September Exclusive - "The Boss" - Part 3 of 4

THREE

“What’s wrong?” Crystal asks. 

I stare at the clothes she’s brought out of the bag. None of it makes sense. Unless what I read is true. Unless the words on the white shirt are reality. 

“Those aren’t…” I shake my head. “I don’t have time for what…whatever this is.” And I imagine hidden cameras, some massive prank being pulled. 

Crystal actually pouts. “You don’t like your new outfit?”

I wave my hands at the collection. “Of course I don’t! They’re for a baby!”

My wife frowns. She holds up the first item, hickory-striped overalls, which by themselves can be worn by a grown man (although he’d better be painting a fence or fixing a gutter) …but combined with the rest?

“Perfect fit, I reckon,” she says. She beams at me. “Let’s get you all dressed up so we can find out!”

I shake my head. I point at the white shirt which has snaps at the crotch. “That’s a…” I think of the pictures Donna’s shown me on her phone. I wave my hands again. How can my wife be missing the problem? I give an exasperated shrug. “It’s for babies!” And that’s before we talk about the chunky, white square of cloth that is surely an old-fashioned diaper. 

Donna looks at the clothing, and her expression grows thoughtful. “Huh,” she says. She nods lightly. “I guess you’re right.” She holds up the shirt and a smile tugs at her lips. “Lil Stinker,” she reads. “And that’s you.” She nods encouragingly at me. “You’re my little stinker, Matthew. Remember?”

Funny, how Crystal talks. It makes me think, it does make me remember. It’s that word, ‘stinker’. And it’s her tone. All sweet and condescending, like she’s talking to a little boy. 

My mouth is dry. “What are you doing?” The question is a croaky whisper. 

“You now what I’m doing, silly.” My wife tilts her head at me. “You remember.”

I shake my head, refusing. But there’s something…a fragment of what came before, what came a hundred times, something I can open and see for myself if I want to. But I don’t! Do I?

I stand in front of my wife, naked, my hands useless at my sides. What’s happening? The longer this goes on, the less capable I feel. 

“Silly lil stinker,” says Crystal, and her light, patronizing tone manages to both make me want to smile and make me want to turn and run, throw myself against the reinforced glass of my office windows. 

“Silly lil stinker,” Crystal says again, and her hands are on my shoulders, her eyes locked on mine. 

“Wuhhh….wah?” My mind feels greasy, slick, as she repeats her words. The third time, I don’t even hear them, just watch her lips, and the nightmarish, beautiful nickname sets itself up as truth in my brain. I close my eyes, I can barely stand, and maybe I’m not standing. Maybe I’m on the ground, legs in the air, for Mommy to change my diaper. 

I open my eyes. I’m not lying down. Not anymore, at least. The cloth diaper is fastened around my waist by steel safety pins, and I want to laugh out loud, because even the pins are adult sized. My entire outfit, every piece, specially tailored to fit just right. 

She’s been planning this for a long time. 

I look down at my infantile underwear. So thick, if I walk, I will waddle. I will toddle. I have a sudden image of Donna, clapping her hands with delight, she will chase after me with her jar of suckers. And I know if she catches me, I’ll goggle at the multi-colored collection and point at the cherry flavored sucker. Wanna wed wun. 

Reflexively, I back away from my wife. 

Crystal giggles. “Where you goin’?” she asks, her playful tone chilling my heart as well as making me want to fall down onto my hands and knees, look up at her and giggle right back. Silly lil stinker. 

Instead, I turn and head towards my desk. I do indeed waddle, toddle, and for a moment I’m sure my penis has been lost in the thickness of the diaper. Lost forever, ignored except for going pee-pee, a tiny, insignificant nothing. 

This makes me angry, and my anger feels good, feels real. Feels grown-up. “This isn’t happening,” I whisper. And then, with force, “You’re not getting away with this.”

I expect Crystal to walk over and join me (part of me wants her to, she can pat my diapered butt, she can stroke my hair, and I will melt into her arms), but she stays near the door. “With what?” she asks, her tone still playful. 

I look down. I won’t look at her. I won’t listen to her words. 

“You’re trying to give me a breakdown or something. You’re like everyone else, after my money. You put something in my food.” I take a deep breath. “But whatever you put in that muffin; it’s going to wear off. And as soon as that happens, we’re through.”

I hear Crystal’s little squeak of surprise, and I can tell she’s surprised I’ve seen through her plan. 

“Oh, honey,” she says, concern dripping from her tone. Her tone is like someone more hurt than shocked. “All I did with that muffin was make sure you’re regular. Now, maybe I added a little too much Senokot, but I only want what’s best for my special boy.”

I watch as her expression changes to something solicitous, almost pleading. “You know I only want what’s best for you, right?”

I frown. How can she say that? I’m dressed in a diaper! And yet…

“I don’t want to hurt you,” says Crystal sweetly. “Not my little wiggle bum.”

“Wuh…wah?”

This time, when I blink, I’m sure I’m going to fall over. Yes, I’ll be on my hands and knees. I’ll be crawling. And that makes perfect sense. Because Mommy’s little wiggle bum crawls. Mommy can see me crawling, she can see my bum-bum. 

I put my hands down my desk. I lean on it for support. My desk. My business. My life. I just need to turn around and take charge. 

“You’re doing something,” I whisper hoarsely, “but it won’t work. Whatever you did, and I’ll work it out, whatever you did, I’m going to get it flushed out, and then I’m flushing you out too.”

The words make me feel better. Sometimes I fire people. It’s a big company, it’s how it goes. And I never go into that meeting feeling good about it, but hey, there’s something about being top dog. When I’m dismissing someone, I can’t help but think, Hey buddy, should’ve worked harder, should’ve worked smarter, and then you’d be sitting where I’m sitting, instead of slinking out the door. 

Yeah. I’m going to fire my wife.