What Emma Wants

Chapter Description: After breakfast, Emma travels to school and we find out what school is like when you are eighteen, but still have the coordination of a toddler.

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“Right, I need to get going.” Dad said as he finally folded his newspaper up.

For the first time that morning I saw my Dad’s face. Unlike Mom his face was sharp, and he had piercing eyes that seemed to look right through you. He stood up and put the paper down. After kissing Mom on the cheek, he rubbed Ollie’s hair and then left. I didn’t get a special goodbye but that was nothing unusual, I was Mom’s responsibility. I knew for a fact that dad would’ve preferred that I had been born a boy.

I ate my breakfast in silence as I did every morning. I tried to avoid looking at Ollie whenever possible, as my brother he knew where my weak points were and how to most effectively annoy me. He knew how much I was desperate to be independent and given the same opportunities which is why he spent mealtimes trying to catch my eye and quietly make fun of me.

A baby bottle was handed to me as I finished the last of my breakfast. I clutched it with both hands as I held it up to my mouth, it was the safest way for me to drink without dropping what I was holding. Once the bottle was drained and I had lowered it back to the tray I let out a loud burp. I thought I’d done a good job not making a mess but as mom wiped my face with a wet cloth and then removed by bib, I saw that plenty of food had missed my mouth. I tried not to pout.

“Alright, come on, we don’t want you to be late for the bus.” Mom said as she unlocked the tray and let me slip out of my toddler chair, “Come on Emma, we don’t have all day.”

I saw that Ollie was a little slower than me to get up. He didn’t get hurried up like I did though. He was sixteen years old and considered a man of the house. My mom was as wary of upsetting him as she way my father. It looked pretty pathetic to me, a mother so worried about what her teenage son thought. I understood it though, I suspect if Ollie wanted, he could bend mom over and spank her right there at the table. It was all part of “coming of age” for a young man. I knew Dad would support it if he found out. Would treat it as a moment where Ollie became a man, probably take him out for a beer or something.

Mom was a whirlwind of motion as she got things ready for my brother and me. Lunches were handed out and put in bags, books were checked and double-checked, my diaper was pressed against me to make sure I didn’t need another change and then we were sent out the front door.

It was always quite eerie to go from the noises and motion of the house to suddenly standing outside. Everything was calm and serene out there. The sun was shining but there was still a slight chill in the breeze that rustled the leaves on the tree in a front yard.

“Come on, baby.” Ollie said to me as he led the way down the garden path.

Like I said before, Ollie knew how to strike a nerve. I wouldn’t describe him as a bully or anything like that, he was just a brother who was given free rein to annoy me knowing I would get in trouble if I retaliated.

We walked to the bus stop that was at the end of the street. There were a few other students already there, mostly boys. Ollie walked over to some friends, and I hung back just waiting for the bus. It felt like I had to mentally prepare for the day. I had to do this every morning. To say I didn’t enjoy school was an understatement, mostly because for me it felt pointless, there was no career waiting for me at the end of it all.

When the bus pulled up to the curb, I was the last to get on. I stood next to the driver and looked down the rows of seats. The differences between the two genders here was more obvious than anywhere else. The boys were dressed in their usual polo shirts, sports jerseys and whatever else they wanted; the girls on the other hand looked, in my opinion, ridiculous. All the girls were dressed in clothes the boys left behind as toddlers. Shortalls, skirtalls, onesies, very frilly dresses, Mary Jane shoes, hair in pigtails… This was the fashion for women of all ages. I, of course, was dressed no differently but I seemed to be one of the few who hated it.

I walked down the aisle between the seats. I saw some boys doing last minute homework, whether on their own or copying from a friend, I looked down at the sums one boy was doing and almost felt my head spin. Whatever he was working out was a long way from the times tables that were drilled into my head during what passed for our math classes.

At the back of the bus, I saw some boys and girls making out. They had no shame that they were doing so in public, but it wasn’t an unusual sight. Many boys and girls got married right after graduating high school, I knew a few of the kissing couples were already engaged. It was considered desirable to get married as quickly as possible if you were a girl so you could start having kids and supporting your husband. As far as I could tell the only benefit to getting married would be my potential potty training, though I hated to have such a thing reliant on a man.

As I dropped into an empty seat next to a girl in a class several grades below my own, I felt disgust towards my fellow girls. I looked over my shoulder again at the kissing couples and my eyes focused on two people in particular. A guy who seemed to be the same age as me was sat down with a girl I knew to be in my grade sitting on his lap facing him. Her dress had been pulled up and the boy’s hands almost looked like they created a seat as they groped her diaper. The girl didn’t seem to care though, she was giggling and constantly leaning forwards for more kisses. All my thoughts towards such a display were negative. Didn’t that girl have any self-respect?

I sat in silence for the whole bus journey. Every school day started with this resentment burning at my centre. I was surrounded by boys who would have careers I wanted and girls that were seemingly happy to be second class. I felt very much on my own. I hated my diapers, I hated my place in society, but most of all I hated that I had almost no hope of escaping my station. Only a few girls ever managed to break the chains and reach an equal status to the boys. The most frustrating thing was I knew I was smart enough to do it, but there was nothing I could do about my damned coordination. How I desperately wished I had been born a guy, to have the opportunities I deserved.

When the bus finally stopped outside my school, I was one of the last to get up. I watched girl’s giggling as they walked down the aisles to the doors at the front, I saw boys unashamedly reach forward and grab at their asses producing squeals and more laughter. If anyone did that to me, they’d get a slap in the face and to hell with the consequences.

My school was a large building. A huge rectangular block with steps leading up to the front entrance. It was towards these doors that the masses of students were moving. The girls in their ultra-feminine clothes in bright colours and looking like overgrown babies, the boys in their regular shirts and pants. There was a lot of noise, and I looked forwards to getting into the relative sanctuary of the classroom.

As I made my way up the stairs I tripped and ended up falling forwards on to my face. There were a few laughs but not as many as might be expected. I wasn’t the only girl having trouble after all. The lack of coordination made stairs a tricky challenge and as I brushed myself off and looked around, I saw several girls clinging to the rails with both hands and taking careful steps as if they were climbing a mountain. I would probably fall less often if I did the same, but I didn’t want to need a crutch to do something so simple.

The inconvenient truth of the matter was that even amongst other girls my age my coordination was bad. I probably tripped and fell over my own feet at least twice a day. Things requiring precise movements of my fingers were a nightmare. I brushed the dust from my dress and carried on a little more carefully.

I walked through the double doors and turned left in the corridor. Whilst the boys moved from room to room throughout the day for their different subjects me and the other girls stayed in one.

“Yo, can I copy your biology homework?”

“Only if I can copy your math.”

“We had homework?”

It was like I was being taunted. Those subjects sounded so interesting and yet I never got to experience any of them. The most I could gather was whatever I overheard in the halls or the cafeteria. Sometimes I would take Ollie’s textbooks and read a bit but if I was discovered I would be sure to get a big punishment. My parents, particularly my father, weren’t big on me “getting ideas above my station.” They said no man would want a girl who thought she was smarter than them. It only increased my desire to read more.

The bell rang when I was halfway to my classroom. It made me jump and as I did so I felt my bladder leak a little urine into my, until that point, dry diaper. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was annoying. The students crowding the halls started making their way towards their various classrooms. My room was the last door on the left of the hallway.

“Come on, Miss. Crouch, you don’t want to be late.” Mr. Smith called as he saw me waddling towards the room.

I hated Mr. Smith. My teacher for the last couple of years, he was a symbol to me of all the worst parts of men. He seemed nice enough personally, but he was stull my oppressor. More than anyone, perhaps even more than my parents, Mr. Smith made sure I stayed in my lane. He knew of my want to be more than just another girl and he seemed determined to stamp it out of me, probably saw it as his duty.

I went to walk quickly past the teacher, but he put his arm out and blocked the doorway. I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. I knew what was coming. The “random” diaper checks that I just so happened to be a regular victim of. Mr. Smith’s large hand pressed against my padding as I separated my legs making it easier for him.

“A little damp but no need for a change yet.” Mr. Smith announced.

“Yeah, well…” I started as I couldn’t hold back my tongue.

My arguments were quickly cut off when Mr. Smith reached down to my pacifier hanging from the front of my dress and popped it between my lips. I glared at him but didn’t dare take the unwanted fashion accessory out. Like most men in the world Mr. Smith believed that “good girls should be seen and not heard” and that meant in his classroom we were frequently given our soothers to keep us quiet.

As soon as the teacher’s hand left my diaper I continued walking inside. The classroom was the same as it ever was, and I meant that literally. From my first day at school until then I had been in the same classroom, and it hadn’t changed a bit in that whole time. Instead of individual desks like the boys had we had square tables where four of us would sit together. Different corners of the large room had different uses. There were a lot of toys, a quiet area lined with books that were far too simple for me and another area full of different things needed for our lessons. Instead of science we were taught to cook, instead of history we were taught to sew. The very basics of academia were all that we needed according to men.

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