School Reunion part 5 of ?
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The gym doors swung open with a soft hydraulic sigh, and Evan stepped inside.
The noise hit him first, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter. The air smelled of punch and perfume, of something faintly sweet beneath it all, like talcum powder lingering in the fabric of the room. His fingers clenched around the bundle of his pants, the denim rough against his palm. His shirt rode up with every step, the hem fluttering uselessly over the thick waistband of the diaper. The plastic crinkled with each movement, a quiet, insistent rustle that felt louder than the music.
Not all at once, but enough. A woman near the refreshment table paused mid-sentence, her eyes flicking down, then up again, a slow smile spreading. Another, leaning against the bleachers, nudged her friend and whispered something behind her hand. The men, no, the boys, didn’t notice at first.
She was still near the bleachers, surrounded by the same group of women from before. Her glass paused halfway to her lips. Her eyes widened, just for a second, before her smile turned sharp and delighted. She set her drink down.
“Evan,” she breathed, stepping forward.
Marcy was the first to react. She let out a low, approving laugh, clapping her hands once. “Oh, look at you,” she said, her voice carrying. “I knew you’d surprise us.”
Evan’s throat tightened as Marcy’s laughter rang out, bright and knowing. His fingers twitched at his sides, the diaper crinkling with every shift of his weight. The gym’s fluorescent lights seemed to sharpen, every face turning toward him, some amused, some approving, all expectant.
“Well,” Evan managed, his voice rough, “didn’t want to be the only one out of uniform.”
Marcy’s grin widened. She reached out, her fingers brushing the hem of his shirt where it rode up over the diaper’s waistband. The Cougar mascot leered up at him, its cartoon grin too cheerful for the heat crawling up his neck. “Oh, honey,” she purred, “you’re catching on fast.” Her hand slid away, only to point past him. “Ryan, look. Evan’s being such a good boy.”
Ryan turned, his stuffed dog clutched to his chest. His diaper was thick, white, the word BABY printed in bold, blocky letters across the front. He giggled, the sound high and unselfconscious, his free hand fluttering to his mouth. “Like me!” he chirped, bouncing slightly on his toes. The diaper squished with the movement, the sound lost beneath the women’s laughter.
Marcy’s eyes gleamed. “You know what? I just had an idea.” She turned to the group, her voice carrying. “Wouldn’t it be adorable if all the boys wore Crestfield diapers for the reunion photo? A little throwback to school spirit!”
A ripple of agreement spread through the women. Ryan clapped his hands, his giggle turning breathless. “Yes, yes! Like a team!”
“No way.” Peter’s voice cut through, sharp and indignant. He stood near the refreshment table, his arms crossed, his face flushed. “I don’t need diapers. Pull-ups are fine.”
His wife didn’t even look at him. She just sighed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling before turning to the group. “He says this every time,” she said, her tone dripping with fond exasperation. Then, without warning, she reached for the waistband of Peter’s pants and yanked them down in one swift motion.
Peter’s pull-up was sagging, the material darkened with dampness, the elastic stretched out of shape. His face went scarlet as a few of the women let out soft, knowing laughs.
“See?” his wife said, tapping the soggy fabric with one fingernail. “Typical boy. Thinks he can handle it, but look at him.” She shook her head, then grabbed Peter’s wrist. “Come on. We’re getting you changed properly this time.”
Peter let out a muffled protest, but she was already tugging him toward the hallway, his pants pooled around his ankles, his pull-up squishing with every step. The gym erupted into a fresh wave of laughter, a few women calling after them.
“Maybe he’ll finally learn!”
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