Mary and Daphne #21 (Patreon)

“Daffy!”

“Come in,” I called downstairs. That was Nana. “I’m upstairs!” We’d gotten even closer, to the point she didn’t knock and I didn’t feel the need to meet her at the door. I wasn’t expecting her.

“What are you doing up here,” she laughed when she saw the bed. A large portion of my closet was laid out on it.

“Trying to pick an outfit for tonight. It’s our anniversary.”

“Congratulations! How many is it?”

“Our first.”

“I didn’t realize you two were still newlyweds.” Understandable, since we’ve been living together for four years. We’re out and proud and have the tee shirts and pins (and NSFW photos) to prove it, but you try moving in next to an old lady. We wanted to figure out just how big a problem she’d be, which was all my nervousness because I had a not so good experience with neighbors once. They genuinely believed the best way to show they loved me was with ... well, never mind. Better to have someone detest you because at least they’ll leave you the hell alone. And to our very happy pleasure, we moved in next door to Nana, who had no issue with us. It didn’t even seem to register with her. She was almost as nonplussed when she found out about our kinky lifestyle.

“We’re not doing anything special tonight since it’s a Wednesday. We’re going out Saturday. I just wanna look special for her when she gets home.”

“I can see you’ve narrowed it down to only fifteen choices,” she said while looking at everything I’d gotten out, “and that’s not counting mixing and matching.”

“I think a dress. I hardly ever wear them. Not so special if I’m just wearing my usual skirts or something.”

“You’re pretty in dresses.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve seen you in them a couple times.”

“I was thinking the black one, but maybe that’s better for Saturday.” This is why I’m not a big fan of clothes. Who wants to make so many decisions? Yoga pants, shorts, cammies, tees, jeans when I have to, skirts - it’s enough work as is. I’d rather put my energy elsewhere.

“What about this,” Nana asked as she took a sundress out of my closet.

“I do like that, but I was thinking something a little more ...” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence with Nana.

“Sexy?”

Can you believe Nana said that? She made me blush a little. Nana’s aren’t supposed to say stuff like that. I guess she picked up on the blush. She put the sundress away and looked at the choices I had on the bed.

“I think the red or the blue,” she said.

“The red definitely sends a message,” I said without thinking.

“What shoes will you wear with it? Or does Mary like you in your cute little bare feet?”

“Nana!”

“I’m only teasing. You need heels with a dress like this, obviously.”

Well, I guess most women would but, “I don’t own any.”

“Really? Why not?”

“They hurt, and I never was good at walking in them. Plus I don’t like being taller.”

“Why’s that?” The truth? Because I like being shorter than Mary. Not all the time (like when she puts stuff on the top shelf) but most of the time. And they do hurt, and I never put any effort into getting good at walking in them, much to my mother’s insanity, because believe or not, I don’t like pain for its own sake. Why get used to something that hurts purely because other people think you should? And I was once compared to a five-minute-old gazelle while wearing flats. Why tempt fate?

The lie? “There’s less oxygen up there.” I’m delightfully quirky, see?

“You are such a silly goose.” Well, that’s the other way of seeing me. It’s a pretty popular way. “Wanna try it on?”

“Nah. It fits. She won’t be home for a few hours,” I said and started putting everything away. “Can I get you something?”

“Glass of water? Just thought I’d come by and see what you were up. Gets lonely being an old woman sometimes. All your friends do is go to the doctor.” She really shouldn’t talk like that. No ways she’s over seventy. I guess everyone has a thing they’re unhappy about though and uses it for self-deprecating humor. Not sure what mine is, but I’m no stranger to jokes at my own expense. Water glasses in hand, we went outside to the patio.

“With all the free time you have right now, you should do some gardening back here,” she said. We never did anything with the beds except clean them out. What the last owner had planted, we just let be.

“I don’t know the first thing about that.”

“You dig a hole, plant something, and wait. Anybody can do it.”

“I killed every houseplant I ever bought.”

“Let me teach you then. It’s the time of year for it, and I’m almost out of garden to garden. I’d love to have more beds to play with.”

“Mary would be upset if you were over here working.”

“It’s not work if you like doing it. It’s a hobby. We could plant an herb garden, maybe some peppers and some ornamentals. You guys have great sun back back here. Let me show you.” She set her glass down and led me to the raised bed against the fence. “See,” she said, “you get full sun in the morning and partial in the afternoon. That’s perfect for lots of things; things won’t bake as much in the summer. And these hedges – why have hedges when you got a fence? You could have stuff that flowers. Morning glories would climb up the fence or big irises or lilies.”

“The hedges are kinda boring. Lot of work to take them out, though, right?” I don’t like hard work. I’m not made for manual labor. It’s not a snob thing. I just don’t like it. Plus I’m so very delicate. Lots of people who aren’t snobs are delicate.

“You don’t have to do it all at once. And you could leave the hedges in and just plant in front of them. It would still cover them a little and add some color.

“Is our dirt good?” I only asked because it sounded like something someone who wasn’t totally ignorant of how not to kill living things would ask. I don’t even know what it means to have good dirt.

“Same as mine. A little fresh soil on top wouldn’t hurt. I’ll take you to the garden store anytime you want.” She started walking toward the patio and I followed.

“I wouldn’t mind growing stuff we could eat,” I said as I crossed the patio to the sofa I’d been sitting on.

“You okay there, Daffy?”

“Fine,” I answered quickly and suspiciously and sat my diapered butt down in a hurry.

“You’re walking like ... O.” It would have been very courteous of her to at least look as embarrassed as I’m sure I did. Avoiding her gaze only brought the situation into sharper focus: I looked down and saw the shorts I was wearing made what was under them very obvious when I sat. I definitely had something between my thighs, and it definitely looked the same as when my nephew was wearing the same thing when it was in the same condition, back when that’s what we wore.

I tried to keep going like everything was normal. I mean, ha! everything’s normal, don’t look over here. Nothing to see, folks. Isn’t that the best way to get other people to stop paying attention to something, if you don’t make a big deal out of it?

“So how much room do you need to grow...” I started to say. I figured I’d pick a random vegetable when I got the end of the sentence, but I didn’t get the chance.

“Daffy, is that ... Honey, are ...” Eager to discuss the many varieties of lettuce? I sure was! “Are ... Is that different from what I saw you wearing before?”

“Yes,” I said, still trying to put on a mask of nonchalance. Little ol’ Daphne. Not a care in the world. “So what could...”

“Is it ... Would you like a minute?”

“Huh?”

“To, uh ... I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said as she finally broke into a nervous chuckle, “I don’t mean to embarrass you. I guess I’m not that good at that sometimes; just caught me off guard is all,” she rambled. “All a little different to me, but whatever makes you two happy.”

“It’s okay?” I said. Or asked. Back to gardening, please! “So could we grow...”

“Would you like a minute to change? I mean, you are,” she paused and sort of made a gesture with her shoulders, “aren’t you?”

Well, I know Nana wasn’t trying to embarrass me. Mary was trying to embarrass me. And it was working a lot more right then than it had before Nana had noticed. I didn’t so much worry about it when she came in because I couldn’t quite tell when I put shorts on and they seemed to muffle the crinkle sound. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to the sound and didn’t notice how much puffier the front of my shorts were than when Mary helped me sit up and handed me my shorts at 8:15.

“Uh, yeah,” I said because the only thing more embarrassing at that point would’ve been getting caught in an obvious lie like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar (boy, did Mary not find that cute, and no, I learned, it didn’t matter if I hadn’t had one yet; she said to wait for dinner. Anyway...).

“Well, I’ll wait out here. And don’t you feel embarrassed. It doesn’t bother me one bit. Mary must have her reasons.” I suspected she was telling the truth about it not bothering her, but she was being so chipper about it that she did seem like she was covering being embarrassed.

And Nana takes my side a lot, or at least doesn’t actively take Mary’s, but she does make me feel like her little granddaughter the way she sometimes says ‘Mary must have her reasons.’ I have reasons; they take a back seat to Mary’s. And I signed up for it, but it would be nice if others weren’t so quick to take Mary’s reasons over mine. I mean, I guess that’s a way of accepting us for who we are and the lifestyle we chose, but it’d still be nice for people not to default to Mary’s side.

“I’m fine,” I said, hoping to go back to talking about radicchio. And what is butter lettuce anyway? Is that like a butter face? ‘The chicken was fine, but her lettuce ...’ Amiright? Anyone? Please?

“No, go on. I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

“I, um...” Hoo boy, this was getting awkward. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Daffy, go change.” O. Nana gives orders now. That’s new. She still didn’t seem bothered, and now she didn’t seem embarrassed. She seemed like my grandma telling me to go do something. Gently still, but not a friendly suggestion anymore. You wouldn’t think something so captivating would be at the bottom of my water glass unless you saw me staring into it so I wouldn’t have to look at her.

“I, um, can’t.”

O goody! Now Nana looked embarrassed again, at least when I peeked and put my eyes back down. Fascinating stuff, ice. She sat back in her chair and seemed to think for a moment. On my side of the patio, I was thinking about running away and living with circus folk.

“You mean you don’t know how,” Nana asked. Which would be a ridiculous question to ask of an adult, unless you ran through the other possibilities in your head and realized it was the least ridiculous.

“I know how.” Though I’d never actually done it. Mary lets me take pull-ups on and off, but she’s the only one who’s ever diapered me. And we were will at the point with all this that I could count how many times she had: seven.

“Then go do it, silly.”

“It’s ... fine. Really. Could we ...”

“Enough of this nonsense, Daphne Ann. It is not fine. I raised three children and have three grandchildren and I can spot a wet diaper waddle when I see one. You must be soaked. Go change your pants.”

Could we please go back to talking about gardening, and then I could borrow a shovel and dig a hole and hide in it? The last thing I wanted to do was tell Nana to mind her own business; I don’t ever want to say anything cross to her even if that’s what it takes to get my point across. She’s too nice and well-meaning for that, and I’m too nice for it. Plus Mary would make my butt live to regret it. If Nana wasn’t going to let it drop, I had to tell the truth.

“I’m not allowed to do it.”

Well, my attempt to not make Nana angry didn’t work, at least going by her face. And I was fine, really. I was wet, but I wasn’t super wet. I didn’t feel that wet. These things just swell a lot. Mary said I could take it off at 3:30. I was doing as I was told (which I’m very good at –  really!). So even if Nana was mad at me or just grossed out, I wouldn’t be in trouble with Mary.

I didn’t know what to say. Nana was squirming like she wanted to jump up and tell me off or something, and then she did. Except instead of shouting at me to go change or else, she took out her phone while I sat there feeling suddenly invisible.

“Mary? I’m over at your house ... No, Daphne’s fine. Well, no, she not fine. How could leave her in a wet diaper and not let her change? ... I’m surprised at you ... I don’t care how absorbent they are ... No, she didn’t ask me to call ...”

I bit down on my bottom lip hard. Yeah, it was super humiliating to hear myself being talked about like that, but Mary was getting yelled at. Mary was the one in trouble. Mary! It was just too funny. Tables all turned, world on its head. Super fun to hear anyone tell Mary off for once.

“I’m her nana, Mary, If I knew your middle name you can bet I’d be using it right now ... She’s gonna get a rash! ... Rash cream isn’t a fail safe, Mary. Believe me, I’ve tended to plenty of diaper rashes. And what if she needs to do a number two?”

Well, that ended any fun I was having. Fun was an armadillo walking across the road, and that comment was a rundown old truck sending it skittering across the blacktop.

“Well I just don’t accept that. ... She may be a grown woman, but clearly she needs a little looking after sometimes like we talked about. It makes me very happy to do it, but I have to actually do it when I do.”

And an even bigger, even more rundown, even older truck fell from the sky and landed on my armadillo of fun. And they had a conversation about me and that’s the conclusion Nana reached (or Mary told her to reach)? The monologue, from where I sat, continued.

“Yes, we did talk about that, but ... I do understand that you’re in charge ... I do. I’m not questioning whether it’s a fair punishment or reminder or whatever. That’s up to you ... Mary, I’m happy to check in on her during the day for you and have her at my home, but I’m going to have to insist ...”

And the truck caused a fault line to open up and my armadillo fell deep into the earth.

“No ... No ... Mary, you put someone in a diaper, they’re gonna need to be changed ... You’re not here right now to be the decider, though ... Well, what time did you diaper her? ... Until 3:30?! ... Well, I’m sorry. I respect the two of you and want to support you, but you can’t leave her in a wet diaper this long. I’m putting my foot down here. Either you let her do it, or I’ll do it for her.”

And my armadillo landed in the molten core of the Earth and caused volcanoes all around the world to go “Phtph” in a pathetic little lava fart of what was so briefly my armadillo of fun. If only I could’ve joined it.

“Alright ... That’s fair. I’m sorry to come off so aggressive, but I’m only thinking of her best interest, just like I said I would and because I care about her and the two of you. Alright. ...Bye. And happy anniversary ... Bye bye. She wants to talk to you,” Nana said and handed me her phone. Amazing I even managed to follow the conversation given how loud the blood rushing through my ears was. For the record, I wasn’t trembling when I took the phone. It was just an aftershock of the armadillo earthquake.

“Hi, Mary. Happy anniversary.” Just throwing that out there by way of reminder.

“Happy anniversary, Daffy. Is Nana telling the truth about you not asking her to call me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess her heart is in the right place. How’d she find out anyway?”

“I, um, well...” I could bring myself to use the word ‘waddle.’ “They, uh, swell.” Ya know what? ‘Swell’ is a very ugly word too. Hard to pick which was worse.

“How wet are you? Because I think those will last eight hours with the soaker pad I put in there.”

“Um, more than a little?”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“Well, no. I mean, a tiny bit ...”

“I’m sorry, Daffy. I thought they last longer. Sandy told me they did, but maybe with your skin that’s just too long. Why didn’t you say anything when I left you in one yesterday, honey?”

“I thought that was the point.” I mean, sometimes they’re a punishment and sometimes a reminder (other categories have yet to become clear; I continue to work on the taxonomy), and I thought them getting uncomfortable sometimes was the whole point. Complaining about it would be like complaining about a spanking hurting.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault. When you’re not in trouble, I don’t mean for your bottom to be uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay.” I mean, what else was I supposed to say? “So I can go change?”

“Well, it’s close to 3:30, and you know I don’t like going back on things like this, so it’s up to you.”

I don’t hear that often in stuff like this. My career and going back to school were up to me. Anything kink related was rarely up to me short of a hard limit or red light.

Mary continued, “You can wait until 3:30 or your Nana can change you. She’s okay with you deciding.” Well, fuck. What a crappy set of options.

“I have to go, but I’ll be home by five. I really am sorry. Shower good, and I’ll show you just how sorry, baby.”

“Bye. Drive safe.”

“Bye bye, kiddo.”

And silence. Like the world was having a moment of silence for my armadillo of fun. May he rest in carapieces. (See what I did there? Don’t you wish you’d thought of it first?)

And unfortunately, neither I nor Nana had ceased to exist, so I handed her phone back to her, and she sat down next to me on the couch. Usually Mary needs to paddle the stuffing out of me to make me so quiet. Nana was looking at me expectantly, or I figured she was since I couldn’t look at her. Part of me wanted to thank her for sticking up for me. Part of me was irritated she was interfering.

“Daffy,” Nana said quietly as she put a hand on my thigh, “may I please help you?”

What a loaded way to ask the question. Part of me wanted to take the diaper off and better yet never wear one again. Part of me wanted to be Mary’s good girl and just do as she told me. A teeny part of me wanted to let her help so I’d get sort of both of those things.

It was kinda clammy, but I was okay waiting until 3:30. It wouldn’t kill me. Wasn’t it more important that I stick to my commitment and show Mary? It sounded like she was gonna change the rule tomorrow, so it wasn’t the worst thing waiting.

My mouth was so dry. It felt sticky when I tried to answer. “Thank you for caring so much, but no, thank you. I’ll wait.”

Nana sat a little more upward and looked I guess at the same spot I was staring at. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Daffy,” she said again and put her arm around my shoulder, “We’re both women ... And I had some issues after I had my third for a while. Please let me help. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

Well, humiliated was a better word, but that wasn’t the whole issue. Though I couldn’t imagine letting Nana do that. So far, I couldn’t imagine it being anybody but Mary and maybe Sandy if Mary made me. I shook my head. It was hard to talk. She sighed and rubbed my shoulder. “Will you tell me why,” she asked.

“I want to ...” I had to swallow. My tongue stuck in my throat. I needed some water and took a drink. “I wanna obey Mary.”

“You won’t disappoint her because she gave you permission, sweetie. You would be obeying her, and you must be so uncomfortable.”

Well, yes and no. I felt more sweaty down there than anything else. And there are degrees of obeying sometimes. Wouldn’t I be obeying more if I did what she told me to do when she left the house to go to work?

“But,” I tried to say again, “That’s how I show her I love her.”

Nana sighed again, probably not able to understand that or maybe even thinking there was something wrong with me or us. It’s not like I was afraid Mary would stop loving me or be hugely disappointed. It’s just, well, I promised to obey, and she promised to take care of me always, and it’s important that we both do that. Even when I disagree, I obey (or try to; no one’s perfect). Even when she’s tired, Mary takes care of me (even if she’s a bit off the mark sometimes; ditto). We both try and don’t always get it right, but we try.

And no, being bratty isn’t the same as disobeying. That’s a whole other thing, so nyah.

I didn’t want to explain all that to her. I shouldn’t have to explain our lifestyle to anyone any more than I need to explain my being gay to anyone. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me because I could just about guarantee that I’d just cry if she did.

I just needed Nana to accept it. I’m glad she stood up for me; well, not exactly glad, but she did it for the right reasons. That made me feel a little more fuzzy about her. She said some things that stung a little, but not because she said them and definitely not on purpose.

“I’m sorry, Daffy,” she said instead and pulled me closer. “I should‘ve minded my own business, I suppose. I only did it because I thought it was best for you. That’s a nana’s job. I worry about you like you’re one of my own sometimes.”

Aww, dammit. She had to go and say that. Just friggin had to. “Me, too,” I said and sounded like I was about to get weepy, which I was.

“O, honey, c’mere.” She pulled me close so I was leaning on her and was patting my shoulder and rubbing my arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t judge you for anything. I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.”

How can I be expected to not get weepy when the people I care about say stuff like that to me? She kept rubbing my arm, and I don’t even notice where her hand was headed until I felt the pat and heard the little thwump.

“O. You’re still all dry back here. I guess you can wait if you’re not too uncomfortable.”

Fuck my life. We could’ve avoided the last seven minutes and me coming this close to having my vanilla neighbor change my diaper if I had just let her check it first? Fucking really?

And if she weren’t my Nana I’d throw a shit fit about her touching my butt.

But she is my Nana. Guess it’s part of the territory.