He checked my name, then told me I was under arrest. I knew better than to resist, complain, do anything other than let them take me to the station, wait for a lawyer.
The lawyer was young, pretty, dressed nicely. Not yet worn down by the job.
“So?” I asked her.
“Looks grim,” she said, “Did you really post this on InstaTwitFace?”
I looked at the printout. It was indeed me, my account, my picture. My words. “So she’s lying there, she trusts you, you’ve taken her diaper off, you’ve wiped her clean and all she wants is a nice fresh diaper and a cuddle. Well, take the opportunity; sure she’ll still be spreading her thighs for you after the new diaper is on but really, you know she wants it. Drop your trousers and give her that hard fucking you know all little girls need.”
I looked up at the lawyer, then across at the police sergeant, sat watching us. “So?” I asked him.
“So you admit it? You twisted pervert, we’ll do you for this. Encouraging the rape of babies. I’m going to get a search warrant, I bet we find a nasty little stash hidden on your phone.” He was angry, a big man talking quietly, controlled rage bubbling under, the threat of physical menace.
I frowned at him. “Babies? Oh. Tell you what,” I said, slipping off my chair and sitting on the floor.
I leaned back, pulled my skirt to my waist, revealed the wet diaper I’d been wearing throughout. I winked as I offered, “Why don’t you change me, Sergeant? You know I want it.”