How to explain this without making me sound like some kind of nut? Truth is I can't, so I'll simply try and tell you all of the circ-umstances and, in the end, if I do sound slightly off kilter, so be it.
Anyway, red rags and diapers are at the heart of this and, of course, my neighbor Marge who, I've just recently discovered, likes being called mommy when she's treating me like a baby.
Those rags first, because they are a lot of the reasons for the girlish stuff I'm being put into. Red rags or those mechanic shop towels are dyed red, or so the story goes, so you can find them easier when working. Anyway, I've got a ton of them and because of the red dye, I'll wash them first before using them. I hand paint motorcycles and cars for the record and anything that goes on my fresh paint needs to be fresh.
I had twenty four new rags in two bundles of twelve sitting on my washer when my sister called. Sis, also for the record, is the night manager of a private nursing home and she often calls just to gossip, but this time she was asking if I could use a bunch of diapers. Diapers are 100% pure cotton and make excellent polishing clothes so my answer was yes.
All pretty innocent so far and it should have stayed that way but didn't. First of all sis dropped the bag of diapers off, that following morning early, with a note telling me that she'd need the bag back in a couple of days. Sis has access to my garage and the bag was next to the washer when I got up. The rest home was shifting from cloth diapers and plastic pants to disposables and that particular bag had four or five dozen diapers in it.
What I didn't know was that between every two neatly folded set of diapers was a pair of plastic pants. Evidently that was the way they got put away and that was the way they were packed. When I counted the edges for half a dozen diapers that I was about to wash, I also included three pair of plastic pants.
I hadn't had my coffee yet, but had forgotten to wash those new rags so I hurried that first load. Six diapers and three pair of sight unseen snap-on plastic pants went into the washer with six new red rags. Honestly, I wasn't worried about the color bleeding into the diapers, because they would soon become rags. I didn't much care that they were pink when the wash and rinse cycle would finished. Of course the plastic pants had taken on a hint of pink as well.
None of that really mattered when I rolled my Harley out of my garage for the trip into town, and I was just about to kick start it when Marge, my landlady, waved her hand to get my attention. Her washer had quit on her and the repairman wasn't going to be able to fix it till tomorrow and she wanted to use mine.
Now Marge and I were not all that close, but I'd been renting my side of her duplex for nearly two years. I was damn handy with most things and she was an excellent cook so we often bartered those two things to our mutual benefit and I'd joked that she now owed me at least a slice of pie. I told her to toss my stuff in the dryer, left her to close the garage so she could unlock the side door, and road off into the sunrise.
Life for me changed before I hit the freeway that morning only I didn't know it. What I didn't know was that Marge had tugged out one of the diapers and with it a pair of snap on plastic pants. A pastel pink diaper and with that diaper a pair of light pink plastic pants. Plastic pants with a light tint of pink, and pink diapers all in a size clearly near mine was damaging.
Marge deftly slipped that diaper and pair of plastic pants back into the washer and spent another two cups of coffee wondering what she'd discovered and what to do about it. There were hints that I was different before this, but in this new context Marge began making assumptions.
My long hair, like my motorcycle, was part of my years of rebellion before that morning and now a hint of my femininity. My near fanaticism for keeping my place clean, and often a joke by my peers, was simply because I'd grown up with mom and sis and they were clean freaks. Keeping my room clean, growing up, was simply to keep the nagging down and now a habit. That too hinted at a feminine side.
That more or less explained the pinks but not necessarily the diapers and those plastic panties although there was even a hint for those as a context. That hint came when I'd fallen asleep on Marge's couch after a meal fit for a very large king and not all that long ago.
I was stuffed and had worked a twelve hour day and before she could serve the coffee that night I'd dropped off. Now I'm one of those that can sleep almost anywhere and it only takes a moment to do so but I wake fast, too fast and did. I panicked first, apologized second and ran off to use her bathroom third. It was nothing until now as she sat there sipping her coffee - remembering.
Obviously I was a bed wetter or at least that's what she reasoned based on that one single incident. My panic and rush to use the bathroom, my apparent fear of wetting her couch, or so she reasoned, and she had those diapers and plastic pants to add to that reasoning. It was odd, a man my age still wetting his bed, and even more odd to favor pink, but not odd enough to deter Marge.
What you don't know about people can often fill a book and the chapters I might have liked to read on Marge would have satisfied a lot of my curiosity later. Marge grew up with a brother that wanted to be a girl and later married a man that loved wearing her lingerie. One a life style, the other a fetish and both lending their unknowing support to a new chapter Marge was drafting on me.
Marge knew I had an older sister and was the second of two children so that was pretty much that with her new reasoning. Obviously and unjustly, my sister had a brother not too unlike hers. To Marge's credit and perhaps later to mine I'd made a significant jump "up" in status in her eyes and all of it positive. Her only regret, and this was over a third cup of coffee, was not including diapers and plastic pants into some of the things she often made her husband do before she'd let him have sex.
And there I was at the end of that particular day believing "same old stuff, different day" as I mounted my hog to make my way home. Almost everything I did was more or less routine but getting clean, first thing, was a ritual. I don't mind getting dirty but I hate staying that way, so I showered before calling Marge to say yes to her offer of dinner.
I have, according to my sister, beautiful hair and also, because of my sister, almost the same set of tasks as she when I showered. I shampooed, conditioned then spent a casual few minutes running a brush through it before anything else. And I didn't put it back into it's usual ponytail, because you just didn't right away, and that was also according to my sister.
So there I was, at Marge's door almost exactly at the stroke of six, wearing a clean white tee-shirt, white shorts and sandals with silky fine hair flowing easily over my shoulders, smiling. That image, and this would include the fresh scent of an apple smelling shampoo, simply confirmed most all of Marge's new assumptions.
Had I known what she was thinking, right then, might very well have given me a panic attack but thankfully I didn't. I would know some time later, and it would have a lot to do with diapers, plastic pants and a nightgown. A nightgown short enough to make a fine looking baby dress with my nearly golden locks separated to both sides by ribbons that match. I honestly can't remember if she licked her lips or not before I stepped into her home and I've tried.
Dinner was beyond my imagination and filling long before I had seconds and that slice of pie was put off till later. For a short time all I could do was savor the meal and help with the dishes. I'd discovered, and this was clearly a fib, that she didn't need to use my washing machine because the repairman had someone cancel on him and he'd fixed hers that morning. I also discovered those plastic pants later when I went to put those red rags and diapers into the drier.
It was funny seeing plastic pants in a tinted pink and meant for an adult. Without them those diapers were just soft cotton rags perfect for polishing. With them those diapers were actually diapers and matched the panties in an odd sort of way. It had been a good day and an even better evening and I was still satiated from my dinner when I began folding the diapers and rags from the drier.
Two things came together and only minutes apart as I yawned and looked at the clock above my mantel. Those two things was one pair of pink tinted snap-on plastic pants I'd hung to dry, and one of those pastel pink diapers still warm from the dryer. I found two safety pins in the kitchen junk drawer and my curiosity over if they would fit and what it might feel like was soon to be solved.
Another two things happened that sealed my fate a few minutes after I'd finished snapping on that pair of plastic pants. The first is that I'd forgotten to get the coffee ready for morning and the second is I'd forgotten to take my slice of pie home with me.
That was the reason Marge was in my part of our yard and about to knock on my sliding glass door. The reason she didn't was because of that diaper and those plastic pants she saw me wearing. A diaper and pair of baby pants I was going to remove right after I made the coffee and should have removed before.
It would be a remarkably odd twist of fate that Marge and I would have nearly the same fantasy at nearly the same time that night. In both she was the mommy and I was the baby and that was the reason I left that odd feeling diaper on under those plastic pants.
I had no desires, prior to that night, for Marge to mother me, but I did have desires to share her bed on more than one occation. That was the only thing truly different when I fell back happily satisfied after imagining, with a slight sense of guilt, over nursing on her bre.ast. Likewise for Marge till that day and it was well into the early hours when the batteries of her vibrator finally gave out.
You would have thought we'd had a torrid love affair that following morning when our eyes met. Of course it was my guilt and fantasy that gave me my flush and her own causing the blush that I noticed as I kicked my bike alive. She was radiant in the mornings, I thought, as I waved good-bye. I could hardly remember the ride to work as my fantasies continued.
I could, and I'm being honest here, remember how long the day was before I finally pushed my bike towards home. It was an odd mixture of thoughts that filled my head as I sanded the car I was working on and some of it those thoughts centered on the diapers and that pair of plastic pants again.
Did I tell you that I added the second diaper to the first right after I'd masturbated? OK, so I did and while that might seem odd I was still curious. Wearing a diaper and pair of plastic pants is truly alien, but adding that image of Marge breast feeding me took some of that oddness out of it. There was guilt, a lot of it, but there was that dream as well.
Marge was in that dream and it was her breast again, and you can't blame someone for what they dream, but that was definitely the reason for the blush that morning when I saw her. I'd looked first at her breast then at her face and I knew I'd been caught looking when she clutched her robe after picking up her newspaper. I didn't know that it had thrilled her as much as I.
Now I have a towel that wraps and closes with Velcro and it's all I wear after I've finish my shower and drying. My only skirt and that a little tease from my sister more than once. I was wearing that and nothing else as I sat on the edge of my couch bushing my hair. I'd had that towel for years so I didn't give it a thought as I rose to confirm I'd heard the knock on my patio door. It was Marge and in her hand that slice of pie.
I folded my arms across my chest feeling foolish doing so but I wasn't sure Marge had ever seen me just out of the shower. I felt even more foolish when I left one arm across my bre.ast while the other took the pie. Guys don't have to hide their bre.ast, I chided myself, because guys don't have bre.ast I reasoned when Marge apologized and left.
It was a skirt for Marge and another bit of a hint and, so too, that hair brush that had the sparkles in it, even though it was green, it still had sparkles in it. Now I've had that brush for years as well, my sister's old brush I think.
It didn't matter because Marge had all she'd needed and I another reason for being embarrassed. A guy wearing something of a skirt and bushing long hair with a gold specked hair brush is not exactly a masculine image although it was exactly the image Marge now had of me - and it wasn't masculine.
Marge inviting me for dinner twice in one week was unheard of but there is was that following day and of course I said yes. I said yes mostly for the dinner but there was also that thought of being near her fueling my fires. I should also confess that I did the diapers, those snap-on panties and another palm full of baby lotion that second night, but also swore a second time it was just an odd sense of curiosity and it had been satisfied.
Even more odd was that lack of guilt that second time and I could thank the image of Marge I'd added to my fantasies for that. I even joked with myself that morning that I'd slept like a baby, and while it was figurative the image of my diaper and those plastic panties made it also literal. What was it about those things that touched me so and that I wondered about right up to Marge's invitation just before leaving for work.
If she only knew, I mused, as I knocked on her sliding glass door. I'd used the backyard access this time as she had with the pie and something I'd never done before then. I was also sure I'd never seen that robe although I was sure women called it something else. It was white, silky, flowing and covered nearly every inch of her but it left my imagination to work out what was under it and I imagined all sorts of things.
There was small talk, but it was strained and that was clear as we ate and sipped our wine. Worse than a first date, I mused again, and it was I'd discover. I wasn't nearly as full when dinner ended and instead of coffee she insisted we finish the wine first. It was only slightly romantic but highly charged when we sat down in the living room and more so when she patted the couch and invited me to sit with her.
I felt like a love struck teenager in those seconds. Why is it we... we as in men, can't act perfectly normal when we get into these states, I wondered. I felt silly asking her what was for desert but honest to Pete, I couldn't think of anything else to say. That's when she smiled and said she'd like to discuss something different with me for tonight. It was the tone, then her look that made me decide we wouldn't be having any desert.
I was shaking, only a little, but bad enough to make me sit my wine down and that gesture was all she needed for her to do the same. The rest, I'm sure, has been happening for as long as there have been couches and I no longer needed my imagination to know what she was wearing under that robe - nothing. I was so badly charged it was up to her to manage the foreplay because I didn't necessarily care if there wasn't any. I wanted her and it was in the worse sort of way.
We were folded into and around each other and I was trying desperately to undress myself without letting her go when she said she wanted me to spend the night with her. That, I'd already assumed was a given, but I said yes anyway. It was like a splash of cold water when told me to go ahead and get my night things. I wasn't sure what she meant till she lovingly took my chin and told me softly that she knew about my bed wetting and those diapers and plastic panties.
I was nearly frozen solid and not sure what to do, let alone say in those seconds. She knew about the diapers and plastic pants and that was first because I'd only worn them twice so far. She'd said the words "bed wetting" as well and were it not for that I might have easily denied what she obviously was thinking. That bed wetting thing was justification for the diaper thing I suddenly realized.
Hard to justify bed wetting for a guy my age, but I couldn't imagine trying to explain getting off on wearing diapers so I grabbed hold of that as a reason instantly. When I hesitated she rose and took my hand and walked me to the door. She was going with me and we walked those dozen or so feet in silence. I didn't even think about the damn color till I saw them again but oddly grateful I'd folded the ones I was playing in on top of my bed.
She took them up, grabbed the large safety pins I had also left on top of that pile and took my hand again for her place. I was confused over what she might think about me wearing pink, then confused more since she'd simply took them up without a word. What did she think, I wondered. What was going to happen was also a thought but I also knew most of it I'd like and did...
We passed her living room, the hall and I stood like a child as she laid my so called night things on her bed. I was every bit an active participant with most women most times, but not this time. I'd left that part of me somewhere else and didn't want it back as she readied the diapers. I did wonder how we'd make love? I mean given what was clearly her intent, but that was cleared up instantly when she told me she'd like to put me into those things so she could take them off of me again.
Say what you will and it's nothing I haven't said since, but all I could do was nod a sort of yes and wonder if I could speak at all. Her robe was still open and my focus was shared between what I'd be wearing and those magnificent bre.ast I was getting peeks at.
I wasn't sure what it felt like to be a baby but I was sure I was ready to be babied and smiled...
End of Part 1
Hugs
Mary Beth