"... And that concludes our Valentine's Day episode. You've been listening to The Padded Parasol, where we talk about everything padded from diapers to bodices; bonnets to onesies. Your penultimate adult diaper roleplay and retrofuturist nerd podcast. Whether you are a Steampunk Stinker; or Just a fan of frilly and crinkly things, The Padded Parasol wants to hear from you! I'm your host, Derpy Murphy, and we are at the top of the hour where we take a caller request for a topic for our next show! As you know, our caller request at the end of the night is completely random, so here we go! Random caller, you are on the air, where are you hailing from?"
"Hi. I'm... uh, from Sausalito, California. And I was wondering, could you do an episode on the Victorian history of handkerchiefs and the various codes around that?"
"That is a stupendous suggestion, Caller from Sausalito California. Thank you for your suggestion. I'll get right to work on preparing that episode for you and the rest of our devoted listeners. Until next time, Padded Ones. I'm Derpy Murphy. Good night!"
Taking the headphones from her head, she clicked the radio off the air and sat back in the chair with a heavy sigh. "Ya Allah, I'm so wiped. I have a long drive home and I am not prepared to drive in the snow. Please, please, let me get home safely," she prayed quietly to herself. Her phone buzzed for the Maghrib prayer time and she picked it up to quiet the notification as she read it.
"Yeah, that counts. Better get out there before it really starts coming down and I'm stuck here at the studio for who knows how long til the roads clear."
She went through the motions of locking up the public access radio station studio, signing out and then putting herself on the schedule for next month, determined to do it before they ran out of slots and she had to make the next episode on her girlfriend's laptop.
Derpy Murphy, whose real name was Hafyyda Rahman, got into her SUV and drove as safely as she could home. Walking through the door, she was washed in a wind of heat and warmth. The fireplace was crackling and there was some stew on the cauldron brewing.
One of her lovers was sitting on the couch nearby with a book. He looked up at her, pushing his glasses up on his nose with one hand as the other placed a bookmark between the pages.
"Salaam."
"Salaam, were you waiting up for me, Muhammad?"
"Of course, when have I not waited up for you?" He reached for a very tall stick and used it to heft his body up from his sitting place, making his way over to Hafyyda to embrace her in a hug that naturally moved to a lingering kiss on the lips. It was chaste but intimate. "I can taste the stress on you," he whispered in a raspy voice.
"You're supposed to be feeding from Yusufa this week, is she not taking care of you?"
"Not as well as you do..." He nuzzled his cheek against hers and trembled as a snarl of hunger rumbled from his chest. "I have been trying to hold back. Not be so... demanding, so needy. Reading helps."
"And what are you reading tonight?"
"It is one of Abdul's books, something about spies and intrigue. You know what he likes."
"Where is he? Has he been okay?"
"Still not speaking. He's been on Yusufa's hip all day. I don't know how long he's going to be non-verbal, but he appears to be front-locked."
"Guess we'll find out when he is finally able to switch again."
"If he is able to switch again."
"Inshallah he will, when he is ready. Don't be such a pessimist, Muhammad."
He sighed, sucking in a bit of air through his teeth as he pulled back enough to glance at her face, giving her his eyes. "I cannot help it. When my prana is low I get very negative and pessimistic."
"Stop dry begging and just ask Yusufa directly for a deep feed. She's not good when you drop hints, you know that."
"I don't want her prana. I want yours. You... make me feel better afterward."
"You... said you needed to alternate between us, you said you needed variety."
"I did say that. But maybe I was wrong..."
Hafyyda looked at him and took a deep breath. "Let me get changed. I'm sweating and I have a new show to plan."
"I don't mind you when you're fragrant, you know that."
"If you don't let me wudu before I feed you, you will have indigestion. I am grimy with the wayward energy of the world and... stress of social masking..." She tipped his chin to look down to meet her eyes. "I want to be at my best for you, my sweet, struggling, Shaitan. Don't deny me my little rituals."
"Heard."
"Go back to your book. I'm going to go say hello to Yusufa and Abdul."
With a nod, Muhammad leaned on his walking stick and made his way back to where he had been seated with his book. Hafyyda made her way down the hallway to the bedrooms. There was only one room door that was ajar and from it there was music playing softly.
Peeking inside the bedroom, there was Yusufa sitting upright in bed with her laptop on her lap, working on some lo-fi music album or another. There was a lump of blankets on her leg, and Abdul's face barely peeking out from them. "Salaam," Hafyyda greeted in a whisper.
Yusufa looked up, smiled, then waved her into the room. "Want to listen to what I've been working on?" she asked, her British accent making her words sound crisp, as if they were somehow brand new, just printed fresh as she spoke them.
Hafyyda moved quietly into the room and accepted the headphones from Yusufa and as she put the headphones on to listen, Abdul stirred in his blankets, moving so that Yusufa could feel his pamp against her lower leg, rubbing. She stilled and watched, wondering if he was waking or wondering if Abdul was finally able to switch out and let someone else front for a bit. It had been months.
