The garden air was warm and still, thick with the scent of cut grass and dry earth. The wrought-iron table in the center of the lawn cast a sharp shadow, a small perimeter of darkness where you lay curled up on the pavement, your forehead pressed against the rough stone, reduced to the complete insignificance of a worm crawling in the dust.
She sat above, comfortable on the garden chair, draped in a long, deep red dress that hung heavily down her hips. The crimson hem draped past the chair’s edge, only partially concealing the thick, stiff, bulky outline of the large adult diaper worn beneath the fabric. The contrast between the austere elegance of the dress and that voluminous white padding was absolute, shameless in its prominence.
A long silence dominated the space, broken only by the faint rustle of the adhesive tapes yielding slightly under the pressure of her weight. Then, without hesitation or embarrassment on her face, the heat began to spread. Underneath the dress, the d
