Doing Business, Part 61 (Patreon)

Sixty-One

Sunday morning found me in better spirits. It felt damn good to have my mother’s visit over and done with. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that there was unfinished business with my mother–one day she’d be back and we’d be having some deeper conversations–but that felt like a future-me problem.

Evan squinted his eyes at me as he poured himself some coffee. “What’s up with you?”

“Up? Uh, nothing?”

“You look…good. Better?”

“Less stressed, probably,” I said, nodding. “You can actually see that?”

“It’s the first time in a while that you don’t look like you’re about to have a panic attack. Whatever you’re doing for yourself, it’s working. New diapers?”

I felt my cheeks warming a little. “N-no… It’s just, you know, my mother came and went. Life can get back to normal. Sort of.”

Sort of. Today wasn’t going to be a ‘normal’ day by any means.

“Well, it’s good to have you back,” he said.

“Actually, can I, uhm, ask you a question, Evan?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“If I was a, er, girl… What do you think my name would be?”

His lips curled into an amused smile as he stroked his chin. “That’s an interesting question.”

“Just humor me,” I said. If pressed, I’d have probably caved and told him the reason I was asking–but I was hoping that wouldn’t come up.

“You just look like a ‘Clark’ to me, you know? It’s like, your very essence. So I can’t imagine you being, like, a ‘Vanessa’ or an ‘Abigail.’”

“How about Bridget?” I asked. I was kind of partial to that name.

Evan shook his head. “No, that doesn’t seem right either.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. It’d be impossible for me to say what a ‘Bridget’ looks like. But I’d know her if I saw her–and you’re not her.”

“Okay, so…”

“I think it’d have to be something like Clark.”

“Clarkette?”

“No, Clark. That’s a fucking terrible name. Maybe something like…Claire.”

“Claire,” I repeated, getting a feel for how it sounded to say aloud. I didn’t think I ever would’ve thought of that name on my own, but it did have a good ring to it. “Yeah, okay. I think that works.”

“Something you want to tell me, bud? You, uh, thinking about a new identity?”

“No, no. It was just…something I was thinking about lately.”

“I know this is kind of stating the obvious–considering the diapers and all that–but you can be pretty weird sometimes.”

I shrugged. “Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I hope you stay this weird for the rest of your life.”

Having crossed off my mother’s visit from my mental priority list, everything else on it got a little bump. Next in the queue was Megan. I had promised her a message to let her know when I could drop by and see her, and I felt a little bad that I hadn’t reached out yet–though I felt like I had good reasons for that.

I decided to finally text her, hoping that my silence hadn’t sent the wrong impression.

Me: “Hi Megan. This is Clark. I was wondering if you still wanted to get together today?”

A few minutes passed without a response. I sort of expected that. Despite knowing very little about Megan, she struck me as the type who would see that I texted her and purposefully decide not to respond immediately–instead letting me wait a little bit.

But her response would eventually come.

Megan: “Clark? From work? Hmm. No, I don’t think I’m supposed to be hanging out with YOU today…”

Just what I needed in my life–another snarky woman. Still, I felt myself smiling as I read her message. While I was still a little nervous about meeting her–and doing whatever it was she wanted to do with me then–it felt kind of mysterious and exciting. She felt mysterious and exciting.

I typed the words out on my phone, unsure how I’d feel about sending them. I went back and forth on hitting the ‘send’ button–ultimately slamming my thumb down to send it her way before I could talk myself out of it.

Me: “Oh, sorry. This is Claire.”

It’d be a few minutes before I heard from her again. Long minutes, mostly spent just pacing in my bedroom.

Megan: “You have a very pretty name. You’d like to come over today?”

Me: “If you’re still good with that plan.”

Megan: “Of course. 1:00 PM work for you?”

Me: “It does.”

She sent me her address, and that was that–I had committed. And what more–I was kind of excited about it. I wasn’t even sure why, to be honest. I didn’t think it had much to do with her plans of dressing me up. If anything, it was just refreshing to spend time with someone I didn’t see everyday. The Mommies, Lyndies, and Avas of the world–bless them–were great. But variety was great too.

Oh shit.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t thought once about the whole point of why I was going to spend time with Megan in the first place. We had made a deal. She’d use me as her little dolly for the day. And then, after I cooperated, she’d tell me who had leaked information about the diaper stuff at work to Thomas Pritchard.

But…when I had reached out to her to make plans, our deal was the furthest thing from my mind. I almost didn’t care about who told who what.

Almost. If I wanted to keep my job–if I wanted Mommy to keep hers–I probably needed to care a little bit.

I was tempted to leave my diapers at home, but I couldn’t do it. Yesterday’s brunch with my mother was proof that I probably needed to be wearing them as often as possible. Besides–Megan already knew I wore diapers. She had even seen me in a diaper. And so not only did I leave the apartment wearing a diaper, but I had shoved a few fresh ones, some wipes, and some baby powder into my backpack that I threw over my shoulder.

She was just a few stops away on the train. Though, that was long enough that by the time I stepped off of the train, my diaper was already a little soggy. I was a little embarrassed about that–I had no doubt that Megan would eventually figure that out for herself too–but such was my life now.

Her building had a lobby. With an actual person working at a front desk. Living the dream, I thought. On Mr. Yang’s dime, no less. I told them who I was and who I was there to see. Apparently, they had already been notified of my arrival, and sent me to the elevator.

Soon, I was at her door, and it took her a minute or two to respond when I knocked. I imagined her standing on the other side of the door with a smile on her face as she waited a minute or two.

“Claire, was it?” she asked, finally opening the door.

I chuckled and shrugged. “Uh, yeah. That’s me, I guess.”

“You need more confidence,” she said, beckoning for me to enter her apartment as she closed the door behind me. “The boys are going to eat a girl like you alive if you can’t even be sure about your own name.”

I blushed as I bit my bottom lip. I was tempted to tell her that I didn’t think that would ever be an issue–but it was actually pretty sound advice for my life in general. I did need to be more confident.

At work, Megan always stood out to me, I thought. Not because she looked like she didn’t fit in with humanity. She just had this aura about her. This confident and unflappable energy. Not even the executives carried themselves like she did. For some time, I had labored under the delusion that this was just how Mr. Yang wanted her to look. But seeing her in her own home, I realized I couldn’t have been more wrong about that.

Gone were the flowy dresses and tight tops. No expensive shoes. Instead she was wearing an oversized and loose-fitting tee that hung past her waist–barely concealing a comically small pair of powder blue shorts. From there, it was just her long slender legs and her adorable feet–the toenails painted a similar shade of blue. And yet she still embodied poise and strength. This was just who she was.

There was a time, not that long ago, when I probably wouldn’t have noticed–but I had enough experience of my own now that I seemed to be developing a knack for noticing diaper bulges. Stuffed inside of those microscopic shorts was a thick diaper that appeared to be testing the seams. It was probably quite the spectacle to watch her hoist them over her padding in the first place.

“I see you decided to wear a diaper,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I’d say anything about it or not, but then I recalled the conversation we had in her office where she said that she rarely wore them anymore. It almost felt like she wanted me to notice.

“That’s a keen eye,” she said, her lips tilting into a rye smile. “It seemed only fair, since I figured you’d be rolling in with a diaper of your own.”

“Uhm…”

“You are, right? Wearing a diaper?”

I nodded. I should’ve left it at that, but then I blurted out: “It’s a little wet, though.”

She snorted. “So you’re saying I have some catching up to do?”

Her response put me at ease. I was still unsure of what to make of Megan. I liked her so far–the little I actually knew of her–but I still wasn’t sure what kind of person she was. Leader or follower?

“I suppose so,” I laughed, running my hand through my hair.

“Can I get you something to drink, Claire? Beer?”

There was a little bit of a delay in my response–I had paused, waiting to see if she was talking to someone else or not. Oh yeah–I was Claire.

“Sure.”

“Would you like me to put in a baby bottle for you?”

Surely, she was just kidding. I thought I’d play along. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll be right back with your bottle.”

Another detail I remembered from our conversation in her office was that Mr. Yang was paying for her apartment. And, by the looks of it, he must’ve been paying a pretty penny. The views from her windows were epic, and I couldn’t believe how much space she had. I hoped she knew how lucky she was. She’d probably scoff at my place.

I tried to get a better sense of who she was as I looked around. I found the decor to be quite maximalist–almost the opposite of Mommy’s clean and minimalist approach to decorating in her home. Every wall was a gallery of framed photos, posters, and trinkets. I wondered if you could follow her entire life if you walked along the wall–a trip through every place she had ever been, and the people who had been there with her.

“Coachella 2017,” Megan said, returning to the room as I studied one of the photos on her wall. It featured a cluster of men posing without shirts on, their skin glistening in the sun. “I threw up during Radiohead. Embarrassing, but what can you do?”

“Were you…there?” I said, pointing to the photo.

“Ah, well, don’t forget…I looked different then. Second from the left.”

“But that’s… Oh. That’s…you.”

He was a little less slender, with darker hair and stubble on his chin. But I could see Megan there. Those lips. Those piercing eyes.

“Everyone else in the photo are your friends?”

“They were,” she said, handing me a bottle. It was, in fact, a baby bottle filled with an amber beer.

“And…now?”

“Some are still friends,” she said. “Some aren’t. I changed. And they changed too.”

I wondered if that was what her walls represented: a monument to the things that changed.

My response almost felt instinctive: “I’m sorry.”

She chuckled softly to herself and shook her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I felt like I had to say something, and Lyndie’s words from the day before were still in mind: “There’s the family you’re born into, and the family you create for yourself.”

“So true,” Megan said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“I suppose not,” I said, my sweaty hands fiddling with the baby bottle in my hands.

“Why do you look so nervous?” she asked. “I didn’t ask you to come over because we were going to go and kill someone.”

She made a good point, and I needed to ask myself why I was being this way. Maybe it was just general anxiety. Anxious was just my default setting these days, especially after the back-to-back excursions with Mommy and then my mother. But I truly didn’t think Megan was going to wrong me. I wanted to trust her.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, sucking up some of the beer through the bottle’s nipple. The act should have felt ridiculous, but I had experienced far weirder things. This seemed relatively tame in comparison.

“Follow me,” she said. “And don’t forget your ba-ba.”

She took me to her bedroom. And, whereas the rest of her apartment had a more random–without feeling messy or cluttered–feel to it, her room was just chaotic. Clothes were strewn all over the place. The shelves and dressers seemed to be overflowing with stacks of clothing. Her closet door was open, revealing even more clothes.

“I suppose this is the part where I should apologize for the mess,” she said. “I won’t, though. This is just how it is.”

“It’s your place,” I said, nodding. “I won’t judge too much.”

“Some might call it a problem–having so many clothes,” she said. “But as you might be able to guess…”

“You don’t pay for them yourself.”

“Bingo,” she said.

“So what do you spend your own money on?” I asked.

“Food. Alcohol.  Uh…other stuff.”

I was a little curious about ‘other stuff,’ though her wry grin suggested it was probably something a little more illicit than alcohol. I let it be–her secrets were hers.

“Do you want something else?” she asked. “Like, besides alcohol?”

I thought back to my little trip at Mommy’s house the other night. I still needed a spare moment to process that. “No…I think I’m good, thank you.”

“Well if you change your mind, just say so.”

“Sure.”

“Well, what do you think? Wanna jump right into it?”

I laughed and scratched my head again. “Uhm…you first?”

To my surprise, she didn’t just grab the bottom of her shirt and begin to lift it up over her head–ready to get this little game of ‘dress up’ started. Instead, she just started laughing. The way that it had burst from her mouth made me think she had been bottling it up for some time.

“What, uh, is so funny?”

“Did you really think I was going to make you dress up?”

“Well…”

“Let me ask a different question,” she said. “Do you really want to wear these clothes?”

I sighed. “I mean…I guess I’m curious, but…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “When you were in my office, you just had this look on your face like you’d have done anything that I asked you to.”

I was laughing now myself, shaking my head. “Yeah…I believe that.”

“I’m really happy you came, Clark. But…I think I need a friend more than a girlfriend.”

I was surprised, and maybe even a little relieved, by this turn of events. “Sure. Well, I’m here to, uh, be your friend.”

Truthfully, I was there because I thought we had made a bargain. I was going to play dress-up for her, and she was going to share some intel that she had. I hoped that she didn’t plan on reneging on that part of our deal too.

“Can I show you some outfits?” she asked. “I’d like your opinion.”

“Of course.”

She started by unbuttoning her shorts, jamming her thumbs beneath the waistband to help herself shimmy out of them. Only they didn’t seem to be budging. Her face got a little pink as she looked up at me.

“My shorts are stuck,” she laughed. “Can I get a hand?”

I waddled behind her and grasped either side of the tight shorts’ waistband as she gripped the bottom of the shorts’ legs. Together, we pulled and wiggled the fabric, hoping to slide it past the bulky diaper. It finally budged–only after I had dropped to my knees in attempt to get more leverage with a different angle. The pants came off with a violent fwomp, her plump diaper expanding out in all directions–no longer confined by the tight shorts.

I was now face-to-rear with her diaper. Her noticeably soggy diaper.

“Oh, looks like you, uh, caught up,” I said.

She spun around to face me again, and helped me to my feet again.

“Do you know how to change someone else’s diaper?” she asked, reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra’s clasp.

I shook my head. “I mean…I’ve had plenty of my own changed by other people. And I change my own diaper when I have to.”

“But you think you could figure it out?”

“Probably,” I said. “If I had to.”

She finally succeeded at loosening her bra, and I watched as it just fell from her chest, the straps sliding down her arms. She seemed to have no shame, just standing in front of me with her perfectly round and symmetrical breasts jutting out. I was tempted to tell myself that they weren’t ‘real,’ but that felt like a pretty silly thing to get hung up on. They were as real as they needed to be, and they looked phenomenal.

“I’m not asking you to change me now,” she said. “Just wondering if you’d be up to it if I needed a hand again later.”

“I, uhm, well…I…” I lost my train of thought as I stared at her chest. Don’t be rude. I tried keeping my eyes on her face as I finally finished my thought: “I think I could swing that.”

“And, of course, if you help take care of me, I’ll help take care of you.”

“Noted,” I said, my lips arching into a natural smile. My groin ached so badly.

“Unless…you think you’d get in trouble with your Mommy for playing with other girls.”

I bit my lip again.

“Well…I did tell her that we were meeting today. I kind of left out the part about dressing up. But…I didn’t get the impression that she thought we’d be getting into any trouble together.”

Megan shrugged. “There’s a limit to how much trouble we can get into, of course.”

“How so?”

Megan smiled as she gripped the bulge in the front of her diaper. “We’re both locked up nice and tight.”

I was sure that I’d have eventually come to the same conclusion myself–but her pointing it out excited me a little. It somehow made the afternoon feel a little naughtier. My shriveled dick tingled a little as I took some pleasure from my uselessness.

“Look around,” she said. “Does anything catch your eye?”

“But…”

“You said you were curious,” she shrugged. “So if, you know, you wanted to take something home with you, you’re welcome to.”

There were an overwhelming number of options. Dresses, skirts, pants, shirts, pajamas, nightgowns. There were even things that I couldn’t even identify–garments with straps and snaps in places that didn’t make immediate sense to me.

“I dunno,” I said. “I guess we’ll see if anything catches my eye.”

“Anything you want.”

I pointed towards one of the many stacks of garments that littered her bedroom floor. “Is it all, like, clean?”

“Need I remind you that you’re standing in front of me in a diaper that you’ve already pissed in?”

“Well…that’s fair.”

“Yes, it’s all clean,” she said. “Clean-ish. I didn’t run around shitting myself in these.”

But just as quickly as she said that, her eyes darted to a pink skirt, partially obscured by some other clothes. She seized it from the ground and threw it into a hamper near the closet.

“There,” she continued. “Everything else should be pretty clean.”

“What was wrong with–”

“Don’t ask,” she said, shaking her head. “Mistakes were made.”

I wanted to know everything about that mistake, but I bit my tongue and just nodded respectfully. I couldn’t help but hope that good behavior would earn me a place where she’d tell me that story.

“Oh, I just got this,” she said, grabbing something from the floor–a slim pair of green pants that were near the closet door. “They’re a little tight–maybe too tight.”

“Like, so tight that they wouldn’t fit over your diaper?”

She laughed. “Yes, probably.” She casually dropped them back onto the floor again,

“M-maybe…that?” I said, pointing towards a bright yellow skirt that was splayed out on the other side of the room.

“Ooh, that yellow skirt?” she asked, trotting over to it and picking it up. “You know, I’ve never worn this.”

I shrugged. “Try it on!”

“Hmm,” she hummed, her head pivoting to scan the room. “Oh wait. I think I have a top that would look really good with this. Now, where the hell did I put it… I think I only wore it, like, once. But I know I didn’t throw it away or donate it.”

She finally expelled a triumphant “A-ha!” as she pulled herself from the depths of her closet, a shimmering opalescent bundle of cloth in her hand. She unfurled the bundle into the shape of a shirt. Maybe there was a name for that sort of top–but I certainly didn’t know what it was. It was cute–white-ish, with a plastic sheen that captured a spectrum of colorful reflections. It was a little gaudy, and I couldn’t imagine someone wearing it out in public. Though if I had seen someone in public wearing it? I’d probably be interested in them.

“You said you wore that once?” I asked. I was trying my hardest not to stare at her. It was hard not to–I wanted to look like I was engaged, but it was hard to look engaged without also looking like I was simply staring at her tits.

“Once,” she said. “On a night out with Mr. Yang. I had a cocktail or two in it.”

“It’s pretty.”

“I think so too,” she nodded, slipping it over her head and letting it fall down her chest and abdomen. “I was wearing this little skirt too–though I have no idea where that is now. This was back when he was into diapers, so...”

“Little skirt?” I asked. “So…”

“Oh, the outfit did absolutely nothing to hide my diaper. I’m not proud of it. But I was still under Mr. Yang’s spell at the time.”

I nodded, recalling what she told me in her office: She did not like Darren Yang anymore.

“These days, I do what I know will keep him happy,” she said. “And as long as he’s happy…he continues to pay for all this. It’s transactional–not actual infatuation.”

I had a lot of questions. I was imagining her at a bar with Mr. Yang, her opalescent shirt and short skirt shifting everytime she moved to reveal a thick diaper underneath it. Other people had to have noticed. What did they think? What did they say?

“Want to try it on?” she teased.

“I probably shouldn’t…”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Afraid you’re going to like it?”

I laughed. “That’s the problem. I like everything.”

“Careful,” she said. “That’s a slippery slope.”

“Don’t I know it.”

From somewhere else in her apartment, I could hear the chime of my phone signaling that I had received a text. As tempted as I was to run and see who it was, I stayed in place, eye’s fixed on Megan still.

“That’s a, uh, cute combo.”

“You think? Maybe I’ll add this to the rotation.”

Another loud chime from my phone.

“Do you mind if I go check that real quick?” I asked. “I-I’m sorry to interrupt this. But I just want to make sure it’s nothing important.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll get together my next outfit.”

I felt a sense of relief as I marched back towards my phone in the living room. This wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it’d be. And I liked Megan–not that I ever thought I wouldn’t. It felt good to have someone else in this surreal world that I could consider a friend.

I reached my phone and checked the screen, seeing two messages from Mommy. My heart began to pound, as I nervously read what she had sent me.

Mommy: “I was just thinking about our conversation the other night. About introducing some chaos in your life? How about right now? What do you think? Can you fill your diaper up for me in the next hour or so? And I think you know what I mean by ‘fill.’”

Mommy: “I suppose this is the part where I threaten you with ramifications if you’re not able to do it. But…I think you’ll do it–no matter how embarrassing or awkward it is–just because you love to make me happy.”

She certainly knew me well.

“Everything good out there, Claire?” called Megan from her room. She seemed to, still, get such delight from calling me that.

“Uhm, yeah. Be right there.”

Things were going to get real interesting–as they usually did.