Because You Asked for It - Chapter 10 (Patreon)

Chapter 10. Kate

“This isn’t a big deal,” I reminded Jordy, or tried to remind him. “It’s a medical supply store. We’re probably their fiftieth customer today.” I was trying very hard to be patient, but he was shuffling toward the entrance like he was dragging a steel ball from his ankle. I was surprised, really, because he’d been wearing in public before. What did it matter if a sales clerk at a medical supply store knew he needed pull-ups. Still, this was his thing, so while I was insisting we go, I wasn’t going to be short tempered with him for being nervous even if part of me did want to propel him across the parking lot with swat or five to his butt, mostly for fun.

The store was remarkably generic inside. There wasn’t much on the shelves, and I assumed there was more in the back, with everything our front mostly as show models. It could have been any store, really. Just swap out the shelves and bring in mattresses, and you’d have had a mattress store. Or a carpet and tile store. Or really any place that just needed a lot of floor space and short, commercial carpeting. A clerk approached us almost as soon as we were in the door.

“Hi, I’m Melinda. Can I help you two find something,” she said. She was wearing scrubs, which I guessed was just a uniform. She was around 50 years old, with greying, very straight hair running past her shoulders and understanding eyes. I wonder if she practiced. I looked at Jordan for him to respond. We were there for him, after all. He looked back at me. I really didn’t want to be responsible for this. In future, we’d be ordering stuff online, but he needed pull-ups for the trainer on Wednesday (ha! Training pants for seeing the trainer), and a few other things. In retrospect, we could have primed what we need it didn’t occur to me that day.

When neither of us said anything, Melinda said more quietly, “Is it something maybe a little embarrassing? Please don’t be embarrassed. I’m a professional.” She sounded very sweet and caring, but the smartass in me wanted to respond, “You’re wearing scrubs – of course you’re a professional!” I exhaled audibly in mild irritation at Jordan.

“C’mon, Jordy, don’t be like that,” I said, trying to match Melinda’s sugary tone. I put my hand on his back and rubbed it slightly.

“We’re here for …” he started to say, “I … we need some adult pull-ups.” Melinda smiled, especially with her eyes. I deliberately did not roll my own eyes at Jordan. If this was how he was telling a medical store clerk, I could only imagine how he’d tell people we actually knew

“Right this way,” she said. We followed her to the back corner where there were two shelves of incontinence products, one of disposable and one of reusables. The reusables intrigued me if only because I didn’t love the idea of all the garbage Jordy would be producing.

“Can you tell me more about your problem,” Melinda asked.

“Actually,” Jordy said, “I see what I need right there.” He picked a package of Abena pull-ups off the shelf.

“Oh, good choice,” Melinda said, “I assumed you were new at this.”

“Why would you think that,” I asked without thinking.

“Because most people go straight for the Depends, or if they’ve tried those than to the cheapest brand they haven’t tried. I’m not judging, but I swear, it’s like they think the problem will go away if they just barely acknowledge it exists. Do you need anything else?”

“Well,” Jordan said, feeling a little more confident now that he’d been complimented on his taste in training pants and good sense to deal with the problem intelligently, “I guess I do need some other supplies.” We got a basket, and into it went wipes, a medicated rash cream, a pad for the couch, two waterproof bags for transporting wet things, some disposal sacks, some nytril gloves, and a spray-on cleaner.

I checked out while Jordan kept browsing. Once he’d settled down, he seemed to really enjoy looking through all the packages they had. As Melinda scanned the items, she said quietly to me, “The pull-ups are just a sometimes thing, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean,” I asked.

“Well,” she half-smiled, almost apologetically, at the things she was now bagging for me. “The gloves, the spray, the rash cream. That’s not stuff people who can get by with pull-ups often buy. Is the problem maybe a little more serious than that?”

I furrowed by brow. “Is that important right now?” What business was that of hers?

“I just meant we do sell diapers, and we can order almost anything.”

“Oh. Sorry. He gets what he needs online. Today was just one of those days. Unless you’re less expensive than online.”

“We would be if he were ordering some of the more institutional brands, but if he’s ordering Abena than he’s probably getting it for less than we could sell it.”

“Well, we’ll keep you guys in mind in the future. Thanks for your help today.”

Forty-five minutes later I we each had three pairs of pants and two pairs of shorts for Jordan to try on. As we headed toward the dressing room, I suggested, “How ‘bout I go in with you to make sure everything is as discrete as you think it is?”

“Okay.” I was going to insist, for his sake, but I suppose he’d figured out he wasn’t quite as sneaky as he thought he was when told him I could sometimes tell when he was wearing in the past. I ushered Jordy into a dressing stall at the very end that was big enough for the two of us, realizing that while it was common for my friends and I to try things on together, this was probably his first time trying on clothes with someone watching since before he was ten years old.

“What do you want to try first,” I asked him.

“The dress pants.” I’d insisted he get one pair. He hardly ever had need of dress clothes, but you never know when you might need some. I reminded myself to keep an eye on the sales and get him a suit as a present the next time there was a decent discount.

Dress pants are like yoga pants: they do not lie. I watched him pull the slacks on, and he had to make a purposeful effort to pull them over his diaper. He buttoned and zipped them. “Well,” he asked.

“You need the bigger size. Here.” I turned him sideways to the mirror to show him not the bulge in the back but the one in the front.

“Oh,” he said. “That is pretty obvious. 

“How do they feel in the waist?”

“A tad snug.” I lifted his shirt and noted the creases just below the waist and running toward his zipper.

“I think you need pleats, too.”

“Not really in fashion,” Jordan told me. I was surprised he had any idea what was in fashion. I wouldn’t call him slovenly. There had even been a period when he’d made a point of dressing nicely, and it showed in our bank account. Then for some reason he’d gotten over that, and it was rare to see him leaving for work in anything but a pollo shirt, untucked. 

The jeans looked fine. They were baggy compared to the popular style of the moment, but not so much they looked inappropriate. They just made Jordy look like someone who prioritized comfort over style. He needed the bigger size in the khakis and shorts, too.

“Are you wet,” I whispered as he was sliding down the shorts. He blushed.

“A little.”

“Do you need a change?”

“No,” he said like a deer caught in the headlights who’d been asked an uncomfortable question. “They can hold more.” Okay. How would I know?

“Just looks a little saggy. Sorry. I’ll go find the bigger size in those two pair just to be sure. Can you chill here?”

“Of course I can. And thank you.” I smiled at him as I discretely slipped out the door. I don’t know why I asked him if he could stay there. Of course he could.

Once we had pants that fit (two pair of each, one to wear and one to keep in his emergency bag in case of leaks), I took him back to the suit department to have them pants hemmed. This time I stayed in chair behind the platform while the salesperson marked the pants.

Jordan came out of the dressing room shoeless and slipped his feet into the size-15 clodhoppers the store kept here for the purpose, and he got onto the platform.

“How would you like them finished,” the salesperson asked.

“Plain bottom.”

“And the break?”

“Medium.” The salesperson marked the cuff the fold of the cuff and the backs of his thighs.

Before either of us could stop it, the salesperson had straightened up and put three fingers into the waistband. “How does it feel …” He paused for just a moment before recovering himself. “… in the waist?”

From my seat, I could see Jordan’s crimson face in the mirror. “Fine,” was all he said. One pair down, five more to go. Poor Jordy, just a smidge too short to even buy jeans without needing them hemmed.

“Sorry,” I apologized after we had paid for everything. 

“They usually ask before they put their hands in there,” he grumped.

“I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

By the time the day was over, after we’d made love, Jordan seemed largely unaffected by the events of the day. It started with his spanking, it ended with him getting a bunch of new things, though I wouldn’t call them presents. He seemed happy just that I wasn’t sleeping in the other room, but I did remind him there’d be no wetting in bed until his new things arrived.