Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
Mark is the kind of guy who, when stressed or overly excited (or even when he’s just plain distracted), will forget that he’s potty trained. It happens more than he would ever care to admit, but that’s okay because I always have a stash of clean diapers in my purse. There are always signs when it happens. His face gets red, his voice gets high, and I watch as his shoulders stiffen in that precise way that signals impending doom.
“Oh, honey,” I murmur, grabbing his wrist. “Let’s just go find the nearest bathroom.” There’s really no point in dwelling on it. He’s usually embarrassed enough as it is. The comedy of our lives is rooted in logistics. We cram into the stall. Mark looks genuinely miserable, leaning against the cold tile. “I am so sorry,” he always whispers, mortified.
The Kind of Guy Who Wears Pampers
“It’s fine, sweetie,” I say, pulling out the tools of my trade: a large, absorbent adult brief, wipes, and a travel-sized bottle of baby powder that smells mysteriously like cinnamon. Mark is usually prickly and defensive when this happens in public, but the second I start the cleanup phase, the defenses evaporate. His eyes glaze over, replaced by a soft, dopey look of pure surrender.
The thing is, aside from being an absorbent layer of protection, the clean diaper acts like an immediate, powerful aphrodisiac for him. “The best thing about being totally helpless is being handled by you.” Only Mark could treat soiled underpants as foreplay.
Sometimes, when we’re at home and feeling adventurous, Mark flips the script. He’ll very carefully diaper me, often after a boisterous afternoon of drinks and Mario Kart. I admit, there’s a certain thrill to being the one in the thick and crinkly padding. It’s so erotic knowing that the rules of adulting have been temporarily suspended and I can make as many messes as I want.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
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