DiapOut: Chapter 45
FLICK-FLICK-FLICK!
Sparks danced around the head of the lighter as Jackson’s nervous fingers fiddled with the dull flint. He carelessly lapped the brown end of his cigarette with his tongue, causing it to turn soft between his lips. Each failed flick felt like a dagger to his anxiety-riddled heart. “Fuck,” he mumbled in frustration, leaning away from the light breeze and cupping his hand around the lighter’s head. Why was the world so dead set against him finding any source of comfort? At this point, all he wanted to do was go home, pad up, and crawl into bed with his stuffies.
CLANK!
Already on edge, Jackson jumped at the sound of the backstage door’s armbar banging against its metal surface. Scurrying around the corner of the building, the last thing he needed was to have Keelee chirping in his ear.
“Uhhh…Jackson?” said Ayaya, sniffing the air for trances of cigarette smoke. Her face scrunched into a pout as she spotted his elbow poking out from the side of the studio. “Jackson, I can see you hiding. You can come out, it’s just me.”
Peeking his head out from around the studio’s concrete wall, Jackson was relieved that it was Ayaya who discovered his location, if only marginally so; he didn’t exactly come outside looking for company. Masking his apprehension with a meek smile, he responded, “Oh! Sorry, I thought you were Keelee for a second. My condolences for your team losing, by the way. That wasn’t supposed to–”
“Oh, that? I don’t care that my team lost. I’m more interested in continuing our conversation from earlier,” Ayaya stated bluntly, setting her sights on a far grander prize than simple cash. “Besides, I’m sure CassiRole can’t be feeling too good about the way Round 3 shook out.”
“Pffft! Well, that makes two of us,” said Jackson, expelling an exasperated chuckle. He’d almost completely forgotten about his plan to replace Cassi amid the previous round’s chaotic ending. Had Round 3 ended as planned, he would’ve had a wealth of dailies to present to Miss Caregiver detailing why Cassi wasn’t a good fit. Tragically, those plans were practically dead on arrival now that DiapOut’s producers were likely to bring the hammer down on both his and Keelee’s heads for this. The show’s advertisers had been clear: Baby New Year in the final round or there would be trouble. “Listen, I know how eager you are but be patient. It’s going to be a process to convince showrunners to switch gears so far into production.”
Unfortunately, patience wasn’t really a word in Ayaya’s vocabulary. That said, she had enough tact to know this wasn’t the moment to be demanding. After all, one of the biggest reasons Jackson wanted Cassi off the show was her poor attitude. “You’re smart. I’m sure you can find a way to spin this in your favor,” she said, opening with some light compliments before getting back to the topic at hand. “If anything, us losing could be the kick in the butt your advertisers are looking for. I mean, it was Cassi who held the dice in kicking range for Lelaya.”
“She–…She did, didn’t she?” said Jackson, having a mid-sentence epiphany. All this time, he’d been pacing back and forth trying to figure out how to dodge the blame for letting the third round go off the rails when the answer was staring him in the face the whole time. He already wanted Cassi fired, and while she may have been an equally unwitting victim in this scenario, it wouldn’t be overly difficult to trick a room full of technologically inept producers that Cassi was somehow to blame. Regardless of how honest he was when he buttered Ayaya up by telling her that he’d make her a star, she was now his best chance at avoiding an unceremonious sacking. “Thank you, Ayaya! You’ve been a huge help!”
Confused by the sudden change in tone, Ayaya was left dumbfounded as Jackson plucked the cigarette from his mouth and placed it in her hands before rushing back into the studio. “Happy to help,” she shouted after him.
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The hum of the dozen or so lightbulbs adorning a vanity reverberated in Zeke’s perfect ears as he stood before his emasculated reflection. Unlike the other contestants who were currently corralled in a corner of the sound stage, he’d been given a private room to change out of his Betsy Wetsy attire; it wasn’t as though he was wearing anything underneath.
The space itself wasn’t anywhere near as ostentatious as Cassi’s lavish dressing room, containing only a vanity and a small leather couch, which were crowded by a plethora of storage crates. However, that didn’t stop Zeke from enjoying the bit of VIP treatment he was receiving. “Betsy Wetsy cood get used ta dis,” he said jokingly, playing up his lisp while his eyes circled the cramped room. He wasn’t really in Little Space but it was fun to pretend otherwise.
Approaching the mirror with a jovial, yet slightly tepid expression, the masculine impressions of Zeke’s face suddenly became much more apparent under the exposing light. He faked a big smile and belpped his tongue out, hoping to clear the melancholy from his eyes; it worked to some extent.
“Okay…where do I even start?” scoffed Zeke, scanning his figure in the mirror as he mentally plotted how best to extract himself from his monstrously feminine surroundings. The wig was the obvious first step considering its haphazard placement to begin with. He gingerly slid the blonde tuft down from his scalp, freeing his messy, dirty blonde hair. Given that the Iris Nanny hadn’t forced him to endure a lengthy makeup process, this left him with his normal, boyish head perched atop a hyper-feminized body. He couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked, though that laughter eventually gave way to dejection.
Shaking off the feelings of woe that were creeping up on him, Zeke abandoned the vanity mirror as he stumbled to the sofa ready to kick off Betsy Wetsy’s tormentous high heels. His track-and-field prowess from high school had made him agile enough to avoid falling on his face but his feet had been killing him since the end of his second turn.
CRINKLE-FLOOF!
Plopping down on the couch, Zeke was immediately accosted by an orchestra of blushy noises, his dress and diapers colluding with the leather couch to create a euphoric sensory experience. He quickly kicked the shoes from his feet before gleefully tucking his legs in under the flouncy skirt. As guilty as he felt to be indulging in an outfit that had previously traumatized him, there was a reason this ensemble was the root cause of his ABDL and crossdressing fetishes. The silky fabric, the poofy diapers, the sheer stockings; it was all too much. Adding in a day’s worth of exhaustion, it was no surprise he had little control over his sex drive.
Aroused and isolated, Zeke bit his lip as he stared intensely at his dressing room door. Keelee hadn’t said how long he had to change, only to “make it snappy.” He knew it would be stupid to engage with his kinks in a carnal way when the show’s production manager could barge in at any moment. So…why couldn’t he stop his right hand from sliding past the waistband of his pillowy diapers?
Zeke’s corneas stretched toward the ceiling as his fingers gently fondled the lumpy ridges of the crisp, plastic nappy that his cock was encased within. His other hand soon sandwiched itself into the plushy depths of his triple-thick diapers, giving him better leverage while simultaneously bunching the dress between his arms in the process. The nylon wrapped around his feet threatened to split as his toes stretched and curled.
KNOCK-KNOCK!
A dismal whimper escaped Zeke’s lewdly hung mouth. Figuring Keelee must be on the other side of the door, he leaped to his feet and hurried over to the vanity, shouting, “I’ll be out soon! I’m still changing!” as he plopped himself down on the vanity’s stool.
“Zeke, it’s me. Are you decent? We can…talk later if you still need time.”
Frozen in place, it was Kyoko’s voice beckoning for Zeke to answer the door. With his hands resting on his knees, he absentmindedly gripped the fabric of his dress for comfort. “Uh–No! No, it’s okay. You can come in,” he said, attempting to look nonchalant while seated before his sissified visage.
Parting the doorway only enough to slide her body through, Kyoko aimed to preserve whatever remained of Zeke’s modesty as she entered his private quarters. Still dressed in a cheerleading outfit, her face had been wiped free of chocolate pudding but stains still lingered on the edges of her outfit and in the fringes of her hair. “Oh, wow you’re still…” she muttered, surprised to see Zeke still fully dressed in the Betsy Wetsy get-up. She’d half-expected him to rip it off the moment the cameras had stopped rolling, “...nevermind. I’m here because I wanted to apologize for what happened last round. Cassi suckered me into saying a bunch of things that I shouldn’t have but that’s only an excuse. You don’t have to forgive me; I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me forever. And if you don’t want anything to do with me or the WET Diaper Lovers Club after this, I’ll understa–”
“Psssh! Hate you?! What are you talking about?” interrupted Zeke, his mind and body acting outside of his control as he got up from the stool and approached Kyoko; it felt like he’d been set to auto-pilot. “How could I hate you? If anything, you’ve given me a gift. I…feel…so much better. About everything! Diapers? Dresses? Why should I have to hold myself back anymore? And you, Kyoko…you made it all happen.”
Now, it was Kyoko’s turn to freeze. Every muscle housed within her form flexed all at once as Zeke curled his arms around her for a big hug. “Y-You’re not mad?” she stuttered flatly, dumbfounded by the unnatural positivity that Zeke was exuding. Moreover, his hug was far more constricting than usual, giving her the impression he wasn’t being completely honest about how he was feeling.
“Not in the slightest but I appreciate your concern,” replied Zeke, maintaining a hold on Kyoko’s shoulders as he broke off his embrace. “Thanks for asking, though. You always do such a good job putting the needs of others before yourself.” His comments walked the thin line between sarcasm and sincerity to such an extent that Kyoko was unable to tell what his intentions were.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!
“Five minutes to places, Zeke!” Keelee announced from outside the dressing room before walking off without waiting for an answer.
Withholding her doubts, Kyoko forced herself to smile. She didn’t believe a word he was saying but this was better than him freaking out, right? Regardless, she didn’t have time to argue. Her best option was to take his word for it, for his sake and hers. “I should head back to the studio before Keelee notices. You going to be okay on your own?”
It was at this point Zeke realized he was still gripping Kyoko’s shoulders. His hands twitched as he shoved them to his sides. “Hundred percent! I’ll see you out there,” he said, waving like a princess at Kyoko as she exited the dressing room.
Left alone once more, Zeke's ear-to-ear grin slowly faded into a neutral expression; his subconscious refused to be sad or angry. Chasing away the bitterness that was gnawing at his chest, he reached up and clutched the puffy shoulders of his dress, finding immediate joy as a wave of girlish euphoria overtook him. “Too bad it has to end soon…” he sighed, glancing back at the neatly folded DiapOut t-shirt that was waiting for him on the vanity’s shiny tabletop. Recalling what Keelee had told him when she passed the unisex garment off to him, his instructions were merely to get dressed for the final round. Technically, nobody told him what outfit he needed to be wearing when he returned to the set, “...or does it?”
TO BE CONTINUED…