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Argo stared at the teacher, barely focusing at all on the lesson on the board. He hated school, especially the dreaded maths class. Not a word went in as he passively watched, thinking instead about all of the fun things he could be doing instead; skating was riveting but he’d settle for even football if it meant that he didn’t have to listen to another second of maths.
A swat at his table distracted him, bringing his attention to his teacher who had materialised in front of him.
“Argo..? Are you going to do your work or are you going to speak to the head?” Mr Vines demanded.
Argo shrugged,”Can I go to the bathroom, Sir?” he asked, distracted again as he thought about all the better things he could be doing in the bathroom. s
Smoking, vaping, shitting… Honestly, anything was better than school.
“Fire,” Mr Vines accepted, (though Argo assumed it was mostly to get rid of him) ”but you’d better go quick.”
Argo nodded, standing up eagerly. A smile appeared on his face as he processed the teacher’s answer; he could go now! Argo closed his eyes, squatting in the middle of class.
Somehow, Argo didn’t even seem to realise there was anything strange. He merely grunted, pushing as hard as he could till hot, squishy mess splatted into his pants. Argo felt it as it filled his undies, warming up his freezing tush before he’d even noticed what he’d just done.
His fellow classmates stared in shock, laughing and pointing at his messy trousers. They squelched, stinking up the room in but a few seconds.
Argo blushed, somehow only just realising what he’d done. He turned around to look at his fellow classmates, his face bright red and horrified as he took in what he’d done.
“Wait, no, I-” he pleaded, as though words could rewind time. It seemed that Argo was not that lucky as his teacher stared into wide eyes, a teacherly glare on his face.
“-That will be all, Argo. Go to the head. Actually, scratch that - go to the nurse, then go to the head. I doubt Mx Carter wants to smell you.”
With that, Argo took off, smelly underwear drooping as he ran. All he could wonder was why he did that? Why would he poop himself in class? He’d squatted down to do it, weirdly enough, so what did that mean? He hated this, hated it so much. He was supposed to be smart, confident, suave… this wasn't like him at all. Argo guessed that he was sick but nobody cared about that at school; he’d be the laughingstock of the year by lunchtime.
Obediently enough, Argo did stop off at the nurse’s office, a place which Argo had not once visited before due to his perfect record. Even on the days when he could barely move, he was at school, working harder than anyone else. All those years of working for high grades and a perfect reputation was over with one big accident.
“Good morning,” a man - who Argo assumed to be the nurse - announced from behind a screen.
“‘Morning,” Argo replied,”I’m here because, I, uh… I pooped myself,” Argo admitted suddenly.
The nurse seemed shocked for a few moments before switching to a more professional face.
“Okay, what do you need to change?” Asked the nurse.
“Everything, I think,” Argo noted,”Well, below my trousers, that is.”
The nurse nodded, opening the hatch to the nurse’s booth.
“Argo, let’s hope this was a one time thing. It happens sometimes, you know? All those hormones. Too much learning, I say,” he announced, bringing Argo a new pair of trousers and pants.
“You can wipe yourself off, change, and then we’ll see what needs doing next,” said the nurse.
Argo nodded, embarrassed.
The nurse gave a sympathetic look in an attempt to reassure Argo. Privately – though he couldn’t say it out loud – he knew well that teenagers were awfully hormonal and he didn't want Argo having a fit just because he pooped his pants.
Argo squashed over to the room behind the nurse’s hatch, the room for students to be treated. As Argo’s school was small and the students were healthy, nobody was inside much to Argo’s relief.
He was about to sort out the problem, cleaning off the gross poo that had gone everywhere, when he hit a wall: he had no idea how to clean himself. He was sure he'd known how only hours before but it appeared he'd entirely forgotten…
Blushing, he opened the door to the nurse's hatch where the nurse was speaking to a coughing girl. She seemed really ill but despite her fit, she somehow found the strength to laugh at his shitty situation.
“Oh, Argo,” the nurse sighed, “I'm just dealing with Miss Rogers here.”
Argo froze like a deer in headlights as he took in the sight of the girl watching. She looked incredibly amused at him and he couldn't blame her. If he'd seen someone in shitty trousers, he'd probably laugh a little, too… Still, that didn't mean he had to like it.
*Okay. Can you just… help me when you're done?” Argo begged.
The nurse sighed,”I'm afraid Alice here needs some medication, urgently. You'll have to wait.”
Argo desperately wanted to punch, kick or hit everything around him but he knew that would mean it would take even longer to get out of his gross, squishy trousers.
“Okay,” Argo replied numbly, trying his hardest to push down his rage as Alice entered the infirmary. He knew that Alice probably needed the medication, especially considering how she coughed harder every time he actually cared to listen to her coughing – but that didn’t mean he liked her being the higher priority.
Alice giggled as he squished down onto the floor, his mess only seeping further into his trousers by the second. He desperately wanted to cry but he could do nothing but wait.
The girl found whatever medication and it seemed to do the trick, likely enhanced with some sort of magical properties. Things were, these days, with more and more people discovering that they could fly or shit glitter or enchant objects. Unfortunately, Argo was ostensibly not one of those people.
Once Alice had found her way back into a state class-worthy, she sighed, turning to leave but then staring between Argo and the nurse,”So, does…Argo, was it? Anyway, does Argo always shit his pants or is this just…?” Alice trailed off.
“This is just a one-time thing,” Argo snapped, feeling his crotch get warmer by the second. Where his messy accident only minutes prior had been harder and more obvious, requiring some effort to get out, it took no intervention on his part to wet himself heavily.
Unfortunately, wetting himself was nowhere near as easy to deny as messing himself some more would be, with the wetness seeping through his trousers at lightspeed. Before long, Argo was surrounded by a little puddle on the floor.
“I wet myself,” Argo whispered, half-shocked at his predicament.
He blushed but Alice seemed to delight in his misfortune. Perhaps she was merely an arsehole or maybe she’d always somehow had it out for him (which, considering his passive and mostly average nature, seemed incredibly unlikely) but it was clearly the most entertaining thing she’d seen in weeks.
“You told me it was a one time thing,” Alice laughed, doubling over as though he’d told the greatest joke of all time.
Argo sniffled, his snotty nose dribbling down his face. He wiped it with his hand, glaring at Alice sharply,”It’s not funny!” he sniffled, putting a hand up as though he was about to punch her.
“Argo. Do you want a change of clothes or not?” The nurse huffed, clearly annoyed at their exchange.
“Sorry about that,” the nurse said, turning to Alice.
“Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I don’t get into fights,” she said, and, suddenly noticing that she was talking to a member of staff, carefully added, ”-not on school premises, of course.”
The nurse waved her off (dealing with fights wasn’t in his job description) and as she came closer to him in her exit, Argo realised that she had layers of make-up covering a few bruises darkening certain areas of her face interrupted by a large scar running down her neck. Argo realised then that she really did get into fights – nasty ones if her face said anything.
Knowing to perhaps not get involved with anybody named Alice for the foreseeable future, Argo was dragged over to a box the nurse hadn’t looked at before.
“I don’t need nappies!” Argo argued, bashing the top of the unit.
The nurse frowned, his mouth quirking upwards as he looked down at Argo.
“I don’t want to have to clean up my floor for the third time today. Look, I’ll send you home after this – I’m not a monster – but while you wait, I don’t want more to deal with,” he shrugged in a condescending, unbothered voice.
“Well- I’m not putting it on and you can’t make me,” Argo huffed, turning away from the nappy cupboard.
“Mhm…” the nurse huffed, “And so I’ll tell the head that you wet yourself and pooped yourself on the same day? I think that they would want to ask your parents a few things…”
Argo huffed,”Fine, just turn away,” he complained, grabbing one of the nappies from the nurse’s outstretched hand.
“I’ll be right in the other room if you need me.”
With that, Argo stripped off his (frankly disgusting) trousers at speeds unheard of for a teenager. Every time he heard a voice coming from the next room, Argo was filled with the most horrid fear that he was about to be walked in on.
Argo’s trousers fell into the puddle at his feet but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead, he tried to figure out how to put on the medicinal nappy (which actually seemed to be (conveniently enough) a pull-up but how was he supposed to know that?) and succeeded, despite the fact that he was clearly still covered in piss and shit. Still, he didn’t know how to clean it and all he needed was a shower to get him back to normal, anyway.
It goes without saying that Argo wasn’t, perhaps, the most hygienic of boys.
Despite still smelling utterly rancid, Argo found that he didn’t mind wearing the pull-up much. It was snug around his crotch and almost felt natural wearing it.
Argo breathed out, closing his eyes as he wet into it without even thinking about it.
After the pee had found itself seeping into every crack of the pull-up, Argo came to his senses. He squished over to the new pair of trousers and (with some difficulty) pulled them up around his pull-up. He struggled with the zip for a little till he was finally all zipped up, though to his horror, Argo realised that it was very much obvious what he’d done from how far his pull-up had sagged.
Not wanting to be caught out for what he’d done, Argo put his blazer around his trousers, hoping to pass it off as a skater thing like he usually did when he was stuck in an awkward situation; nobody seemed to know what skaters did besides skate and honestly? Argo wasn’t really sure himself.
With that, he hesitantly knocked on the door, welcoming the nurse back in.
“I see you’re changed. Your dad’s in reception,” he declared.
Argo nodded, desperately trying to hide the slight bulge of his pull-up and its obvious shape as he walked along, more nervous than he’d been in years.
The moment he saw his father, every feeling became so much…more. He wasn’t on show to some random person who saw everything going on with people medically… this was his dad, someone he loved, yes, but also someone who managed to take the piss out of him for everything. If he knew…
Fuck.
He couldn't know.
Thankfully, his dad embraced him immediately, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the car.
“Dad, you’re embarrassing me!” Argo huffed, though he had to admit the contact felt great at such a tense moment.
“That’s my job!” he huffed, rolling his eyes as though Argo was an idiot – or, his traitorous mind supplied, a small child.
The moment they entered the car, the mood changed, entirely. Where his father had moments before been a relaxed, cheerful person, his face sunk into something of deep concern.
“Listen, Are, what happened? Mr Rippard told me all about it, but… what actually happened?”
It took a moment but Argo soon realised that Mr Rippard was, in fact, the weird as fuck nurse who seemed to really want him in a pull-up.
“Oh- Ohhh, him… I- Dad, I swear, someone put something in my food at break or something, I…” he pleaded.
“Are, I understand… Everyone has sick days like this… I won’t even tell your mum if needs be. This can just be a secret between us, all right?” he asked, winking as though he was still the charming man he’d been before all those years of balding, eating and working.
“...Okay,” Argo replied, so, so thankful that he’d gotten away with it as he had.
Unfortunately, Argo himself could smell the thick smell of wee in the air, a smell that he knew was coming from himself. What his dad could smell, he didn’t know. Still, it must not have been pretty as he could see his father’s nose wrinkle unpleasantly.
Argo’s first action once he got back home was to take a shower, his second disposing of the soaked pull-up by throwing it out of his window and into the neighbour’s garden. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be pleasant for his neighbours to find, but that was a them problem.
His third action (and the best so far) was to turn on his Xbox, quickly becoming engrossed in the game from his position on his bed, nude with only the bedsheets for warmth. His father, on the other hand, went to his office to do whatever it was that boring adults did; taking calls, calling people and sending pointless emails to people who would rather live a life that didn’t involve being emailed by his father.
At some point, he relaxed for a moment and a warm patch formed around where he was sat but he didn’t notice that just yet – it felt so natural to simply relax as he shot yet another opponent.
In fact, it wasn’t until the match ended twenty minutes later that he finally came to, the patch suddenly a whole lot more noticeable.
Argo looked down at his soggy bed, suddenly realising what he’d done.
Again.
It was at that point that Argo, as any sane person would, began to panic. And, being a teenager who had never washed their own laundry before, Argo was doubly screwed as it wasn’t like he could just throw his sheets out, either, nor did he know how to clean the stain.
“Fuck,” Argo muttered, nose wrinkling as the harsh smell hit his nose.
It was like he was stuck in limbo: if he threw his bed stuff away, his parents would know something was suspicious. If he owned up…
Argo decided that the best course of action would be to wash his sheets anyway: if his parents found out (which they would), which was more embarrassing? That he sat there like a baby, failing to do anything, or that he washed his sheets and dealt with the situation like any sick adult was. Surely, that was the reason for his potty troubles?
Standing up, Argo realised that his clothes were utterly soaked as well – how would he bring them back to school? Sighing, he put his oodie on (the only time it had ever been genuinely practical) and tore his duvet and bedsheets off, too conscious of the liquid running slowly down his leg.
A good half hour later, Argo was still scrubbing at his mattress. It seemed that wipes could only do so much, leaving his bed stained yellow despite his immense effort. It would have to do, though.
Waiting for his bedsheets to dry was agony; Argo had no clue when his father would be finished working and, after his second shower of the day, it was something he was absolutely dreading. He had spent a little while googling his symptoms and, well, the situation looked fucking dire. He wasn’t injured, didn’t feel sick and hadn’t been through some horrific trauma (unless you included maths class) and so that only left a few different terrible ailments or something that would have to be dealt with surgically.
Joy.
Sighing nervously, Argo finally noticed the placement of his thumb, which had migrated over to his mouth at some point. He quickly removed it, moving his wrinkly thumb back to its rightful place at his side as he tried to figure out what to do.
A knock came at the door, a knock which didn’t wait for an answer as the door swung open, revealing his father in the flesh.
His father, who wasn’t blind and could therefore see the stained bed right in front of his eyes.
“Oh, Are, I understand, you’re sick. I’ll call the doctors, okay?” he suggested, not moving into the room though he could see the stain.
“...Okay,” Argo replied hesitantly, relieved that his father seemed to be taking the situation well enough. Clearly, he was sick if he was just…relieving himself like that. His pyjamas, though dry, were in a precarious enough situation themselves and if he wet the bed again…
Things were not going well for him.
Argo sat back down on a dryer section of his bed and waited for his father’s return with all the patience of a sugar-frenzied toddler. It came as both a relief and an annoyance to him when he finally received a text from his father.
Dad
Hey, Are, you sit tight – will go to shops for supplies
Dad
So, as he had been instructed, Argo sat tight, waiting for said ‘supplies’. It didn’t take long for his dad to return, walking into his bedroom with a shopping bag in his hand, shoes still on. Clearly, his situation was dire and urgent. He could hear waiting music and assumed that he was on call with the local doctors surgery. Clearly, he’d be waiting for at least an hour.
“Sorry, Dad,” Argo huffed nervously, blushing from every blushable spot.
He sighed,”Argo, I’m never going to be upset with you for your accidents. However, till we can sort something out, I have something for you,” he declared, pulling something horrid out of the bag.
“What!” he complained, sticking his nose up at the horrible suggestion.
“Are, I saw what they sent you home in – you are wearing the pull-up or you’re losing that xbox forever. It’s far cheaper to buy a new xbox than a new, good mattress,” he decided, staring at Argo with a certainty that said Argo would be putting it on.
–
Two hours later, a doctors’ appointment had been scheduled for him for the following morning and Argo was in a clean pull-up, prepared for any accidents his father clearly believed he was going to have. Argo hoped that he wouldn’t have another, begged his own body to prevent accidents, but it seemed that his body wasn’t listening to him at that moment so said hope was slim.
He still had his xbox but he didn’t want another accident so instead he remained scrolling on his phone, waiting till he was called down for dinner. It seemed the whole school knew that he’d shat himself – half his friends had sent him edited images of himself with shit all over or blocked him, the other half hadn’t said a thing, perhaps to take the moral high-ground at a later date though Argo assumed that nobody wanted to be seen talking to him.
There was no doubt about it that his reputation was utterly fucked – like, the time he
“Argo!” his father called, snapping him from his mindless doomscrolling.
Argo rose from his position on his bed, climbing slowly down the stairs, hyper-aware that his pull-up stuck out of his shorts.
Unfortunately, his mother was also at the dining table, meaning she was able to see what he’d done. She didn’t seem surprised so clearly his dad had told her already. Great.
“Oh, Argo, nice to see you,” she said casually, as though nothing had happened at all.
“Are you dry?” Argo’s father asked absently as he munched on a sausage torn from the Toad in the Hole.
Argo huffed, averting his gaze from his father.
Argo gazed down at his pull-up for a moment, sighing. Of course he was dry! He didn’t even want to dignify that bullshit with a response, instead tucking into his own plate of Toad in the Hole as he sat down next to his father, diagonal from his mother.
It was at that moment that his father placed his sausage-spear knife down on the table and grabbed his crotch.
Squish-squish
Argo’s eyes widened, somehow equally as shocked as his parents,”I wet myself,” Argo declared suddenly, surprising both of them.
“We’ll change you after dinner – from what I’ve heard, this isn’t the first time you’ve had an accident,” his mother declared, much to Argo’s dismay.
It was then that Argo stood up from his chair as if on instinct, closing his eyes and pushing – hard. Before long, squishy mess had made its way into his pull-up, stinking it up in seconds. It warmed his whole crotch, the damp wetness which had already somewhat cooled warming up a little again.
“I pooped myself,” Argo said with exactly the same intonation as when he’d declared his wetness. Just what was going on?
“Well, would you rather us take time out of our meal to change you? You’re not a baby, Argo, so stop acting like it. You will be eating dinner, whether you’re sick or not,” His mother spat, turning back to her meal still simmering with rage.
“Your mother’s right, Argo, we’ve all had long days,” his father announced.
Argo wanted to scream but couldn’t seem to find the words. Like his mother, his rage was internal, hardly controlled yet controlled all the same, bubbling just below the surface. Argo could hardly eat while his messy pull-up stank up the entire room, squishing about no matter how he sat.
Argo put his thumb in his mouth and tried to tune everything out. At some point, Argo succeeded in his mission and a wave of calmness came over him. Argo soon began to feel a sense of warm relief though to his annoyance, his parents seemed to share a look though Argo had no idea what about.
“Argo, do you know what you just did?” his father asked suddenly.
“No, Dad,” Argo muttered, retrieving his thumb from his mouth to speak. He squished around the mess he was sitting in – it actually didn’t seem that bad after all!
He hesitated and, after much thought, said,”It’s okay, Argo, you get back to eating.”
Argo nodded, eagerly grabbing the pudding with his hands and tearing it into pieces, ripping into it like the scariest dragon out there. He giggled, ignoring how it seemed to get everywhere – he was having fun and that was all he cared about.
Dinner was soon over and Argo was left utterly covered in food and dribble which snaked all the way down his chin and onto his shirt which had the stains of tonnes of dropped sausages left on it.
It was then that his parents decided to actually do something, his father walking him over to where he’d left the bag of pull-ups. They were saying some boring stuff to each other but Argo didn’t care, focusing more on sucking his thumb than anything else.
Argo barely reacted to his father manoeuvring his pull-up off, wiping him clean with wipes that felt a lot softer and smelled much better than the antibac- anti- Argo couldn’t recall quite what.
What Argo remembered next was him being in a clean pull-up, pressed against him so he was comfy. His ruined shirt remained discarded on the floor with his shorts as he sucked his thumb some more.
“Alright, Are, what do you want to do this evening?” His mother asked, staring at him as though he’d done something strange.
Argo stared up at her in confusion, trying to put together a suitable string of words,”Uhh… I dunno,” he replied, “Big boy stuff!”
Argo began to wet his pull-up, completely unaware of the fact as his parents stared at him lovingly. They each knew they should hate what was going on, that they should want their son to be restored to his usual state, but did that matter when their little boy was so cute?
It didn’t matter either way – a doctor couldn’t fix the supernatural and by that point Argo had been too far gone. So his parents cooed along as they watched him mess his diaper, his eager face making a massive stinky, every muscle pushing as hard as it could to get everything out.
Though his parents didn’t realise it, they, too, were being affected by the curse which had befallen their son. It was not their own thoughts which pushed them to want to make their son the biggest nappy-messer out there, but it certainly didn’t hurt.
That evening, they cancelled their doctors’ appointment. There was no way they would be able to keep their son dry enough even if they’d wanted to go.
Either way, Argo didn’t mind as he was tucked into bed, the final time he would ever sleep in one, an already-leaking pull-up spilling hot mess onto the bare, soaked mattress. Argo didn’t care, too busy sucking his thumb and going poopy like a good little boy.
–
3 months later, Argo had forgotten all traces of his old life. The entire living room had become Argo’s area, bottles and a huge changing table the main attraction. Some toys littered the floor, covered in dust as Argo’s attention had been caught by something else.
Argo’s nappy grew larger than ever, his legs crushed completely underneath the weight. It was no issue to him – he hadn’t even tried to move them in two months, nor did he want to. Above him, Argo watched as a boy danced around, singing a song he could hardly pay attention to. Everything moved so fast, his little baby brain couldn’t even try to understand it.
He pushed out some more into his stinky nappy, so full that he had eclipsed the sofa entirely. His parents had busied themselves in the kitchen, preparing their son another bottle that he would finish in seconds. In the meanwhile, Argo downed his current bottle, drinking fast though he’d only drained half of the bottle. His stomach seemed unaware of its abuse even as he wet some more, pissing out what should have been half his bodyweight if there was any reason left in the world.
Argo went squishy again, a euphoric feeling filling his mind as he watched, watched, watched, consuming in every way possible.
Not that Argo’s parents minded – their little boy was everything they’d always wanted him to be; a big, messing baby.
A mage grinned, messing their own mushy nappy as they watched the scene from the window. Already, tests for the human race were going well – soon, they’d be able to sell the whole species and they wouldn’t even know what had happened to them.
Every world war, every conflict, even the idea of harming someone would be completely drained from the minds of every single human, none of them ever to harm another being again. Yes, the mage decided, it was for the best.
Cruelly (though not out of hatred) the mage waved their staff and for a moment, Argo had his right mind back. He realised then how his legs burned in pain, how his stomach ached and his eyes sizzled from the constant watching. For a moment, Argo could remember his school, remember his accidents and remember how he’d reached his horrible fate.
But all moments came to and end eventually and just as soon as it had come, Argo’s recollection that anything had been different at all had been wiped from his mind as he pushed out more poopy, wetting mindlessly as he continued to watch cocomelon, unaware that his entire planet was soon to be enslaved.