Two Diaper Friends

It was Saturday morning. Light shined into Rika's room from the window. Her eyes opened. Her arms were wrapped around her friend Jerry, who had spent the night with her.

Rika was a 21-year-old girl. Her red hair, which was normally held back in carefully braided pigtails, was left down whenever she slept. Rika was dressed in Dr. Dentons, bright-pink onesie pajamas that went all the way to her arms and legs, the front zipped up.

Jerry was a grade younger than Rika, just as she was a few inches shorter. He brown hair had a single ponytail on the left side, held up by a lime-green scrunchy. Instead of pajamas, she instead wore the day clothes she had worn yesterday; a short-sleeved, legless yellow onesie, her feet covered in socks that nearly went up to her knees, the ensemble making her look like an overgrown duckling.

Rika gave a wiff and there was a stink in the air. She sat up and absently pat her back. No, it was not her, though she did notice that the front of her diaper was wadded and clammy. It must have been Jerry.

"Hey," said Rika, nudging her friend. "Hey, wake-up."