I am not a little girl! (Really!) (Scene #214 posted 12/6/23)

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

12 minutes ago, paddedpiplup said:

This continues to be my favorite ABDL story in forever. I'm so glad you chose to continue this one out of all the others you had going for a while.

Thank you!

I wax and wane. The others aren’t going away, merely on hiatus. I feel more mojo on this one, so I’ve been focusing on it, but when the others feel good and like I have something to say, I’ll go back.

[YourFNF]

Wow just so many feels on this

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #42

 

“Mary, I really don’t wanna.”

“You are so forgetful,” she said back to me.

“What’d I forget?”

“That the no-strikes rule is in effect, and clearly it needs to be if you’re going to have such a hard time following instructions. It must be my fault for letting things get so out of hand.”

“I am not out of hand. That is such a mom guilt trip thing to say.” I said that fully expecting to be flipped onto my tummy so she could give me my second (or third or fourth depending on how we’re counting) spanking of the day. Instead I got kissed. Hard. To which I cleverly replied, “Ha!” And went in for seconds and got a finger placed gently on my lips instead.

“You’ve had a hard day, and I just want you to relax and have a nice evening. Nana is coming over and she’s never even seen you in the onesie she made for you.”

“But I ... Can’t I just wear the onesie then and ... a skirt over it?” That would tick the box, wouldn’t it? I mean, she’d see me in it. That would be plenty.

“You can wear a skirt over it. But under it ...”

“No,” I whined. “Please?” Hey, how did I get to be face down all of a sudden? SMACK!

“Little girl, I meant it when I said no strikes, so unless you want twenty more of those to go with the ones you already got today, you need to remove that word from your vocabulary when I’m telling you to do things, understand?”

“Yes,” I meeped. Damn, but she sounded serious. Sweet, but serious.

“Roll back over ... butt up.”

Ya know what’s not the word ‘no’? “But ... can I wear one of the other ones?”

Mary sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. You might say she was getting a little fed up with me. “I’m trying to be nice to you. Not three hours ago you said you wanted these to be a reward.”

Technically, I didn’t say that. “Technically, I didn’t, is the thing ...” Wow, she can make steam come outta her ears. Neat trick. “And Nana is coming, and they’re so ... prominent.” That seemed a good substitute for super-bulgy-and-obvious

“Butt. Up.” Hey, wudduya know? My butt’s up. “Nana will not mind, and you need to stop worrying about that.”

“But you don’t ...”. Ooh, I recognize that face. That’s Mary’s I’m-mentally-counting-down-to-ass-murdering-time face. I was gonna say she didn’t need to make them so thick. I didn’t see why she needed to use more than one in the first place. Maybe there’s a perfectly good reason. I wouldn’t know because unlike her, and Sandy who started all this and who has a sharp blow to the nose coming the next time I see her, I’m not some weird pervert trolling the internet for how-to-cloth-diaper-your-wife tips. I’m, I will have you know, an entirely different kind of pervert, not that I’m kink shaming.

She tugged hard on the wings to get a really snug fit with the velcro. I do gotta say I like the way the elastic in the thighs hugged my butt, but there are plenty of things that do that. For one, Mary; I like the way Mary squeezes my butt. For another, panties. Or at least some of them.

“How’s that feel,” she asked me while delivering some very firm pats to places.

“I can’t even feel your hand.”

“You’re pretty,” is what she said back.

Ooh! She thinks I’m pretty! Not that her saying so distracted me.

“Gimme a foot.” I gave her a foot and my other one and she threaded those plastic panties up my legs and she’s knows me way too well because when I raised my butt without even being told she said, “Good girl.” And I got a little tingly feeling I my tummy. Not that my attention is easily  redirected.

“I remember when I had rubber panties that were skin-tight and I had to not eat for two days just to get them on,” I said. It was back once upon a time when I went to play parties looking for someone to slap my ass, and those panties did an awesome job at attracting that kind of attention. I don’t really miss those days, but the Daphne who wore those with confidence seemed a far cry from the Daphne who had ruffles on her butt.

“You were such a dirty little thing, going out like in public,” she smiled at me.

“I was sexy as hell.”

“Yeah you are.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Do I still turn you on?”

“Are you kidding,” she said as she reached out for my hands and helped me sit up. “I don’t even know what to say half the time I look at you. You make me feel like an awkward teenage lesbian.”

“I can’t imagine you ever being awkward.” She seemed to have stolen all the self-confidence in the world, and she makes me feel like a lovesick schoolgirl who gets all twitterpated with a just smile from the head cheerleader.

“Shows what you know. Let’s get you dressed.” And that how I ended up wearing one of those diapers that didn’t feel so much like a reward now. Context is king. Going for a walk is nice. Going for a walk during an artillery barrage is not so nice, and having a witness to me and my giant diaper butt was not when I had in mind. I don’t even know what I had in mind; I think maybe I was just trying to steal a little control of the whole diaper thing. I mean, if I couldn’t make it go away, I could least take away at least part of the punishment part of it. Of course, that’s sort of predicated on the standard for earning a reward being wayyy higher. It’s not like I say ‘I wanna reward’ and she just hands one over. I didn’t think I’d have to be so blessed for a while. I mean, did she even hear what I said to her that very morning? How does that earn a reward? I mean, seriously, if I got a reward every time I told someone to go fuck themselves, I’d never stop saying it (true story).

Topped off by a onesie and a flouncy cotton skirt, I didn’t feel like I was being rewarded so much as dressed up for playing house. My feet were cold, but I opted to just deal with it for fear she’d magically produce a pair of frilly ankle socks or booties or something.

“What time is Nana coming over,” I asked.

“Soon. C’mere.” She patted her lap and I shuffled over. Ya hear that? I shuffled. I did not waddle. I didn’t. (Really!) I took a seat partially adjacent to her lap. I’m not a golden retriever. I don’t need to be on her lap all the time. “I need you to do something for me,” she said.

“I’ll behave for our company,” I said and rolled my eyes, which wasn’t so smart.

“I know you will, Daffy Duckling.”

“I am not a duckling!”

“Hehe. But seriously, will you just relax tonight and go with the flow?”

Wow, way to raise my suspicions. “Where’s the flow going?”

“Wherever.” At least she didn’t say my pants; I’d have poked her in the eye if she had. Not really, but maybe a gentle shoulder smack. “I just want you to relax. You’re with two people who love you you very much and I can see the stress already in your shoulders.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“Daphne Ann!”

“Maybe a little?” What, just because I spent the whole middle of the day being grumpy and then regretful and then sobbing she thought I was anxious or something? She leaps to conclusions, is what she does, and just because she’s so sure footed and usually right doesn’t mean she’s always right or even usually right even if she is, am I right? To which the answer is yes.

She put her hands on top my shoulders. “These are ‘sposed to be down here,” she said and pushed down gently. Okay, so maybe I was a little tense with the whole shoulders-up-around-my-ears thing.

“I’ll try.”

“And the no-strikes rule applies even if Nana is here.”

“Gee, what with you having practically invited her to a spanking I wouldn’t have known.”

“An anxious smartass says what?”

“What.” I didn’t fall for it. I was just acknowledging the truth. I always acknowledge the truth, just sometimes more publicly than others. I’m very self-aware. People say, ‘there goes Daphne. She’s very self aware.’ Really.

“Thought so. Are your feet cold?”

“No.”

“Fibber. Let’s go pick out a movie.”

Several of my movie choices got vetoed, and we settled on something light. Something you might even characterize as family friendly. But my picks were family friendly, so long as everyone in the family is over 18 and not my mom.

We were in the kitchen making snacks when Nana knocked on our screen door and let herself in. “Hey hey!” I can sorta tell that back in the day she was the life of the party.

“Hi, Mae. Come on in. Thanks for coming over.”

“Thanks for inviting me. Hello, Daffy.”

“Hi,” I tried to say confidently even though I was dressed the way I was. Trying and failing to sound confident makes you sound even less confident than if you hadn’t tried at all. It’s like incompetent inconfidence.

“Is that the diaper shirt I made you?”

Well, at least I didn’t do a spit take, even I did sputter a little. “It’s ... buh ... muh huh.”

I shot Mary a look that made it very clear that the no-strikes rule would not stop me from winging a block of cheese at her if she let out so much as a titter of the laugh she was barely holding in. “Um, thank you again for making it. It’s comfy and, um, snug.”

“And makes her cuter than anyone has any business being,” Mary said.

I so wish we chose a different movie. And that I didn’t get pizza sauce on my onesie (shirt! dammit). Or that at least Mary would’ve told me instead of taking the opportunity to lick a napkin and paw at me. I think she just likes to paw at me.

“You okay, Daffy,” Nana asked a half hour into the movie.

“Yes,” I said a little shakily. “It’s sad.” It wasn’t Ol’ Yeller sad, but it was sad enough, and ... really, I don’t know. I’m a bit more emotional than some folks realize and always have been. Even my own family doesn’t know, but movies like this one ... if I’d known it was sad I would’ve insisted on something else. Certain things, like movies with sad things happening to kids, and I get weepy, and I was recovering from being weepy just hours earlier, and that’s a fragile thing.

“C’mere,” Mary said, and scooted over and leaned back so I was lying against her and she was lying against the arm of the couch. “Comfy,” she asked while reaching for the blanket on the back of the sofa.

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should’ve picked something different,” Nana suggested. “This is bumming me out, too.”

“It gets better ... And she’s just had an emotional day.”

“O no. What happened?”

“Marrrry, don’t you ...” And she’s talking right over me and putting our shit right out on the street.

“Just some big feelings. And she was embarrassed you saw hanging up her diapers and sheets.”

“That’s no reason to be embarrassed. I don’t care one lick what you wear, Daffy. You’re cute as a button.” I just chewed on the inside of my cheek trying not to squirm in the good kind of embarrassment. “I’m so glad you like your onesie.” So she does know the modern term.

Mary put her hand under the blanket and started running all five of her fingers in slow circles on my tummy. Not that I’m a golden retriever; I don’t furiously kick my leg when she does that. My toes sometimes curl and I squirm a little, but that’s not like a golden retriever either. More like a pilsbury doughboy, and no one should be judged just because their insides are made of pastry. That little fella is doing the best he can with what God gave him, and he turns into delicious biscuits to boot. Mary called me her little biscuit once, and I vetoed that pet name immediately ... Not that my mind wanders randomly. I’m very good at focusing, just less so when I’m getting a tummy rub.

I started to get up to go excuse myself to go, um, do a thing, and Mary just clasped her hands with me under them.

So I started to get up again, and she just clasped them tighter.

So I looked up at her and gave her a look.

And she looked down at me and gave me a look back.

So I gave her a dirtier look.

And she smiled.

So I went hfff.

I mean, Nana was right there. I know it did it once while sitting in Mary’s lap, but I didn’t want to make a habit of it. I didn’t really want to do it at all, but I don’t, apparently, get a vote on this and related subjects in Mary’s dictatorship. She’s a despot, is what she is, a tummy rubbing despot like the worst ones always are. She proved as much by her despotism and her resumption of the tummy rubbing and I squirmed now for two different reasons.

Dammit. Anyway...

Since I wasn’t allowed to even leave the room, I did the next most private thing and turned away from the tv, which unfortunately meant turning my face into the crook of Mary’s arm. I was not trying to cute about it. I didn’t want to look anywhere or at anyone.

It’s not so easy to pee in that position, which is a part of the story that I haven’t told and I think I deserve some credit for awesomeness that I’ll never get from Mary because she just expects me to just be able to start doing that and it’s not easy and she doesn’t know that because how the heck could she because fuck if I’ll ever tell her, but it’s hard and she doesn’t know and I do it because I’m not only a good girl but because I’m a good and regrettably talented girl at this very niche skill. Apparently. Unfortunately. Fuck my life.

I stopped my squirming and froze so I could, well... sigh. At least I was more comfortable.

Mary knew because she could feel even through all the cotton she’d wrapped around me, and she - gasp. shock. but not really - moved her hand downward and pat pat squeeze.

And I resumed my several kinds of squirming.

“Good girl,” Mary whispered. “Who’s my very good girl.”

Ooooo. She called me a very good girl. Ha. I felt an inexplicable desire to wiggle my feet and all I could so was try not to writhe.

It’s soft and warm in the crook of Mary’s arm. And tummy rubbing and butt squeezing and her petting my hair.

“Is she asleep,” Nana whispered.

“She’s on her way.” Well, yeah, but I was still awake and heard every word, which Mary knew and decided to talk about me anyway, which she totally does on purpose. “We took a nap, but she didn’t sleep well last night and it was a rough day. For both of us.”

“O no. What happened?”

The polite answer would’ve been Mary just saying nothing to worry about, but no, she had to continue just hanging our dirty laundry out there for everyone to see, and behind our laundry was all our junk right there in the street for the neighbors to gawk at.

“She really did get embarrassed with you seeing her diapers hanging there, and she had a tantrum.” O, nice choice of words, ya big B.

“She really has tantrums?” See? Ya see what she does?

“She wouldn’t call them that, and she doesn’t explode like that with anyone but me, but ya know how people are. They let their guard down with the people they’re closest to. She got embarrassed, then angry, and then took it out on me.”

“Well, ya know, she is an adult. She gets to be angry, Mary, even at you.” Of course I do! She’s the source of the embarrassment; Nana is just a bystander.

“Of course she does, but she doesn’t get to swear at me.”

“She didn’t,” Nana said in disbelief.

“She definitely did. She knows better, too. She’s fully capable of discussing things like an adult,” Mary said and gave me a firm pat on my thigh under the blanket. “She just made a bad choice.”

“Stop talking about me,” I said, rolling back over so I could see them both. And my face was red because it was warm, not because I was blushing o so adorably.

“We’re just chatting,” Mary said. You, I said to her in my head, are not an innocent. She’s the world’s best humiliatrix. All those dommes who just make fun of people’s body parts and make them kiss their feet are playing tiddlywinks. Mary plays six-dimension chess.

“See how she embarrasses me on purpose,” I said in my defense. Of course what Nana didn’t see was how wet it made me under all layers of cotton.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Nana said reassuringly. She always says that. I mean, there obviously is to be embarrassed. Me and Mary aren’t weird, I decided; Nana is weird if she really doesn’t see any reasons to be embarrassed.

Mary, with he I-ate-the-Cheshire-Cat-smile plastered to her face chimed in with, “Your nana knows how bad choices get dealt with in this house. You got a long time out, your mouth washed out, and what else?”

“Marrrryy!”

“It’s okay.” She pinched the inside of my thigh.

“She already knows,” I whined.

She pinched my thigh harder. “Then there’s no reason not to say tell her.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Nana said. “I assume she got a spanking for it.”

“On her bare bottom,” Mary added with a chuckle.

“You’re just the worst,” Nana chuckled back. I did not get to chuckle. “Leave the girl a little dignity.”

“You’re so mean,” I said to my Mary.

“C’mere. I’ll protect you.” Mary let me up, and I was halfway up off her lap when I regretted it. Get up and waddle over to Nana? Nope, I was good where I was.

“I’m good,” I said and eased myself back down.

“Go on,” Mary said.

“Nope, really. I’m fine.”

Mary leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Up, little girl. She’s trying to be nice. Go with the flow.”

I had wobble knees when I stood up, which didn’t help me not look like a two-minute-old antelope about to fall down. Good thing I’m so athletic and kinesiologically talented, because I made it all six steps without face planting (yay small victories!). It makes me think I should try figure skating again (by which I mean a second try after having done a giraffe-on-a-frozen-pond impression once when I was five and never setting foot on a skating rink again), if only because I like the outfits (which are not at all like onesies, before you even think it!just because it’s a shirt that comes together through the legs and is worn with a skirt like the one I was wearing that evening … dammit...).

I quickly sat down next to Nana, and she put her arm around my shoulder. “We won’t let her tease you anymore,” she said.

“She teases me all the time. She only made me put up a clothesline to embarrass me.”

“Why does she do those things, do you think?”

“To be mean,” is what I said. To be mean and because it makes us both all tingly in places is what I didn’t say. “She’s very cruel,” I said in a way that could get me accused of being deliberately cute and catty. It would just be one in a long line of wild accusations, though, I’ll have you know.

“It isn’t very nice being talked about like you’re not in the room, is it Mary,” Nana asked Mary. As in, Mary the Queen. As in, the Mary who never gets put on the defensive or called out on her bullplop. As in, the very same Mary who thinks she can just spank me whenever and wherever and however she wants to (and I have no idea who gave her that impression ?).

To say my eyeballs turned into cartoon stars and little red hearts appeared above my head wouldn’t be wholly accurate but only because I’m not a cartoon character. Nana is a goddam hero, is what she is. She’s the Caped Crusader of The Daphne Defense Forces.

I could sense Mary stewing in her own juices. Even Mary is no match for Nana. It was my lucky day, and I was gonna push that day’s luck just to watch Mary squirm for once.

“And she’s so rough with me,” I pouted. “She takes advantage because I’m shorter than she is.” Not by much, mind you. I’m actually a giant compared to some people (under age 10) but I’m 5’2” and Mary is 5’8”. “Bully,” I said straight to the queen from Fortress Other Couch Nana Was Sitting On (we call it “the couch” for short).

That blow seemed to glance off the queen’s armor as a smile spread across her face. “Why don’t you give Nana some examples.” And my defender turned and smiled an eerily similar smile at me.

“Um,” I cleverly stalled for time. “She puts things on the top shelf.”

“What else,” Nana said. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

“She ... you know. Don’t you be mean to me, too,” I pouted like an expert. Ha! I thrust; Mary ripostes; I dodge; Mary swings; Nana enters the fray; I hide behind my cuteness. Just like how the knights of ye olde kinky kingdom woulda done it.

“Never,” Nana said. Ha! Try switching sides and ganging up on me ... don’t know who you’re messing with.

“Can I say one thing, though,” Nana asked.

Ooh, she’s clever. You can’t say no when someone asks that. “ I guess.” But you can whine and agree at the same time.

“I think you’re very lucky to have her, even if it means you get your bottom spanked every once in a while.”

“More like every day!” Fuck. “I mean, you’re right. Ha!”

“She couldn’t possibly be that naughty,” Nana said to Mary while I searched for an escape tunnel in Fortress Couch.

“It’s not every day, but we did put the no-strikes rule in effect until we get her back on track.”

“How off track can she be?”

“She used the F word at me.”

“Daphne Ann! How could you?”

“No need for that, Mae. She already got her consequence and apologized profusely. We don’t need to be starting any more tears outta her.”

The queen hath spoken, Nana; I mean, geez, pick a side and stay on it, will ya?

“So what exactly is the no-strikes rule?”

“It means I’m going to spank her bottom for her for every little misdeed for a while until her behavior improves. Not that her behavior is so bad, but I think she’s just all out of sorts, and the key to a happy and healthy Daffodil is a perpetually pink bottom.”

What did we just say about talking about people like they’re not in the room?

Mary prattled on, “And I think she could use a little more structure in her days. A little more supervision and some responsibility and she’ll be right as rain. No job, no job hunting, and no school for months on end - she’s not quite herself.”

Well, at least we can agree on that.

“You can’t send her to work in diapers, though,” Nana sorta objected, sorta asked, and I sorta wished she’d shut up.

“I pick out my own clothes for work,” I said to no one who was listening. At least, I usually do. Or did, back in the pre-historic days before the pandemic. Did I just promote diapers to “clothes?”

“Diapers weren’t a regular thing for her back when she was working. That’s recent,” Mary explained.

“O. How did those come about anyway?”

“A friend of ours suggested we give it a try.”

“Objection!” Why’s everybody looking at me funny? “A friend of ours suggested it to you, and you made me.” Surely that would win Nana permanently to my side. Go on, Nana, bite her head off.

“Well,” Nana said, and then turned and looked at me. Wrong direction! Look at Mary! “She is the one in charge, little girl.”

Traitor! Benedict Arnold! Judas Cumberbatch! Marcus Junius Brutus and the whole damn Gens Junia!

“Ooh, you were right, Mary, that does make her make a cute pouty face.”

“Nana! She ... you ... isn’t fair!”

“Shhh ...” Aw, hell naw, bitch, you do not wanna be shushing me! “... I’m just teasing. “But she is in charge, and if she can spank a bottom, she can certainly put a diaper on one.” That is some bull plop logic! Bullplop!

“Did Sandy tell you to say that?”

“Who’s Sandy, sweetie?”

“One of Mary’s co-conspirators.” I was onto them, all of them. Nana was no hero; she was a mercenary, going which ever way the wind blows. If I was going to have her on my side, I’d have to work for it. And I had something Mary didn’t have: adorabilibuddiness.

“The diapers are to keep Little Miss Sass Bottom in line was Sandy’s idea, though other people like us do it, too,” Mary helpfully explained. “And I’ll add that they do a good job. That and her paci have saved her from a smacked bottom more than a few times. In fact, they actually work better than spanking her.”

“They do not!” And she’s just talking right over me again.

“And when she’s wearing one, she magically turns into my shadow. She gets all clingy.”

“I do not!”

“You were more attached to me at my parents’ house than Milo was to my sister.”

“Who’s Milo,” Nana asked.

“My sister’s four-year-old. I like it,” Mary said. “I like that she’s get even more touchy-feely. I didn’t really anticipate there being so many mood swings,” Mary added with a bit of a put upon eye roll, “but then I didn’t anticipate there’d be a global pandemic and we’d be even more 24/7 with all this than we already were.”

“24/7? I bet those cloth diapers are saving you a bundle,” Nana said.

“Ha! She’s not wearing them 24/7. I meant just our lifestyle in general. There’s no break when we’re both home all day.”

Hey, dammit. What’s that supposed to mean? “What’s that mean? Do you ... need a break?” From me?

“O no, sweetie. I just meant we’re always together now; we don’t get time away, and you especially. You said yourself it’s hard to not have other people to talk to with you not working. We haven’t gotten to be our work selves for months ... unless you were getting into mischief at the office and getting your bottom smacked for it and not telling me.”

“O. Yeah...”

“I mean it. I’ll never need a break from you.”

“I know.” Still… I’m not usually so insecure that an innocent, off handed comment could scramble my brain so easily, or at least I didn’t use to be. What a weird day. I was just off, and didn’t know why.

“Mae, would you do me a favor?”

O, don’t you dare, Mary, whatever you’re gonna ask her to do.

“Will you rub her tummy? That always makes her feel better.”

“I am not a golden retriever. I oooh! Hehe! ... I’m just ticklish.”

“Too cute for your own good,” Nana said. “Well, you both know Daphne is welcome at my house anytime. You keep me younger if not young.”

“That could be difficult with the no-strikes rule, Mae. I know you don’t wanna tattle on her, but I really do think she’ll be happier if we stick to strict for a while.”

“I can’t be her nana if she can’t trust me not to tell you everything.”

Damn straight.

“But,” Nana said, “one thing that’s been bothering me and I’m going to have to insist on.”

“What’s that?”

“If she’s over at my house, I’m not letting her sit around in a soggy diaper. Either you let her change it or me, or I’m going to send her home to get that taken care of.”

It’s my butt, dammit! Why is that anyone else’s concern? Except Mary’s. I know she’s trying to be helpful, but not helpful! Not helpful! Not! I feel dizzy. Probably because all my brain blood ran down into my face.

“That’s up to Daffy,” Mary said.

Ooh, I get to make a decision for once. “I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“Nice try, but not what I meant, kiddo.”

“I’m not a kiddo!” But as long as I was being treated and talked about like one. “And you’re such a butt sometimes.”

“Daffy,” Nana said and put her hand on my thigh just below where my skirt ended (and had ridden up), “we’re all women. You have nothing I don’t see every day. I just think you’d be so much more comfortable, and that way when you’re over, we won’t have to stop what we’re doing or talking about for you to run home.”

“Okay, technically - and actually not technically - you do not see what I see every day, is the thing.”

“You know what I mean,” Nana said.

“I do ... I need to think about it.” I’m not really shy about nudity with people in the scene. If we’d met Nana at a play party, it wouldn’t bother me. Even being touched by play partners we’d just met isn’t that much of a thing with me so long as Mary is right there next to me. But we didn’t meet Nana at a party, and she’s not in the scene. She’s my neighbor and a really good friend. I didn’t want to lose her as those things by me or Mary turning her into a play partner or Nana inadvertently or advertently (is that a word?) doing that to herself.

“Okay,” Nana replied. “No pressure. Totally up to you.”

“Partially up to me,” I muttered, except I said it to Mary and gave her a dirty look to match.

“This is the back chat that can get her in trouble. Daphne, come over here please,” Mary said.

“No. I didn’t ... that wasn’t ...” Nana will rescue me. And then I realized I was alone and cold in a cruel world, because then Nana took her arm off my shoulder. Protection, gone. I turned and looked at her, my once-upon-a-time hero. And for the record, I did not look at her with pleading puppy dog eyes. They were disappointed kitten eyes.

“You weren’t kidding when you said strict,” Nana said, and then she looked at me and added, “I think you’re gonna need to be more careful about who you call a ‘butt’ for a while.”

Statute of limitations! That was, like, two hundred seconds ago.

“But ... but ...”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Nana said.

Fine. I would at least walk to my place of spanksecution with the dignity befitting someone of my station, by which I mean I dragged my feet and used every bit of body language I know to grump and pout.

“It was nothing,” I whined as I approached Mary.

“It was several somethings.” O, yeah, sure, if you were listening to the words I was brattily saying, then I guess, yeah, there some things I said that probably weren’t so wise to say with the no-strikes rule in effect. But give a girl a break (the opposite of the no-strikes rule, granted) because with all the talking over me it’s impossible to know when I’m being listened to or even if I’m being heard and what even counts as being too bratty. It’s arbitrary, the very essence of despotism, and knowing that I love everything about it is no excuse for Mary to, ya know, do it. I don’t mean to be sacrilegious, but typing that out, and living it everyday, makes me just wanna remind myself, Mary and the whole world that God made me complicated, I didn’t choose it, and even if I have some really hard days, like that one, I like being me a whole lot. Anyway, in the moment, I was just thinking that I didn’t say anything that would earn a spanking except under the no-strikes rule and even under the no-strikes rule, probably wouldn’t only earn a spanking for that kind of low-level bratting on Day 1. I didn’t especially want a fifth or twentieth or however many spanking of the day, and definitely not in front of Nana, but anything more than the token resistance I’d put up would only make it worse.

Mary caught my near wrist and moved my hand out of the way, and I got a THWOCK THWOCK THWOCK THWOCK SPANK SPANK!

She caught me off guard. For one, I was wearing the equivalent thickness of every pair of underwear for a two-block radius, and she rarely spanks me with just one pair on. For two, spankings during no-strikes periods are usually more formal, like over the knee formal. And for three, I kinda thought she would excuse us to the kitchen or something. She’d threatened me with a spanking in front of Nana, and Nana had seen my butt smacked by accident a few times (her seeing it was the accidental part; Mary smacking it was totally on purpose), but she’d never actually done it, and I didn’t think she would out of respect for Nana, plus basic kink ethics - Nana is not part of the scene and did not consent. But then with our lifestyle being a lifestyle and not a scene and so much of it being out in the open, maybe we’d reached the point of implicit consent, at least for some swats to a covered butt.

After those two zingers to the back of my thighs, I half anticipated getting yanked over her knee or hauled into the kitchen and being stripped to my birthday suit for the real deal, but instead Mary just took my other hand in hers, held them together gently, looked up from the couch with Bambi eyes, and asked, “Do you understand why I had to give you that spanking?”

“Be-because I bratted.”

“Yes, and we’re going to work on that smart mouth together, okay?”

“Mhmm.”

Silence reigned for a moment. Mary was right; it was an emotional day for me. Hormones aside, the whole damn day was too much, and it crashed into me like a driver drunk on chocolate and Lifetime movies. First, my lip quivered, and I tried to get it to stop. Then a tear ran down my cheek.

“O, Daffy,” Mary said with genuine concern in her voice. She gave me a tug so I fell-slash-sat on the couch next to her and put my face in the crook of her neck. I wasn’t sobbing (so good on me for that, I guess), but I was definitely weepy and had no idea why. If I didn’t know better, I’d chalk it up to pregnancy, but as I said, there are no seamen in our house. “You’re just a hot mess today.” Mary leaned down and kissed my hair, which made me do that thing where you sorta choke and hold your breath until the big swollen lump in your throat goes away. With my face buried in Mary’s neck, I didn’t see Nana coming over, but I felt when she sat down, and then a new hand was rubbing my back.

“Is she really that sensitive to pain,” Nana asked.

“That didn’t even hurt her,” Mary said.

“O. Well … Is she just embarrassed again?”

“I don’t think that’s it. I I think she’s just having one of those days. Shhh. C’mon, Daffy, you’re okay. You’re okay.” Yes, but WHY was I having one of those days?!? I didn’t understand. Maybe it was just a random one-of-those-days. Maybe it was something Mary said. Maybe neither.

“Daffy,” Nana said quietly, “you were very brave.”

Brave doing what? It’s not brave to take a spanking, not in our house. It’s a hell of a lot more brave to refuse to take a spanking, and I’ve never been that brave. Or so inclined, though Mary’s has pushed the limits sometimes, which usually end up being the kind of events that marks a new phase in our life together.

“Here,” Mary said, guiding me up, “go see Nana.” Huh? Why? Mary sorta pivoted me so I twisted around and Nana had her arms open. Ooh. Nana hug. The woman gives good hugs. And back pats. She gives just the right level of thump. And back rubs. She gets the whole length of it, not like some people who I imagine must be emotionally constipated or something. Though I can’t fully blame them because the way I was that day, I could’ve used some emotional cheese. But Nana gets the whole length of my back, from my shoulders to HEY DAMMIT! THAT’S NOT MY BACK!

“She’s wet,” Nana whispered, which was just weird because her mouth was right next to my ear. Did she think I wouldn’t hear her?

“It’s almost bedtime,” Mary said back.

I took a big sniff and sat up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Nana said. She brushed the hair out of my face and used her thumb to wipe a tear away. She has such soft hands, but they have this rough texture, like she’s been working in the garden for sixty years. I wonder if I’ll have that some day.

“I don’t know what that was all about.” And I was tired again. Like, blood sugar was plummeting tired.

“I think,” Mary said, “it’s time to say goodnight.”

We said our goodnights, and I told Nana I’d see her the next day. Mary made us each a glass of water, and we went upstairs together. I offered to help clean up the family room, but she just said the mess would be there in the morning, and we shut off the lights behind us.

Certain parts of yourself you just can’t turn off. On the one hand, I wanted to cancel the sunrise and sleep for thirty-six hours. On the other, I had a lot of pent up feelings that require a minimum degree of physical activity to resolve. If my humiliation kink is a little button, the whole damn day was Mary poking it, twisting it, pulling it, flicking it, and squeezing it. She really knows how to girlhandle my button.

“Here,” she said, and handed me that teddy bear she got me. I keep moving it to the dresser, she keeps moving it back to the bed. “Lay down for me.”

“He’s just an innocent bear,” I said as coquettishly as I could while yawning. “It wouldn’t be right to expose him to certain things,” I said and set it by my pillows as I tried to sexily collapse on the bed. I did the collapsing part like a boss.

“You’re kidding, right,” she scoffed at me. “I could knock you over with a feather.”

Well, there’s an idea. “So go get the feather.” It’s why we bought it, after all.

“How about we just get you tucked in.” She went to my dresser instead and got a diaper out of my erstwhile underwear drawer. There were still underwear in it, but they’d been pushed to one side. It’s like my drawer was gentrifying and the long-time residents were getting squeezed by these new people that weren’t even self-aware enough to know they weren’t fully welcome. I mean, yeah, come spend your money in our stores and restaurants, but how ‘bout going to back to where you came from at the end of the day? And yes, I realize in this metaphor that I’m a spokesperson for the Neighborhood Panty Association, but if I’m not, no one else will be.

Mary disappeared into the bathroom and came back out with a thing of wipes, powder, and a towel. “We need somewhere to put these cloths diapers when they’re wet,” she said. “Lift up for me.”

I lifted, and she spread the towel under me. My skirt was off, my onesie was open, the plastic panties felt a little wet as they came off over my toes, and instantly those cloth diapers felt wet and cold. Mary tore them open (and practically lifted me off the bed in the process; that’s some good velcro) and put them a pile between by my feet on the towel.

“Hey, slow down,” I said when she started cleaning me up. “Where’s the fire, sexy.” Ooh, we need a fireman outfit for her. She scortled and ignored me, switching over to the powder. “What,” I said, “no cream?”

“Not tonight.”

“Um, Mary?”

“Yeah?”
“I’m trying to get busy with you here.” And she’s sooooo good at rubbing in that cream.

“Daffy, your eyes are half-closed.”

“That’s never stopped - yaaaawwwwwwn - us before.”

“Lift.” She’s also gotten good at getting the diaper positioned right on the first try. Too good, if you ask me. I guess this passed normal a while back, which is a bummer. She’s also good at tugging it tight between my legs before doing the tapes, but that part I like because it’s snug in the right spots.

I had an ace up my sleeve, a sure fire way to get Mary to focus on what was important: having an orgasm before bed. And that’s pretty damn important, by the way, for heart health. And hadn’t I earned it? Not that sex is a reward in our marriage, but other than my tantrum (fine, whatever, I’ll call it that), I’d been good as gold. I did my chores (even if I told Mary what she could do with one of them), been very cooperative and brave (Nana said!) with my spanking(s), and raised (almost) no words of protest while Mary needled me with Nana right there (and her sometimes joining in!). Plus, I’d had a very hard day and really didn’t understand why. If Mary didn’t owe me an orgasm, and I’ll agree she didn’t because no one ever owes anyone one, the universe did. And I’ve prayed to the universe for spontaneous orgasms, and those prayers have always gone unanswered, so I really (like, fucking really) needed Mary to be the universe’s instrument. And luckily I know Mary and her buttons as well as she knows mine.

“Mary,” I said as she was giving my front one of those firm pats she’s so fond of giving, “how about if I, um, huhuh, suck on your nipples? Sound like fun?” I had to suppress quite a yawn, not that she noticed because her eyes were up and to the left like she was considering one of the best ideas ever.

Ever since she talked me into doing that the last time, I can tell she’s wanted to again. I do enjoy it, and it does make me feel special that I can make her cum from that, and she puts her hand to work while I’m at. That’s a win-win. A mutual win-gasm.

She got a happy-queer smile on her face. “Lift.” I lifted and she rolled up the towel with those diapers in it. “I’m going to go throw this in the washer. If you know what’s good for you, little girl, that onesie will still be unbuttoned when I get back.”

I watched her saunter out of our bedroom from flat on my back on the bed and let out the gigantic yawn I’d been holding in.

I got you wrapped around my little finger, I thought to myself. And when you get back …

And that’s the last thought I had until I woke up fourteen hours later. Dammit…

I felt like I’d forgotten to do something, and I couldn’t think of what.

[Bel George]

Thank you for another excellent chapter.  This story just keeps getting better and better.  

This is well on its way to becoming my all-time favorite story.

[Sarah Penguin]

[TheBabyPants]

What an excellent story, thanks for sharing

[YourFNF]

I really relate to Daphy on needing structure. I function at a level of fine to very well at work or school, depending on the level of support and engagement, but I fall apart off the clock. Like I have a hard figuring out what to eat or putting off washing my hair.... level of bad.

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #43

 

 

 

I think this may mark the end of the newlywed phase, and I’m gonna apologize right now for the TMI, but this is my diary and posterity needs to know these things to understand how things went down and not just get the lopsided view of The Punisher.

So sorry to be crass, but we all know that relationships follow a particular arc: there’s the phase when you’d explode before farting in front of your significant other, followed by the phase when you’re finally comfortable enough around one another to let one rip now and again, and the phase when it stops being cute and just becomes yet another reminder you’re partnered with a human and that humans are animals, which is to say they’re gross. Well, I think our Phase 3 just began.

We also know, however, that some humans, such as myself, are special. Take Mary, as a for instance. She is a lioness. Take Nana - she’s a wise old owl. And take me. I’m a spritely woodland sylph. Not that I make glitter ... I should just shut up and tell the damn story.

I farted.

I admit this. I am not ashamed of it. We all do it, which is why I didn’t get in trouble for it even if it woulda been more polite to excuse myself, but again, we were in Phase 2 just a couple hours ago. Maybe I need to rewind further.

I’d spent the day searching for some freelance gigs. We could use the money, and it would give me something to do. I’ve been toying with the idea of finding something permanent, hard as that would be right now, but I’m not ready to give up on the idea of going back to school and changing careers. Around three in the afternoon, I called it a day and was putting my laptop away, and who should stop me in the hall but she of the wandering hands. It took her maybe longer than most to figure out this permanent work from him thing means she has the flexibility in her workday to, say, rail her wife and then go back to her desk like nothing happened.

Before going back her desk, while I was laying sprawled on the bed recovering and trying to remember my name, she decided I’d be more comfortable dressed in what she wanted me dressed in.

“Legs up,” she said from the normal plane of existence I wasn’t ready to return to yet.

“Again? You’re insatiable,” I said with my eyes still rolled back into my head.

“No, sweetie, let’s get you dressed.”

And back to reality. I forced myself to pay attention to the world again. “Aww, c”mon. It’s too warm out.”

“So you can skip the shorts.”

“But ... urgh ... please?”

“Nope.”

“But ...” Over close to a year I’d tried every argument I could think of, and I had nothing new to offer up, not that it had ever mattered before what’d I’d said anyway. I just lay there and let her put another one of those things on me. I was quite fine and comfortable as was. And she just ignored my request, again. I was starting to get a little miffed that this was becoming more frequent and I seemed to have even less of a say over it than before. And I barely had any say at all before. I went from zilch to nada. I missed zilch.

“One of these days,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I’m gonna ... do something.” Dammit. I’m usually more ready with something pithy, but I was still feeling discombobulated from Mary’s hallway ambuscade.

“You make the cutest threats,” Mary replied. “There,” she said and patted my front, “and you can pick out your very own top.” She winked at me.

“I pick out my own clothes every day,” I whined. Well, almost. She doesn’t really pick them out so much as sometimes lay things out, but since I’m not working she doesn’t do that very often.

“And you get to do it again - yay!”

“Stop celebrating the mundane,” I said as I sat up with a crinkle. “It’s just mean.”

She reached over and let her fingers do a little tickle under my chin. “Daffy.”

“Yeah,” I said and successfully almost didn’t giggle.

“Such a cutie pie.”

“I’m bitter and full of venom,” I replied and crossed my arms.

“How bitter is Daphne,” she sang.

“Stop,” I said and successfully almost didn’t laugh.

“Soooo bitter,” she sang even louder with a big, stupid smile on her face.

“We’re going to need normal people lessons when this is all over.” And she went back to her work, and I got started on dinner.

So it’s after dinner, and we’re in the living room. I let one rip. I’m not proud. I’m not ashamed either. It wasn’t like a cartoon blast off. Not even worth noticing.

“Daffy,” Mary said.

“’Scuse me.”

“C’mere.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said.” She uses that reason for everything. It loses its punch after the billionth time. Not everything can be because she said.

“You come here,” I said back. O crap! She’s coming over.

“Have it your way,” she said as she crossed the room. She grabbed me under the arm and I was on my feet and she was sitting where I was in a heartbeat.

Now, with the no-strikes rule I was well aware I had a spanking coming. Those are the rules. I mean, that was straight up back talk on my part, and with the no-strikes rule in effect, there was only one logical outcome. Her hauling me up and sitting down in my place? Talk about telegraphing the next move: yanking me over her knee.

Except she didn’t. I even turned toward her to do it myself (not that I was eager for a smack bottom. Really. Maybe a little. Or a lot. No judging.)

“Hold still,” she said and used both her hands on my hips to turn me so I was facing the tv and she was facing, well, my butt.

“What are you ...”  My question was cut off by the worst noise my wife has ever made.

“(SNIFF!)”

         Did she really … I did not … I never … ever ever … buh huh?

 

I distinctly felt a pop in my brain as one my synapses blew. The Chunnel of my information super highway just collapsed. I stood there with sea water rising around all my commuters.

The she, in one of the meanest moves ever, put her hand on my ass. There was distinct cupping. And I love her hand on my ass, but context (freakin’ context, people!) matters, and I was about to jump forward a foot and spin around and explain that to her, but she tugged me backwards. And not on purpose. Well, the tugging was on purposes because she … I don’t wanna say. But history requires its authors if truth as experienced by those who lived it is to be known. She tugged out the back of my (her! Fuck!!!) diaper and (gulp) looked inside. And I wanna crawl into a hole now.

She gave me a pat on the butt and announced, “All clean,” like something had just been accomplished, and I suppose she did achieve one thing: I had never been so embarrassed in my life.

I mean, that’s a goal we’re striving for much of the time, but I kinda like to be in the know when we’re heading in that direction. It’s a two-player game, and just because you can beat the pants off the other player doesn’t mean you shouldn’t play nicely. There’s a certain decorum to these things, and I’m a big believer in decorum. I’m a high class lady, dammit. I have family honor to defend or something. Of course, I’m too classy to get angry or pouty or lose my cool, which is why I’ve never done it (no one asked you!), so I saw this as a teachable moment for Mary. I turned to her and said something to the effect of, “I-didn’t-and-I-never-and-I-never-will-and-don’t-even-and-you’re-just-a-big-B-sometimes!” And never has anyone ever done such a classy foot-stomp-fist-clench-glare-face-turn-red combination before.

She smiled back at me, and that when my classy wheels began to fall off. I cut her off before she could get out whatever her response was with, “Don’t! Whatever you’re gonna say, no! No! Bad girl!” Huh? O my god, she was so damn delighted with herself.

“It wouldn’t be unheard of for girls in diapers …”

“Don’t even say it! Don’t you dare say it! Don’t you dare even say it!”

If by chance you run across some primary source material alleging that I stomped around the living room like Sally Brown in the pumpkin patch demanding restitution and threatening to sue, that’s all a buncha crap. I’m too classy. Plus, Sally Brown is … blonde.

“Daphne, I was just making sure you didn’t make a …”

I’m too classy to type what she said. Really. I’m very demure. I just decided to take the high road and respond with, “(High-pitched meeping noises) and (sound of steam escaping) and you’re just (alley cats fighting noises) and I’m (world’s most articulate plane crash).” It made total sense if you were there.

“Okay,” she said, ending my mini-parade around the living room by taking my wrist. “C’mere and have a seat.” Hmmph!

“I don’t wanna sit with you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re making funna me.”

“I am not,” she said while making funna me, “I just wanna make sure you’re well taken care of.”

“Stop,” I whined. I was on the edge of hyperventilating (classily).

“Okay. We won’t talk about it anymore … unless it happens again.”

“You’re so damn amused with yourself,” I accused her.

“I’m amused by you and your histrionics.”

“I have no histrionics. I have normal reactions to the abnormal things you do to me because I’m just a regular person and you’re a big weirdo.”

“Now you’re not being truthful,” she accused me of being.

“I’m telling the truth. You just can’t handle the truth! No truth handler you. I deride your truth handling abilities! Truth is mishandled in your mishandling hands of dishandling!” See? That’s how normal people talk (really!).

“You,” she said with that wolf-grin of hers on her (pretty) face, “are just like me.”

“Am not.”

“I can prove it.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Then hold still and lemme check the other side of that diapee.”

“Marrryyyy … ooh! … you’re … o! … so … m … m …”

“Mean? I know.”

I hate it when she’s so wrong she’s right.

[Sarah Penguin]

silly

[YourFNF]

[Alex Bridges]

22 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

Need a diaper check, kiddo? ?

[YourFNF]

1 hour ago, Alex Bridges said:

Need a diaper check, kiddo? ?

No! Just embarrassed for Dafi cause that mean ladies bulling her! *pouts and glares like a sullen 7 year old* ??

[Alex Bridges]

45 minutes ago, YourFNF said:

No! Just embarrassed for Dafi cause that mean ladies bulling her! *pouts and glares like a sullen 7 year old* ??

Uh huh. Well, don't you worry. If you're too embarrassed to tell us when you need changed, I'm sure we'll figure it out. We have noses, after all? ?

[WBDaddy]

It just gave me warm fuzzies when I discovered you gave me a new chapter of this for my birthday yesterday.   

[YourFNF]

2 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Uh huh. Well, don't you worry. If you're too embarrassed to tell us when you need changed, I'm sure we'll figure it out. We have noses, after all? ?

[Alex Bridges]

Scene #44

 

Dammit. No, you can handle this. But ... dammit! Wake up. Wake up! Wake up and feel better!

Or rewind. Mary had a migraine, so Mary took a pill for it, closed the blinds, and got in bed. If being in her general proximity would make her feel better, I’d have been in bed beside her being all friendly and supportive. That would only make her feel worse though, so instead I was in the hallway trying to decide what to do.

So what is it I needed to accomplish? Well, I had to pee. And you’re asking, aren’t there other bathrooms in your house besides the master? And there are. But a million years ago, when Mary didn’t have a migraine, she said, “You’re on the path to a smack bottom, little girl,” which I was not (okay, was) and am not (really!), “let’s see if a diaper on that bottom of yours will right your wagon before I have to tip it over my knee.”

And as an aside, my metaphors are way better than hers. No one tips a wagon over their knee, and no one who wasn’t alive during the Depression says ‘right your wagon.’ So she really can’t be picking on me when my metaphors get all out of control.

But not digressing, and focusing instead on writing this down so I can mentally process my trauma like my (imaginary) therapist says to, you’re wondering, okay, if you were wearing a diaper, why not just pee in it?

Which just goes to show you’re all on Mary’s side and wanna see me with a giant diaper strapped to my bright red butt, buncha jerk faces. Don’t even know why I talk to you sometimes (this shit is getting meta), because I already told you I don’t like diapers and I hate peeing in them and I only do it because Mary says and I am not a little girl and no one will listen to me! Argggh!

So the answer to your stupid assing question is I already peed in the damn diaper. Several times. A lot. I’m no expert on diaper engineering or fluid dynamics or peeing myself, but I could tell if I went again it would be running down my leg. I didn’t think Mary would be best pleased if I made a puddle, and for damn sure I wouldn’t be. I didn’t even wanna sit down. Plus, not comfortable. Like wearing wet laundry. Well, at least by that point.

I should take a moment to point out that despite my much besmirched and maligned record, I am too (!) a good girl. I’m a rule follower and always have been. My first grade teacher even said “Daphne is a good rule follower and gets anxious when those around her are not following rules,” and granted, she said that on a referral to see the school counselor, but the point stands and I am a good rule follower and I do not get anxious. Flustered, perhaps. Fuddled? On occasion, but never ever befuddled. Stressed? A touch, on occasion, but I’m very good at holding that in so no one even notices, and speaking of no one, no one asked for the opinions of the legumes in the peanut gallery so zip it.

I am a good rule follower who stays calm and collected and makes good choices when confronted with situations in which rules are not so easy to follow. And the rules are that if Mary makes me wear a diaper, it can’t take off until I pee in it. Check and triple check my stellar adherence to that rule. The other is she or someone else has to take it off unless she says otherwise. She didn’t say. Add in that she made me wear the thing because I was, allegedly, in need of a low grade reminder to correct my, allegedly, askew behavior before she decided events had escalated from me, allegedly, needing a reminder to behave to me, allegedly, needing my butt spanked until I wish I had heeded all the reminders. Allegedly. Sometimes I think the important people in my life are way too free with the alleging.

She didn’t say it could come off at a certain time or that I could take it off. She just put me in it, and an hour later she said, “I’ll be in bed” followed by the sound of her spewing. Poor little thing.

And poor me. I didn’t even do anything. Or not one particular thing. It was one of those accumulations of little things over a spank free period (a whopping four days, not counting the casual swat on the spot). She couldn’t even articulate what those accumulating things were to a degree of specificity I found satisfying, but I take it as gospel that she knows what she’s talking about. Otherwise the only conclusion would be she just makes stuff up when she wants to smack my butt repeatedly. That couldn’t possibly be it (?).

So if I was already on my way to being in butt jeopardizing trouble, I didn’t wanna break any rules no matter how asinine and unfair and wet they are. And on top of that, my Mary didn’t feel well. She felt like utter crap. She migraines like she does everything: thoroughly. I didn’t want her to wake up and see I’d broken a rule. I wanted her to wake up and find me ready to take care of her. She only ever has a migraine until she can fall asleep and sleep it off, but then she has aftershocks for a few days. She needs all the TLC she can get. Maybe I’d get a dispensation for eventualities, but I’d much rather she reach the same conclusion as my first grade teacher: Daffy is a good rule follower. Also, that I’m good at sharing and making others feel included, just to throw that out there. And we can leave out the stuff about me getting all anxious when rules stop working or people stop following them, because it’s just not true and all this talk about rules being broken or ceasing to function under less than ideal circumstances is making me wanna run a lap around the block, which is not a sign of anxiety so we’ll just stop talking about it. Besides, all I could’ve managed at that point was a swift waddle down the driveway and back.

So, because I’m am a good rule follower (actually, one of the best ever) and because I didn’t wanna pee on the floor and because I didn’t know if Mary was gonna be asleep for twenty more minutes or four more hours, I had to play the hero. And I don’t mean running into a burning building hero. I mean your your heroes from the foggy days of pre-history when gods and men fought non the plains of Troy. Heroic like Achilles at Troy wrangling that horse they modeled the parade float hero. Like, it goes Zeus, Athena, Achilles, me, Hephaestus, the Titans, and dogs who save babies.

Heroes need a hand sometimes. Enter the trauma portion of this sordid tale of heroic rule following and avoidance of floor piddling.

If bathrooms were verboten (see? I’m such a good rule follower, I have to resort to German, and they don’t even jaywalk) and Mary was in no condition to play her antihero role in this situation that she and the good people who make ice tea you can brew cold had put me in, I had to bite down on that Trojan horse’s fetlocks (what part of the horse is that anyway?) and seek neighborly help.

And there’s that shpilkes feeling again. See? I’m so not anxious I have to resort to Yiddish, and Woody Allen is the least neurotic person I’ve ever ... dammit.

I had to go to the car first because Mary’s supply of disposable unmentionables is kept in the bedroom, and if I could walk into the bedroom without making her cringe and probably spew again, I probably wouldn’t have had this problem in the first place. So I went to the car hoping there was at least one such underthing, which was a first. And there was, thankfully. Then it was through the backdoor of the garage and into the back yard to begin the Diaper Death March to Nana’s house.

Shpilkes everywhere. And I caught myself doing something my pediatrician brought to my parents’ attention when first grade and Miss Judgy-and-Helpful were distantly in the future, walking on my toes. It wasn’t like I was sneaking. Just something I did as a super duper young adult (toddler) that I had to be physical therapied into not doing but I’d start doing again if I felt nervous as super young adult (small child). I don’t think I’d done that in years since. Like, the last time was probably the first time Mary crooked a finger at me and ordered me across the room and over her knee. Or maybe walking down the aisle, but not really because it was one of the four-ish times in my life when I wore heels so I was already on my toes and super focused on not face planting in front of everyone I knew. I could just see Woody putting that into his next movie.

I got as far as the gate in the fence, and for a moment it seemed like a cathedral door and I had to think of the Elvish word for friend to make it open, but I just had to lift the latch.

I padded across the backyard, got to the back door, raised my fist to knock, and felt sure I could anxiety-spew twice as far as Mary could migraine-hurl. But like Achilles working up the courage to go commando under his leather skirt, I made myself knock.

Enough seconds went buy (fourteen, maybe?) for me to decide this was stupid and not worth following the rule on and I’d make it up to Mary and take entirely new punishments for being unfaithful even if she said I didn’t do anything wrong, and that’s when Nana answered the door like Gandalf opening the door to the Dwarvish city of Morristown, NJ. (Unemployment during a pandemic affords one lots of time to read but maybe too many distractions to crack all the details, which I say because for a second I thought Morristown is in Pennsylvania; my B).

“Hi, Daffy,” Nana Gandalf said cheerily. She’s pretty much always cheerful. Or maybe the appearance of little ol’ me makes her brighten up to 130 watts.

“Um, can I come in?”

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, um, uhuh.”

“You look like you’re gonna jitter bug right out of your shoes.” See, if Nana said my wagon was off kilter, that would make perfect sense. Mary just says stuff like that because she wants to grow up to be a lesbian Flanders.

“Mary is sick.”

“O no. Is it ...”

“Not sick. Just a migraine. She’s asleep.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do for her?”

“Ha!” Oops. Nervous laughter. “I mean, um ...”

“Goodness, child, are you feeling alright? You look white as a sheet.” Without a mirror, I’d have guessed green around the gills, but we’ll go with hers.

“I need help.”

“I’ll help. What is it?”

I started giving myself one of those internal monologue pep talks that takes two seconds to say in your head and two minutes to say in a mirror (not that I ever do that. Really.) And it went something like, You are Daphne. You’re history’s best rule follower. Mary gave you a rule. Nana is bizarrely okay with that rule. Just a few months ago you let Mary do a body inspection on camera in front of a buncha strangers. You can handle this. Asking for help is a very mature thing to do. Achilles asked Diomedes for help, and no one even remembers him. And you’re not nervous. You’re gonna stop shaking, is what you’re gonna do. And you’re gonna stay dry eyed the whole time, because there’s no reason to get all emotional. And if you need to get all emotional, you’ll pick an emotion besides weepy because we’re sick of that. Hardly interacting with anyone for six months doesn’t cause normal people to lose the ability to handle adverse situations without getting weepy, let alone us heroic persons. And that’s what you are: a 31-year-old hero in a sopping wet diaper. And why? Because your wife made you in the forlorn hope it would help you avoid getting your bare bottom spanked. Like all the great heroes. Where is Nana taking you?

“Earth to Daphne.”

“Huh?”

“Come sit.”

Bad idea! And we’re sitting. Crap. And that was a squish. Double crap.

“Are you really okay,” she asked me.

“Mmm ... mhmm. I just, um, nervous. Is what I am.”

“You don’t need to be nervous with me, Daffodil.” Aww. She learned one my favorite pet names.

“B-bb-but, I k-kinda ...” I don’t have a nervous stutter. Anymore.

“What’s in the bag?” Maybe she thought she needed to help me ask for help, which would not have been an unfair conclusion. She reached over and took the strap from around my shoulder. “My kids had book bags just like this,” she said as she unzipped it. “I didn’t know they still made these.” (Zipper noise) “O.”

Which is exactly what Diomedes said when Achilles asked him for help. You can look it up. It’s in the best translations. That call back to the war to liberate Helena, Montana gave me a new found confidence to bravely and professionally and courageously tell her, “Mary is asleep.” You said that already.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. And you you’re not allowed to do it yourself?”

“(Head shake) (Look at floor).”

“That’s alright.” She put her hand under my chin, with her soft woman-of-a-certain-age lady fingers, and lifted my gaze. “Hey - it’s alright. Let’s get you fixed up. C’mon.” She stood.

She’s being awfully forward about the wrist taking, I thought and gently took my hand away before finding my voice again. Hard to believe I’m ever speechless, and that’s because I’m not. I’m laconic, like the lacedaemonians and Clint Eastwood. “Wait.  I should ... I shouldn’t ... This is ... wrong. You shouldn’t do this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come over.”

“Daffy, I already told you it’s fine a buncha times.”

“But...”

“Daphne Ann.” It’s not fair Mary conditioned me to make my ears perk up when someone uses both my names. “Please take a deep breath.” Oxygen does help, ya gotta admit. “We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, but I will do anything you want me to to help you. Understand?”

“(Unsure jerky head nod).”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I wanna follow the rules,” I mouthed.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said I wanna follow the rules,” I managed to meep.

“Okay. Let’s go upstairs and do that.”

I walked in front of Nana up the stairs last all the pictures of her kids and grandkids on the wall.

“You shorts are wet,” Nana said. I didn’t answer, and I wasn’t surprised. I shouldn’t have sat down. “Sorry. Let’s go into the guest room.”

I made a right at the top of the stairs and went into the guest room-slash-play room. The toys on the floor were in a different arrangement of disorder, so I guess either Nana had taken up Transformers (which I could see her doing because she is awesome and young at heart) or her grandkids were over.

“Wait right here,” she said and disappeared back into the hall. She came back with a towel and laid it on the bed. She put the bag down next to it and looked me over like I was a puppy who got lost in the rain and needed to be sat by the fireplace and fed broth from a spoon, but I was no more than 20, maybe 30% tops that pathetic.

“Do you want me to, um ... o, Daffy. C’mere.” She came all of the two feet to me and hugged me hard. “You need to calm down,” she said. “You’re shaking.”

Well, yeah. Adrenaline will do that to you. And I had this feeling that is hard to describe except in a way I do want to, which made me even more nervous and shaky and like it sucks that we have to live in a body for our whole life.

“You’re okay, really,” she said to me. She stepped back half a foot but kept her hands on my shoulders. “Would it helps if I told you it’s not the first time I’ve changed a diaper on a big girl?”

“Really?” Also, let’s pause and take note of Nana recognizing that I am a big girl. A heroic one, though she left that part out.

“Uhuh.”

“Who?” Because maybe it would explain why she was so oddly okay, one might even say chipper, with this.

“Before I got married, I worked at a respite camp for people with special needs.”

Ugh. Well, that just makes her more of a saint than I already knew, but, “I don’t have special needs.” Unless you count my brain being wired in such a way that I crave the lifestyle me and my Mary live, which I don’t.

“Of course not, Daffy. I just want you to know that this is not a big deal to me. You’re like one of my very own.” Her own what? Kids? Campers? I somehow doubted she’d be okay diapering one of her adult children without some medical reason for it. “Are you ready?”

“(Shallow breathing) (Jerky head nod).”

She took her hands off my shoulders and went to my shorts. It wasn’t as easy for her to open the button, but then she doesn’t have as much experience at unbuttoning someone else’s pants as, o, say, Mary does. And I could’ve done it myself. I was just having a diapered deer in the headlights moment.

“Step out,” she said, and then we both realized we’re not experts at this because my shoes were still on. After that minor struggle, I was in my shoes, tee, and Mary’s soggy diaper. Let’s call that outfit toddler chic.

“Lay down,” she said, and I did as I thought about whether it would be less awful to do this standing. She started rummaging in the bag, and I laid there thinking about whether it was less awful to pop my knees up or just let them fold over the end of the bed.

“Everything we need,” Nana said. “Mary takes awfully good care of you.”

I fixated on her ceiling. It felt so wrong. I wanted to run away. Was I breaking a bigger rule by involving my vanilla neighbor? Was I changing our friendship forever? And what the hell was she even doing? I’ve only ever changed a diaper when I was babysitting and never in my life volunteered for to do it. And she had volunteered, then practically insisted, and not for her grandkids or nephew but for her adult neighbor. And what was I even doing? Maybe my first grade teacher had a point about me not handling a breakdown in the rules well. At what point does wanting to follow the rules become pathological?

Intent on staring at the ceiling and philosophizing, I was caught off guard when Nana put a throw blanket over my upper half, probably because I was shivering, which wasn’t because I was cold.

“Daffy, look at me for a sec.” I did. “You don’t need to be nervous or afraid. This is just a friend helping out a friend. It’ll be over in a minute. You’re a very good girl for following the rules so well.”

Ooh. She called me a good girl. That helped, and then realizing it helped undid it and made it even weirder.

“Are you ready,” she asked. I barely nodded; more of a twitch, and put my arms over my face. First one, then two, then three and four tugs in the tapes, and air hit my damp and very sensitive skin, followed by the very light scent that said I’d been in that diaper too long. It was a not welcome physical reminder that my bizness was all on display to our neighbor, and any minor sense of ease that had begun to creep in was replaced by whatever part of my brain is responsible for ethics to round up whatever part of my brain is responsible for dignity and the two of them went over to the house where the part of my brain responsible for moving lives and to start kicking the crap outta her.

Get up! What are you doing? This is crazy! You’re breaking your own rules!

And I was, I guess. Don’t drag others into your kink is a common kink rule, but I take it very seriously. Preserve your friendships because there are too few friends in life. That’s another rule, and I don’t know if I could ever be friends with Nana like I was ten minutes ago. Or if she would ever see me the same way. Breaking my own rules to follow Mary’s. I felt like I was trapped in a riddle. But only because of Nana. If I didn’t have her, there would be no riddle here. I’d have just broken Mary’s rule, I suppose.

“Lift for me,” Nana said and interrupted my too late realization, and I did. She got a wipe out. “I’m going to touch you now. Is that okay?” Another head twitch. “Here it comes.”

Her hand felt unsure. Mary’s hand is never unsure, but she’s usually trying to be aggressive with it on purpose. I felt like I wanted to squirm away, this swirling feeling in my muscles that would be drives by movement.

She used two wipes, and I lifted again so she could get my cheeks and slide the new diaper under me. I wasn’t lying very close attention even though every sensation felt like it was crashing against my entire body in that hyper-aware state that adrenaline causes.

“Almost done,” she said, and I smelled and felt the coolness of the powder as she sprinkled it on. She pulled the diaper up between my legs, and I felt myself instantly start to relax just to have myself covered again. She did as good a job as Mary with the tapes, but then she has a lot more experience I guess.

“All done.”

I moved my arms to peak, and the room looked like it had despite the whole world having changed in the course of one diaper change. She smiled at me. I get smiled at a lot. There are so many kinds of smiles, and Nana’s smile was the kind that tries say you’re safe. I sat up. Nana put the wipes away and started to zip up the bag. She stopped suddenly.

“Do you need this,” she asked.

“Need what,” I managed to croak out.

Her turn to look embarrassed. Her eyes drew my eyes to the rolled up diaper. “Do you, um, need to show Mary you followed the rules?”

O god I just wanna faint. “Mmm mmm.”

She seemed relieved. “Why don’t you go downstairs while I tidy up? I’ll just be a minute.” I got up off the bed and reached for my shorts. “No no,” she said gently. “Let me rinse those and put them in the dryer. You take the blanket.”

So in a dry diaper, my tee, and shoes, I wrapped a blanket around myself. I felt like a whistle went off when I got to the stairs, like what I’d done was over and the parts of my brain that had disengaged to get me through that were called off their break and sent back to work. I felt less of every little sensation and took in the big picture. The first thing I realized was I was standing in her stairwell in a diaper and wrapped in a blanky. The second was that I had to pee even worse than when I got there. My brain started panicking and arguing with itself.

What if I do it and she finds out?

But you can’t leave - she’s got your pants!

But we have to pee!

This is your fault!

Fuck you! It’s your fault!

Fuck you too! How is it my fault!

Because the rule is you have to pee in a diaper and you can’t take it off. No one said anything about putting another one on once the first one is off, ya dumbass!

But ... DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT ALL TO HELL!

So this is all your fault and Mary’s fault and Sandy’s fault and quarantine’s fault and we never would’ve gotten to this point if them and it hadn’t driven you to this nutcasery!

So it’s their fault and not mine then!

It’s your fault, too, because you let them!

Screw you! We’re part of the same brain!

I’m the Id! I’m responsible for sex, kink, and things that feel good but are bad for you. You’re the Super Ego. You’re the one responsible for higher order decision making, but nooooooooo. You just go on a five-minute break every time you feel conflicted.

I did not go on break! I just didn’t stop you from making a bad decision!

Guys, guys! (that was my Ego talking) There’s no need to argue. We all suck.

“I do not,” I protested out loud. Oops. God just made me weird. I went to the living room and was about to sit down when my bladder sent a stabbing signal to my brain.

Fuck this, my Id said. We’re peeing.

Not gonna argue, said my Super Ego.

Isn’t consensus so much better, said my camp counselor of an Ego.

I had to pee so bad it hurt to actually do it. My Ego jumped in and declared, No more iced tea today.

And I let out a great big sigh. I had to pee so bad it hurt to do it and then felt almost like a whole ‘nother kind of release when it was over. I reached back to give my butt a feel before sitting down.

“Is it not comfortable,” Nana asked.

Good thing I’d already peed because I was nervous enough I’d have done it anyway with her sneaking up on me like that. People are always sneaking up on me, if we define sneaking as approaching me when I’m not paying attention.

“It’s fine.” I sat down and tucked the blanket in all around and under me.

“Good,” she said.

“Um, thank you.”

“Glad I could help. Do you wanna watch something while we wait for your shorts?”

“Um, is that it?”

“Or we could bake something if you won’t tell Mary.”

“I mean ...” How was she normal? Life isn’t fucking fair, but I’m a hot mess on an almost daily basis since this whole damn pandemic thing, and she’s just breezy as can be and all normal and not even thrown by what had just happened. “Do we, um, talk. Need to. Need to talk?”

“We do if you do.” She reached over and patted my thigh through the blanket.

“I just, um ...” Fucking just say it! “I only did that because I like to follow the rules.” She nodded. “Does that ... does that make me weird?”

“Of course not! It’s just who you are.”

“And if who I am is weird?”

“Then who cares? I’m at least as weird as you.”

“No you’re not.” Um, she ain’t even seen the stuff in our closets.

“Daffy, do you really think what I just did isn’t weird? It takes two to change a big girl diaper, if you don’t min me saying.”

“But you’re not ... you seem like it’s not a big deal to you.”

“It’s not. Honey, listen to an old woman. It took me way too long to learn it, but there’s nothing wrong with being weird and nothing wrong with meeting people where they are. What would be wrong is I didn’t treat like who you are. If you didn’t want me to, that’s one thing, but you told me told who you are and said that’s how I should see you, so that’s the right thing to do. It doesn’t bother me one bit. It’s fun even.”

“That was fun?”

“Well, not so much that, but would we have so much fun together if we had a non-weird neighbor relationship? Of course not. You’re my friend, I want you to be taken care of, and I’m happy to help when you need me to and happy to butt out the rest of the time.” I was quiet for a moment. I didn’t know what to make of that. “Put it this way,” she said, “as your friend, I’d rather change your diaper than drive you to the airport.”

“Ha!” She can be funny AF sometimes. “But … okay … It still feels … wrong. You, um touched me.”

She looked pale all of a sudden. “Are you okay with that?”

“Y-yes. I … I’m okay with that. For that, um, purpose, under the circumstances.”

“And so am I, which means we didn’t do anything we didn’t each agree to.”

“But I mean, you’re not one of us.”

“One of who?”

Perverts, I thought. “People who … live our kind of lifestyle. It’s not right to … involve you.”

“Daffy, I offered, and I meant it. You didn’t make me do anything. I’m more worried I made you do something.”

“You didn’t! I … I only … I just wanna do what Mary says.”

“Maybe she needs to think about what the means a little harder then.”

“No, I mean it makes me happy to do what Mary says.”

“So, right now you feel happy.”

“I feel … a lot of things … Funny how sometimes it’s easier to talk to you about these things than Mary.”

“I’m neutral,” Nana said and winked at me. “One thing I’m curious about, though. Why, um, why do you like to do what Mary says so much?”

The answer to that question surely lies at the middle of a ball of yarn that will never be unwound. And the ball is protected by a troll who will only give it up if you can answer two riddles and solve The Unknotting Problem. And it’s under the sea.

“I just … I like to please people, and I like to please her even more. It makes her happy. She likes to take care of me, and when I follow the rules, I guess I’m letting her do that. She … ha … she’s proud of me when I do that.”

“You must trust her an awful lot to let her ‘take care’ of you the way she does.”

“Of course I do. She loves me. I love her. It’s just one of the ways we express it … which is what makes it feel wrong when we drag others into it. I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You don’t, Daphne. Neither of you do. I really do enjoy being a part of your lives. What else would I do at my age? Play canasta?”

“I don’t even know what that is … And we like that you’re a part of our lives.” We had an awkward pause. “Does … do you see me differently now?”

“I saw as you as someone in need of fresh pants, and now you have them, so no.”

“I mean, from before. Before … when you first found out about us. Do you see me differently now that there’s … more to it.”

“Nope.”

“No?” I had a sixth sense she was just saying that.

“When I found out about you too, or really when you told me … honestly, I thought it made you more interesting.”

“That’s one word for us.”

“And the more I got to know you, both of you, I guess the more I started to think how special you both are. And what you have.”

“Do you … Am I, um …” I didn’t how to phrase my question. “… In your eyes, am I, um, like other adults?”

“Of course you are!”

“I’m not, uh … someone with special needs?”

“Daffy! Of course not! What would make you think that?”

“Most vanillas do.”

“Vanillas?”

“Non-kinky people. Everyone thinks we’re defective or broken or something. We’re just … different.”

“I don’t think that. I think you’re just who you are. You guys go to church, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think you are how god made you.”

“That’s what I think … but, still …”

“What?”

“I feel more … dependent, I guess, on Mary than I used to. I wouldn’t … six months ago I wouldn’t have knocked on your door for … that kind of help. I don’t know why I’m getting like this.”

“Like what?”

“More … “ What’s a synonym for The L Word That Shall Not Be Spoken? “… submissive. It’s not such a big deal to break a rule.”

“Well …” She trailed off.

“What?”

“I was gonna say, and no offense meant, you do get in trouble an awful lot for someone who claims to like following rules.”

“Low blow,” I said, trying to be offended because I felt like I should be, but I just couldn’t because she spoke the truth. “I just … There are tiers of rules. Some are more important.”

“So why is, um, not that I minded, like I said, but, um, why is today’s main rule one of the important ones?”

“Because …” Good question. “Because … accepting punishments, or reminders if that’s what she wants to sometimes call them, is what I … I have to. That’s part of our relationship. I can’t … If I don’t, then everything changes.”

“She’d still love you.”

“Of course she would. I just mean everything would change. If Mary is gonna be in charge, which was my idea, I have to let her be.” She smiled at me. One of those Daffy-is-a-mischievous-duckling smiles. “What?”

“I was just thinking that, maybe, you take some rules more seriously because you like those rules.”

Okay, Mary is allowed to call me on my bullplop. Others are just supposed to accept my nonsense and half-truths and equivocations at face value, if for no other reasons than because it’s the most polite thing to do. I had no choice, even under the circumstances, than to frown at her. An Achilles-level frown, I’ll have the whole world know (but not the rest of it! Please god, not the rest of it!).

She backtracked with, “But what do I know?”

“You … may be on to something … But the other stuff I said is true. It would change everything.”

“I know … Mary ... is she ... you and her are like ... you wanted her to be in charge of everything?”

“It’s not everything. It’s just some things. We’re still equal partners. All I have to do is say stop, and it stops.”

“And you never have? Sorry.”

“Not in, like, four years. And we’ve been together going on six ... It was my idea.”

“What was?”

“That Mary was ... that’s it our lifestyle. It’s not a ... a bedroom game. I wanted someone to be ... the person who keeps me in line. And then I met Mary; I wanted it to be her.”

“Why do you think you want that?”

“I don’t like being in charge. I can be, but ... she is, so when I don’t wanna deal, I can just ... get upset and run to Mary.”

“She makes it all better.”

“When she can. The other times, she just makes me feel better. You can’t be in charge and have someone like that. Not like ... I don’t have to hold it together; she’ll be the one who holds it together, and I can just be ... I can give in to my emotions and she can be rational and mature about stuff. And when I get a little too immature or bratty, she helps me get back in line.”

“Harsh way to get you back in line sometimes.”

“It doesn’t work if it’s not. It’s gotta be real or it’s just bedroom play.”

“O. That makes more sense. But it doesn’t hurt? And I know, sorry, but I know it embarrasses you.”

“Of course it does! You’ve seen the marks, at least that one time.”

“But it hurts … and feels good?”

“Yes, and I don’t know why.”

“How god made you.”

“How god made me. Just made me a little funny.”

“And, I’m guessing, feeling embarrassed sometimes too? That feels, um, good?”

“Yes, which is much more complicated.”

“How?”

“When it … there’s a difference between feeling embarrassed, or, um, even humiliated, and feeling ashamed. I don’t like that.”

“Well, do you think if I make a promise, you’ll come to me whenever you need to and talk about anything or ask for any kind of help?”

“What promise?”

“That you never, ever, need to feel ashamed because of me.”

Aww, crap. You weren’t supposed to get weepy.

Shut up! I’m not weepy. I’m … teary.

“Yes,” I managed to say with my lips all aquiver.

“Friend hug.”

“Yes please.” Ooh, Nana gives expert hugs. There was a well-timed ding.

“Your shorts are dry.”

“I should go check on Mary.”

“What are you guys doing for dinner tonight?”

“I dunno. Depends on if Mary is awake and wants to eat.”

“How about I come over? If she’s asleep, you and I can make something, and if she’s not feeling up to it, you and her can snuggle on the couch and I’ll make you something for you both. Let me take care of both of you tonight.”

“Do we seem like we could use it that badly?”

“Honey, I think we all could use it right now.”

“Only if we can do the same for you soon.”

“Deal.”

“Let’s go get your shorts.”

I stood up absentmindedly, and Nana got a good look at me from feet to face and got a weird smile on her face. Despite her promise I felt very self-conscious and regretted my absentmindedness. I blushed, go figure. She shook her head.

“What,” I said with some of that instant, where-did-it-come-from petulance Mary has been working so hard to cure me of since ever.

“You just look cute is all … So see? I must be weird too.”

“It’s not so weird to think I’m cute. Pretty much everybody does,” I said with an eyeroll that was directed at the universe, not her.

“I meant you look like my granddaughter when she goes out to play in the summer … sorry.”

I didn’t need to look down to appraise myself. “No offense taken.”

“Do you … do you need a new diaper already?”

Ugh! That is such a Mary thing to say! Maybe it’s just that all Nana’s are embarrassing. “I’m fine,” I said, and Nana said If you say so in body language and we headed toward her laundry room. Once I had my shorts on, and felt much better for it, I asked, “Could we, um, not tell Mary about this?”

“It’s our secret.”

“It’s just that she has enough, um, ideas for how to embarrass me already. This whole thing, really, she likes it. That’s the only reason I haven’t put my foot down.”

“No problem,” Nana’s mouth said. But I’m very observant when I remember to notice things, and her body language, I swear, said, If you say so.

And I thought something Mary would get out the bathbrush for even if there was no other way to defend my honor, but I decided not to say it anyway.

“I’ll text you how Mary’s doing,” I said. “And thank you, again, for the help … and for the talk.”

“You’re very welcome. See you for dinner.”

[WBDaddy]

Sounds like Daffy is falling off the cliff into full-time "Little" status fairly soon.  

[Alex Bridges]

2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Sounds like Daffy is falling off the cliff into full-time "Little" status fairly soon.  

I hope not! The journey is so much more fun.

[WBDaddy]

40 minutes ago, Alex Bridges said:

I hope not! The journey is so much more fun.

Indeed.  I hope you give us some Wile E. Coyote action too, where she's standing in the air for a couple of chapters with a sign saying, "Help!" 

"It's been a week since Mary let me use the bathroom for anything but pooping, showering, and teeth-brushing.  At first I just lied and told her I was pooping, but when I 'had to poop' more than twice a day, she started checking behind me.  The shower brush was enough to put a halt to that..."

[YourFNF]

18 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

’m the Id! I’m responsible for sex, kink, and things that feel good but are bad for you. You’re the Super Ego. You’re the one responsible for higher order decision making, but nooooooooo. You just go on a five-minute break every time you feel conflicted.

 

I did not go on break! I just didn’t stop you from making a bad decision!

 

Guys, guys! (that was my Ego talking) There’s no need to argue. We all suck.

 

“I do not,” I protested out loud. Oops. God just made me weird. I went to the living room and was about to sit down when my bladder sent a stabbing signal to my brain.

 

Fuck this, my Id said. We’re peeing.

 

Not gonna argue, said my Super Ego.

 

Isn’t consensus so much better, said my camp counselor of an Ego.

Shit this is me ?

18 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“I just … I like to please people, and I like to please her even more. It makes her happy. She likes to take care of me, and when I follow the rules, I guess I’m letting her do that. She … ha … she’s proud of me when I do that.”

 

“You must trust her an awful lot to let her ‘take care’ of you the way she does.”

get out of my head ?

[YourFNF]

18 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“I don’t like being in charge. I can be, but ... she is, so when I don’t wanna deal, I can just ... get upset and run to Mary.”

 

“She makes it all better.”

Out! GTFO! My brain! No Bad Author! ???☠️

jnfkalfsk jabnfkaeuoifhseafnalksfjklafjafkjaskfjklasfkl

18 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

“And, I’m guessing, feeling embarrassed sometimes too? That feels, um, good?”

 

“Yes, which is much more complicated.”

 

“How?”

 

“When it … there’s a difference between feeling embarrassed, or, um, even humiliated, and feeling ashamed. I don’t like that.”

Gahhhhhh

.......

 

So ummmm I've actually thought sharing this story or parts of it at least with my sister to help her understand like why I want to be lifesyle (We've talked about relationships and shit it's come up tangentially but she hasn't really understood.) Not sure I would but, it really captures a good summary of the dynamic and it is uncanny how much I relate to Daphne.

I honestly think she is probably neurodiverse in some way but she shouldn't feel bad about that.

[Sarah Penguin]

[Alex Bridges]

8 hours ago, YourFNF said:

 

So ummmm I've actually thought sharing this story or parts of it at least with my sister to help her understand like why I want to be lifesyle (We've talked about relationships and shit it's come up tangentially but she hasn't really understood.) Not sure I would but, it really captures a good summary of the dynamic and it is uncanny how much I relate to Daphne.

I honestly think she is probably neurodiverse in some way but she shouldn't feel bad about that.

Is your sister ‘nilla? I’ve always wondered if this story would be seen as 50 Shades or totally perverted (In a bad way) by the ‘nillas. If you you show her some, I’d love to hear her reaction to it.

[YourFNF]

10 hours ago, Alex Bridges said:

Is your sister ‘nilla? I’ve always wondered if this story would be seen as 50 Shades or totally perverted (In a bad way) by the ‘nillas. If you you show her some, I’d love to hear her reaction to it.

90% sure she's 'nilla which is why she probably doesn't get it. I think she's worried that wanting to have someone in charge = unhealthy codependency which... Fair..... I can see how that could possibly happen if not careful but like I prefer to think of it as harm reduction? For like a codependent personality type while they sort  through all the other shit? Like I don't know.... I feel like I could actually work on like being independent more if I was in a position where I felt physically safe? I mean that's how it should have worked with my folks but well... They had their own shit and weren't really prepared to handle a kid who was so.... different in multiple ways.

But yeah like if there was clear schedule of when I'm expected to be Big and when I can let my partner take over I fell like that would help.