid log pushing into his underwear with a soft crackling sound. He grunted again, feeling his hot, wet underwear go tight against his butt as he filled them with a small load.
“You really did it.” Paul said, surprised, and a little shocked Dylan had been able to go through with it.
“Yeah,” Dylan replied, looking down at the damage. He’d made quite the wet spot on his bedroom carpet. “I peed too.”
“Yeah,” Paul acknowledged, likewise looking to the wet spot. A feeling of solidarity beyond what they’d already developed at school passed between the two as they sat in their soiled clothes.
“It feels kinda weird,” Dylan mused, sitting on the warm mess and feeling it squish around his butt cheeks. “You know what’d be cool?”
“What?” Paul replied, still in a weird state of mind from having Dylan join him in the poopy pants dilemma. It was a really weird way to show friendship and solidarity, but Paul had to acknowledge that it sorta worked.
“If we could wear diapers.” Dylan said, blushing from his admission.
“Why?” Paul said, not comprehending.
“Well, cause, then it wouldn’t smell as bad, you know, with the diaper smell. And, it wouldn’t get on the floor and our clothes.” Dylan said, surveying the mess on the carpet. “It’s going to take me awhile to clean this up.”
“Won’t your mom clean it up?” Paul asked.
“No way, I can’t let her find out.” Dylan responded, “She’s gone all day, but I gotta get it cleaned up before she’s back. If I had diapers…”
“Why do you wanna be a baby so much?” Paul asked, both insulted by the implication that pants pooping made one like a baby and interested in the diaper suggestion.
“I dunno, cause’ when I wore diapers, nobody picked on me and my mom was around more.”
Paul thought on that. Certainly, when he had been in diapers his parents hadn’t yelled at him all the time about having poopy pants. He didn’t feel so small when nobody was on him about using the toilet all the time while he was home.
“I guess…” Paul said, thinking about it. He hated the cleanup too, it took so much time that he usually didn’t bother until his parents forced him to change.
“Let’s go get cleaned up,” Dylan said calmly, standing up.
“Why?”
“Cause I don’t want to get caught, and then your parents won’t find out.” Dylan suggested. Paul nodded and followed Dylan to the backyard where they pulled off their pants and undies. Both were covered in poop all over their rears, and Dylan let Paul spray him first with the hose to wash his backside off. Dylan shook violently at the cold spray, summer was definitely over. After they’d sprayed each other, and their dirty clothes, Dylan put the rinsed clothes into the washer, making sure there would be enough time to finish them before Paul had to go home.
The two continued playing video games, Paul in a pair of shorts Dylan lent him, until their clothes were done. Paul headed home an hour after that once Dylan’s mother had come back to give him a ride home.
*******
“It’s not fair,” Paul said bitterly to Dylan as they walked up to the big tree where they hung out during morning recess.
“What’s not fair?” Dylan asked
“My parents were still mean. They asked me why I could hold my poop at your house but not anywhere else, like I do it on purpose.” Paul replied. Dylan remembered back to the Saturday they had spent together.
“Why didn’t you just tell them you pooped and we got cleaned up.”
“Admitting I pooped is even worse.” Paul said, frustration leaking into his voice.
“Well, if it isn’t the class babies.” Tom said, him and his trio of grunts walking up to the tree Dylan and Paul had claimed as a hangout spot. “Talking about diapers and bottles?”
“You want your butt kicked again?” Paul said, venom dripping from his voice.
“You wouldn’t dare. I know you got detention last time, my mom told me.” Tom replied smirking. “Why don’t you poop your pants some more, baby.”
“Yeah, baby poopy-pants,” Another boy echoed from behind Tom. “They should be put in a class for babies instead of fourth-graders.”
Dylan stepped nearer to Paul as the name calling escalated. He appreciated that Paul drew the fight to him, but he felt awful that he didn’t know how to help. As he drew closer he noticed the smell and realized Paul had already pooped a little. He hoped the other boys didn’t notice.
“You smell that?” Tom said sniffing the air in disgust. Dylan realized his hope had gone unnoticed by fate. “Looks like baby Paul pooped his pants again.” And then he grinned at Dylan, “or maybe it’s Dylan, he hangs out with Paul so much and they’re both babies.”
“I’m going to kick your ass,” Paul said, running towards Tom. Tom and his friends were ready this time, all moving together at once and shoving Paul to the ground. Paul hit the oversized tree root with a sickening thud, grimacing in pain as he tried pushing himself up.
Dylan looked frantically back and forth, not knowing what to do. Tom’s accomplices grabbed and sat on Paul, pushing him back into the ground where he struggled uselessly against the weight of three kids. Tom cornered Dylan, pushing him up against the tree.
“I’m going to bash you head against this tree until you die, unless you pee your pants right here and admit what a baby you are.” Tom hissed at Dylan, grabbing his hand. Dylan gulped but didn’t respond. As Tom smacked Dylan’s head against the tree a second time he heard a hissing sound and realized Dylan had given in to his demands.
The boys all chuckled as they watched the petrified Dylan’s jeans growing darker in the front, the dirt becoming mud beneath his shoes. Dylan’s mind was frantic as he wet himself, it had been easy because he’d been so panicked. Surely Tom wouldn’t kill him if he just peed himself like he was told.
“What’s going on here?” Dylan heard suddenly, as a yard supervisor walked over towards the tree. In an instant the boys had released Dylan and Paul, skulking back slightly.
“Dylan and Paul were back here having accidents” Tom said confidently. “We told them to use the toilet, but they wouldn’t listen and tried to beat us up.”
“Is this true?” The supervisor asked Dylan and Paul.
“No,” Dylan cried, “They made me pee my pants. They said they’d kill me.”
With that said, the teacher took the lot of them to the principal’s office. All six sat sulkily in the office until their parents were called, Tom’s group being allowed to return to class afterwards while Dylan and Paul were forced to wait there until their parents arrived.
******
“Well, Ms. Spencer, Mr. and Mrs. Nailor, thank you for coming.” The principal said calmly, now that the parents had assembled. Dylan and Paul sat quietly in the back of the principal’s office as their parents spoke on their behalf.
“Look, I know he’s had problems, but I just don’t know what to do.” Ms. Spencer said, looking back at her son, Dylan, and the desperate look on her son’s face.
“I apologize for our son,” Mr. Nailor said sharply, “I don’t know why he does this, but I expect this will be the last time he starts fights.” The threat to Paul wasn’t exactly veiled in Mr. Nailor’s tone.
“The thing is, these two are completely ostracized from their class.” The principal continued. “Paul’s bowel movement problem certainly exacerbates things, perhaps he’d be better off in a class that can attend to his special hygiene needs.”
“You’re not putting my kid in special ed.” Mr. Nailor replied venomously. “He’s a smart kid- look at his fucking test scores.”
“Well, that’s true, both your children,” the principal added looking at all the parents, “both your children have good academic marks. Dylan scored in the top five percent last year on the standardizing testing, and I understand Paul did the same at his old school. Still, the behavioral problems are disrupting the classroom. Look, maybe we just try Paul in the special ed…”
“Mom,” Dylan cried from behind the adults, “Paul’s not going to be in a different class is he?”
“He damn well better not be.” Mr. Nailor said emphatically, half addressed to Dylan, half to the principal.
“Okay,” The principal said motioning for everyone to calm down. "I need Mr. and Mrs. Nailor in here only, I’m going to talk to everyone separately.
With that, Dylan, Paul and Ms. Spencer left the room to wait in the lobby.
“Are you okay, baby?” Ms. Spencer said to Dylan as they got outside the principal’s office.
“I don’t want to be in another class than Paul.” Dylan said, trying not to cry and failing as tears streamed down his cheek, “He’s the only one who stops the kids from picking on me sometimes.”
Ms. Spencer hugged her son while Paul looked on with a little bit of envy. He knew he’d be getting yelled at tonight- for fighting, for dragging another kid down with him, for fucking up at this new school as well. He cursed under his breath at how lucky Dylan was, and the kid didn’t even know it.
“Well, that’s that.” Mr. Nailor said coming out of the principal’s office, his wife trying to calm him down by placing her hand on his shoulder
“What?” Paul asked, worried.
“They’re putting you in a special class where you can shit your pants all you want.” Mr. Nailor said smugly at his son.
“Dear!” Ms. Nailor said sharply, “They said he can still participate in the gifted program, provisionally, as long as there’s no fighting. And we have to accept it is a hygiene problem.”
“Paul’s not going to be in class anymore?” Dylan whined, looking up from his mother.
“See son, poop your pants and now you can’t even be in the same class as your friend.” Mr. Nailor added. Paul looked absolutely ashamed, he stared at the ground in a combination of fury and shame. He couldn’t attack his way out of this, and now he was going to be separated from his one friend.
“Can I go into the same class as Paul?” Dylan asked his mother, pleading.
“We’ll ask.” His mother responded calmly.


Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 3: Breaking Points
“This sucks” Paul said over the phone. It had been three days since they’d been separated in classes. “The class is full of weird kids.”
“Really?” Dylan asked into the phone.
“Yeah, there’s like one teacher for every four kids.” Paul replied, “you might like it though, they make me wear diapers at school now.”
“Why don’t I get to see you at recess?” Dylan asked
“We have a special recess between yours. At least no one starts fights with me, I guess” Paul replied. “My dad has been rubbing it in everyday though, that I’m in the retard class.”
“I want to be in your class too.” Dylan said bitterly.
“Just poop your pants” Paul said dryly, “That’s how I got in.”
“Do you think they’d really let me?” Dylan asked, seriously considering it.
“I dunno, maybe.”
The maybe was good enough for Dylan. Especially because the taunting increased beyond its previous level now that Paul was no longer protecting him.
That week of the taunting was bordering on unbearable. There was nobody he could hide behind now and everyone targeted him because Paul wasn’t around to receive half of the class bullies’ energy.
Crybaby, girl, wuss, fat, Dylan was tired of all the names. They were hurtful, not because they were true, Dylan knew he cried a lot, was wussy, and was overweight. Not because they were untrue, he knew he wasn’t a girl. It hurt because they kids were –trying- to hurt his feelings and he knew it; it hurt to be hated by everyone.
Somehow, Paul seemed almost immune to their jeers in his rage, a virtue Dylan admired but had no way of emulating. The kids had called Paul “Poopmaster” and he’d given one kid a black eye; it made them think twice. Dylan had no rage to fall back on, instead it just washed over him in a complicated miasma of anxiety. Dylan didn’t understand why his lack of aggression made him the target of bullying but he liked who he was, so did his mother, and Paul. Why did everyone else hate him?
Each day without Paul, the kids seemed to push things farther. Each day Dylan’s heart beat a little faster when he wasn’t within a few feet of a teacher. He’d find himself almost in tears in the morning as his mom dropped him off at school, just waiting for the moment he would be released from the torture.
Dylan entered the bathroom with a lower guard than usual on Friday, just because he’d been allowed almost a day’s respite from any major bullying. He realized his mistake the minute he got around the corner and saw the kids waiting for him. The shadow of a kid behind him let him know immediately he was cornered.
“Hey crybaby, what’re you doing in the bathroom?” One of his classmates smirked.
“Yeah, don’t you go in your pants like your that retard Paul?” Another spoke up menacingly.
“I just need to pee.” Dylan said in a voice that was barely audible, pleading with his eyes for the kids to leave him alone.
“The baby’s gotta pee,” The first boy announced, “pee then.”
“Leave me alone,” Dylan whispered, and the laughter of the other boys echoed off the walls of the restroom. Dylan tried to walk forward, past one of the boys to the urinal, but they formed a wall in front of him, blocking his path. “I’ve gotta go…” Dylan whined.
“Then go,” The kid behind him replied, pushing him against the boys forming a wall, who in turn pushing him back.
“Baby, baby, baby” the chanting began as the boys pushed Dylan in circles, their voices melding together against the tile walls. All of the anxiety Dylan already felt was reaching a peak, he was disoriented by the shoving, hot tears were streaming down his face, his voice wouldn’t work anymore.
That’s when he felt the first spurt of urine running down his leg. He never did know how to stop it once it started though, and suddenly it was a torrent, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the tile floor beneath him. The pushing had abruptly stopped as the pool started forming, and now Dylan was standing in wet pants, crying, in a bathroom surrounded by his classmates.
“He really did it…” One kid said, perhaps an indication that the children realized they had gone a little far. Silence pervaded the room for a few brief moments, until, without thinking, Dylan brought his thumb up to his mouth and began sucking on it.
“Oh my god, he’s sucking his thumb!” One kid screamed, and the jeering was renewed.
“Baby! Baby!” The chanted again, loud enough that a couple other kids outside the bathroom were gathering to see what was going on. Although it felt like an eternity, Dylan felt his arm being pulled and realized a yard supervisor had broken through the ring of children and grabbed him out of the bathroom. Soon he has being half-walked, half-dragged to the principal’s office.
His mother was called and the obligatory meeting with the principal was held. Dylan sat outside the room in his wet pants, not being privileged to the communications between his school authority and home authority figures.
His mother gently prodded him up once the meeting was done and the two walked out silently towards the parking lot. Dylan had not said a word since the teacher had removed him from the bathroom.
“What happened, baby?” His mother asked as they drove home.
“I’m not going to use the toilet anymore.” Dylan declared flatly, folding his arms over his chest.
“What? But honey.”
“I don’t want to. I want to wear diapers like Paul. I want to be in Paul’s class. I hate my class.”
“You don’t mean that…” His mother pleaded.
“I do.” Dylan replied angrily. “Everyday, everyone is mean to me. Paul’s my only friend, and I don’t care if he poops his pants. I’ll poop my pants too if I can be like him.”
“Honey, please try for me.” His mother pleaded again. “I know school’s hard on you but I don’t know what to do. I have to work, I can’t be with you all day. Please, just get along with the other kids. I know it’s not fair they moved Paul out of your class but there’s nothing I can do.”
“I HATE SCHOOL!” Dylan yelled, and Ms. Spencer swerved slightly on the road, taking a gasp of air as she realigned the car within her lane. She’d had never heard her son yell like that since he was a toddler. Her little boy was so subdued and calm around her usually.
“Honey, for mommy, please?” She asked again as she concentrated a little more on driving, “Try to be a good boy for mommy? Only this year and one more and you’ll be in a different school.”
“I’ll try,” Dylan said bitterly, his body shaking with the apprehension of another day in that place, tears forming at the edges of his eyes.
*****
The restaurant had a nice feel to it, and Paul was slightly more relaxed than usual because they were out in public. This town’s school had ended up being not as bad as the last one- now that he’d been moved to the “special” class, but his life at home was still on thin ice.
Not to mention he missed Dylan. His parents were always telling him to try and make friends and, when he finally accomplished it, the school decides to split them up. As he started eating his ravioli, however, he felt a slight pressure on his bottom and knew what was happening.
He gulped as quietly as he could, trying to act natural, as he felt the poop building in his pants and forcing itself around his butt cheeks. It’d been three days since he’d had an accident- and that’d been in a diaper in school. His parents hadn’t yelled at him about it so the school probably hadn’t even told them. This was the first time he’d pooped his pants at home in a week. He always got it worse when it’d been awhile.
Paul cursed silently to himself, not knowing what to do about his predicament. Finally, not knowing what else he could do, he went back to his ravioli, trying to ignore the worried, stolen glance his brother had shot him a second ago.
“Mmm,” His father said, wiping his mouth with the napkin as stopped eating his lasagna. “Dear, do you want to sit in the car with Paul or shall I?”
“What?” His mother asked, instinctively sniffing, and then frowning, “Paul, in a restaurant?”
“Dear, you or me?” His father demanded, softly, though his voice carried the weight of steel. Paul prayed with all his might that his mother would take him.
“I’ll take him,” His mother replied sadly. “Just box our food for us, okay?”
Paul’s father nodded, as his mother motioned his older brother to get out of the way, and they scooted out of the booth. Paul didn’t try to look, but hoped it hadn’t leaked through his pants to bad. Usually he didn’t poop too much in one accident, but he could tell from the weight of the seat of his pants that it had been a bad one.
His mother walked behind him, much like a warden in a jail movie, Paul thought, as they walked to the parking lot and his mom opened the van. He grabbed his plastic bag from under the seat, without being told, tossed it on the chair and sat on it, folding his arms. His mom took the front passenger seat, rolling down the window even though the early November air was chilly.
“Paul,” She admonished, attempting to convey her disappointment. Paul glowered back at her through the rearview mirror. “Did you even try to use the toilet today?”
“I. Didn’t. Feel. It.” Paul said through gritted teeth. Or had he? Paul didn’t know anymore, whether he was realizing it right before or during. All he knew was he felt powerless to stop it and it was being blamed on him anyway.
“You must have.” His mom replied, shaking her head. “You’re father’s going to be furious.”
“I know,” Paul replied succinctly, trying not to show the fear in his face as he bit his lip. The waiting was horribly. His mom just pulled out a novel from the glove box and read while the minutes passed. Not too long after he saw his brother and father coming out of the restaurant and headed to the car. Paul felt his heartbeat increasing in his chest, but he would not let it show.
His brother and father got in the car silently, the only sound was the throb of the engine beginning, and the tires scratching against the lot’s surfacing as the family vehicle pulled out and hit the road. The streetlights glittered in the early evening, the wind was audible from within the car due to the strained silence.
“Well,” Mr. Nailor began, meeting silence, “what the fuck do you have to say for yourself Paul?”
“It was an accident!” Paul screamed, his tension exploding and rippling through the car. “I DIDN’T MEAN TOO.”
“LIKE HELL YOU DIDN’T!” Mr. Nailor screamed back. “You think this is a fucking joke? You think you can just embarrass this family whenever you feel like it? Maybe the school is right to put you in fucking diapers!”
“Dear,” Mrs. Nailor started.
“No,” Mr. Nailor said, albeit a little calmer, “No, don’t try to justify this. We’ve taken he to the doctor. He thinks this is fucking funny or something. You’re nine years old, dammit. Paul- this wasn’t funny when you were two and it sure as shit ain’t funny now.”
Paul’s face was a mask of rage but he said nothing. What could he say, his dad was bigger and meaner than him and his dad obviously didn’t believe a word he said.
“When we get home,” Mrs. Nailor said, “You’re washing those clothes by hand in the sink, taking a shower, and showing me that you did it.”
“But mom,” Paul whined. Him as his brother had been waiting all week for a new show to come on.
“No buts, I’ll watch you do it myself it I have too.”
And that was how Paul’s evening was spent. He arrived home, took a shower, emptied his pants into the toilet and then washed them in the sink. His mother walked behind him every step of the way. His rage smoldered through the whole process. He spent all day in school, and now he had to spend his whole evening cleaning. By the time he had completed the process, it was bedtime and his mom showed him to his room.
“If you didn’t poop your pants, you could’ve watched that show with your brother.” His mother said sadly as she turned out the lights.
“I hate you,” Paul replied, loud enough that his mother could hear it before she shut the door.
*****
Two weeks passed of ‘trying’ to deal with school and everyday seemed like hell renewed. Dylan’s heart raced whenever he stepped foot on school property. Whether it’d be someone spitting in his lunch, breaking his pencils, hiding his backpack, or just beating him up, Dylan had no idea. The anticipation of which it would be that day was slowly breaking down his psyche.
Dylan had asked Paul about how his class was going when they’d played on the weekend. Paul had been getting along okay, he didn’t hate the class anymore, but he hated that the other kids weren’t much like him so it was harder to find stuff in common. The teachers spent a lot of time keeping the kids from fighting, and almost no one was learning the same stuff, which made teaching kind of confused. Although he had an okay relationship with the kid that sat next to him, Paul complained that that kid couldn’t talk right so he had to wait forever for him to respond. The worst thing about the class is that it gave his father more ammunition for berating him.
Still, it sounded like heaven to Dylan. Compared to what Dylan endured from the normal kids, Paul’s complaints about childishness and speech impediments seemed infinitely tolerable.
At morning recess, Dylan was still musing over his promise to his mother, which was keeping him from his any plan to get to Paul’s class, as he walked out towards the soccer field. The sound of children playing in the distance was reasonably pleasurable, as it reminded Dylan he was off on his own somewhat nearer to the far end of the field. That’s when he heard the sound of multiple footsteps on the grass.
“There he is, get em!” Tom shouted, and Dylan started running without thinking. It had become almost second nature. He looked over in the distance and saw the yard supervisor was over by the basket ball courts in front of the classroom, a safe haven in this sea of bullies.
The schoolyard was pretty big, however, and Dylan wasn’t particularly athletic, but if he could just run to the yard supervisor, he’d be safe. He felt something whiz by his head. He only had to wonder what it was for a moment before a sting hit his side and he knew the others were throwing something at him.
His feet thumped heavily, his lungs burned as he forced himself to give everything to running. He hated running, but desperation drove him forward. The call of the children was growing louder behind him, their footsteps closer and louder. A few more pebbles bounced off his legs, Dylan would have cried out but his fear overwhelmed his voice, though tears were still running down his face.
His assailants were having an enjoyable time chasing the baby over the field. The boys of his class had been wondering among themselves if they could get him to wet his pants again. The last occurrence had been quite a spectacle, and the kids had decided instinctively to up the ante until results were obtained again.
As Dylan’s foot hit the corner of the pavement as the soccer field transitioned to the blacktop closer to the classrooms, he realized he’d lost his balance. His foot trapped, his body flew forward, the children cheering as his body fell. Dylan threw his arms down, but collapsed into a heap with a sickening snap ringing in his ears.
The boys were over him now, chanting that they’d caught the baby. Dylan turned up to face them only to find his arm was lagging behind. He looked down at the arm, and realized the angle wasn’t quite right. He lifted the arm, watching it dangle a bit. He realized his tears had stopped and, suddenly, the chanting was gone.
“Move,” A yard supervisor said, Dylan hearing the voice in a detached sort of way as the supervisor pushed the kids out of the way in order to get to him. Something in the tenor of the children had alerted the supervisor this was more serious than the ordinary bullying of the Spencer kid. She gasped as she saw the broken arm, worried it might impact her performance evaluations, but at least Dylan wasn’t crying for once.
“Come on,” She said softly to Dylan, shooing the other children away, “We’re going to the office, be careful with that arm.”
Dylan nodded mutely. Everything seemed strangely vibrant, and yet as if he was half asleep. He followed the yard supervisor without even thinking, as if his body was an automaton. The world seemed to be slowing closing in around him. He didn’t know how long things felt this way because, the next moment he was awakening to his mother’s voice.
“Dylan, Dylan!” His mother shouted, Dylan shaking his head and realizing he was in an unfamiliar place. White curtains separated him from the rest of the room and his mother was over his bed, hugging him.
“Where am I?” He asked, worried. The sounds of clattering and echoing filled the whole room. It seemed if there were so many busy people around here, although he couldn’t see them.
“You’re in the hospital honey, you broke your arm.” She said quietly.
“How?” Dylan replied. His mother looked over him with a worried expression. The doctor had said he might be a little groggy, but forgetting how he had broken his arm?
“Never mind, are you okay?”
“Yeah mommy,” Dylan said pitifully. “Mommy, I don’t want to go to school anymore. Kids were throwing rocks at me. I tried to run away, but I couldn’t get away…”
“Honey, you have to go to school.” His mother replied, her voice cracking. How could the school have let her son get hurt like this? It didn’t make any sense, they said he’d just tripped but with what Dylan was saying she was worried there was more to it. But she had to go to work; the family had to pay the bills. She was out of choices.
“Can I be in Paul’s class then?” Dylan pleaded.
Ms. Spencer had asked the principal herself when they’d moved Paul. The boy had been over to her house a couple of times and, sure, the kid didn’t smell too good, but he was the first friend Dylan had brought over in a long time. They obviously had a good time together. Even if the class was for kids with special needs she figured Dylan would be better off with a friend than where he currently was. But the principal had made it clear that it wasn’t an option; the special needs class and funding was for kids that had a proven need.
“Honey, they only let kids with special problems in Paul’s class.” She said, stroking her son’s hair.
“If I pooped my pants like Paul, could I go to Paul’s class? Paul said maybe I could…” Dylan whined pathetically. So that’s what that toilet issue had been about, Ms. Spencer realized. Her son wanted to be in Paul’s class that desperately?
“Maybe honey, I don’t know…” Ms. Spencer trailed off, not knowing what to say anymore.
“I’m never using the bathroom again.” Dylan said suddenly, defiantly. “I want to be in Paul’s class.”
“Dylan,” The doctor interjected, having noticed his patient was up during his rounds. He gently placed himself between the child and mother in order to get the boys attention. “I’m going to ask you a few questions.”
Dylan nodded as the doctor began to ask boring questions, like what he last remembered and whether he was in pain but he didn’t forget what he’d decided, he’d make sure his mom knew that before they got home.
It took almost two hours longer to get checked out of the hospital, the doctor giving instructions on case care to Dylan and his mother. Both of them were exhausted and it was almost dinner time by the time they hit the road. As soon as they were enroute, Dylan decided it was time to bring up his decision again- he would not be distracted anymore.
“But, honey,” His mom insisted, “everyone will make fun of you.”
“They already do,” Dylan replied, his voice full of desperation.
“If I buy you some diapers, and let you use them, will that make you happy?” His mom asked finally, not knowing what else to do. Her son seemed so unhappy at this point she didn’t see how giving him another battle was going to solve anything.
“Yes,” Dylan replied.
With that, Ms. Spencer turned the car around and headed towards the local Walmart. She didn’t know what to do with her little boy. He’d always been… well, weak, but she supposed that might be her fault. He certainly didn’t have a male role model. She remembered how happy he’d been, talking about Paul every night for the first month of school.
She knew it was weird for him to be using a pacifier at nine, but at least he didn’t take it out of the house. Suddenly, diapers? But she couldn’t deny how unhappy her little boy was. Obviously she had to do something. So, she’d buy some diapers and see how it went. It’d certainly be better than him soiling his clothes every day. Other people might have supposed it was a bluff but Ms. Spencer knew her boy- he didn’t bluff.
Dylan walked silently beside his mother as they walked down the Walmart incontinence aisle, still looking down at his cast occasionally like it was a foreign object. His face was beat red, and he couldn’t believe he’d worked up the courage to tell his mother he wasn’t going to use to bathroom anymore. Everything was happening so suddenly but he knew he had to get out of his class right away. Those kids were going to kill him eventually, he just knew it, and the safety Paul brought was the goal that kept hope inside him.
His mom kept checking packages, looking at the waist sizes until she came to high capacity youth diapers, showing them to Dylan, who nodded reluctantly. He’d kind of hoped there’d be some cartoon characters on them or something but beggars can’t be choosers. His mom also picked up the necessary diapering supplies and the pair headed home.
“Alright, little man, you ready for your diaper?” Ms. Spencer asked as they got inside. Dylan nodded emphatically, stripping off his clothes and tossing them to the floor. Ms. Spencer tried not to laugh as he got his shirt caught on his head because of the cast over his arm.
“You don’t have to take off your shirt to put on a diaper, silly.”
Dylan nodded and laid on the floor. His mother sighed, and put off actually putting the supplies away to get her son diapered. She opened the baby powder, liberally sprinkling it over Dylan’s diaper area. Next, she pulled out the diaper, guiding it under his bottom. Dylan tried to help but the cast kept him from grabbing his feet. As she taped it up she could see the satisfaction in Dylan’s face.
“I want my binky,” He said cutely.
“You know where it is,” Ms. Spencer replied, and Dylan hopped up, running to the room to retrieve his pacifier. Pacifier in mouth Dylan felt infinitely better. Alone in his room, diapered up and with pacifier in mouth he finally felt a semblance of certainty and safety in his chaotic life.
He released his bladder, feeling the warm wetness building within the diaper. He knew his mom didn’t really want to change him, but he just couldn’t handle it all himself anymore. Somehow, this made him feel like he’d be safe.
As he suckled his mouth pacifier in his mouth, he felt entirely at peace. For this little bit, he could be a baby again, just like he’d dreamed. He breathed in through his nose and enjoyed the mushy warm wetness of his diaper, imagining that he wouldn’t have to go to school on Monday, that he’d wake up in a crib and would be a baby again.


Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 4: Healing
Ms. Spencer decided Dylan didn’t need to go back to school that week, as he would only miss Friday. She’d taken the day off, though her boss had been a little annoyed with the short notice, and spent it babying her son a little, which had made him really happy.
She also decided to ring up Paul’s family and see if they had any idea what was going on in her son’s class, as Paul had been in that place himself until a few weeks ago. Also, it’d be good to actually spend some time with the parents of her son’s best friend. The Nailors readily agreed, wanting Ms. Spencer’s opinion on the local school system as they had only recently moved into the area.
“How you doing?” Ms. Spencer asked Dylan as he came out of his bedroom wearing a diaper and a pajama top. The youth diaper she’d put on him last night was hanging pretty low, and Dylan was walked a little odd as the weight shifted between his legs as he moved.
“Looks like someone needs a change,” Ms. Spencer suggested and Dylan nodded in reply, not wanting to take his pacifier out of his mouth. Yesterday had been bliss, laying on his mother’s lap, watching T.V. in the afternoon and having his diaper changed as needed.
She walked over and patted the floor, Dylan laying down obediently as she opened the backpack she’d decided to use as her son’s new diaper bag. The diaper from last night was absolutely soaked, probably because he’d wet it twice, and Ms. Spencer began considering getting something thicker for night time. Dylan smiled so happily as his mother changed him that his mother couldn’t really question her choice at all.
Oh, certainly, it was not a socially acceptable move to let her son be in diapers, Ms. Spencer understood that very well. She expected it would cause some issues at school as well, but she’d deal with them if and when they arose. Her son had been a very frantic state recently, she’d noticed that, and it seemed as if, for the first time in at least a month, Dylan was actually relaxed.
“We should get some pants on you if we’re going to the Nailors.” Ms. Spencer said as she finished taping up his fresh diaper, the scent of baby powder still hanging sweetly in the air.
“Can I take my binky?” Dylan asked hopefully.
“Won’t you be embarrassed?” His mom began to respond, realizing that such a thing was actually pretty minimal compared to the diapers.
“Paul already knows,” Dylan added happily, his mom just shrugged.
“Up to you baby, take it if you want to.” Though she already he was intending to bring it with him.
*****
Dylan rung the doorbell with enthusiasm, still sucking on his pacifier as the door to the Nailor residence opened in response.
“Hi Mr. Nailor,” Dylan said quietly, pulling the pacifier out of his mouth as Mr. Nailor answered the door. His mother raised her hand in greeting, adding an embarrassed smile which acknowledged that, yes, her son was carrying and using a pacifier. Mr. Nailor just raised his eyebrows but otherwise failed to react.
“Why don’t you go find Paul and play?” Ms. Spencer suggested to her son as Mr. Nailor invited them in; Dylan happily ran into the house looking for his playmate.
“Thanks for coming over,” Mr. Nailor said to Ms. Spencer, as her child went out of view “the wife and I thought it was a great idea to talk. Especially since both our kids are having some problems at that school.”
Ms. Nailor waved her greeting as well, walking up to give Ms. Spencer a hug. The three parents sat down across from one another at the Nailors’ dining room table, the mid-range sound of children playing echoing through the halls.
“What happened to his arm?” Mr. Nailor asked, as he led Ms. Spencer to the dining room.
“Something at school. They say he tripped, but Dylan doesn’t… I’m sure there was more to it. Dylan says he was being chased and they were throwing things at him.”
“That’s crazy.” Ms. Nailor responded, setting down a cup of coffee, “Did they suspend those kids.”
“No, no one knows what really happened.” Ms. Spencer said shrugging, “I’m just a little worried about my kid now. Dylan is, well, sensitive.”
Ms. Spencer took a deep breath, studying the coffee cup that had been set before her. “He’s so responsible, he takes care of himself and, until the bullying started and the school began calling me, didn’t take much of my time at all- either in studies or in house work. But, well, he’s never gotten along with other kids. The other kids pick on him and he gets in trouble for fighting. I know he doesn’t fight though- I’ve never seen him so much as lift a finger to hurt another kid. But, the other kids gang up and say he did it, so he gets in trouble.”
“Interesting,” Mrs. Nailor said softly, “Frank didn’t believe Paul when he said he was just defending Dylan. Do you think that’s what happened?”
“Absolutely,” Ms. Spencer replied, “Paul is Dylan’s hero. He’d come home from school happy for the first time in ages, saying how Paul had fought off bullies or how Paul had stuck up for him.” Ms. Spencer sighed, pausing for a moment.
“You know,” Ms Spencer continued finally, “I could see the change in Dylan the day after they moved your son. He seemed so… agitated all the time. After the first accident, and after he broke his arm…” Ms. Spencer took a deep breath. “He’s refusing to use the toilet now- insisted I let him wear diapers. I’m sure it’s so he can get into Paul’s class.”
“Really?” Mr. Nailor said amazed. “Are you letting him?”
“What else can I do?” Ms. Spencer replied, “It’s the first time he’s ever really demanded something without taking my advice. He’s adamant about it. I don’t want him to ruin the furniture, so I got him diapers. I actually asked the principal just to transfer him to the Special Ed class when your son was transferred, but the principal refused unless the kid has a need. So, Dylan’s making the need, I guess.”
“Wow,” Mr. Nailor replied, reclining in his chair. “You know, another the reason the principal suggested moving Paul to the Special Ed class was because the two of them together were creating a beacon of unpopularity. I kind of agreed, Paul never fought this much at his old school. But, I feel for your kid too, and Paul doesn’t make friends easy.”
“Some things to think about, eh dear?” Mrs. Nailor added. Mr. Nailor initially shot his wife an annoyed look, but then nodded reluctantly as he was beginning to realize the situation was a bit more complicated than he had assumed.
******
Meanwhile, Dylan was in the process of meeting Paul’s older brother, Scott.
“So, you’re Dylan,” Scott said, shaking his hand, “nice to meet you.”
“You’re the one who let Paul borrow those cards so we could play Magic, right?” Dylan asked, and Scott nodded. Dylan was a little surprised to meet Scott, as he’d planned on getting to spend some time with Paul- specifically talking about diapers. Somehow, he didn’t really want to bring it up around Scott.
“So you’re Paul’s age?” Scott asked, Dylan nodded shyly, “that’s cool. I’m twelve and I go to the middle school up the road from you guys.”
“You want to play something?” Paul asked, trying to add himself into the conversation. Dylan readily agreed and soon they were playing three-player Mario Kart in the living room. Before they’d even finished a full cup game though, Scott’s friend had come over and the older brother had ditched them for his neighbor friend.
“I thought he’d never leave.” Paul said finally.
“He seemed nice though,” Dylan added.
“He is, but I wanted to ask you how stuff went.” Paul replied, “And it’s really embarrassing to talk about this stuff in front of him.”
Dylan pulled his pants down slightly, exposing the youth diaper he was wearing to his friend.
“Holy shit,” Paul replied, “have you used them?”
Dylan nodded. “Yeah, all yesterday and today. My mom changes me.”
“You’re seriously doing it,” Paul said impressed, “I hope they put you in my class soon.”
“Me too,” Dylan replied, “Are you wearing a diaper?”
“No way, my parents think it just makes me do it more.” He replied, “They’re pissed the school is putting me in diapers, but they can’t stop them because of ‘hygiene’ stuff. The diapers are embarrassing as heck, especially when the teachers change me, but it doesn’t take me as long to cleanup if I poop at school.”
“I’m wet now,” Dylan whispered to Paul.
“Really?” Paul asked, “I never wet diapers when I wear them…”
“Why not?” Dylan asked quizzically.
“I dunno,” Paul responded, realizing he’d just never made use of them on purpose, and that, in contrast, that was the only way Dylan made use of them.
*****
“Look, I just, I don’t know.” Mr. Nailor said, arguing with his wife.
“But Samantha has a point,” Ms. Nailor responded, nodded to Ms. Spencer. “I mean, if what we’re upset about over Paul’s problem is the clean-up, the damage to the furniture, and the smell, diapers minimize that. I know you think he’s doing this on purpose but why would he, I mean, we know how unhappy he is.”
“Well, I’m also upset that he’s ruining his life,” Mr. Nailor said angrily, “What nine year old keeps pooping themselves?”
“Either he’ll stop or he’s incontinent, right?” Ms. Spencer spoke up. “I mean, if this problem doesn’t go away in his teens, he’ll have to wear diapers then right? Or, if it does go away, the best way to help his peers forget is to not be around them until the problem’s fixed.”
“She’s got a point.” Mr. Nailor said, shocked. “It might actually be better if he’s away from kids that can ruin his popularity later until this problem is out of the way…”
“Even if he is doing it on purpose.” Ms. Spencer added, “Why not minimize the damage. I don’t see how diapers are going to encourage or discourage the activity. Dylan absolutely refused to use the toilet whether I got diapers for him or not, I just decided to reduce the damage on my home.”
“Maybe making it a non-issue like Samantha suggests will help it go away.” Mrs. Nailor threw in.
“FINE!” Mr. Nailor said abruptly, his mind whirling slightly at a very different take on how to handle his son’s issue. “I’m sorry, I just… You know what,” he turned to his wife “do it. I’ve tried it my way and it hasn’t helped a damn thing. Let’s all put our nine year old boys in diapers, that’s sure to solve it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being facetious or not,” Ms. Nailor replied, concerned. Mr. Nailor wrung his hands a couple of times, and paced for a moment before calming down and sitting back at the table.
“I’m not trying to be facetious,” Mr. Nailor said more calmly. “We’ll try Samantha’s way and see how it goes. I’m just frustrated, that’s all. I really thought some discipline would fix this, but it’s been going on and off for two years now.” He paused as he looked over to his wife again “You talk with Paul about it though, we just fight when I try to talk to him.”
*****
“How are you boys doing?” Mrs. Nailor asked, heading into the family room where Paul and Dylan were still playing video games.
“We’re fine.” The two replied without taking their eyes off the T.V. screen.
“Do you need a change?” Ms. Spencer asked her son.
“Yeah, but after this game, okay?” Dylan replied, frantically trying to stay ahead of his friend. Playing games was very complicated when the cast kept your wrist from bending in the way necessary to make holding a controller comfortable.
“Paul, your father and I did some talking…” Mrs. Nailor started, as Paul tried to listen while simultaneously keep his eye on the game. “We think maybe we should stop bugging you about using the toilet for awhile, and just have you wear diapers, and see if the problem gets better after awhile. What do you think of that?”
Paul’s car crashed abruptly as he ignored the game and attempted to process what had been said. “Really?” He asked, utterly flabbergasted that his father would let up on the pooping issue for even a second.
“I know you might be surprised, but we think it’s for the best. So if you want to go that route, I’ll pick you up some diapers for home this evening.”
Paul wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. On the one hand, diapers was like admitting defeat- like he’d never fix the pooping problem that had dogged him for as long as he could remember. On the other hand, Dylan had already done it, jumped into diapers willingly… and they were comfy at school… He looked over to Dylan, who was looking at him with anticipation. Obviously Dylan didn’t want to be the only one in diapers, and that factor was what finally pushed Paul over the edge to accept what was, otherwise, a pretty humiliating proposition.
“Okay,” Paul agreed finally, though it was with a certain amount of happiness that he did so.
The game long abandoned, Dylan’s mother gather him up. “Stacy, where can I change Dylan?” she asked.
“Oh, the bathroom’s fine if you need some privacy.” Mrs. Nailor offered.
“Let’s just start the game again,” Dylan whined a little, not particularly wanting his diaper changed so quickly anyway.
“Do you want me to change you here?” His mom joked.
“I don’t care,” Dylan answered seriously. It wasn’t like Paul hadn’t seen him naked before, when the two had pooped their pants together.
Ms. Spencer shrugged her shoulders; if it didn’t bother Dylan, it didn’t bother her to change him here. She unzipped her back pack, pulling out the wipes and powder and setting them onto the coffee table as Paul restarted the game and the two were racing. Dylan stood up for his mother as she motioned for him though his eyes never left the T.V. screen.
Dylan held his arms up with the control, awkwardly continuing to play the game as his mother pulled down his pants and ripped the tapes of his disposable diaper, placing her hand between his legs to gently lower it away from him. It wasn’t really that wet yet, but she’d hate for him to have a leak at his friend’s house. She wiped him up carefully, making sure to get him clean and powdered him by spreading it on her hands first, as he was standing up. Soon she had a new diaper on him and pulled his pants back up, Dylan plopping onto the couch as she finished.
Paul and Dylan played video games the rest of the day, though both were beginning to feel a little apprehension regarding their own issue. Paul was desperately hoping that his mother was serious about the new outlook she and his father would take. Dylan was hoping that he could be transferred to Paul’s class soon – he didn’t know if he’d survive much longer in his current one.


Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 5: Adjustment
Dylan sat in front of the principal’s office in a messy diaper. The poop was still warm, and it didn’t feel too bad as it squished under his bottom, even if it did stink a bit. His mom had used a lot of baby powder in the morning though, and that covered up the worst of the smell.
His teacher had not been happy to discover his situation. Once the class had split into math groups, Dylan had not been happy to find himself placed with Tom. It didn’t take long for Tom to break into the baby jokes but today Dylan didn’t care. Tom could be right, Dylan had thought, as he pushed the load out into his diaper and watched the looks of disgust as his group mates spent the next five minutes trying to discover the source of the smell before they realized it was him.
The teacher had dragged him out into the hall and sent him to the principal’s office as the class had been thrown into disarray realized that the baby Dylan had pooped himself again. Loud conversations of disbelief and interest filled the class and the teacher had to take Dylan out just to have a chance at regaining control. The children were still interested in the spectacle of a child soiling themselves, even if they’d gotten a bit used to it with Paul. Dylan felt relief wash over him as he was taken outside and began to walk away from that class.
Every moment with those kids had been spent in an indescribable dread since he had injured his arm. Dylan’s hand went reflexively to the cast as he remembered the incident, well, the running. He couldn’t remember anything after he tripped even though it had been a few days. Most of the girls didn’t cause him any problems, it was true, and some of the boys had better things to do than pick on him, but no one came to his rescue. Not like Paul had. So, here Dylan was, sitting outside the principal’s office in a pooped diaper while the principal talked loud enough that he could hear him.
“Look, Ms. Spencer, you can’t send your son to school in diapers if he doesn’t require them.” The principal said angrily over the phone. One poop-filled diaper had brought the Spencer boy in here again and the principal was at his wits end with how to handle the kid. It seemed he was always at the center of problems.
“He refuses to use the toilet, would you rather he makes a mess of your classroom?” Ms. Spencer replied through the phone.
“This is about the transfer Special Ed class with the Nailors’ son, right?” The principal replied exasperated, “Don’t put your son up to this stuff.”
“I’m not putting him up to anything. He’s refused to use the toilet since he broke his arm. I might say the lack of supervision at your school traumatized my boy. I don’t know why he’s refusing, but it’s work for me to change his diapers at home. You want it fixed, fix it yourself- the bullies at your school are what caused his problems.” Ms. Spencer spat, finally finished with the principal’s bullshit. She had work to do and this call was going to be short.
“Fine,” The principal replied, beleaguered, “Bring me a note from a doctor or psychologist that he needs the diapers, and I’ll transfer him.”
*****
“There you go,” Ms. Nailor said, taping up Paul’s first diaper for home use. “How’s it feel?”
“It’s okay,” Paul replied, used to the comfy feeling from school but still feeling incredibly out of place wearing one at home. He heard his father scoff as his father looked into the room, watching his mother putting away her diaper changing implements. “You’re going to change him, too?”
“Dear,” Ms. Nailor said sternly, looking at her husband, and putting her hands on her hips as if she was scolding one of her children. “We agreed, you don’t have to change him, so you don’t get to say a word about it.”
Paul then saw his father do something unexpected. He took a deep breath and walked into the room, “Sorry son, old habits die hard” He said, patting Paul on the head, “I’m gonna try hard to not bug you about this, okay buddy?”
Paul nodded, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable at laying on his back in a diaper in front of his father.
“You know I love you right?” His dad asked hopefully, and Paul nodded slowly in return. “Yeah, well, I do, and I’m sorry if I made you think I didn’t.”
Mr. Nailor hugged his son for a second, letting him go as he looked over to his wife. “Keep reminding me Stacey. I promised we’d try it your way.”
“Thanks dear,” Ms. Nailor said, appreciating her husband trying to keep his word.
“You okay?” she added, looking over at her son. Paul nodded slowly, feeling tears springing to his eyes at the unexpected affection from his father, he wiped them away frantically, sniffling loudly through his nose. His father just flashed a sympathetic smile and took off out of the room. His mother helped him sit up and sent him off to play.
Paul felt very strange walking down the hall of his house with only a t-shirt and a diaper. He walked into the dining room where his brother Scott was sorting out card for Magic and building a new deck.
“Hey,” Paul ventured, trying to be nonchalant about the rapid change of pace his life was undergoing.
“Yo,” Scott said, looking up, and doing a subtle, but detectable double-take at his brother’s attire. “You okay?” He responded carefully.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Paul replied, sitting at the table with his brother.
“Is this a new punishment or something?” Scott asked sympathetically.
“No, mom said dad and her were going to stop bugging me about the toilet. This is just to stop the mess and smell and stuff.”
“Oh,” Scott pondered that for a moment, “That’s good, right? I mean, if you’re okay with it.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m okay with it.” Paul said shrugging.
“So anyway, check out my new deck,” Scott said, changing the subject, as he passed his brother a list of cards he designed. Paul started looking over the list, annoyed that he hadn’t even seen half the cards before. Scott always seemed to find cool people to trade with at his middle school, Paul was annoyed that elementary school kids only seemed to care about Pokemon cards.
Scott finished putting his new deck together and ran through a couple of test games with Paul, who played with his old deck. The results were reasonably favorable, coming out with the new deck on top, until Paul, tired of losing asked for a chance to switch decks. Of course, his draw sucked and Scott ended up winning with his old deck.
“This is stupid.” Paul said, annoyed at his fourth loss.
“That’s how the cards are sometimes,” Scott replied shrugging, trying not to chuckle as his brother sulked over a card game that was just a test match anyway.
“Boys, how’re you doing?” Ms. Nailor asked, walking into the dining room. She was getting ready to start dinner and thought it best to check on them first.
“Fine,” Scott replied automatically. Paul, however, was becoming vaguely aware of a pressure in his bladder but realized he wasn’t exactly sure of protocol. The Special Ed class had been very clear on the matter, if you wanted to use the toilet you simply asked one of the aides and they would take you to the restroom and assist. He usually used the bathroom on his own at home for peeing, but then, he never had to take a diaper off either.
“Mom,” He said, following her into the kitchen.
“Yes, Paul?” She replied, pulling a pan out from the counter drawers.
“What if I have to pee?” He asked sheepishly. It sounded a little silly once he said it, obviously he’d have to pee eventually, but he just didn’t know what to expect out of his parents right now as the constant yelling and berating which made up normal parenting had temporarily subsided.
“Well,” Ms. Nailor started, “I’d be glad to help you with taking the diaper off for a bit, or to change you, whichever you want.”
“I can pee in them?”
“If you want too.” His mother confirmed. “Your father and I aren’t going to say anything about it for awhile and see if maybe things fix themselves.” She said, leaning down to be eye level with her soon. “I think we’ve stressed you out about it too much, just don’t worry about poop or pee for awhile, okay. If you wanna pee in the toilet, that’s great, but I’m not going to say anything if you don’t.”
“Then, umm, I’m going to go in it.” Paul said, gently testing the waters.
“Okay, let me know when you need to be changed.” His mom replied, patting him on the backside as she shooed him out of the kitchen.
Paul stood at the entryway to the dining room and attempted to release his bladder to no avail. It was just way too weird not standing in front of a toilet. He walked back to his room and closed the door, finding the privacy lowered his anxiety a bit about the whole issue.
Alone, and leaning over with his hands on his bed, Paul started trying to relax. As he closed his eyes and imagined his was in front of a toilet he was surprised with a sudden spurt of liquid into the diaper. It dried almost instantly, and the trickle stopped as soon as he realized it was happening.
He tried again, trying to get that feeling he’d had, and suddenly a full flow of urine started, pattering lightly against the diaper, hot and wet. The diaper started getting heavier as he released his bladder and he felt the warm diaper conform to his privates as the diaper got more soaked. The whole experience was pretty pleasant, he could see why Dylan hadn’t given it up.
Finished, he basked in the intense feeling of a sodden, wet diaper. It wasn’t as intense as a mess was, it was true, but it was still different. Paul hadn’t wet himself in a long time and the freedom that he wasn’t going to be punished for it was truly exhilarating. He pressed the diaper against himself, enjoying the feeling for a few more moments before he decided it was time to tell his mom and get changed.
*****
Cathy Robison, a child psychologist, had worked with a number of children who had fear issues, and this one was the worst she’d whose fears didn’t stem from the home. Usually the kids that were this anxious had problems with their parents, and while Ms. Spencer might coddle the boy a bit much, Dylan certainly didn’t give any indication he was afraid of –her-. In contract, the school yard bullying was the core of most of his associations, and it was troubling her.
“So, Dylan, why do you want to wear diapers?” She continued as she leaned back in her leather desk chair.
“I dunno, cause they’re nice.” He replied shrugging. He shifted in his wet diaper as he responded, happily feeling the sagging weight beneath him. It had only been a couple of days in diapers now, but Dylan knew he had no intention of going back.
“Why won’t you use the toilet?” She pushed, turning her head slightly to try and catch his gaze.
“I hate it.” Dylan said, “Kids who use the toilet have to be in my class, where all the kids make fun of me and hit me.”
“And kids who don’t use the toilet don’t have to go to school?” She asked
“No, but they get to go to a special class where there’s teachers to protect them, and Paul’s there, and he can protect me.”
Ms. Robinson looked up and saw that her forty-five minute diagnostic session was over.
“Okay Dylan,” She said, “Why don’t you put up the toys while I talk to your mom for a minute, then you’ll be ready to go”
Dylan nodded compliantly, going about picking up the toys while Ms. Robinson went out to talk with his mother.
“I know he’s doing it on purpose” Ms. Spencer said as Ms. Robinson came out, “But he’s so torn up about it, isn’t there anything you can do so the school won’t push him about it?”
“I agree the toilet refusal isn’t physical, but psychologically it’s a very strong point with your son. It’s a defense mechanism against bullying, whether it really works or not. If the school just wants a note that this child, for an indeterminate amount of time, needs to wear diapers, I’ll be glad to write it. If half of what your kid told me is true that school has serious problems, and even if it isn’t Dylan thinks it is, and that alone shows how troubled he is by it all.”
“Do you think he’ll stop?” Ms. Spencer asked hopefully.
“Once he feels safe again?” The psychologist added, “Once he feels safe again, he’ll probably get tired of it. But as long as he thinks it protects him, you can probably expect it to continue. I’d suggest weekly sessions and I can try to help him express what he’s afraid of so we can get him to a safer place.”
“Weekly sessions?” Ms. Spencer said, absently biting her lip as she tried to recall her bank balance.
“It’d only be $50 per session with your insurance,” Ms. Robinson added
“Bi-weekly maybe?” Ms. Spencer countered.
“I think we could do it on that basis.” Ms Robinson nodded, understanding the financial issue which came up with a lot of her patients.
“Can we go now mom?” Dylan asked as he walked out of the office, having put away the toys.
“Sure honey,”
*****
“Well, I guess everything’s in order.” The administrator replied, annoyed, as she read the doctor’s note in conjunction with the paperwork. The principal had warned her this might be coming through though.
Dylan was looking at the floor, holding his mother’s hand. It was the second day that he had come to school in diapers, and it still felt like everyone was looking at him. The paperwork completed the administrator directed his mother to take him to his new class and soon they were walking down the hallway.
“You ready for this, baby?” Ms. Spencer asked her son.
Dylan nodded quickly. He was actually a little excited, though he was also a little scared. Even if the kids were bad in this new class though, Paul would still be there to protect him.
His mom opened the door and he walked into his new class. Instead of the standard twenty-five desks, there were just twelve, four rows of three, looking towards the front. Two of the kids were in wheel chairs, and the ages ranged from kindergarten to kids that looked as old as he was.
Paul waved from the back and pointed to the empty desk next to his own.
“Hi, you must be Dylan,” The teacher said, walking up and introducing himself to the boy. “My name is Mr. Menderson, I’ll be your new teacher. I hear you’re friends with Paul. I’ll let you sit next to him, but we may have to move you if you spend too much time talking and not doing your work, okay?”
“Okay,” Dylan squeaked. The teacher actually seemed really nice. The whole thing was just such a major change that Dylan felt butterflies all through his stomach. He noticed there were also two women there, working at different desks that faced the class. The back wall of the class also held what Dylan thought looked like a changing table.
His mother gently squeezed his hand as she released it and Dylan stepped forward, walking to his new desk. Paul beamed at him from the side, happy to have his friend back in the class. The teacher was working with a couple of younger kids up at the front.
“Hi Paul,” Dylan said, putting his backpack over the back of the chair.
“Hi!” Paul said back happily. He was in high spirits today, having his friend in class. Also, things had been going wonderfully at home since his mother had let him use the diapers. It was like the whole mood of his life shifted. “Oh, this is Steven, he’s pretty cool.”
Paul motioned over to the kid in the wheel chair next to him. Steven nodded at Dylan, waving his hand and replied with a friendly, if barely enunciated, “Hi Dylan.”
“He’s got cerebral palsy, that’s why he talks funny.” Paul replied seriously to Dylan, "But he’s just as smart as us, you just gotta talk to him for awhile.
“Nice to meet you,” Dylan replied to Steven, sitting down next to Paul. Paul then explained the various kids in the class.
“I didn’t understand when I got here,” Paul said, motioning to Steven, “Steven, Brice and Taylor” Paul said, while pointing “are like us, they just have physical handicaps,” he then pointed to a couple of kids in the front row, “the ones in the front row can think okay, but they do crazy stuff, like fighting the aides or throwing things, and” Paul pointed to the last set of kids in sequence “Valerie, Enrique and Arnold, they have ‘developmental’ disabilities, which means their brains are like baby’s brains or something.”
“Oh,” Dylan replied, trying to understand the differences in the disabilities.
Paul then regaled Dylan with the previous days disruption by one of the behavorial problems from the front row the previous day. Paul had apparently acclimated pretty well because Steven was involved in the conversation from the side, throwing out one-word inputs at comedic moments. Dylan, while a little confused at all the new input, felt like he was in a safe environment for the first time in a long while.
Mr. Menderson started the lesson then, and Dylan looked up. It was directed at the back row, explaining math to the older kids. Dylan realized it was the same stuff his class had been working on a week ago, so he didn’t have to pay attention that hard. The lesson was only about twenty minutes, where they were then given an explanation of what they were supposed to do, a few examples, and an assignment from the book. With that completed, Mr. Menderson started instructing the next row of students.
Dylan completed his assignment quickly, looking over to Paul who had already completed his assignment as well. An aide was assisting Steven, writing down the answers he told her on his homework sheet and it looked like he was almost done himself.
No longer concentrated on work Dylan noticed his bladder was full and released it with minimal effort. The last few days had made it much easier to do the deed and he was getting used to diapers.
“I’m peeing,” Dylan whispered over to Paul. Paul just nodded quickly, patting his own diaper under the desk.
Dylans diaper got soaked pretty quickly, and was pressed up into his bottom as he sat on the desk. Still, it felt pretty good and liberating to be able to go in class and not even care. It looked like half the kids in here were in diapers, so it finally wasn’t a big deal.
They had a history lesson next, which went pretty much the same. Mr. Mendersen gave them 20 minutes of time every hour or so and had them work individually. The history work took a little bit longer but Paul and Dylan were able to chat a little bit between the next lesson.
“Alright kids,” Mr. Mendersen said looking up at the clock, “It’s about time for recess soon, let’s get ready.”
“Show of hands, who needs a change?” One of the aides asked getting up. Two hands shot up, including Dylan’s. Dylan looked over at his Paul keeping his hand at his sides with a little disappointment.
Paul caught the glance and figured he might as well ‘go with the flow’ so to speak and peed his diaper while simultaneously raising his hand with the other kids. There were actually five of them that needed to be changed, after the aides had checked the kids that were reluctant to admit they needed one.
Dylan was certainly a bit nervous as the aide helped him up onto the changing table, I mean, the aide sort of screened him from the class but there really wasn’t any privacy. She did a clinical diaper change, quickly untaping the diaper, giving him a complete but quick wipe-down and covering him in baby powder before she taped a fresh diaper back up.
“Next,” The aide called, at a reasonable volume but otherwise like a drill sergeant and Paul walked up behind him.
“Paul, a wet one?” The aide asked surprised; Paul just shrugged and as the aide changed him without further comment.
Soon they were out at one of the lower grades playsets, just the twelve kid class, two aides and Mr. Mendersen in tow. The school field was eerily empty because this recess was staggered at a different time. Dylan liked it this way, his normal recesses were far too noisy.
Dylan and Paul climbed up to the top of the jungle gym, hanging out together in school for the first time in several weeks. The weather was already getting chilly.
“Paul,” Dylan said as they got up to the top, “I’m glad you’re my friend.”
“Me too,” Paul replied, moved by the sentiment in a way he couldn’t describe.
The looked off into the distance, at the part of the school yard where the older kids played, where they had played until joining this new class. The
November wind whipped by and it seemed, for these kids, that this school year was going to turn out okay, even if it was in an unexpected way.
The End
(I may post an Epilogue later)


Re: Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 5 added 12/18/13

Brown_hatchling link=topic=5815.msg57164#msg57164 date=1387857457:
Good story but your scenario would never happen in real life, in fact the way you set it up here the child being forced into a SpEd class because of incontinence issues is actually quite illegal
I don’t agree that it would never happen. Might be illegal, certainly unfair, but those things happen all the time in the public school system. Just look up lawsuits against public schools. It’s usually a fair assumption that, if a case is brought, far more people had the same issue but didn’t want to go to the trouble of bringing the suit.
However, there’s still something less than ideal about my story (at minimum for you) if this issue broke your suspension of disbelief. Since this is a critiquing forum, it’s important to know exactly where you stopped and said “nope, don’t buy it”
Maybe I rushed a scene you felt should have had more exposure, maybe a character accepted the shift too easily, or maybe a character should’ve been more disturbed by the choice. Give me the specifics you would have liked to make it more believable for you and I can consider an edit (and, even if not, keep that stuff in mind for my next work). Also, do others agree? - The more people that had trouble suspending disbelief, the more an edit is called for. I try and keep my work (at least, stuff without high fantasy elements) in the realm of possible.


Re: Symbiotic Deficits - Chapter 5 added 12/18/13
Liefdesverdriet,
I understand what you’re saying. This wasn’t meant to be pure fantasy, I think part of what keeps it believable/realistic is the imperfect resolution of many of the stories issues. For instance, Paul’s father’s ego, the one that allowed him to treat his son like that, probably would never be able to accept the fact of how he made things worse- so he just changes tact and never addresses it again when enough pressure is exerted on him from all sides. That’s the most reform you’re going to get out of a lot of middle-aged males. I agree that school staff’s perspective was flawed- but have seen similar situations occur in real life.
On the other hand, in striving to achieve realist imperfections I may have neglected the cohesive theme for the piece. I think the theme runs something close to “aggression cannot repair weakness, but having someone believe in you can build your strength.” I do not think all the characters understand this but hopefully the reader does by the end. Still, I don’t think I had the theme in mind at each point in writing it and, because of that, the theme may a bit flawed in its representation within the story.
Perhaps it would have been more direct to make the characters specifically acknowledge what the theme is trying to point out but it may have also made the story feel contrived. I’ll have to think about that one.