Story #15: Eat. Sleep. Poop. (Picture)

"It's not fair! Everyone's gonna make fun of me! We're not even staying overnight!" "Watch your tone, young man. I don't want you to eat too much at dinner and fall asleep on the couch without one on. Nobody is going to know that you have it on." Thanksgiving. For some a time to connect with family and enjoy a hearty meal, while for others a stress-inducing cross-section of expectations and a minefield of familial tensions. It acted as a grisly prelude to the more advanced holidays that wouldn't be far behind. To Miles, it was an excuse to gorge himself and laze about the house. Except this time, it was his aunt that was hosting, which meant he'd actually have to dress nicely and be on his best behavior. A perfectly good holiday had been sullied by making an ordeal out of it, and then his parents had brought up his bedwetting. It was embarrassing. He was about to be leaving grade school and starting junior high, and yet, he still soaked himself every night. He'd worn Goodnites when he was a little younger, but as he had grown, so had his accidents, and thus he'd had to move up to something a little more absorbent. So there he sat in the car, with a diaper swaddled underneath his slacks and a little sister that kept giving him a smug look. She knew she wasn't supposed to tease him, but that didn't stop her from using his embarrassing little problem against him fairly regularly. She was three years his junior and had only had dry mornings to talk of since she was pottytrained. His sulking bled over into their arrival, and while the adults would go to chat and finish cooking, Miles and Dana would be expected to go play with their cousins until dinner. Miles would try to enjoy himself, playing some video games with one of his cousins, but he kept feeling the gnawing anxiety of how there was so little to hide his secret right now. One errant crinkle, slip of the waistband, or simple bout of horseplay; that was all it would take. That roaring doubt in his mind would be mollified as dinner soon approached. The anxiety in his gut could finally be replaced with turkey, mashed potatoes, and all forms of culinary delight. He wasn't a particularly large boy, but he was certainly a hungry one, and his endless appetite was enough for his sister to call him out for being a pig. Miles didn't care, and instead would mock her back for being so dainty and restrained on what was so clearly a 'food holiday'. He had seconds, and thirds! And then finally, he capped it off with two big slices of pumpkin pie. By the time his fervent feeding had finished, he almost felt that he needed to unbutton his pants, or more wryly he considered that the tapes on his diaper might give out. With the feast commenced, the adults again herded the kids out to go play in the living room, so that they could get everything cleaned up and enjoy another glass of guilt-free wine. Nobody had the energy for any physical play, but one of his cousins did bust out a board game to play. Miles decided to pass on it and instead lie down on the couch. He was feeling the post-meal sleepiness that was so integral to the festivities, the same one he had denied would be an issue in the first place. He would try to stay awake, though his eyelids would flicker in the dull spectacle that was Candyland. Miles could also feel another distinctive pressure in his gut, but he felt too lethargic to go deal with it at the moment. Instead, in trying to ease his sore tummy, he would position himself flat on his belly on the couch. 'just five more minutes' That little plan never came to fruition, as he finally lost his title bout against the sandman. His cousins noticed his snoozing and joked about it, but the real joke had yet to begin. Soon enough, gassy eruptions began to come in uneven intervals; these trumpeting harbingers were muffled by the material of his diaper, but still pronounced enough to cause even more giggling from the other children. Miles may have had some close calls in the past, or been scolded for skidmarks, but he wasn't a pantsfiller, and certainly not a bed-pooper either! But this was a perfect storm, where all the little modifiers had added up enough to cause some freak accident. His gluttony would be punished, and like any other 'pig', he'd end up wallowing in his own filth. One fart finally went too far, and there was a nasty, sloppy plopping that followed; the sound was akin to wet cement being poured into a plastic grocery bag, and the reality was not that far off. While his 'night time pants' had only ever been intended for his bedwetting, it wasn't as if they couldn't serve the even less dignified function that he was engaged in. His sister was actually the first to realize that the sounds of flatulence had taken a turn for the decidedly semi-solid instead. She didn't waste much time in pointing out the swelling seat of his slacks, plainly informing their cousins that her brother was in fact pooping himself in his sleep, but not to worry because he was already wearing a big dopey diaper. They didn't believe her; Miles was twelve, a big kid! Why the heck would he be in a diaper? She tugged down his pants to prove it. The evidence didn't lie, and the still-filling back of the diaper had started to accumulate some unsightly brown stains. By the time that Miles finished soiling himself, the diaper had met its full capacity, and Dana went to find a grownup. The irony of it all was that Miles hadn't even wet the bed in all this! His diaper was free of any tinkling, which was good, because there wasn't room for it. Later, the ride home would feel even worse than the ride there. His cousins and relatives all knew that he wore diapers now, and probably thought he pooped them all the time. His parents were mortified and had already given him an earful about it, and his sister was sitting just as smug as she was on the way here. "Oink, oink, Miles." Would become her snarky remark.