Mariko's Boyfriend [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

The Day Before

Within seconds of walking through the front door…

“Mariko’s boyfriend wears diapers!”

I don’t even know how to process this information. It’s so random and without context that it might as well just be gibberish. I’m thinking about the 8 hour workday I just finished, the dinner I need to make and the ever-looming presence of schoolwork in the background.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “What?”

“Mariko’s boyfriend,” Tricia says, obviously sensing that she needs to break down this news into smaller morsels.

“Troy? What about him now?”

“He wears diapers.”

I’m wary of this claim for obvious reasons. Tricia is not only a gossip hound, she’s a known exaggerator. I’m already wondering what small bit of information she got and twisted around to get to this conclusion.

Still, I don’t want to just dismiss this claim altogether. It is...interesting.

“How do you know this?” I ask.

“Chloe, listen to me. I saw him wearing them.”

My eyes narrow. I have more questions.

“Mariko is bringing him over for dinner tomorrow,” she continues. “I haven’t even seen the guy before, you know?”

“Same, actually,” I think aloud.

“So I ask her to show me a photo of him, just because I’m curious. So she pulls up his social media and I see him.”

“Is he cute? Mariko claims he’s very cute.”

“I mean, sure. In that boyish puppy dog way. Kind of fitting, really…”

“Right, right. So diapers?”

“Ah, yeah. So, I’m nosey…”

“I know this,” I say.

“The second Mariko walks away, I’m looking up this guy’s name on the internet. Donna, I’m telling you, I fell down a fucking rabbit hole.”

“Okay, so...I can’t imagine there’s just pictures of this guy in a diaper in the search results for his name.”

“No, but I find his email address. And so I start searching that. And, BAM, I find a profile on a, uh...dating website for folks with kinks?”

“Oh, so…” I need to digest that thought for another moment. I had completely misread this situation based on the little information I had. I assumed that this was all leading to the revelation that Troy needed diapers for some sort of health issue. In the back of my mind, I had been preparing a little speech for Tricia about the importance of not judging someone on their disabilities.

She nods.

“So he...likes diapers.”

“Yep. Loves him. He’s a little baby, looking for his mommy.”

I’m a little uncomfortable. I don’t care what he does to get off. I’ve spent more than enough time mining the web for videos of eroticly charged doctor’s visits. But knowing this private information about someone that I haven’t even met yet is already coloring my opinion of him.

“Does Mariko know?”

Tricia shrugs.

“Is...Mariko into that?”

Tricia shrugs again. “Your guess is as good as mine. What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this guy is coming to our apartment tomorrow for dinner. This big baby! And we’re supposed to...pretend that we don’t know this?”

I laugh at the absurdity of her quandary. “Yes? I think that’s exactly what we’re supposed to do. I can’t even imagine any other option.”

“Are you sure?” she says with a wry grin. “Not even fixing him up a bottle of milk and offering to burp him after dinner?”

I laugh. It’s cruel, but I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t funny. “You shouldn’t have told me this. How am I supposed to look this guy in the face tomorrow?”

“I know, but...if I had to know, then you had to know too. It’s only fair.”

“I hardly agree with that, but…”

The door opened and closed behind me.

“Oh good, you’re both here!” As always, Mariko’s voice is bright and sunshiny.

If Tricia was the gossip, and I was the voice of reason, Mariko was the perpetual child. She was naive and adventurous - a terrible combination that usually caused me to have to step in and help direct her a little. I was the angel on her shoulder. Tricia was the devil.

“Hello, Mariko.”

“Did Trish tell you? Troy is coming over tomorrow for dinner.”

I look to Tricia, who can’t even try and hide her sinister smile. “I...did hear that.”

“I hope you guys like him,” she says. Her eyes are little hearts. It’s cute, if not a little sickening.

“What are we eating for this dinner?” I ask.

“Strained carrots?” asks Tricia.

Mariko is, unsurprisingly, confused by what she likely senses a joke that she doesn’t have context for. “Huh? No, I was going to make some pasta, I think.”

I groan. “You? Cooking? I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“Whadaya mean?” Mariko huffs, her hands on her hips. “I can cook!”

Tricia and I exchanged glances.

“Just because you can cook,” Tricia says, “doesn’t mean that you should.”

I’m all for being polite and nurturing - especially with Mariko. But Tricia is right. “What if we helped you?”

“Oh really?” Mariko’s eyes light up again. She’s already forgotten about being offended by Tricia. Of course, there was a good chance that she was hoping from the start of the conversation that this is what I’d propose.

Mariko bounds down the hallway to her room - punchdrunk on new love.

“I don’t care what you say,” Tricia finally grumbles. “If I have to cook, I’m getting an entire shopping basket of baby food.”

“How about I do the cooking?” I say in my most diplomatic tone. It sounds like a question, but it’s a declaration.

Two Hours Before Dinner

At the end of the day, Troy doesn’t matter to me. No offense intended. I’d hope he’s a halfway decent person if someone as sweet as Mariko likes him, but I’m keeping my expectations low. In the time that I knew Mariko, she seemed to have had more misses than hits.

Clint was stealing her underpants. She was upset about this upon finding out, but she did later admit that he looked better in them than she did. If he wasn’t also stealing the panties of Tricia and I, maybe they would’ve been a couple longer.

Gregory talked a lot. We all got sick of that pretty fast.

Tyler drank too much. Elton was obsessed with his fantasy WNBA team. Martin was a bad kisser and even worse with his tongue, or so Mariko had confided in us. We’re all still waiting for Logan to come back from going to the bathroom while they were on their fourth date.

I was cooking food for Mariko because I liked Mariko. She deserved happiness, eventually, and if I had to make 100 dinners until she found the right fella - one who was hopefully potty trained - I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But, too, if Mariko liked her boys with soggy bottoms...who was I to judge?

Right on cue, there she was.

“Oh my gosh, Chloe. It smells so good in here!”

“It’s just garlic and tomatoes so far,” I say.

“Isn’t that good enough?” Mariko brings her nose closer to the pot on the stove and takes a deep breath. “Mmm.”

I often watch her and wish that I had so much zeal. It’s as if her, and everything around her, is in the same animated feature film that only she can see.

“So...you’re excited for this boy to come over?”

She giggles and offers a playful shrug. “I suppose.” Her cheeks are much more red than they were a few moments ago.

“Tell me about him. Why does he have you all...twitterpated?”

“Hmm. He’s just,uh, you know...nice? Fun? We get each other. We’re on the same page about a lot of things.”

“Things?” I’m not imagining Mariko crawling around on the ground in a diaper. It’s ridiculous - but if anyone could pull it off, it’d probably be her. She’s practically a 20 year old baby as it is.

“Things. And, I swear, this one doesn’t steal my underpants.”

“Or mine?”

“I got them back, didn’t I?”

“I threw them in the trash!”

“Oh...yeah, that’s probably for the best. Who knows what he was doing with those.”

“Troy,” I said, hoping to get her back on topic. “Is he nervous about meeting us?”

“He claims he’s not,” she says. “But I think he is. I may have overhyped you guys a little. You’re my best friends and roommates though. How could I not! It’s not only important for him to like you guys, but it's even more important that the two of you like him.”

“I’ll...try.”

“I swear, he’s so much nicer than other guys I’ve dated. You’ll see.”

My stomach is twisting about. I really wish that Tricia hadn’t told me anything about Troy the day before. He could be the nicest guy in the universe, and I’m worried that I’ll still be hung up on this diaper thing. Worse, I’m starting to second-guess one of my best friends and her involvement in this strangeness. I’m not even disgusted by it. Just curious.

I want to be sure that she’s safe.

Mariko bounds back to her room again, likely to spend the next two hours obsessing over her outfit for tonight. I’m left making the sauce.

Truth be told, pasta is kind of my thing. It was my mother’s thing, and it was a skill she passed on to me. Everyone, myself included, was happier when I made pasta. Comfort food born of a comfort process.

“Ugh,” Tricia groans as she enters the kitchen. “You had to make pasta?”

“It’s my thing.”

“I know. But I’m going to want eat like a fucking pig. And we have company.”

“I doubt he’s going to judge you if you want to eat like a piggy.” I playfully poke her belly as she giggles and swats me away.

“What time does the baby get here anyways?”

“Not so loud,” I say, peering down the hallway towards Mariko’s closed door. “She’s still here, you know?”

“Okay, but…come on. It’s all I can think about.”

She wasn’t the only one. “I know. But we can’t have this guy show up only for us to treat him like a circus freak.”

She scoffs, a mix of faux and actual frustrations. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

I’d like to think that she’ll be on her best behavior tonight, but sometimes it's hard to tell with her.

Dinner

Mariko looks nervous. I’ve reassured her a few times that everything is going to be fine, but I’m not completely convinced of that myself. Tricia seems fine on the surface, but I can see it in her eyes - she, too, worries that we know too much about this stranger.

“I was a fool for picking pasta for dinner,” Mariko whines. “I’m going to get it all over me, I just know it.”

“You could always use a…” Tricia realizes, mid-thought, that I’m giving her the death-eyes. But it’s too late and she can’t stop her taunt: “...bib.”

Mariko opens her mouth, but has no witty retort, blushing instead. I’m curious if she suspects that Tricia knows anything, or if it just hits too close to home.

Saved by the doorbell. Here we go.

I give Tricia one last look. I’m trying my hardest to convey both “behave” and “this is going to be awkward, right?” with just my eyes. I don’t know how much of that she deciphers, but if I was to guess on what she was communicating back, it’d be: “this is going to be fun.”

Curiously, Mariko has gone outside to greet Troy. Maybe she’s giving him a pep talk of her own.

Maybe she’s checking to see if he wet himself yet.

I stifle a laugh and compose myself again. I can’t be like that.

“Well,” Mariko says, pulling him inside by the hand. “This is him! Troy!”

Troy offers a bashful wave and Tricia and I offer some salutations of our own. It's easier, I find, for us to be less awkward when he seems shy himself.

“Troy, these are my roommates Chloe and Tricia.”

“Thank you so much for having me,” he says.

He’s cute. Mariko and Tricia weren’t wrong about that. He’s downright cherubic with his golden tousled hair and his blushing cheeks. Of course he wears diapers - he’s like a giant doe-faced toddler already.

“We’re happy you could make it,” I say. “Mariko has been very eager for you to meet us. Just as we’ve been eager to meet you.”

“But we’re not as nice as Mariko,” Tricia teases. “Just be warned.”

“Trish is a kidder,” Mariko says with a shrug - though it seems to do little to cool the nerves of Troy. “She’s a big ol’ softie.”

“Can I get you a drink?” Mariko asks him.

“Oh, uhm…”

“Come on,” she says, pulling him behind her by the hand. “We’ll get you something to drink.”

Tricia and I are both staring at the back of his pants as he walks past. We exchange glances again, there seems to be a little disappointment in the lack of a telltale sign that he showed up in a diaper tonight.

“I get the appeal,” Tricia says.

“He’s cute.”

“No. I mean...yeah, he is. But there’s something else there too.”

“Okay?”

“Is he not just a big baby doll? Like...a toy?”

I scratch my head. I can see how she jumped to this conclusion but… “...I don’t think Mariko is the type to just want a...plaything.”

“No, I don’t think so either. Like, maybe they really do have some sort of connection. But on top of that, he’s just this malleable little boy in a diaper. I mean...that does sound kind of fun, right?”

Until you have to change a grown man’s diaper. “I...guess?”

I don’t completely buy Tricia’s theory, but I have to admit that it’s the best that either of us have done yet in trying to unravel this little mystery.

Trish is heading into the kitchen, and I blindly follow. I make sure to get one final request in: “Please don’t embarrass either of them.”

“Me? I would never.”

In the kitchen, Troy and Mariko are both taking long exaggerated sniffs of the air. “Oh my gosh,” he says. To Mariko: “Did you cook this?”

We hadn’t discussed who would take credit for the dinner earlier, and she looks to see what my reaction is. I nod and smile, giving her permission to take credit for it if she needs to.

“Chloe did most of the work,” she says, a nice compromise. “I helped a little.” True, if you consider complimenting the smell of sauteed garlic to be helping.

“I didn’t know you were a good cook on top of everything else,” he says. I’m seeing the way that he looks at her as he says this - his eyes could literally be taking on cartoon heart shapes. It’s both sickening and cute. Though it occurs to me that I may just be jealous.

“Why don’t you go sit down at the table,” I say to the lovebirds. “Trish and I will bring the food out.” We’ve set up a larger table in the living room to accommodate the extra guest and all the food we’ve made.

No sooner than they leave, we’re having another powwow.

“Well?” I ask.

Tricia shrugs.

“He seems nice.”

“Don’t they all when they want to impress the friends?”

“If anyone has brought home rude boys, it’s been you,” I remind her.

She just laughs and shrugs.

Dinner is served. Looking around the table, one could learn a lot from how we carry ourselves during this meal. Mariko has taken a small amount of food for her plate, and eats in small careful bites - clearly more interested in not making a mess than anything else. Troy, meanwhile, has taken an abundance of food - an attempt, I suspect, to get in either my or Mariko’s good graces by showing how much he likes the food. Tricia has both taken a lot of food and is eating it rather aggressively - I’m not sure what image she’s trying to project, but it’s also very possible she just doesn’t care.

I’d like to think I’m eating a normal-sized portion in a relatively normal manner, but who knows how others would observe that.

“So,” Tricia says, somewhere in between some salad and another bite of pasta, “how did you two meet?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but I know bait when I hear it. I shoot Tricia a concerned look, but she just smiles smugly.

“Oh…” Mariko and Troy share an awkward glance. “Online. You know how it is these days. Could you even imagine meeting anyone in person anymore?”

Tricia nods, topping off everyone’s wine glasses. I make sure that she sees me shaking my head at her.

“What do you do with yourself, Troy?” I ask, hoping to take control of the conversation away from the troublemaker.

“I’m just a barista,” he says with a shrug.

“”You’re not just a barista,” Mariko chimes in. “He’s also an artist.”

“Well, I’m not really making money off of that yet and…”

“Oh, ignore him,” Mariko gushes. “He’s really good. You should see some of his stuff because…”

Troy shoots her a concerned look and shakes his head a little. She pauses while we all watch the gears turn in her head a little. A new realization washes over her face.

“Well, it’s good, but…”

“I’d have to get some pieces together that I’m willing to show off,” he says. “I’m kind of shy about it right now.”

Tricia and I exchange a look. Is he shy, or are we just not the right audience for his art?

As we wrap up dinner and groan about how much food we ate, Mariko seems eager to collect everyone’s plates. “Troy, do you want to help me take these dishes to the kitchen?”

Of course he does, her obedient little puppy couldn’t be happier to help her.

“I should go in there,” Tricia says. “I can, uh, get dessert.”

“Oh no you don’t,” I say. “You’re going to be nosey or try and embarrass them or something.”

She shrugs.

“I’ll go and get dessert.”

Shamefully, I only insisted on going because I wanted to be the nosey one for once. I slowly creep towards the kitchen, wondering if I’ll catch any clues as to what their dynamic is.

“...such a silly baby,” is the first thing I hear Mariko coo to Troy.

“I just...I want them to like me,” he answers.

“They will, I promise. If I like you, they’ll like you.”

He laughs. “But you like me because I’m your little baby. I don’t think they’ll like me for the same reasons.”

My eyes grow and I’m barely able to stifle a gasp.

“Hush. I like you for plenty of reasons beyond the fact that you need me to wipe your bottom. Speaking of which, how is your diaper doing right now?”

“Oh, it’s…”

I can’t see what’s happening, but I hear a gentle rustling.

“A little damp,” she says.

“Shh, not so loud.”

“They can’t hear you, silly baby,” she says. “But let’s get back before they start to wonder.”

I need to move or get back to the table myself. I need to do something, but instead I’m paralyzed - stuck in place as I try to make sense of everything I’ve overheard.

It’s too late, Mariko and Troy emerge from the kitchen, and our eyes meet.

“H-hi,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just on my way to get dessert.”

“Troy, go have a seat,” Mariko says. “I’m just going to help Chloe real quick.” Troy obediently returns to the table - a dangerous situation in itself, considering who he’ll be left alone with. Mariko whisks me into the kitchen with her.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Did...did you hear any of that?”

“Uh...no?”

“Oh my god. You totally did!”

“In my defense, I didn’t mean to!”

“Look, what you just heard…”

“For what it's worth, you were better off with me hearing it than Trish.”

She nods, though it seems to do little to comfort her. “Oh my god, Chloe. I’m so embarrassed. You weren’t supposed to hear any of that!”

“No, probably not…”

“We’re not freaks!”

“Mariko, I didn’t say that you were!”

“Please don’t tell Trish. Please?”

I sigh. We’ve already withheld the fact that we knew about Troy’s interests, and to add another layer on top of this deception seemed especially cruel.

“Oh…” she says, reading my elongated pause. “You already knew? Did you...see it? Hear it? ...smell it?”

“What? No… We just… Well, actually it was Trish…”

She gasps. “Did she stalk Troy online?”

I nod. I hate to throw Tricia under the bus like this, but better her than me. “But, I don’t have to tell her about what I just overheard.”

She lets out a sigh. It’s not quite frustration. Acceptance, maybe? “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Y’all would’ve found out about it sooner or later anyways.”

I’m not really sure what to make of that. I don’t think it is, but it almost sounds like a threat.

“What the hell is going on in here?” asks Tricia, who has suddenly joined us in the kitchen.

Mariko and I share a concerned look. Do we tell her? I decide that I’m not going to have anything to do with it. It’s Mariko’s business and she can say, or not say, whatever she wants.

“Alright fine,” Mariko says. I didn’t expect this. “Yes, Troy wears diapers. Yes, he’s wearing one right now. He’s my...baby. It’s our thing. And, look, if he’s going to be hanging around here, it’s better you hear it from me.”

Tricia just laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t know what happened in here to prompt that, but...okay. Thanks.”

“Alright,” Mariko says. “Everyone knows now. Any questions?”

“I have a lot,” I say.

“Yeah, same here.”

“Okay, well, maybe we talk about that later, then?”

I grab the cake, Mariko grabs the plates and forks. Tricia stands around looking dumbfounded for a few minutes before following us out.

I can’t decide if this is more, or less, awkward. Now, everyone knows that Troy is in diapers. He’s just the only one who doesn’t know the rest of us knows. I’m already working on a mental list of topics I can bring up to steer the conversation far far away from the strange lovelife of Mariko and Troy.

But Mariko has other plans. “Troy?”

He looks up to her with a dumb grin on his face. I’m a little envious of it. Silly puppy love - he’d follow her off a cliff if she jumped. “Yes?”

“I have something very important to tell you. Please don’t be upset.”

I’m cutting cake, trying to pretend that I’m not actively listening. It probably doesn’t matter. Tricia is staring at Troy pretty hard. I’m sure she wishes she had a bag of popcorn in her hands.

“Oh...what is it?”

So naive. So cute. I get the appeal, I really do. I want one.

“The secret’s out. Everyone knows that you’re a baby, sweetheart.”

His eyes narrow, and for a moment he looks defensive - as if he’s ready to deny it. But he quickly gets over that, and I watch his shoulders slouch back down as he accepts defeat.

“They know that I...uh…”

“Wear diapers for me? Afraid so.” Mariko stands near his sad face, stroking his hair in her hands.The poor baby looks utterly mortified. It's not even my thing and I still want to coddle him.

“Mariko,” Tricia finally says, perhaps realizing that too much time has passed without her commentary. “I need to know everything.”

I continue cutting cake and plating it before passing it out to each of us.

She sighs, unprepared for the direction this night has taken. But she laughs to herself, literally shrugs it off, and suddenly she seems ready to go. She’s ready to play.

“He’s my baby,” she coos. “Isn’t he the cutest?”

“When you say baby,” Tricia asks, “you mean, like…”

“I mean that I treat him like a little baby. Because that’s what he is. Right, snookums?” Mariko playfully squeezes Troy’s brightly blushing cheeks.

He nods, but seems to have lost his ability to speak.

Tricia’s interrogation has just begun. “So what does treating him like a baby entail, again?”

“Diapers?” Mariko says. “That’s what you’re asking about, right?”

Troy looks like he’s going to be sick.

“Yeah,” Tricia says, nodding. “I think that’s exactly what I’m asking about. I mean, is he...using them?”

“Don’t be silly,” Mariko says with a giggle.

Tricia quickly interprets this to mean that he doesn’t, and looks to me with a look of relief on her face.

“Of course he uses them!” Mariko adds moments later. “He’s a baby, right? That’s what they do.”

Record scratch. Heavy braking. Glass shattering. Honestly, I’m more amused by the whiplash that Mariko gives Tricia than I am by the strangeness of her life with Troy. Tricia’s head rapidly swings back to Mariko, her look of relief replaced with a look of disbelief.

“You change his diapers?” Then, addressing Troy directly: “She changes your diapers?”

He has nothing to say.

“I’d be a terrible mommy if I didn’t,” Mariko says, again running her hand through his hair.

“So he, like, wets himself?”

“Yes. Often, too. He’s a real squirter, this one.”

“Does he…” Tricia doesn’t even want to finish the sentence. Instead she looks towards me again. Her eyes seem to ask: Can you believe this?

“Yes,” Mariko says, answering the question that wasn’t asked.

Now Tricia actually uses the words: “Can you believe this?”

I haven’t completely processed all of this information myself, but I take a gamble on just opening my mouth and speaking from the heart: “I like it.”

There’s a flurry of emotions at the table. Tricia can’t believe it. Troy looks like he’s going to melt into a puddle. Mariko looks besides herself with happiness.

“Really? You...like it?”

“I mean...it’s not my thing,” I say. “But, I don’t know. They’re not hurting anyone, right? Let them play whatever kind of game they want to play.”

“Alright,” Tricia says, clearly needing to have heard me say that.

Mariko seems pleased overall, but she does seem to have a little worry in her eyes as she turns to Tricia again. “Are you...mad? Grossed out? I’m...sorry.”

“No, no,” Tricia says, shaking her head. “I’m just...curious.”

“Yeah,” I add. “I’ll actually second that.”

“Okay,” Mariko says with a nod. “Let’s educate, then. Ask me anything. Anything at all. I’ll answer it.”

Tricia wastes no time: “Can we see it?”

Instinctively, I jump in: “Trish!”

But...I’m curious too. And Mariko did say that we could ask anything.

I laugh and add: “...that was a good question.”

Mariko shrugs and looks to Troy. “I dunno, what do you think, Baby? Want to show the big girls your diaper?”

I’m worried he’s going to vomit. Or pass out. Miraculously, not only does he keep it together, but he offers a surprising response: “I’ll do anything you ask me to. Promise.”

Tricia likes what she hears, and she rubs her palms together hungrily.

“Well,” Mariko says, “maybe...we give them what they want?”

“So, you want me to…” His voice trails off.

Thankfully, Tricia is ready to finish the sentence for him: “Show us your diaper? Yes. Please.”

He looks back to Mariko again. “Well, no more dawdling,” she says.

To his credit, he’s a very good puppet. I expect another 10 minutes of hemming and hawing over whether or not he’s going to go through with it. I’ve already prepared myself for the inevitability that I’m going to have to jump in and put an end to this little adventure before Troy actually dissipates into the air completely. But, no, he immediately stands up and leaves the table so that he can stand in an open area of the room so that we can all see.

One tiny sigh’s worth of hesitation, and then his blue jeans slide down to just below his knee. There it is. It’s certainly a big diaper. Hearing it rustle and crinkle as his pants slide down, I’m amazed that neither Tricia or I heard it earlier. It’s mostly white, with cartoonish infantile designs printed on it. While I didn’t realize a diaper like this would exist in an adult size, it makes sense to me.

“Is that…?” Tricia stands up and approaches Troy. He stands as still as a statue, holding up his shirt with his hands so that Tricia can get in closer and inspect the diaper. “It is! Look! The bottom of his diaper is yellow! Mariko, your baby wet himself!”

“I know,” she says. “But it was only a little wet before when I checked him.”

Tricia doesn’t hesitate to place a hand under his saggy diaper and lift it up, as if to weigh it with her hand. “I don’t know. It’s pretty heavy. And warm. I think your baby soaked himself during dinner.”

“Trish,” I say, “you can’t just go feeling a stranger's diapers!”

Mariko giggles. “It’s fine!”

“I’m more worried about how Troy feels,” I say.

“It’s fine,” he confirms.

“I’m surprised you’re not into this,” Tricia says to me. “You’re already everyone’s mother anyways.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m not into it,” I shrug. “I’m already so close to having to wipe your butts for you as it is.”

But Tricia’s joke, while a humorous observation, does hit a little harder than I thought it would. It’s the kind of thing I never thought I’d want for myself until it was laid out before me. It’s...kind of yummy.

Though Troy isn’t exactly my taste.

“Give him enough time and I’m sure he’ll make another little present in his diaper,” Mariko says. Troy blushes. I blush in solidarity - this is all very new and surreal.

“Ew,” Tricia says, but she giggles after. “I’m not going to lie, as gross as that is, I’m really freaking curious.”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

She shrugs and laughs again. “I don’t know. As long as it's not me, right? I’m more than happy to watch some boy poop his pants for my amusement. And it’s not like I’m the one who has to change him.” She quickly looks to Mariko. “Right?”

“I’ll change him,” Mariko responds. “I’m getting very good at it.”

How do you ask if you can watch an adult get their diaper changed?

“It’s...going to be a while,” a bashful Troy offers.

“Aw, nuts,” laments Tricia. “I’ll be over my fascination with you by then.” She might be kidding, but she might not be.

“But if he’s soaked now,” Mariko chimes in again, “maybe we ought to change him now. I don’t want the baby to get a rash.”

She’s got the attention of Tricia and I.

“You should,” I say. “I think it’d be best for the baby...er...Troy.”

“Wait here,” Mariko says. “I’ll get what I need from my room.”

It’s strange to me that we’ve been living here without any knowledge of the baby supplies Mariko had been hoarding in her room. Or...had this secret been playing in plain sight? Had I not asked Mariko two weeks ago why there were baby wipes in the bathroom? What were those large boxes being delivered for her?

“I’ll clean the table off,” I say. To Tricia: “Could you move the table back to the kitchen after?”

We work quickly and efficiently to restore the living room to its more spacious state - a testament to our curiosity. Troy says nothing, continuing to just stand off to the side, his hands still clutching the bottom of his shirt; his diaper still on display.

Mariko returns, not with just a fresh diaper, but with an entire diaper bag packed with supplies. It brings to mind more questions about how long they’ve been doing this, and whether or not she’s done this with other boys, but maybe those are best left for another time.

“Alright, Baby, down on the floor. Lets get your bottom cleaned!” Mariko’s voice, already quite soft and diminutive, somehow becomes even more gentle as she slips into ‘mommy mode.’

And based on the way Troy immediately got down on his back in front of us, he was deep into some mode himself. It was as if Tricia and I had vanished, leaving them alone in the room together. So what else could we do but watch? We were discorporated spirits in the kinkiest living room in the building.

“Now let’s have a look at what we have going on in here,” she coos as she finishes shimmying off his pants. There’s no pause, nor effort made to spare him any potential shame - she simply peels off each tape on the sides of the diaper and opens the diaper to reveal to everyone in the room both his semi-firm cock and the soaked yellow insides of the diaper.

“Oh,” Mariko says, grabbing his manhood and shaking it a little. “Are you enjoying this? The little show for my roommates?”

He nods.

Tricia and I exchange another disbelieving look. Is this happening?

To us: “He can’t help himself. I think he’s been, uh, programmed a little? Whenever I change his diapers, no matter what he’s done, I like to play with him a little, you know? So now, whenever I open up his diaper, he can’t help but get all stiff for me.”

“Well don’t stop on our account,” Tricia says sadistically. “Play with him. Show us.”

Mariko continues, but I suspect she would’ve even if Tricia hadn’t said anything. She grips him a little more firmly, her hand slowly running full strokes up and down his shaft. To him, we are completely gone.

Minutes ago, we were eating cake. Now we’re watching a boy get pleasured in a diaper. Regardless of the fact that both of them seem to want us there, I still can’t shake the feeling that we shouldn’t be.

“Mommy,” he moans softly. “You feel so good.”

“Do I, Baby? Tell Mommy all about it.”

“I...I like when you...touch me like that.”

“In your wet diapers?”

“Y-yes…”

“Were you a naughty boy who wet your diapers in front of my friends?”

“Mmhmm. Yes…”

“Maybe you should tell them you’re sorry.”

“I’m...sorry. I’m sorry that I’m just a...baby. And...I…”

“Oh, you don’t have to go on,” I say. “We get it.”

“No, no,” Tricia says. “Let him finish what he has to say.”

“I...wet myself. My diapers - I wet my diapers. At the table while we ate dinner. I’m...I’m…”

We all watch it happen, his little cock spurting onto Marina’s hand. It drips down her skin and pools at the base of his cleanly shaven manhood - a detail I hadn’t realized until now.

“...sorry,” he finally says, possibly not even fully aware of the fact that he’s even talking.

It’s a lot to take in, and I can’t imagine how it must feel for Troy. I want to stay but...I don’t think I can. I leave and go to the kitchen. When I get there, I’m surprised to see that Tricia has followed me.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. I just...that’s all certainly...something, right?”

She laughs. “Fucking wild.”

“Dinner was good,” I say.

She bursts into laughter again and now I’m laughing. We’re both cracking up over the absurdity of everything.

Mariko? Little Mariko? The girl who was too timid to go cancel her gym membership by herself? She’s got a little baby boytoy now who is clearly willing to do just about anything for her.

I feel that pang of desire again. I don’t know what it means just yet.

“I’m going to wash the dishes,” I say.

“I’m not,” Tricia replies. Classic Tricia.

It’s probably for the best. I could do with some alone time right now.

Much Later

Mariko’s lying on her bed, reading her phone. She’s either very engrossed in whatever she’s looking at, or she’s half asleep. I gently knock on the door.

Her face lights up. “Chloe! Hi.”

“Hey. Thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m good. Were you...worried about me?”

I shrug. “I think I’m always worried about you.” I take a seat on the bed next to her and she cozies up beside me, giving me a quick tight hug.

“I appreciate you,” she says softly.

“So tonight was certainly something.”

“Was it...too much?”

I laugh a little. I’m not sure how to answer that. “It was a lot. But I’m not sure that it was too much.”

“Thank you so much for being understanding,” she says. “I know it was all really weird.”

“I think we were a little beyond understanding,” I say. “Is Troy okay?”

“The poor baby...I don’t think he’s ever had more fun in a single night in his entire life.”

“You’ll be bringing him around the house again, yes?”

She nods. “If you want me to.”

“I want you to.”

For a few minutes, neither of us say anything. It feels good to just sit with each other, her attached to my side while my arm is wrapped around her.

“Thank you,” she says finally.

“For?”

“Tonight. For being so good about everything.”

“Well you’d owe Tricia thanks too, then.”

“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “But you…”

“Hmm? I didn’t do anything special.”

“You’re always just...taking care of everyone. In a lot of ways I sometimes kind of look to you as being...motherly?”

I laugh. Were it any other person in my life I might have felt a little aggravation to that sentiment. Who wants to be seen as a mother over a friend? But with her...I think she was hitting on some of the feelings that I had yet to define with actual words.

For a moment I don’t say anything. I’m trying to decipher my own feelings when the words just tumble out of my mouth: “Do you need me to change your diapers?”

She lets out a little surprised squeak - the cutest little sound - and blushes. “What? You think that I...wear…”

I shrug. “Just throwing it out there, I guess.”

I see it now - the mental image of Mariko lying under me as I tape her into a diaper. It pleases me in a way that I don’t totally understand, but don’t feel the need to question.

“Yes,” she says.

“Yes?”

She nods.

“Okay, good. Whenever you want. If you ever want it. Just ask.”

She nods again.

Near the door to her bedroom, there’s a plastic bag waiting to be taken out to the trash can - the bag that Mariko tossed Troy’s wet diaper into during the diaper change that we all watched earlier. What a strange night. What a good night. I wonder what the future looks like. Would there be a point when Troy crawling around the apartment in a dirty diaper was the norm? Was Mariko as good a baby as she was a Mommy? I think I knew the answer to that one already.

I’d have to check in with Tricia later. I’m curious as to her take on everything.

For now, Mariko and I cuddle. It’s the most comfortable place I’ve ever been.