Mary and Daphne #185

The last time we had Mary’s family over was for my birthday back during the plague-iest days of the plague. Mary and I sat on one side of our yard, and her family sat on the other. They stayed a half-hour and left so that other guests could pay tribute to the day I came into and immensely and immediately improved the world. In fact, this was the first time since before March 2020 that we had more than two people in the house and hadn’t quarantined for ten days and/or tested prior to it. We take the safety of my immunocompromised body super seriously, and if you think I get anxious, you should see how Mary gets when it comes to my health. I think maybe cuz she likes me or something?

“Mary,” I said after I’d gotten out of the shower. I was trying to get her attention. “Mary … Hey, Mary?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna wear a diaper around your family.” I’m not even sure she knew she was taping one on me. For that matter, if she was even aware of how the moment I crossed from our en suite bathroom into our bedroom, she just appeared with a towel even though I already had one on and started drying my mostly already dry body off, then wrapped the thing around me like I might catch my death of cold. Before I knew which way up was, I was flat on my back on our bed with both towels pushed up past my bellybutton while Mary put me into one of those ugly but silent medical diapers (and my lower half was a little cold).

“Um, Mary? … Hello?” You don’t draw attention to yourself when in close proximity to a predator. That was my main mistake, and I knew it just as soon as she turned her wolfish grin on me; she’s such a she-wolf sometimes. She’s always up to something, which is highly entertaining and fun almost all the times, but like all public figures with obsessive fans like my Mary, I get a little nervous not knowing if they’re gonna ask me for an autograph or try to steal a lock of my hair. “Mar…”

“Pbbbbtttttt!”

“Mar-eee-hhh-heeeheee-st-nurmf-hahahaha nurmfnhrmr snoozit, Mary!”

“I should blow a lot a lot more raspberries on your tummy,” Mary said like that was any excuse for her effrontery. Fangirls have no manners.

And I really told her off. I mean, I just let her verbally have it. “Well, I mean, if you want to … Or you could just tickle it sometimes … Or give me more tummy rubs.”

“Who likes tummy rubs more, you or Suzy?”

“Hmmm. She does that thing where she kicks her leg.”

“You’ve done that before.”

“That wasn’t my tummy.” Fangirls have no sense of boundaries, like the boundary between my tummy and … stuff.

“Sometimes I wonder if we should give tickling fetish a try. You’re awfully ticklish.”

“Yeah, but only because I’m ticklish.” True story. “I don’t think I enjoy tickling in that way.”

“What if I make you do it anyway?” Uh-oh; Mary’s she-wolfish grin again. “In fact, what if I got a bunch of our friends over and we all tickled you.”

“Um … I mean …” I finished that sentence with my patented yeah-if-you-wanna-let’s-give-it-go head motion, complete with my eyes turning up and to the left cuz I was imagining it and it was … intriguing.

“And I think you should drink a lot of water beforehand, and two glasses of wine.”

“Two glasses!?! Mary, is that even safe?” I am NOT a lightweight. Who even starts these rumors? Scurrilous rumormongers, that’s who. I’d rather spend my time with fishmongers than rumoermongers, and they smell. True story.

And then, see, Mary, she gave me a peck on the cheek. I was right – she likes me. “Whadduya wanna wear today,” she asked as she sauntered to my dresser. Just once I wanna saunter. It looks fun and very smooth, all Jane Cool and stuff. I sashayed once, but I don’t remember how I did it. I can flounce though. I’m great at flouncing. I also just like to say ‘flouncing.’ Try it; you’ll like it, I promise.

I can multitask, really. I was singing a flouncing song I made up in my head (‘flouncy flouncing flouncer flounce …’, very creative of me), and to Mary, I said, “I was thinking about these panties I found in the women’s section of this department store once …”

“You silly goose, you’re already wearing underpants.”

“Marrryyy.”

“Okay, fine. You can wear them over your pampers.”

“Urgh!”

“You wanna wear them under your pampers?”

No! I lost one of my favorite pairs like that! She’s so mean and I only like it basically all the times she does it. “Over would be acceptable.” I’m a very amenable negotiator.

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to wear anything you don’t want or need to wear.”

“I don’t want or need this diaper.”

“We’ve been over, this little girl. Yes, you do. Tell me why.”

“The inherent unfairness of the world.” True story.

“Do you wanna wear a handprint below the hem of your skirt too?” Actually, yes, but after Mary’s family leaves.

“Because you say I need it.” She’s in charge and stuff. It was my call, and I don’t regret it but might’ve put some parameters around it if I’d known she was going to take such a keen interest in making me pee on myself. Another true story.

“But Daffy,” Mary said as if she were confused and surprised and perplexed and stuff, which she very seldom is (unless it’s in response to some of the nonsensical things I say. I spout of a lot of nonsense; I’m even known for it, but that’s not to say every thought and word I spout doesn’t totally make sense … It just sometimes only makes sense to me). Anyway, Mary continued because she loves to continue, “I could tell lots of people to wear a diaper, and they wouldn’t do it, so how come you do it,” she asked as she tossed an outfit for me on the bed.

“(Sound of me not answering).”

“You know, you have a shorter top that tends to ride up and show anything that sticks up even a little bit past your waistband.”

“Cuz I’m the submissive. There. Happy?” I mean, I was happy. Not about the diaper but so heccin happy being Mary’s submissive. Everybody should get a turn but nope not ever go get your own I’ll bite I swear I will!

“And a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“You’re my little girl.” She flopped on the bed next to me and still managed to do it sexy and stuff. When I flop, people who don’t know that’s always how I flop ask if I’m okay and whether should they call a family member or ambulance.

Mary’s eyes were bright and shiny and happy, and what was even with her? “You’re my little girl. If you can be that, why would you ever wanna be anything else?”

Aw geez! My feels! I put my arms over my face to have a moment alone, and I may have gay-squirmed a little, by which I mean I squirmed because I’m so gay for my Mary! So gay!

“Ya know,” Mary said while lightly tickling my tummy and observing no distinction between it and the front of the diaper she was making me wear, “Milo has been out of diapers now for three years, and you’ve been back in them for three years.”

Welp, that brought our nice moment to an end. I have not ‘been back in them.’ I’ve been occasionally made to wear them … with gradually increasing frequency (dammit …). “Whose fault is that,” I accusingly interrogated her. J’accuse!

“You say ‘fault’ like it’s a bad thing. I know how much you like your diapers, but Milo made his own choice, and I’m really proud of …”

“Hurninombler, Mary!”

“…his accomplishment.”

“Stop smirking and being so proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud of my nephew, and I’m proud of my little girl for being brave enough to follow her diaper dreams.”

“I’ma hit you with a pillow. Stay where you are.” Stupid pillows always being at the other end of the bed when you need em. (During the war, we called them feather batons, which was the style at the time).

No sooner did I flip over to reach for one of those feather batons, than Mary walloped my butt hard – not that it hurt through that garment she was making me wear (I mean, why even bother smacking my butt through one of those? What fun is that?) – and took the opportunity offered by my vulnerability to just get on top of me, put her arms under my shoulders, hold me tight, and start nibling her way from my earlobe to my elbow.

“Daffy.”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing. I’m just happy today. I like saying your name.”

“Aw geez!!” She says stuff like that like there’s some way I can respond other than getting gayer and squirmier, and those are pretty much the only tools in my toolbox for that sorta thing.

“Know what I wanna do later when we’re alone?”

“Not specifically, but I’m guessing all the things.”

“I’m gonna get massage oil out.”

“Ooo. What part of me do you want slippery? Asking for my friend who is me.”

“All of you.”

“Mary, a little goes a long way. Remember when we used too much and I squirted out of the bed like watermelon seeds?” True story … And ouch.

“I’m gonna give you a massage from your toes to your scalp, and it’s gonna feel so good, I bet you fall asleep partway through, little girl.”

“And why would you do that when being awake can be so much fun?” I mean, sleep is on my top-ten list of most fun things ever, but the awake things on that list are pretty fucking awesome too, and three of them aren’t even peanut butter or sugar (which isn’t to say the addition of peanut butter can’t make those things even more exciting).

Mary laid her head against my back, and I felt her breath on the back of my neck. “Because taking care of you makes me happier than anything else.”

I’d have turned around to see if she was okay, but she kinda had me pinned down (which is how she likes me, and I’m not about to object cuz it’s a pretty heccin awesome way to be). “Mary? Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect.” And then she kissed the back of my neck and rolled off me so I could get dressed.

But was she okay? I kept an eye on her the whole time her family was over. She had Suzy in her arms as much as that active little puppy meeting new people would let her; Mary was overjoyed to have new people to show her off to. I didn’t even make a sarcastic joke about Mary putting the dog in a onesie (poor dog; poor dog who seemed to be as happy as she’d ever been, and she’s ecstatic almost all the times).

And almost the whole rest of the time, Mary was playing with our nephew. She showed him how to play with the toy we got him. She fawned over the picture he drew for us. She got down in the grass and wrestled with him and blew even bigger raspberries on his tummy than she did on mine (and mine is bigger; it needs bigger raspberries!). She chased him around the yard with Suzy so many times, he almost fell asleep on her lap at the kitchen table.

I tried to join in, and I could’ve sworn he was just tolerating me, which sucked and hurt a little because pre-pandemic, I was one of his favorite people. Not that I can blame him cuz Mary is heccin awesome and my favorite person too. He’d seen more of Mary than me in the almost three years since the start of the pandemic. He wanted Mary, and Mary had a blast with him.

And I only tantrumed a little when Mary said to me later, by way of (allegedly) trying to make me feel less put out by being downgraded to second-favorite aunt, “Now that he’s dry day and night, he’s too young to understand some people need diapers longer than others. I’m sure he’ll play with you again when he gets older and more mature about differences.”

Watching Mary showing off our puppy and playing with that little boy and hardly paying any attention to her sister or her husband or her parents, I realized something: Mary is so beautifully happy when she’s mothering someone.