The Best Babysitter in Town Vol. 2 Ch. 15

Every woman has been there: laying back with their feet in stirrups and their lady parts on display. Not at all one of the fun things about being a woman, and it helps to get through the moment if you try your darnedest to not picture yourself from the doctor’s POV. I was thinking about that as I changed Gordy’s diaper. His changing table, that he designed himself, has stirrups, which is actually brilliant. I’m not sure if they help him change himself, but they definitely help those changing him. They let you get close to his diaper area from between his legs, just like changing a baby. It just seems easier than the way nurses change adults (watched some instructional YouTube videos when I started sitting for Gordy).

Gordy designed the table, so I guess he doesn’t mind having his feet in stirrups and his boy parts on display. I guess being in that position a few times a day would get anybody over it. That and the fact having his boy parts on display can’t possibly be as embarrassing as what’s on his body (or more specifically what’s being wiped off his body).

“Are you sure you feel okay,” I asked him. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking at the door instead of me. I can say confidently he’s the moodiest boy whose diapers I’ve changed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m asking because you had some tummy troubles yesterday and because you told me you hardly ever need your diapers for number two.” Second time I had to clean him up after he mushed his tush that day.

“I know why you’re asking.”

O, so he wants to be curt. I can be curt too. “How many poopy diapers do I have to change on your butt before you stop getting snippy with me? Cuz we can get out those enema bottles and get ‘em all over with today. We wouldn’t make it to the party tonight, but that’s okay with me.”

He rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went with him and left him staring at me with a decidedly unamused look. “That’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not funny, and this isn’t a big deal to me at all, which I’ve said a dozen time, so I wish you’d stop getting huffy every change you.”

“Sorry.”

“And you’re clean. Hop up real quick and go sit on the potty for a little bit just in case.”

“Really?”

“Yes really. That was the eensiest mess. I should’ve waited a bit before changing you in case you’re not done.” Among the trials and tests of the hero’s journey from being a babysitter in town to being the bestbabysitter in town is the Are They Done Yet Challenge. Getting to a point when you’re right more often than wrong and therefore change one stinky diaper instead of two (or three) is a learning process. I’d mastered the challenge for teeny humans but I had more to learn about predicting the bodily functions of 20-year-old boys in diapers.

I balled up the diaper, stuffed it in the chute on his table, and followed his cute bare butt to the bathroom. I could sense the side-eye he wanted to cast over this shoulder and preempted it. “I just wanna wash my hands.”

“O … kay. But what if I, ya know, while you’re washing them?”

“The we’ll know for sure I should’ve waited to change you cuz it only takes 30 seconds to wash hands.” I totally get why he’d be embarrassed to have a bowel movement with me there and chose not to point out he’d already had a bowel movement with me there, except it happened in his pants. It wasn’t the sound or the smell that tipped me off so much as the way his head shot up from his book and he turned beet red. He doesn’t have a potty face; he has an o-crap-I-just-filled-my-diaper face. Any thought that his book was just a shocking thrill ride was dispelled when he tried to subtly feel his butt (which he failed at – the subtle part; he felt his butt just fine).

Now, I don’t begrudge Gordy his right to be embarrassed cuz he has a poopy diapie, but he could’ve spared himself a whole lot more embarrassment if he’d said yes when I asked him if he just mushed. Maybe it’s my fault; maybe I set him to fib by asking him a question I already knew the answer to. And when he said no, I definitely didn’t help things by saying, “Gordy, do I need to check your diaper myself” in the same tone I use for potty training toddlers who don’t want to own up to the accident they had in their pants, but the past is the past even if it was just 10 minutes ago.

I washed my hands, went back to his room, and flopped on his bed with my phone waiting for him. Turns out he was waiting for me to tell him it was okay to get up, which was … weird. “Gordy,” I called down the hall after 20 minutes, “how’s it going in there?”

“Um, fine,” he said in the most forced chipper voice ever.

“Did you go?”

“Um, a little.”

“Do you wanna wait some more?”

“Uh, no, not really.”

I asked, “Do you need help then,” before I could think better of it. It just struck me that for someone who doesn’t want to sit on the potty anymore, he was, well, still sitting on the potty. I mean, what’s weirder – a 20-year-old who needs help wiping his bottom or a 20-year-old who waits for permission to get off the potty? Here’s a hint: I’ve wiped the boy’s bottom with him flat on his back and I don’t find that weird at all.

“… No,” he called back.

“Well, come back to your room whenever you’re ready and we’ll get you into your new diaper, silly.” I heard a flush and a faucet while I picked out his new diaper (one of the cartoon ones, which are just too darn cute).

“Not one of those ones,” he said like a kid who doesn’t wanna wear an itchy sweater.

“It’s thick, and you’ve been peeing like a racehorse today. Besides, it’s cute.” My obedient boy may whine and get huffy, but he doesn’t disobey. He hopped up on his changing table and put his feet back in the stirrups. “If you feel fine today, what gives with the extra diaper changes? I thought you said you were pretty regular. Lift up for me.”

“I am,” he said while I got the diaper under his butt. “I just go more when I’m …” He trailed off.

Shocker: Gordy needs a feeling coaxed out of him. Not that I mind, but I like it more when he’s being open with me, even to the point of being too open sometimes. “Did I ever tell you that I tickle better than any babysitter in town? Cuz I’ll tickle the end of that sentence out of you if I have to. Here comes some baby powder.”

“You do and I’ll probably pee all over you.”

“You won’t be the first boy in diapers to do that to me.”

“I go more when I’m nervous; that’s all.”

I was just about to fold the diaper over his peepee, but that made me pause. “Nervous or anxious?”

“Nervous; both.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“Going to the house party tonight.”

“Okay; why are you nervous about that?” I mean, I had theories, but I wanted his answer first.

“Is it really important? We’re going.”

“It is important, and we don’t have to go … If you talk to me about your feelings, I’ll answer any question you ask. Deal?”

“Fine.” I’ve sat for some grumpy mcgrumpersons, and Gordy can grump with the grumpiest.

“Would it cheer you up at all if I told you that you have one of the cutest boy butts I’ve ever gotten to pinch?” I then I pinched it; been sorta wanting to do that. Apparently I’m a butt gal, at least when the butt belongs to a slender cutie like Gordy. Muscular man butts are just, like, meh. Soft, round boy butts are definitely the better varietal. All I got for my trouble was a hey-that’s-my-butt grimace. Okay then; busting out the big guns.

“What if I knead your sack between my fingers?” Instant puddle; Gordy, figuratively speaking. Not a surprise; all guys like that, or at least the ones I’ve dated. None of them have ever cum from it; maybe some boys do, but one told me it’s not even a very sexual feeling. He compared it to the pleasure of using a Q-tip in his ear, only better. Reminds me of the way a dog’s eyes roll back when you rub their belly. Too bad I had to get the diaper on him before he piddled or I’d have kept it up for a while.

“To be continued,” I replied to his puppy dog eyes. I mean, seriously, exactly like the pleading look a dog gives you when the tummy rub is over. “Let’s talk on your bed.”

“Why my bed?” He had that confused, is-this-leading-to-sex face virgins and recently deflowered boys tend to make until they learn to read signals.

“Cuz after we talk it’s nap time in case we stay late at the party.” If there could ever be such a thing as a litmus test for whether a boy is submissive, it would be whether he makes himself the little spoon without being told. He laid down on his side facing away from me, and I was happy to be the big spoon. Such a moody, grump boy but even when he’s like that, he wants to be held.

“Last night you said I was so easy to talk to and shared some really personal feelings,” I said. “How come sometimes you can be so open with me and other times it’s like you can barely stand talking to me?”

“Sorry.” Of course. Of course he apologized.

“I’m not upset about it. I just wanna know why.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Then do you wanna tell me what you’re nervous about the party for?”

“I’m just not good at parties. I’m not good at talking to strangers.”

“Maybe you need practice. But we don’t have to go.”

“You can go, and I can stay home. You’re not really babysitting this weekend, right?”

Well, that’s not so clear cut, but more to the point, “I’m not going to leave you here by yourself. I said I’d hang out with you this weekend.”

“Well, I’m not going to make you stay home just cuz I don’t like parties that much, so I guess I’m going.”

Yeah, not the kind of attitude that really makes me want to take someone to a party. “I’ll be there; we’ll be there together. It’ll be fun. You don’t even have to talk to anyone else. We’ll just enjoy the music.”

“How long are we gonna stay?”

“Let’s say an hour and then decide if we wanna stay longer. Fair warning though, I might introduce you to some people.”

“Do you really have to?”

“No, I don’t have to. If someone says, ‘Hey, Sally, who’s that boy you’ve been talking to all night,’ I’ll just say ‘What boy? O, him? I have no idea who that is. He just started following me.’” That got a chuckle out of him. “Besides, I kinda wanna show you off.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I think you’re cute and kind and handsome and I want my girlfriends to be jealous of me.”

“Pbbbt. Nice one.”

“Gordy, really. I really mean it.” He rolled over just enough to look over his shoulder so he could see my face, like he was checking to see if I really meant it. He rolled back over and sorta drew his knees up a little more, like he was snuggling in. Well, not ‘sorta.’ He did snuggle in. It was sweet and sad, a reminder that Gordy is so unused to be told stuff like that that his first instinct is it must be at least partly insincere. Just makes me wanna make everything better for him.

“Deal’s a deal. So what question do you wanna ask me,” I asked.

“Later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m tired all of a sudden.”

“Can I nap with you?”

“Mhmm.” My turn to snuggle in.