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The Best Babysitter in Town Vol. 2 Ch. 16
🕑 Added 2023-06-14 23:54:08 +0000 UTCHow is it that someone can be pitiable and adorable at the same time? How can those two things go hand in hand, and what does it say about me that the two are definitely connected in my attraction to Gordy? Or at least the idea of attraction to Gordy. I’m not talking about his condition. I’m talking about how sad it is that he made it to the age of twenty with hardly a clue as to how basic things like parties work. That’s how limited his social life has been for two decades.
We’re talking about a college house party. It’s not technically Greek life because our campus doesn’t have that, but it’s basically a co-ed service organization that has what you have to call a sorority or frat house. After our naps, we had an early dinner and both went to shower. I got dressed and went to check on Gordy, and what do I find the sweet doofus wearing? Khaki chinos, a navy-blue blazer, a light blue button-down, and penny loafers.
Now, were we going to a party on the Vineyard circa July 1956, he would have been perfectly dressed. If we were going to a summer wedding reception, he’d have been dressed like every man there who wasn’t in the wedding party. A formal graduation. An Easter brunch right after church. All places appropriate for a 20-year-old to wear an outfit like that. Not so much a college house party. I mean, some houses have formals, but this wasn’t a formal, and even if it was, his outfit wasn’t formal. It was Gordon Thurston Howell III dines al fresco while summering in Rhode Island. Or it was an I’m-a-kid-and-don’t-own-a-suit look, good for any event year-round at which a tween must put on a sportcoat. It was definitely not a 20-year-old-going-to-a-college-party outfit.
That’s why it’s pitiable – has he had no actual social life?!? – and also adorable. I didn’t giggle, but if I had, it would’ve been because of how cute and well-intentioned he was. But neither did I humor him.
“Gordy,” I said, “it’s not that fancy of a party. Let’s see if we can find you something else.”
“O,” he said, “I thought this was, well, you just made it sound like a big event.”
“It’s okay,” I told him while I started flipping through the hangers in his closet, “It’s a big event but not, like a semi-formal or anything. Just like a big fundraiser for them. You just need jeans and a nice shirt.”
“Is this shirt nice enough,” he asked as he took off his jacket.
I’ve never liked the dark-blue-jeans-with-a-light-blue-button-down-on-top look. “It’s nice, but let’s see if you have something more fun.” I found what I was looking for and turned my attention to his small collection of shoes. I picked a casual, brown leather pair, just so he’d look a little nicer than if he wore his trainers. Damn near every time I see a couple out at a party, she’s dressed and primped, and he’s wearing whatever he wore that day and it drives me nuts. Like, she put in effort; couldn’t he just put on a nicer pair of shoes? I wasn’t going to primp Gordy, but he’d at least be wearing decent shoes (and not the penny loafers he’d picked out – Gordy’s family has money. Is this just how the upper-middle class dresses and I don’t know about it?).
I’d only ever seen Gordy wearing jeans or khaki shorts outside the house. Khaki pants, it seems, are cut a little bit different cuz when I turned around and he was putting his jacket back on a hanger, he had diaper butt. Not an obvious, butt-is-bulging diaper butt, but a definite case of oddly-flat-and-smooth-and-vaguely-square-shaped diaper butt. “Where do you wear that outfit,” I asked because my mouth was just doing its own thing, apparently.
“Church, when we go. That’s pretty much it.”
“Do you always wear a jacket with those pants?”
“Not always. Why?”
Didn’t have the heart to tell him it was good that his jacket hid his butt. Besides, it was probably only obvious to me because I knew. Other people can probably spot a bulgy diaper butt if it’s obvious enough, but I doubt most would see a flat, square butt and think he’s wearing a diaper. I just told him, “It looks good with a jacket.” And then, because it sounded fun and also because I thought it might give him a little ego boost, I added, “We should go clothes shopping. Maybe find you a sportcoat a little more modern. I bet you’d look good in it.” Slim-fit suits being in and Gordy being so slender, we for sure would have options for him. Maybe also get him a nicer, trendier pair of jeans. A few shirts a little more for our age (he wears a lot of polo shirts to campus, which is fine but he definitely stands out among the crowd of people wearing sweatpants and tees like they just got out of bed). Not that I want Gordy to blend, but if he looks more like a regular 20-year-old student, maybe he’ll feel like one too.
“Here,” I said as I handed him the shirt I’d picked. And then this really weird thing happened. Like, wtf? As he was taking off the blue shirt, some total weirdo named me started unbuckling his belt. Like, hey me, presumptuous much? Just cuz I change his diapers doesn’t mean I should be dressing or undressing him. Especially when I’m not changing him. No big deal pulling his pants off his ankles sometimes when he’s on the changing table, but it was totally weird to, like, start undressing him, right? Good thing I was too thrown by it to look up to see if he was thrown by it too. But no worries cuz I made up for it by being awkward as hell!
“Lift your foot for me,” I said instead of, ya know, stopping and letting him dress himself, and I took off his shoes, then his pants, and when I finally looked up there was a diaper and in it, looking down at me, was Gordy in the shirt I picked out. To my credit, he did look handsome in it. To my chagrin, he also looked like he was wondering what the hell I was doing too.
“Um, just checking your diaper. And your socks.”
“Checking my … socks?”
“They should match your pants,” I said. I was right about that, btw. Sock color should match the pants color, not the color of the shoes. Or you can go with really bright colors for the contrast, but brown socks with jeans … Not that I’m a fashionista, but I’ve learned these things, apparently.
“O … kay,” he said. Good ol’ Gordy coming in with the correct response.
Standing back up with his pants in my hand, looking at him in just his diaper and shirt, feeling cringe, I had one of those unexpected thoughts/feeling I have with Gordy that I never had before becoming his babysitter: I wanted to spank him right then. I wanted to put him in his place. I’m the dominant one; I should never feel awkward or cringe with him. He’s the submissive one; not that he made me feel cringe (I did that to myself – yay!) but I wanted to spank his little bottom anyway to put us back into the right relative roles. Or so some weird synapse in my brain told me completely without being asked.
Let’s say that Gordy – or anyone in my future – knew they were in the submissive role and accepted it. Would I ever spank them to make myself feel better? Would that be a hot thing or not a hot thing? Who knows.
“You’re wet,” I announced to break the tension that may have – but pretty sure it wasn’t – only in my head (definitely wasn’t).
“I am?”
“Yeah. Let’s get you changed so you’re leaving the house in a dry diaper.”
He was barely wet. Like, about the same amount of wetness he’d have if he didn’t shake after using the toilet. This I know because I briefly dated this guy who somehow got all the way to eighteen without learning to shake it after he peed. Why I was yucked by that but not by Gordy’s diapers, let’s not question. So basically I changed Gordy from a dry diaper into a dry diaper. He leaks a little all the time, so he was nearly as wet within a minute of me doing up the tapes.
But before I did that, I asked Gordy, “Are you going to drink tonight?”
“Can I?”
“If you want.” Not legally, but since when has that stopped the average college student. Then it occurred to me to ask, “Have you ever drank before?”
“Yeah.” Seemed a touch defensive so I gave him the classic babysitter like, really?face. “I have. I don’t drink much. Actually, it’s been a while, but back then it wasn’t much.”
“How do you feel about a booster pad? Just in case you have a drink tonight. You know it makes people pee more, right? So, maybe a booster pad …”
“What if I need a change there?”
“We’re taking your diaper bag. We can run out to the car.”
“I am not changing in the car,” he said so seriously it was just funny.
I had to role my eyes. I didn’t need to call him a silly goose, but I did anyway (oops). “No, you silly goose, just to get your bag. We can find a room in the house to change you.”
I could see on his face that he was catastrophizing in his head, imagining what could happen. “What if someone walks in?”
“We’ll lock the door.” Um, duh.
“What if someone wonders what we’re doing in there?”
He is so naïve, it’s adorable; and he is so adorable, I could gobble him up sometimes. “Do you know what it usually means when a woman and a boy disappear into a bedroom at a house party?” And the way his eyes got so big and he blushed – ugh! Cutie!
“But what if someone thinks you …”
“Sweet of you to worry about my reputation, but not a problem. Is that a yes on the booster pad?” Probably should’ve waited for an actual answer before I pulled one from the package and put it under him.
“You’re doing it again,” he said to me as I did.
O crap, I thought, what am I doing now? “What?”
“Changing me when I could’ve done it myself.”
“Yeah,” I said because I didn’t have anything else to say.
“Can I ask you a question,” he said while I was sealing the tapes.
“Sure.”
“Do you like changing diapers?”
I thought I’d been called out before, but I knew then that no, I had never been called out before. Not like I was then. The metallic taste, the slight lightheadedness, the sense of time elongating. That’s what adrenaline feels like.
My expertise is babysitting, and in the course of babysitting, you learn to bat certain questions away. When your charge tries to get out of a rule just because their parents aren’t home or when they ask you something their parents won’t tell them or when they ask something that’s just not for you to answer, a skillful babysitter – and I’m the best in town – knows how to redirect their attention. Probably should’ve done that with Gordy instead of replying, “Why would you think that?”
“Because you do it even though you don’t have to. Pretty much everyone thinks it’s gross.”
“There’s nothing gross about you,” I hastened to assure him.
“A wet diaper is no big deal, but even I think my dirty diapers are nasty. Believe me, if it were something I had a choice about doing …” He finished the sentence with a shrug.
“I don’t like changing diapers. I’m just used to it.”
“Do you like changing my diapers?”
Even the best babysitter in town sometimes needs to make a conscious effort to now swallow her tongue. Gordy’s moods are like a fitted sheet. Sometimes you manage to fold it neatly, but damned if you know how you did it. Gordy’s moods – sometimes he’s open and telling you about his feelings and you don’t know why or how, other times he’s moody and barely talkative. Sometimes he's too shy to speak up, and sometimes he totally wrong-foots me with a question I wouldn’t imagine him being brave enough to ask.
So, a choice to make. I couldn’t say I disliked it; that would come off the wrong way. I could’ve just said I didn’t mind doing it; it would be a non-answer, but I figured Gordy would take the hint, and it would probably kill the line of questioning at least for a while. I could tell the truth and say yes. So either try a non-answer or say yes.
A non-answer was in a way the same as a yes. Just saying I didn’t mind wouldn’t explain why I did it. It would just delay an actual conversation about it. Might as well say yes.
Couldn’t just say yes without an explanation though. How weird would that be? All sorts of conclusions he could jump to. So there was the truthful explanation – it makes me feel dominant over him. Or the partly truthful explanation – I like taking care of people, especially Gordy. It makes me feel good. That’s a hundred percent true on its own and partially true in the sense that it isn’t the only reason.
I could’ve given a false explanation, but I couldn’t think of one that would make sense right away. And since I was already saying yes, why lie?
A took a shallow breath and expelled it as a sharp sigh, like I was getting ready to say something I’d been holding back. I guess that’s exactly what I was doing.
“I do like changing you,” I said. “I like taking care of people, especially people I care about. It makes me happy.” And as I said it, a little voice in my head informed me, That’s your love language, acts of care.
I didn’t let Gordy in on the realization, but it was perfectly accurate. That’s exactly why I like changing Gordy’s diapers. It’s why I hate spanking him so much. It’s why I sit with him when he’s in the tub. It’s why I invest so much emotional energy into his moods and life. Do I love Gordy? That would be getting way far ahead of things. Do I like Gordy because he needs help, because he lets me care for him (physically and also emotionally), because the way he responds to my friendship and care and attention is so endearing and makes me feel so appreciated and needed? Absolutely yes.
And also the kink thing. Which is so contradictory in a way.
And it’s friggin complicated. Where’s the line between liking – and being attracted to –Gordy for who he is and fetishizing Gordy’s condition and emotional needs and immaturity? Because who Gordy is can’t be cleanly separated from his condition and all his trauma. Not that I had the least desire to think, let alone talk, through any of that just then.
“Is that okay,” I asked Gordy as he sat up. “Is it okay that I like taking care of you even though you don’t need me to?”
He smiled at me, this queer, reassuring smile. “Yeah; that’s okay with me.”
“How does that make you feel,” I asked because I have bad timing. Ninety-nine percent of me was telling me to go to the party. But my mouth listened to the 1% of me that said, ask a complicated question about a complicated relationship. I’m usually smarter than that.
Gordy said to me, “I’m glad it makes you happy, so long as you understand I don’t need that kind of help.”
“I understand.”
“Kind of a big deal to me, since a lot of people have just assumed I can’t be independent.”
“I get it.” I handed him his pants, and off we went to the party.
