Story #152: Spot the Differences

Story #152: Spot the Differences (Part two to 'Shameful Symmetry') (Content Tags: Humiliation, forced diapering, forced soiling, forced to be babyish, ongoing story) Synchronization, symmetry, balance... It was all a bunch of hooey. Nothing more than the vapid ramblings of a crazy woman with a confused view on metaphysics. Owen didn't have to be a philosopher to see that Marjorie was functionally insane and that her esoteric beliefs were completely unsubstantiated by reality. He'd seen the type before, with some of the mothers of friends or classmates that he'd had in the past. Horoscope, tarot, crystals, oils, and the like. It wasn't like he was a total skeptic or that he'd lost his childhood sense of wonder, but he could recognize hokum when it reeked that badly. And speaking of reeking badly, his brother was really stinking up the kitchen. It looked like a good time to dip out and go to the bathroom, while his twin brother got changed out of a gross poo-diaper for the second time in less than an hour. Oscar loved a good dirty diaper and he fussed about getting it changed, but Marjorie had been relatively attentive. "Mooom! Owen's going into the potty room!" Bradynn suddenly called out, hand cupped to his mouth. Was this brat really tattling on him for trying to do his business? It was mid-morning, after a heavy breakfast of fiber, and Owen had some serious cargo to drop off. "Yeah? So?" Owen growled with his hand on the doorknob. Marjorie came out of the kitchen with Oscar toddling past her, his gait widened by the cargo that he'd already gotten to drop off. "Go sit on the play-mat, sweetie." Oscar happily waddled to the center of the floor, where a colorful plastic-covered mat sat. It was generally Oscar's play area in the living room, where he could sit with his toys or watch cartoons; it was there in the real risk of a leak or a blowout, to keep the carpet clean. The mentally addled boy plopped down and the squish was audible to everyone in the room. Owen cringed at the noise, since he knew exactly what gravity had just done to that diaper. He couldn't say that he envied the task of changing it. Marjorie turned her attention to the smarter of the twins, "What's wrong? Do you need to wash your hands?" "No, I need to go." "Go where?" "The *bathroom*!" He groaned, already exasperated with this dialogue. He wasn't about to let this become some 'Abbott and Costello' bit, so he decided to clarify. "To use the toilet, because I was asleep for eight hours and just had breakfast." The woman frowned and approached her stepson, "No, no, there's no need to go in there for that." "What? Do you want me to use the one upstairs? Or do I just go in the backyard?" His snarky tone felt justified, especially with the pressure below growing by the moment. "Silly boy, you're wearing your potty, remember?" She gave his padded bottom a gentle pat. His cheeks reddened, "W-what? No way am I crapping in my pants! Just because you're making me dress the same as Oscar, doesn't mean that I don't still know how to poop on the flippin' toilet!" "So stubborn..." She sighed, as if Owen was the one being irrational here. "Your brother was nice enough to give you a demonstration, Owen." "He's been giving me 'demonstrations' like ten times a day for the last ten years we've been alive. I think I know what it means to poop in a diaper, and what it looks like, and sounds like, and smells like. I'm practically an expert by now. I also know how to use the toilet, because I'm ten, so I'm gonna keep on doing that." He tried to open the door, but she grabbed at his other arm. "I think you're still not getting it, honey. I know that it's complicated, but I know what I'm talking about. You need to realign with your brother." Marjorie actually did *not* know whatever the hell she was talking about. Her brain was fried from various Tumblr pages, Facebook mom groups, woo TikToks, and a lifetime of being far too susceptible to neat sounding bullshit. By some stretch of all these ideas stewing around in that cauldron she called her brain, she had come to the conclusion that Owen needed to devolve himself to be like Oscar. The only small dose of sanity in that was that she at least knew it couldn't work the other way around. Oscar would never be able to be like Owen; he couldn't get on the same intellectual level, he couldn't stop crapping his pants. It only worked by dropping Owen to that level, because that *was* possible. Marjorie pulled him away from the bathroom, "Do you need some privacy? Your brother doesn't, but I know it'll take some time to get to that." Owen blinked at her, stunned that she was genuinely telling him to take a dump in the diaper. The bathroom was five feet away, but she'd rather he needlessly blow this diaper up instead of the toilet. "Maybe behind the couch?" Bradynn offered with a grin. "Or maybe he could poop in the closet?" Jasmine added, as if talking about a literal toddler. "Or the **bathroom**?!" He exploded, curling his fists so tightly that he felt himself begin to shake. He'd indulged this nutjob for long enough, and what she was asking was way over the line. "I already said that I'm not crapping in a stupid diaper! I'll go on the toilet or on the floor, your pick." His stepmother didn't take kindly to his hostile tone, screaming or his smart mouth. She felt as though she'd been patient with him, but that it might be a rare time to show some tough love. The hippy-dippy kumbaya bullshit, as saccharine and obnoxious as it was, didn't always cut the mustard. "Lower your voice, Owen. I won't be yelled at." She looked down at him, "Your father gave his blessing for me to decide how to raise you boys, and so that's what I'm going to do. I'm not asking a lot, so just try to go with it for now, okay? If you want to be difficult, then I'm sure I could find some twin contests to sign you both up for." The implication was clearly that she wasn't above publicly humiliating Owen to make him comply. He could be a bratty little resistor if he wanted, but he'd never be able to overthrow Marjorie's authoritarian rule; he was a scrawny little boy and she was a particularly tall adult woman. She outclassed him in every possible category, aside for sanity. His revolution would be smothered in the crib. She glanced over at the window, "Maybe moving around would help? You and your brother could go get some fresh air and sunny playtime in." That too sounded like a thinly veiled threat. Going outside like this, and while Oscar was hauling around a stinkbomb, it would make the twins ripe for ridicule. The real choice she was presenting was that he could degrade himself in the privacy of his own home, or out in the front yard for the whole neighborhood to gawk at. "...Can I do it without anyone watching?" He finally responded, his indignant rage dulled to an impotent resignation. "I said you could do it behind the couch! Nobody will see you back there, just smell you." His stepbrother chirped. "And hear you!" Jasmine contributed with a giggle. Owen groaned quietly, "No...I mean, like...Can I just do it *in* the bathroom?" Marjorie looked unsure about that, since the boy had just been very clear about how he wanted to use the toilet and not his diaper. Had her stepson really given up so easily? "Do you promise you won't be naughty? You'll make a nice, big present for mommy, like your brother did?" Owen wanted the earth to swallow him up. His stepmother, devoid of any venom in her tone, was straight talking down to him like he was a two-year old. He slowly nodded his head, "I'll go in the dumb diaper. I just can't do it with everyone watching me..." Marjorie let go of his hand, "Okay, sweetie. You can do your boom-boom in the bathroom, but I'm going to check those Pampers when you come back out. If you're not matching with Oscar, then you'll be going outside to play until you make a stinky." After the upheaval that this morning had already brought, Owen fully believed what his stepmother was threatening him with. He had to come back out with a poopy diaper or else he'd be forced to traipse around the culdesac in his new attire. "...Yes, ma'am." Owen slumped his shoulders and marched off to the toilet, as if he was heading to war as a conscientious objector. He was going in a big boy, but he'd be coming back out one step closer to being like his mushbrained twin. He shut the door behind him and let out a frustrated sigh. There hadn't been a lot of time to process everything thus far, and there was honestly a *lot* that required some thoughtful analysis. He'd been forced to become reactive, since there'd been so many unexpected curves to what his stepmother was concocting. Being taken out of school, being put into a diaper, and then being told he had to take a big, fat crap in it, just because his shortbus twin brother was sporting a butt-lump? Insanity was the only word that could describe it! His idiot father had married a complete lunatic! His hands rested at the tapes of the diaper. It was a no-win situation for him; if he disobeyed her now, then she'd just make him spend the day outside in a diaper. Most of the kids on the street would be going into school, but there would still be the really little kids, or his older neighbors; then the big kids would get out around two or three anyways... Pooping himself was the only real option. So he gave it an earnest effort, with his brother being a source to cite for posture and technique. It felt ridiculous and demeaning to squat and push in vain. He tried getting on his hands and knees, and that didn't work for him either. Half a dozen poses and he was no closer to dirtying himself than when he'd started. Owen needed to poop, that much felt obvious, but his bowels were too well trained to simply void into his pants on command. He was straining and pushing, up until the feeling that he might blow a gasket, but nothing was coming out. He glanced over at the toilet and cringed a little. Maybe it could trick his brain into letting him mess the diaper, if he was sitting on the toilet like a big kid. There was a comical irony to the strategy, since it'd been the same when he'd started pottytraining as a two-year old. Put a toddler on the potty with their diaper on, just to get them used to pooping on it. This was in reverse though. This was effectively for unpottytraining a kid. Still, he didn't have anything to lose, so he sat down on the toilet seat. It felt wrong and bizarre, but that wasn't really different from how this whole morning had been. Owen started to push again, and to his credit, he at least started to fart a few times. The sound was extra funny, since it was both reverberating inside the puffy diaper and echoing in the toilet bowl. This still wasn't cutting it. He needed a distraction. His attention turned toward the top of the toilet tank, where he'd left a 'Highlights for Kids' magazine for toilet-reading. If he could invested in these pages, then perhaps he could forget about what was so different with this particular bathroom trip. "Let's see here...Goofus and Gallant, crossword puzzle...Oh! Spot the differences!" It was a picture of a boy who was...Changing a tot's stinky diaper. This really wasn't helping things. His eyes settled on the image nonetheless, the gears in his brain turning. In an abstract way, the image should have been a reflection of his role as the 'big brother'. Twins or not, one of the pair was obviously mentally younger than the other. It was just supposed to be Oscar who had to wear diapers and get his butt changed like a giant baby. Now though, things were looking less clear. 'Spot the differences' might have been a good little time-waster in the bathroom, but it also hit close to home. Being a twin meant always having to show people the ways that you are different than your sibling; just like these pictures in the magazine, where they weren't quite identical. It was pretty subtle on the physical side. Oscar was heavier, but not by some massive amount and his haircut was a little different; he also just 'looked' dumber than Owen. Between the drool and vacant stare... Before today, the way they were dressed was also an instant indicator. The more blatant differences were mental and intellectual in nature; when Oscar was picking his nose and grunting out a giant crackling dump in his overalls, people could instantly determine which twin he was. People didn't have to play 'spot the differences' with them, at least not for very long. And Marjorie was trying to totally change that. She wanted people to really struggle with picking out which twin was which. That's why a perfectly pottytrained fourth grader was wearing a thick diaper, from his mentally retarded brother, and being made to soil himself while sitting on the toilet that he was well-versed in using. A couple of inches of puffy padding was the partition between dignity and shame. A juicy fart sputtered into that partition and warmed his bottom; it would appear that sitting on the toilet with some reading material had done the trick. His bowels were becoming agreeable, which was itself bittersweet. Owen refocused his eyes onto the pair of pictures and he began to push on his bowels. Baby has a pacifier in one picture, but not the other; there are four flies buzzing around the dirty diaper fumes in one and five in the other... "Hmmmmpp...!" His cheeks got red as a cherry from the straining he was having to do, and he had to lean forward on the toilet a little, but he could feel something starting to come barreling out. A mushy python crashed into the back of his diaper and immediately began to tent the material out, before quickly beginning to coil up instead. With the magazine in his lap, he gripped the sides of the toilet and gave another huge push, since he could tell the load was being obstructed by how he was positioned. "Hrrrrrmmmph!" He blew another squishy trumpet note and started to uncontrollably wet himself as the rest of the log crammed itself into the snug prison of his babypants. When he'd finally pinched it all off, he let out a loud sigh and began to pant in exhaustion. He could see why his brother got so sweaty looking when he was trying to push things out in the highchair! Owen put the magazine away and carefully got up off the toilet. His diaper was wet and messy now, just like his brother, though probably not as badly. His legs immediately felt spread way too wide from the swollen, stinking garment. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and all he could see was Oscar. Bulging diaper, rosy cheeks, sweaty brow... What differences was he supposed to spot? How long would there even be differences?