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Mommy's Mommy [Tier 2]
🕑 Added 2023-11-28 21:36:59 +0000 UTCHey, if you're reading this...this Patreon still exists!
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One
Chelsea assures me that this is the one. The One. The one she’ll marry.The one who will be the father to their children. The one she’ll grow old with.
I believe she’s made similar statements before about men who are no longer in the picture. I clearly remember her saying these things last year regarding her then-boyfriend Matthew in advance of Thanksgiving. He was gone by Christmas.
In her defense, she sounds more impassioned when speaking about this current fella–Damon–than she ever did with Matthew. Or Paul. Or Derek. Or Brittany, when she thought she might be finished with men forever. I can’t help but hold onto a little doubt when she says these things to me, but I always give the benefit of the doubt.
I’m certain that I was just like her when I was her age. It took a few The Ones before one finally stuck. And as frustrating as that process probably felt at the time, there are some days that I’d give almost anything to experience that again.
“Mom, do you have any plans this weekend?” Chelsea asked on the phone, shortly after her proclamation that Damon was The One. I know my daughter well enough to know where this conversation is going. I’ll need to prepare a menu. Clean the house. Buy some wine.
“I don’t think we do,” I said, answering on behalf of my husband as well, whose plans probably stopped at ‘watching whatever was on the television all night.’
“I was thinking I could bring Damon over? I really want you guys to meet him.”
“Of course,” I answered. “What were you thinking? Dinner?”
“Well…would that be too much work? We could just go out instead.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I’ll make dinner. What does, uhm, Damon like?”
“Oh, he’s not too picky. I’m sure he’d love anything you made. No pressure but…I’ve been kind of hyping up your cooking.”
It was actually music to my ears. Now that the kids were all moved out and it was just Jack and I, I wasn’t cooking like I used to. I sought any excuse to get out the expensive pots, pans, knives and gadgets I had accumulated across my lifetime.
“Well I’ll do my best,” I said as modestly as I could. Unless the boy was the son of Gordon Ramsey, I felt confidence I could knock his socks off.
While we had yet to meet this Damon, it felt like we had been hearing about him for weeks. Another sign, I thought, that there was something special going on here. Still, despite all the stories I heard, it felt like I barely knew a thing about him. Was he tall and muscular? Did he look bookish with a big pair of glasses? Did he wear baggy pants? Weird hats? I had been tempted to ask her these questions, but now that I knew I’d get the chance to meet him, I decided I’d just wait and see for myself.
But I was very curious to see what kind of person made my daughter happy these days.
Two
The evening had a rocky start. We had agreed to a six o’clock dinner, but we were still waiting for Chelsea and Damon to show at 6:30. Text messages from Chelsea indicated there had been an issue with a flat tire–not the end of the world, but they had to wait for Roadside Assistance to come and help change the tire.
“What kind of man doesn’t know how to change a tire himself?” Jack asked.
“Plenty of them,” I shrugged. “That’s not the kind of thing they teach young men to do now, I don’t think.”
“Roadside Assistance? If she had just called me first, I could’ve been out there and fixed it up quicker than anyone else.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “But we have to let her solve her problems her way. She’s an adult now.”
“Her way is expensive,” he grunted. “And they can’t drive all the way back to the city on a donut. They’re going to have to stay the night so…”
“Let them make that decision,” I offered.
“Absolutely not. I’ll take her car over to Chuck’s first thing in the morning and they’ll get a brand new tire on it. He’ll probably do it for half the cost of anywhere she’d take it.”
I didn’t love the idea of strong-arming Chelsea and her new beau into staying the night with us, but I trusted Jack’s judgment for things like this. If he would feel safer with them getting the tire fixed before they made the trip back, then I was on board with that plan too.
I fixed up the guest room, though there wasn’t that much fixing up that had to be done. We had a few toiletries for Chelsea–mostly stuff she had left behind on recent stays with us–but it was more than enough for one night. We even had an extra toothbrush that Damon could use.
Maybe we hadn’t expected overnight guests, but I was actually kind of excited about it. Anything, really, to break up the monotony of late-middle-age and all of its brainless television watching.
By the time we all sat down to eat–close to an hour and a half after the originally scheduled time–Chelsea seemed in good spirits. The tire situation hadn’t been a mood-killer, and she was fine with the idea of staying overnight. Damon, well, he seemed fine with whatever Chelsea wanted.
Damon seemed nice enough. My first impressions were that he was polite and soft-spoken. It was actually a refreshing change of pace from her last boyfriend, the arrogant Matthew who seemed to believe that he was at the center of the entire universe. Damon seemed like the inverse of him in almost every way.
“He’s kind of cute, right?” I whispered to Jack in the kitchen as we started bringing food out to the table.
“She didn’t get a boyfriend, she got herself a puppy-dog.” Jack wasn’t wrong, though I didn’t see it as a flaw like he did.
“So, Damon,” I asked at the table as food was being passed around. “I understand you’re a programmer, right? What sorts of, uh, things do you program?”
“He’s actually working for a major software developer right now,” Chelsea answered. “He’s helping out with new voice recognition software for cell phones.”
“That sounds very impressive,” I said. “But I was hoping to hear from Damon himself.”
“Oh, uh, sorry,” Chelsea said, blushing. Damon was blushing too.
“Pretty much what she said,” Damon added. “We’re, like, working on ways for people to open and operate entire applications without having to even touch their phones.”
I’ll admit to not being the most tech-savvy woman, so I’d have to take their word for this being an exciting thing. Jack, however, seemed unimpressed. He would never be rude about it, but I could just see it in his eyes. He wanted more men like our son Frank, or Ellie’s husband Ross–men who liked football, fixing cars, and beer. Men who would huddle around Jack at summer barbecues so they could talk about their latest home-renovation projects.
But I liked Damon. He reminded me of some of the men I used to date back when I was in college. Sure, Jack eventually won me over with his masculinity–but I had plenty of fun with the brainier boys too. Were I twenty-five years younger, I’d say Damon would’ve been to my tastes too.
Chelsea had the boy wrapped around her finger. ‘Puppy-dog’ had been an accurate assessment–the boy just seemed lost in the moments when he was left to his own devices.
“What do you like to do in your free time?” I asked in the awkward silence left when Chelsea excused herself to use the restroom.
“Oh, uh, I like to…uhm…read. And I do enjoy, uh, games, and…”
“Games?” Jack asked, his ears perking up. “What’s your sport? Football? Baseball?”
“Er, no. More like, uh, Final Fantasy…”
Jack looked at me like he needed help with the translation.
“Video games,” I said. “I think?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Damon said.
“Kathleen is fine,” I said.
Later, after we had made it through dinner and dessert, I shooed Chelsea away from helping me clean up–insisting that she and Damon go rest in the living room and I’d join them in a few minutes. Jack helped bring some dishes into the kitchen for me, but only so that he could groan further about how he didn’t think Damon was a great fit for his precious little girl.
Thing was, I doubted anyone would ever be a good fit. I kept it to myself and reminded him to be nice. He assured me that he would, though he probably wasn’t going to be able to do it without a beer or two. He was off to the basement for a little bit to catch up on sports scores and drinking.
After loading the dishwasher and putting away the leftovers, I figured I’d head out to the living room and entertain a little more–maybe even offer a nightcap. But as I neared the doorway into the living room, I heard the two of them talking from the couch. I paused, listening in. I didn’t want to eavesdrop too much–but I was curious to hear what their dynamic was like when it was just the two of them. Maybe he opened up more when it was just the two of them?
“...enough diapers until we get back home,” it sounded like Chelsea had said. I was sure that I had misheard her–because I think I’d have known if Chelsea had a baby back home who needed diapers.
“I know, but…I just don’t know if this is the place for that,” he replied, his voice just as sheepish as it was when he talked to Jack and I.
I decided I needed to listen a little longer. I wanted to know what they were talking about.
Three
“That’s the thing,” my daughter said. “It’s always going to be the place for that. Because you’re always going to be in diapers. You have to get used to it.”
I understood the words themselves, but I didn’t quite understand what she actually meant. There, she had said it again: diapers. Was she saying something else? Did the word ‘diapers’ have a new meaning that I just wasn’t hip enough to know about? Were diapers…drugs?
Or, alternatively, perhaps Chelsea meant exactly what she said. Maybe Damon…wore diapers?
My instinct was to assume that he needed them for medical reasons. But there was something about the tone of their conversation that suggested that this wasn’t the answer.
“Of course,” he said to her, almost sighing. “Whatever you think is best.”
“What about your diaper now? Is it wet?”
“Well…”
“Stand up. Let me check you.”
“But…”
“Stop whining, you little baby. It’ll just take a second.”
“But, uhm, your mother is in the kitchen and she could walk in at any second.”
“Then you better hurry up, baby.”
“Yes…alright.”
Chelsea cleared her throat, like she was signaling that she expected a specific response from him.
“Yes…” he said again. “...Mommy.”
Four
I quickly retreated back to the kitchen, where I needed to catch my breath. I still didn’t completely understand the nature of the conversation, but it had started to feel like something that was very much not my business. Some weird power dynamics? A sex thing? Bullying?
That last possibility had given me a little pause. I loved Chelsea dearly, but she had a reputation for being a little…much? I’d never say as much out loud, but the realization existed in the deep recesses of my heart. She was in the ‘cool-girl’ clique in high school, which was great for her self-esteem, though a headache for just about everyone else who ever had to deal with her. I thought college might have mellowed her out some, though I’d spied photos of her from sorority parties that proved otherwise.
I knew the girl was capable of love and compassion–it was just a harder side of her to see.
Bless that poor boy, I thought. I could only assume–hope–that he liked this brand of attention he was getting from Chelsea.
Speak of the devil: “Hey Mom.” Chelsea floated into the kitchen with a friendly grin on her face. “Just wanted to see if I could help you with anything.”
“N-no,” I stammered, suddenly feeling like I had a reason to be defensive. Don’t be silly. As far as I knew, Chelsea didn’t know I had been eavesdropping, and whatever that conversation had been about, it still wasn’t any of my business. I cleared my throat and stood up straight. “I was thinking about a cup of tea. Maybe a cocktail?”
“If you put a pot of water on the stove, I’ll have some tea,” Chelsea shrugged.
“Perfect. And Damon?”
“I’m sure he’d like some coffee or tea too, if you boil some water.”
There was a glint of mischief in Chelsea’s eyes. I had seen it before–usually when she was with her friends and they were entangled in gossip. I was curious, but I wasn’t about to call attention to it.
“What do you think of Damon?” she asked.
“He seems nice. Quiet.”
“Don’t let him fool you. Back home, he can be a real chatterbox.”
“You’re happy?” I asked. I worried that it’d feel like an abrupt change of pace in the conversation, but it seemed to fit in better than I expected.
“Oh yes,” she nodded.
“And is he happy?”
She laughed, shrugging. “You might need to ask him yourself. But he tells me that I'm the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”
“Goodness,” I said. It was all I could say, really.
“Right? Well, I’ll go tell him that we’re putting a pot on. Should I go and tell Daddy?”
“Don’t bother, sweetheart. He…has some things to tend to.”
Jack was probably a bottle deep at this point, and he was already checked out for the evening. Besides, I wanted some time with just Chelsea and Damon–a chance to get to see more of their dynamic at play without Jack groaning in my ear.
Chelsea had bounded off to the living room, and moments later she returned. “Damon would like some coffee too.”
“Is instant okay? Decaffeinated?”
“He’ll drink whatever you give him, Mom.”
“He’s the amenable type, huh?”
Chelsea shot me another mischievous little grin. “You’ve noticed, huh?”
“It’s not exactly subtle.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea–this is how he likes it.”
“But what about you?” I ask. “You don’t think you’d get bored with being the one making all the decisions?”
“I think we found a dynamic that works for us,” she replied nonchalantly as she pulled a tea bag from the drawer. “Right now, it’s working for us.”
I smiled and nodded. I was just going to have to accept that for the time being. I didn’t understand what I had overheard–but I didn’t have to.
Soon, the three of us were sipping on hot beverages in the living room. I tried to gently fold Damon into the conversation, but it was hard to get him to say much beyond a few words at a time. Not to mention the fact that my daughter seemed eager to speak on his behalf at almost every opportunity.
My eyes watched him carefully. I watched how he maneuvered his legs. I studied his pants for strange bulges. I listened for peculiar rustling noises. Sometimes I thought I could detect what I was looking for–but I might have only been seeing and hearing what I wanted to.
Jack trudged up the stairs from the basement at some point with a sleep look on his face. “I think I’m going to hit the hay,” he announced. “But tomorrow morning–first thing–I’m taking your car down to Chuck’s for a new tire. I already told him I’m coming.”
“Thank you so much, Daddy,” Chelsea cooed, springing from her seat and giving him a big hug and a peck on the cheek. Jack reciprocated the love, squeezing his little girl.
Jack was a gruff and stubborn man who had an infamously temperamental relationship with our other two children. But he always seemed to have a soft spot for Chelsea. In his eyes, the little princess could do no wrong. It was good for her. Bad for any boy who ever broke her heart.
Damon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, perhaps assessing the danger he could one day be in.
“Goodnight, Darren,” Jack said, releasing Chelsea from his grip to offer a hand in the direction of Damon. Despite getting Damon’s name wrong, it at least seemed nice that he was trying. Probably the work of two or three bottles of beer.
“Goodnight, sir,” Damon said, shaking Jack’s hand without correcting him.
“Damon,” Chelsea said to her father on her too-polite boyfriend’s behalf.
“Sure,” Jack shrugged. He looked over at me: “What do you think? Bed? Or are you staying up for a bit?”
Admittedly, it was a little past my usual bedtime. As much as I would’ve liked to stay up and spend more time with Chelsea and Damon, some cool bed sheets sounded pretty nice right about now.
“I suppose,” I said, allowing Jack to help me up from the couch. I hugged Chelsea good night, and went to just wave goodbye to Damon. However, at Chelsea’s nudging, Damon got up and gave me an awkward hug.
So close, I thought. If he was wearing a diaper, it was very close to me. I could’ve just reached down and…grabbed at it? Playfully swatted at it? It’d have been extremely inappropriate, of course, so I didn’t. But it was tempting.
Soon after, Jack was lightly snoring in the bed while I stared up at the ceiling. Diapers? What was that all about? I kept waiting for my body’s need for sleep to finally win over my consciousness, but every time I glanced at the clock, I noticed it was getting later and later while I was still asleep. 10:37. 11:14. 11: 39. 12:23. 1:30.
I heard something outside the bedroom door. A shuffling sound that was a little familiar to me. You don’t raise three children without learning to recognize the sound of someone sneaking down the hallway in the middle of the night. Maybe it was Chelsea using the bathroom or getting something to drink from the kitchen.
Or, maybe it was Damon?
I slowly slid out of bed, eased my feet into my slippers and grabbed my bathrobe–ready to find out for myself.
Five
In the dim light of the very-early hours of the house, I couldn’t make out who had just descended the steps, only that someone was creeping around carefully and slowly. I followed behind at a safe enough distance that I wouldn’t alert them with the sound of my feet creaking the old floorboards of our steps. I didn’t mind if they did know, at some point, that I had followed them–I just didn’t want to alarm them.
A light went on in the foyer. The jingle of car keys. I could hear the front door’s lock being unlatched before the door was opened and shut again. I quickly scurried down the steps and into the living room so I could watch out the window. I saw a dark shape outside rushing to Chelsea’s car, opening one of the back doors, and pulling out a bag. Then, they rushed back to the house. The door was opening again.
I took a deep breath and braced myself. I wasn’t scared, but I already knew that my presence was going to frighten whoever was coming through that door.
It was Damon. And, as expected, his face went pale when he saw me standing in the living room.
“M-Mrs…”
“Just Kathleen,” I reminded him.
“I…didn’t wake you, did I? I just had to get something from the, uh, car…”
“I was already awake, don’t worry about that.” I realized I needed an excuse for why I came downstairs. “I thought you were, uh, Chelsea. Just wanted to be sure everything is okay.”
“Oh, yeah,” he shrugged. “Just, you know, getting this.” He held up a black backpack that looked stuffed to the brink of breaking apart.
It’d have been easy enough to just let him go on his way without any further questions. But right now, I had him where I wanted him. I knew his type well enough to know that he wasn’t going to go anywhere until I gave him the word.
“I’m going to ask you a question, Damon. It might be an uncomfortable question, but I want you to just be honest with me, okay?”
“Uh…okay?”
“Is my daughter…bullying you? Is she making you do things that you don’t want to do?”
“Wh-what?”
“This diaper thing…”
“Oh…”
There was minimal light down here, but enough to see that his face was turning crimson in color. I saw his hand tighten on the strap of his bloated bookbag.
“I’m sure it’s none of my business. But I just want to be sure that you’re…good?”
He sighed. “Uhm…yeah. I’m good.”
He revealed a lot to me with that response. Yes, diapers were, in fact, happening. Yes, he was fine with whatever it was he and Chelsea were doing with them.
It was probably time to let him return to the spare bedroom and put him out of his memory.
But…no. I’m not done with him yet.
“You wear diapers?”
“Uhm…”
“You can tell me,” I said. “This conversation stays between you and me.”
“How did you know?” he asked.
“I overheard you and my daughter earlier. And…was that a ‘yes’ for wearing diapers?”
“Yes,” he says.
“All the time?”
“Most of the time.”
“You were wearing one during dinner tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Kathleen,” I repeat. “And, so, I assume you…use them?”
He nodded.
“And, just so that I’m clear, you do not have some sort of, uh, medical need for diapers?”
“No.”
I stayed quiet for a beat as I processed his answer. My initial reaction was one of disgust–of all the weird kinky things my daughter and her boyfriend could be into, the idea of it involving this young man going to the bathroom in his pants was a hard one to swallow.
“And you like this?” I asked.
“W-well…”
“Just a ‘yes’ or a ‘no,’ Damon.”
“Yes.”
The more I roll the idea of it around in my head, the less disgusting it seems. It’s not normal–not by any means. But it’s interesting. It’s…cute? My initial reaction, no doubt, came from years and years of having to be the only one to change diapers in my home. But the more the idea sits with me, the more it stirs up those old maternal feelings–the ones I thought I had put to rest after the arduous task of potty-training Chelsea back in the day.
I wondered if that was what Chelsea actually wanted–a baby of her own. Was the desire just manifesting itself in a strange way?
“You’re wearing a diaper now, right?” I asked.
He nodded, his cheeks still nice and rosy. Between the minimal amount of light and his baggy sweatpants, I couldn’t tell for myself. I’d have to accept whatever answer he gave me. He could’ve lied. If he did, or if he genuinely wasn’t wearing a diaper, I’d probably have just let him go.
Instead, he said: “Yes.”
So much for me letting him return to the spare bedroom.
“And have you used your diaper, Damon?”
“Uhm…” He probably doesn’t need to say anything else. His hesitation, and the way that he nervously bites at his bottom lip, suggests that he can’t just say ‘no.’
I knew I shouldn’t be toying with the boy like this. But I just can’t help myself. Suddenly, I’m a mommy again, and he’s a toddler, looking up at me with a guilty look on his face because he had an accident in his diaper instead of in the potty.
“I thought so,” I said. “What’s the damage? Just wet? I imagine I’d be pretty certain if you had a mess in your pants.”
“J-just wet…”
“But you do use your diaper for…other things?”
Another awkward pause–long enough to answer the question without him having to say anything.
“My my,” I said, shaking my head. “Chelsea must have her hands full with you.”
“She likes it,” he said, his voice low and soft.
“Does she? She likes changing your dirty diapers?”
“Mmhmm.” He almost sounds like an actual toddler now.
“So what is your plan here, Damon? Did you need to get your extra diapers out of the car?”
“Yes,” he said. “If your husband was going to take the car to the shop in the morning…”
“You didn’t want him to find your diaper bag in the back seat,” I said, finishing this thought for him.
He nodded.
“And then what? You were going to just go back to bed in a wet diaper?”
“Well Chelsea usually takes care of that, so I just figured that in the morning…”
“You can’t go to bed in a soggy diaper, Damon. You’ll get a diaper rash for sure. Have you ever had a diaper rash?”
“Y-yes…”
“Then you should know that they’re best avoided. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go back upstairs without your diaper being changed.”
“Oh,” he said, scratching his head again. He looked around. “Is there a bathroom down here I can use to change real quick?”
I laughed. “Don’t be silly. Do babies change their own diapers?”
His eyes grew large as he began to realize what I was suggesting. “Wait. Are you saying that you will change me?”
“I’ve changed many, many diapers, Damon. I’ve changed Chelsea’s diapers, for goodness sakes. You’ll be in good hands.”
There was conflict on his face. He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay.
“This can stay between you and me,” I said. “Chelsea doesn’t have to know about this–if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I wondered how Chelsea would feel about it if she knew. I genuinely had no clue. I certainly didn’t know, or expect, that she wanted to keep her boyfriend in diapers–and so I was beginning to think that there were lots of things about her that I didn’t know.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged.
Fair enough. What an awkward situation to be put in. Your mommy’s mommy asking to change your diaper?
I would just have to make the decision for him. “Come here, Damon. I’m going to change you.”
“But…”
“I won’t be taking no for an answer. Come in here. I’ll change you on the carpet.”
Truthfully, I wasn’t actually expecting him to approach me. I figured this would be the point when he’d make a break for it and jog back up the steps with his backpack full of spare diapers. It was a surprise, then, that he stepped forward and began walking towards me.
“Do you need your diapers changed, little boy?”
I’ve never talked like this to an adult before. And I don’t just mean that I’ve never talked to an adult like they were an infant–my tone is…domineering. Smug. Teasing. Condescending. This just isn’t who I am. Or, at least, it’s not who I’ve been in a very long time.
“Y-yes,” he mutters, his voice even softer now.
“Speak up,” I said. “Not too loud. But loud enough that I can hear you better.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes…I need my diaper changed.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “I…wet myself.”
“Tsk tsk. You’re always going to be in diapers, aren’t you?” It wasn’t until after I said it that I realized that this was almost, verbatim, what I heard Chelsea say to him in the living room earlier.
“I think so,” he said.
“Go ahead and pull your pants down for me,” I requested.
He complied with little hesitation, pushing his blue sweatpants down his thighs until they just dropped the rest of the way on their own.
I both did and didn’t know what to expect. I was going to see a diaper under his pants–I knew this. And, seeing as how he was an adult, I had assumed it would be an adult-sized diaper. What that looked like, however, I wasn’t as sure about. I suppose I pictured something generic and simple–like something a hospital might have to buy in bulk.
But what I saw was unlike anything I had imagined. It was light blue in color, with cartoon dinosaurs printed across it. It was thick. Absurdly thick. Excessively thick, I’d say. But also? Intentionally thick. Surely, the truly incontinent were not the true audience for such diapers–it was for people like Damon. The diaper enthusiasts.
It hung, shamefully, between his slightly spread thighs–the soaked padding wiggling to and fro.
How very pathetic. I almost said it aloud, but bit my tongue. Instead: “We need to get that changed right away. Lie down here on the floor for me.
He did as he was asked, flattening himself on the carpet. My heart was already pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I couldn’t even recall the last time something this interesting happened in my life.
“What do you have in your bag here?” I asked, beginning to unzip it.
“Just…supplies.”
He was right. Four or five more thick diapers–still folded and unsoiled. A package of baby wipes. A pacifier. And…a plastic bag, tightly tied shut with a firm lump contained within it. Upon closer inspection, it might have even been double-bagged.
“What’s this?” I asked, holding the bag up so he could see it.
“It’s, uhm, a dirty diaper.”
“Oh. And when did this happen?”
“On the way here,” he said.
“Before or after the incident with the flat tire?”
“A-after,” he said. “Well…during. She changed me while we waited for roadside assistance to show up.”
I held the plastic bag a little closer to my face, wondering if I could catch a whiff of what sort of accident he might have had. I was catching traces of some very specific odors.
“Oh my. Did someone go poopy in their diaper?”
His face turned beet-red again. “M-maybe…”
“Where did she change you?”
“Uhm…in the backseat.”
“On the side of the highway?”
He nodded.
I was imagining Jack and I as we stood in the kitchen and discussed how dinner was going to be served late because of the tire on Chelsea’s car. Meanwhile, Damon had been lying in the backseat of Chelsea’s car, legs spread as she wiped brown sludge away from his bottom like he was an infant while cars zoomed past them.
I was jealous that I hadn’t been there to see that.
“Sounds like a lot of fun,” I shrugged.
He said nothing.
I had delayed the inevitable for long enough–it was time to change the baby’s diaper. There are some things that you never forget how to do, and changing a diaper is one of them. As it turned out, it didn’t matter how big the baby–or the diaper–was, it was all the same. I peeled back each of the four tapes on the diaper, nervous that the loud sound of them being pulled from the plastic would wake someone upstairs. But as best as I could tell, nobody had been stirred from their slumber.
A shame. I was still kind of curious to see how Chelsea would’ve reacted to seeing me change her boyfriend.
I pulled the diaper open, finding the padding just as yellow as I expected to. But, too, there was his…willy. His dick. His penis.
I guess I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about other men’s members.
His cock. The base of it was shaved bare. As hairless as a baby, though he made up for it with the size of his manhood. It was fully engorged, bobbling in the air like a stiff wooden pole in the breeze.
“I…I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t help it.”
“What does Chelsea do with this thing when she changes you?”
“She, uhm…” Whatever it is, he can’t bring himself to say it aloud. I suspect I can guess–and, yeah, I probably wouldn’t want to say it to my partner’s mother either.
“Does she jerk you off?”
He nodded.
“That makes sense,” I shrug. “You probably can’t get this thing back into a diaper while it’s hard like this.”
“N-no, ma’am.”
“Kathleen,” I reminded him. “Though, if I’m your mommy’s mommy…” I laugh and shake my head. Whatever sexiness my current role holds, I don’t think him calling me ‘grandma’ helps any. “Kathleen is fine.”
He nodded. I was sure that he’d never call me Kathleen, but it wasn’t actually all that important.
“Did this happen when you were in the back of Chelsea’s car?” I asked. “Were you all stiff like this when she was wiping your poopy bum?”
He nodded again.
“So do you like being a dirty little baby then?”
Another nod.
“I’ve dealt with plenty of babies,” I said. “But you’re the first I’ve met who likes their diapers.”
He groaned–an embarrassed little noise somewhere between pleasure and complete humiliation.
My hand was suddenly wrapped around his cock and I was stroking it for him. I almost didn’t realize I was doing it at first, and when I did, I felt my own cheeks warming some. “This is pretty naughty, huh?”
He gurgled some incomprehensible baby babble at me, thrusting his midsection into the air to signal that he hoped I’d finish what I started.
I planned on it.
It was a nice cock. When my daughter wasn’t completely emasculating him with diapers and pacifiers, I hoped that she was riding this fine specimen. Were I a little bolder, I might have suggested that I climb aboard and ride him for a while. Instead, I just continued to tug at him until he began to spurt his white cream onto my hand.
“That’s a good boy,” I cooed. “Get it all out.”
Then, like I had flipped a switch, it was just like dealing with an infant. He was docile. Subdued. I was kneeling between his legs then, holding them up in the air as I wiped his skin clean and pulled the old diaper out from under him. Soon, the new diaper was slid beneath him, he was positioned atop it, and I fastened him into it. I even put his sweatpants back on him, covering up the fresh diaper.
“I’ll dispose of this,” I said, holding the bundled up wet diaper in my hands. I pointed to the messy diaper from the car ride over: “I’ll get rid of this for you too.”
“Th-thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. Now then. You ready for bed?”
“Yes,” he said, his face still plenty pink.
“Are you going to tell Chelsea about this?”
“No, ma’am. Er…Kathleen.”
“Thank you.”
I helped him to his feet, and handed him his bookbag. “Thank you, Damon. I enjoyed this.”
“M-me too…”
I sent him off with a swat to his bottom. And when he was gone, sat down on the couch and slid a hand into my damp panties.
Six
There was a tall stack of pancakes and some bacon waiting for Chelsea and Damon when they came downstairs the next morning. As if possessed by the scent of breakfast food, they floated from the steps all the way to the table, where they took their seats.
“Is Daddy here?” Chelsea asked.
“He took your car down to Chuck’s. I don’t know how long these things take, but I suspect it won’t take nearly as long as it takes for him and Chuck to finish bullshitting with each other. I hope you two weren’t in any rush to get home.”
“No,” Chelsea chirped. “No rush here!” It could be assumed that she was also answering on behalf of Damon.
Damon didn’t make eye contact with me throughout the morning–though this wasn’t all that strange, considering that he wasn’t great at it the night before either. I did my best to give him space and to not say anything that could hint at our little adventure in the early morning hours.
When breakfast was finished, Chelsea sent Damon back to the guest bedroom to make the bed and pack up the few things they brought with them. I wondered if that meant Damon’s diaper bag–I imagine she had changed his diaper again before they came down for breakfast.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” My heart began to beat a little faster.
“Did you…uhm…” She trailed off, seemed to consider her question a little, and tried again: “I know that Damon went out to the car late last night to get some stuff out of it. Did you, uhm, happen to run into him?”
I was hesitant to give much information without knowing what she knew first. “Why do you ask?”
She sighed. “Maybe I should just be a little more straightforward.”
“Maybe,” I nodded.
“Did you change Damon’s diaper last night?”
Her question seemed to skip a lot of the steps I expected. We didn’t have to talk about whether or not I knew about Damon’s diapers at all. We didn’t have to talk about whether or not Damon used his diapers. And, judging by the tone of her question, she already knew the answer and just wanted confirmation.
“I did.”
Chelsea smirked. “Well, thank you.”
“How did you know?”
“Mom, you should’ve seen my face when I checked his diaper this morning. I’ve gotten pretty good at diapering…but that application was perfect.”
“Did Damon tell you?”
“No,” she said. “But he didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t mean to step on any toes,” I shrugged. “But I wasn’t about to send a baby to bed in a wet diaper.”
“I really appreciate that, Mom.”
There was probably plenty more we could’ve said–but we didn’t have to. I knew all about her and Damon. I had changed Damon’s diaper. Chelsea knew, and didn’t seem to mind. What else was there to talk about?
Well, I supposed there was one more thing.
“You know, Chelsea, if you ever need a babysitter…”
Comments
What I’ve always loved about your writing is the little descriptors that trigger strong memories of experiences. “Brown sludge” hits waaaaaay different than just saying “the poop”.
John Doe
Yes, yes and yes. Stay alive on Patreon QH! We need more of this!
