The Best Babysitter in Town Vol. 2 Ch. 3

I dropped my bag off in the Rooneys’ guest room, which is nicer than the master bedroom in the house I grew up and still live in, and wondered quietly to myself whether the Rooneys having money made them so weird or if they’re be just as weird if they were average. And don’t call them eccentric just because they have money. They are weird.

I knocked on Gordy’s door but opened it as I did cuz I don’t know why. I looked to the bed but instead found him standing in the corner like a little kid and not the twenty-year-old he is. “How long have you been in timeout,” I asked him.

When I first sat for him a month ago, I decided the best (only?) way to make things less weird and awkward was if I treated everything as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Getting my voice to sound breezy and nonchalant, as though spanking twenty-year-old boys is old hat for me and changing big boy diapers is just one of those things that happens every week, was effort. Other than a few stumbles, I mostly pulled it off, but whether that actually made things less awkward, I’m not sure. I didn’t have a better idea then, and I didn’t have a better idea when I walked into Gordy’s bedroom.

But compared to last time, I did find it easier to ask the twenty-year-old doing corner time how long he’d been there like everything was normal. Normal in the societal sense? Absolutely not even within shouting distance close. Normal inside the walls of the Rooney McMansion? Yep. And judging by how unsurprised and unbothered I was by it all, more normal to me than it had been before. Distressingly more normal.

“Um,” Gordy said without turning around, “honestly? Just since I heard you on the stairs.” A lot of um and uhcome out of Gordy when he’s embarrassed. I could see his ears blushing.

“Were you supposed to be in timeout the whole time,” I asked as I sat down on his bed.

“Yes. Am I in more trouble for that?” That came out more resigned than plaintive.

“What? No.” I waited for him to sit down until I realized what he was waiting for: permission. “Come sit down.” He did, blushing and looking so cute the way he bashfully made his way over to me and sat down on the opposite corner of the bed, only partly turned in my direction and not looking at me. Poor, embarrassed little fella.

I didn’t know how to ask him what he’d done to get in trouble, and as cute as he is when he’s behaving like a very sorry puppy who soiled the carpet, I don’t like him feeling sad or hurt or humiliated. Trying to buck him up, I said as lightheartedly as I could, “Gordy, Gordy, Gordy. What are we going to do with you? I was only away from you for two hours.”

As I should’ve expected, Gordy didn’t buck up. Either he missed the sarcasm or ironic tone in my voice, or else he was feeling too sorry for himself to be lighthearted about anything. I scooched closer to him and put my arm around his shoulder. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“You know I won’t judge you for it. I was just trying to remind your stepmom that you’re an adult.”

“Heh. I know; I heard.”

“Really?”

“I snuck out to the top of the stairs.” Which is such a little kid thing to do. I was about to kid him about it and tell him how brave that was, but I thought better of it. My Gordy, such a brave little toaster lol.

“Well, how about I tell you what I did after you left campus first, then you can tell me?” Which didn’t have anything to do with anything, and I didn’t have anything to tell, but what the hey? “I finished my smoothie, took the shuttle to the stadium parking lot, drove home, talked to my sister for a little bit, put a few more things in my bag, and drove over here. Your turn.” Uneventful, right? Exactly how two hours of a Friday afternoon should be for a college student. Friday evening, different story, but between the hours of 1:30 and 3:30, pretty standard stuff. Of course, since I babysit more Fridays than not, maybe the average coed’s Friday afternoon is a bit more exciting..

Gordy asked me, “Could I … Could I just get my consequence and not tell you what I did.” Now that was a plaintive tone of voice.

“I don’t think it works that way, sweetie,” I said, catching myself off guard with the pet name. If he were half our age, I wouldn’t have even noticed. But he’s not. I told myself to be more careful. I didn’t want to patronize him or, even worse, lead him to think my feelings were more romantic than they were. I think that ‘sweetie’ came across as more pitying, but definitely didn’t want Gordy – inexperienced, hard-up Gordy – to mistake that for romantic affection. I had friendly affection for him in spades, whatever that means, but romantic? Not quite.

“C’mon,” I cajoled him, “you know I won’t judge. Does it have anything to do with why you left campus in such a hurry?”

He sighed hard. “Yes.”

“Might make you feel better to just say it.”

“It’s stupid.”

“So?”

“And childish.”

“What if I promise a third time I won’t judge,” I said, adding a gentle poke in his side. That got a momentary smirk out of him. I am the best babysitter in town after all – I know how to get my charges to smile even when they don’t feel like it. Gordy’s a tough nut to crack, but I can get a smile out of him even it does take a few tris.

“I, um, ahem.” Which is such a Gordy thing to say lol. With the reluctance and the throat clearing, now I was just curious. Like seriously, what did he do?

“I lied to my stepmom.”

Ah. I know how irritating it can be to have a kid lie to you, and I know it’s an immovable line for a lot of the parents I work for. I never did quite understand why. Maybe I’m too practical or never developed the right sense of guilt, but I always thought the blanket prohibition on lying is bad life advice. Don’t lie to your parents? Sure. Don’t lie for no reason? Definitely. But to those I would add don’t tell stupid lies, sometimes it’s okay to lie, and sometimes, yeah, it’s even okay to lie to your parents. For instance, when you’re twenty and don’t want to tell them the truth, so long as not telling the truth doesn’t harm them. Those are life lessons every adult needs. Lying well is a necessary skill, and every adult knows it (Santa, anyone?). But such nuance seems to not pass from parent to child. Instead, only the admonition gets passed on: do not lie.

Most (every?) parent I work for seems to reserve whatever the worst consequence in their arsenal is for lying, so no surprise that Gordy’s stepmonster called it an ‘automatic spanking’ offense.

“What did you lie about?”

“Is it important?”

“Probably. But you don’t have to tell me. Your stepmom said it’s cool if I don’t want to deal with it. She said she’d deal with it when she gets home. Would you rather do that?”

Nice out, and yes, a small part of me that had only recently been discovered wanted him to say no because – and I’m ashamed of this – I wanted to spank him. But the much bigger part of me wanted him to say yes. I wanted to spank him a little, just a little play spanking. I didn’t want to give him an actual spanking with the tears and the regret and me feeling complicit in the stepmonster’s bizzaro stepparenting of a grown man.

And most importantly, I didn’t want to cause Gordy pain and embarrassment. He’s my friend. I’m his babysitter and his friend, and while the friend part wanted to just skip the whole thing, the conscientious best babysitter in town just didn’t feel right completelyblowing off my client. That’s why I gave him the out, a chance to say he’d rather his stepmom dealt with it. I wasn’t blowing her off; I was putting the ball in his court. And besides, I’m much more comfortable doing basically everything I do as Gordy’s babysitter if he explicitly consents to it. That’s my balancing act: friend and babysitter.

And he did not take the out. Crap.

“I, uh, would rather, um, you know.”

“You’d rather I gave you your consequence?”

“Well, um, see …”

“Hey. Look at me for a sec.” I gently turned his gaze up and toward me so we could see each other’s faces. I smiled at him. “You’re safe with me.” I’m not sure how he took that, by which I mean I don’t know what the tremble in his lip meant. It was small and brief, but it was there before he broke eye contact and, I imagine, swallowed a lump in his throat. Poor boy just needs to feel safe with others. Maybe that’s why he went along with his stepmom, because as hard as that must be, he trusts her and feels safe with her, safe with someone looking out for him. He just needed to feel that safe with someone his own age. He’s got issues and I guess no one he can talk to about them. But he can talk about them with me. He’s safe with me.

“I would rather you do it,” he said kinda flatly, still not looking at me.

“We can do that,” I replied as I rubbed his back. “And it won’t even be a big deal. Just like last time. We’ll do it, and then we can just go about our evening. Okay?”

“Okay.” He waited a beat, maybe for me to say something, and then stood up and started unbuckling his belt.

“Woah there, cowboy. I didn’t say right now. Sit back down with me. Let’s talk a little more. Can you do that for me?” Of course he could, but I was trying to be very gentle with my words, and I didn’t know how to do that in a way that didn’t sound like I was talking to a kid.

He mumbled yeah as he fed the tag end of his belt back into its loop, sounding disappointed, and sat back down. Odd given what he was wanting me to do. He was either eager to get it over with or eager to not talk about it anymore, but it unfortunately doesn’t work like that … which is a thing I decided in the moment without realizing it because I’d done this exactly once and therefore I had no ‘way it worked.’

It just didn’t seem right to spank him without understanding the full context. I mean, I knew what he did at a high level, this-is-the-charge-how-do-you-plead way, but if I were giving one of my younger charges even a five-minute timeout, I’d still talk to them about what they did and why it was wrong and how they can make better choices next time. That seemed even more important – and fair and necessary – to do before I smacked his bottom.

“I still need you to tell me what exactly happened. I understand it’s embarrassing, but you know I won’t think less of you or tell anyone. Can you try to tell me?”

He nodded, more of a jerk of his head, and I could see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed. He rubbed his palms on his knees. How nervous or embarrassed could the poor guy be?

“So, um, you remember last month, what happened on campus?”

If he meant when he asked a girl out, she laughed at him, called him diaper boy on TikTok, he called her a cunt (which she so is!), his stepmom basically tricked me into babysitting for him that evening, and I gave him a spanking for his language because his stepmom told me to, and he agreed to it and so I did it? Yes. The answer is yes, that is a thing I remember. I won’t ever forget, that’s for friggin sure. Anyhoo…

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I, uh, didn’t wanna, um … I didn’t wanna wear diapers on campus anymore.”

“Okay.” Understandable, though I didn’t think with his condition that he had much of a choice.

“I said I wanted to switch to pull-ups on campus. My stepmom thought that wasn’t a good idea, and, uh, we kinda got into an argument about it.”

“And she wouldn’t let you, but you switched from daytime diapers to pull-ups anyway?”

“N-no. She tried to talk me out of it, but I was just … I didn’t wanna wear them on campus anymore. She said fine, eventually, but that I had to tell her if they weren’t working. If they weren’t, ya know, enough.? She, um, was really adamant about that. I, uh, didn’t tell her.”

“That they weren’t absorbent enough? Honey, have you been having leaks?” I don’t know why I even asked that. Chalk it up to being a concerned babysitter overcome with the instinct to help her charge. I’ve played the intermediary before; sometimes the kids I sit for are more comfortable telling me something than their parents, and sometimes they want me to talk to the parents. It leads to probing questions, and I guess by habit I just asked a question I already knew the answer to and didn’t need to know anyway. But hindsight is 20/20 (like me and Gordy, who are both 20 … terrible joke).

Plus I sit for kids of all ages, and enough of them are young enough that talking about potty stuff doesn’t give me any pause. It’s just part of taking care of my charges. Way past being yucked out about it, and while my attitude is matter-o-fact on the topic, I sometimes forget some of my charges are embarrassed that I even know. For instance, the ones who haven’t learned to stay dry at night … or twenty-year-olds I’ve known for fifteen years. But I still think the best way to make people not feel embarrassed about potty trouble is to treat it like it’s just one of those things, completely normal and not at all something to feel bad about.

“Um, yeah, I have.” He rubbed his knees and looked up and way as he scoffed. “Big leaks, sometimes.”

“And you didn’t tell her?”

“N-no. I d-didn’t.” Gordy has a nervous stammer that comes out when he’s embarrassed. It’s kinda cute.

“How many times?”

“E-every t-time.”

“And how many times is that?”

“Every d-day, every time I’ve worn them for like, the last three weeks.”

“O, sweetie, I’m so sorry you’re having such a hard time lately. I wish you’d told me. I don’t know what I could do, but at least you wouldn’t have to keep secrets. Is that what happened on campus today?”

“Mhmm. I felt it, uh, it start to leak, and I …”

“You didn’t want me to see?”

“I didn’t want anyone to see,” he answered, sounding like that should’ve been obvious to me. “We were in the food court.” O yeah, I could see how that might be the tiniest bit embarrassing. I’m not usually a ditz, but when I’m babysitting Gordy, it’s kind of easy to forget what’s normal inside his house is not normal everywhere else, especially when I try to at least pretend like it is.

“Sorry. Of course. You’ve been hiding it from your stepmom this whole time?”

“Mhmm. She leaves for work before me and gets home after, so if my pants get wet, I can change without her noticing I have on something different than I when I left the house. So long as I do my laundry myself …”

“But she was home today when you got home and noticed, huh? Was it a little leak or …”

“Not little,” he said shaking his head. “At least it didn’t happen until I got to my car. I felt it starting when I said bye to you, and then I was part way home and, well, you know.”

“You poor thing,” I said while rubbing his back again. I don’t want him to ever think I pity him, and I don’t, but I definitely have sympathy for him. “What happened when she saw?”

“She … I tried to sneak upstairs, but she saw. She asked me if it was the first time, and I, uh, lied. And then, um, she caught me in the lie.”

“How did that happen?”

“She had some more questions and followed me upstairs and, um, she … smelled something. I said it was my diaper pail, but that actually doesn’t smell when the lid is closed. I had some pants I, um, hadn’t washed yet, in the closet”

“Pretty obvious for those too? Not little leaks?”

“Yeah. I just told her everything. I mean, why not? I was caught.”

“Was she …”

“Sympathetic, but pretty disappointed. She doesn’t scream or anything, but it’s obvious when she’s disappointed in me. If she weren’t in a rush to get out the door …”

“You’d have gotten a pretty harsh spanking right then and there.” No question about it.

“And soap, too.”

“Mind if ask you something?” He shrugged. Hadn’t I been asking him stuff? “If you leaked every day, why did you keep wearing them?”

“I thought it would stop if I just changed more. But I never figured out the right times. I would think I was changing enough, but then … I think I would’ve figured it out eventually, but …

“Anyway, it just really got to me, what that girl said. I don’t wanna be a … what she called me anymore. I don’t even know how she figured it out. Most people don’t even notice, and pull-ups are even less noticeable, so …

“Guess I’m lucky I never leaked so much that others could see, at least not on campus. Usually a little at some point, and not every day was it a big leak, but sometimes when I was driving home, like today.”

“Why didn’t you just change more? I mean, even more than you already were.”

“Pull-ups aren’t very convenient for changing. Have to take your pants and shoes all the way off.”

And then I understood even better what Mrs. Rooney meant about boys and their hygiene. Have wet pants every day because it’s inconvenient to take your shoes off? Although I don’t want my socks on the floor of a public restroom either.

“Yeah,” I said, “but compared to wet pants everyday.”

“Pull-ups expensive too; that’s the real reason. I don’t pay for this stuff myself. If I ordered enough pull-ups to change that often, like maybe four times a day on campus, she would’ve noticed and known they weren’t absorbent enough and probably said they were too expensive … especially if they weren’t working. All this stuff,” he said as he nodded toward his changing table, “adds up … I just really …” He sighed. “I just didn’t wanna wear diapers anymore, at least on campus. I mean, if that girl noticed … And like I could ever get a date if anyone else finds out or keep a girlfriend after she finds out.”

You don’t get to be the best babysitter in town without being able to spot a kiddo telling a sob story in the hopes of getting out of trouble. Gordy wasn’t telling me a sob story; he wasn’t trying to get out of trouble. I really wished he was. I really did, for his sake. I can’t imagine how he felt inside, but I know how bad I felt for him, and he must’ve felt much worse. I really wish I could make it all better for him. I wish he’d told me all that, and maybe I could’ve made him at least feelbetter, and he wouldn’t have been carrying around big feelings he couldn’t unburden. When you’re confronted with a secret that big every day, it only gets heavier. It never fades into the background.

“Does telling me all that make you feel any better?”

“Yeah, a little. I told most of it to my stepmom too. She said she understood, but that it didn’t excuse what I did.”

I disagree with that. He’s old enough at twenty to manage his own condition. If his pants get wet, that’s his problem to deal with, right? And other than that she buys his things, I don’t see why he needed her permission to switch to pull-ups in the first place. Maybe it wasn’t a permission thing, maybe more of a blessing thing, but she could’ve been more supportive. Either way, that’s the least she can do, right? Offer solutions and not just (pardon the pun) crap all over what he was trying to do.

And he’s twenty-freaking-years-old! He gets to lie to whoever he wants, and if there are natural consequences, so be it, but getting a punished is not a natural consequence.

On the other hand, whatever influence she has over him, for whatever reason he goes along with the role she plays in his life, they do have an agreement. They both abide by it. Whatever they get out of it, and I could see some more benevolent reasons after this talk, I don’t think either of them appreciate how much their agreement is slowing down his maturing into an independent adult. But I wasn’t going down the rabbit hole of analyzing it any more than I already had, not if I could help it.

“I’m sorry you’re in trouble, but I’m glad you told her too. I hope you and her can at least share with each other like that, and you know you can share anything with me.”

“I know.”

“I mean it, Gordon Rooney. You’re safe with me. I don’t judge my friends. I’m here for you. I can’t make you share stuff like that with me, but I really hope you will as often as you need to, okay?”

He nodded. I think if he looked at me just then, he’d have started crying. I had a small lump in my own throat. I just really feel for him.

“And maybe saying this doesn’t help at all, but I’ve always thought you were very brave. You took a risk trying to change the way you manage your problem. That took courage, right? And I want you to know that there is someone out there for you. I know you may not think so and it may be hard to imagine after what happened with that girl, but there are a lot of people out there who will like you and see you for the sweet, kind person you are. Your condition won’t matter to them because they love you so much. I promise.”

I hope that didn’t all sound hollow. I meant every word. Gordy is so sweet and smart and funny and kind and attractive in a slender, boyish-good-looks kind of way. There’s lot of people out there who will accept him and even love him.

But since he’s never even been on a date, and the first time he asked someone out it ended in disaster, and knowing as he surely does that people our age can be shallow, I totally understand if he didn’t think so. I get it. But if he does think that, he’s wrong. Maybe I could show him he’s wrong. But first …

“You wanna get this over with,” I asked.

“Mhmm. Yeah.”

“And you’re sure? I’m okay doing it if you want me to, but I’m also okay not doing it.”

“Can we not and say we did,” he asked. A forced joke, but he was for sure hoping I’d say yes.

“I’m sorry, Gordy, really, but I told your stepmom I’d be honest with her.” Ironic, considering what he was in trouble for, that he was asking me to lie to her. And then I remembered he’s an adult and gets to lie if he wants to … but I’m not so okay lying to my clients, even the batshit crazy ones (Population: Mrs. Rooney). But on the other hand …

“I will, Gordy. We can not do it, and I’ll tell her we did if you want me to. Do you?” We could get away with it. Last time, she would’ve know he didn’t get spanked when she changed his diaper the next morning, but this time she wouldn’t be home for four days and, even if she was, wasn’t changing his diapers at the moment.

He knew all that and had conflicted face big time, so much so that I could tell even though he wasn’t directly looking at me. He didn’t take very long in deciding though. “No, I guess. I should’ve been honest.”

“You’re a grownup. You get to be dishonest if you wanna be.”

“I know, but … Telling the truth might have … Lying to her didn’t help, did it? And anyway, our agreement.”

Their stupid fucking agreement! Urgh!!!

“I don’t wanna lie to her again,” he said, “or ask you to lie. And I really do better when I’m accountable. I just … I don’t want to, and I’m sorry it’s you. I know you don’t like doing it. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I hate it. I really hate it. But I understand why you’d prefer I do it.”

“It’s cuz I don’t want it over my head all weekend.”

“I know.”

“It’s not because you won’t do a good job. I’m not trying to get away with anything.”

“I know.”

“And it’s not because you’re attractive. I mean, you are but, um … I didn’t mean it like …” Looking all scared that he’d offended me – cutie!

“I know what you meant, sweetie.” But what an interesting comment nonetheless. He said he didn’t agree to this arrangement with his stepmom for jollies, and I did and do believe him. But just like I found out I like being a little dominant, I wonder if at some point when he was draped over my knee that he found out he does actually like it when I do it, at least a little. Not that I could just come out and ask him.

“So do you want to get it over with now, or do you wanna wait a while?” I’d personally vote for now so we could go on to have a normal evening, but up to him.

“Let’s … now. I’m ready.”

“Okay. Do you get your mouth washed out before or after?”

“Really?”

“Sorry, kiddo, but you said your stepmom would’ve done it. She wants you to have the same consequence when you’re with me.” I don’t know why I called him kiddo. I’m choosing to believe it was meant in a jocular way.

“Before,” he said, sounding quite sorry for himself. I could understand. I hadn’t been spanked in a very long time and never as often or as hard as he was, but I have had my mouth washed out a time or seven (my parents have a thing about bad language and lying too; it just took me more than a decade to figure out they were serious about it, so oops, I guess). Hadn’t had the experience in a very long time, but I remember what it was like. I’d be much less happy about the soap than the spanking too, and I would be very, very unhappy about the spanking. Poor guy.

“Then let’s go do that first. C’mon.”

I held out my hand, and he looked at me for a moment with an expression that wasn’t quite a plea, and then took my hand, following along like a twenty-year-old boy who wasn’t always well behaved but at least was well behaved and cooperative for his punishments.