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Doing Business Memorandums II, Episode 3: Pumpkin
🕑 Added 2023-11-10 22:20:03 +0000 UTCCatch up with the Doing Business saga so far!
Pumpkin
1.
Pumpkin asks the same question she always asks when she comes over: “Is she home?”
“Nah,” he answers. “She’s not around that much during the day.”
It bothers him that she asks. Not enough to hold it against her. But does she really think that he’s going to bring his new girlfriend over to the apartment where his ex still lives? The new girlfriend that caused them to break up in the first place? He’s come close to asking her this before, but he’s bitten his tongue each time. It’s easier to just confirm that she’s not there.
She rolls her eyes. “And you’re the one who has to move out?”
“Well, I mean, it’s her apartment.”
He doesn’t mind the concepts of packing and moving. And, in many ways, it’s an exciting time for him. A fresh start; free of the baggage and drama of what came before. It’s an opportunity to have a place to make his own. An opportunity to put roots down in a new neighborhood. New pizza places to order from. New corner shops to buy energy drinks from.
But moving also feels like a loss. He lost the battle, and he lost the war. No matter how good things were for him after this, he’d still be leaving here a loser. And that sucked.
“Didn’t she, like, lose her job?” Pumpkin asks, the question only briefly interrupting the steady sound of her chomping on her gum with her mouth partially open. Sometimes he finds that trait kind of endearing. Sometimes he wants to reach into her mouth and yoink the gum right out of it.
“She did,” he shrugs. “But…I guess she got a new one.”
“That quickly?”
“I dunno,” he says, loading some books into a box. There’s a few other things he could say about that situation, but none of it is for Pumpkin to hear.
Moving has a way of making you rethink all your life decisions up to this point. He’s almost certain that he hasn’t even opened these books in the time he’s lived in this apartment. But he’s not sure he wants to get rid of them, either. What if he wanted to read them a few years from now? And suddenly he didn’t have them? He supposes he could just go online and buy them again–but then who knows what the demand is going to be like. The book could suddenly be a collector’s item, and he’d need to spend $50 just to get a copy of it.
He’ll just load the books into a box and take them with him. It’s easier than finding something else to do with them.
“I bet she, like, hates me,” Pumpkin says as she casually sifts through a pile of his unsorted books on the coffee table.
“She’s angrier at me than she is you,” he says. Though, yeah, she probably hates Pumpkin. Pumpkin is like her antithesis. The kind of person she’d point out and say “God, I hate people like that.”
Maybe that’s what made Pumpkin so damn attractive? Every kiss was an act of aggression against his ex. Well, on top of the fact that Pumpkin was, as he put it to his friends, ‘smokin’ hot.’
“She’s pretty,” Pumpkin says, wandering over to a framed photo on the wall.
He’s surprised it’s still hung up, honestly. There used to be a ton of photos of the two of them around the apartment. Slowly, but surely, they’ve all disappeared. He’s not sure where they went–either destroyed or stuffed into some box, he supposes. He has to assume this photo was just missed.
He steps forward to study the photo. He remembers this moment–they were at a ballgame a summer or two ago. He had awkwardly been trying to take a selfie of the two of them, sticking his arm out as far in front of him as he could so that he could snap a photo of both them and the field too. It hadn’t been working out. An older woman from the row above them offered to take the photo for them.
When he thinks back on that trip–both now and when he had considered it previously–he sees it as the last of the ‘good times.’ Things got rough after that. Or, perhaps, he just started noticing that things were getting rough after that.
“Not as pretty as you,” he says to Pumpkin. He’s not entirely sure he believes that to be true, but it feels like the right thing to say. Any other answer and Pumpkin would probably pout.
Look, Pumpkin’s a lot. He knows this. And for right now, he doesn’t care. Nobody believes that he’s going to be with Pumpkin forever–probably not even Pumpkin herself. He just wants some candy right now–something real sweet and satisfying in the moment. Later, he’ll have a tummy-ache. Whatever. That’s a future-him problem. One he’s done with Pumpkin, he’ll…get a salad.
He’s not sure what that means either.
“How long were you and Linda dating?” Pumpkin asks.
“Lyndie,” he corrects. “Oh, I dunno. Long enough.” He almost laughs. That answer would absolutely piss Lyndie off if she heard it. “You don’t even know how long we were together?”
2.
“Are you smoking again?” Lyndie asks. “You made such a big deal about how you were done with it.”
“It’s not smoking,” he says. “I’m vaping.” Of course, he hears just how silly this argument sounds as the words come out of his mouth. He tries again: “I’m not sure if I’m back on it again or not.”
“I’d rather you didn’t do that in my apartment.” Extra emphasis on ‘my.’ So much emphasis that the word sounds like it was said by a different person altogether.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just, like, water vapor.” He literally has no idea if that’s true or not.
“Whatever it is, it smells. What even is that scent? Bubblegum?”
“Cotton candy,” he says.
“What are you, five?”
“Yeah,” he spits. “I’m a five year old who vapes.” He knows he should just leave it at that, but he can’t help himself: “I’m surprised you’re not turned on by that.”
Fighting words.
“Excuse me?” she spits back. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“Nothing…”
“No,” Lyndie says, shaking her head, hands on her hips. “You don’t get to say something like that and then act like a coward when I ask for elaboration.”
He sighs. He really didn’t want to get into this, and he has a lot of regrets about starting the conversation. But she’s right. The proverbial cat is out of the proverbial bag, and there’s no stuffing it back in.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing these days.”
“What do you know?” she asks. “What do you think you know?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Something about people who dress up like babies?”
Her eyes narrow. “How do you know about that?”
“Did you, uh, forget? My friend Greg Tompkins literally works for the same company you did.”
She grumbles, clearly having forgotten about this little fact. “And what did he tell you?”
“Some guy was wearing a diaper? And you got fired because of it. And I guess a lot of people at the company think there was, like, a whole network of sex-maniacs who kept their assistants in diapers?”
She scoffs and shakes her head. He’s not really sure what to make of that reaction. Is she disputing those details? Or is she just not happy that the truth is out there?
“When are you moving out?” she asks.
His eyes scan the room, taking in the piles of boxes already packed and the handful of half-full boxes that still need to be finished. “I dunno. Might be a little bit yet.”
“Not good enough,” she said. “Give me a realistic date before you go to bed tonight.”
3.
The passenger-side window is rolled all the way down, and the breeze is flowing through Pumpkin’s voluminous brown-red hair as he flies down the highway. He can’t help but look at her and think of a dog with its mouth open and tongue hanging out as it sticks its head out the window.
Too, he’d like to hear the radio and he can’t, over the sound of the wind whooshing in.
“I’m going to be finished moving this weekend,” he says to her, his voice on the verge of sounding like yelling. “Everything’s all packed up. Just got to get it on the truck and take it over to the new place on Saturday.”
“Cool,” she says. That’s it. No follow up questions or commentary.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“Nah,” she says, her hand waving like she’s brushing the very idea away from her body.
“You don’t have to, like, help move things. You can just be moral support.”
She offers a noncommittal “Hrm.”
“You should at least come over and help me christen the place. Some kitchen-counter sex? Sex in the shower? Sex in the…pantry?”
She seems a little more interested now. “Yeah? That might be fun.”
4.
It’s just about over. The end of an era. The boxes are packed and stacked up. The truck has been reserved and will be in his possession first thing in the morning. He’s got a friend or two coming to lend a hand.
No word from Pumpkin yet regarding whether or not she’ll be stopping by so that she can get fucked on his kitchen counter–but he’s made a mental note to text her about that in the morning.
The only thing left to do is to sleep. One last sleep in this apartment.
As if he could sleep.
He’s feeling restless. Regretful, possibly.
Lyndie is somewhere in the apartment–probably in her room. He wants to talk to her. There’s things he wants to tell her. Things he wants to apologize for. He’s realistic enough to know that it wouldn’t change anything–he’d still be moving out and they’d both be moving on. But he’d like to think that there’s a world where his words would at least help to mend some of the damage that’s been done over the last few months.
Venturing out into the kitchen, he surveys the situation. He decides that if he sees her, he’ll talk to her. If she’s not around–he’ll just get a glass of water.
He just gets a glass of water.
Maybe it’s for the best. Some of the things on his mind are probably better left unsaid.
5.
Pumpkin is lying face-down across the kitchen counter, and her legs dangle off the edge–unable to touch the ground. Her pants and panties are in another room. Her bra is still under her shirt, but it’s been unclasped and now serves only to get in her way. The sounds of her moaning seem to fill every empty nook and cranny of the new apartment–not hard, considering barely anything is unpacked yet.
He likes that she’s loud during sex. Sometimes, he wonders if it’s a little too loud. Now is one of those times. How thin are these walls? What are his neighbors like? Is he going to get some awkward stares next time he walks out the front door?
He should be thinking about Pumpkin. That ass, built by yoga and morning jogs. That immensely pullable hair. Her absolutely perfect skin. It’s all right there in front of him as he thrusts himself in and out of her.
He’s thinking about Lyndie. Sort of. He’s not imagining himself fucking Lyndie–that’d be pretty hard, considering how different Pumpkin feels. He wouldn’t be able to explain the difference, only that there is one.
In a blind fuck test, I’d be able to tell them apart.
He’s thinking about diapers. Sort of. He made some shitty comments about it to Lyndie the other day, but it was only because he felt backed into a corner and needed to lash out. In all honesty? The part about all those rumors that bugged him the most was the idea of Lyndie being into some weird fetishes.
He has weird fetishes. Fetishes he keeps to himself because he assumes she wouldn’t be interested. Maybe if he had just given her a little credit, she would’ve dressed up like a nurse and had taken his temperature via his ass. Maybe she’d have used nipple clamps on him. Maybe she’d have put a collar around his neck and made him crawl around like a dog.
Diapers. Very interesting. Maybe he’d have given that a whirl too–if that was what she was into.
“Pumpkin? Would you dress up like a nurse if I got you a costume?”
“Is…oof…that what you’re…uhh…into?”
“Maybe.”
“Get me a costume,” she says.
“What if I want to wear a…unh…collar and a leash?”
“Oh! Like a…uhm…uhhhff…dog?”
“Yeah.”
“Get a leash,” she says.
He doesn’t like how easy that was.
He can’t believe he’s going to ask this, but he figures he’ll never know if he doesn’t ask. “What about a…”
“Just fucking buy it and show me later,” she barks. “Can you just worry about making me cum right now?”
6.
It is the weirdest feeling in the entire world to have to knock on the front door of what used to be your own home.
“Coming,” says her muffled voice from the other side of the door.
Lyndie looks good, he thinks. Maybe she lost a little weight, but he’s not even sure that’s what it is. It’s like she just seems a little more…perky? She’s got this energy about her.
Is she just happier?
That’s a punch in the gut. He can’t help but think that she’s just doing better because he’s not in her life anymore.
“Thanks for dropping by,” she says, waving him inside. “It’s not a lot–just a few odds and ends.”
He didn’t think he was missing anything, but then he got a call that he left a few things at the old apartment. Lyndie offered to ship it to him, but that seemed silly when he could just swing by and pick it up one day after work.
It had only been a few weeks since he moved out, but he thought that when he stepped through the door, the place would still feel like home to him. It did not. In a relatively short amount of time, everything had changed. There was new furniture. New decorations. A new TV. And even with the things that he recognized, he found that they were in completely different places now. The apartment doesn’t even smell the same anymore. He can’t put his finger on what it smells like–but it’s nothing he remembers from when he lived here. This wasn’t his home, nor would it ever be again. To be expected, but he still didn’t like it.
Still, he has a social obligation to say: “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Yeah?” she smiles. “Thank you. Ava and I have been working hard to make it our own.”
“Ava?”
“My friend? Roommate? I’m sure I’ve mentioned her to you before.”
He doesn’t remember mention of an Ava. Then again, she probably doesn’t remember him telling her about the new strings he had bought for his guitar. “Oh yeah-yeah-yeah. I remember you talking about her.”
“How’s things at your new place?” she asks. He can’t tell how genuine she’s being. She seems friendlier than he expected her to be. Is it just for the sake of getting through this moment without a fight? Or has her spirit really just improved this much?
“It’s good,” he shrugs. “Still have a few things to find a place for, but it’s good.”
“Are you still with, uhm…” her voice trails off for a moment while she thinks about it. “I’m really sorry, that’s rude. I can’t remember her name.”
“Pumpkin,” he immediately answers. He wishes he hadn’t done that.
“Wait…really?”
He bites his lip. “Uh…well. It’s actually Paige, but…”
Her expression changes in a moment and her lips slowly melt into a frown. “You…used to call me Pumpkin. Remember?”
“I know, I know…”
Just as quickly, she shakes it off and starts to smile again. “Well…best of luck to the two of you.”
He’s pretty sure it’s not entirely genuine, but so it goes.
“Your stuff is over there in the box,” she says, pointing to the coffee table. “Just a few books and DVDs.
He doesn’t want today to end like this. He was really hoping that he’d find a way to bury the hatchet and lay the foundation for some sort of friendship. The chances of that happening now seem nil.
There’s another voice from elsewhere in the apartment: “Okay, the bathtub is full!”
He’s not sure what to make of the voice. Or, for that matter, what the voice said. Is she babysitting a little boy or something?
“Was that…Ava?” he asks.
She shakes her head. She turns around for a moment to face the hallway–yelling towards the bathroom: “Okay, I’ll be right there! Go ahead and get in.”
He opens his mouth to ask who it was then, but stops himself. It’s not his business.
“He’s a friend,” Lyndie says, reading his thoughts.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
It dawns on him what the apartment smells like. A baby. It reminds him of when he was younger and his siblings were still in diapers. The creams and the powders and the diapers…those scents always seemed to linger.
“Does, uh, he live here too?” he asks.
“He’s just visiting,” she says.
“Alright, well, I should probably get out of your hair…”
“Thanks for picking up this stuff,” she says. “And tell Pumpkin I said hi.”
He sighs. As tempting as it is to make some snarky comment right back at her–something about her visitor and diapers–he steps off of that ledge. “Actually, can I ask you something?”
She looks skeptical. “Okay?”
“One of my biggest regrets was just assuming that I always knew how you felt about something instead of talking to you. Over time, I think I created this version of you in my mind that I was resentful towards. It’s probably what contributed to me making some dumb decisions.”
“Like cheating on me with, uhm, Pumpkin?”
He shrugs. “Yeah… Like that.”
“So what was your question?”
“Right, well… Let’s say I had been more upfront with you about the things I thought you were going to dismiss. Like, uh, in the bedroom. Do you think that if I was more open about what I wanted…there’s a world where I’d be in the bathtub waiting for you right now?”
Her eyes widen and she laughs as she shakes her head in disbelief. “Really? That’s what you want?”
“It didn’t have to be that,” he says, his hand pointing in the direction of the bathroom. “I just mean, like, how open would you have been if I told you about the things I’m into?”
“When I’m finished giving Bradley a bath,” she says, smiling to herself as if just the thought of it thrills her still, “I’m going to put him in a big thick diaper. I think you’d be surprised what I’m willing to do for someone I care for.”
He sighs. “Yeah, fair enough.”
“If you want my advice? Just tell people what you want. Let them be the ones to tell you how they feel about it.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Oh,” she says. “I have one more thing for you.”
He waits as she wanders out of the room with a smug smile on her face. He can’t imagine what else there’d be. He’s pretty sure that whatever is in this box is already stuff he didn’t know he owned. If the entire thing was tossed in a dumpster and he was never told about it, would he even notice?
She returns a minute later, carrying a single object. He knows what it is–it’s a diaper.
“Wait, why are you giving me a…”
“You sounded curious,” she shrugs, tossing it into his box.
His instinct is to deny this, but what does it matter? He’s leaving with the last of his stuff. And, clearly, Lyndie has moved on. He’d be surprised if they ever talked again.
“Thanks.”
7.
He’s pretty sure that Pumpkin is seeing other men. Her phone is almost always illuminated and vibrating, and she’s becoming less and less available. In fact, she only seems interested when he’s either paying for dinner or when he’s fucking her. And while he likes those things, he also just wants someone that he can watch TV with or go shopping for bedsheets with.
He’s not even mad about it. He knew from the start that Pumpkin wasn’t a viable long-term option–she was just a pit stop on the route to the next chapter of his life. An incredibly horny pit stop that chews its gum too loudly.
It’ll be interesting to see which happens first, he thinks–Pumpkin finally rotating him out of her schedule completely, or him telling Pumpkin to get lost.
He wouldn’t mind getting a few more nights out of her first.
“I have to work late tomorrow,” she says, kicking her snifter of brandy back like it was a shot.
“Oh.” It occurs to him that he doesn’t even remember where she works–or he might have assumed she just doesn’t work. Either way, he doesn’t believe this for a moment.
“Just sayin’. I probably won’t be by tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” he shrugs. “You’re here now.”
Soon, she’s on her back on the bed–legs up in the air and most of her clothes resting in a pile on the floor. They didn’t even kiss this time. It’d be hard for the sex with her to be bad, though this is probably the worst it’s ever been. There’s just no passion. She seems disengaged and distracted. He’s thinking about the likelihood that he’ll end things with her tonight.
He’s also thinking about that diaper. He could save it for another day. Another woman. But maybe this is the time to take a stab at it. Whether Pumpkin ends up being uninterested or disgusted–it won’t matter, because they won’t have to see each other again.
“Hey,” he says. “Remember when we were talking about kinky shit the other day?”
“Mm,” she hums, sounding like she may not be entirely in the same place as he is. Who’s fucking her in her imagination right now?
“So, I got this diaper…”
Her eyes open, and her hips stop gyrating. Their bodies seem frozen, like someone sculpted a single moment of the two of them fucking. “Diaper?”
He bites his bottom lip. This was probably the worst time to bring up such a strange thing, and he’s already started this conversation in the strangest way possible.
“Do you have, like, a problem?” she asks, picking up the beat that he dropped.
“No, no. It’s like a, uh…” He realizes he has no idea how to actually convey his curiosity.
“Oh,” she says. “Like…you want me to wear it? Are you into that?”
Hmm. He hadn’t considered that. In his attempts to daydream about diapers thus far, he had only imagined himself wearing the diaper. But perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong. Maybe it would be sexier if he was the ‘daddy?’
“Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Is that, uh, something you’d be into?”
“Uhm…maybe? Tell me more about it.”
Jesus Christ. He barely knows how he’d explain it to himself, let alone someone else. Of course, she doesn’t know anything about it either–maybe he could just bullshit his way through this?
“You’d, uh, be my little girl,” he says. “Maybe I’d…inspect your panties when you come over. And I’d find that they weren’t clean enough.”
“My panties are always clean,” she says.
“Okay, right. But…we’re, like, roleplaying here.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding. “Okay. So…my panties are, uhm, dirty? And then what?”
“And maybe I say something about how if you can’t keep your panties clean, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing them at all.”
To his surprise, Pumpkin’s body seems to be in motion again. Like a locomotive, slowly leaving a station, he can almost see the signals traveling through her body as her hips start to grind on his still-embedded cock again. “Go on.”
“And, well, I’d have to remind you that you’re not the big girl you think you are…”
“H-how would you do that?”
“A…spanking? Yeah. A spanking. I’d have to put you over my knees and spank you.”
“Like a little girl,” she says. A moan escapes her mouth as both of our bodies start finding their rhythm again.
“And when we’re done, I…uhm…couldn’t let you wear panties anymore.”
“No…” she whispers. “I’d just make ‘em dirty…”
“So you’d have to wear a…”
“...diaper.” She practically melts into the bed, releasing a prolonged “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh…”
It’s safe to say that she’s into this idea. She might even be more into it than he is.
He’s tempted to grab the diaper right now. But, he can’t leave this. They’ve got something good going on. Not just good. This might actually be the best sex they’ve ever had–and they’ve had some very very good sex.
“Fuck me, Daddy.”
How does one respond to that? “Okay, sure.” He just continues thrusting himself inside of her–eager to see which of them pops first.
“I’m your little baby girl,” she says, her eyes tightly closed. “Bobby, tell me I’m your little baby girl!”
“Bobby?”
She opens her eyes. “Fuck.” She is, clearly, not looking at Bobby.
There’s a part of him that is tempted to just keep going. Whatever. We knew this thing was going to self-destruct soon anyway. Might as well finish what we started. But the reality is that there’s really no coming back from the wrong name being uttered during sex.
She’s done too. Maybe too ashamed of herself, or maybe she’s disappointed that she wasn’t actually being regressed by whoever Bobby was.
Neither of them say much to each other. Pumpkin grabs her clothes and goes into the bathroom to put them back on. She’s never done that before when getting dressed–and feels like the most definitive proof that things are over now.
He’s not mad. He’s not sad. Sure, he wishes he could’ve spent a few more minutes elaborating on his fantasy until he blew his load–but it’s nothing he can’t take care of himself, later.
He gives her some time and space, returning to the kitchen where he pours himself some more brandy. This, he convinces himself, is a good thing. A true starting point for his new life. No more Lyndie. No more Paige. No more Pumpkins.
“I’m sorry about that,” she says, finally emerging from her bedroom. Aside from her hair looking a little tousled, she looks as fantastic as she did when she first showed up tonight.
He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”
What else is there to say? They offer some half-assed goodbyes and then she’s gone.
8.
As fun as the ‘daddy scenario’ sounds, he sees an opportunity now that he has his own apartment and all the privacy he could ever ask for. Maybe he ought to just give the diaper a whirl. See what happens.
He returns to the bedroom, spotting the box of junk he had taken home from Lyndie’s. He hasn’t bothered going through its contents yet. Even the diaper had remained there–sitting on top of everything else. Waiting for him.
Except…it wasn’t there when he peered into the box. Everything else was there. The books. The pair of socks. The random baseball hat. A coffee mug.
But no diaper.
For a moment, he came close to entertaining the idea that he never actually had a diaper–that last moment in Lyndie’s apartment had just been an elaborate dream. A fantastical daydream.
No, he knew where it was. The box set atop the dresser, which was right next to the bathroom door. When Pumpkin–Paige–came out of the bathroom, she probably had a perfect view of the diaper sticking out of the top of the box. And, thinking about the little fantasy that she had gotten sucked into during sex, she grabbed it.
And now Bobby–whoever the fuck that was–was going to have the time of his life as he took care of his new little girl.
Whatever. He’s mad about it, but not mad enough that he’d let it derail the newfound sense of peace he was experiencing.
He’s single. In a new place. With an infinite number of curiosities to explore.
There’ll be other Pumpkins.
He’ll be just fine.
Comments
Ruby Teagan
I love a messy breakup, as long as it feels real... and WOW did this one deliver.
Paul Bennett
Not sure how I feel about this particular memo. I mean it was definitely a different and unexpected perspective; so that was good. However, I can't help a bit of sympathy for Lyndie' ex. I mean sure he had great sex, but he didn't even get to diaper Pumpkin. Glad, he has a new lease on life though. I do want to add that you have a wonderful knack of writing characters and their development. Thanks QH for all the stories.
