This is the continued story of Simon’s Journal.
Before you begin this third volume in this series,
I would highly recommend that you read the first and second volumes
as each picks up were the previous left off.

ADMONITION:

The following narrative is nearly a complete work of fiction. Some events and characters were pulled from real life but have been changed, enhanced and twisted to comply with my will. Any other similarity to actual individuals living or dead is completely unintentional, but it would be incredible!

WARNING:

The following story contains diaper use, violence, adult language and strong sexual content. If reading a coming of age story about boys wearing diapers and exploring their awakening sexuality doesn’t tickle your pickle, or if pickle tickling is illegal in your area, then I suggest you select something else to read.

Chapter - 6

Waking up in empty beds alone

I awoke the next morning just as BJ was trying to descend from the top bunk. Unfortunately, he has a peanut for a brain, so instead of using the ladder at the end of the bunks he chose to use my lower bunk as a step.

Having been jostled awake, I groggily groaned out a question, “What happened last night?”

“Cool! You are awake too!” BJ said with a yawn, “You know what?”

He paused long enough to allow an explicative loose exactly the way an exploding balloon would not, “I decided something last night, I’m going to change your name to...”

His feet hit the follow with a thump as he said, “El’Dorkous Supremeous!”

Not really awake yet, his words didn’t make a whole lot of sense just yet so I started to ask him what it meant while trying to move for the first time. However, I was taken by surprise by the sudden and rather overwhelming pain. So, instead my question came out something like, “WhaaouCH!”

Even to me that sounded very babyish so I quickly tried to cover it up by saying loudly, “What does that mean?” I asked.

BJ was pulling off his pajama bottoms and pulling on his swim suite all the while making a kind of fitful groaning sound when he asked, “Need some help?”

I spoke as I yawned, “Yeah, I think maybe I do.”

I quickly discovered that about 80% of my pain was due to the vicious sunburn on my arms, legs, face and neck that I got from being out in the sun so long yesterday. Only about 20% of my pain was actually coming from the gash in my back that I had managed to reopen thanks to that bath spout.

BJ bent over like he was going to help me set up but instead took hold of my hair and pulled jokingly.

“You do an you’ll be singing three octives higher!” and though it hurt, I thrust my hand out and seized his inner thigh.

“I was only joking!” he said with a yelp and then properly aided me in sitting upright though he too was whimpering nearly as much as I was.

I took a breath to ask him again what “El’Dorkous Supremeous” meant, however I couldn’t ask due to gagging from a stench that was emanating from his body.

“Oh my gawd you stink!” I shrieked.

He laughed, slapped my sun burnt forearm, which I will add hurt to a magnitude of ten-bazillion. He then jumped backward out of my reach before he said, “Oh yeah? Well that’s like a skunk saying a rose garden stinks!”

He thrust two fingers into his nostrils, which made him sound like he had a head cold when he spoke. “At leath mine ith only from dith junk mom put on our thunburth to help uth heal fathter.”

I was launching mental nuclear missiles from my eyes at BJ while attempting to put out the fire on my arm by blowing cool air on it. “What do you mean only?” I asked absentmindedly.

Once again BJ tittered, “Well I ain’t the one that’s wearing a diaper filled with pee and poop!”

I looked down to see myself wearing nothing but a big blue disposable diaper and I felt myself bushing as I looked up to see BJ now pinching his nose and trying not to laugh to much.

Before I could say anything or stop him he shouted, “Mom, Simon’s awake and needs his poopy diaper changed!”

Had my skin not been burnt and my back so sensitive, I would have flew through the air and smothered his face in diaper gravy. In its place, I had to settle with sitting in a dirty diaper and feeling betrayed.

As it turned out, I had made a significantly foul mess of myself during the night, which wasn’t such an unusual thing for me to do. I’d spent so much time aboard the Banachelli wearing diapers day and night that now I have to actually make a continues effort to keep control of my bodily functions. Mom and dad had been helping to try and re-potty train me and though during the day I had seen a slight amount of improvement, at night it was a different story.

After pulling on the back of my diaper to check how extreme the mess was, BJ’s mom made me head off to the bathroom to take another bath. Much to my embarrassment, and given the fact that I had managed to hurt myself taking a bath last night, she had insisted on bathing me this time.

Mercifully my little guy seemed to be sleeping through the whole ordeal and I managed to get all the way through the bath without dieing from embarrassment.

After helping me step into a GoodNite and then a pair of cut-off jeans she let me look at my back in the mirror before tapping new gauze over the freshly opened wound.

“It looks worse then it is.” She told me while placing the last piece of tape on my back.

She ran a finger over one of my other healing scares, “Hey that tickles!” I announced and pulled away.

“You poor thing!” she said and I turned around to see she was on the brink of crying.

“It’s ok, really! It hardly hurt anymore anyway!” I lied, feeling awkward.

“I hope they locked up the man that did that to you.” She said and I nearly told her that there was no need, because I had killed him however I managed to say instead, “Can I go have breakfast now?”

She cleared her throat proper, sniffled the way a lady does, smiled through her pity for me and tossed my green t-shirt at me so that it draped right over my head. I didn’t try to block or reach for it; instead I just let it fly and then fall where it pleased. I supposed I was trying to be cute at any rate she stopped being emotional and I was able to avoid another emotional scene.

From the conversation at the breakfast table, I found out that I hadn’t been patched up last night by Mrs. or even Mr. Otteranski. My nurse had been none other then yesterdays Centurion of the Sun.

“Wait, he came in?” I asked in disbelief.

BJ pointed toward the side window, which was now covered with several pieces of wood nailed to the window frame. “He heard my mom scream and came through there.”

“I’d say she gave him one heck of scare!” Mr. Otteranski laughed revealing a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

With mouth agape I asked, “Where is he now?”

“Where do you think?” BJ said stabbing the air with his finger.

I was still ticked with BJ for this morning and I gave him a cursed expression, which he returned by sticking his tongue out at me. Just as he was taking another bite I gave him a kick under the table. It must have hurt because eggs shot out of his mouth and nose.

“You alright?” his mom asked slapping him on the back, “Did you choke?”

“Oow! Mom!” BJ protested, “I wasn’t choking and besides that doesn’t help anyway!” he complained further.

I have a feeling that BJ realized he had that coming from me because he didn’t rat me out this time and once his parents were sure he was ok the conversation continued as though it hadn’t been interrupted.

“We all had a good laugh once everyone figured out it was all just a false alarm.” Mr. Otteranski said shoveling in another fork full of eggs.

Mrs. Otteranski began to cluck like a mad hen, “False alarm? The boy...”

I very much dislike it when people talk about me in the third person; especially when I am only a few feet away but she had her feathers russled and I wasn’t going to risk a pecking.

“...was bleeding all over the place.” She finished.

Mr. Otteranski belched and nearly spat out his eggs, “Excuse me!” he said while thumped at his chest, “Dear it wasn’t all that bad. You make it sound like he was run threw.”

“Run threw?” I finally spoke up.

Now I knew darn well what it meant but it was the first time since I had been home that I had heard anyone use those words.

BJ, who was speaking with his mouth full and wielding his fork like a sword, demonstrated by pretending to stab me in the chest. Catching on I followed his lead, took hold of his fork and fell dead against the back of my chair.

It would have been funny had it not hurt like heck when my back made contact with the spindles of the chair back. For a few pleasant moments I had forgot that my back was so tender and as of last night, freshly wounded.

“Oh fudge me!” I exclaimed, except I had once more used the other ‘F’ word.

BJ thought I was still acting and shook his head, “You idiot! The dead don’t speak!”

Without saying a word Mrs. Otteranski turned around from the sink and in her hand she was holding a bottle of Joy dish soap. She didn’t say anything; she only looked at me and made the bottle dance back and forth. I got her message loud and clear.

“Sorry!” I said solemnly.

A blob of egg came from out of nowhere and hit me just to the left of my nose.

“Oh sick!” I exclaimed while reaching up to remove it.

I looked in the direction that it had come and Mr. Otteranski was sitting, looking at the ceiling and was failing wretchedly at appearing innocent.

“Honestly dear!” Mrs. Otteranski said giving her husband’s ear a playful twist, “Sometimes I think you are worse then your sons.”

I spent the rest of my breakfast pondering Mrs. Otteranski plural use of the word ‘son’ and felt very warm inside knowing she meant both BJ and myself.

After breakfast Mrs. Otteranski handed me a plate full of eggs, bacon, toast and hash browns sealed with plastic wrap. It felt heavy enough to feed five men and still have some left over.

“Be a dear and take this up to him.” She said patting my head and kissing my cheek. I remember that she smelled like fresh cut flowers and fried bacon.

I smiled up at her, “Thanks” I said and then turned toward the door where I found Mr. Otteranski holding the screen open for me.

“Tell him I said thanks.” He said while handing me a thermos full of what I assumed was coffee.

As I left BJ and his parents behind I looked down at the plate full of food and felt myself being sucked backward, sucked back in time, back to the Banachelli...

Back to before I killed Runt...

Before casting Madam-M and the others adrift in the Atlantic Ocean...

Before being made the new Captain of the Banachelli...

Back even before the great storm that Madam-M called Katrina...

Back to before the deaths of Mr and Mrs Wriggle...

And back before Madam-M’s arrival.

One instant I was standing barefoot on the wooden steps of our vacation home with a belly full to bursting and the very next instant I was standing in oversized shoes, deep within the belly of the Banachelli and covered in human filth.

“Oh my...” Mr. Wriggle held his nose, “You are the foulest smelling...” he didn’t finish his thought but instead stepped to one side and beckoned me toward the stairs.

My legs found it more then difficult to obeyed my brains commands to walk. They were shaking and had they not been so cold I am sure they would have been hurting something awful!

“Can’t you go any faster you miserable little shit!” Mr. Wriggle said before sniggering to himself at his own wittiness.

I wanted to say, “Well if you hadn’t put me in that disgusting pit in the first place maybe I could walk!” but I was cold, tired and nearly broken.

Had it not been for the other boys sneaking me food and telling me about the leaking water pipe I am sure I would have broken days ago.

I had taken maybe three steps when out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand extend up through the other grate and give me the universal sign for ‘OK’ before disappearing from sight once more.

Not thinking too clearly I stopped and thankfully Mr. Wriggle’s hand upside the back of my head stopped me before I had turned and given Segal away. Of course at the time I had no idea that is who was occupying the pit adjacent to my own but before this day would be over I would know the truth about Segal and be on a plane home.

“Oh you little...” the remainder of Mr. Wriggle’s words were a string of explicative that I think best to leave out. Suffice it to say that he wasn’t happy about getting his precious sausage fingers covered in poo from my hair which seemed to get tangled in his ring.

“What the!” he said just before yanking his hand free along with a sizable chunk of my soiled hair.

My cries of pain were drowned out by his curses and he desperately tried to wipe his hand clean with a blue lace handkerchief.

Chapter 7

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