Gramps - Chapter 24

 

Gramps

By Karen Singer

 

Chapter 24

 

Talking is the key to everything.  Talking is overrated.  Some people talk too much.  Some people don’t talk enough.  There’s a lot to be said for talking.  There’s a lot to be said about talking.  Talking isn’t overrated, but most of the time, it’s useless.

The problem with all those thoughts is that talking is the wrong word.  The wrong concept.  It isn’t talking that’s important, it’s communicating.  Talking isn’t the key to everything, communicating is.  What’s the difference?  Talking just involves flapping your jaws and making noise.  Most of the time, it’s actually useless noise.  Communicating on the other hand is an art, and the biggest difference is that communicating involves listening and actively trying to understand.

Sometimes the person trying to communicate doesn’t know how to say something properly.  They don’t know the words for it, or they can’t put those concepts into words.  Communicating involves trying to read the thoughts and emotions and find those unstated concepts that the person relaying their thoughts is trying to convey.  Communicating is understanding, on both parts.

The day after we got home, Kimmie had to go back to school.  We didn’t really get a chance to talk until she got home that night.  In fact, we didn’t talk until we walked the backyard together again for our daily exercise.

During the day, while she was away, things were back to normal for me.  Kimmie had put me in a skirt and sweater top with blue tights and my black little girl shoes.  I appreciated the comfort of it.  Especially since I was home alone and nobody would be able to see me.  I could…enjoy being myself…a sissy little girl in diapers.  Uh…wet and messy diapers.  And I could really do without the messy part.  But once again my phone was dinging, reminding me to poop, or poop then suck my pacifier for twenty minutes.  It never seemed to end.  In a way, I wished I was back on vacation again.  Some vacation!

When I wasn’t pooping or creating pacifier videos, I walked around the house a bit, looking at some of the new things Kimmie had brought home with us, and not just the few new toys I seemed to have acquired.  We had that new changing mat for me now.  I noticed that there were more baby bottles than we had before.  And in the laundry room I saw a couple of large adult baby sized bibs on top of a pile of baby or little girl looking clothes that I didn’t recognize.  There were also some diapers in the closet that appeared to be just as big as my other diapers, but they were a different brand with different designs.  I had no doubt there were a lot of other things around that I didn’t see yet that the baby shower had brought into my life.

But as I said, the “talking” between Kimmie and I didn’t really begin until after she got home and we walked the backyard together.  I automatically removed my pacifier before we went outside, not only so I could talk, but because it made breathing easier (more like huffing and puffing).

I had noticed Kimmie’s mood since she got home from work, and especially the entire day before.  She had been mostly silent during the long drive, and I had noticed that she had made sure I stayed silent as well.  She even kept me in the backseat for the entire trip so I wouldn’t disturb her thoughts.

“You okay?” I asked once we had turned the first corner in the yard.

“Of course,” she replied.  “Why?”

“Because you seem to be moody lately.  Like you’ve got something on your mind?  Any problems I can help with?”

“No,” she replied flatly.  “I’m fine.”

Which meant that she wasn’t fine.  Communicating.  Reading between the lines.  Remember?  “Are you worried about the family?  Especially what happened on Thursday?”

She seemed annoyed by my question.

“So that’s a yes,” I told her.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told me.  “It’s not a problem anyway.  You saw how well the baby shower went.”

“Yeah.  Much better than I expected.”

“Me too,” she agreed.

“Lots of new stuff.”

I saw a hint of a smile.  “It was…really nice.  And nice of everyone to do that for me…us!”

“I guess it was,” I agreed.

It was a moment before she said anything else.  “That may be the only baby shower I’ll ever be able to have.  That’s why it meant so much to me.”

I considered that and immediately felt sad for her.  “Yeah,” I said.  “So it was extra nice then.  Special.”

“Yes.  Very,” she agreed.

“So what’s got you concerned?”

She shook her head.  “I told you, don’t worry about it?  Babies don’t worry about things like that.  That’s for adults to worry about.  And which one of us is wearing the baby diapers here anyway?”

“That would be me,” I confirmed.

“Darn right…baby!”

Okay.  It was something to do with the family, but she wasn’t ready yet to talk about it.  I tried a different direction.  “Your mother asked me something that kind of surprised me,” I told her.  “I was wondering what you thought.”

“Mom?”

“Mm-hm.”

“When?”

“When she changed me.”

“Oh,” she replied.  “What’s that?”

“She said she was surprised that you didn’t have me calling you Mommy.  Did you want me to do that?  Or were you planning on having me do that?”

She shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I never thought about it.”

“Kind of like you never thought about referring to me in the feminine sense.  Saying she instead of he.”

She considered that.  “Yeah.  Kind of like that.  They’re things I just never thought about.”

“Do I need to worry about them?”

She looked at me as we walked.  “Babies…don’t need to worry about things!”

Which told me she really hadn’t considered those little things yet, and that she hadn’t made up her mind about them.

“Shit!” she muttered softly.  I could see she was more bothered by things than before.  “You calling me Mommy wouldn’t be exactly like my own baby calling me that.  Yeah, it would be nice.  Maybe even fun, but…”

“I’m not your real baby,” I finished for her.

“Something like that,” she agreed.  I just kind of…hijacked you into being my baby instead.”

Hijacked?  Yeah.  It had been something like that.

“But Gramps,” she said.  “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you now like you really are my baby.  Believe me Gramps.  I don’t know any other way to say it except, I love you.  A lot.”

“I love you too, Kimmie,” I told her.  Once again, I felt sorry for her.  She was a woman.  Born to bring a baby into the world.  And she couldn’t.  So she had hijacked me into the position.

I was surprised when she quickly changed the subject.  “I’m going to make some changes,” Kimmie said.

“What?”

“I wasn’t happy that you didn’t keep trying to poop in your diaper all the time during that entire trip.  Why do you think I had you doing it so often before then.  So I’m going to have you do that exercise every half hour again instead of every hour.”

I mentally groaned.

“And the pacifier exercise,” she said.  “I think that will stay every other hour…”

I was glad to hear that part.

“…but I’m going to make that for thirty minutes instead of just twenty every time.”

Ugh!  More time on enforced sucking.

“That means that every other hour you’ll try to poop in your diaper, suck for half an hour, then immediately try to poop again when you’re done.”

Did I say ugh?  Well I meant it.

As we walked, I realized what she was really trying to do with me (communicating, remember?).  She was trying to make doing those things habits.  She wanted to get me to the point where I didn’t even realize I was trying to poop, or trying to pee.  I just did those things without thinking about it.  And as for sucking my pacifier, she wanted me to be pacifier dependent.  She wanted me to actually need that thing.

As I considered all that, I realized that the truth was, I was already at least halfway there.  How often did I pee now the moment I realized I needed to.  And pooping in my diaper was the same way.  Between trying to poop every hour or so, and also whenever the actual need hit me, I wasn’t exactly holding anything very long at all.  Once it started, I was more anxious to get it over with.  How long would it be before I didn’t even realize I was trying to pee, or trying to poop?  Judging by the way I already was, something told me it might not take that long at all.

And what would happen if I did all that and allowed Kimmie to tip me over the edge?  I would most likely be completely incontinent, or close enough that there was no discernable difference.  Did I really want that?  I wasn’t sure.  To dream about it and fantasize about things is one thing, but more often the reality is nothing at all like the dream.  The reality could be nothing but a horror show.

Should I try to argue about it?  Should I try to fight back and resist as much as I was able?  That seemed like the best and most logical course of action for me.  But it took just a bit of thought for me to realize I wasn’t going to do any of that.  I had already done more than enough soul searching in the last few days to make me realize that I was simply too weak-willed to resist.  I would let Kimmie push me over the edge to wherever she wanted me to go.  I was riding Kimmie’s train now to…who knows where.  And I had signed up for the full journey.

The changes to my schedule started that very night.  Just as Kimmie had promised…or rather dictated, she put her new schedule for me into effect.  Every half hour my cellphone would ding, and she immediately “reminded” me to poop.  Every other hour, she not only reminded me poop, but she had me sitting with my cellphone, filming myself doing nothing but sucking that big pacifier.  In just a few hours I was ready to beg to be sent to bed.

And of course, it all continued the next day.  The constant dinging from my phone every half hour drove me crazy.  So did having to sit for thirty minutes and barely move while I filmed my face.  That night though, when Kimmie came home, she had a present for me.

“What is it?” I asked as I looked at the contraption.

“It’s a stand for your cellphone.  Now you don’t have to hold it.  You can just set it up and sit and rest.”

It took only one trial before I was wondering why she hadn’t found me that thing before.  That simple stand was like a lifesaver.  The only problem was that the next day, filming myself sucking like I had to do, I fell asleep in the chair.  Hey, I wasn’t exactly paying much attention to things.  What was there that I needed to pay attention to?  But I guess the boredom of it all got to me and…naptime!  One time I didn’t wake up until an hour later, and it was only when the phone dinged again reminding me to poop.  I realized I had completely slept thought the thirty minute ding before it.

By the following day, pacifier time had become either another naptime, or as I preferred to think of it, meditation time.  The entire exercise had simply become relaxing.  Why shouldn’t it?  Kimmie didn’t seem to care…that is, if she even noticed.  I was betting that she wasn’t even looking at those videos anymore.

Um…I’m backing up here a few days to the second day after we returned from our trip, one of the last few days in November.  That was when Kimmie came up with the next little bit of hell for me.  On the surface, it didn’t sound like much, but trust me, it was.

She was just getting ready to head off to work when she stopped to talk.  “Gramps.  I need you to do something for me today.”

She often had little tasks for me.  Clean the house.  Blow the leaves.  Things like that.  I just looked at her and waited to find out what she thought needed doing now.

“I need you to go to the internet and create a Christmas list for yourself.”

I was shocked.  “A Christmas list?”

“Yes.  But it’s got to be all baby toys.  Make a list of all the baby toys you want for Christmas.  And Gramps.  That list needs to have at least twenty-five toys on it, and every toy has to be for someone three-years-old or under.  And Gramps, I want at least half the list to be toys geared toward girls.  No toys at all that would be just for boys.  Girl toys.  Baby girl toys.  And I’m letting you look for toys for three-year-olds and under instead of two and under because there’s a lot more girl toys to choose from.  Twenty-five Gramps!  And Gramps, make sure you include the internet links on your list so they’re easy to find.  Besides, I’ll be checking them all.”  With a wicked smile, she was gone.

I stared at the empty doorway she had just gone through, her “request” still ringing in my ears.  Baby toys that I wanted to play with.  Baby girl toys that I wanted to play with.  And find twenty-five of them?  There weren’t twenty-five toys I wanted.  There weren’t even five.  In fact, there wasn’t even one!  I didn’t like all the baby toys I already had, and she wanted me to find more?  She was nuts!  Darn woman!

Now what was I supposed to do?  The entire request was ridiculous.  The entire concept of the request was ridiculous.  Make a list.  Toys.  Baby girl toys that I wanted.  Nope!

I heard my phone ding in the background and without thinking I pushed.  I realized I was peeing instead of pooping.  That registered, but barely.  It happened often.  At least nothing else had come out of me…yet.

Absolutely confounded by her request, I headed for my computer.  Darn woman!  Do you know how much internet searching you have to do to find twenty-five toys made for baby girls who are three years old or less?  It’s like mission impossible!  Oh yeah, there are some that popped up in the search links, but the toys weren’t actually made for baby girls.  I sat through the making of two pacifier videos, three baby bottles, lunch, and actually pooping in my diaper twice before I finally “settled” on ten generic toys for super young toddlers.  And trust me, none of them were toys I actually wanted.  Not even close.  But toys for girls that young?  Ha!  At that age, I doubt any babies would actually know the difference between a boy and a girl, let alone what toys they were interested in playing with.  It took me the entire rest of the day before, out of desperation, I filled out my list with some dolls, a toy shopping cart, a riding Barbie something, and a bunch of other nonsense things that looked like they were made for girls.  Ridiculous!  I barely finished before Kimmie came home.

Oh!  But don’t think it stopped there.  Noooo!  Not by a long shot.  The very next morning, just before Kimmie left for work, she was at it again.  Yup!  Here it comes.  Cover your ears if you don’t want to hear this…uh…sorry, you’re reading not listening…I think.  Anyway, she hit me with another one.  “Gramps,” she said before walking out.  “I need you to do something for me today.”

Blow the leaves, clean the house, do the laundry….  At least that’s what I was expecting.

“I need you to create another Christmas list for yourself.

I stared at her in disbelief, which wasn’t anything like I was staring at her a moment later.

I need you to create a list of at least twenty-five different things you’d like to have that are made for either an adult baby, or especially for a sissy baby.  Not baby toys this time, but other baby or even sissy things you want.  And when I say baby, you might want to look at things that are made for adult babies if it’s anything where size might matter.  Also, if you like, you can include any…um…sex toys you might want as well.  Twenty-five again Gramps, just like the baby toys.  And don’t forget the links so they can be found easily.”  With another of her nasty smiles, she was gone.  I wet my diaper right then and there.

Let me tell you, twenty-five items is actually a lot more than anyone might think.  And to make matters worse, it took me no time to realize that I had better find only things that wouldn’t be too humiliating for me.  Why?  Because Kimmie had a nasty habit of taking me out in public dressed in ways that were…questionable.  Is that putting it politely enough?  So for my own sanity, and the sanity of everyone in the world who might possibly “see me,” everything I listed had better be as normal looking and as vanilla as possible.

Yeah right!  With the things she wanted on that so-called Christmas list, I quickly discovered that, like with the baby girl toys, twenty-five items that weren’t overly humiliating didn’t exist.  Like with the toys, five items that weren’t too humiliating didn’t exist.  Nothing that would be too humiliating for me existed at all.  Once again, it was mission impossible.

Somewhere in the middle of my day, I figured out that these lists that she wanted were actually her way of making me actively humiliate myself, both in having to make the list, and then when the time came to actually use, wear, or play with all those things.  That is…if…she actually intended on getting me any of them.  If anything, it was more like she might get me just one or two things from both lists combined.

Uh-oh!  If she was going to get me Christmas presents, then what was I going to get her?  That was the bigger problem, for lots of reasons that are pretty easy to figure out.  Like how was I actually going to go out and get her anything dressed the way I was?

As I searched and searched the huge number of internet sites, I realized that the number of items available for adult babies was both vast and limited at the same time.  Yes, there’s a vast number of items out there, but at the same time, those items fell into a limited number of categories.  There’s really just a lot of variations on the same thing.  Plus, there are things like spiked booties and pacifier gags that fell into several categories at the same time.  But did I want spiked booties or a pacifier gag?  Hell no!  It was bad enough that I had to worry about anything else Kimmie might dress me in.  I didn’t need anything to make my life more miserable than it already was.  Make me more miserable?  Everything I could possibly put on my list was likely to do that.

Several hours later, several baby bottles later, several attempted pooping sessions later, and several pacifier meditation sessions later, I began to think of it all as, what “kinky” dress would I rather wear.  Or what “kinky” baby item would make my life more humiliating.  Those were the choices it seemed to come down to.

With a sigh, and wanting the entire exercise to come to an end so I’d never have to think about it again, I listed one last desperate item just to complete the twenty-five things.  A pair of pink little girl shoes with bows on the toes that actually locked so I couldn’t get them off, kind of like the pink high heels that were somewhere still in my closet that I hadn’t seen in some time now.  The item description had named the shoes, Sissy Trainers.  Kimmie would probably love them just for the item name alone.

That evening, when Kimmie got home, she asked if I had completed the list.  I showed it to her, but she didn’t bother really looking at it.  “I’ll check it later,” she told me.

After all the effort I had put into it, I was disappointed that she wasn’t more interested.  But I had an important question that I needed to discuss with her.  “Kimmie?” I said.

She sighed.  “What?”

“I need to get you a Christmas present.  But…the only time I ever go out is with you, and…”

“And what?”

“And…I’m not going out like this!”

She looked at me strangely.  “Gramps, you always go out like that.  What’s your problem?”

I looked at her in disbelief.  “My problem?  Really?”

She quickly shook her head.  “Gramps!  Stop it.  Think!  You’re a baby!  Not a grown man anymore.  Babies don’t buy anything, let alone Christmas presents.  And since you’re a baby, you don’t need to worry about that either.  You don’t need to worry about anything at all.  Nothing.  Just…enjoy being a baby.”

Okay, so she didn’t want a present from me, but the way she had said it, plus watching her, it didn’t take me long though to realize that once again she had something troubling on her mind.

A little while later, we were again walking the perimeter of the backyard.  It was then that she hit me with it, and it hit me hard enough to hurt…mentally, not physically, although maybe it was physically too.

“Gramps,” she said.  “I think having you try to poop in your diaper every thirty minutes isn’t working very well.”

“That’s for sure!” I greed wholeheartedly.  It really was a nuisance.

“Sorry Gramps,” she said, “but I need you to do it every fifteen minutes instead.”

There was nothing on the ground in front of me, but I tripped anyway.  “Kimmie…  That’s…”

“Sorry Gramps,” she said, cutting me off.  “That’s just the way it’s going to be.  “Every fifteen minutes from now on.”

It was too much, and I was about to tell her how I felt about it, when she suddenly said, “Oh, okay.  We’ll cut it back some.”

I started to breath a sigh of relief.

“Instead of doing it twice each time, you only need to do it once.  But Gramps, you better make sure you do it each time…every fifteen minutes…for fifteen seconds.  Hear me?  And you can start right now!”  She looked at her watch and all I wanted to do was hit her.  She looked over at me.  “I’m waiting.”

Darn woman!

Two minutes after I tried to poop while walking again, she was back with something even worse.  There was no buildup.  No warning.  She just came out and said it.  “Gramps.  I know you’re not going to like it, but we’re going back up north for Christmas.”

I was dumbfounded, horrified, and flabbergasted.  “Kimmie…  No!”

“What say do you have in it?  None!” she shot back quickly.

Trust me, I was going to argue that, but she started talking again.

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “We’re not going to Mike’s house this time for Christmas.  We’re staying home with Mom.  It’ll be just the three of us Christmas Day, although Mom says it’s possible that some of the others may drop by, but she’s not counting on it.  So it will be just the three of us for the week.”

“A week?”

“Yes.  A week.”

I thought about that then asked for confirmation, “But we’re not going anywhere.”

“Not for Christmas.  But Mom is looking for places we can go so we don’t have to sit home every day for that long.”

Places to go.  It would be like all the times that Kimmie took me out shopping.  Showing me off.  Humiliating me in public.  Uh-oh.  And for an entire week.  And then I remembered those two Christmas lists she had made me make.  Were they so she could pass them out to the family?  That baby shower had gone better than she expected.  It gave me a lot to think about, and worry about as we continued our walk.  Too much to worry about.  Once again, we were going up north to see the family, and it was a given that it was going to be a very, very bad idea.  Especially for me.

Just so you know, Kimmie somehow managed to rig my cellphone so it would remind me to poop every single fifteen minutes from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed every night.  Every fifteen minutes.  Before long, I was hearing that annoying little ding in my sleep!  I even heard it during my afternoon “enforced” naptime.  Ding!  Ding!  Another ding!  Another!  It was like the sound from hell.

Oh, and remember all those video cameras in the house?  The voice from nowhere and everywhere caught me by surprise a few times.  “Gramps, the timer went off and I didn’t see you move like you’re trying to do something in your diaper…”

What was she doing, watching me nonstop now?  It sure seemed like it.  The darn woman was trying to make sure I actually did try to mess my diaper every fifteen minutes.  Darn woman!  Darn, darn, darn woman!  I was going to kill her one of these days.

It didn’t take long before I was pushing with every little cellphone sound I heard.  Even when someone’s phone on a TV show rang, I automatically grunted and tried to poop.  Soon, it became so bad that when anything made a noise that caught my attention, I automatically tried to push.  And one day I woke up from my nap and a little while later realized there was a load in the back of my diaper that hadn’t been there before I went to sleep.  How the hell did that happen?

When I complained to Kimmie that the constant dinging reminder was too much, too many times, and it was driving me crazy, she just looked at me with that totally wicked smile and said, “Good!  That’s what it’s supposed to do.  Keep at it.”

Yeah, I really was going to kill her.

Darn woman!  Darn, darn, darn woman!