Story #168: The Poopy Diaper Retard (Part 2)

Story #168: The Poopy Diaper Retard (Part 2) (Part 5 to 'The Missing Integer' Storyline) (Content Tags: Messy diapers, fake blowout, bullying, humiliation, farting, perceived loss of intellect, degradation.) The trip to the park would seem like just another small bruise to an ego that had already been pummeled within an inch of its life, but it had truly been a deeper wound than that. Rhys had already had to suffer the shame of being handed a title he didn't deserve for what had felt like an eternity, but something about his run-in with his former classmate had really twisted the knife. It gave his heart pause on whether or not he should keep swimming against the tide that was so adamant on crashing down on him. The system thought he was a retard, his friends and family thought he was a mentally disabled diaper-boy, all of his former teachers and classmates saw him as little more than an empty-headed pantspooper; so why keep fighting that? Every day he had to wake up to a warm dump in his pants, he had to smear it as he sat in a highchair, then a carseat, and finally he found himself in the retard room where he was considered the lowest of the low. His new classmates drooled, ate their own boogers ripped farts, crapped their pants, and took mindless glee in huffing the fumes of their own piles. A mere typo, a clerical error, had damned him to a life that wasn't his. A faulty key on a keyboard. His student file had been bastardized by chance, and nobody cared enough about his plight to do anything about it. In a miserable world, he was doomed to become something that he wasn't. Could he make some semblance of peace with that? Could he really just bend over or kneel in the face of this facade? The warm mudpie underneath his bottom was something he felt himself sinking into, both literally and figuratively. The simmering muck popped its gaseous bubbles and tingled against the skin it so copiously coated; he had been so utterly repulsed and humiliated when he'd messed in a diaper that first time, but by now it had become downright pedestrian. Rhys would call it a neutrality that he didn't consciously approve or appreciate; he didn't fawn over the contents of his diaper like his mentally vapid peers in the retard room, but he also had lost much of the disgust and disdain that he'd once had. It was hardly fair to even call it a nuisance, because he was more often soiled than not. That was the obvious conclusion of being swaddled in the thickest possible tardpants on the market, while also being kept on a high fiber diet and having lost any inkling of bowel control. If he wasn't pooping, then he was tooting, and if he wasn't doing either, then it was safe to say that he'd just gotten done. The dignity of having a clean diaper was a fleeting privilege that he hardly knew anymore; the fumes of his own droppings had become a natural bouquet for him. Any amount of movement would smear things further, but what did that matter? He'd be sitting in his own doo-doo for the next few hours and he'd be blowing a lot more mud before it was time for him to be changed. Tardpants of this magnitude weren't for small incidents, they were for the most extreme of punishment, and that meant it would be a waste to strip them from his waist before they were filled completely with his own waste. As the steaming excrement oozed its way into the front of the diaper, Rhys was left thinking about how things had played out with Vince at the park. When he'd been humiliated by the class clown he'd once clowned himself; when the official state of his intellect had been thoroughly detailed to the two younger boys, who'd been cackling like hyenas. His diaper had been revealed, his classroom had been revealed, and while messing himself, he'd had to hear that his most shameful moment had been both recorded and distributed online for all to see. That'd been where the real crack had formed. Hearing about how the forced diaper-sniffing he'd been involved with had been posted and viewed by thousands. Caught in the conga line of caca, his nose forced against a smelly lump, while he produced a smelly lump of his own for a third to enjoy, that had been the very event that had made him so subdued in SPED. And now it was floating around the internet, probably in 1080p, and it was doubtful that a single soul from his old classroom had missed it. Even if he were to somehow get his old life back, he'd be going back to that being his reputation for the rest of his academic career. He'd be known as the poo-sniffer, the pantsfiller... A poopy diaper retard, just like Vince had said. He'd never be able to shake that. Even if he moved schools or towns, that video would haunt him. Nobody would take his brilliance seriously, not when he'd been implicated in such a degrading and submissive position. Rhys was supposed to be all brain and no brawn, and now he didn't even have that. His brain was still there, but it was as useful for intellectual status as the loaded diaper that was toasting his buns. Nobody cared that he could solve complex equations or explain the literary themes of any of the classics; the system had labeled him as a retard, and that was all anyone saw him as. His lacking physicality had been the reason he'd been so easily dominated by that tubby tard in the first place. It was also the reason that Vince had so easily pushed him around and stole his shorts from him. Rhys had been reduced to crawling on the playground, his onesie barely hiding anything, while he continued to wildly pass gas and pinch loafs in a diaper that could be seen from space. The kids around him had laughed and jeered, not hiding their mirth or disgust at the pitiful spectacle he'd been making of himself. Rhys had tried to ignore them, instead giving chase sluggishly to the pilfered pants that Vince mocked him with. The stinky diaper around his waist made him far too slow to ever catch an already athletic boy like Vince, but Rhys didn't know what else to do. His brothers hadn't come to his aid during this, instead looking on from afar. As much fun as they had in taunting or belittling him, the twins had no interest in putting that albatross around their necks. When in public, where guilt by association mattered, it was better for their own credibility to act as if they didn't know him. They'd be relentless to his face later, whenever they weren't out in the open at a park, but for the time being it was better to make themselves scarce. Finally, after forcing him to crawl like a baby for far too long, Vince grew bored. He looked at the shorts in his hands and whispered something to his younger brother, who took the shorts and dashed off. "I think that's enough exercise, dumb-dumb. Guess you do a lotta crawling now, huh? Probably because of how gigantic that stupid diaper is. Couldn't help but notice it was a lot bigger than the other kids in your class. You must be special, huh? More special than normal special. The class retard in a class full of retards." Rhys had felt his face get hot, but Vince hadn't gotten anything technically inaccurate in his statement. Rhys did wear the biggest tardpants in the class, and it was exactly for the reason that Vince openly theorized. "I-I'm in there by mistake! You have to know that!" The smelly boy seethed, beyond incensed at how people so easily glazed over all of his prior accomplishments. Him and Vince had been sharing the same school since first or second grade, and Vince was choosing to forget that Rhys had won every possible academic commendation since then. Just like everyone else, Vince was acting like Rhys had somehow pulled the wool over everyone's eyes up until now; that he'd always been a poopy diaper retard, but he'd been masterful at hiding it. Vince shrugged and shook his head, "The facts speak for themselves. They wouldn't have moved you to that class if you didn't belong there. Looking at how you act, I think the only mistake is how long it took for them to put you there." Another fart bubbled wetly in the back of his diaper, "That's not true! I don't know what happened, but it wasn't supposed to, and now nobody will believe me!" "What? You expect me to believe that you're not a retard, when you just took a fat dump in your diaper? When I saw you diving nose-first to smell what your classmate was baking in the back of their Huggies? They made a mistake and just haven't noticed for the whole semester?" The way that Vince was talking, it was obvious that he wasn't just antagonizing Rhys out of a thirst for revenge. Vince really did believe that Rhys was as feeble-minded as his diaper denoted boldly on the back. There was spite in his voice, but there was also a sincerity in his questioning that proved he had been convinced of the big lie. And just like with everyone else, there was nothing he could say that would make Vince believe anything to the contrary. Rhys could recite the Illiad in its entirety, all in ancient Greek, and Vince would instead laugh at how 'the retard is farting'. Losing his bowel control so utterly had been the death knell for changing minds. The original fitting of his school 'uniform' and the student file had been the largest mountains to cross at the beginning, but he might have been able to eventually make a case if he hadn't started soiling himself to such an absurd degree. It'd started with the bottle of prune juice on the first day, whenever he'd uncontrollably blasted his diaper with the force of a muddy typhoon, and it'd only ever gotten worse from there. After months of being made to play this part, being banned from the toilet, and being put on such a sabotaging diet, he'd really become as adept a pooper as any of the drool monkeys he shared a schoolday with. The self-defecation itself, augmented heavily by the nonstop flatulence, had dissuaded any lingering doubts that anyone had about his placement. It'd actually made Rhys sympathetic to any boys of normal intelligence who suffered fecal incontinence, since he imagined that they too were callously labeled as 'poopy diaper retards'. Vince's little brother returned with something behind his back and Vince grinned down at the quiet stinker in front of him. "Oh, guess that it's time to give the dummy his shorts back!" Using his foot, Vince pushed Rhys over, to where the pathetic boy was forced to sit on his squishy butt in the grass of the park. As roughly as he'd taken the shorts in the first place, Vince then pulled them back on over the immense padding. "There we go! All better. Let's see if we can stand you back up." Vince cooed as he forced Rhys up onto his feet, where his legs were ridiculously splayed out like he'd spent a week on the back of a horse. Vince snickered and slapped Rhys hard on the butt, which made his diaper squelch, but he also felt something creeping down the back of his thigh. "Looks like Rhys the Retard had a blowout!" The bully began to laugh, his little brother joining in with him in the revelry. It was mud. That little punk had gone and piled in a bunch of mud into the back of his shorts, all to make it look like Rhys had leaked really, really badly. He tried to explain that to the laughing crowd when he had toddled away, the mud oozing down both his thighs and falling out of the pantlegs of his shorts in clumps. Nobody listened, nobody cared. All their assumptions had already been made about him; nobody was going to believe it was mud, when they'd just seen him soiling himself so brazenly. "Oh, sweetie, did you really have a blowout?" His mother had sounded so surprised, which was understandable considering his diaper had been clean when they got here, and he should have been secure for the next few hours. He winced, seeing her among a group of other moms, and he was standing there bowlegged with muddy shorts. "N-no mom, I--" He was about to deny it, but then he'd bent his knees slightly and got a twisted look on his face. Whenever the urge hit, there was no stopping it. **BRRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP! FRRT! SPLRCH!** The force of the gas had been such an absolute power that the serious rumbling of his diaper had made a lot more of the mud shake out of his shorts. The muck began to plop all over the ground as the sound from inside his diaper was a muted orchestra of vile voiding. "Oh dear...Ladies, excuse me. I need to change a stinky diapee." She'd wanted to wair a moment for his diaper devastation to come to an end, but then thought it rude to subject the other women to the scene of her smelly son's poopy performance. She took him by the hand and began to lead him away, while he was still farting hard and depositing more into his diaper; he left a trail of mud in his wake, though it obviously looked far worse than it was. Whenever she took him off to the side and stripped his shorts, and then unbuttoned his onesie, it became obvious what the mud actually was. His diaper was stained from the muck, but it hadn't leaked or even came all that close. She gently chided him about getting himself all dirty as she looked down the waistband of his messy tardpants. She ended up leaving him in nothing but his sandals and his brown-stained diaper, as his clothes were too dirty to have him wear. She'd then patted his rump and told him to go play a little longer. Which is how he'd ended up sitting in the grass, away from anyone, just having to feel his warm poop smearing itself every which way. He'd been left to his thoughts, and his thoughts were consumed with wondering whether he should give up or not. If he gave in completely, then he wouldn't have to always feel so embarrassed by what he'd been forced to become. It was so difficult to keep afloat when everyone was trying to push his head underwater. He knew the atrophying of his mental faculties had already begun in the absence of any intellectual stimuli. If he stopped treading water and simply sank, then he'd conform to what everyone's expectations were. He could try to keep his chin up, and wait for an eventual second chance at an IQ test, but who knew how far away that was? It would be so much easier to accept his fate. Could he simply accept it, though? Being a poopy diaper retard? Could he *become* a poopy diaper retard?