Doing Business, Part 43 (Patreon)

Forty-Three

“The bedrooms of young men like yourself always amuse me,” Mommy said as she ventured into my room. “Not that I see them all that often. But when I was a little younger and had more time for dating–I had seen my share. There’s something about this aesthetic... Not quite the teenage-bedroom aesthetic of little boys who still live with their parents. But not quite an ‘adult’s’ room either.”

I grunted a little–trying to offer some sort of response, though not fully invested in this conversation either. I wanted to be. I had dreams about Mommy coming and visiting my actual bedroom in my apartment. And there she was, getting a candid glimpse at my room–before I had the opportunity to clean it up and organize it. There was a dirty pile of clothes that needed to either be washed or crammed into the hamper. A few empty plastic water bottles on my dresser that needed to be taken to the recycling bin. And I was almost positive I was catching a whiff of a stale diaper that I had left in the trash can prior to when we had left for our trip.

“This isn’t bad though,” she said, continuing her lap around the room. “I’ve seen far worse. But…” She bent over my little trash can at the side of my desk, peering into it while waving a hand in front of her face. “I’m afraid it does smell like a little baby lives here.”

Even though I wasn’t completely engaged, I had heard enough that my cheeks began to turn pink. I sighed, trying my best to set aside my anxieties about my mother’s message. I wasn’t even sure where my phone was anymore–after hearing the voicemail, I dropped it and I was pretty sure it had slid off the bed entirely. Since, I had just been lying there in my shirt and wet diaper, in a state of shock as I awaited my change.

“I’m usually pretty good at reading your facial expressions,” Mommy said as she wandered back to my bed. “But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this one before, Baby. Have you seen a ghost? Or are you just smelling that old diaper too?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m a little distracted.”

“Maybe if we threw this diaper in a dumpster we’d both be able to concentrate a little more…”

“No, I… It’s not the diaper.”

She sat down on the end of my bed, gently placing a hand on my ankle. “Are you okay, Clark?”

I never doubted that she cared about me. It was sometimes easy to forget it though, amidst all the humiliation she expertly peppered into my life. But I could see sincerity in her face in that moment, and it was exactly what I needed. I took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry,” I said again. “I, uh, just got a message from my mother. And we don’t really talk much these days, but…” I didn’t really complete the thought, and my voice just drifted off.

“Your mother?” asked Mommy. “I’m not sure that you’ve said much about her. I hope her message wasn’t mean or hurtful.”

“No, no. Not at all. Kind of the opposite, really. We’ve had a rough few months, but now it sounds like she wants to work things out. I think.”

“Well that doesn’t seem like a bad thing, Baby.”

“She wants to come up and see me. Next weekend.”

Mommy thought about that for a beat before laughing. “Ah, I see. And you’re nervous that–what–you’ll pee your pants in front of her?”

“I know you’re joking,” I said. “But that’s exactly the sort of thing I’d do. I absolutely cannot have her find out about this. Any of this.”

Ms. Heller began to open her mouth, but instead she just clicked her tongue and shut it again. I imagine she had things to say on that. Maybe experiences she’s had, or things she learned. But just as she could read my face, I could read hers. She was holding back. Biting her tongue. There were some situations she didn’t want to insert herself into, and I respected that.

“That sounds difficult,” she finally said.

“I guess I’d be anxious enough about her coming to visit. But on top of that, I have to hide this entire weird world from her.”

“Do you think it’ll be that hard to do?” she asked.

I shrugged.

She reached for the clean diapers, snagging one of them. “One thing at a time, that’s what I always say. RIght now, let’s get your pissy diaper taken care of.”

“Y-yes, Mommy. Good idea.”

She stood up, circling around the bed so that was standing at my side. Then, her hands were on my diaper, forcefully pulling at the well-adhered tapes. I had no doubt that, from the living room, Evan could hear those tell-tale sounds.

Mommy was right, though–as she had a tendency to be. The further she got into the diaper change, the easier it was to release some of that anxiety I had been holding onto. My problems hadn’t been solved–and I had no doubt that they’d return in full force later–but this was at least a brief reprieve from them.

“I can feel the tension in your body,” she said, taking a baby wipe and slowly sliding it across the bare skin where my pubic hair once was. “You poor thing, you’re all knotted up.”

I sighed, letting myself sink deeper into my bed. I needed to start paying attention, because this moment was something I had fantasized about on more than one occasion–Mommy changing my diaper in my bedroom.

“Here’s what I’ll say about your room,” she said, looking around my room again as her hands gently massaged my pathetic chastity cage. “It’s not exactly a baby’s room, is it?”

“Well, uhm… No, I suppose not.”

“A bed? Babies can just roll right out of that. Have you considered getting a crib instead?”

“Well…”

“And if your bed was replaced by a crib, you’d probably need a place to easily have your diapers changed. So maybe you could get rid of that desk over there and replace it with a changing table.”

It was working. Whether she was being serious or not–and I honestly had no idea–I was looking around my own room now, imagining her recommended changes.

“And you need more diaper storage,” she continued. “I mean, you must be well-aware of how many diapers you go through in a day, right? And where are you keeping them now?”

“The, uhm, box in my closet?”

“I don’t care for that,” she said, shaking her head. “For something so important to a baby like yourself, why are you just hiding them away and making them harder to get to? I’m thinking you should empty out some of the drawers in your dresser. I mean, do you even wear underwear anymore?”

“N-not often, no.”

“Right. So we might as well be practical. We’ll fill those drawers with diapers. And then the big-boy underpants can be relegated to a box in the closet instead.”

Would this ever actually happen? I had no idea. But I was buying everything she was selling, and it was a pleasant distraction. Her hands–one still on my cage, while the other casually massaged my scrotum–certainly helped.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” she cooed.

“Mmhmm.”

“Silly me,” she said, looking around the room. “We forgot one of the most important parts of a diaper change. Where’s your pacifier?”

“Oh, uh…” My face got a little redder as I tried to remember where my bag was.

“Nevermind,” Mommy said, plucking one off the top of my bedside table before sliding it into my mouth. “Found one.”

I wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing–that I had multiple pacifiers just lying around now, or that this pacifier had been sitting out in plain view on my bedside table all weekend for anyone to see. Not that I believed anyone had been in my room while I was away–Evan wasn’t that sort of person, so far as I knew. But it was just the principle of it–it was yet another step towards me just becoming a literal infant, with baby supplies just lying out in the open at all times. Maybe Mommy was onto something with her suggested room-makeover tips.

I suckled on my pacifier as I looked up at her smiling face. The latex bulb never failed to help sooth me.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, kissing my forehead. “Now then, let’s get you into a fresh diaper, yes?”

Her hand slid a little deeper between my legs, giving my backdoor the slightest tickle. It sent ripples through my entire body. I craved more. But her hand was gone just as quickly–it had been just a tease.

“Such a little buttslut,” she said. “I love it.”

For a moment, my mother’s possible trip to come see me was the furthest thing on my mind. I sucked on my paci as she pulled away the bloated old diaper and replaced it with a thick slab of padding. Aside from smelling the cloud of baby powder she shook into the new diaper, I was pretty oblivious to most of her process until she was finished–instead just enjoying the bliss of helpless infancy.

“There you go, Baby. As good as new.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” I said, pulling the pacifier from my mouth.

“Of course. But, I’m going to need you to do something now.”

“Y-yes?”

“Your room already smells like a stinky diaper. How about you take this diaper and that old one from your trash can outside to the dumpster.”

I sighed. I wasn’t thrilled about having to carry around some old diapers, but I was always a fan of being given tasks. And there was something especially thrilling about having Mommy in my own home, giving me commands on how to take care of it better.

“Yes, Mommy.”

She pulled out the wadded up diaper from the trash can and set it on the bed next to the bundled up diaper she had just changed me out of.

I slid off the bed, grabbing one of the empty plastic shopping bags I kept in one of my desk drawers–I usually kept some on hand for disposing of dirty diapers, though I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t thought to use one for the one in my trash can–and tossed both of the piss-heavy packages into it.

“Hold on, Baby,” she said as I began walking towards the door with my heavy sack of shame.

“Hmm?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Pants. I wondered how far I would’ve gotten without them if she hadn’t stopped me. Would I have walked out into the hallway in just a diaper, carrying a bag of used diapers?

“Thank you,” I said, face flushed as I grabbed my pants off the ground and pulled them up and over my thick diaper.

“Run along, now,” she said. “When you come back, we’ll say our goodbyes, as I should probably be on my way soon.”

I was practically escorted out of my apartment, bag in hand, before the door was shut behind me. It was fine. No big deal–I had taken diapers to the dumpster plenty of times before. And wearing diapers as often as I had taught me that most people just didn’t care what you were doing unless you were going out of your way to attract attention.

There was a time, not long after I moved in, when I was trying to take the stairs as often as possible. That quickly wore off. I was on the 5th floor–there was no way in hell I was walking about all those flights of steps if I didn’t have to. And in a diaper? Forget about it.

To my dismay, when the elevator opened, I found it was already occupied by a young woman. I had seen her before, maybe once or twice, but I knew nothing about her beyond that she also lived in the building.

For a second, considering my thin bag of dirty adult diapers, I was tempted to stay in place in the hallway and just wait for the elevator. But that felt too weird. This woman would take offense to that, I thought. She’d wonder if there was a reason I didn’t want to be in the elevator with her. So I stepped inside, doing my best to keep my plastic bag either at my side or behind me so she couldn’t see it.

“Hey,” she said, offering a slight nod.

“Good afternoon,” I said as the elevator doors closed. It would be a quick trip to the lobby.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you around before,” she said, shrugging. “You live here long?”

“A while,” I said, avoiding the temptation to tell her I’ve seen her before.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Lauren.”

“Likewise,” I said, giving her a friendly wave with my non-diaper wielding hand. “It’s always nice to know the names of some of your neighbors. My name is Clark and–”

Plop.

Ding.

It all seemed to happen at once–the elevator doors opening because we were on the first floor; the handle of my plastic bag snapping; my two sodden diapers tumbling out of the torn bag onto the floor of the elevator; me looking up to see another guy, about my age, waiting to step on the elevator.

Lauren and I bent down at the same time. Bless her friendly heart, she just wanted to help me pick up what I dropped.

“N-no,” I said, frantically grabbing at both diapers. “I’ve got these.”

One diaper–the smellier one that had been lingering in my room the past weekend–was just out of my reach. I watched, as if in slow motion, her hand reaching for it. It was only when her hand touched it–she actually touched it–that she paused and realized what it was she was grabbing for. Her hand retracted and she straightened herself out. I propelled my body forward that list inch to grab it myself, and when I stood, I was clutching both diapers at my chest like they were precious gems.

I opened my mouth to say something to her. I had no idea what I was going to say. Thank you for trying? Sorry you had to see that? Touch that? It was probably for the best that she walked out of the elevator without saying anything else to me. I hoped I never saw her again.

I had no idea if the man boarding the elevator had seen what she had, and I had no intention of finding out. I plowed past him and straight out the front door, walking around the corner of the building as quickly as I could so I could toss my diapers into the dumpster. Each one bounced off the thick metal walls with a harmonic BONG. I sighed, taking a moment to compose myself in the alley where the dumpster was. I couldn’t even do the most basic task without finding a new and creative way of humiliating myself in front of a stranger.

Who was Lauren? The kind of person who’d run and tell everyone what she saw? Or would she respect a stranger’s privacy in what was, obviously, a humiliating accident?

And, you know, maybe she didn’t actually recognize the object she had touched as a diaper. Right?

I sighed again. And then I laughed. Why wasn’t I just expecting this kind of nonsense at this point? This was my life now.

It seemed as good a time as any to try and reach out to my mother. I knew Mommy was still waiting for me in my apartment, but I didn’t think this call would take long. Besides, if the conversation went south, I was already feeling pretty bad about myself–it couldn’t bring me much lower.

“Well, would you look at who decided to call his Mommy.”

It made me cringe a little, hearing her call herself ‘Mommy.’ She did that from time to time–it was a joke, I think. Little did she know, someone else in my life was using that name too.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I’m a little surprised you called back so soon, if I’m being honest,” she said. “You usually like to stew on these sorts of things for a few days.”

“I had a minute,” I said, quickly adding: “but just a minute.”

“Oh, of course. A big important boy in the city. Must be living the life, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well? You can carve a day or two out of your jam-packed schedule for your Mommy, right?”

She had to know that I hadn’t called her ‘Mommy’ in 20 years, right? If it was a joke, I didn’t completely understand it.

“I, uh…”

“Look, sweetheart, I don’t really want to take ‘no’ for an answer, okay? What I’m really asking is that you make sure your schedule is cleared so that I can come up and spend some time with my baby boy.”

Baby boy. Jesus.

This was my mother in a nutshell–effortlessly railroading me into oblivion. I should have known–her inevitable arrival was already a foregone conclusion. She just wanted to make sure that I knew she was coming.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m free this weekend.”

“Splendid. I’m thinking I’ll come up on Saturday morning. We’ll get brunch?”

It was posed as a question, but it wasn’t a question. Still, I had to pretend that it was: “Yes, that sounds good to me.”

“Perfect. Well, I’d love to chat more, but it sounds like you’re in a bit of a hurry?”

“Y-yes,” I said.

Or, at least, that’s what I had wanted to say.

What I actually said to her was: “Y-yes, Mommy.” It had come out of me automatically–a habit that had already been ingrained in me from my time spent with Ms. Heller and answering her questions.

She laughed–a sort-of girlish giggle. “Oh my, Clark. You haven’t called me that in a long time. I rather like it.”

“Good,” I said. “Great. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you, Clark.”

“Love you too. Mom.” I emphasized ‘Mom’ as much as I could–hoping to signal that I wasn’t about to make a habit of calling her ‘Mommy.’

It didn’t matter, the call had ended and my mother would walk away from that call thinking whatever she had wanted to think anyway.

I was probably right to have called her at this moment, though. If I was going to embarrass myself again anyway, I might as well have kicked myself while already down.

On my way back to my apartment, I spied Lauren standing on the corner not far from the apartment building. She was talking on her phone, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was walking near her. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was laughing pretty hard.

I might have been wrong, but I felt pretty confident that I knew what she was laughing about.

Back in my apartment, I found Evan and Mommy chatting again. No snide smiles or laughter this time–just mundane chatter about what Evan was doing with his life. Upon seeing that I was back, she quickly excused herself and returned to me.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “A clean baby is a happy baby.”

I had been debating on whether or not I’d tell her about my embarrassing elevator incident, and I had decided that I’d tell her. But not now–not in front of Evan. He didn’t need any more ammunition on me than he already had.

But there was something else to discuss: “My mother is coming next weekend.” I said it loud enough that Evan could hear it too.

“Ah, I see,” Mommy said. “And what do you need from me?”

I appreciated that she asked. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But I might need a little break from, uhm…this?”

She laughed, brushing my cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, silly Baby. You won’t get a reprieve from me. If I want to keep you in diapers this weekend, then you may just end up wearing diapers while you spend time with your mother.”

I did my best to nod and not look too shaken up by her answer. But I was devastated. My heart was shattered and my guts were tied in knots. Stuck between a rock and a hard place–and I wasn’t sure which of those was ‘Mommy’ and which was my mother.

“Sure,” I said. “O-of course.”

“Very well, then,” she said. “I should be off. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“You have a good night,” she said, leaning forward to kiss my head. “Don’t be too troubled about this weekend. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Easy for her to say.