Doing Business, Part 58 (Patreon)

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Fifty-Eight

I opened my mouth and watched as Mommy expertly guided a piece of sushi towards it with her chopsticks. I could barely figure out how to hold a pair of chopsticks, let alone eat with them. Thankfully, she was taking care of the hard part for me. As promised, my new bib was tied around my neck–a baby-blue number with ‘Clarky’ embroidered on it with yellow thread.

“Clarrrrrk.”

I was sitting on Mommy’s knees, and she was bouncing me up and down on them in my wet diaper. It shouldn’t have been as stimulating as it was.

“Clarrrrrrrrrrk.”

My face was squeezed between her thighs, planted against her diaper as she began to wet it. I felt my face warm as the texture of the padding went from fluffy to dense and squishy.

“Goddammit, Clark. You gotta wake up.”

My eyes slowly opened and I realized that I wasn’t in Mommy’s house. I was in my own bed in my own apartment. Kind of disappointing.

Evan was also there, shaking my body.

“Hi, yes, I’m awake. Uhm…can I help you?”

“You have a visitor,” he said.

“Are you kidding me? What time is it? 4 in the morning?”

“Well…it’s almost 9.”

“Oh,” I replied, nonchalantly shrugging like it wasn’t that big of a deal. But then the facts started coming back to me. It was Saturday morning. I was supposed to be meeting with my mother for brunch. I was supposed to be meeting with my mother for brunch in an hour. “Oh!”

“I didn’t want to have to wake you,” Evan said. “But we were worried you hadn’t set an alarm.”

I hadn’t.

“We?” I asked. And then, rewinding the conversation thus far: “Did you say I have a visitor?”

“Lyndie’s here.”

“Why?”

“You could…just go ask yourself,” he shrugged.

“Oh wait…shit.” It was all coming back to me now–the plan to pretend that Lyndie was my girlfriend. Which was part of an even bigger plot to impress my mother involving the reservation at a fancy eatery–courtesy of Mommy.

“I’ll tell her you’ll be out in a minute?”

“Y-yeah,” I said. “That’s fine.”

I wanted to go back to where I just was–a dream that was more of a recap of my night with Mommy. I was so upset that it was over that I was almost angry about it. I wanted to crawl around on her hardwood floor again. I wanted her to feed me on her giant basement couch again. I wanted to…feel myself inside of her again.

I sighed and shuffled out of my bedroom door, throwing a half-assed wave in Lyndie’s direction as I plodded my way towards the bathroom.

“Is that what you’re wearing to brunch?” she asked.

I hadn’t even thought to consider what I was wearing. A beat-up Blade Runner tee and a soggy diaper, apparently.

“Give me a few minutes to wake up and get ready,” I huffed. “And then you can start making smart-ass comments.”

Lyndie checked the time on her phone. “Well, try and be quick about it, swamp-butt. We still need to actually get to the restaurant.”

I was surprisingly unphased about walking around in my soaked diaper while Lyndie and Evan watched. I wasn’t sure if I was just that exhausted, or if I had finally reached that level of comfort with both my diapers and my friends. I hoped that it was the former.

“I’m going, I’m going. As fast as I can.”

“Do you need help with your diaper? Because I can–”

“No,” I interrupted. “I’ll take care of this.”

It rarely took me too long to get ready in the morning. When I lived with my mother, it was because she was both my human alarm clock and my head coach–giving me direction from the moment I woke up in an effort to get me to school on time. Later, after I moved out, I had established the less-than-responsible habit of sleeping in a bit too long, and having to flail around at top speed in order to get ready for either college classes or work. Same result–just different executions.

I was in overdrive as I brushed my teeth, released the heavy diaper from my body, and leaped into the shower for a quick rinse. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to take a shower. I didn’t want to be dirty, per se, but to take a shower now felt like I’d be rinsing away the vestiges of my night with Mommy. Still, it had to be done–especially because I was meeting my mother. The very last thing I needed was to have caught a whiff of baby powder on me. I doubted she’d jump to the conclusion that I wore diapers, but I had no doubt that she’d have a question or two about it.

Out of the shower, I wrapped my bottom half up in a towel and made a quick sprint back to my bedroom, having to cut through the area where Evan and Lyndie were chatting and laughing with each other. It still made me a little uncomfortable to see how well they hit it off. I was glad they were friends, of course, I just had a feeling that 90% of their giggling was about me.

I had been hoping to be out of chastity for today, but there wasn’t much to be done about that now. If nothing else, I’d be going sans diaper–a proposition that scared me a little. I didn’t think I was prone to having an actual accident, but I did wonder if I’d just feel more comfortable in a diaper. I could use all the comfort I could get.

But no. No way. My mother would hone in on a padded bottom immediately, I was sure of it. We wouldn’t get past the restaurant’s front door without her asking–loud enough so that the whole city could hear it–why I was wearing a diaper.

It had been a while since I’d worn boxer-briefs though. Even longer since I had worn any. Pulling them into place, I found that they just felt…wrong. They were too tight. There was too much clearance between my legs. I wondered how I wore those every day for years and years.

Goddamn, I really am a baby now, aren’t I?

From the other side of my bedroom door, I heard Lyndie’s voice: “What are you wearing today?”

I had some clothes set aside for this morning. I was tempted to call them the best clothes I owned, though that was probably pretty subjective. I never considered myself to be a fashionista of any sort, and nobody had ever complimented my style.

“Well I, uh, was thinking…”

“Are you decent?” she asked. “Ah, fuck, what does it matter? I’ve already seen you at your absolute worst.”

She just walked into my bedroom. I should’ve been embarrassed, or at least a little frustrated at her failure to respect my privacy. But this was what my life was now. I probably should’ve just left the door open for her in the first place.

“Is this it?” she asked, pointing to the clothes laid out on my bed. There was a pair of black slacks and a light blue polo shirt there.

“Y-yeah, I think.”

She shook her head. “Ugh, no. Open your closet. Show me what we’re working with here.”

With blushing cheeks, I trotted over to my closet and slid the door open. As it turned out, I didn’t need a diaper to feel like a baby–I still had someone picking out clothes for me like I wasn’t capable of dressing myself.

“Maybe these pants,” she said, taking out a pair of dark brown chinos. She then grabbed a cream button-down with a pink grid pattern on it and handed that to me as well. “And this shirt. It’s not my favorite, but I think it’s the best we can do with what I have to work with.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“You’re not going to have an accident, are you?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I know how to hold myself. I’ve been doing it far longer than I’ve been in diapers.”

“Maybe you should use the bathroom before we go. Just in case?”

Spoken like a true mother. Hell, I feel like my mother had said that exact same thing to me countless times when I was a child.

I’m never going to grow up, am I?

“Fine, fine.”

“Why don’t you hurry up and get ready,” she said, hands on her hips. “Then we can get out of here.”

I sometimes wondered if Lyndie had transformed more than I had over the last few months. I may have been turned into a needy baby–but I often think that I wasn’t too far from that even before I met Gabrielle Heller. Lyndie, on the other hand, used to be different. She was anti-authority. Punk-ish at times. But now there were moments where she almost out-mommied Mommy herself. And she seemed so damn natural at it. I wondered if she would’ve found this side of herself naturally had I not stumbled into Ms. Heller in the hallway that one fateful Friday afternoon.

It wasn’t a bad transformation, I didn’t think. Lyndie did seem happier these days.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Oh…uh, I dunno…”

She looked stunning this morning. It wasn’t the sort of thing I could ever say aloud–especially to her–but I don’t think I had ever seen her look that good before. The makeup, the light-blue dress. The way her hair was pulled back. I had no doubt she was going to make a good impression on my mother.

“C’mon, Clark. Focus. Get dressed.”

“Y-yes, I’m working on it, uh…” I came incredibly close to calling her ‘Mommy.’ I didn’t necessarily want her to be my mommy–she just exuded that sort of energy.

I got dressed under Lyndie’s watchful eye. I swore I had been in this spot before too–memories came back of my own mother watching to make sure I didn’t put my pants on backwards or my shirt on inside-out.

Then, I looked at myself in the mirror. To most, I probably wouldn’t look that different than I normally did. But I could see the difference immediately. More adult. I looked my age for once. I felt my age–and I couldn’t say that I cared for it all that much.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Let’s do this.”

And then we were off.

I had never been to, nor heard of, Ferdinand’s before–though it seemed like the rest of the city knew it pretty well. There was a line going out the door of the restaurant and down the block. Just the sight of all those people waiting gave me a burst of anxiety.

“But you have a reservation,” Lyndie said, likely noticing the expression on my face.

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Thank you.” I needed to hear that. I needed her. I’d have held her hand if we weren’t here to meet…

“Clark. Llewellyn. Ashburn.” The names came one at a time, with just enough space between them to give each a dramatic flair. I spun around to find my mother–Annette Leiland-Ashburn herself–standing there with her arms outstretched for a hug.

“Llewellyn?” whispered Lyndie.

“Can we talk about that later?”

My mother wasn’t the most imposing figure. A smidge or two over five feet tall, with just a little bit of roundness to her. Her hair–once blonde, then gray, and now a warm brunette–looked strangely inviting. I had always noted how she made a terrific first impression on people–perhaps because she looked like the kind of mother who coddled you with kindness. And after not seeing her in a while, I was falling under that spell myself.

Maybe I was just overreacting.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her as she embraced me in return.

“Clark, you look great,” she said.

“Thank you, Mother. You do too.”

“Except this shirt,” she said, pulling back from our hug to get a better look at it. “I don’t like this color on you. It washes out your skin.”

I glanced back to Lyndie who just chuckled and shrugged.

“Who is this?” my mother asked, jabbing her chin towards Lyndie.

“Well, Mother, this is Lyndie. She’s, uhm, my…” I don’t know why the word was so hard to get out. Maybe I just wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was to lie to my mother.

“Good morning, Ms. Ashburn. My name is Lyndie, and I’m Clark’s girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” my mother asked, looking back at me. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

“Well…we haven’t spoken in a while. There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” Like that I wear diapers and get them changed by my boss.

“Come here,” my mother said to Lyndie. And when she did, my mother gave her a big tight hug as well. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Linda. I do hope you’re taking good care of my Clark.”

“Lyndie, actually,” she corrected. “And I would say that I’ve been taking very good care of him, yes.”

“Well,” my mother said, “you two are going to have to tell me everything. Assuming we can even get into this place. Look at that line.”

“Actually, I, uhm, have a reservation,” I said. “Come on, follow me.”

With the most confident strut I could muster, I led the two women into the restaurant and I approached the host’s podium. I could already see the disdain in the host’s eyes–a look of ‘whoever you are, you probably belong in line with everyone else.’

“Good morning, sir,” he said. “The current wait time for a table is approximately two hours. We stop serving brunch in three hours. You’re welcome to join the line outside, however…”

“Actually, I have a reservation.”

“Reservation? Sir, we don’t really do reservations for brunch. It tends to be first come, first serve.”

That was strange. Mommy has assured me that we were good to go here.

I pushed a little more: “Well, I was told that I’d have a table here at 10:00 AM. The reservation would’ve been made by Gabrielle Heller.”

“Hmm,” the host said, some recognition in his eyes upon hearing the name. “Let me, er, check something here real quick.” He quickly checked some notes on the podium. “Ah, right. I do see here that she made some arrangements for this morning. You must be…”

“Clark Ashburn.”

“Very well,” he said with a begrudging nod. He looked annoyed that he couldn’t just cast me out like he thought he could. “Why don’t you and your party follow me this way, then.”

I sighed in relief and waved Lyndie and my mother forward to follow us. I hadn’t realized that they had already started a conversation of their own.

“...and so then the wedding DJ briefly stops the music and points to little Baby Clark, who has crawled out onto the area where everyone is dancing,” my mother was saying. “And he says ‘Would someone please come collect your baby? He’s stinking up the dance floor!”

We’ve been with my mother for a total of five minutes and she had already told the infamous ‘wedding story.’ I feel my cheeks warm as I watch Lyndie laugh and shake her head.

“Mother…I really wish you’d stop telling that story.”

“Oh, come on, Clark,” Lyndie said. “It’s funny!”

“I like her,” Mother said. Yeah, she would, wouldn’t she?

I was surprised to see that the host was leading us up some steps. I wondered if he was bringing us to some forgotten corner of the restaurant. A supply closet, maybe, or the roof. ‘Here. You want a reservation? Enjoy eating brunch in the women’s restroom.’

But no. He instead took us to a nice table on the balcony overlooking the rest of the restaurant. A brief scan of the entire establishment suggested that this might be the nicest seat in the entire place. I owed Mommy a big ‘thank you’ later. She was welcome to park her bottom on my face for an entire day.

The wave of discomfort originating from my caged cock suggested that I shouldn’t think about that sort of stuff now.

We took our seats and were handed some menus. Water and coffee poured. But once we were left to our own devices, it seemed my mother and Lyndie weren’t ready to just start reading a menu yet.

“So,” my mother said. “This is all rather impressive. Clark, how did you manage this?”

“Well, you know, my, uh, job has some perks and…”

“Job? Clark, what about college? Last I heard you were about to start some sort of internship.”

“Well, it was an internship,” I said. “Though the management thought I was doing so well that they promoted me. I now work directly under the CEO.” I couldn’t help but think of my face, being underneath Ms. Heller’s ass again. “I think this job still, uhm, technically counts as my internship. So I’m still racking up hours to meet my goal for that.”

I made a note to myself to check in with my school about that–it had been a while since I had made any sort of contact with the university. I did know there was an increasing number of unread emails in my inbox from my academic advisor, among other university representatives, that I told myself I’d read ‘later.’

“Is that so?” my mother asked, eyes wide. “The CEO? What sort of work are you doing?”

Lyndie chortled behind her hand.

“Well, uh, I’m considered her assistant…”

“Her? Very progressive, Clark. She’s nice to you, I hope?”

“Uhm, yes. Very much so.”

“Good,” Mother said with a firm nod. “Because if she ever gives you a hard time, you let me know and I’ll give her a good talking-to.”

That was the last thing I wanted. Nothing made me more uncomfortable than the idea of Ms. Heller and my mother being in the same place at the same time.

Lyndie smiled and spoke up: “I assure you, Ms. Ashburn. Clark is in good hands.”

“Annette, please,” Mother said to her. “And you know his employer as well?”

“Actually, we work together,” said Lyndie. “It’s how we met.”

“Ah, isn’t that a delight. You know, Clark, that’s how I met your father–in the workplace.”

Yes, I knew that. I had heard variations of that story too for the last 20 years.

“Clark, you’ve never talked about your father before,” Lyndie said.

“That’s because he’s dead,” my mother said, as bluntly as she could.

“Oh…wow, I’m really sorry I asked.”

My mother shrugged. “We crossed that bridge a long time ago, right Clark?”

“I suppose…”

“Now, young lady,” my mother said to Lyndie, ping-ponging from one conversation into another. “Tell me more about yourself.”

Lyndie smiled, seeming to be in her element. She had once told me that mothers loved her. I was skeptical–but I was seeing it for myself now. Enlisting Lyndie in this scam might have been one of my best decisions.

“Well, I also work with the executive team for our company. Mostly taking on, you know, special projects and such.”

“Sure, sure,” my mother said. “But you’re probably sick of talking about work. Tell me about you.”

“Well, I love to bake,” Lyndie said. “Cakes, pies, cookies… If there’s one thing I love, it’s a hot oven.”

Was this true? I don’t think I had ever heard Lyndie talk about baking before. Not once. And I would’ve remembered something like that, as I would’ve then badgered her to sample some of her confections. So either I was learning something new about her myself, or this was just a straight-up lie.

Either way, it seemed to be working on my mother who was taking in Lyndie’s words with a big smile on her face. And for a moment, everything seems pretty…good. This is, quite possibly, the best case scenario. As I watch the two women chat, I can’t help but wonder if I had been fretting all this time for no reason. My mother isn’t someone to be afraid of. Hell, she actually seems nice.

“...the silicone mats are definitely a game-changer,” Lyndie was saying. “I mean, just the money I’ve saved on parchment paper alone.”

“I really should make the switch,” my mother replied. “I suppose I’m just old fashioned like that.”

I sighed a little with relief and took a long sip of my coffee. This is going well. Stay calm. Relax.

But I knew what I needed to feel truly relaxed–the warm comfort that came from slowly wetting my diaper. That feeling of my padding just absorbing my pee–and all my troubles–and swelling around me.

I let my bladder go, ready to feel that familiar warmth of my diaper getting saturated.

But…

Wait.

I wasn’t wearing a diaper. I had intentionally left the house without a diaper. I was just…wetting my pants.

I stopped myself before I could completely finish, but it didn’t seem to matter much–damage had already been done. I could feel the dampness in my crotch. I could feel it in my ass, creeping between the seat and my bottom. I could feel it in my thighs and running down my legs.

I watched my mother and Lyndie continue to chat, completely oblivious as to what I had done. And I wondered what the odds were that I could just sit here until my pants dried without anyone noticing. How long would that take? Two…three hours?

Fuck.