Stig's inguinal murmurings succeeded to flourish into a full-blown erection, sustained in the main by the two females sitting behind him: their harsh and resonant voices, their trashy clothing, their full lips, bad skin, mad hair - the whole nasty caboodle served to propel the midget's member straight up to the point of no return. They talked so casually of urban exploits, so vividly of premature youth, the prevailing detachment in their tone serving to cast them as jaded observers even, bluntly betraying their unnerving precocity in every other utterance; their knees knocking against the midget's seat with unremitting vigour, gestures that for Stig seemed to ram home his pathetic social exclusion, his pitiful isolation. There he sat; shamelessly packing an actual baby's nappy underneath Mothercare's finest. What a freak! What a loser! What a total fucking geek! He was assailed by a bombardment of wicked thoughts that surfaced in his mind fully-formed and rained on him relentlessly. He wanted them to know he was wearing nappies, to throw off his corduroys and expose his disposables; respond to their shocking admissions by presenting himself in Pampers, for he was a baby, a little baby, packing a colossal hard-on within at least four inches of super-absorbency. How would they react? What would be their principal emotion: Shock or surprise? Horror? Disgust? Or would they merely laugh at him? Yes, that is what they would do, laugh at him; LAUGH AT HIM! Be attacked by paroxysmal hysterics as they looked upon an adult midget in a baby's disposable nappy.

Unbeknown to the teenagers, Stig's shameful reverie had inevitably got the better of him, and his tiny body was totally infused with an overriding sense of warmth, powerless to hold back against filling his Pampers with what felt like a ton of cum.