Doing Business, Part 69 (Patreon)

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Sixty-Nine

Step One: Get out of my bubble.

Mommy’s eyes narrowed as she considered my request. I didn’t think she was opposed to the idea–but she wanted to consider the logistics of it first.

“We’ll be a ways from home,” she said. “And there will be a lot of people.”

“I know.”

“I’m not not opposed, Baby. But I know your comfort levels. And I worry that this is going to be outside of them.”

I had thought the same thing, of course. But I had also been thinking about the idea of immersion. Reverse-immersion? Just as Mommy had dumped–no pun intended–me into the role of being a big baby once upon a time–I wondered if I might benefit from just immersing myself in the real world again, no matter how hectic and overwhelming it might be.

“I…I think I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll pack extra diapers,” she said.

Funny, I thought. Ava said the same thing the other day when I suggested that we go out and get pizza.

“Of course.”

“You’re sure that you’re okay with this, Clarky?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. As long as you don’t mind that I, uhm, might have an accident.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” she said. “But I think you’ll be far more embarrassed about that than I will.”

Same as it ever was. “I know.”

“Very well. I’ll get a diaper bag packed. And I suppose we should pick out a more adult outfit for you too, yes? Unless you want to waddle around in your ‘I heart Mommy’ onesie.

It was a good call. And while I would’ve liked to think that I would’ve had the same thought myself before we walked out the front door, it hadn’t occurred to me until she said something. I wasn’t even sure where she kept my adult clothes. Not that she kept them from me–I just had no need for them. Out of sight, out of mind.

Things had mostly returned to normal since Mommy’s return home from her brief excursion. As nice as it had been to see Ava again, her presence had kept me on edge. No matter how sweet she was to me, all I could think about was how she was constantly judging me. Or worse, comparing me to Caleb.

Whoever that was. For all I knew, Caleb was her cousin. Or neighbor. Or dentist. It didn’t matter who Caleb was now–he represented men. All men. Any man who wasn’t still filling up a pair of diapers. A man she’d eventually allow to make a move on her because she wasn’t going to wait for me anymore.

And so the normalcy of Mommy was nice. But I was still mulling over ‘The Plan’–the one that would take me from being an oversized toddler to respected adult again.

Again? Was I ever respected as an adult before?

Mommy didn’t ask about the status of my diaper, she looked for herself–pulling it open and peering down inside. Then, either seeking further evidence–or just wanting to see me squirm a little–she ran her hand between my legs, squeezing the bottom of the diaper.

The crinkling was louder than it had ever been before, thanks to the new plastic pants she had gotten for me. The idea of cloth diapers had been thrown around for a while now–she often joked that I was responsible for an absurd percentage of the nation’s diaper-trash–but she’d never acted on it before. Apparently, Ms. Beaufort had been convinced by the conservation-minded Risa to make the switch and she, in turn, convinced Mommy.

“Wet,” she said. “If we were staying home, I’d say this could wait a while. But I think I’d prefer you in a dry diaper before we go out.”

“A, uhm, cloth diaper?”

“Disposable. It’d be best to stick with what we know best for a trip like this,” she said. It was music to my ears.

I liked the cloth diapers, but they were different. The weight of them seemed to hang differently. They moved differently between my legs when they walked. And those damn plastic pants–I wondered if Mommy’s neighbors could hear me crawling around.

“What’s with this newfound interest in getting out of the house?” Mommy asked while I was atop the changing table, legs sticking straight up in the air as she ran a damp wipe over my bottom.

“It’s been a while,” I said. I almost felt like I was keeping a secret. I supposed I was–I hadn’t yet told Mommy about my still-developing plan to ease back into adulthood. I didn’t think it’d be the end of the world–nor did I think it’d even be a fight. I knew she’d be supportive.

But that conversation would change things. No matter how slow I wanted to take that process, Mommy would start second-guessing everything she did to baby me. And I still loved the way she treated me now–and wanted that to last as long as possible. I’d tell her eventually. When I was ready.

“Is there anywhere special you want to go, Baby? I can take you anywhere you want to go. The comic book store?”

I had made a stray comment a few months ago that I had missed going to the comic book store. I wasn’t a regular, by any means, but I liked to swing by a few times a year and see what new releases were out. I was touched that she had remembered that.

It was tempting to take her up on that offer–but that seemed like the last place I wanted to be when I had an accident. I couldn’t say what was different about a store full of men my age and older seeing me poop my pants, as opposed to an office full of women, but I knew I didn’t like it.

“N-no, that’s okay. Thank you for offering, Mommy.”

“Of course. Are you sure you won’t be bored following me around? I’m shopping for shoes. That barely interests me.”

“It’ll be good,” I said. “I just want to get out for a while. It doesn’t matter where we go.”

While my legs were held up in the air, I felt her finger ever-so-slightly run across my backdoor–an action that still sent a powerful jolt through my body. I moaned softly as I tried to push my ass towards her as if begging for more.

“If you’re a good boy,” she said, “there’ll be treats for you when we get home.”

I liked treats. Treats made me spurt into my diaper. Or, if I was really lucky, her hand.

“I-I’ll be a good boy.”

“I know you will, Baby.”

Soon after, we’re in the car. Just being in the car is strangely refreshing. I didn’t think it had been that long since I was strapped into the backseat of her SUV, but even a few weeks without being in a car seems like a long time. It felt surreal to be so excited about seeing all the mundane things out in the world–but yet there I was, a stupid smile on my face when I saw a new billboard for some lawyer. There was a group of kids hanging out on a street corner. A guy whose arm was hanging out of the driver side window, cigarette dangling from his fingers. A long line at the hamburger place’s drive-thru.

It was stupidly thrilling.

“I’m meeting a client in Atlanta early next week,” Mommy said to me as she drove, turning her head enough to project her voice into the backseat. “I’ll be gone again, but only for a night, I think. I’ll be flying out Monday morning, and I’ll be back Tuesday night.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“If you had a good time with Ava as your babysitter, maybe I could call her again?”

That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to somehow find a way to prove to Ava that I was growing up–and giving her access to my dirty diapers wasn’t going to help that argument.

“I, uhm, dunno about that,” I said.

“No? She said that she had a good time.”

My cheeks warmed a little. Yeah, she probably loved playing with a stupid baby.

“I just…uh…” I had no idea how to explain this to Mommy.

“I get it,” she shrugged. “She used to be like you. Now she’s not. I suppose it’d be hard to see someone who used to be your peer suddenly be responsible for you.”

That was true–though it wasn’t exactly it. Close enough, though. “Y-yeah. I like Ava. I just…don’t know about her as a babysitter.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “Maybe I’ll give Courtney a call.”

Courtney was better than Ava, but still not ideal. Courtney loved playing with big babies almost as much as Mommy did. If I was trying to find my maturity again, she certainly wasn’t going to help.

“What about…Lyndie?” I offered. I hadn’t put that much thought into it, but it sounded good as I said it. Lyndie was the best of both worlds–Mommy approved, but also someone I could have an honest conversation with. If there was anyone who could help me make progress towards boxers again, I thought it might be her.

“I’ll text her when we get out of the store,” she said. “Good idea, Baby.”

Of course, I was still sitting in the backseat of Mommy’s car–a thick diaper under my pants while I discussed who would have to babysit me. I had a long way to go before I was ‘grown up’ again.

I was wet by the time we reached the store. I was a little miffed by this, too; I had spent the better part of the drive trying to remain conscious of my bladder’s status. But somewhere along the way, I got distracted–maybe it was a billboard, or maybe it was the conversation about babysitters. Suddenly, my padding was feeling moist.

Mommy, of course, had to check for herself in the parking lot. She made no attempt to be discreet about it, giving the waistband of my pants a good tug outward so that she could peek inside of my diaper. Some women were walking past us at that moment. Once, there was a time when I’d have been paranoid about what they thought or if they had seen anything. It didn’t seem that important to me anymore. Nothing to see here. Just a big baby getting his diaper checked in the parking lot.

“You should be good for a while longer,” she said, giving me a supportive pat on the bum. “And there’s plenty more in the diaper bag.”

I was thankful that the bag didn’t look like a ‘diaper bag.’ It looked almost like a normal backpack with its neutral gray color and brown leather details. We had diaper bags at home that looked like diaper bags. Gaudy custom-made things that had things like ‘BABY’ embroidered on the sides.

The bag was handed off to me. That made sense–everything in it was for me, so I should be the one hauling it around. Perhaps a perk for the Mommy with an extra-large baby.

It wasn’t quite a mall, but I wouldn’t have called it a strip-mall either. It was a cluster of shops and stores arranged in a mini-neighborhood, with sidewalks and roads zig-zagging through it. There was probably a name for something like this–but I had no idea what it was.

Mommy had been right about the people. The good weather had brought everyone out, and groups of people were strolling from store to store with handled bags hanging from their hands.

I had never been much of a shopper, myself. Still, it felt good to be back in a place like this again. I was walking past people. They were ignoring me. They couldn’t hear the sound of my diaper rustling over the ambient noises around us. They had no idea that I had peed myself a little bit ago. They had no idea that the backpack slung over my shoulders held even more thick adult diapers.

“How are you feeling, Baby?” Mommy asked me. Was it brazen that she called me ‘Baby’ in public? Or was it just a habit for her now?

“I’m good,” I said.

“You tell Mommy if you think you’re going to have another accident, understand?”

“Yes, Mommy,” I replied, showcasing my own habit.

“Or, you tell me if you had an accident. I’d rather hear about it from you before I start to smell it myself.”

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

We walked past the restrooms. Men. Women. Family. I let out a little sigh of relief at the sight of a family restroom. This, hopefully, meant that I wouldn’t be subjected to a diaper change in the back of her car–should I need one.

Who was I kidding? Of course I’d need one.

It was hard to say if this trip was actually accomplishing anything or not. Thirty minutes had passed while I had followed behind Mommy as she slowly shifted between racks, shelves, and display cases. I hadn’t made a fool of myself yet, and that felt like a small accomplishment. But was this how I was going to ‘grow up?’

Maybe with repetition?

“...I had a pair like these last year,” Mommy was saying to a young woman by a display of shoes. “I thought they were very nice, but I wore them once and I swore they were falling apart by the end of the night.”

“I’ve seen people online say they had a similar problem with this brand,” the woman responded.

Their conversation continued, but I tuned out. I was listening to the music playing over the speaker at the store. It was a happy sounding pop song–though one I had no recollection of hearing before. Not that I was ever one for keeping up with the trending tunes–but I wondered if it was a popular song. One that might have taken the nation by storm while I was in the midst of filling up my diaper.

“Fucking shoes,” a masculine voice to my left said. I quickly turned to find a young man standing a few feet from me. He had that hipster-look about him with his scruffy hair and a not-quite-beard. “I swear, she owns a hundred pairs, and here she is–looking at more.”

My heart thumped hard in my chest. Did this guy see me as…another guy? An adult guy?

“Tell me about it,” I said, making a show of rolling my eyes like I was the guy he believed me to be.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe she thinks the same thing about me, though. Like, she thinks I have too many watches or something.”

I wasn’t sure that I’d owned a watch in years, let alone multiple watches. Still, I was enjoying my moment in adultdom, and I wasn’t ready to let it end yet. “Ridiculous. You can’t have too many watches.”

“Right? That’s what I’m saying,” he said, his hands doing just as much of the speaking as his voice. “Watches tell time. The date. You can use a watch. But, like, all I need are like two or three pairs of shoes–tops. My sneakers, my boots, and my dress shoes.”

“Makes sense to me,” I shrugged.

“So, uh, can I ask you something?” I liked the turn his voice took. It got a little quieter, but a little smoother–like a conman explaining his latest grift to his accomplices.

“Uh, sure. I guess.”

His head nodded towards where Mommy was still chatting with the woman. “That’s not your mother, right?”

Well, it is and it isn’t. “No,” I said, shaking my head.

“Good, dude.” He playfully slapped my arm. “Because she is fucking hot.”

I laughed just thinking about how much that would’ve amused Mommy to hear.

I found myself wanting to play along. I’ve never been that kind of guy before, but this man didn’t know that. “Tell me about it. And, uh, your girl isn’t looking too bad either.”

“Well if you ever want to swap…” He’s joking, I think. His cadence suggests a joke–I suspect I wouldn’t have even been able to tell the difference back before I became the chastised baby I was now. I find it hard to believe that people actually talk like this. To strangers, no less. Is this what I’ve been missing while in my bubble?

Goddamn. Mommy would absolutely devour a guy like this. And I would’ve wanted to see it too–this cocky asshole strolling up to her, only to suddenly find himself on his hands and knees in a diaper, licking up a puddle of her piss from the floor.

Fuck, now I’m thinking about the taste of her piss.

My laugh wasn’t the most genuine, but I didn’t think he’d notice the difference. He didn’t.

He breaks into commentary about his partner: “Well, now she’s going for the green shoes. Nope. Nope. Maybe the blue ones instead? She’ll probably change her mind two or three more times.”

Is this what passes as comedic banter between men?

He doesn’t see my response–which is to begin wetting my diaper. It’s one of the rare times that I am fully cognizant of what I’m doing in my diapers. Eventually, I was sure, I’d have had an accident and have ended up with a wet diaper anyways. But I decided to expedite that–purposefully opening the floodgates.

I needed this. I needed to feel my diaper swell and warm around me. If this guy can live in his own little world–one where he’s a ladies man who actually stands a chance with someone like Mommy–then I want to be in mine.

“Ah, well, looks like she made a selection,” he shrugged. “I’ll probably have to go offer an opinion now. Spoiler alert: I don’t give a shit what color shoes she buys.”

I almost wish I was a different kind of person. The kind of person who could be bold enough to say something about how she clearly deserves a better partner. Instead, I’m squeezing my thighs together, feeling my wet diaper squish between my legs.

“Good luck,” I offered as he wandered forward.

Mommy regrouped with me soon after too, two pairs of shoes in her hands. She didn’t ask my opinions on them, and I assumed that she already knew she was going to buy them.

“Are you getting those?” I asked. “They look nice.” I didn’t say this out of obligation. I meant it.

Mommy’s face lit up as she smiled. Was she surprised that I cared? Or just happy to be reminded?

“Which do you like more?” she asked, holding out both pairs in front of her. There was a pair of glossy black shoes, some more rustic looking brown shoes.

I almost immediately pointed to the sleek black shoes. I liked that I could almost see myself in them.

“Me too,” she said.

We started walking again, slowly making our way towards the front of the store. Occasionally, she’d stop, looking at another display while I stood off to the side–marinating further in my wet diaper.

So much for starting the process of growing up today.

“How are you doing?” she asked. She wasn’t asking about my general well-being, of course.

“Wet,” I quickly replied. I realized I hadn’t followed her direction from earlier–letting her know when I had used my diaper. I tried to overcorrect: “B-but I didn’t poop yet.”

I had failed to consider the discretion Mommy used in asking her question. Any other time, any other place, she’d have had no problem with bluntly asking if I had soiled my diaper. It wasn’t until after I gave my response that I noticed that the couple we had interacted with a few minutes ago were standing just a few feet from us. Mommy smiled as she went about looking at shoes–seemingly happy with the ramifications of my little self-own.

Had they heard me? Well, seeing as how the mustached man smirked as he and his partner exchanged looks–it was safe to assume so.

Mommy paid the couple no mind, nonchalantly finishing her browsing before continuing her stroll towards the cashier, with me shuffling behind her. I wondered what that man thought of me now. What he might have thought about my relationship with Mommy. Was I still the ‘dude’ he thought I was?

The transaction was completed and we were outside again.

“I have another store or two I wanted to stop at while we’re here,” she said. “Will your diaper be alright?”

I nodded. “Should be.” Truthfully, I had no idea–my body did its own thing. Sometimes it amused me that she even asked. She knew me as well as I did. How many times had I said that my diaper would be good, only to spring a leak a few minutes later?

It happened often enough.

I was feeling a little defeated–having already soaked my diaper and having attracted the wrong kind of attention from strangers–but I also knew that wasn’t the point of today. I was here because I needed to get out of my bubble. And in that regard, I thought I had succeeded.

“How are you doing?” Mommy asked again as we walked. I just knew that she wasn’t referring to my diaper this time.

“Okay,” I nodded.

“Did you miss the public so badly that you needed to go shoe shopping with Mommy?”

“S-something like that,” I shrugged. My mouth hung open for another moment as I contemplated whether or not I’d tell Mommy more about my developing long-term plans. I decided against it, for now. With my luck, I’d blurt out something stupid: “Me want to be big boy now!”

I’d tell her more when it felt like the time was right.

“Well you’re doing very well, Baby.”

“Treats?” I asked, sounding like a pathetic puppy.

“Treats,” she confirmed.

Later–but not that much later–I was on my back atop the changing table in my nursery again. I was in a fresh diaper and the soggy one I had worn on our excursion had been cast into the bin. Now, the tip of Mommy’s vibrating massager was pressed against my cage, through the diaper.

I had been hoping for something to be pushed into my asshole, but…

“Uhhhhhhhhhhffffffff…”

…it didn’t really matter. I’d gladly take anything that Mommy gave to me.

“Does that feel good?” she cooed.

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

As my body shook and twitched, climbing closer and closer to that peak, I thought about the future. One day I’d wake up and the first thing I did would be to use the toilet. I’d wear the clothes of my fellow adults. I’d go to a job. I’d have a girlfriend. A wife, perhaps. Fingers crossed it was who I wanted it to be–though if I was seeing anyone at all, I had to assume it was someone I liked.

We’d have sex. I’d enter them with my cock, finishing deep inside of her and we’d moan and roll around together.

I couldn’t wait.

But then… “I-I…I’m gonna…uhh…”

“Go on,” she cooed to me. “Tell me all about it.”

It was that pre-climax blabber–a deluge of stream-of-conscious tidbits that I forced out as I came close to blowing my load. I had gotten pretty good at it.

“I…I’m your baby, Mommy. Your…uhf…dumb little pathetic baby…”

“Are you now? And what should I do with a dumb little baby like you?”

“K-keep me in diapers…forever,” I spit out, my back arching as I finally came–globs of milky-white goo oozing into my diaper. I’d be wearing that for a while..

“Forever is a very long time. But…if you say so.”

Those weren’t exactly the words of a boy who wanted to grow up. Oh well. Maybe I’d get ‘em next time.