Mary and Daphne #167

“Diaper, could you come here?”

Did I hear my Mary right?

“Diaper?”

What is she even … I hear footfalls.

“Diaper, I was calling for you,” Mary said as she stood in the doorway.

“Um, huh?”

“Diaper, you silly goose. Fine,” she said as she walked from the doorway to the basket of changing supplies under the side table, “I can get my Diaper into a new diaper right where she is.”

She sounds happy. I like her happy and stuff, but I have reasons to be suspicious of that little lilt in her voice.

“C’mon, Diaper. Lay down all the way.”

“What is happening right now?”

“I’m changing my Diaper.”

O. My. Gawd! “So you finally admit it’s yours! Ha!”

“Ooo, such an excitable little Diaper. Of course you’re all mine.”

“Mary, you’re being …

“No, you’re being goofy little crinkle pants. Lie all the way down so we can get you into dry pampers, Diaper.”

“What?” I think she left a word or something out of that sentence.

“Diaper, enough of this silliness. Are you gonna let me change you or do you wanna sit in your peepee until you leak?”

What is she … Did she … O hell no! “Did you just call me ‘Diaper?’”

“Of course I did, Diaper. That’s your new nickname. I’m gonna make sure everyone we know calls you Diaper from now on.”

“Marrryy!! That’s so mean!”

“Diaper is so fussy today. We have to hurry.”

“Why do we hafta hurry,” I asked as I did my darndest to make her sense my displeasure cuz for sure she wasn’t hearing me. Hmmph!

“The courthouse closes at four.”

“Why are we … I don’t even wanna know. I’m not playing along with your nonsense.” I’m in charge of the nonsense, and I’m better at it too! She’s too dominant to do nonsense. She’s never even uwu’d!

“So we can officially change your name to Diaper and get remarried with your pretty new name, Diaper.”

“That’s the stupidest joke you’ve ever (squawking noises) and don’t ever call (caribou stampede) and so help me I’ll (angry hyena snarls) and you can suck a (so many explosions) just no! Bad! Bad Mary! Poor choice! You’re making poor choices! Naughty, bad Mary! Bad!”

Apropos of nothing, I don’t think I’m ever too dramatic. I think I’m just the right amount of dramatic. And if you or anyone, including Mary, doesn’t like it, then stop pushing my buttons and shush. Yeah, I said ‘shush!’ So there … and stuff. Really.

“Aww, is my little Diaper grouchy cuz she didn’t get her nap-nap? Does my Diaper need a nappy?”

She’s giggling! She thinks this is fun! We’ll see if she still thinks it’s fun when I hit her with this emu! I reared back my bird, and as I swung it forward with all my might, I bellowed, “Watch out, Mary! Here comes my emu!”

I woke up on the follow through. No Mary. No emu. Daytime. No … Nope, I was wearing a diaper (sigh). Woulda been nice if that part was a dream too, but … Well, I’ll tell you one thing: this aggression will not stand.

“Mary!”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“In here.”

We’ll just see about that! I heccin stomped the heck through the dining room and into the kitchen where she was smugly sitting on a chair doing something on her laptop, and ya know what? Nope. If only I had my emu …

“What the hell is wrong with you,” I demanded. And her just sitting there looking all stunned and innocent which she isn’t and never has been. No innocent Mary! Guilty! Guilty as sin! “Sinner! Making funna me and calling me names and saying we’re gonna change it and get married and no! No, do you hear me, Mary? No! And don’t you never ever again or so help me stuff and things and you’ll wish it was just an emu!”

In retrospect, I can see how that could seem a smidge dramatic and a little ridiculous and nonsensical and totally outta the blue, but I can assure you it only seems those things. In actuality, it was entirely called for and made perfect sense.

Mary’s what-is-she-even-o-she-musta-had-a-dream-again face. “Did you have one of those dream where I do something to you again?”

“So you admit it!”

“C’mere.”

“Who are you to give me orders?”

“Just c’mere,” was Mary’s reply. She’s as diplomatic as a wolverine – she says the words, but she says them at the same time she’s just reaching out, grabbing me gently by the wrist, and tugging me close (I had a weird experience with a wolverine once). “Other than your dream …”

“Nightmare and your fault!” Swat.

“Are you gonna talk about it without raising your voice and accusing me of something I did in your dream, or do I need to spank your bottom first?”

I made my fine-but-grudgingly face and grudgingly said, “Fine.”

“Did you have a nice nap?”

“Except for the last part, yes.”

“Sit,” Mary said and patted her lap. I climbed on with a (dammit!) crinkle. “Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“Probably.” My Mary is very honest when she’s not up to her devilry and tricks and things.

“You called me … a name.”

“What name?”

“Name calling is wrong. Isn’t that what you always say? And then you just go and …”

“In your dream.” I know she’s not responsible for what she says in my dreams, but on the other hand, she plants an awful lot of the ideas that make their way into my dreams. Is that where the term dream girl comes from? Anyhoo…

“You called me … Diaper.”

“I called you a diaper?”

“No,” I said with a teensiest eye roll because she was in the dream and ought to know what she called me even if that doesn’t make any sense, “you called me Diaper and said it was my new name and we were gonna get it legally changed and get married again so it would be on our marriage certificate, and it …” Okay, so maybe possibly a little bit kinda if you say it loud it might be could be sorta perhaps funny. But also not. Let us not forget, also not.

“O…kay.”

“I knew you’d say that. You’re so mean!

“Daffy, I’m not responsible for the things that happen in your dreams.” O, like we haven’t had that conversation before, and I still don’t see her point.

“I know that, but still,” I pouted.

“Remember how you once asked me if I’d still love you if you went crazy and I said yes?”

“That’s a totally random thing to bring up right now. I don’t even know why you bring that up right now or ever.” Um, really.

“I still love you. To the moon and back.”

“Good. I love you too.”

Then there was an awkward pause, and Mary got a funny look on her face. “So, we’d be Mrs. Mary and Diaper Taylor?”

“I can feel you laughing on the inside.” True story cuz I was sitting in her lap and could literally feel her shaking. And I could see her having a harder and harder time not laughing on the outside. “O fine, go ahead.”

“Buh-ha! Hahahahahaha!”

And if you must know, I didn’t let out even a little giggle. Not true. And if someone says otherwise, they are not being truthful, unlike myself who has only ever told the truth ever (except when it’s not to my advantage but those times don’t count because reasons I wouldn’t expect commoners like you to understand). Really.

“It’s not funny.”

“If you say so,” she tittered.

“I did, so there.”

“I guess I had better not ever call you Diaper, huh?”

“Not if you wanna live with someone who likes you.” I mean, I’ll always like her but for brief periods I might not. Like, a few minutes here and there (at most).

“Speaking of,” she said all casual like she wasn’t about to do one of the worst things she ever did to me, “you stayed dry during your nap. Good girl!”

It wasn’t the unrestrained groping (she calls it a diaper check, but I know when I’m being groped and don’t get me started on that whole bundle of knotted conflicted feels). It was being called a good girl (squeee! My wife thinks I’m a good girl!) for not sleep wetting (what the heck! I haven’t done that since this one time in college after my first and last experiment with 100-proof tequila. I was led astray by older girls who mistook me for a party beast when I’m at most a party gerbil and was o so innocent at the time). I had to let Mary know not to go mixing and matching the button pushing like that, and it’s super important to communicate very clearly about these things in a kink relationship.

To wit: “Marrryy!”

I think maybe she was confusing the (gay) squirming I was doing for my enjoying the internal push and pull between my praise kink and my humiliation kink cuz she responded with, “What, I can’t congratulate my wife for being a good girl and not piddling her pampers during her nap?”

I was about to tell her to stop (and to stop reading into the (gay) squirming I was still doing) when I took notice of her laptop and what she was looking at before I confronted her. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“What are you looking at?” Well, I knew what she was looking at, so my question was more of a why.

She said, “Um.” Nice to wrong foot her for a change. “Puppies.”

“Why are you looking at puppies?” Also, PUPPIES! WHICH ARE SO CUTE AND NATURALLY UWU AND I JUST WANNA SQUEEZE EM AND HUG EM AND PET EM AND LOVE EM AND UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ONE!

“Hear me out,” she began because we’d talked about his before, “I want a dog.” I knew that because when we talked about dogs before, it was about how she wanted a dog Turns out, she still wanted a dog.

“And …” I asked when there was no more context forthcoming.

“And I think it would be good for us, and for you. It’ll give you something to do. You could use a little responsibility in your life.”

“I’m responsible for lots of things!”

“Lots of small things. A medium-sized thing would help you …”

“Yes?!?” I gave her my choose-your-words-carefully look.

“It would help you get out of those more … And give you … Help you … Perspective.”

“It would help me perspective. Good job with the words.” I’m the wordsmith in these parts. Mary just lives here.

Saying that seemed to have triggered Mary’s fine-I’ll-say-it-plain face. “It will help you be a little less like a bored middle schooler home for the summer with nothing to do.”

“Scoff! Am not! As if! Rolling my eyes now!” Okay, so she may have had a point, but still. Honor and stuff to defend and things. “Give me one example.”

Mary’s you-really-want-to-cuz-I-will-and-you-won’t like-it face.

What having a dog to take care of will or won’t do for my behavior was beside the point. The point was, as I explained for not the first time, “You know how responsibility for living things makes me feel.” Anxious as fuck. Really.

“You’re taking good care of your garden.”

“I threw a tantrum when my chard had leaf spot!”

“Yeah, but that was an emotional time of the month.”

“And proximity to dogs stops periods, Mary!?!” I put my head on her shoulder because reasons that are none of your concern. Keep your mind on your business. “Do you really want a dog?”

“I do. I really do.”

“I’ll worry about it all the time. Like last time.”

So, um, this one time I adopted a dog, discovered being responsible for another mammal all on my own made my anxiety skyrocket, and had to find it a new home. I cried so hard I lost my security deposit (not really, but also really almost), and I’m still ashamed about giving up on a living thing after taking responsibility for it.

“That was a long time ago. Your anxiety wasn’t under control then, and you were on your own.”

So hey, scary thought: the current me is the me whose anxiety is under control. Yikes, right?

“And it’ll be something we do together,” Mary continued. “We’ll take care of her and love her together.”

“You really want a dog?”

“I do, but not if you really don’t.”

“I like dogs.” Actually love them. Well, almost all of them. My brother has a dog that eats its own poo, and when it burps, which it does every few minutes, you just wanna flee the room and die, and that’s why I don’t go over to his house anymore when I go home to Wisconsin. True story. All too true story.

“I know you do.”

Mary is so good to me. She really wanted a dog. I know she wouldn’t hold a grudge if I said no. But she did have a point about not doing it alone this time and me being in a better mental health place. And maybe possibly cuz stranger things have happened in the world, she might’ve had a point about me needing some more responsibility and a reason to leave the house more and not spend so much time planted on my butt in front of screens.

“You know if we go look at them, we’re coming home with one, right?” Just thought I’d point out to her that I’m weak. If I see one and hold one and squeeze one (and I will squeeze it. O heck yes, I will squeeze it), I’m too weak willed to not bring it home. Weak willed but at least self-aware about it, so I get a few points back.

“I know, which is why we don’t have to. If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

I gave it a few seconds thought, cuz it wasn’t the first time I’d thought about it, and decided, “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have a puppy together.”

“Are you really sure? I won’t be upset if you say you don’t want to.”

“I know. I’m sure.”

And then Mary squeed (and she’s not really the squee-ing kind) and squeezed me (she is for sure a squeezer) and not that I could see cuz she was hugging the stuffing outta me, but I’m pretty sure she was making sparkly uwu anime eyes.

“Thank you (kiss)! It’s gonna be so wonderful (kiss)! And you’re (kiss) gonna do (kiss) so (kiss kiss kiss) great (kiss kiss kiss) and you’ll see (kiss kiss kiss kiss).”

“Save some for the puppy,” I giggled.

“No (kiss kiss kiss kiss).”

“Heehee! Marrry! You’re gonna make me … ow!” Fall of her lap is how I was gonna finish that sentence. Mary’s o-my-god-what-have-I-done face. “I’m okay.” It was an anticipatory ow, ya know the kind you say just in case in hurts? I think maybe only humans do that. We’re weird.

“Up!” She didn’t wait for me to get up so much as she swept me to my feet. “Let’s go find you some pants.”

“Where are we going?” Because, as we all know now, leaving the house is one of the very few reasons to wear pants anymore.

“The pet store. We have some shopping to do.”

“What panties will I be wearing with my pants,” I asked her as we ascended our staircase.

“You didn’t bedwet, silly, remember? Why would I change you out of a dry diaper?”

“But this one is really crinkly.”

“I know. I can hear. Heehee. You wish you’d tinkled your huggies after all?”

“That’s just a mean thing to say … If I pee now, can I wear panties?” Not that I’d lower myself to … dammit.

“You are such a silly goose! Of course you can’t wear undies if you wet your diaper while you’re awake. That just tells me you need them.”

“Like, forever?” I’m wary of every word she says (when I deign to listen to her, commoner that she is).

“Of course not. Just until tomorrow. But you can wear undies over your diaper,” she said fast while moving fast in a manner that she describes as over-stimulated when I do it.

“Mary, love, look at me: I think the prospect of having a baby animal in the house is making your mommy hormones surge.” That so didn’t even slow her down.

“Speaking of baby animals, if you’re a good girl at the store we can get a leash and collar for you too, and maybe even a chew toy.”

I remember once upon a time not that long ago when that wouldn’t do anything for me at all, and to my utmost regret, her saying that caused a tingly feeling in the lowest part of my tummy. The kink spiral is long and unpredictable. True story.

As she was approaching me with a wild momma bear look in her eye, I asked, “Can we go out to lunch too?”

“Of course. For a trip that long, we’ll have to take your diaper bag.” She held out a pair of panties for me, which are somehow more infantilizing when worn over a diaper than wearing a diaper on its own, like it’s such a transparent effort to humor my pretensions to being a big girl (which I am and they’re not pretensions! Really!). “Step in.”

I did, and she slid them up my (very slender and attractive) legs and seated them firmly (as thought trying to wedgie me, which fortunately she doesn’t do when she decides she wants to dress me but does do when she decides she wants to spank bare cheeks without taking my panties down … dammit).

“Daffy, did you wet your diaper just now?”

“Um, no?”

“O, so you don’t feel that?” She was feeling it enough for the both of us; did I really need to say it?. “That means you really must need pampers then. Can you feel if I do this?”

“Gah! Mhmm … mmm. Y-y-yeah … I mean urf … no.”

“No, you can’t feel it or no, you don’t need pampers?”

“No … diapers.” And then she just stopped. Hmmph! Her orgasm denial kink is just so … Deep breath. You like all the other things about her.

“We’ll see. Pants, shorts, or skirt today?”

“So heccin unfair,” I grumbled under my breath. Don’t start my engine if you’re not gonna finish.

She didn’t notice me pouting and I didn’t notice her still on Cloud Nine bouncing around like me on peanut butter until she said, “And I have a feeling, Daphne Ann, that you and our new puppy are going to be sharing some puppy pads.”

“You wouldn’t!”

O. My. Gawd. Mary’s yes-I-will-too face.

Eep.