Tale #152: The Birthday Gone Backwards (Part 2):

Tale #152: The Birthday Gone Backwards (Part 2): (Part 2 of a three-part story!) (Content Tags: Messy diapers, humiliation, age regression, reality alteration, supernatural elements) The day of his birthday had come, but it would be celebrated not with a party popper, but with plenty of infantile grunting. It was supposed to be time to turn fourteen, to relish in the advancement of his maturity, but it was off to a bad start from the get-go. TJ had woken up, after a night of those peculiar dreams again, to an unpleasant dampness under his boxers. He'd hoped that it was sweat, or even a wet dream as he'd heard about in health class, but that unfortunately wasn't the case. For the first time in at least five or six years, he'd pissed the bed in his sleep. It was hard to come to grips with, and harder to consider what his course of action should be. He wanted to be able to show off his room to his friends at the party, maybe even get a smooch from a girl he'd invited, but he couldn't do that if the place smelled like pee! It was subtle for now, since it hadn't had much time to marinate, but that ammonia odor would undoubtedly become a problem within a couple of hours. The party wouldn't start until later in the day, so he technically had a decent amount of time to get things washed and to spray something on the mattress, but that would undoubtedly mean having to admit to his mother what had transpired overnight. So much time spent in cultivating this air of maturity in front of her, and he could feel it slipping between his fingers like sand in an hourglass. His mind immediately went back to being eight or nine, and being ashamed even then; he remembered trying to hide his wet sheets, as if something so obvious could simply be buried under a mound of sloppy lies. He stripped down the bed and bunched up the damp sheets into a pile on the floor, before taking off his wet underwear and adding them to the mountain of soggy shame. Then, still stunned by the bizarre twist the dawn had brought, he went and took a shower in his bathroom. Whenever he came back out, draped in a towel, he was appalled to see that the sheets were gone. There was already something spritzed on the wet part of the mattress, and a pair of his colorful boxer briefs were waiting for him on his bedside table. His mother didn't usually come into his room without asking, but he figured she must have wanted to wish him a happy birthday, and then she'd seen the chaos that he'd left in his wake. It only took a few minutes to get dressed, but it took another five to build up the nerve to head down to the kitchen. He wasn't sure what he should say, or how he should act; the mature thing would be to own up to it, and to take it in good spirits as a freak accident, but his ego struggled to get over that hump. Whenever he did make his way into the kitchen, where he could smell a birthday bounty waiting for him, his mother didn't at all seem perturbed. She was cooking sausages, humming a little tune to herself, and he awkwardly sat down at the table with a sheepish look on his face. She'd already put down a glass of orange juice for him, which he nursed to sooth his frayed nerves. She finally turned around, a plate in her hand, and she smiled sweetly as she saw her son. "Good morning, and happy birthday!" His own smile was a lot weaker in return, "T-thanks...Sorry about, umm...You know. I don't know why that happened..." Diane placed the plate down in front of him, the contents of which were steaming. "It's okay, sweetie. Wetting the bed is nothing to be ashamed about; you must have just been excited to be becoming a teen today!" Becoming a teen? That didn't sound right, did it? Wasn't he *already* a teenager? Hadn't he become one *last* year? The thoughts swarmed around inside his skull, but then he rubbed his eyes and realized he must still be groggy. Of course he was only now turning thirteen! In fact, he'd gone to Jake's thirteenth birthday just a few weeks ago! He remembered being excited that his own turn was so quickly coming up! Still though, it didn't feel completely right. "Yeah, I guess...Is it, umm, gonna be okay by the time my party starts? Like, it won't make my room smell, right?" If only he'd known just how smelly the day would shake out to be; the odor of a soggy bed would be a godsend in comparison to the kind of fumes he'd be hauling around by the end of his birthday! "Yes, don't worry about that. Your sheets are already in the washing machine, and your bed will be just fine. You just focus on having a good birthday." His smile got a little stronger and he nodded his head quietly, before then beginning to enjoy the wonderful breakfast that his mother had cooked for him. Things began to feel normal again, at least for the moment, and he had a casual conversation while forking sausage and eggs into his maw. Little did he know that the crimson thread of fate was as wrapped around his being as it was around that hourglass. He was ensnared, he was entangled, and there'd be no stopping what would come next. Every grain of sand that dropped down would lead him closer to a life that he thought he'd left behind for good. His dreams of infancy, as strange as they'd seemed, would be vindicated too late as premonitions. Diane obviously knew, as she'd been the mastermind to set it up, and the wet bed was but a prologue to what she had in store. As the hourglass shifted, it would bring her son closer and closer to the past, punctuated by the most infantile act possible. The years would shed from him, fleeing into oblivion, and the seeming trigger would be the dirtying of his pants. She probably could have found a less humiliating option, perhaps if she'd had more time to prepare, but the spell was rather strict in certain parameters that had to be met. The past and present had to become one, by merging their common denominator, and that denominator for a toddler would be what a toddler most obviously got up to. Diane knew it would be embarrassing for him, especially by the time his little friends came over for the party, but she also knew it would be but a temporary discomfort for him. Everything that happened between now and the time he blew out the candles would be lost to everyone but her; by the time that TJ was fully transitioned into the state that was planned, he'd be perfectly content, if not giddy, about having a load in his britches. As if to illustrate how things would be proceeding, the boy suddenly got a pained look on his face. His gut was burning, churning, and gurgling something fierce; the pressure in his bowels had gone from imperceptible to all-encompassing in a split second. "O-oh, I...Excuse me, I need to..." He stood up from his chair, hand already clutching at his tummy. "Are you okay, dear?" "Y-yeah, I just...I need to go..." He weakly mumbled, wincing as he had to divert all available strength, both physical and mental, to clenching his buttcheeks and keeping the beast caged. She watched him rush off to the downstairs toilet, but she already knew it would be a futile effort for him. The thread of fate wasn't something that could be shrugged by sheer willpower; everything that would unravel had already been predestined the moment that she cast the spell. No matter what action that TJ took, the result had already been decided from the moment he woke up. That didn't stop him from doing his best. Tricked by the illusion of choice, by the lie of free will, he barreled across the living room and toward the bathroom door. Farts were slipping out, his brow was damp with sweat, and his teeth were just as clenched as his buttocks. He made it to the door, but no further. It was at the bathroom door, his hand reaching for the knob, where his struggle ended in failure. As his fingers were inches away from grasping at it, his bowels were betraying him, and a knobby log was making inches of its own into his underpants. "Rggghhh...N-no...!" He sputtered pathetically, his body being rocked by the tremor of the lapse in control. TJ involuntarily bent his knees and put his palms on the bathroom door to balance himself, his eyes squinting shut as his bowels heaved and unfurled the titanic turd into his boxer-briefs with a dry crackling. The bulge was immediately apparent, not that his mother needed such a blatant hint as to what he'd done; she already knew there'd be much of that today. "Are you okay, sweetie? Did you have an accident?" Her voice cooed from behind him as she walked up. The boy's face got red, and while he didn't realize it himself, his body had lost a couple of inches of height in the process of soiling himself. He had no words to respond with, instead feeling tears fighting to leak from the corners of his eyes. Diane put her hand on his back to sooth him, while her eyes drifted down to the bump in the back of his shorts. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Everyone has accidents. Why don't you get yourself cleaned up, and then you can help me put up some decorations, okay?" Whenever TJ waddled into the bathroom and tugged down his shorts, he was greeted by an unexpected sight: the garment housing the fresh load was less mature than he thought he remembered. After his wet bed this morning, he'd put on a pair of grey boxer-briefs, hadn't he? And now they were a light green, with cute pictures of elephants on them. Not very fitting of someone turning thirteen, were they? Twelve. He was turning *twelve*, he had to remind himself. How could he have messed that up in his head? And as he recalled that, he realized that these were indeed the pair that he'd put on after wetting the bed. He didn't own any underwear that was so dull as to be without some kind of design on them. Though he *had* made mention to his mom that he'd soon want some, since he'd be changing in front of people once he was in gym class next semester! Fifteen minutes later, with a clean rump and a clean pair of undies, he was back downstairs to help his mom with tidying up the house and putting up decorations. His mind was trying to bury the humiliation of his accident, and thankfully his mother didn't make any further comments on it, but that wouldn't be the end of things. Time felt...*funny*. It wasn't as if things were moving too fast or slow, but rather as if his concept of its movement was blinded. That would be the reason why he didn't think it utterly unfeasible that his first soiling would hardly be his last, and that within thirty minutes, he would again be sporting a full-length load in his underwear. This time it had been while standing on a step ladder to hang streamers. He'd thought he'd had to fart, but what had come out was something far more solid; the log had jettisoned itself out in an instant, dropping into his underwear with an unceremonious plop, while simultaneously his crotch dampened with a trickling warmth. "Oh, honey...Another accident?" His mother had sighed from behind, her voice still clearly sympathetic, but tinged by a slight frustration, as if his accidents weren't simply a recent problem. While Diane would be the only one to remember the original timeline, that didn't mean that her mind wouldn't adjust in many ways to the changing tides of an altered fate. Her old memories were compartmentalized, like a partitioned harddrive, so that she herself could adapt realistically to the new history she was constructing. In that way, she remained fully aware that TJ's accidents were the fault of her imposed magic, but she was also able to put herself in the position that she would be as a mother that had an accident-prone child. It was acting, but paradoxically it was also real. She pulled back his waistband this time, not waiting for a response from the boy. "Oh, TJ...You're turning eleven today, these little oopsies need to stop." Her light chiding only made his cheeks flare redder, and while he tried to stammer out a defense, his words rang as empty as his bowels had just become. She walked him off to the bathroom and pulled down his shorts, which revealed a pair of cartoon printed briefs that were stained yellow in front and sagged with a warm weight in the back. He'd been hoping to move past briefs, now that he was going to be eleven, but now it felt like a bad time to bring that up. Between wetting the bed most nights and having these occasional daytime accidents, it didn't feel like a conversation that would go over all that well. The brown-haired boy was oblivious to how much he'd lost in just the first couple of hours of being awake. His puberty had fully reversed: his voice becoming higher, his body becoming smaller, and his sense of independence beginning to dissolve. Each accident, which were really 'intentionals' at his mother's hand, was scraping time off his storied life. His party was shaping up to be quite different too. Instead of the 'cool, chill house party' vibe that he'd been going for, there was now a gaudy 'Yu-Gi-Oh' theme to everything. It buzzed in his brain briefly, that it wasn't the party he had been trying to throw, but those thoughts quickly became muddled by the excitement of getting to duel with all his friends. He would return to helping his mother with the many things that needed to be done, like the dutiful son he'd always been; a couple of hours would pass, seeming much faster than the time since he'd first woken. After picking up some action figures he'd left outside, his mom would give him a good reminder of something far more important: "Honey, don't forget to take your trash out. I'm sure you don't want your friends seeing your special nighttime pants." He'd nodded his head and scurried off to take care of that. He'd been assured that he likely wasn't the only boy in his class that still needed Goodnites during his slumber, but that didn't mean he wanted anyone getting a look at the sodden things. He hid the package of the garments deep in his closet, and then started to lift the trash bag out of his little can, where multiple soggy Goodnites had been so carelessly plopped this week. It was a little heavier than he'd anticipated, which was probably because he was such a heavy wetter at night, and as he strained to dislodge the bag from the can, something else dislodged into his silly little briefs. Or at least what had *been* silly little briefs. As the hot stool smeared against his backside, blooming warmly like a putrid petunia, he could feel that his underpants had thickened. "Uh-oh..." He groaned, a hand reaching back to cup the expanded bulge that his poorly trained bowels had opted to gift him with. He'd been in and out of real underwear for a while now, much to his mom's exasperation, because of the accidents that he kept having. The same Goodnites he had to wear at night were now being worn most days too, with his briefs taken away until he could reliably keep himself clean for at least a week straight. The chart on his wall showed a mix of sunny, rainy, and stormy stickers, which had been used to mark his progress. TJ knew he'd need to remember to take that down too; he was hitting the double-digits today, and he couldn't have his friends see that his toileting skills were being so childishly charted by what was basically a pottytraining calendar! Cleaning himself up was hardly even an option in his mind; it flashed briefly as an idea, to hide his dirty deed and save him the shame of being made to put another mortifying sticker on the chart, but the reality was that he felt it'd be far more trouble than it was worth. His eyes returned back down to the diaper pail he was emptying, the translucent bag stuffed with both soggy and poopy Goodnites from the last few days. He blushed and quickly tied the top of the bag off, lifting it and awkwardly taking it with him as he waddled precariously back down the stairs. "Umm, mom?" His little voice squeaked as he hit the final step, "I had an accident..." Diane, who had been dusting in the living room, turned her head and frowned softly at him. "Number one or two?" "...Both, I think." He mewled, letting the bottom of the heavy bag rest on the carpet. Another gentle sigh escaped her lips, but she sounded less frustrated than before, as if this was more-or-less a typical part of the day. "Okay, sweetie. Leave that there and I'll take care of it; let's get you cleaned up, and then maybe you can take a little nap before your party, okay?" One poopy Goodnite later and he was back in his room, having to put another stormy cloud on his calendar, and wearing little more than a fresh pair of his trainers to nap in. He'd tried arguing with her, that he was turning ten and didn't need to take a nap like a little kid, but his tone had gotten fussy in the process, which had only served to prove her point that he indeed needed one. Elsewhere, the bottom of the hourglass was still filling more and more. His party would start in just a couple of hours, and that would be the slippery slope that brought his age all the way back to infancy: one poopy diaper at a time.