For Her Good

Chapter 3: Roseanna

Roseanna was the sort of woman that could make another woman question her gender. Never before had the color pink so suited someone, never before had Mari met a woman who mantled femininity more effortlessly. Roseanna was Mari's age. She worked as a marketing manager for a small tech firm downtown. Her outfits – sport coats and dresses and bright nails – rounded out a presence that belonged on the nightly news. A prim professional in the streets, Hello Kitty in the sheets. Mari almost resented the way Roseanna navigated her presentation; abashedly Barbie without performance for the patriarchy. She was never convinced that Roseanna had ever felt any tension between the male gaze and being strong. She could get lost in The Bachelor and fantasize about the perfect date like a tween half her age. At the same time, she never had any trouble standing up for herself when the server brought her a sandwich that still had pickles when she'd asked for no such thing. But for all of Mari's secret hopes, Roseanna never betrayed an unread proclivity for the bourgeois, never revealed herself to be the secret Whole Foods Karen that Mari projected her to be when they first met.

So Mari, obviously, thought long and hard about what someone like Roseanna, with her life so perfectly packaged and balanced, was really up to.

She texted Sir her thoughts one day, early into their relationship and still months away from diaper Friday.

"I think, if anyone in my life was also an ABDL, it's Roseanna. I bet if I rifled around her room, I'd find a pacifier buried under a blanket or something. There's gotta be something up with her. I mean, all that Hello Kitty?!!"

Mari remembered the day she'd sent that message to Sir. It had been borne of a random thought when she'd been holding her bladder tightly through a long, boring call. She had wanted to go so bad. Thank god she worked at home and could hold one hand between her legs like a timid child, all of her squirming safety concealed outside of the webcam angle on her company laptop. In the end, she dribbled. She even sprayed the seat and the back of her shorts when she finally hung up the call and sprinted to the potty. It had come out like a faucet might after you've been gone on a long vacation. Sideways and sputtering.

And ironically, during any previous time in her adult life, she might have actually been padded and prepared. But Sir had banned her from diapers until the arrangement officially began, and that day had almost compelled her to cheat and buy some herself off Amazon. By then, the cardboard box foreboding her squishy fate had not yet arrived.

Sir took a long time to answer.

Is that your way of trying to knock her down in your mind?

"No way! I wasn't, Sir! I was...I mean you should see her room. She's all grown up one way and then it's just the softest, gayest shit. Like so gay in a girly way, you know?"

Two days ago you were complaining because she gave you a fuss about household responsibilities.

"And I took it like a big girl! You even said I did a good job."

Only after you whined about her riding your ass like a horse and how you weren't the only one leaving dishes in the sink.

"But I submitted eventually."

To me you did. And only because she had you dead to rights on laundry, fridge etiquette, cleaning, noise...

"Okay...but what does this have to do with now? I'm honestly just observing. I've found a crack in her armor, so what? She loves potty humor. And that's part of it. Damn, I had a brother and I've never heard someone say 'farty poopy' like that. I've never met a grown woman who actually makes fart noises, in public, when she's displeased. And I've never met a woman (men, yes) who farts, I'm talking literal farts now, so much in private. We literally call her Toots and it's the funniest because she's like perfect in every other way. And she LOVES to then say 'I think I shit myself.' With that and the Hello Kitty stuff it's all just...I think that girl is deep."