Gramps - Chapter 16

 

Gramps

By Karen Singer

 

Chapter 16

 

Time.  Time marches on.  Time heals all things (I’m not totally sure about that).  Time changes everything (uh, the jury is still out as to if that includes diapers).  There’s a time to laugh, and a time to weep.  A time to love, and a time to hate.  A time to be born, and of course, a time to die.  It’s the time to die that was ever closer to my mind, because I knew that with each minute, each second, that time for me was coming closer.  We can’t outrun death.  We can’t outrun time.  My time was running out.  But, I wasn’t dead yet.  Not by a long shot.  I just often wished I was.

My entire life, where I used to have nothing but excess time on my hands, had now been carved up into an endless series of thirty-minute slices, and those slices had quicky made my entire life a living hell.  Every thirty minutes I had to try to poop in my diaper.  Every hour on the hour I not only had to try and poop, I had to sit and practice sucking on my pacifier properly for an increasingly long time.  Time, that after just a few days began to feel like an eternity.  I felt like that’s all I did, try to poop in my diaper, then immediately sit and film myself sucking properly, then all too soon, try to poop in my diaper again.  Endlessly.  All day.

On Sunday, as usual now, Kimmie forced me out to go grocery shopping.  And as usual, I was dressed embarrassingly.  I had gotten to wear the more comfortable black pumps the day before, but Kimmie stuck…actually locked…those pink heels on me instead.  I had no doubt at all that she got a huge kick over the fact that they were incredibly uncomfortable, and I couldn’t remove them even if I tried.  But hey, isn’t that what loving granddaughters are for?

I wore another of the bras we had bought the day before and Kimmie was kind enough to adjust it just a bit too tight for me.  So much love.  The bra was covered by another of her blouses, this one tailored a bit to help show off the bumps on my chest, even though it was loose enough to go over my body.  As for pants…yes, she let me wear pants again.  This time they were nothing but stretchy yoga pants that I knew did nothing at all to hide my diapered state.  Uh…the diaper I was wearing goes without saying of course, but we’re not mentioning that anymore, are we.

Yes, I was afraid it was going to happen, and it did, but differently.  When we got to the grocery store we didn’t see any of the girls from Kimmie’s school, but instead we did see one of the other teachers she worked with.  More about that in a moment.

What happened that I wasn’t happy about was that Kimmie’s schedule for me was unrelenting.  I had to do my pacifier…uh…baby pacifier exercise while I was in there, and I also had the privilege of doing the pooping exercise, not once, but twice!  And once was…  Okay, let me explain.

We had just started shopping.  We had covered the first two aisles in relative quiet.  And by quiet, I mean no girls following us around, although as far as I was concerned, the number of people watching me seemed to be endless.  But halfway through the next aisle, I heard it.

“Oh, hey Kim.”

We turned and I saw Kimmie smile.  “Jessie!” she replied.  “How are you?”

“Good,” she said.  Then I saw her nod towards me.  “I guess that’s your Gramps that you told us about?”

“That’s him,” Kimmie confirmed.

I wanted to die.  Was there anyone in the entire world who didn’t know about me?”

“He certainly looks…” Jessie started to say, but her comment was interrupted by the ding coming from Kimmie’s bag.

“Uh-oh,” Kimmie said as she checked the phone.  “Gramps.  Pooping time.”

“Uh?” I complained around the dumb thing filling my mouth.  Of course, nobody understood me, nor did they care.

“Ready?” Kimmie said.  “Go!”

Like it or not, which I didn’t, I stood there in the grocery store and worked at pushing something nasty out into my diaper, while Kimmie counted to fifteen.  At fifteen, I automatically stopped.  Kimmie turned to Jessie.  “I’ll explain in a minute,” she told her, then turned back to me. “Ready?  Go!  One…two…”  All the way to fifteen when I gratefully stopped.  “Okay Gramps,” Kimmie said.  “Baby paci time.”  She checked the time and started watching me closely.

I was up to seven minutes each time now.  Seven minutes that was an eternity.  As I sucked away carefully, Kimmie turned to her friend again.  “I make him try to poop in his diaper every thirty minutes, and make him spend time sucking on his baby pacifier every hour so he learns to do it properly and not chew on the thing instead.”

The two of them stood there and discussed things for a few minutes, and I did my best to tune them out, which left me nothing to really think about except how I was sucking on the baby pacifier in my mouth…which was the one thing I really didn’t want to think about.  I was so tuned out that I almost missed it when Kimmie said, “Time Gramps.”  I turned my head, but the same sucking motion kept going.

As soon as Kimmie and I got home, Kimmie sat me down and worked hard to pull those yoga leggings off of me, while leaving the pink heels locked on.  Once again, my baby diaper was on full display.  Only after that did we pull the groceries from the car and put everything away.

In the middle of putting things up, of course the phone dinged time again and I had to try to poop, followed by more baby pacifier sucking…which I had been doing all the time anyway, just not the way Kimmie would have liked.  Hey, I had to have some rebellion in me.

On Monday, Kimmie hit me with another new one.  “Gramps, you do nothing at all every day except sit in your chair.  You need to get up and move a bit.  Do you think you can find the energy to at least try and clean the house some?  When was the last time you even vacuumed the carpet?  Never!”

The truth was though that I never thought it needed it.  It was just the two of us and neither of us were exactly slobs, so the place didn’t get dirty.

“Gramps.  Vacuum today at least.  It won’t kill you.”

I wasn’t so sure.  I was once again locked into those pink heels, and those things were dangerous just to look at.  More so to try and walk in.  Besides, I had lots of other things to do all day, like watching TV, trying to poop in my diaper, looking at porn on the internet, trying to poop again before filming myself sucking on the pacifier for eight minutes at a time, reading a book, trying to poop again…  You get the picture, right?  Between creating eight-minute baby pacifier films and trying to poop where I didn’t want to, it took me a long time to vacuum the carpets.  Much longer than usual.  I figured though that Kimmie wouldn’t care in the least about how long it took.  According to her, I had nothing to do all day.  The truth was, I had too much to do!

And time marched on…endlessly.  Day after day.  And day after day, some things stayed the same while other things got worse. 

Every day Kimmie continued to diaper and dress me in the morning.  Every day when I was home, my embarrassing baby diaper was on display.  Every day I wore a pair of high heels.  Every single day I wore a bra all day long, no matter what else I was wearing.  Trust me, that was weird.  There was just something that seemed totally incongruous about wearing baby diapers, and a bra.  I was getting used to having bumps sticking out from my chest though, even though I wasn’t used to the feel of the bra strapped around my body.  It never ever became really comfortable, just tolerable.

And then came the day when Kimmie was getting me ready for bed, and she finally removed that damn chastity device.  I was free!  Free!  Free!  I was also thickly diapered right away and put to bed with another warm bottle of milk.  Um…I probably shouldn’t admit this, but after finishing my bottle, I laid there and humped and humped and humped.  But strangely, I got nowhere.  Not even a little bit hard.  I think my penis was in too much of a state of shock.  Either that or after being all scrunched up so badly for so long it was incapable of doing anything.  I didn’t get the release I wanted until the following night, after another long, long session of humping the bed.  But hey, relief is relief.  And trust me, I loved every second of it.

It was always the weekends, Saturday and Sunday, that I hated the most.  Yes, deep down I probably had a love–hate relationship with those days.  The audacity of what Kimmie kept putting me through excited me to no end.  But overall, I dreaded those days like the plague.  Every Sunday Kimmie insisted we go grocery shopping, and she always tried to dress me as embarrassingly as possible.  Saturdays were the same, except we either went to the mall or spent time shopping somewhere else.  I think Kimmie was really trying to take me to any place where there might be a crowd…where there would be too many people to gawk at me.  Embarrassing!  I hated it (I loved it too, but I won’t admit that, even here).

The two exercises Kimmie kept me doing every single day were starting to kill me.  Those two things ruled my entire life.  After a while, they left me no time to really do anything else.  My TV shows were interrupted.  My computer time was interrupted.  My reading was interrupted.  Even all the tasks around the house that Kimmie started asking me to do were made more difficult, just because of having to go through those two exercises so often.

Oh, and Kimmie did always seem to have me do something that kept me from sitting so long in my chair and resting.  “Gramps, why don’t you blow the leaves off the patio today.  Okay?  Gramps, can you please vacuum the carpet again?  Gramps, the kitchen floor needs moping.  Gramps, can you please do the wash today?”  Lots of easy little things, but they kept me out of my chair longer than I wanted to be.

I don’t know when I realized it, probably after a few weeks.  Probably after my pacifier sessions went over fifteen minutes, but I realized I was always sucking on the thing just like Kimmie wanted me to.  Not that she ever seemed to notice…at least, I don’t think she did.

As for the pooping exercise, those were worse.  That exercise also had a few unintended consequences that nobody had thought about.  Or maybe Kimmie had thought about them and they were her intended goal all along.  Every half hour, I spent fifteen seconds trying to take a shit where I shouldn’t, then I rested for five seconds, then I pushed for another fifteen seconds.  But more often than not, it wasn’t just shit coming out of me, I was peeing during a lot of those pushing sessions as well.  Well, when you’re pushing like that, you can’t exactly stop yourself from peeing, can you.  I guess maybe some of you can.  I certainly couldn’t.  Trying to poop was the same as trying to pee.  Two whammies for the price of one!  They weren’t pooping exercises, they were pooping and peeing exercises.  I wasn’t holding anything at all back for very long.

Oh, and remember those video cameras she had installed?  I learned their real purpose.  Early on, while Kimmie was at work, I figured she’d have no way of knowing if I tried to poop in my pants or not.  So I didn’t even try.  I just let it slide.  I did have to still film myself sucking the pacifier, that much she could easily see, but what could she see as far as me trying to poop in my diaper?  Nothing!  So I tried to get past it.

Kimmie came home that night mad as hell.  She pulled up a few videos of me really trying to shit in my baby diaper, and then some from that day when I was supposed to be doing it, but didn’t.  Yeah, even I could tell the difference.  My nose got hooked up to that corner again, this time at an in-between height where I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t get to my knees, all I could do was stay bent over.  Um…yes, I cried horribly again that night and was so sorry for what I had done.  Then Kimmie explained that I was going to spend another week in chastity for it too.  Shit!  Yeah, I had to call the police and put out another missing person’s report on my cock.  Like before, it was simply gone.  I never tried to fool her again and not do the two exercises.  And I even put a bit more effort into them after that.

I got lucky…I think.  Once my baby paci exercise time went over fifteen minutes, Kimmie cut it back to ten minutes each time.  I was so happy, I was starting to try to see myself doing it for hours at a time.  Who was I kidding?  I was already doing it for hours at a time.  I spent my entire day with that paci…baby pacifier in my mouth, unless I didn’t have a baby bottle there instead.  I just didn’t exactly suck on it all the time like Kimmie wanted.  Yeah, I was a real rebel!

I’m not sure exactly when it was, probably around the middle of October, but I was doing nothing but walking across the room when I realized I was peeing, even though there had been no warning at all about it.  Trust me, that shook me.  But not as much as a few weeks later when I was out blowing leaves off the patio, and in the middle of doing it, I realized that I was already in the process of shitting in my diaper, and I hadn’t realized it was going to happen.  I was becoming so used to pushing, trying to poop all the time, that when the real thing came along, my body automatically did it.  I had already realized that the peeing without warning was starting to happen a little more often too, but I didn’t expect the shitting to go that way as well.  Especially not since I was still trying to poop my diaper every half hour.  You’d think it would all come out then, not in between.

Somewhere in there, I started to realize that Kimmie’s boyfriend Kyle was spending more time visiting than before.  I was guessing there was a good relationship growing there.  Kyle, he never really outright laughed at me.  He rarely ever said anything directly to me, but I don’t think I ever saw him without a rather disgusted smirk on his face when he looked at me.  Hey, what could I do about it?  Nothing.  It was his girlfriend that was to blame.

And then came the evening when Kimmie had about four or five of her girlfriends out to the house.  Uh…no sign of Kyle, thankfully.  I tried desperately to spend the entire evening hiding in my room, but that didn’t do me a lot of good.  I figured out very early on that every one of those women knew all about me.  In fact, they all trooped into my room to stare (and laugh) at me, before they finally left me alone to go back to the kitchen and living room to talk…and drink.

Even from the depths of my room, I heard a lot of laughter out there.  I just couldn’t hear what they were talking about.  And I was glad.  No doubt, a lot of it was about me.  But I was old enough to know that after a while, most of it was probably talk about their other friends or teachers, students, and more than likely, a lot of talk about men.  Men that weren’t me.  Was I still considered in that category with other men?  I wasn’t too sure.

When eight-thirty came, I was shocked when Kimmie came into my room, followed by all her friends.  Was I aghast?  Darn right I was.  I wanted to complain, but that stupid baby pacifier was still between my lips.  Right in front of them, Kimmie dragged me into my bathroom where they all commented on the padlock preventing me from opening the door to the toilet.  Then they all watched as Kimmie laid me on the floor, removed my messy and soaked diaper, cleaned me up, powdered me, pulled a thick night diaper up between my legs, and this time followed it up with a pair of pastel pink plastic pants.  Back in the bedroom, she pulled that pretty, but short, nighty top over my upper body.  Then Kimmie said, “We’ll be back at bedtime Gramps.  Enjoy.”

And they all trooped out together.  It had all been almost clinical.  But what it had really been, was nothing more than a bunch of women watching while another woman changed her baby’s diaper and got him ready for bed.  Yeah, that’s the impression I got out of all of it.

When bedtime came, Kimmie was back again to put me into bed.  She kissed me goodnight, and pulled the baby pacifier out of my mouth.  One of her friends handed her the warm baby bottle of milk.  I don’t know which one turned out the light when they left, and I didn’t care.

Was becoming a baby that simple?  Or should I say, was being considered to be nothing but a baby that simple?  Simple?  Maybe I should say it was normal for women like them.  Normal, yeah, that’s the better word.  Babies got treated a certain way, and women knew how that was supposed to be.  Normal baby treatment.

Sucking on the baby bottle of warm milk was comforting.  But was being treated so normally like a baby comforting as well?  That was the conundrum I pondered as the milk in my bottle gradually grew less and less.  When it was done, I put the bottle on my nightstand, ignored my baby pacifier like always, rolled over, and started humping.  To be treated like a baby, as if I really was a baby, and for Kimmie and her friends to all think it was normal.  What would that be like?

In truth, I had no idea.  I couldn’t even fathom it.  Still, I humped away, until I heard a sudden uncontrolled giggle.  I had been so preoccupied that I never heard them sneak into my room.  Yeah, I was embarrassed.  Very embarrassed!  But what could I do about it?  I had been caught.  It took me a long time to go to sleep after that.

And then the entire world tilted sideways.