Fixer Upper [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

1

Annmarie calls me ‘the handywoman.’ Sometimes it’s ‘Becky the Builder.’ She says that I only like guys that I can ‘fix.’

I don’t know. I don’t only like guys I can fix–maybe it just looks that way because the only guys I do end up in relationships with are fixer-uppers. And it’s not like I go out of my way to find guys who are in disrepair. Maybe I just have the sort of personality that attracts broken things?

Look, I do like to help people. Not just the guys I’m sleeping with–but everyone. I’d go out of my way to help any friend or family member in a heartbeat. And that seems like a good quality to me. So when Annmarie makes her little comments and we both laugh–I take comfort in having a reputation built on just caring a little too much.

“Guys can sense it,” Annmarie says, slurping the remnants of her soda through a straw loudly. “They’re like: ‘Oh, she’s gonna take care of me. I need her.’”

“Guys don’t say that,” I respond, shoving a few french fries into my mouth. “Guys like independence and all that.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s what they want you to think. What they really want? Is Mommy 2.0.”

“Ugh,” I groan while chewing. “When’s somebody going to take care of me?”

“Probably never,” she says. “I mean, it’s nothing personal. Nobody’s going to take care of me either. Not unless we marry rich. And rich guys…well, they probably have a whole other set of issues.”

“So that’s it, huh? I’m just destined to become someone’s mother?”

“Afraid so. Speaking of. Who’s in the shop these days, Handywoman? Are you still with that, uh, shrimpy looking guy?”

I wish she was a little less blunt sometimes. “Ned?”

“Mmhmm, that was his name.”

“Yeah…we’re still together.”

Her cheeks blush a little as she grimaces and stirs her straw around in some ice. “Sorry…I thought you guys broke up.”

“We did,” I shrug. “But we worked it out.”

“What was up with that guy again?”

“He’s nice,” I say. I really want to sell Annmarie on him. Not because I think he’s the greatest man who ever lived–but because I don’t want her to think that he’s just another broken dude. “He’s a good guy and, y’know, he treats me well.”

“But, like, what’s his deal?” she asks. “Why did you two break up for a minute?”

“Well, I didn’t think we were, like, on the same page? But we talked about it a lot, and I think we’re finally there now.”

“What page was he on?” she asks.

I sigh. I don’t really want to answer her question, but I’m not one to lie to my best friend. “He lives with his parents. And his mother can be…a lot.”

“Oh fuck,” Annmarie says, shaking her head. “Becky…that sounds like the exact opposite of what you need. He already has mommy issues? Girl, he’s going to be suckling from your breast soon enough.”

“Ew,” I say, laughing at the very thought. “Well, she’s his stepmother, if that makes a difference.”

“That’s even worse, I think. That means that she’s not only a controlling influence in an adult man’s life, but she’s replacing his actual mother. Where’s his mother? Dead? Divorced?”

“I actually don’t have any idea.”

“You should find that out. Because if it’s something traumatic, he’s probably got mommy issues coming out the wazoo.”

“No, no. I think we’ve worked past it. He’s better now. I put my foot down and told him that he can’t let his stepmother dictate everything he does. I told him that I’m an adult, and I need for him to be one too. And I’d like to think I got through to him.”

“Becky, I love you. But you’ve got the worst taste in men. Let me set you up with someone. Please?”

“I appreciate you looking out for me,” I say. “But I like Ned, and I think things are headed in the right direction. You’ll see. A month from now, we’ll be sitting here again, talking, and I’ll be telling you all about how much better things are.”

2

“So, Becky? I think there’s something we need to talk about…”

You fucking fuck. After all my efforts to paint Ned in a good light during my lunch with Annmarie, this is how he starts the conversation.

“You better not be breaking up with me, Ned.”

“N-no… Well, I mean, I don’t want to break up with you, Becky. I like you a lot and I think we could have a really happy future together. But that’s why I kind of need to be upfront with you about something. Because I don’t want to keep any secrets from you.”

This is slightly better than being broken up with, though I’m not fond of the direction this conversation is taking either. Secrets? Upfront?

“Okay,” I say. “Whatcha got?”

“So I’ve been talking to Margaret…”

“Your stepmother?” I groan a little, already dreading this.

“Y-yeah. So, there was this little incident a few weeks ago. Well…it wasn’t so much a single incident as it was a series of incidents, right?”

“Ned, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Start from the beginning.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. So. I had an accident.”

“An accident? Like…a car accident? Ned, are you okay?”

“No, no…like a pants accident?”

“A pants accident? What the hell is that?” But no sooner than I say that, it starts to dawn on me what he might mean. “Do you mean, like, an accident in your pants?”

“R-right,” he nods. “I, uhm, wet myself at the house a few weeks ago. And Margaret was very nice about it, you know? She helped me get cleaned up and all that, but…”

“Wait,” I say, scratching my head. “What do you mean by ‘helped you get cleaned up?’ Accidents happen, sure. But you’re an adult man. You don’t need her help to get cleaned up.”

“Well, I guess. But…she insisted on helping and I couldn’t say no and…”

“So what did she do?” I laugh. “Bathe you?”

“No, she just helped me, you know, take my clothes off and get some dry pants for me.”

I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit. And I really don’t like that this conversation comes today, of all days, after my earlier conversation with Annmarie has me feeling determined to make this relationship actually work.

“But you said there was a ‘series’ of incidents?”

“Y-yeah. That wasn’t the only time that I had an…accident.”

“That seems kind of serious, Ned. Like…maybe you should see a doctor or something?”

“Well that’s the good news,” he continued. “Margaret is already helping me deal with this little problem.”

I’m a little relieved to hear that there’s already someone looking after him, though I’m still a little nervous about where this is going. I can’t shake the thought of his stepmother giving him a bath, or pulling his soiled pants down his legs.

“Okay,” I say, a little apprehensively. “That’s good. And, uh, what is she doing to help you deal with this problem?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, his foot nervously tapping as he slides his hand through his dark hair. “Because I want to tell you about it now, rather than have you stumble into it later.”

“Okay?”

“Margaret got me…protection.”

I shook my head. “Ned, I don’t understand.”

“Like…undergarments? It’s kind of, you know, embarrassing. But I do think it's a good idea. Keeps my pants dry, at least.”

“Diapers?” I ask. “Is that what you mean? Is your stepmother making you wear…diapers?”

“No, no, no. Diapers are, like, for babies, you know? But these are just…special padded undergarments. For adults.”

“Diapers,” I say. “You’re literally describing an adult diaper.”

I watch his face as his brain short-circuits a little. Did he truly believe that he wasn’t wearing diapers, or was he just that deep in denial?

“Are you wearing one now?” I ask.

“Uhm…well, Margaret thought I should wear them as often as possible, you know? Just in case there’s another accident.”

It’s hard–I want to tell him that this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m not an expert, but I’d think that any level of incontinence is better treated by a doctor and not…a stepmother with a disposition towards diapers? I just can’t take him seriously. But I bite my tongue and try to keep myself composed.

“How often are you having…accidents?” I ask. The word is surprisingly hard to get out. It feels like I’m talking to a toddler. And, considering the diapers, I don’t think I’m that far off.

He shrugs. “I mean, not all the time. Just once every few days or so.”

“And you’re okay with wearing diapers?”

“I don’t love it, but it makes sense, I think. And Margaret says that nobody is going to notice. Well…except you. Which is why I’m telling you now.”

“I guess I’m thankful that you’re being forthright with me. It’s just a lot to take in, you know?”

“Do you…respect me less because I wear diapers now?”

I have no idea how to respond to this. Does he truly expect me to tell him that I haven’t lost any respect for him for allowing his stepmother to put him in diapers?

I carefully plot my answer as I speak: “I think…you have to do what you have to do. And it’s on me to figure out if I can adapt to that or not.”

He nods. I can see that he doesn’t feel great about that answer, though we both know it was nicer than me telling him to go crawl away forever.

“Do you think I can see it?” I ask.

“I don’t know…”

“I’m just thinking it would be better to get that out of the way now, Ned. Otherwise it’s going to be hanging over us everytime we’re hanging out.”

To my surprise, I saw some optimism in his face. “Y-you think we’ll keep hanging out?”

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just…not convinced that you’re handling this situation in the best way. But I’m also willing to concede that it’s not my body nor my decision. If you really think that diapers are the way to go…I trust you.”

“Thank you, Becky.”

“So? Gonna show me that diaper?”

With a slight nod of his head, he began to unbuckle his belt. Looking at his pants, nothing stood out to me as being abnormal about them. If he hadn’t told me about the diapers, I doubt I would’ve guessed. That said, he had a penchant for wearing pants in unflattering cuts like ‘relaxed fit’ and ‘loose fit.’ He could conceal an entire Buick in his pants and I might not notice.

I also wonder if diapers made for adults are just made to be more slim and discrete. Maybe they weren’t all that different from regular underpants.

He shoved his pants down from his hips, and they almost immediately fell to the ground around his ankles. There it was. Make no mistake–this was not some discrete undergarment. This was a diaper. The thick blob of white plastic seemed to bulge out in front of him. It reminds me of the diapers my little sister wore when she was an actual infant.

“That’s a lot of diaper,” I say.

“Margaret thinks it’s good that I have a lot of protection.”

“Does she think your dick is a firehose, Ned? This seems kind of excessive for just occasional accidents.”

He shrugs. “I…trust her judgment.”

He might, but I certainly don’t. I can’t help but feel kind of…angry about it. Was this some sort of joke being played on him by his stepmother?

“Alright, sure,” I say. “Why don’t you put your pants back on.”

“You’re okay with this?” he asks.

“I’m willing to accept that you’ve accepted this,” I say. “That’s the best I can offer right now.”

3

The more I think about it, the madder I get.

I very badly want to reach out to Annmarie to get her take on this, but I already have a good idea of what she’s going to say to me: “He’s in a diaper? Girl, get out of there right now and don’t look back.”

And imaginary Annmarie isn’t wrong. This feels like more than I should have to deal with. Diapers? Fucking diapers?

It’s even worse that it was his stepmother’s idea. I don’t understand their relationship–I never have. Since the day I met him, he’s always seemed to be wrapped around her finger. We’ve never been able to just plan a date without him saying that he needed to ‘check in with Margaret about it’ first. We had arguments about that. We broke up for a few days because of that.

She’d periodically call or text him when we hung out, and he’d have to go and check in with her. Once, while we were eating dinner on a date, she actually came by the restaurant to say ‘hi.’ Sure, she was pleasant enough to me–but that was beside the point. Who does that?

So why was I still with him? I ask myself that a lot.

Well, he’s a nice guy. He’s handsome. He can be funny…or I remember a time when I thought he was funny. He makes a pretty good grilled cheese sandwich.

Who am I kidding? I’m still with him because he’s a project. I want to fix him. I want to wean him away from his stepmother’s proverbial–I hope–teat.

Annmarie would be laughing her ass off if I told her this.

So how do you fix a guy like this? What can I say or do to get him to finally grow up? I’ve tried leveling with him before. I told him my concerns and my fears, and I already told him that our relationship wouldn’t have a future if he couldn’t break free of her grip. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think he’s capable of doing that by himself.

Time to do what I do best. Fix shit.

I decide I need to go have a chat with Margaret.

4

“Rebecca! What a wonderful surprise. Why don’t you come in?”

I’ve met Margaret a few times before–usually in situations where I wasn’t anticipating seeing her. It felt nice to knock on her door and catch her off guard for once.

“I usually just go by Becky, actually. But thank you.”

While Margaret may have her questionable tendrils wrapped around Ned, I’ve always found her to be a pleasant woman to be around. She’s friendly and gregarious. She’s got that ‘mom’ energy about her that can be quite disarming.

“I’m sorry to just drop by like this,” I say. “That’s not typically something I do.”

“It’s not a worry, dear,” she says. “Come with me. I’ll start a kettle on the stove.”

I’m tempted to tell her I’m not much of a tea drinker, but that doesn’t seem necessary. It’s probably easier to just let her go and to drink a cup without complaining. I’ve got actual complaints for her, so I’d rather save my energy.

“What brings you by?” she asks. “Not that you have to have a reason to see me, of course. Any friend of Neddy’s is a friend of mine.”

Neddy.

“So, I was talking to Ned the other day, and he was telling me about some recent, er, life changes…”

“Ah. I assume you’re referring to his new undergarments?”

Her use of ‘undergarments’ throws me off a little. It’s not the word I’ve been using as I’ve thought about the situation.

“Yeah…that’s right.”

“It’s unfortunate, of course,” she says with a shrug. “I wish he didn’t have a need for such things.”

“Well, actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. See…”

“He actually told you about them?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I nod. “And, at the risk of saying too much, he showed them to me too.”

“I see,” she says.

I’m worried that she’s not going to approve of this. Maybe she’ll give me some grief for meddling in affairs that she thinks aren’t any of my business. But to my surprise, she smiles.

“What did you think of the garment?” she asks.

“I mean, I’m just going to call it what it is…”

“Oh?” Her smile grows larger. “And what is that?”

“A diaper.”

She looks incredibly satisfied by that. “Rebecca, er, Becky, wouldn’t you agree that ‘diaper’ has a more infantile implication? You won’t find any adult incontinence products with the word ‘diaper’ on the packaging.”

I have no idea if that was true or not, though I’m willing to take her word for it. “With all due respect, Ms. Price…”

“Margaret, please.”

“With all due respect, Margaret, that didn’t look like an ‘adult incontinence product’ to me.”

“Have much experience with them, do you?”

I feel my cheeks warm a little. “Well, no. It was just…very thick. Like, far thicker and bulkier than I think he needs. And that’s another thing. I mean…maybe you know the situation better than I do, but if he’s just having occasional ‘accidents,’ I don’t understand why he’s wearing these things at all.”

“Is that what he told you?” Margaret asks. “That he’s just having occasional accidents?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And so you think his diapers are a little excessive, then? Perhaps he told you that this was my idea? And now this whole scene starts to look like I’m trying to humiliate or undermine him?”

I take a deep breath. She hit the nail on the head, but I’m far too polite to say that. “I’m just concerned about him.”

“And that is exactly why I like you, Becky. It sounds as if you care about his well-being as much as I do.”

I shrug. “Well, yeah. Of course I care about him.”

“Unfortunately, our dear Neddy has been lying to you.”

My immediate reaction is disbelief. He literally told me about his diapers, unprompted. He showed them to me. That felt like far too much information to be sharing for someone who was lying.

“What could he possibly have lied about?” I asked.

“Well, for one, the boy has never once had an ‘accident.’ Well, not since he was an actual toddler, at least.”

“What?”

“Come with me, Becky. I want to show you something.”

5

I had been in Ned’s home before. I had been in his room a few times as well. And the room that Margaret had taken me to–it wasn’t his bedroom. It was a room I had never been in before. It looked a lot like a teenage girl’s bedroom. Pink everywhere. Posters of boy band stars and actors on the wall. Jewelry and make-up everywhere.

“I have a daughter,” Margaret tells me when we enter the room. “Has Ned ever mentioned Eliza?”

“No,” I say, still looking around–trying to figure out what the point of this is.

“It shouldn’t surprise me. She’s a few years older than he is, and they were never really all that close. She’s rather…focused. Self assured and confident, you know? She should have her doctorate by the end of the year.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“I’m quite proud of her,” she says. “But then you have Ned. He’s… Well, he’s not cut from the same cloth, let’s say. And that’s no offense to him. Or his father, for that matter. Everyone’s a little different.”

“Sure.”

“So, Eliza moved out quite some time ago. Self sufficient and all that. It was good for her to exert her independence. But good for me too, as it gave me the opportunity to build a bond with Neddy.”

“I have to assume that this is Eliza’s room?”

Margaret nods.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what this has to do with anything.”

“Oh, it’s not the room itself I wanted to show you. It’s the things I keep in the room.”

With that, she reaches under the bed and begins pulling out various boxes and packages. I’m in awe at what I see–more diapers. Lots more. And not just more of the bloated white one he had shown me, but strangely colorful ones as well–diapers that could pass as actual baby diapers if they weren’t so big.

“What is all this?” I ask.

“This is Ned’s little stash. Though I guess it’s not really a stash now that I know about it.”

“These are…his?”

“That’s right,” Margaret says, tossing me one of the more colorful loose diapers. It’s light blue in color with colorful cartoon teddy bears printed throughout it. “I’m not entirely sure why he chose to hide them in here. Maybe he thought that it was less likely anyone would look around, since Eliza had moved out. But, needless to say, I found them.”

“Jeez. So he doesn’t have a problem. He has…a fetish.”

“I suppose there is a sexual element to it for him,” she says, chuckling to herself. “But it’s so much more than that.”

“Okay?”

“I confronted him after finding his diapers. Well, that’s not true–I called Eliza first and asked her why she had so many adult diapers hidden under her bed. As you can imagine, she didn’t know a thing about them. She thought I was making it up.”

“Oh wow,” I say, feeling secondhand embarrassment for Ned. Not only had his secret been discovered by his stepmother, but it had been inadvertently exposed to his stepsister too.

“So I took it to Ned. And, Neddy being Neddy, he folded almost immediately–spilling it all out for me. Blubbered like a baby, too. Quite fitting, of course. The poor boy wanted to be treated like a toddler, as it turned out. He wanted diapers. He wanted to be bottle fed. He wanted someone else to bathe and dress him.”

“What did you do?”

She tilts her head towards me, a look of skepticism in her eyes. She’s sizing me up. Judging me–trying to determine if she can trust me or not. “There are people who would harshly criticize me for what I’ve done with Ned.”

It’s hard for me to know if I’d be one of those ‘people’ without knowing what she did. But I want to know everything now. “I…I won’t judge you. I just want to know.”

She nods. “I helped him. I let him be the big baby he wanted to be, and I took care of him like one. And I have been doing that for sometime now. And up until now, I was under the assumption that nobody else knew about it except for he and I. But…it would seem that he trusts you enough to let you in on the secret.”

“Well, he didn’t actually tell me the truth. He told me that you were making him wear diapers because he was having accidents.”

She laughs. “Perhaps he was easing you into the weird world we reside in.”

“So…he hasn’t been having accidents?”

“Well…if a young man uses his diapers often enough, he starts to forget how to make it to the potty in time… He did have one little incident a week or two ago and piddled his pants a little. I politely suggested that he either give the diapers a break or he consider wearing them more often when he leaves the house. It would seem he chose the latter.”

I can’t help but laugh. This whole time I’ve known Ned, he’s been crawling back to his stepmother and letting her treat him like a baby?

“Do you, like, change his diapers?” I ask.

“It’s probably better that I do it than him. He’s not as thorough as I am. Especially when he makes a stinky diaper.”

“Wait… Do you mean he actually…”

“Oh, he does it all, dear. As a baby should.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Learned a bit more than you expected, did you?”

“I…I thought I was going to fix him.”

Margaret’s smile grew wide across her face again. “Oh, sweet girl. He doesn’t need to be fixed. He’s perfect just the way he is.”

6

I wish that I hadn’t gone to see Ned’s stepmother. Not only did it accomplish nothing, but it made the warning signs I was seeing around Ned look bigger and brighter.

Annmarie would have a fucking field day with this. This was even crazier than the ‘mommy issues’ she predicted.

It’s become apparent that I have a decision to make. Either I ditch this wussy pants-wetter, or I…change his diapers? It seems like a pretty clear-cut decision when I put it like that. I’m thinking it’s time I cut my losses and move on. I’ll go back to Annmarie, tail between my legs, and tell her that I’m ready for her to start choosing men for me. She’ll probably be so happy that she’ll kiss me on the lips.

Or, wait…

I have this thought while I’m stir-frying some noodles and downing an enormous glass of wine: Would it be so bad to have a boyfriend who was–almost literally–dependent on you? Sure, it sounds like work. But I think about the problems my other friends have had with men over the last few months. Jeff had cheated on Miranda–twice. Abby was pretty sure that Max was stealing money from her. And then there was that whole debacle with Bobby’s family hating Susanne.

Maybe treating a guy like a baby once in a while wasn’t that bad of an exchange for a partner who’d be completely devoted to you.

It flip flops like this for a while. It feels like a good idea until it doesn’t. And then it seems like a bad idea for a while. And then I imagine him looking up at me with need in his eyes–as if he couldn’t possibly function without me. My inner handywoman is absolutely wet at that thought.

Goddamn, I want to call Annmarie so badly. I want to tell her everything. I can’t and I won’t. But I really want to.

Somewhere near the end of the second giant glass of wine, I find myself repeating the words Margaret had said to me earlier: “He doesn’t need to be fixed. He’s perfect just the way he is.” It’s an endearing thought, though it occurs to me that it’s not entirely accurate. He’s not perfect. Not yet.

He’d be perfect if he was my baby.

7

BRRRRRRTT.

The obnoxious doorbell for my apartment rings and I quickly rush to the door to open it. It’s Ned. He’s brought me flowers and he’s wearing his most adorable smile.

“Hey Becky.”

“Hey Neddy,” I respond, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

He seems thrown off by this. I’ve never called him ‘Neddy’ before. In fact, it’s likely that nobody else in his life does except for Margaret.

“You look really nice tonight,” he says, his big eyes scanning my dress more than once. I had a feeling he’d like this one.

“Thank you. And you’re a handsome boy yourself tonight.”

“Heh. Th-thank you.” I do enjoy watching his cheeks light up.

He seems a little apprehensive. I know that he doesn’t want to be–but he can sense that something is up. Something seems off to him. I catch him staring at my dress again, and I can see the cogs moving in his little head. He probably thinks that he’s seen this dress before. He’d be right–though he didn’t see the dress on me. A few hours ago, it belonged to Margaret.

I watch as he sniffs the air, catching a familiar scent. I can’t help but smile. This is going even better than I had planned.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, shaking his head like he was being pulled back from a daydream. “I just…that, uhm, scent?”

“What about it?”

“It just…” He runs his hand through his hair and laughs to himself. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

“No, go on. What is it?”

“It just reminds me of this fragrance that Margaret always wears. I-is that strange?”

“Do you like it, Neddy? Does it make you feel at ease?”

He laughs again. “Would it be strange if I said that it did?”

“Not at all,” I say. “It’s what I was hoping for.”

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head as he tries to make sense of the riddle that he’s walked into.

“Have you had any accidents today?” I ask.

His cheeks turn a vibrant pink and he bites his bottom lip for a moment. “N-no…not today.”

“But you’re still wearing your…what did you call them? Special padded undergarments?”

“Y-yeah,” he says, nodding. “That’s okay, right? I just want to be, uhm, careful. Just in case.”

“Oh, of course,” I say, patting him on the back. “It’s good to be safe.”

I cherish the befuddled look on his face. He wants to like the way that I’m talking to him, but he knows that he’s missing a piece of the puzzle.

Should I tell him? No, no, I want to hold on to it for just a little bit longer.

“Take off your shoes, Neddy. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uhm, sure. Thank you, Becky.”

He walks past me and I give his bottom a quick playful swat–my hand striking something thick and firm in his pants. I can’t see his face, but I can only imagine how much redder it’s gotten.

I pour myself a glass of wine. His drink was already prepared in advance, however, and it’s been waiting in the fridge. I almost have to bite my knuckle to stop myself from giggling when I pull it out. Deep breath. Compose yourself. Play it cool.

My eyes are locked on his as I walk around the couch with our drinks in my hands. At first he sees the glass of wine in my right hand, and I see him reaching towards it–only for him to pause and see what’s in my left hand. It’s a baby bottle, filled with apple juice.

“Wh-what is that?” he asks. He doesn’t blush more–he goes pale.

“Oh this? This is your drink.”

“But, uhm, why is it…”

I feign confusion. “You do know what a baby bottle is, yes? I assumed all babies are familiar with them.”

“Baby? But…I’m not…” He sighs and shakes his head, seeming to give up what little fight he had in him. “How did you know?”

“Margaret and I have been talking lately. Has she not told you?”

“My stepmother?”

I nod. “That’s right.”

“Is she here?” he asks, his eyes darting around.

“She thought it’d help if I tried to make this a little more comfortable for you. The dress was my idea. The perfume was hers.”

“That’s her dress,” he says, like a lightbulb has finally gone off over his head.

I thrust the bottle in his direction and he begrudgingly takes it and holds it in his hands.

“What else has she told you?” he asks. “What else do you know?”

“I think it’s safe to assume I know just about everything,” I say. I sit down next to him on my sofa, placing my hand on his thigh. “And that’s good news for you. You don’t have to lie to me anymore.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t get any words out. It just comes out as unintelligible grunts and false starts.

“Margaret loves you very much, you know? And I think she was a little apprehensive about passing on the torch, initially. But I’ve assured her that I was going to take good care of her baby boy–and I think she trusts me. She’s given me her blessing.”

“P-passing the torch? I don’t understand.”

“Neddy. Did you really think that your stepmommy was going to change your diapers for the rest of your life?”

I’m growing to love this expression–the one where he looks like he’s short-circuiting. He has no idea how to begin processing this.

BRRRRRRRT.

“Oh,” I say, smiling. “My other guest has arrived. Would you wait here for just a moment, Neddy?”

8

“You look so much better in that dress than I do,” she says as we embrace in the doorway.

“You’re crazy. I’m sure you looked amazing in it.”

“I did ten years ago.”

I can sense a presence behind me, and I realize that Ned has left the couch and is hovering over my shoulder–eyes enormous with disbelief as he watches us hug.

“M-Margaret,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was very graciously invited over by Becky.”

“But…you told her about…everything?”

“Well someone had to,” she replies. “You weren’t exactly feeding her the truth, were you?”

“Well…I…”

“I thought it’d be good that I come,” Margaret says to him. “I think it’s important that you know that Becky and I are on the same page.”

“Plus,” I add, “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby. But, thankfully, Margaret has agreed to show me everything I need to know.”

“It’s going to take a while,” Margaret says.

“I have plenty of time,” I reply.

Ned continues to stand there with a dumbfounded look on his face, mouth hung ajar like he might eventually have something to say–should his brain ever start working again.

“First thing’s first,” I say to her. “Let me grab you a glass of wine.”

“Oh, you’re such a delight. Isn’t she, Neddy?”

Ned’s cheeks slowly brighten as he nods. “Yeah…”

Margaret wastes no time in jumping right into the impromptu lesson after taking a hearty swig of the wine. “Now, you’re really going to want to familiarize yourself with the various states of his diaper.”

“Oh, so we’re going to go ahead and call it a ‘diaper’ now?” I ask, shooting her a smug grin.

“Now that we’ve established that Neddy is just a big baby, I think it’s an appropriate descriptor.”

Ned scoffs, looking like he wants to object to something. Alas, he still can’t get the words out of his mouth. Margaret and I shrug and continue.

“We need to check his diapers. I like to check them as often as possible. You shouldn’t have to check them so often, of course. But I’ve learned that Neddy isn’t always the most forthcoming when I ask him if he’s due for a change. Overtime, you’ll pick up some skills that make a diaper check a complete breeze. I can usually just peek into the back of his pants and gauge the status of it. While you’re getting used to taking care of him, though, you’re probably better off doing a full inspection.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “Better to be sure.”

“Exactly. And so for that, we’ll need to pull down his pants. Stand still, Neddy. I just need to unbuckle you.”

I watch as he just lets her unfasten his loose-fitting khakis, letting them plop down to the floor around his ankles to expose his diaper. I’m hoping to see one of the more babyish-printed diapers I saw at his home, though this is just another of the thick white ones.

“So, just looking at this diaper, what do you think?” Margaret asks me. “Would you say that’s a clean diaper?”

“Hmm. First impression? From where I’m standing, it looks like how I’d expect a diaper to look. I’m not sure that I’d look at that and think that he’s used it.”

“Why don’t you come closer, dear. Really get a good look at the padding. Take note of how it looks between his legs.”

I do as she suggests, leaning in and crouching down so I can get a better look at the state of his diaper. For a few moments, I’m wondering if I’d even know a difference if I saw it–I’m afraid it’s all going to look like the same white diaper to me.

Alas, it’s a lot easier to detect the abnormality than I think it would be. There, between his legs, I can see that the plastic exterior is not only discolored into a dull yellow, but the actual texture seems to have warped and distorted.

“He wet himself,” I say, looking up at Margaret. “Not a lot. But…yeah. He’s definitely wet.”

“Go ahead and give it a feel,” she says. “You’ll be surprised at how heavy it can get–even with just a little bit of pee.”

I slowly lift my hand towards his crotch. I’m not necessarily icked out by the idea of touching his diaper, but I am a little uncomfortable with grabbing hold of him while his stepmother watches me.

“Go on,” she urges, nodding. “Don’t be bashful.”

My hand presses into the padding, and I’m surprised at not only how heavy it is, but how dense the diaper feels where it’s wet. And there’s another sensation too–it’s very warm.

“I…think he might have just wet himself,” I say.

“Is that right?” Margaret asks Ned. “How long ago was it that you made pee-pees.”

“Uhm…”

Margaret rolls her eyes, visibly frustrated at his inability to communicate. “Spit it out, baby boy. We’ve got a lot to cover here.”

“Yes,” he says quietly, nodding.

“When?”

“Just…a few minutes ago. Before you pulled my pants down.”

I’m not sure why, but I find this kind of exciting. We were all standing here, right next to each other, and I had no idea that he was actually wetting his diaper like a baby. Which, in turn, reminds me how surprising it is that I’m still humoring the concept of my boyfriend being a diaper-using baby.

“Well, let’s be thankful that he just wet himself,” Margaret says. “It’d have been quite rude if he loaded up the back of his diaper instead. You don’t have to do that, do you, Neddy?”

“N-no… I don’t think so.”

Margaret rolls her eyes again. “He always says that. An hour later…boom!”

“Well, try and give me a little bit of warning before you go and do that,” I say to Ned.

His cheeks turn bright red as he sheepishly nods.

“Before we go any further,” Margaret says to Ned. “If you’ve got anything else to put in that diaper, you should probably do it now.”

“No,” he says. “I think I’m done.”

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” she says. “If we go through all the effort of changing you into a clean diaper–only for you to then immediately dirty it–there’s going to be consequences.”

“Consequences?” I ask.

“A good firm spanking always helps to correct a naughty little boy.”

I find this revelation to be delightful. Who wouldn’t want a boyfriend that they can smack a little bit from time to time?

And, judging by the little tent that’s growing in the front of his diaper as he looks at me, it would appear that he’s rather fond of the idea of me dispensing a lesson or two as well.

“Neddy!” exclaims Margaret, playfully swatting the front of his diaper. “Are you actually aroused by that?”

He’s locked down again, his body unmoving and his quivering lips unable to explain himself.

“It’s quite alright,” I say, in between some giggling. “It’s reassuring to see that he still likes being treated this way.”

“Oh, he loves it,” Margaret coos at him. “Don’t you, Neddy?”

“Y-yes.”

“I usually try to ignore his little wee-wee,” she continues, talking to me now. “But, if I’m being honest, once in a while I like to play with it a little bit. You should see how wiggly he can get when he thinks he’s going to be allowed to cream his pampers.”

One might think that having so many details of their strange relationship revealed would sour me on the whole thing. Instead, I find it to be quite the opposite. I’m getting sucked in. I want to know more. I want to know everything. Every weird detail. I want it to get even weirder.

“Now then,” Margaret says. “Neddy? Did you have anything else to add to your diaper?”

For a moment, he has no response. Then, he finally sighs and slowly nods. I suspect this is usually the part where Margaret has to coax him further to get him to actually use the diaper, but for once he’s one step ahead. Margaret and I’s eyes are fixed on the front of his diaper as that smaller patch of damp padding grows. It’s an amazing thing to watch–his diaper swelling and changing as he floods it. And it’s more than just the color and the texture–as it gets heavier, the whole thing starts to sag between his legs.

Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything more pathetic in my entire life than this so-called man who stands before us, a sopping wet diaper hanging so low between his legs that I can actually see his scrotum.

“Good boy,” Margaret says. “Doesn’t that feel better? Getting it all out like that?”

He offers another sheepish nod–something I’ve never seen him do before tonight, but something I could’ve imagined him doing from the moment we first met.

“Becky, dear, where would you like us to change his diaper?”

“I was just thinking right here on the carpet.” I’m not sure if this is a good answer or not, but I can recall the times when my baby sister needed an impromptu change and my mother just plopped her down on the floor.

“Perfect,” Margaret says. “You have the supplies I brought by earlier?”

“I’ll get them,” I say, watching Ned’s face as I say this. I see confusion. Panic. He realizes that we’ve been working on this together for a while. Secrets have been traded. Big changes in his life are already in motion, and he had no idea.

9

The front of Ned’s diaper was peeled open, revealing the yellow-staining of the padding within, as well as his semi-erect cock–seemingly stuck somewhere between ‘excited’ and ‘I probably shouldn’t be excited right now.’

I had seen Ned’s dick before. If forced to describe it, I’d say it was ‘adequate.’ I’d seen bigger. I’ve heard that there was smaller. I tried not to be too judgmental about such things in the past–he was more than just a cock. Just as I had hoped that I was more than a pair of breasts for any guy I had ever dated before.

Still… In the context of a pissy diaper, while he lay on his back–staring up at his stepmother and I–it suddenly looked as pathetic as it had to in order to complete the humiliating picture. The poor little helpless boy. He needed his stepmommy. He needed me.

“Wh-what, exactly, is happening?” Ned finally asked, his voice barely able to stretch past a whisper.

“I think we’d both be delusional if we thought that I could take care of you forever,” Margaret said to him. “There comes a point when I need to push you out of the nest. For your own good.”

“Oh…”

“But,” Margaret continued, her lips curling into a smug grin, “your situation is a little unique. You’re not going to be flying when you leave my nest. You’re going to be falling. Right into another nest. And you might not ever fly on your own.”

“I… But…”

Margaret turned to talk to me again, leaving Ned to babble to himself. “You might think it’s as easy as pulling the old diaper off of him, and then putting a fresh diaper around his bottom. But there’s a few important steps in between. For one, we’re going to want to wipe his skin clean. We wouldn’t want any of that lingering pee-pee to give him a rash, you know?”

I nodded. That certainly made sense–I’d go as far as to say that it was obvious. But she wasn’t just telling me these things because she thought I needed to learn–this was all for Ned. Margaret wanted Ned to see–perhaps both literally and figuratively–that her role was being handed down to me.

I pulled a damp cloth from the package and slid it over his skin. Over and over again until I was pretty sure I had covered all the major areas–even a few swipes over his bottom, which he lifted into the air out of instinct.

“I’ve always been hesitant to remove his hair down here,” Margaret said, twirling her finger in the wiry nest. “I knew it’d be coming off someday, but it needed to wait for the right opportunity. I think he’s ready to be shaved clean now.”

“What needed to happen?” I asked.

“You,” she said with a smile. “Or someone like you. I doubted Neddy would last very long on the dating circuit if he was as hairless as an actual infant below the waist.”

I tried to imagine what my reaction would be if I had seen Ned’s hairless midsection–prior to the context of his infantile leanings. I believed that Margaret was right–I wouldn’t have been too keen on it.

But now: “Oh yes,” I said, nodding. “Those are all going to have to go.”

Next came the baby powder. Margaret handed the bottle to me, and I wasted no time in twisting open the cap and overturning it above Ned’s now-limp cock. Admittedly, I might have gotten a little carried away, taking great pleasure from burying everything under a perfect layer of white.

“Powder is another thing I had to be careful about,” Margaret said. “I couldn’t send Neddy into the world smelling like a toddler. Well…not while he was looking for love. But now that he has it…”

“We’ll just have to keep plenty of powder on hand now. And have you considered baby lotion too?”

“Ooh,” Margaret cooed. “Well done, Neddy. Well done. I don’t know how you found this young woman, but I am just so excited that we can share all of this with her.”

Margaret grabbed a new clean diaper from the package before I could and quickly thrusted it into my hands. When I took it, her hands clasped around mine, holding them tightly.

“You’re going to be such a good Mommy.”

10

“And how is the handywoman doing?” Annmarie asked, taking a drag on her vape as we walked across the park together. “Or have you hung up your toolbelt?”

I laughed, shrugging. “I don’t need it as much as I used to.”

“You and Ned seem to be doing pretty good,” she said. “A month ago, I was almost positive I was going to have to find you a guy. Hell, I started making calls.”

“Really? Any luck?”

“Oh yeah. Remember that guy I was making out with at Leigh’s holiday party?”

“The guy with the tattoos?”

“That’s the one. I’ve been saving his number for a rainy day, you know? A ‘just in case’ sort of thing. Well I texted him a photo of you and asked him if he had any interest in going out with you sometime. He seemed pretty into it.”

“Damn. That guy was hot.”

“I know.”

I couldn’t help but think about what might have been. If I had just let Ned go and finally retired the notion of only trying to date men that I felt like I could fix in some way. I could’ve dated tattoo-guy–someone who I had let slip into my more erotic daydreams on more than one occasion.

Instead, I had stuck with Neddy and…

I felt my purse vibrate and I quickly checked my phone. It was a text from Margaret:

“The baby had QUITE the accident this afternoon. Completely loaded his pampers. I’ll show you some pictures when you pick him up. And, as long as you’re coming by to get him anyway, you two should stay for dinner.”

“Great idea!” I text back. “Can’t wait.”

“Thanks again for letting me babysit your little one, Becky.”

I hadn’t told Annmarie about the nature of my relationship with Neddy yet. I thought that, one day, I could get her to come around on the idea–I could even see her volunteering to babysit. For now she just knew Neddy as my quiet and timid boyfriend.

But as we walk, I’m thinking about tattoo-guy and how I might like to roll around in bed with an actual man.

“Look, if you still have that number…”

Annmarie’s eyes lit up. “Becky! You little slut.”

“Options are good,” I shrugged.

I don’t want to think too far ahead though–I’m very happy with the way things are now. I liked watching Neddy’s needy lips reach for the nipple of a baby bottle. I liked watching the little patches of pink on his cheeks blossom as he squats and grunts in his diaper. I liked the way his eyes stayed fixed on mine while I milked his cock in the middle of a diaper change.

I liked the way he called me ‘Mommy’ now.

“So, is Ned still obsessed with his mother?” Annmarie asked a few minutes later. “Or, stepmother, rather?”

“Not so much,” I said. “Though, funny enough, she and I have hit it off.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Actually, I might have some dating advice for you,” I told her, a cheeky smile on my face.

She laughed. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“When a boy wants to make you their mommy? Let them.”

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