The Best Babysitter in Town Ch. 4 (reposted with photos) (Patreon)

And then he really did slow down his eating to a crawl. I’ve seen tree sloths chew faster. But I was patient. I had butterflies in my own tummy, so I can only imagine his. I tried to be kind of clinical about the whole thing, like it was no different from getting a shot. Hey, sorry this hurts, but let’s just get it over with and then you can have a lolly. Fake it til you make it, I guess.

“Let’s do the dishes first.” Fun babysitting tip: you can eat up time, make kids feel like proud little helpers, and make parents think you’re a regular Miss Rogers if you do the dishes with the kiddos by hand. The old I-wash-you-dry routine didn’t get to be a classic by accident.

“No dawdling,” I had to say at one point. And then made a terrible joke. “Unless you want to tack delaying on to your spanking.” A terrible joke that went right over his head.

“Sorry.” I guess he wasn’t in a joking mood. Oops.

Dishes done, there was no reason (no good excuse?) to delay it. “Okay,” I said, “your stepmom said you’d answer any of my questions, remember?”

“Yes.”

“And I said you’d only get to stay up if you cooperated, right? So show me where you get your spankings.” So … maybe there just isn’t a non-embarrassing way to phrase certain questions after all.

“Um, in my room, mostly.” Mostly? Geez, he couldn’t even get spanked in the privacy of his own room every time? Poor boy. Poor, twenty-year-old boy.

“Lead the way,” I said, still trying to sound upbeat and like this was just something unpleasant to bravely do. For me, I guess it was. For him … poor boy.

I’d actually never been in his room. A dozen times I’d sat for his siblings, but his bedroom door was always closed. Of course, if I had a huge diaper changing table in my room like he did, I’d nail the damn door shut. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

This part was far less awkward, if only by comparison. Changing diapers is something I know how to do. Pretty good at it actually, if I can brag a little. “Wait,” I said as he was about halfway on to his changing table (big piece of furniture, that. Good thing they have such a big house). “Your stepmom said something about you know where she keeps her hairbrush?” And there was his I’m-the-saddest-puppy-in-the-world face again. So the hairbrush was that much worse, apparently.

“Could you … It …”

I cut off the hemming and hawing. I felt for him, but I just wanted to get it over with, preferably quick and even better without an argument from him, especially since I didn’t have a counter-argument beyond ‘your stepmom said’ but also because I didn’t feel good about what I was about to do. Maybe selfish of me, but I didn’t want to feel even worse, which arguing with him would definitely have done.

So I cut him off with, “Ah-ah-ah. You said you’d be my helper. Show me what a good boy you can be and go get it. And don’t dawdle,” I added when he started shuffling like an old man toward the master bedroom. Which gave me time alone to ask myself why in god’s name I’d said ‘show me what a good boy you can be.’ It just came out, like the most natural words in the world to use with someone who gets spanked, even at twenty. Never given a spanking, but it just seemed like … the kind of thing you say to a boy when asking him to cooperate with his spanking, I guess.

“Stop being so self-conscious,” I said out loud to myself. “Just get through it. Whatever seems natural just … I’ll take that.” And damn did his sad puppy face make a lot of damn sense to me then. I’d never been spanked by anything but a hand, and this brush was hard and heavy. I didn’t have to feel it to know it had to hurt like a (step)mother. It looked old, like an antique. I don’t even know where you’d buy a brush like that today. I don’t even know anyone who has one like it. I set it on his desk.

Going with what felt natural, and trying to get this over with, and trying to at least seem confident, “Slippers,” I said like I undressed twenty-year-olds for their diaper changes every day. “Let’s get these off now. Ah-ah-ah. I got it. I’ve changed plenty of boys’ diapers,” I said when he started taking off his own pajama pants. “I can take down a pair of jammies without any help from you,” I play-scolded. Maybe I went a little too far with the going with whatever felt natural thing. Yeah, he blushed hard, but he’d been doing that every eight seconds since six o’clock.

“Goodness,” I said as my hand brushed his diaper as I slid his pajama pants down. “Step out. I should’ve checked you sooner.” I held his pants up and squeezed the fabric around the seat. “But you didn’t leak. Our lucky day. I guess all that soda caught up with you. Hop on up.”

I’d never seen a changing table like it before. I’d never seen one for changing an adult before period, but I’m guessing if I did, it wouldn’t have had stirrups like his did. I’ve been on a table with stirrups and can’t say I enjoyed it, but they’re functional and so were these. “I didn’t know they made tables like this.”

“They don’t,” he said as he laid back. “I made it. Well, modified it.”

“How you’d learn how to do that?”

“I’m an engineering major.”

“And you weren’t doing well in your classes? This thing is pretty neat.” I meant that; wasn’t just trying to make him feel better. “What’s this do?” Should probably have asked that before touching the button.

“Careful! It’s adjustable. It raises it. See? Like a hospital bed.”

“Did I screw up your settings?”

“I have my own controller.” He reached for a remote and adjusted the thing just a little, but when you spend a few sessions a day on one of these things, I guess the little differences are noticeable.

“Comfy?”

“Yeah.” I think he meant on the outside; on the inside, he sounded somewhere between uncomfortable and inner turmoil.

“Good. Just lay back, and we’ll get you cleaned up.” In retrospect, I think maybe I’m one of those people who prattles when they’re nervous or embarrassed. “So … big diapers, huh,” I remarked as I looked at what was on the shelves under the table. “A few kinds. Um … ah, here we go. Wipes. Found ‘em. Ooo, big wipes too … Pretty cool having a wipe warmer, I bet. Better than them being cold.”

I had wipes. I knew where the diapers were. I saw the powder and cream. There were even gloves. “Ooo, gloves! Sorry, I almost forgot.”

“Those are just for when I’m …” He didn’t finish that sentence and didn’t need to.

“O … Is it alright with you if I wear them anyway? I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just that I sit for a few different babies and toddlers in diapers, and I always wear them so I don’t accidentally spread germs. I normally bring my own, but since I didn’t know I’d be changing diapers tonight …” See what I mean about the prattling? I got the gloves on. “Alright, down to business …”

The only things I knew about adult diapers were things I learned from TV commercials, and his didn’t look those. Those looked thin and papery. If someone said draw an adult diaper, I’d have drawn what he was wearing, except for the four tapes. I’d never seen a diaper with four tapes before. I paused before opening them, sorta to give myself a moment before the awkwardness skyrocketed (again), but also to keep my passenger calm. Not like I needed to give him my keys to play with, but I felt I owed him, well, not an apology exactly but something like it.

“Before I, ya know, I just want to say sorry if this is awkward. I know you can do this yourself when you’re allowed. I don’t think any differently of you because you wear diapers or need help changing them. I change diapers at least a couple days a week, and this is no different. I’m just going to do this like I always do, okay?”

“Uh, okay.”

“And if it gets awkward or you need me to stop or to do something differently, just say so. Will you do that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good boy. You ready?” Stop calling him stuff like that, I scolded myself as I waited for his answer. When he nodded, I opened the four tapes one by one. He was wearing a cloth-like diaper, just like the ones they make for kiddos today, so it was easy to open. It didn’t occur to me until later there were other kinds of diapers because I just hadn’t looked that closely when I looked at his selection. With his diaper open, I pulled it down just enough to let a little air on his bits and pieces but didn’t uncover him just yet.

“I remember the first time I changed a boy’s diaper, the little stinker got me right in the chest with weewee. Learned my lesson,” I narrated before opening his diaper the rest of the way. He probably didn’t appreciate me absentmindedly reciting that anecdote, but at least I didn’t start baby-talking him like I do most of the kiddos under my care when I’m changing their diapers. And at least I didn’t get sprayed in the chest again with what I imagine would be more than a little squirt.

And believe you me, I could’ve called him a cutie patootie. Let’s start with how sweet he seemed up there, his feet in the stirrups and just laying back so obediently. The blush in his cheeks. And his D. Someone’s a grower, not a shower. At least, I hoped so for his sake. Not tiny, but a cry from what I was used to seeing attached to boys my age. I’m not a size queen, but I know below average when I see it, and when I saw it, I couldn’t help but think it was cute. As I was wiping off the rest of him, I had this silly thought that maybe penises are like goldish: they’ll grow to match the size of the bowl. Perhaps being in diapers keeps them small? Just kidding, but sorta funny in a way I’d never say to Gordy.

“I’m going to clean off your … you, now. It might be awkward for you, but we’ll do it quickly.” I picked it up, sort of, and wiped it off, and I was taken aback but not surprised when it moved on its own. I didn’t say anything about it, of course. I mean, how rude would that have been? “Lift up for me.”

I slid the diaper out from under him and set it to the side. I was surprised, seeing it open, just how big it was. Gordy is small, but the only boys I’m used to diapering are babies and toddlers and one bedwetter whose parents don’t guy him Goodnites for whatever reason.

And I was surprised how heavy the thing was. I really should’ve checked him right before dinner; minor miracle he didn’t leak. But more to the immediate point, I’d never felt such a heavy diaper … and it was just wet. His other ones … woah; what must those be like?

The stirrups really helped, and Gordy seemed to know his way through a diaper change by heart. He lifted and turned and twisted without my asking, and I’m glad of it cuz I didn’t know my way around an adult diaper change at all, different mechanics with those longer legs and all. But that didn’t at all prepare me for Gordy to grab his knees and pull them to his chest. I guess I conveniently forgot about that part (of him). I half wanted to scold him for not giving me a damn warning, but he didn’t do anything wrong. He did this probably six times a day; it just didn’t occur to him to warn me cuz, as I reminded him and needed to remind myself, this was his normal. And anyways, after the initial shock of there suddenly being an open butt crack in front of me, I wiped any trace of weewee off it like it was any other butt on a changing table … and being thorough like the best babysitter in town should be, yeah, I gave his rosebud a few passes with the wipe too.

I rolled up the diaper, taped it into a ball and … “Um, where do I …”

“See the little door thing? Just drop it in there.”

“Ah.” What a satisfying thud it made. “There’s a diaper pail in there?”

“Yeah, so it’s not out where everyone can see it. Plus it helps with the … “

“Scent? I bet.” He must be able to make some full diapers. I was curious why he was in them. Obviously, he needed them, but why specifically? I didn’t ask. It wasn’t any of my business. Maybe it was a little more my business since I’d just changed him, but that left a good ten miles between my business and his … except for the business he did in his diapers. And if that pun felt awkward, imagine how I felt having a half-naked twenty-year-old on a changing table in front of me and having to figure out some transition to the next phase of our evening: spanking the bottom I’d just wiped.