The Best Babysitter in Town Ch. 8 (reposted with photos)

It’s not like I was looking. It was just there, suddenly and without warning (as befits a twenty-year-old boy’s control over that appendage). Thank goodness he couldn’t see me seeing it thanks to the perfectly timed nose blowing on his part.

The male plumbing system is a two-in-one deal. All I knew about Gordy’s plumbing at the time is that one of those parts doesn’t work like other boys’. I had no idea about the other part. Did it mean he was aroused? Maybe. Could it be something that just happens spontaneously? Maybe. He seemed to take no notice of it, or at least was doing a good job pretending he didn’t. I’d touched it on the changing table, and it had moved on its own, but it was more of a shift than a clear-cut sign of arousal. So what I said earlier about all the awkward that could possibly pass between us having already passed? I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I reached over and turned the tap off. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it. I’ll wait in your room. No dawdling,” I added as yet another awkward joke, but his stepmonster did tell him not to dawdle. Of course, she meant because it was his bedtime right after his bath. I didn’t mind if he dawdled; that just just left me more time to Google the many, many things I had questions about …

I was halfway down the hall when I heard, “Ow.” I turned back around and poked my head around the doorframe, which made me realize I hadn’t even thought to close the door for him, but then again, he hadn’t closed it either. He certainly didn’t seem to have any shame about being naked earlier. I guess he’d been changed by enough nurses and school aides and aunts and babysitters that he just didn’t think of being naked around them as a big deal. And I guess that mindset can rub off on a babysitter (mansitter?) pretty quickly. It had bothered me a little bit after he got off the changing table before his spanking and didn’t even cover himself with his hands, but by the time I had him over my lap, it didn’t bother me at all.

“Everything okay,” I asked him.

“Yeah. Just … hot water.”

“Too hot?”

“No. Well, on my butt.”

“O … Sorry …” We had yet another awkward moment, and I know I should’ve just shut up and left him alone, but I was still so curious about literally everything about him, plus the movie version of having him over my lap was replaying on a loop in my head, and that wasn’t doing me any favors. I was trying to be professional and not make him feel awkward, but I kept thinking about slapping that cute boy butt of his. It was giving me decidedly unprofessional feelings. “Does it hurt to sit,” I asked. O yeah, real professional, my brain replied before he could.

“Um, yeah. The tub has this non-slip texture … Always feels … funny … after.”

“O … I bet … Do you … want some help?” Hey Sally, my conscience shouted at me me, leave the poor boy alone.

“No,” Gordy responded sharply, reminding me I wasn’t there on a social call. But I know from flirting, and we’d both been doing it just a minute ago. Still, I instantly understood when he said it that giving himself a bath was probably important to him considering how much of his hygiene was a team sport.

“But you can stay if you wanna talk,” he added. O, yeah – he was flirting right back. Amazing how quickly he was getting over his initial embarrassment around me. Actually is kind of impressive; I imagine it takes a lot of resilience and inner courage for a boy like Gordy to live a normal life, even grading normal on a curve. But on the other hand, I guess a diaper change and spanking are the the sort of ice breakers that, once completed, cut right through any jitters. How could he be embarrassed about being naked after all that? Naked was downright dignified by comparison.

“Sure I’ll talk,” I said as casually as I could. Funny how I’d done such a good job of treating his diapers as normal, and even done a passably good job of acting like there was nothing unusual about putting him over my knee – I maybe did too good a job treating it like any other spanking; I didn’t mean to embarrass him with some of the stuff I’d said – but now that it was over, everything I tried to say felt forced. He seemed more at ease than me, and he was the one naked in the bathtub on the freshly spanked bottom I gave him.

“So …”

“So … Other than everything else,” I ventured to ask, “how was your week? Glad it’s Friday?”

“Usual week, I guess. Just class. Well, it was usual until, you know. I wish I could skip class all next week. Don’t really wanna see her.”

“You could file a harassment complaint, maybe get her kicked out of the class.” His body language seemed to dismiss the thought. “Or you could just turn the tables. Look down on her. If she looks at you funny, tell her what she did is childish and disgusting; say it’s sad she’s such a cruel person and that she has a lot of growing up to do.”

“I’d rather not say anything to her at all. At least Mom’s not making me write an apology.”

“Was she going to? Really?”

“I talked her out of it.” Color me impressed (and surprised) that Gordy was able to talk his stepmonster out of anything. She didn’t seem so open to hearing his opinion on things when we were seated at the table together. “I said she was right and what I did could follow me forever, so I shouldn’t put it in writing.”

“Clever.”

“Also, I’d never live it down if people found out. She’d probably put it online.”

“Will your stepmom say anything to the friend whose daughter …”

“No. It’s private. Well, private plus you.”

“And I won’t tell a soul … I hope you don’t think I’m a mean person.”

“Why would I think that?” Was I sitting for the most naïve, sweet twenty-year-old in existence? Was it not obvious why he might think I’m mean and be mad at me?

“Because I …” My turn to blush. “Went along with your stepmom and, well.” I did the classic you-know shrug.

“O. No, I don’t think you’re mean. You’ve been really nice about it. Besides, you did ask me first.”

“Heh. Yeah … Can I ask you something else?”

“Mhmm.”

“You don’t seem to be very embarrassed about being naked in front of me.” Guess that was more of a statement, but the why part didn’t need to be said.

I didn’t mean anything by it, but the poor thing made the cutest little panicked face. He even splashed water over the edge of the tub rushing to cover himself. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be! I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, look at me: don’t be sorry. I was just asking. You’ve been every shade of red there is tonight, but you’re not bothered by being naked around me?”

“I … I guess I didn’t think about it … I guess it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother you?”

“Honestly? A little at first, but one diaper change later, not so much. I guess you’re kinda used to it, huh?”

“Used to what?”

“Having your diaper changed, being seen naked. Makes sense it wouldn’t bother you.”

“Well, you’re my sitter. I mean, it’s not like if you weren’t. I’ve … It’s not like we’re on a date or something.”

I couldn’t quite decipher the look on his face. Like part of him felt perfectly normal in the position he was in, the babysat to the babysitter, but another part of him, as soon as he said ‘date,’ looked uncomfortable again. No, not uncomfortable. Sad.

“Hey,” I said and pulled a towel off the rack, “you made a mess.”

“No I didn’t,” he said awfully defensively like it was a big deal. “O! The floor. The water … on the floor.”

We each parsed the other’s meaning and oof.  Made sense. He turned crimson. And I had to bite my tongue to stop a giggle. Gordy is not my type, but he’s awfully cute, and the way he gets embarrassed – and I hate saying this because it’s not fair to him – is kinda adorable. I feel bad for him, but also, he just seems … not helpless, but definitely in need of a kind hand. I never would’ve become the best babysitter in town without a soft spot for my charges.

I got down on my knees and cleaned up the puddle he made. “There. Dry.”

“S-sorry.”

“Why? You don’t need to be sorry for every little thing. You about done?” He’d washed every part of himself except the part I assume his stepmother had him take a weekly bath for, to soak his diaper area and wash it extra well.

“Um, almost.” I sat on the floor next to the tub, facing the same way he did, so I couldn’t see what he was doing. But it seemed to me that he was doing … nothing.

“We’re burning movie time, kiddo.”

“I know. I just … I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Class on Monday.”

“It’ll be okay. If you want, text me. I’ll be on campus all day. Just, ya know, if you need a friend.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really. Of course … And you wanna know something else? I think what you did was really brave.”

“Calling her a …”

“No, silly. Asking her out. That takes guts for everyone; hardly anybody even does it in person anymore.”

“Yeah. Kinda spent the whole month getting ready to do that.”

I told him that because it really is brave, even for a person without Gordy’s problem, and because I hoped it would make him feel a little better, but obviously it didn’t. He just seemed sad again. I had an epiphany. “Gordy,” I ventured gingerly, “have you ever been on a date?”

He did the least convincing version of, “Uh, yeah. Lots of times,” I think anyone has ever done.

“Does she live in Canada? Meet her at Niagara Falls? I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just … Makes what you did even cooler. I know plenty of frat boy types who don’t have the courage to risk that kind of rejection in person. And the ones who think they shouldn’t have to ever ask, like they’re god’s gift? You’re way cooler than they are.”

“You’re just saying that,” he grumbled.

“I am not.”

“But, with everything …”

“Doesn’t make me think less of you. You did a brave thing. I think you’re probably one of the bravest people I know. Believe me?”

He turned and looked at me, paused and nodded. His big puppy dog eyes. I was beginning to suspect what Gordy needed most in life was just someone to make him feel normal about himself. Like he was in the middle of an identity crisis, two very different versions of himself in competition with each other: the college man on one hand and his stepmother’s stepson on the other. Were they really two different versions Gordy though? I don’t know. I did know I wanted to help him. I am, after all, the best babysitter in town, probably the only babysitter of twenty-year-olds who aren’t disabled, and he deserved my help just because he's a person but also because he’s such a sweet person. But in the moment, I just wanted to get him back in a diaper before he had an accident in the tub.

“Alright,” I said after a beat, “if you’re not gonna do it.” I got up on my knees and reached for the soap. Gordy flinched. “It’ll only take a second. It’s no different from when I was wiping you on the changing table, right?” He didn’t respond, so I asked him, “May I wash your diaper area?” He nodded.

“Just take a second.” I felt like a babysitter again as I dipped my hand under the water and rolled the bar of soap in my palm, working up a slippery lather. I’ve given more than a few baths. And it really was no different from wiping his diaper area down before. It was the exact same, just without the wipe between my hand and him.

Except when I reached under the water … “Gordy, can I ask you something personal … again?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I don’t know anything about your condition. Are you, um … do you know you’re …”

“Y-yes. S-s-sorry.” We’d really have to work on him apologizing for things he can’t control, and if there’s one thing I know about twenty-year-old college boys, they can’t control when they get hard, at least not very well.

I also couldn’t help but notice Gordy was blushing all the way to the tops of his ears again, but he didn’t back away from me or try to stop my hand as I washed every part of his diaper area except that one. “Gordy, look at me. You’ve never been with someone else before, have you?” A barely perceptible shake of his head. “Do you, um, want me to, um … fix that?”

I’m really not slutty. Um, really. It was just that I was still aroused by having the submissive boy over my lap, the feeling of power I had then and the feeling of power I had knowing that a word from my lips could make him wilt. Poor little guy. And after the week he’d had, and the even worse day, here was one way I could make him feel better. And it wasn’t pity; I wanted to do it.

He nodded, just barely. “Gordy, I need you to say yes.”

“Y-yes.”

Under the water, now cloudy with soap, I wrapped my hand around his penis. I have small hands (I play the flute … the actual flute), and my fingers closed all the way around him, my palm covering most – not all, but most – of him from base to tip. I started moving my hand up. “Just close your eyes and re …”

I didn’t even get to the down part of the stroke. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsed, and I felt him shoot into my palm as he moaned. I wondered just how often he did or didn’t masturbate; I guessed not often. Gordy, it was obvious in more ways than one, had a lot of pent up … energy. Just waiting for the right touch.

As for me, well, as long as Gordy was letting it all out, for reasons I didn’t understand and wouldn’t for a while, I actually said, “Good boy, Gordy. Very good boy.” Not that I think he noticed, because Gordy is like all twenty-year-old boys in at least one way: he looked half asleep as soon it was over. Emotionally and physically draining day, and his first time with a woman (or at least her hand). I’d be sleepy too.

I pulled the plug, turned on the tap, and washed my hands, giving Gordy the twenty seconds he needed to open his eyes and remember where he was again. Sweet little virgin, all flustered and unsure what to say or do next. “How was that,” I asked.

“S-sorry.”

“For what?” Seriously, what was he sorry for now?

“F-for it … being quick.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Women don’t mind when a handjob is fast. Actually better in some ways. Did you like it? You feel okay?” Apparently all Gordy needed to go from barely perceptible nods to enthusiastic nods was to orgasm (hard).

“Good. Stick your head under the faucet, and I’ll wash your hair. Then we gotta get you back in a diaper and pick out a movie to watch.”

And I’ll tell you another thing Gordy has in common with other twenty-year-old boys – they all wear the same derpy smile after.