🕑 Added 2025-03-31 06:46:19 +0000 UTC
Tale #155: The Birthday Gone Backwards (Part 3):
(Finale of a three-part story!)
(Content Tags: Messy diapers, humiliation, age regression, reality alteration, supernatural elements)
He had that dream again, but what he didn't know was that it would be for the last time. It was the final warning that his supernaturally gifted subconscious would be gifting to him; a premonition of what his fate was hurdling toward.
TJ wouldn't wake up in a puddle this time though. He'd still be wetting himself in his sleep of course, but this time there would be something there to keep his sheets dry. It had been a Goodnite whenever he'd fallen asleep under the covers, but that wouldn't be what he was wearing whenever he woke up.
"Rise and shine, sweetie! Your friends will be showing up soon!"
The little boy gave a groggy groan and turned on his side, trying to keep his eyes shielded from the overhead light that his mom had just turned on.
"No, no, none of that...Come on, TJ. Don't you want to be all nice and clean before your party starts? I doubt you want to greet your friends in your diaper."
Diaper? That definitely didn't sound right. "They're not *diapers*, mom! They're Goodnites!" He huffed, letting his eyes open more fully and rearranging his posture to be sitting up.
*SQUISH*
That didn't feel simply soggy...That felt like something else entirely. It felt like something mushy and warm had found its way into the bottom of his pants. It felt like he'd *pooped* himself! Within a few short moments after feeling it, he could start to smell it too.
"No, sweetie, you're just still sleepy. You need to wear your diapers to bed, because you're such a super-soaker. Your Pull-Ups are just for the daytime." She cooed as she began to pull the blanket off of him.
His mother wrinkled her nose and frowned, "Oh, baby, did you go number two in bed again?"
There was a subtle hint of disappointment, but no shock, as if pooping the bed in his sleep was still a common enough occurrence to expect, but not something normalized enough to be okay for him to be doing. TJ rubbed at his eyes, cheeks getting warm; was pooping the bed something he did fairly regularly? It sounded so infantile...
"I-I didn't mean to..." That much was true, for whatever it was worth.
His eyes moved toward his wall and the accident chart looked a lot less impressive than earlier. He thought that felt wrong, but then new memories flooded into his brain, and it became an undeniable fact that he was indeed an occasional bedpooper. It was why he'd turned down so many invitations to sleepovers.
"You're turning nine today, TJ. Let's try to get that under control this year, okay?"
Nine? Wasn't he supposed to be turning ten? He distinctly remembered being excited about breaking through to the double-digit mark. Before he could dwell on it any longer, his mother pulled down his pajama pants and revealed the sorry state of his stinky diaper.
"And maybe then you can wear those Goodnites you've been asking for! Won't that be exciting, my big, strong boy?"
After a quick change, TJ was ready for his party: plain white Pull-Ups, khaki shorts, and a black shirt with a picture of a cool dragon on it.
The downstairs area was decorated with a Transformers theme, all memories of this being a Yu-Gi-Oh party two hours ago now completely wiped from reality. TJ didn't notice, much like most of the other details that he hadn't picked up on shifting. Friends from school started to show up at the door, each holding a present that'd obviously been wrapped by their parents.
TJ excitedly watched as the presents started to stack up on the living room table; having gotten younger, his attitude toward his own birthday had shifted for the more immature. Sure, he still wanted to have fun with his chums from school, but the materialistic aspect had become far more important to him, and already his brain was buzzing with all the different things that might be in those neatly wrapped packages.
He played the good host and greeted his friends as they arrived, but mentally he was calculating what they were carrying, and making silent guesses about what each might be. It consumed enough of his attention, of his thoughts, that he didn't pay any attention to a niggling gurgling that was trying to warn him. His own body knew it, which is why he started to get fidgety, but his brain was too preoccupied to catch up.
After directing the last kid to arrive toward the festivities set up within the house, and taking the final present to the table to stack it on top of the rest, he would feel something beginning to breach into his hidden pair of trainers. He had to stop in front of the coffee table, with a thousand yard stare, as the revelation crashed down on him that he was going number two in his pants.
It was way too late to stop it from happening, which was more common for him than he'd care to admit, and he had no other option but to stand still and puff out his cheeks. As proud and tall as the pile of presents stood, he was about to repeat that architecture, except in the backside of his Pull-Up. Each sticky log squeezed out and plopped with a dull thud in the seat of the garment; a mound of filth quickly piled up, like smelly Lincoln logs building a cabin.
It was exceedingly fortunate that his friends were busying themselves with the fun and games that his mother had set up for the party; it meant they were far too distracted to notice that the birthday boy was stacking fresh, warm poopies in his pants. The party music coming from the stereo also served to veil his grunts, toots, and the dry crackling noises of each turd's exit.
One thing that wouldn't be easy to hide was the smell though. The Pull-Up around his waist was bulky, but still much thinner than the diapers he wore to bed, and there was less of an impetuous for the manufacturer to focus on odor blocking, since it was a garment intended to facilitate the learning of the secret art of pottytraining. With such a garb, the caretaker would generally want to know much more quickly if their charge was in a soiled state.
Effectively that meant that he had scant minutes before the fumes of his disgrace were wafting all throughout the downstairs living room, and thus few minutes before his friends from school came to the epiphany that their classmate was a big, dumb baby that pooped his pants.
He needed his mom, and he needed her quickly.
As soon as he felt the relief of the final log dropping into his pants, as soon as he could give that exhale of ecstasy, his eyes were darting rapidly around the room to find where she had gone. As luck would have it, she wasn't far; she was leaving the kitchen, after having finished putting all the snacks out for the kids to enjoy.
TJ cautiously waddled his way to her, his legs bowed wide from the wide load he was hauling; small squishing sounds accompanied his every movement, and he could feel the Pull-Up just barely holding everything in. Any longer and he'd be ruining his khaki shorts, or worse, leaving a trail in his wake.
He tugged on her shirt, "Mom...ummm...I hadda accident.." The boy mewled quietly, only one step above a whisper, and his rosy cheeks attested to the embarrassment that'd washed so thoroughly over him.
The woman looked down at him and clicked her tongue, but she didn't chide or chastise him over it; she simply nodded and took him by the hand to lead him off for yet another bumchange. Considering the urgency of the secret soiling, and the heft of what was in his seat, she opted to take him to her bedroom instead, where he wouldn't have to worry about a friend coming across him in such a compromised position.
His dirtied trainers, bulging with his messy misdeeds, no longer had the dignity of being plain white. Whenever she pulled down his shorts, TJ could look down and see colorful printing all across the crotch of the garment; he could also tell that during his dire defecation, that he'd also wet himself pretty heavily without noticing.
She wrangled him into a fresh pair of the juvenile looking training pants, which were certainly more bulky and similar to a diaper than his last pair had been, not that he could realize that. He also didn't realize that his shirt had altered itself to now be proudly sporting a picture of Pikachu on the front, and that his party had again shifted to represent the same; he was turning eight today, and he loved Pokemon!
He was able to return to the party without anyone being any the wiser about his poopy problem, and for a while, that would mean having some genuine fun! He could run around, playing games and clashing inflatable swords with some of the other boys, while his mother smiled knowingly from the sidelines.
Elsewhere, the hourglass was looking a lot more evened out now; he'd gone from fourteen to seven already, and he still had several more years to lose in the next few hours. That meant several more accidents until his premonition became reality.
It would be nearly an hour before the next stage of his regression would strike. He'd have just finished eating pizza with his friends, just barely out of the range that would have had him involuntarily soiling himself at every meal like an infant. With a full belly and boundless energy, he would walk out into the backyard with everyone else for the pinata portion of the party.
It was exciting for him and all of the other kids; a pinata was like the prelude to the eventual goodie-bags that would come at the end of the party. It was a chance for the other kids to get little gifts of their own, even if in this case those gifts would be the ephemeral joy of candy.
Being the birthday boy, it was only right that he get the first swing at the pinata. TJ was blindfolded, spun around, and handed a wooden bat to strike at the colorful craft. He swung a few times, but was too disoriented to hit it, instead only grazing it a few times. This would be the case for all of the kids going forward; their youth meant not only poor coordination, but poor strength too, meaning that busting open the candy receptacle was no easy task.
As TJ was waiting for his turn to come around again, childishly giggling at the foibles of his friends, he began to feel the pizza starting to sneak up on him. He was tooting a lot, and shifting from foot to foot, but he didn't yet realize that he needed to go number two; in his regression, the signal was becoming even more faint, and he wouldn't recognize the urge until it was already too late.
Finally, it was his turn again, and the pinata was showing its wounds from the line of children that had gotten glancing blows on it. He got spun around again, and he felt a slight pang of nausea in his lower gut, as if the motion had lit the fuse on something. In his feeble thoughts, he brushed it off as just more gas, and he didn't bother to even go as far as to clench his buttcheeks together.
He started swinging again, feeling a few quiet farts slipping out as he did, but still not quite getting what was about to happen. He finally landed a killing blow on the paper party animal, the bat cracking open the underside to spill its candy guts all over the grass.
The children cheered, but the show was hardly over yet. As he heard all the candy dumping onto the ground, he lifted the blindfold from his eyes and squatted down on his haunches to get first pick of what had become the prize. Almost immediately as he did, he farted much more loudly, which itself garnered some giggles, but that would hardly be the end of it.
A giant lump suddenly formed in the back of his shorts, appearing so rapidly that it was like a piston had been fired upon his Pull-Up. What the accident lacked in quantity, like his previous pantload, it more than made up for it in sheer size! The turd was a boom-boom behemoth, a lumpy leviathan, and its weight was so vast that he could feel his Pull-Up sagging heavily against his...Overalls?
The khaki shorts he'd been wearing had been transformed, and that wasn't the only thing that had become altered as soon as the dirty bomb had been dropped. The yellow character on his shirt had become Spongebob instead, and the party had again adjusted to that fact in its theming; the colorful Pull-Up, or any kind of training pants, was no longer an option within grasp for the boy turning seven today.
No, the undergarment that he'd just pinched a legendary loaf into was something with side-tapes and a landing strip. It was something that crinkled and rustled with his every movement, something that rode higher on his waist and better accentuated its own superior bulk. It was disposable garb that didn't even pretend to be interested in facilitating pottytraining.
It was a diaper now, just like the one that he'd woken up in earlier. The difference being that whatever he now wore to bed was likely thicker than before, a natural consequence of his bedpooping no longer being a rare occurrence.
TJ had scooped up some candy into his hands, and he'd shoveled it into the front pocket of his overalls, but his greed swiftly slowed whenever he'd truly comprehended what he'd just done in front of everyone. The candy wasn't enough of a distraction for everyone else either, since it wasn't every day that they saw their fellow second grader loading up their britches at their own birthday party.
"...TJ **POOPED** his pants!" One kid loudly announced with his mouth agape and his finger tattling.
His guests started to laugh and squeal at the immature revelation, themselves still blissfully unaware of how much they had lost since first coming through those doors, or even since simply waking up this morning. TJ was on the fast route to returning to babyhood, and he was unknowingly taking all his classmates along for the ride with him.
In just another couple of hours, there wouldn't be an unpadded bottom amongst them, and they wouldn't be any the wiser either.
TJ stood back up as straight as he could, and the back of his overalls sagged down with the fat deposit he'd accidentally made. The earthy aroma wasn't immediately obvious, but TJ himself could already catch a faint whiff of it, and the humiliation of his public accident was bringing fresh tears to the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, honey..." His mother cooed, kneeling down to gently rub his back with one hand and feeling the large lump with the other. "Let's go get you taken care of. Kids? Why don't you have some candy and the birthday boy will be back in just a few minutes."
The greedy children didn't have to be told twice to dig in, and while they were still giggling about what their peer had done, it was obvious that such mirth would be shortlived. The average attention span for a six or seven year old was pretty abysmal, especially when there were so many delights surrounding them.
His mother picked him up this time and took him up to his room, not seeming to bother with avoiding squishing the sizable mass trapped in the back of his diaper. She hummed a quiet tune, a lullaby from when he was younger, and TJ just sniffled and buried his face against her shoulder.
"T-they're all g-gonna make funna me..." He whimpered quietly.
"No, no...Calm down, baby. Everyone has accidents, even your friends..." That'd soon be far more truthful.
She laid him down on his bed and got him out of the overalls, revealing the full diaper underneath; the stench intensified, making both parties wrinkle their nose, but his mother didn't let it stop her from untaping the smelly garment and wiping the boy's messy bottom.
While she got him cleaned and taped into a fresh diaper, which itself had once been the underwear in his dresser drawer, the boy found himself looking around his room. Everything was a lot more juvenile now, more geared toward the age he'd dwindled down to, and while it should have been innocuous to him, it came across instead as something being wrong.
