‘So what’s wrong with a scientist being good-looking?’ Marie asked Mike with a playful pat on his rump as they carried their wine glasses and a carafe to one of the café tables.
‘Nothing,’ replied Mike. ‘It’s just that you don’t exactly fit the stereotype for what you are.’
‘Ha,’ said Marie. ‘Stereotype for what I am? Is that a thirty-eight year old woman, or a scientist?’
‘Well, both. You look great for, well, you hardly even look thirty, and scientists are supposed to have glasses and mousy hair,’ he said, hoping he wasn’t being rude to his new friend.
‘Ha. Don’t forget that we molecular biologists have potions that can alter ourselves to whatever shape and age we want,’ Marie said.
She laughed, enjoying Mike’s inability to take his eyes off her full breasts. The sun was shining, and the view from the café area on the balcony of the hotel was spectacular.
The white wine was delicious, and Marie smiled as she refilled their glasses.
At thirty and being a businessman with limited spare time, Mike was battling to stay trim.
‘You’re not too bad yourself, for a youngster,’ said Marie. ‘I’m actually wondering whether you’re old enough for me to be giving you wine.’
‘Very funny,’ said Mike. ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’m really in shape at the moment, at least not like you. And I’m thirty, as well. Not really young,’ said Mike.
He didn’t really like talking about himself, and took a gulp of the sweetish white wine before tearing his gaze from Marie’s beautiful breasts to stare out over the valley below the hotel.
Marie leaned over and patted the bulge over Mike’s belt.
‘You’re not that far out of shape. That’s just puppy fat. I could have you down to size in no time,’ said Marie.
Mike laughed self-consciously as Marie topped up his wine.
‘Hardly puppy fat at my age, Marie,’ Mike said. ‘I just have trouble staying trim. And I sort of lied. I’ll be thirty-one in a month.’
Marie laughed and Mike stood up.
‘You’re very kind, but you’ll have to excuse me,’ he said, I’m just going to the bathroom.’
Marie smiled, and patted Mike’s rump again.
‘Don’t!’ protested Mike. ‘I’m even fat back there.’
Marie laughed, her clear voice ringing out across the balcony.
‘Oh, you are a baby. You know, I thought it was a nappy,’ said Marie, still laughing and giving Mike’s fleshy bum a squeeze between her surprisingly powerful fingers.
Mike blushed again and hurried to the bathroom where he discovered that, under the influence of the wine and probably the shock of Marie’s unusual and unexpected attention to his body the few involuntary droplets of pee which sometimes found their way into his underpants were a little more than that, and he had quite a damp patch in his crotch. Worse, it had soaked through to his jeans, where a coin sized wet patch could have been embarrassing had his jeans not been still newish and dark blue.
Mike thought about Marie’s thin, skin-tight pants, the low bulge of the broad triangle between her legs filling his mind. There’s confidence for you, he thought, wondering if Marie ever worried about a wet spot down there. Maybe it never happened to women, not that they were a superior race. Then he thought of her wonderful breasts, looking at his own flat chest and comparing it with those big soft globes barely restrained by their bra cups. How lucky girls were, he thought, growing up knowing they would soon have those wonderful things, while boys… Mike stopped the thought. What was wrong with him, he asked himself. Marie, and women in general, were merely different, not better. Marie was just a particularly clever, successful woman, older and he had sadly to admit, taller than he was.
Mike checked himself out in the mirror in the café toilets. He really was a bit overweight, and it wasn’t ‘puppy fat’. He turned slightly to inspect his rear. ‘A nappy’, he thought with another twinge of embarrassment. No-one had ever said that to him before. Mike looked away from the mirror but did a double-take as he saw that the wet spot in his crotch had grown and was now fist-sized.
Sucking in his stomach, he slid his hand beneath his belt and into his underwear. To his horror, he felt not just dampness but real wetness. He couldn’t have flicked himself dry properly, he thought. He wondered for a moment what to do, but there was no choice.
Trying to approach the table and Marie from behind wasn’t possible, so Mike tried to brazen it out, walking quickly towards Marie while attempting to hold her gaze by talking to her.
At last he sat down next to her.
‘What’s the matter, honey? Can’t get your words out quickly enough? I missed half of what you just said,’ Marie said.
‘Oh,’ said Mike. ‘Er, I was just saying that, er…’
It was unbelievable. Mike sat grinning stupidly at Marie’s beautiful, expectant face. He couldn’t remember whatever pointless observations he had been making in his attempt to cover his embarrassment over the condition of his pants.
‘Yes?’ said Marie.
‘I just said…’ continued Mike.
It was no good. His mind was a blank, and all he could think of was his wet pants, where he now felt a strange lightness. It was a very odd feeling, and Mike automatically contracted the muscles of his pelvic floor. The result was a spurt of liquid into his pants, as if he had wrung out a sponge. This was terrible, he thought.
‘Are you ok?’ Marie asked.
‘Yep,’ said Mike. ‘I’ve, er, just got a lot on my mind.’
‘Because you were babbling away like a two-year-old just then, and now you’re stuck for words,’ said Marie, laughing again.
‘Sorry,’ said Mike quickly, swallowing more wine as a distraction.
‘Never mind, baby,’ said Marie, topping up his glass again.
‘Now it’s my turn to visit the little girl’s room,’ she said, pushing back her timber chair and standing up ‘I need to get rid of my own little tummy bulge.’
She looked down and Mike’s eyes followed her hand as she patted the low swell of her tummy below the belt of her tight cream pants. There was no fly or zipper there, just a seam dividing the taut cloth that hugged the curve of her body. Mike eyes went again to Marie’s crotch, suddenly aware that the wine was making his thoughts a little thick and slow.
‘See?’ said Marie, her fingers now resting on her soft pubic mound. ‘I’d have an excuse if I were a mummy,’ she continued without embarrassment.
Mike could have cried out for his own mummy as he felt another spurt in his pants.
‘Back in a minute,’ said Marie.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Mike.
‘Little girl’s room, I just told you, silly,’ said Marie with a smile. ‘I won’t be long, I promise.’
Mike looked around the café deck as Marie disappeared inside. The sun had gone behind a cloud, and he shivered slightly with the drop in temperature. There were only two other couples on the deck, one an older man and woman. The woman looked across at Mike and smiled at him. Mike returned her smile, and shifted in his seat. His soaked pants were becoming uncomfortable, and he looked down, horrified to see that the wet patch was now extended halfway up the fly of his jeans. He could feel that he was sitting on wet material as well, and wondered how on earth he was going to hide his condition from Marie, while at the same time feeling an overwhelming urge to tell her what had happened.
Whether it was his embarrassment at his predicament, or nerves about the possibilities of a relationship with his new friend or whatever, Mike felt the slow rise of panic in his core. He felt short of breath, and he tasted the salt of a tear that had made its way to the corner of his mouth. He wiped his eyes, then felt on his chin a runnel of drool from his half-open mouth. He closed his lips and swallowed, then wiped away the saliva as he looked around for Marie. He couldn’t remember which side of the wide café frontage she had gone into. He looked around the deck again, to meet the kindly gaze of the older lady he had seen before. She was standing up to leave with her husband, and Mike was surprised to see that she wasn’t that old after all, only about thirty-five.
The couple passed Mike on their way out.
‘Here she comes, honey’ said the lady as she passed Mike.
Mike looked around to see Marie returning. He felt a surge of happiness and grinned at Marie as she walked towards him.
‘Hey, what’s the problem, baby?’ asked Marie as she sat down ‘Here, I’ve brought you a treat,’ she added, handing Mike a small cone of soft ice-cream.
Mike had forgotten his concerns. He even forgot that he was sitting in wet pants. He took the ice-cream gladly and licked a big dollop from the top. The cold, sweet taste seemed to infuse his whole body.
‘How’s your…’ he said, trying to remember the polite question he was going to ask Marie.
He was going to ask how her tummy was, but his mind and eyes were now fixed again on her big, soft breasts. He saw them now as if he knew them intimately, without bra, blouse or woollen top; soft and almost white, with almost thumb-sized nipples. He wanted so much to suck on one of those nipples that he could almost cry. He wanted Marie to hold him, to stroke his hair while he sucked and sucked and sucked…
Mike felt himself wetting yet again, but he didn’t make any attempt to stop what was happening. With the sweet ice-cream in his mouth and the warmth of his pee spreading around his bottom, he was almost in heaven. He didn’t stop peeing until his bladder had emptied.
Mike wanted to tell Marie how happy he was, but couldn’t find the words. Then he realised that his tears could do it for him. He looked from Marie’s mesmerizing breasts to her smiling face.
‘Oh, honey,’ said Marie, leaning over to wipe the moustache of ice-cream from Mike’s face.
She saw the tears and looked at Mike with maternal concern.
‘Are you ok, baby?’ she asked.
Mike nodded vigorously.
Marie stood and leaned forward to look down at Mike’s denim pants. She could see by the condition of the elastic waistband that he was very wet.
‘Time to get you home, little one, don’t you think?’ she said.
Mike blinked at Marie through his tears.
Marie helped him up and led him across the café deck.
They passed the remaining couple on the deck, a middle-aged pair enjoying their coffee.
The spreading dark stain at Mike’s crotch and down his thighs told the story.
‘It’s been a long day,’ explained Marie.
‘But you wouldn’t swap it for the world, would you?’ asked the woman, smiling at Marie.
Marie smiled and shook her head, then helped Mike down the steps to the carpark. Mike clambered down them one at a time, sucking the last vestiges of ice-cream from his thumb. Once the ice-cream was gone, he kept sucking, hoping his thumb would transform into a soft, brown nipple.
The middle-aged woman reached across the table and placed her hand on her husband’s as she looked across the carpark, watching Mike waddle along next to Marie.
‘Remember when our girls looked just like that?’ the woman asked her husband.
‘I remember when you were still nursing them,’ replied her husband, giving his wife’s hand a suggestive squeeze. The sight of the young woman’s full breasts had not been lost on him.
Marie helped Mike into her SUV, and settled herself in the driver’s seat. She looked around the empty carpark, then reached into her blouse and unhooked the front of the substantial and less than comfortable nursing bra she wore. She shrugged her shoulders and wiggled from side to side once or twice to settle her breasts comfortably.
Mike called to her from the back seat, wanting more ice-cream.
‘We’ll be home soon, honey, then I’ll change you into a nice dry nappy and you can have your feed, ok sweetie?’ said Marie, starting the car.
Michelle sat in her baby seat, gurgling happily around her thumb and kicking out her short, chubby legs. Realising how lucky she was, she giggled as she pooped into her thick, wet nappy, then began to think about the soft, milky brown teat for which she had no name, but which she knew she would soon be suckling.