Mary and Daphen #135 (Patreon)

“Hhh,” I may have gasped when Mary snuck up behind me. Or, as she would put it, walked across the room innocently because she needed to get to the other side of it.

“Why are you so nervous,” she asked me. I could tell by her why-is-Daphne-being-weird-again face that she had verbalized the more polite version of her question.

“I’m not. I’m just … jittery. Too much coffee or something.” I could see her face shift into its why-is-Daphne-always-weird look.

“We don’t drink coffee.”

“Exactly,” I tried to say funnily, “That sip I had way back when I decided I don’t like coffee is still with me.”

“C’mere,” she said.

“No, you come here.” Scoff – she rolled her eyes at me. But she came over and put her hands on my shoulders. I like them there. Big fan.

“Are you nervous because it’s an adult baby coming over or because it’s a man?”

“Why would I be nervous because he’s an adult baby? There’s nothing … I’m not. I just wanna … I don’t know.”

“Do you want to stay upstairs while they’re here? You can if you want.”

“I might go upstairs. We’ll see.”

“Everything is fine,” Mary said while smiling her everything-is-fine smile at me. It can be very reassuring. “We’re just going to have a visit with Sandy while he plays with his toys. That’s all. Be nervous if you wanna be, but you don’t have to.”

“Am I dressed okay?”

“You’re fine. They didn’t want any special outfits.” The doorbell rang. I didn’t jump. Really. So good on me for that.

If this were a way to introduce me to ABDL, it was overly elaborate. I didn’t suspect that (anymore). I thought it was possible, though, that Mary would try to use this as an opportunity for that. She has a misdemeanor record of hijacking other people’s scenes for her (nefarious) purposes, and I really hoped she wouldn’t do that. It’s very poor kink etiquette. I’m not sure if she always means to, and heck, we haven’t had a chance to do any scenes in almost two years, but I really don’t like doing that. It’s not fair to the people whose scene it is. I mean, it’s flattering that she just can’t help herself around me, but it’s still bad form. I’m all about good form … and stuff.

“You coming,” Mary asked me. She was holding my hand. She likes holding hands, and so do I. How is holding hands so darn special? We held hands all the way to our front door, and I glanced over my shoulder into our living room and wished I’d cleaned up a little more for company.

I about did a double take when I saw Sandy. She tends to be very put together even for casual things. Makeup, stylish clothes, hair done. Not like she’s dressing to the nines all the time (what does that even mean?), but seeing her on our doorstep with zero makeup, hair in a ponytail, and athleisured from head to toe in sneakers, leggings, and a zip-up top was so the very opposite of what she normally wears. I’d sum it up as she usually looks like a twenty-five-year-old single woman all footloose and fancy free (what does that even mean!?!), but on our doorstep was a twenty-five-year-old toddler mom looking like she was stopping by a friend’s house and had a lot of errands to get done on the way home. The diaper bag over her shoulder completed the look.

“Hi,” she said with a very big smile on her face like the little tyke runs her ragged and this was her first social visit in a fortnight.

“Good morning,” Mary said as she stepped out of the way. “Come on in. So good to see you.”

Sandy pivoted out of the way to reveal her play partner. Hardly taller than me, hardly heavier than me, baby faced, elastic-waist shorts, a striped tee tucked in, pacifier in his mouth, and carrying a plastic briefcase type thing. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-three.

“Go on Ty-ty,” Sandy said to the oversized toddler. Not saying that derisively; he just really nailed the look. The pair of them both did. He slipped past her, and she followed, and Mary closed the door behind them. “Ty-ty, I’d like you to meet my friends Mary and Daphne. Guys, this is Tyler.”

Mary bent at the waist to look him in the eyes, her hands between her knees the way she does when greeting our nephew (and sometimes me). “Hello, Tyler. Do you want me to call you Tyler or Ty-ty?”

He blushed and turned back toward Sandy, tucking himself under her arm. “He’s shy,” Sandy said. Looking at him and back to Mary, I was sorta struck by how effortless it seemed to be for both of them. Mary just … wasn’t acting. Or if she was, she was doing an Oscar-worthy job of it (Every Oscars season I get overlooked. Every. Damn. Year.) Same for him. Just in his headspace, and Mary in hers and Sandy in hers, and leaving me feeling … something. I don’t know what.

“Hey,” I said to him, “I’m Daphne. Sandy has told us a lot about you.” She hadn’t actually, but it seemed like something someone in my position would say, so I said it and it made him blush again. I’ve been around a lot of kink through the play parties we go to (or used to, before the pandemic), and I’ve seen some things that squicked me out (more power to ya if you enjoy the things). He didn’t squick me out, but I also didn’t find him tots adorbs (do people still say that?). Yeah, he was cute, but that was all.

“I brought donuts,” Sandy announced. Finally she said it, I thought because I saw the donut box even before I saw them and was getting tired of waiting the whole minute before someone acknowledged there were donuts inside. Very respectful of Sandy to bring over sugar, a good tribute.

We all went into the kitchen, Tyler practically standing on Sandy’s feet with his shy routine, and Mary got out plates and cups and paper towels. “What do you want to drink,” she asked.

“I’ll just have water. Do you have any milk?”

“Yeah,” Mary replied. Sandy twisted around in her chair to search through the diaper bag she’d hung over the back and came up with a sippy cup that Mary filled for her.

“I don’t think we need a plate for Ty-ty,” Sandy said and handed it back to Mary along with the cup. “He’s not ready for real plates yet. I don’t want to break anything.” I think I saw Mary smile, and Sandy scooted her chair about as close as she could to Tyler’s without sharing the same seat. She spread a paper towel in front of him and started to tear his donut into smaller-than-bite-sized pieces. “Gimme,” she said gently, and he let her take the pacifier from his mouth.

Mary sat down and asked, “So what are you two up to today?”

“We have a big day ahead of us. I need to go to the bank, we’re going to the mall to get some new shoes for him, we’re stopping by the park, we gotta stop at the grocery store to do our weekly shopping, and last but not least, we need to go get him some new diapers. We’re almost out, and that wouldn’t be any good, would it sweetums?” He blushed again and went back to eating his donut as inefficiently as I’ve ever seen someone eat a donut. Not that I was offended by his bad table manners – all part of the scene – but he was wasting chocolate. That offends me just on principle.

I swallowed my indignation and chimed in, “Long day.”

“Hopefully we can get it all done in time to be home for his nap. He’s a grumpy butt if he misses his nap.”

“I’m glad you could stop by. We hardly see you these days,” Mary said. True story. “And thanks for bringing us breakfast.”

“All done,” Sandy asked her pretend toddler. She twisted back around to fish through the diaper bag and produced a wet wipe which she used to roughly clean his whole face. How does someone get chocolate on their forehead and why would they commit such a foul deed?

“Do you wanna go play,” Sandy asked. Ty-ty got a big, derpy smile on his face and nodded in that exaggerated way little kids do.

We relocated to the living room where Tyler needed no help seating himself on the carpet and opening that plastic briefcase. It held a trainset that I imagine was meant for ages two to five.

“Is he talking yet,” Mary asked.

“He’ll jabber your ear off,” Sandy said like a proud mom. “I think he probably knows fifty words by now. Not quite to complete sentences yet, but he’s getting there.” Tyler, if he was paying attention, didn’t show it. He just played with his trainset. “C’mere, Ty-ty.” He didn’t pay attention. “Ty-ty,” Sandy said again. Not sharply. If she were over to play with me and I didn’t listen the first time, the second time would be sharp. With him, it was patient.

He stood up and toddled over. “So what are you guys up to today,” Sandy said while making eye contact with us and tugging his shorts down to mid-thigh to check his diaper. I was very glad Mary never tried that move with me. Not the checking part or even the in-front-of-company part, but the this-is-so-normal-no-one-will-be-offended-and-I-don’t-even-need-to-look-at-what-I’m-doing-in-order-to-check-his-diaper way.

As for his diaper, wet and easily seen to be wet. I could tell from the couch, the white plastic yellowed below what I think was a husky that looked like it was poking its head up to look at us.

“We’re going to the art museum,” Mary said.

“That’ll be fun,” Sandy said. “Lift your foot, sweetie.” She took off his shoe and then the other one to strip his shorts all the way off, leaving him in just his diaper and shirt. He was looking right at us, his back to Sandy, and even though he’d blushed at the mere mention of his name, he wasn’t blushing when Sandy gave him a swat on the back of his diaper to send him back to playing. It was a boring trainset. It looked like there could only be three configurations. Not that I was thinking very closely about how I’d play with it. Um, really.

“We’re going to the exhibit that just opened,” Mary said. Which was news to me. If we really were going to the museum, great. I like the museum.

“What time are we going,” I asked.

“As soon as Sandy and Tyler leave.”

“Um, are we really going,” I whispered. She nodded at me. Yay going places! I’m sure the novelty will wear off, but until then, yay going places!

Tyler played, and our conversation turned to anything and everything except the grown man wearing just a diaper and tee shirt playing on our floor. We heard about Sandy’s work, talked about how rude people are being to frontline workers, discussed Thanksgiving plans, and assorted minutia, just the way Sandy said they wanted a normal conversation while he played.

I suppose what we didn’t talk about in advance and probably should’ve was what happened next. I’m not traumatized or even offended or anything, but a warning would’ve been nice. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but Sandy got up and went into the kitchen and Mary and I kept discussing something very normal and very grownup.

When Sandy came back with the diaper bag, she beckoned to Tyler, “Lay down for me, Ty-ty. Let’s get you into dry pampers.” Tyler laid down and spread his legs, making enough room for Sandy to kneel between them and get a diaper out of the bag. “Here,” she said and handed him one of his train cars. “You were such a good boy holding still for your last change. I bet you can do it again.”

Turning back to us, she asked, “So when are you two going to start traveling again? You gotta have the itch.”

“We’ve traveled,” Mary said as Sandy tore open the tapes on Tyler’s diaper.

“I meant someplace you have to fly to. You guys used to take a couple trips a year.” She opened the diaper.

Mary and I had just started discussing when we’d start flying again, and we weren’t seeing eye to eye on it, kinda like how at that moment my eyes were on Mary wondering how she’d answer Sandy’s question whereas Mary’s eyes were on Tyler.

Like, what the heck? First of all, no. Second of all, just no. Not that I was jealous, but what exactly was she looking at? I nudged her with my foot like, what the heck. She should’ve been doing what what I was doing – looking literally anywhere else in the room. That would be polite both to him and to me.

“We’re discussing it,” I said in answer to Sandy’s question. “I want to fly home for Christmas.”

“Lift,” Sandy said to him. To us, she said, “Let me guess: you’re worried about a fall surge.”

“Yeah,” Mary answered. “Plus whenever we go back there Daphne’s accent comes back.”

“I don’t have an accent,” I protested. So I did an impression of a Wisconsin accent once. I’ve been suffering jokes and poor imitations of my imitation for it ever since.

“I’m just teasing.”

Sandy turned on her baby talk voice and said, “She’s just teasing. Yes she is. A-yes she is.” Not sure if it was the baby talk or the tummy tickle, but Tyler giggled behind his binky.

“We’ll see,” Mary said as if she’s in charge and yeah, she is, but it’s really unhealthy for our relationship if I don’t pretend I don’t know and accept that. All that power goes to her head. Also, no playing around, I want to see my family. Really.

“All done,” Sandy said and held out her hands to help Tyler sit up. “Do you mind if we throw this away here,” she asked as she wrapped up the used diaper.

“No,” Mary said and held out her hand. Ew. Just a little bit, but still. Mary took the diaper from Sandy and went to throw it away in the kitchen.

“Mommy’s gonna go wash her hands, and then we’re gonna pack up your trains and go. Okay?” He nodded.

I heard Mary washing her hands, and Sandy went down the hall to the bathroom to do the same, leaving me with Tyler. He had a pretty empty-headed expression. I couldn’t tell if he was blissed out or what. I think he just sunk deeper into his headspace, and I understood what Sandy meant about how getting changed while the grownups talk about grownup stuff would feel super babyish. It definitely had that quality, like nothing out of the ordinary was happening because he’s just a big baby and babies get changed on the floor in front of people. Babies don’t mind getting changed in front of others because they’re babies, and because they’re babies, no one minds them being changed in front of them.

I was surprised when he took his pacifier out and in a little voice not so different from Jane’s asked, “Does a baby live here?”

“Uh, no sweetheart. No babies live here.”

“Who those for,” he said and pointed at the wicker basket under the side table, the one Mary, in her infinite pot stirring, started keeping changing supplies in. And o so wonderful, he asked the question just as Mary reappeared.

“They’re for a big girl,” Mary answered. At least she called me a big girl.

“A big girl in diapers,” he said like this was a major revelation.

“Some big girls need diapers,” Mary explained.

“They do?”

“Mhmm.” Mary looked from his face to the basket and asked him, “Do you wanna take one home with you?”

You’d have thought Santa offered him the world from the look on his face. “Mhmm,” he said, nodding his head again in that exaggerated way toddlers sometimes do.

“What do you say,” Sandy asked as she walked back from the hallway.

“Tank ooo.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mary said and patted his head.

“Clean up time, Ty-ty.”

He stood up and toddled over to Sandy, who bent down just enough for him to whisper in her ear.

“Why didn’t you say anything before I got your diaper on?”

“I didn’t haffa go then,” I could hear him say in an exasperated whisper like he’d explained this to her many times before. I get how that’s frustrating for parents, but the kids have a point, and so did Tyler. Fortunately, though we didn’t discuss him getting his diaper changed in the living room in front of us, Sandy just assumed – extremely correctly – that we didn’t want him doing what I was pretty sure he was referring to in our living room.

“Excuse us,” Sandy said and took his hand. They headed back toward our bathroom.

From where Mary was, she could see down the hall. “Did she,” I said a little above a whisper, “did she actually go in with him?”

“Yup,” Mary said.

“He’s … Do you think he’s really, you know?”

“Probably. I don’t think they’d go in there and just do nothing,” Mary said and sat back down on the couch with me.

“And she’s … watching?”

“Knowing Sandy,” Mary chuckled, “she probably went in there to wipe his bottom.”

“Ugh.” I remember the one time Mary did that to me, fortunately after I’d already done it, and the mere thought of it still makes part of my brain flicker on and off for a sec.

“It’s not that big a deal. I’m sure the only reason he didn’t fill his diaper is because he’s in our house.”

“‘Fill his diaper?’ You are so gross sometimes.”

“Really? I thought that was the clean version.”

“If it’s not a big deal, why don’t you go offer to help,” I asked maybe a little snidely.

“Next time they come over, maybe I’ll just tell them it’s fine if he uses his diaper like that. What do you think of that,” she said and might as well have added checkmate to the end of the sentence.

“I think I’d pull my shirt over my nose, throw up in my shirt, and run from the room.” Which is a real thing that happened the one time I babysat a cousin who wasn’t potty trained, except for the running from the room part but only because I was the only person there and couldn’t just leave the little stinker like that. Naturally, because the filter between my brain and mouth is faulty, I just had to tell recount the episode to my mom, and she must be who I get that trait from because soon the whole family knew, and they love to remind me of it from time to time. No one more so than that cousin. You’d think they wouldn’t exactly like to talk about it since they don’t come out of it smelling like roses (don’t bother laughing at that), but apparently their pride takes a backseat when it’s Tease Daphne Time at family gatherings.

We started talking about traveling for Christmas again – a circular conversation that we could – and will – keep going until we reach an agreement (a/k/a until I get my way) – until we heard a flush followed a minute later by the bathroom door opening.

“Sorry about that,” Sandy said as she led Tyler back to our living room.

“Don’t be sorry,” Mary said all chipper like. “Did you use the potty,” she asked Tyler, who blushed again as he stood there in his diaper holding Sandy’s hand.

“He did,” Sandy said in that overly celebratory way you do when a kid is potty training.

“You’re almost a big boy then!”

Tyler got a cross look on his face and said, “Am not!” And yes, I’ll admit that was cute.

“I wouldn’t go that far. He’s still my widdle piddle pants,” Sandy said and poked him in the side making him giggle. “And he’s not quite fifty-fifty on making it to the potty for stinkies. Sometimes I even think he likes having a mush tush, don’tcha Ty-ty?” He blushed again and got that blissed out look in his eyes, like he loved loved loved Sandy talking about his lack of success at fake potty training.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Mary said, doing that same thing she did when she greeted him, getting down on his level. “It’s okay to like how that feels. There’s nothing wrong with staying in diapers forever if it makes you happy.”

I swear if he had a tail, he’d have been wagging it. I understand why an ABDL would love hearing that. I told myself that remark was aimed solely at him and not at all at me, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if a little of it was aimed at me.

When his trains were packed away, Sandy thanked us and told Tyler to do the same.

“Thanks for coming to visit me, Tyler,” Mary said by way of farewell.

“Can she have a hug,” Sandy asked him. He gave her one, and I … watched. Not jealous of him for getting a hug from my wife or for the way Mary smiled at him at all. Why would I be? Because I wasn’t. Really.

“Oof! Good hug! You and your mommy can come back and play with your trains any time,” Mary told him.

“It was nice meeting you,” I said. I’m glad I wasn’t offered a hug. We saw them out the door, and I went to do the breakfast dishes. I had my hands in soapy water when Mary hugged me from behind, crossing her arms over me and giving me a peck on the cheek.

“That was fun,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t like that?”

“I did. It was just like a regular visit, really, though. He just played on the floor.”

“Did you want him to do anything else,” Mary asked, sounding surprised. She let me go and leaned against the table.

“No. I just meant for a scene it was … pretty much like normal except for his diaper change.” Also, I have the mental image of Sandy wiping his butt stuck in my head on repeat, and I need to day drink until it goes away. Just sayin’.

“Why do you think he didn’t offer me a hug,” I asked because reasons.

“Did you want one?”

“No.”

“Am I detecting a little sheen of green in your eyes,” she chuckled.

Um, like more green than my eyes actually are? “As if! I just … C’mere.” I can hug better than him, and I can prove it! I can get Mary to oof and mean it, dammit!

“Oof! Daffy!”

“Who hugs better?”

“You, sweetie pie.” She kissed my hair because damn straight. “Even with wet hands.”

“What time are we going to the museum,” I said as I let her go, having made my point.

“As soon as we get dressed in real clothes.”

“What’s wrong with this?” These sweatpants cost nine dollars! I was so chic! Pandemic chic. Maybe it was time to recalibrate my fashion sense as I eased my way back into society.

“Why don’t you finish the dishes, and I’ll go lay out some clothes.”

“No diaper.”

“Pull-ups it is.” She waited a beat. Not sure for what. Um, really. “And Daffy, you need to be on your best behavior. The museum grounds are pretty big. It would be a shame to have to give you a consequence on some secluded park bench where someone might see you getting spanked over your pull-up like a little girl.”

“I’ll be good. I can touch whatever I want, right?”

“Daphne …”

“Those lasers in front of the art – that’s like a game where you try to stick your hand in and pull it back out before the alarm goes off, right?”

“My little handful,” she said and gave me another peck on the cheek.

Ooo! And a swat on the butt.