Mary and Daphne #120 (Patreon)

I wish I were one of the people who dressed for the season rather than the weather. They always look so stylish. September happens, and they just pretend it’s not still hot outside even though it stays hot outside here until almost November. If I tried wearing jeans in this weather, I’d pass out.

“Anything you like,” Nana asked me as we window shopped.

“Yeah, but nothing I need.” And yes, I got Mary’s permission to spend more than a hundred dollars on this shopping trip. Or more accurately, Mary gave me some cash and told me to knock myself out as she ushered me out the door. She’s right and I do need to leave the house more, but I just don’t have anywhere to go. We don’t have any friends who don’t work except Nana. I don’t want to hang out with her every day, and I don’t think she wants to either. For one, it makes it less special when we do. For two, it would get boring. I guess I could go do more stuff on my own, but that gets boring too. I could use a routine though. I’m on repeat, this being my usual ennui.

“How about lunch then,” Nana suggested. I’m always down for lunch, even right after lunch. Mary told me once that my metabolism would slow down like everyone else’s, and I called her a bitch and made her take it back. Either that, or she could just tell she hurt my feelings and took it back on her own … May have called her that in my head though.

“You seem pensive,” Nana said to me once we were seated at our patio table. “Something bothering you?”

“No … yes. I dunno.”

“That would be a yes.”

“Mary and I got in a little spat this morning.”

“What about?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. What do you wanna order? Wanna split some appetizers?”

“Does it have anything to do with your outfit?”

“W-why? What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, but I see you brought that little backpack with you. Are you wearing your special …”

Ya know what? It was rude of her not to finish that sentence. And I’m not being defensive! You’re being defensive! … And stuff.

“Can you see it? She promised me she couldn’t see it.”

“No, I can’t see anything. Promise. It’s just I know what you keep in that bag.”

“I don’t even need the bag, but she said I had to bring it. O, correction, the magic eight ball said I had to bring it.”

“What?”

“Exactly! She …” Grrr. “She got this magic eight ball, and she’s been so friggin delighted with herself to shake the thing and tell me I have to do something or don’t get to or whatever. It’s just a joke, but … anyway.”

“That’s kind of mean of her.” I know, and I love her for it, also urgh!

“Sort of.” Dammit … “She only got the thing because …” Like I have any secrets left with Nana. “She got it because we were talking about how I like feeling not in control and how being subject to arbitrary decisions is as out of control as you can get, so she got that thing as a joke, but she’s just making it up and making me do whatever she wants me to anyway.”

Ya know how I know that she’s just making it up? For onesies, the ball is always taking her side. Always. For twosies, she won’t let me see it. She says it’s too complicated for submissive little girls and that it’s ‘off limits.’ I mean, what kinda bull … breathe deep breaths.

I’m not a little girl! I’m an adult! There’s no such thing as off limits (except for some of the things she’s told me I’m not allowed to touch or play with without her … dammit…).

“So are you mad about the ball or about her making stuff up?”

“Both and neither. The ball is funny. I’ll give her that.”

“So what did you two get in a tiff about?”

“I didn’t wanna wear one of these … underpants. Mary referred that question to The Oracle, as she calls it cuz she’s a smartmouth, and panties ‘weren’t in the cards.’ And I didn’t want to bring this bag along, but ‘the survey’ said I had to. She’s just making it up. Those phrases aren’t even in an eight ball.”

“I’m sorry,” Nana said.

“It’s fine. Sometimes we just get in little tiffs about things.” Kind of amazing it’s not happening more since it’s been almost two years with us spending more time together than in the previous four combined. We’re bound to get on each other’s nerves. I guess it’s a good thing it’s been over some pretty inconsequential things, mostly. I mean, even the underpants she makes me wear sometimes is a pretty inconsequential thing if I let it be.

“Not really fair to you, is it,” Nana said.

“What’s that?”

“You can probably only argue so much before you get in trouble for arguing.”

“Yeah … Sometimes I think you’ve been in our kind of relationship before.”

“Nope, but I’ve had little ones … Not that you’re …”

“I know.” Nana sees me not as a little, but as someone who needs a little extra help. This is what I’ve decided from the conversations I’ve had on the subject with Mary and a few with Nana. I don’t really understand it, but I don’t take offense anymore when she implies things like that.

“You don’t have to do what she says,” Nana reminded me.

“I know, but I like to. I like following her rules.” I’m a very good rule follower. Rewind the clock and you’ll find school counselors who told my parents how anxious I’d get when the kids around me weren’t following the rules. I got over that just in time to discover how much fun it is to ignore the rules, and yeah, I am selective in my rule following, but not all rules are created equal. There are rules one can ignore without upsetting the relational apple cart, and there are rules that are more fundamental, and sometimes those aren’t obvious unless the domme is staring at telling you to do or not something. She looked me right in the eye and told me what to wear this morning … and stuff. That means I have to. It’s not like the rule about spending or peanut butter. She told me directly.

And yes, I understand the irony that if I didn’t dislike some of what she told me to do it wouldn’t be fun in its own way. Except, um, it’s not fun. In any way. Um, really. Please believe me? Anyhoo …

“So you’ve said,” Nana replied. I caught a look as she unwrapped her silverware.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a face.” I’m good at reading faces.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be like that. You can say it.”

“It’s just that we’ve had this conversation a few times specifically about you’re … outfit, and as much as you say you don’t like it, I don’t see you putting a stop to it or toning it down. If anything, it’s more frequent.”

As if!

But also yes. Dammit …

“It’s because I’m not working; if I were working, she wouldn’t make me so often. And we’ve had a lot of conversations about it, a lot more than you know about.”

“I understand.”

“I set my boundaries. She respects them.”

“I know.”

“And anyway … it’s complicated.”

“I get that,” Nana said, “at least I think I do. I just meant that … maybe you like being made to do it even if, um, it doesn’t take much to, um, make you … anymore.”

“(Silence).”

“Sorry.”

“I … yes, kinda … But it’s not like I just gave in.” I made her work for it. Mary wanted me to start wearing the Spring 2019 line of incontinence wear, and she had to coerce me into it. I didn’t just cave like some kinky spelunker. She did things to me. Things that were only mostly fun … and stuff. Really.

“All I know is what I see from the outside looking in,” Nana said, “and I see that as much as you claim to hate wearing those, it never stops you from having fun when you are. It’s not like you’re creeping around self-consciously. I bet if you didn’t argue with Mary this morning, you wouldn’t even be bothered by it.”

“ … I’ve adjusted.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve overcome.”

“You have.”

“I adapted.”

“I’ve seen that.”

“… Besides, if anyone is weird about it, it’s you.”

“Why me,” she asked me.

“Because you act like it’s normal. It’s not normal! You should be all squicked out like the other ‘nillas.” That would be normal; I could use some normal in my life. Like, sorry, Mary, but I can’t wear those today because I’m going out with Nana and they squick her out, is a thing I’d say and that she’d respect.

“But I’m not bothered by it. I like the two of you. You’re fun and entertaining and sweet.”

“But …” I glanced down at my lap. “You know.”

“Doesn’t bother me. If I didn’t know, I’d probably never even realize. It’s not obvious, and I bet sometimes when you are I have no idea. As for those few times I helped you out, I worked at that respite camp when I was younger. I’ve dealt with adult diapers before. Trust me: yours are a lot easier to deal with than some of those.”

“O god.” I should’ve ordered soup so I could drown myself in the bowl.

“Sorry, but what do you want me to say? That it’s awful and I wish you two weren’t my neighbors? That’s just not true. I like you, and I’m glad you’re my neighbors.”

“But you didn’t hafta to offer to help,” I said maybe more quietly than I meant to. “You could like us and not offer to help.”

“Do you want me to stop helping?” I shook my head just ever so slightly. “We don’t have to talk about these things.”

“I like spending time with you, and it’s helpful sometimes to have someone to talk to about it. I can’t talk about it with my vanilla friends, and my non-vanilla friends don’t always get it.”

“I enjoy our time together. If you enjoy it and it helps you to talk through some things, that’s what neighbors are for. As for the other stuff, it’s just something you need from time to time. It’s not like I’m your babysitter. One friend helping another.”

“Do you help your other friends with that though?” Ha! Called her out.

“Daffy, if one of my friends ever needed that kind of help, you bet your butt I would.”

O gawd, she would! That’s when I realized it. She is such a nana. I mean, geez with the nana vibes, not that I ever went looking for them, but she just gives them off so darn much. “But if you don’t want me to…”

“No. I mean, thank you. I appreciate the help … when I need it. And the talks.”

“What are friends for?”

We paid the bill (my treat) and went back to her house. Mary was still working, so no reason to go home and just watch Netflix or something. Maybe if I stayed at Nana’s I’d get lucky, by which I mean she’d suggest baking cookies. Not that I don’t get to bake at home, but Mary has limited me to one pound of cookie dough every two weeks. I may – may, mind you – have thrown a tantrum over that which served as evidence – according to Mary and Mary only – that I lose my dang mind on the topic of sugar and need to adopt a healthier relationship with my drug of choice, but Mary says all sorts of crazy things while I’m across her lap. Who even listens during those little sessions except me because she makes me repeat stuff back to her before she lets me up off her lap. I mean, ugh, so cruel (delightfully so).

Or we could talk about gardening. I get to talk about gardening at home, too, but Mary did tell me recently, “Daffy, I love you and I’m happy you found something you’re passionate about, but one more word about what kind of dirt you’re going to buy and I’m gagging you for the rest of the day.” Threaten me with a good time why don’tcha, but point taken. I guess that can get a little tedious.

Or we could talk about her grandkids. Nana lights up when she talks about them. Talk about being in love. It’s so wonderful hearing people talk about the people they love. I’d be a great relationship therapist for couples who don’t need a relationship therapist.

But nope, none of those things.

“Daffy, do you need some help,” she asked me when we got inside.

O, so that’s our euphemism now. A heckuva lot better than Mary’s, ‘How’s your diaper holding up?’

Was I walking funny, or did she just ask me because we’d been out all morning? “Um, no. I’m good.”

“Hold it,” she said as I turned away from her and toward the sink to get a glass of water. “Are you saying that because it’s the truth or because you’re embarrassed?”

“Can it be true and I’m also embarrassed?” Haha! I’m funny! Be distracted by my humor dammit!

“You look a little …”

“So you can tell! Mary said …”

“I can tell now. Would you like some help? You don’t have to be embarrassed, but if you want to be embarrassed, you can do that, and I can still help.”

“It’s a pullup,” I said impulsively for some reason.

“Okay. Do you have some more of those?”

“Not with me.”

“You can run home and get one. Or you can change into underpants.”

“Mary said I can’t today.” Specifically, she said if I couldn’t keep my pullup dry until three o’clock then I wasn’t ready for underpants and would have to go back to diapers for the rest of the day. Specifically, that’s when I lost my trademark cool and got grumpy with her, and she tapped the eight ball like it and not she had decided.

“Here,” Nana said and took the bag Mary said I had to take everywhere with me today off my shoulder. “May I help you?”

“Um … mhmm. Please.”

“It’ll only take a minute. You’re okay.”

“I know.”

“We talked about this at lunch,” she said as she led me into the living room.

“I know. It’s just … hard still. Do you think we … could just not talk until after?”

“Yes, we can do that, sweetie.”

And that’s how it would’ve stayed except the apocalypse happened. Me on my back, pullup off, Nana helping, and one of the four horsemen appeared. No knock, no nothing. Just, “Hello?” Mary!

It would be awesome if Nana had a bigger house or if we’d opted for her to help me upstairs, but nope, one second I was being helped and the next second there was Mary, standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking into the living room. And here I didn’t think Mary could physically blush (cuz I’ve never seen it; sis such a domme), but she was tomato red

“I’m sorry,” she said and turned away.

“It’s not what it …”

“I’m just giving her a hand,” Nana said, cutting me off. “The two of you, honestly, looking like you’re not married or something.”

“I’ll, um, take over,” Mary said.

“We’re almost done,” Nana said. “There.” Damn was I glad to not just have my stuff out for the whole living room to see.

“Mary, I can explain,” I said with a touch of haste.

“She needed dry underpants,” Nana explained for me. “It’s not a big deal to me, but maybe the two of you would like a moment alone,” Nana said as she rolled up the wet goodnite and left the room.

“Is she mad at me,” Mary mouthed at me. I sat up and got on the couch, eager to hide what I was wearing yet somehow forgetting – because I’m a friggin genius – to put my shorts back on. Nothing to see here, folks, unless you wanna see a space cadet who forgot to put her shorts back on because she was too embarrassed to think straight.

“I don’t think she’s mad at you. I told her about our little spat this morning.”

“Is that the first time she’s …”

“No. More like the fourth. A couple times when you were sick or busy and I needed … help.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Look at me,” she said and put her hand under my chin, turning me face toward hers. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mhmm. I promise. I’m okay.”

“Good. I guess we should apologize to her. Get your shorts on and we’ll go home and talk about it.”

“It’s not like that. She doesn’t mind. She said so again today … a few times. But maybe you should say something since … it’s not like there were other options.”

“You couldn’t make it til three,” she asked me with a very sorry look on her face, like I was a puppy and she forgot she’d left me outside and it had rained on me.

“I could have, actually, but Nana … She noticed.”

“Did she make you,” Mary asked like she was ready to throw hands.

“No! It’s just that she’s a nana. She’s not gonna let me be … wet, so she offered and I just … let her. Please don’t be mad at us.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just worried she’s mad.”

“Maybe a little. She doesn’t like it that I get put in these positions where I don’t have a good choice. She doesn’t … understand that part of it.”

“Do you want to explain it to her?”

“Not really.”

“Should I just go? I didn’t mean to walk in and cause a problem. I just saw the car was back and thought I’d come over.”

“Suddenly feels like we were doing something bad even though we weren’t.”

“Mae,” Mary called out but not very loudly. Nana came back. “Thank you for helping her.”

“I’m happy to.”

“And sorry for barging in.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure that was probably a shock.”

“Are you okay with what just happened?”

“I’ve told you before,” Nana reminded her, “that if you send her over in a diaper and don’t let her change herself, either I’m going to do it or I’m going to send her home.”

“It was a pullup,” I said because the voice in my head that should’ve told me to shut up was on a coffee break or something. Not that anyone heard me.

“I’m okay with it if you two are,” Mary said.

“And so am I.” They both looked at me.

“Yes, if you’re gonna make me wear ‘em.”

“I won’t make you wear them,” Nana said pointedly.

Mary? She just said, “Okay, so we’re all okay.”

“Meanie,” I said under my breath, except I’m not good at talking under my breath.

“I know, sweetie,” Mary said and put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a kiss on the temple.

“Get rid of the eight ball.”

She tilted her head back and looked me in the eye for a second. “Okay,” she said and kissed me again. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“Just trying to keep things interesting.”

“I know.”

“And hand me my shorts.” Because reasons.