I know why

The rec hall smelled faintly of juice and talc, that familiar blend of childhood and control. The padded floor muted every step, every shift, every squirm. Somewhere across the room, someone was singing off-key to a plushie. But in this little corner near the reading nook, she sat alone, perched cross-legged on a foam mat with a stack of oversized board books she had absolutely no intention of opening.

Not with him nearby.

He was kneeling at the low cubbies, sorting crayons and picture cards, sleeves pushed up over his forearms. Not a teacher, but a helper. A grown-up. With quiet eyes and careful hands. Littles liked him. So did mommies. And she… well. She was more interested in the way his eyes didn’t look at her when she moved just so.

Her pull-up was dry. She’d checked, obviously. Pale lavender with little sleepy clouds, smooth against her skin, the waistband high above her belly button. It made her waddle a bit when she crawled, but not as bad as a diaper would’ve. She liked the way it clung. Liked knowing it might not cling for long.

She waited until he was close. He was putting away a toy xylophone—just the right distance for her voice to reach, but not quite near enough to pretend she wasn’t doing it on purpose.

“I bet you like diapers better.”

He paused, slowly turned his head. “I—what?”

Her mouth curved in a slow, sly smile. She popped a paci between her teeth but didn’t suck—just let it hang there as she tilted her head. “I said…” She tugged up her tunic so the top of her pull-up showed clearly. “…you like it more when girls wear diapers.”

“That’s not—” He looked away, color blooming up his neck.

“Mmhmm.” She scooted forward on her knees, pull-up crinkling softly beneath her. “You always look longer. I seen it. Especially when they’re waddlin’ with that soggy-squish. You try’n not to, but you do.”

He hesitated, hands hovering mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended, amused, or leave the room entirely.

She giggled. A warm, syrupy giggle that buzzed under her breath. “It’s okay. I know why.”

“…You do, huh?”

“Yup!” She leaned in close, resting her chin on her fists, elbows on the mat. “’Cause I went to school.” She gave the word a smug little bounce, like it was a magic spell. “An’ they teach you why boys look extra when a girl’s got a soggy tushy.”

His lips parted, caught somewhere between a laugh and a protest. “That’s not—what does that even mean?”

He was trying not to smile. Or blush. Or breathe, maybe. She could see it—how still he went, how the edge of one shoulder stiffened like maybe if he just focused *hard* enough on the color-coded flashcards, he’d vanish into the carpet.

But he didn’t vanish.

He stayed.

She *liked* that.

She inched closer, until her bare toes nearly touched his shoe. “Wanna know why?” she whispered, eyes big and round and *knowing*. The paci bobbed between her lips, dangling from its ribbon clip. “Why boys look extra when a girl’s got a soggy tushy?”

He looked like he was about to say no. Like he *should* say no. But he didn’t.

“…Okay,” he murmured. Quiet. Careful.

Her smile bloomed. “S’cause,” she began, voice dipped in sing-song sweetness, “when a girl’s soggy, it means she’s not thinkin’ no more. Not like a big girl.” She rocked back on her heels, hands splayed in her lap. “Her pants are warm, and her legs are spread, and all the grown-up stuff’s gone *poof*.”

He stared. His mouth twitched.

“Boys like that,” she added, eyes twinkling. “Makes ‘em feel *big*. Like they’re the only ones who remember stuff. ‘Cause she don’t gotta anymore.”

That did it.

Color flooded his cheeks. He turned his face away, jaw tight, but not tight enough to hide the curve of his mouth. Not quite.

She beamed. “You like that too, huh?”

His eyes snapped back to her.

And oh—*there* it was. That flicker. The one she’d seen before, the one he tried to smother when a little girl tugged at her onesie or bent over too far to pick up a binky. He opened his mouth—probably to deny it, maybe to scold her—but the heat in his ears said more than he ever could.

She sighed contentedly and shifted her weight forward, the crinkle of her pull-up louder now, pressed taut between her thighs. Her eyes didn’t leave his face. Not for a second.

And then—

*pshhhhhhhhhh.*

Her breath hitched. Just a little.

The warmth blossomed low and slow, a heat that spread over her hips and down the seat of her pull-up. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t squirm. Just… let it happen. Watching his eyes as the lavender clouds darkened, as the faint pattern on the front blurred into soggy lines. It swelled between her legs, a warm squish that pressed up as she leaned her weight back into it.

He looked stunned. Like maybe he’d forgotten how to breathe after all.

She blinked slowly and gave a tiny, wet little giggle.

“Guess I’m not thinkin’ no more neither,” she whispered. “Oopsie.”

She sat there in the spreading warmth, a blush of her own rising to her cheeks—but hers was prideful. Satisfied. Her pull-up was puffy now, wet and swollen, and she could feel the way her legs didn’t close right anymore. Didn’t *need* to.

Her voice was soft—singed with teasing, but almost dreamy now. “You gonna put me in a diaper now?”

She tilted her head, lashes low, the wet squish of her bottom loud in the silence between them. “’Cause I think maybe… I kinda earned it.”