Tale #144: Prodigy Turned Pantspooper:

Tale #144: Prodigy Turned Pantspooper: (Content Tags: Messy undies, humiliation, bullying, young genius, training pants) "I knew it! I knew I smelled something! You pooped! Did a big dookie in your pants!" The shrill voice had announced, cutting through the air with a declaration that couldn't be ignored. It was no baseless accusation either, evident by the pants that were now down to his ankles. His Carebear underwear fully visible, and the backside bulging with a tented lump; there was no denying that he'd crapped himself, just as the bully had said. "Look! He's got baby underwear too! Might as well just be a *diaper*, since you're poopin' in them that way!" The older boy cackled. "I thought he was supposed to be super-smart?" "Guess he's still just a baby!" "They should send him back to Kindergarten! Or preschool!" The small crowd of classmates had coalesced around the scene, not to lend a helping hand, but to join in the mockery of their supposed peer. It was to be expected from a gaggle of such mediocre students, those who felt threatened by his appearance in their classroom. "Not gonna say anything, poopy-pants? You just gonna cry like a baby?" The tiny boy sniffled and finally spoke up, though meekly: "I-I'm n-not a b-baby..." "Oh? You're not? Well, I don't think that big kids go potty in their pants. You're supposed to be some kinda genius, but you're not even pottytrained yet? Sounds like you're slow in the head, to me." The bully reached down and grabbed the waistband on the underwear. Choking back tears of humiliation, the little boy sputtered: "I-I am too p-pottytrained!" With a sudden jerk, the bully was lifting up on the waistband of the soiled briefs; with his victim being so much smaller than him, it was easy to achieve lift-off with the wedgie. The parcel of poop in the boy's briefs got snugly pressed up against his rump with a subtle squish, and the boy loudly squeaked in surprise. Things weren't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be better than these kids! The boy being ruthlessly mocked was none other than Dylan, a six year old prodigy that'd been moved ahead several grades based on his aptitude. Instead of eating glue and taking naps with the Kindergarten class, he was rubbing elbows with the fourth graders. It was like a land of giants to him, but he'd come in with the attitude that he was their superior. On a purely intellectual level, or academic one, that would be true. He was easily the smartest kid in their grade. Contrary to his naive view of the world though, his IQ score meant very little to a barbaric group of big kids with chips on their shoulders. Being the smartypants of the class, while being obnoxiously young, was actually a sore point of contention for these older kids. Dylan didn't do himself any favors either. He was a smarmy, pompous jerk in a lot of ways; he had a big ego about his brainpower, and he hadn't been around older kids long enough to realize how cruel they could be. He'd also wrongly assumed that the teacher would be an unbreakable shield that would keep him from their grubby clutches. Ultimately, the real problem was the sticky load in the back of his briefs. While that was the first time he'd been discovered by his new peers, it wasn't a new problem altogether. Somewhat fittingly, he had a potty problem; he was too scared to use the toilets at school, and so sometimes he waited too long and accidentally pooed in his pants. He already had an established record of it happening multiple times, but this was the first time he'd been caught in fourth grade; in the brief time he'd spent in Kindergarten, it had been less controversial to soil himself, so it'd never been a big hullabaloo. The low expectations of Kindergarten had been the only great part about being in a place where he wasn't at all mentally stimulated. Now he was finally getting material that challenged him, but he was also under immense scrutiny by the older kids that resented his presence. Terry, the jerk giving him a wedgie, had been the one to take notice of what the puny prodigy was doing; he'd seen the panicked face and the stiffened posture. Terry had watched the very moment that the payload had dropped into his pants. It was doubtful that Terry would soon forget either, not after all the big talk that the brat had been responsible for. Dylan had gotten too big for his britches, and then he'd gone and crapped them; that wasn't something he could live down. "I knew you were just a stupid baby." The older boy snarled, finally dropping hold of the waistband and letting Dylan drop to the ground. "They should stick your little butt back in Pampers, poo-pants." It was fortunate for Terry that he dropped Dylan and stepped away, just mere moments before the teacher arrived on the scene. Dylan was a sobbing mess by that point, so he couldn't point an accusatory finger at his bully, and Terry even made an act out of informing the teacher about Dylan's little 'uh-oh' in his undies. Not that Terry really needed to say anything at all; the large lump in the back of Dylan's underpants was self-evident. Outside of Dylan stuffing a baseball down the back of his undies, there was little more the bulge could be, other than a big load of poop. He got taken to the nurse, still crying, while the spectators snickered amongst themselves. Before the end of the school day, it was undoubted that his number two would be completely circulated among the rest of his peers. Worse was what came next. It was one strike too many, and the stakes were higher, since he was supposed to be a fourth grader now. He couldn't indefinitely mess his trousers with impunity, not in the type of class he was a part of. Once the nurse got him cleaned up, she pulled a package from the cabinet and opened it up. From within, she pulled out and unfurled a white pair of 'undies' that looked bulky and made of disposable materials. Dylan was being put in a Pull-Up. There were only so many times he could crap himself before this would have been the inevitable result, and he'd hit the limit. The nurse called home to explain the events of the day to the boy's parents, which brought a bright pink glow to the boy's face. His parents were already aware of his potty problems in public, which also rarely became an issue at home, so it wasn't a total surprise. He'd been threatened with such things before, primarily from his father, who had little patience for Dylan's soiling accidents, but he'd never assumed such a thing would truly come to pass. Someone as clever as Dylan shouldn't be wearing the same garment as an errant toddler! ...And yet, that's exactly what was pulled up around his waist. Padded undergarments intended for dumb little babies to do their doo-doo and wee-wee in; it was truly humiliating. Not as bad as a diaper at least, but not all that far off, and the Pull-Up was basically a warning shot that diapers could be on the horizon if he didn't get his act together. It was like going through pottytraining in reverse! He would be returned to his classroom with the newfound bulk under his pants, and by the time he was shyly reentering, he could tell that everyone must have already heard about his accident at recess. In less than twenty minutes, his reputation had been completely tanked, though it was unclear how much respect he really commanded beforehand anyways. Dylan could feel their eyes, full of amusement, planted firmly on his form. He awkwardly shambled back to his desk, which was unique in being taken from the first grade room, and he quietly took a seat. The teacher hadn't said anything, since she was a professional after all, but he'd seen the disappointment in her eyes. It was the exact kind of situation she had likely already dreaded the possibility of, whenever she'd been informed that she was getting such a small student. Prodigy or not, Dylan was still a little kid, and toileting problems were far more expected with his age group than with the other fourth graders. She was more annoyed than sympathetic, irritated that her class of 'big kids' was suddenly becoming more like a nursery class. There was a reason why some teachers stuck to the older grades in the first place, and this was a big part of it. Mrs. Weston didn't teach Kindergarten nor SPED, and this was a perfect example of why. She wanted to teach, not to wipe snotty noses or mucky tushes. The rest of the class would go off without a hitch, not that Dylan could easily focus on the lesson being taught. His mind was stuck on what had happened at recess and what had followed in the nurse's office. The cumbersome way that the Pull-Up spread his thighs was a constant reminder of his shame, and he had to actively work to not suck his thumb out of anxiety. He considered tattling on Terry for the bullying that had accompanied the poopy accident, but it felt like a gamble. Snitching was often a double-edged sword, where it made it more likely that there would be further retaliation; it was possible that his teacher may not really help him either, instead blaming the victim for their own misery. Whenever the bell rang to end the day, Dylan was slow to gather his things and leave. He knew that his stepmother would be disappointed and that his father would be furious; the afternoon and evening ahead would be filled with lectures and raised voices, while he looked down and struggled to not cry. Then there were his siblings, whom would probably not make it any easier. They knew he had accidents in the past, but they likely weren't aware of the frequency or extent. His stepsister, May, was about the same age as him, and his older brother, Tyson, was a couple of years older. Both siblings had issues with Dylan's academic success. May didn't like being the same age as Dylan and being so much behind him in school, especially since he often got preferential treatment because of it. Tyson, in third grade, was mortified that his baby brother had gotten ahead of him in school, especially since Tyson himself had been fighting to skip a grade. In some ways, he'd be proving their skepticism right. For all the wit that he was so proud of, the same that he knew was superior to their own, that still hadn't stopped him from doing something far beneath either of them. The occasional wet bed didn't help the situation either, nor did his status as the smallest in the family. Both he and Tyson would get out to the pick-up like around the same time, while his stepsister had been picked up from class a couple of hours earlier. Being a grade apart, Dylan hoped that his older brother hadn't heard any whispers of what'd happened; it was hard to say whether or not that would be the case, as it seemed like juicy enough news to transcend grade levels. Luckily, it would appear that Tyson was blissfully unaware of what had happened to his baby brother. He seemed completely casual whenever he stood by Dylan, as distant as usual, since he was embarrassed by their difference in status. If Tyson could help it, he tried to keep their relation a secret. Dylan stood there quietly, as they waited to see their mother's car in the line. The little boy had made a stop at the nurse's office, as he was instructed to, before heading outside; whenever he'd been changed, his poopy briefs had been bagged up, and so he'd been told to come pick them up before leaving. The assumption was that they would be laundered at home, but that wouldn't relieve them of their shameful stains. The transparent bag was in his backpack, thankfully sealed well enough to mitigate the odor. Even without the smell, a paranoia hung over his head; the proof of his degradation was just a zipper away from being shown to the whole world. Similarly, his new secret was but a quick tug of his pants away from becoming headline news. "Hey, Baby Einstein, you waiting for your mommy to come get you? Bet she's got a bottle warmed up for you at home." An older boy suddenly sneered as he walked onto the pavement in front of the school. Tyson glanced down at Dylan, and then at the apparent bully, but he didn't intervene or interject. If things got serious enough, he'd likely act like the big brother he was supposed to be, but he wouldn't get in the middle of stopping the same mockery that he himself was guilty of participating in. Dylan didn't respond either, instead staring down at his velcro sneakers. The jabs may have been an affront to his ego, but he wasn't so hot-headed that he'd be goaded so easily. He also was still in a delicate emotional state, which was obviously augmented by his age; while his intellect was beyond his years, his physical and emotional attributes were still every bit as puny as any other little boy his age. At best, he was a little more level-headed than the average six year old, but he was still a volatile toddler in comparison to the kids he attended class with. The boy, who Dylan recognized as being Murphy, another kid from his class who'd been present at the recess incident, took a few steps forward. He looked a little disappointed at the lack of a reaction, but he wasn't deterred. "Can baby not talk? Can baby only go goo-goo and gah-gah? Is that why baby had an uh-oh? Because he couldn't tell the teacher he had to go--" Murphy paused for a moment, so he could put his hands against his mouth to make a crude raspberry: "--PBBBLLLLLTTT!" Murphy cracked himself up laughing at his own fart noise, as if the childish recounting of events was comedy gold. "Guess those CAREBEAR undies are gonna be sportin' a big streak from now on. Or maybe your mommy will buy you some Carebear *diapers* instead? Not that those undies were far off from being diapers anyway..." The tale wasn't well received by either of the brothers. Dylan was of course humiliated, and having to hold back tears once more, but even Tyson was blushing at what he was hearing. For Tyson, it was a mixed reaction; he was amused to hear about his baby brother's embarrassing misfortune, but he was equally appalled to be associated with the prodigy-turned-pantspooper. Murphy's own ride soon came, so he had to leave the taunting behind, lest he get an earful about bullying from his own mother. Once he was gone, Tyson sighed and put his palm to his forehead. "...Did you really poo yourself, Dylan?" It was asked relatively quietly, but the bite wasn't dulled. It was equal parts mocking and chiding. Tyson hardly needed any real confirmation either, as Dylan's blushing cheeks were beacons of naked guilt. Still, Dylan kept his eyes glued to the floor and awkwardly shook his head in denial. "N-no..." Tyson frowned, "You're such a bad liar...Ugh, I can't believe you'd do that...! You're supposed to be in fourth grade now, Dylan! You can't be crapping your pants like you're in frickin' preschool!" The younger boy didn't reply, only sniffling pitifully, which did nothing to exonerate him. It was meaningless to try to deny it any further though, since it was likely that his father would be loud enough about it later, that everyone in the house became acutely aware about what he'd done in his underpants at school. Before Dylan could defend himself any further, their ride arrived in the pickup line and Tyson forcefully grabbed his baby brother by the hand. The next few hours would be unpleasant; that much was obvious.