Chapter Description: A brief interlude
Chapter 4. Not His Story...
Late at night, far away from the inside of a certain clock, Charlie Watson slept in his crib. Dreaming. Who knows what he was dreaming about? It could have been about a young man going on an unusual journey and meeting a centaur. Or it could have been about the mashed potatoes his mommy had made and spoon fed him for dinner. Who’s to say?
Absentmindedly, Charlie reached for his pacifier, dangling on the clip to his jammies and stuck it in his mouth. The boy wasn’t conscious of this. His body had long ago trained itself and the self-soothing behavior was more akin to sleep walking than anything requiring true mental effort. Still, some nights his body preferred his thumb, instead.
A rumble through the lad’s tummy made Charlie groan behind his pacifier, his hands balling up into tiny fists. His legs started to lift up off the waterproof mattress, scrunching up to his stomach so that he could clear its contents out. If his mother was still awake, she might hear him gurgling and grunting.
His diaper was already wet. He’d been put to bed dry, but that never lasted more than an hour or two, at most. Charlie always woke up wet. Tomorrow, he’d wake up messy and be perfectly surprised; though perhaps “surprise” is a bit of an overstatement. He tended to be awake when he made boom-booms, but it wasn’t unheard of for him to poop in the middle of the night.
The mass left and came out solid enough, quickly filling up the back portion in his Pampers Overnights. It spread a little bit afterwards, but not much. The diaper was still doing its job well. This was almost exactly the scenario that the good people at Proctor and Gamble had designed their diapers for.
The stool out of the way, his bladder let loose again, ensuring that his pelvis was thoroughly wet and completely warmed. One more load into it from either direction, and Mommy would have to wash his jammies and bed sheets.
There’d probably be the usual talk from Mommy about switching him to cloth diapers and plastic pants, but that was all talk. Mommy had said it plenty of times over the years, but had never followed through. Probably because doing the wash was doing the wash. Disposable was a gamble. Cloth was a guarantee. Mommy hated doing the wash.
Charlie didn’t care about that, though. He technically didn’t know that anything had happened. His body did, however. As his legs lowered back down to the pillowless mattress, further spreading and flattening the mess, Charlie’s penis started to stiffen and chafe oh so wonderfully against the saturated padding inside his sleeper.
Charlie would never say the comparison out loud, but a wet enough diaper practically felt like a pocket pussy. One of Charlie’s hands unclenched and traveled down below his waist. Whatever Charlie was dreaming about, it now involved rubbing himself through his sodden Pampers.
Charlie pooped himself in his sleep and was now masturbating in his own filth. And in his sleep, Charlie smiled.
But that’s enough about Charlie for now, Gentle Reader.
This isn’t really Charlie’s story.