Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers

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Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
Date Published: January 16, 2015, 5:41pm
Written By: SallyKAT

Hi
Here is another story. I know I have two unfinished stories on this board.i do apologise - my damned job and a few other responsibilities have been sucking up my spare time. Sometimes, when I have a bit of a break from writing, I find it hard to get back in the groove. This is my attempt to do that. So, for anyone reading the other stories, I promise I’ll get back onto them. Meanwhile, here is one that sort of stands alone. I might continue this one too, if anyone thinks it’s worth it.
Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers.
“Honey, I know you’re unhappy about this, but there’s no need to sulk.”
Millie turned to Steve, her husband of six years as she drove through the suburbs to their doctor’s appointment.
Steve glanced across at his wife, then returned to gazing out the window at the neat, middle-class houses flickering past.
“Steve?” Millie continued. “This is exactly why we are going to see Janet. You can’t simply ignore your problem. It won’t go away by itself. In fact it’s getting worse.”
“It’s not getting worse,” Steve said grumpily.
He was not unhappy. He was damned annoyed. Millie had taken it upon herself to turn a minor issue into a big deal. She had not only involved bloody Janet Freeman, but her sister and her mother as well. ‘We all think you need some professional intervention’, she had said last night. ‘We all think…’. Well what if Steve didn’t think, he asked himself. Christ, he knew guys who were alcoholic, and their wives put up with it without ganging up and dragging them to the doctor. 'For better or worse, wasn’t it? So what if ‘worse’ was the occasional damp bed, or a bit more washing? She was overweight, anyway. When did he ever suggest she might seek ‘professional intervention’ about that?
“Here we are,” said Millie as she swung the car into a busy looking carpark. “And Steve, I want you to behave in here, OK?”
‘Behave,’ Steve thought to himself. ‘I’m not a child.’
“What do you expect me to do? Throw something?” he asked testily.
“I wouldn’t be surprised, actually, Steve,” Millie replied, pulling into a vacant spot. “I’ve known five year olds with the same problem who are better behaved than you.”
“Fuck off,” said Steve.
He intended to glare at Millie but all he saw was her jeans-clad backside getting out of the car.
Millie was looking across the roof of the car as Steve stood up.
“Steve, I won’t have that,” she said. “You can swear at your computer game, but I won’t have you swearing at me. Now I want an apology,” she demanded, staring at him.
Steve knew from experience that arguing with her was a lost cause. He would apologise, but only as a tactical move. It wasn’t backing down, it was just avoiding a lecture later.
“OK, Millie,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what, Steve?” she asked, still staring at him.
Steve looked away.
“OK, for swearing at you,” he said.
Millie continued looking at him for a moment, then turned and walked towards the clinic.
“Steven Mitchell for Dr Freeman, 3 o’clock,” Millie said to the immaculately dressed receptionist in the foyer.
“Thanks, Mrs Mitchell,” the receptionist replied, “Please take a seat in the waiting area.”
The receptionist smiled at Steve as he followed his wife into a large area across the hall from the reception desk. It had once been a room of a house, and still had a fireplace in it. There was a low, magazine covered table in the centre and what we’re probably meant to be calming works of art on the wall. Steve sat down next to his wife and looked at the selection of leaflets on the old mantelpiece. He stopped when he saw one called ‘Boss of the bladder’ which featured a smiling young boy on the front.
Already in the room was a young woman with an unhappy looking, heavily diapered toddler, whom she was trying unsuccessfully to amuse with a series of toys from a plastic crate on the floor by her feet. Next to her sat an older woman with her daughter. The girl looked about ten, and didn’t seem to want to be there either. Join the club, thought Steve. The girl got up and went to the window. Her somewhat full dress had ridden up somewhat from the girl being seated, and Steve was surprised to see that the girl was wearing what could only be a thick diaper beneath a full panty. Steve looked away to catch a glance from the girl’s mother, who called her over and tugged down on the hem of her dress.
Steve got up to see if there were any magazines of interest on the table, but felt the familiar twinge between his legs, and sat down again. He hoped nothing had happened, but it was hard to tell sometimes. He squeezed his legs together to make sure. He wished he hadn’t lied about needing to go to the bathroom when Millie had asked him before they left for the clinic. That was typical of her. He probably would have gone if she hadn’t asked him.
“Steve?” asked Millie in a loud whisper, “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, I’m fine,” he replied.
He risked spreading his legs a little, but jerked them back together as he felt another pulse.
Millie stood up, and crossed the hall to the receptionist’s desk.
“Excuse me,” she said, “Can you tell me where the bathroom is? My husband needs to use the toilet.”
Steve felt himself blushing as everyone in the room looked at him.
Millie had taken a few steps towards him.
“Steve?” she said.
It was the way she said it. Sort of like a command. Steve wanted to get out of the room full of eyes anyway. He stood up.
“I was just going to ask,” he said unconvincingly, looking at the floor.
“Second door on the right down the passage, sweetie,” said the receptionist with a smile as Millie’s hand guided Steve along the first few steps in that direction.
Steve felt his anger rising. It wasn’t just that Millie had ignored what he said, then asked the receptionist in front of everyone. The most embarrassing thing, the most condescending thing was that she had to put her hand not on his back, but on his bottom to guide him down the hallway. Not that she needed to touch him at all, thought Steve as he opened the door to the bathroom. He felt another slight spasm, followed this time by a definite spurt.
He shut the door and dropped his pants as quickly as he could before sitting on the toilet. That was Millie’s doing as well. Years of her complaining about his splashing, and making him sit to pee, at least whenever she was in the bathroom as well - back when they shared bathroom and shower time - had become ingrained in him. He even sat at work, or did, before the business closed. Now he was sure she listened at the door to see if he was sitting or not.
While he sat, peeing with relief, Steve inspected his underpants. They were wet in front, as he expected, but his trousers were dry. It’s a good thing he wore loose clothes. Millie was in the habit of buying them for him as well. Not that he cared, but she did favour the loose look for him. Meanwhile, she usually bought the tightest pants she could for herself. It drove Steve mad. Millie was slightly chubby, and her generous curves were accentuated by, for example, the tight jeans she had on today. There was no way she could leak a little bit and get away with it, thought Steve.
It had been six months now since Steve had stopped working. His old bogey of bedwetting had returned at about the same time as he had realised that he was going to find it hard to get another job with his now outdated skill set - at least not another job in the area, anyway.
The first time he had woken up wet, both he and Millie were shocked. When the event became weekly, then every night or so as it had been recently, Millie had insisted on one of her ‘serious talks’. This resulted, as usual, in Steve pouring out his woes to her, and learning little about hers in return. He wished he hadn’t admitted his youthful struggles with bedwetting, details of which were duly passed on to Millie’s overbearing mother, giving her another reason to dislike the ‘childish idiot’ who had prevented her daughter from finding a better husband.
Steve began to feel quite emotional as he recalled his mother-in-law calling him that to his face. It wasn’t fair.
The door opened,and Millie put her head around it. Of course, she didn’t knock.
“We can go straight in when you’re done. It’s the door across the hall,” she said.
Millie looked at her husband, sitting on the toilet and looking miserable.
“Are you crying, Steve?” she asked.
“No!” said Steve emphatically. “I just don’t want to be here, that’s all.”
“Steve,” Millie went on, in a more severe tone, “did you have an accident?”
“No I didn’t!” Steve replied, quickly standing and pulling up his pants and underpants together.
“Well… hurry up then,” said Millie and withdrew her head, leaving the door ajar.
Steve did up his fly and belt, and left the bathroom. The door across the hall was open, and Steve went in to find Janet Freeman and Millie in conversation at the doctor’s cluttered desk.
Janet Freeman was not Steve’s usual doctor. He and Millie usually saw one of Millie’s old school friends who had recommended this Janet Freeman as some sort of expert in Steve’s ‘problem’, the one that everyone in the place now seemed to know about.
“Hi Steve,” Dr Freeman said cordially. “Sit down over here and make yourself comfortable. Millie has been filing me in on some details of what’s bothering you.Perhaps now you could tell me in your own words what’s been happening.”
Steve wondered what Millie had told this woman.
“Well,” said Steve, “I suppose you mean, well, wetting the bed sometimes.”
“I do,” replied the doctor. “Can you tell me about it? You can call me Janet, by the way.”
Steve cleared his throat. He was glad he’d just been to the bathroom. He had the terrible feeling that he got when he found himself in trouble. As a child, on these occasions, he would usually wet himself. Even as an adult he found stress often led to damp underpants, but he was able to control that, more or less. Now, he thought gratefully, there wasn’t much left to pee anyway.
“Erm, well, a few months ago, after I lost my job, I had one or two times when I, erm, wet, during the night,” he said, glancing first at the doctor, who regarded him steadily, then at Millie, who’s look he couldn’t quite fathom.
“One or two,” repeated the doctor. “Now, after the first time, how long was it until the second episode?”
Steve thought for a moment.
“I’m not sure. A while. A month?” said Steve.
“One week,” interjected Millie.
“I see,” said Janet. “Thank you Millie. And after that?”
“A while,” said Steve.
He didn’t want to contradict Millie directly. She was an accountant, and was usually spot on with dates and numbers. The women watched him expectantly. Janet was wearing a skirt and had her pantyhose clad legs crossed. She stroked her knee with the back of her pen.
“It was four nights later, then on average, every three nights after that for two months,” Millie said calmly.
The doctor looked at Steve.
“Is that right, Steve?” she asked him.
Steve felt a rush of blood to his head. He stood up angrily.
“This is stupid. I want to go home!” he shouted.
“Steven!” Mollie said in a shocked voice.
Steve turned to the door, but Janet was on her feet in a moment and took him firmly by the arm.
“Sit down, please Steve. We’re trying to help you,” she said.
Steve looked at the doctor, then at his wife. They were in this together, obviously, just like Mollie and her wretched mother and sister. He overcame his urge to flee, knowing that if he did, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Sit down, Steve!” the doctor commanded in a clear voice.
Steve sat immediately, cursing how obedient he must seem. He sat, full of pity for himself, while Mollie continued with her timetable.
“I see,” said Janet. “And when did the daytime wetting start?”
That got Steve fired up again.
“They were accidents!” he said, blinking as tears began to form in his eyes.
He felt Janet’s hand softly on his knee.
“Shh, honey,” she was saying. “I want you to tell me about your accidents. Can you do that for me?”
Steve, still blinking, looked at her. She was smiling. Maybe she wasn’t such a bitch after all, he thought. He hadn’t had many warm smiles like that from Mollie lately.
“Just sometimes,” he began, “When she won’t stop the car, or if I’m waiting for her to unlock the door, or if she’s in the bathroom…”
“Yes, I see,” said Janet. “Those do sound like accidents. And what if Millie isn’t around, what about then?”
Janet glanced at Millie, then back at Steve, who was looking at his hands in his lap.
“Just sometimes, if I’m busy, or if, you know, I leave it a bit long,” he said, then was quiet.
“Of course,” said Janet. “And they’re just accidents too, aren’t they?”
Steve nodded. It was hard to figure out if he should be agreeing with Janet or not. He did have daytime accidents, but they were just that. He didn’t actually wet himself in the daytime. At least this doctor agreed with that.
“Good,” said Janet. “Are you finding this difficult to talk about, Steve?”
Steve nodded again.
“I thought this was just a checkup,” he said, still looking at his hands.
“And so it is, Steve, but I need to know a bit about what’s going on, too,” Janet said. “Now, would you like something to drink?”
Steve’s mouth was dry, and he felt quite churned up inside. A drink would be good, he thought. And the doctor was being nice.
“Yes please,” he said.
“Right,” said Janet, going to a small fridge in the room. “It’s raspberry flavoured,” she added as she poured clear red liquid from a bottle in the fridge into a plastic cup before offering it to Steve with another kind smile. Steve smiled and took the cup. He took a sip. It wasn’t bad. He took another few swallows, draining the cup.
He felt much better without a dry mouth, and licked his tongue around his lips.
“Any more?” he asked.
Janet laughed. It was a lovely, silvery laugh.
“No,” she said, “One cup is enough.”
Steve sat for a few moments, studying his hands again. He began to feel slightly light headed, but quite happy. Janet watched him, then reached out and took his arm, gently this time.
“Steve, I’d like you to rest in here for a few minutes,” she said, helping him up and guiding him through a door on one side of her office. Inside was a small room with a chair and a narrow bed quite high of the floor.
“Can you pop up here for a few minutes?” Janet asked him.
“Sure,” said Steve. “You’re very nice,” he added on impulse, giving Janet a grin.
The doctor laughed again, and left Steve lying comfortably on the examination bed.
“Just lie back and think of something you like doing, honey,” said Janet. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Steve grinned again.
“Thank you Janet,” he said as she closed the door.
Janet turned to Millie.
'Wow," said Millie. “Talk about oil on troubled waters. What’s in that?”
“A few things,” said Janet. “He was really having a hard time, and he’s in denial obviously, as you said. It’s a drug which helps people relax. It makes it easier for them to talk more openly about things which, well, like his wetting. It works something like sodium pentothal, the ‘truth serum’. Now, from what you told me on the phone, he’s at a stage where we need to make some decisions. I’d like him to come to those decisions himself, and that’s where the drug will help. He will be able to remember, in a way, making the decisions himself, and his commitment to any treatment will be that much stronger for that.”
Millie smiled.
“That sounds good, Janet. Is there some drug he can take for the condition, the wetting, though?” she asked.
“If it were just enuresis, I’d say yes, Millie, but the extent of the problem as you described it, and his reactions when I asked him about it, indicate to me that there is likely to be a psychological element to this as well. In any case, most of the enuresis medications on the market have side effects, or they can cause problems when the treatment stops. I think while we’re sorting out any psychological aspects to this, it’s best simply to manage the symptoms while we keep talking to him, and you keep observing.”
“We’re using the waterproof undersheet you suggested,” ?Millie offered.
“That’s good,” said Janet, “But how do you find that?”
“I don’t like it much, but it’s better than ruining the mattress,” said Millie. “Anyway, he sleeps in the spare room most nights now, anyway. We even call it ‘his room’. He calls it that, too.”
“I see,” said Janet.
She paused.
“I’ll just look in on our patient,” she said, and went to the door.
She opened it a little.
“How are you going in there, honey?” she asked. “All good?”
“All good, thank you,” Millie heard Steve reply.
He certainly sounded calm and relaxed.
Janet closed the door quietly.
“As I was saying, Millie, I think we need to deal with the symptoms while we investigate any psychology behind this,” she said.
Millie returned her gaze.
“What do you suggest?” she asked.
“Well, it seems clear that he doesn’t have a realistic idea of his condition,” Janet said. “You said he wets every night now, and most days as well. So he’s really quite constrained socially, or he would be, if he socialised. You said that his only outings now are with you?”
“More or less,” Millie agreed.
“And that you make sure that he wears only dark, loose pants, and that his underpants are generally damp, or at least stained with urine?” Janet asked.
“Yes,” said Millie. “Tohe dark pants are to save him embarrassment. And me too, actually.”
“Mm,” said Janet. “Millie, does he soil himself?”
Millie was quiet for a moment.
“Well, he has done once. He was very upset. Crying, in fact. It was one of those ‘waiting for me to unlock the door’ times he was talking about. And, well, I think, well sometimes he offers to do the washing, and I have noticed that some of his underpants seem to have disappeared. So, there, ther may be more times.”
Millie looked away. It was awkward admitting, even to someone like Janet, that your adult husband soiled his pants. It was such an overtly infantile act. Millie glanced back at Janet, and was reassured by her kind smile.
“It’s ok, Millie,” said Janet.
The doctor put down the notes she was holding, and looked at Millie for a few seconds.
“You see, Millie, in the light of what you’ve told me, and in my own opinion, I think Steve should be put back in diapers, to put it bluntly. Certainly at night, and possibly during the day as well. It’s not just a precaution either, Millie. Steve needs to wear diapers now. Do you understand that?” she said.
Millie drew her breath in. She’d thought about this. She’d seen ads for incontinence garments, and thought about Steve, but they were mostly pads for daytime leakage, according to the ads, anyway. But to hear it out put like that by a soecialist in the field… Diapers!
“He’d never agree,” Millie said.
“Millie, that’s why I want to talk through this with him, and with you. That’s where that little cocktail,will help. I want him to reach the same conclusion as I have, and of course, I want to know more about the psychology of his behaviour too. I think we both do,” Janet said.
“I understand,” said Millie.
Her thoughts were swimming in her head. She knew that some old people had problems staying dry, but her was her husband, a man of only 27 needing to wear diapers like a toddler who hadn’t achieved toilet training.
“Before I get him back in, I’d like to ask you about something you said to me when you wee last here. About Steve,” Janet said.
“The stubbornness?” asked Millie, recalling the conversation.
“Well, yes,” said Janet. “You used the term ‘childish’ as well.”
“He’s not a child,” said Millie.
“No, he’s not, but his responses may be childish. Is that what you meant?” asked Janet.
Millie thought for a moment.
“Yes, he is a bit like that sometimes. He’s even thrown things, actually. And he never used to cry before, well, before this came along,” said Millie.
“Mm,” said Janet. “I’m wondering about that. I’m concerned that there may be an element of, well, of infantile regression involved here.”
Janet looked with concern at Millie’s stunned look.
“It’s probably worse than it sounds,” Janet assured her. “It’s a term which covers any regression to age-inappropriate behaviour.”
“Well wetting his pants is certainly that,” said Millie.
“Yes, it is, but that could be physical,” said Janet. “Or largely physical. It’s the other responses that concern me. Even here, a few minutes ago, when he demanded to go home, for example.”
Millie was looking quite distressed.
“I know, Janet. I think I might be in some denial,over that, too,” she said.
Janet smiled.
“It’s quite understandable, Millie,” said Janet, “This is new territory for both of you. I’ll get Steve now. Don’t be concerned if he seems a little out of it. His little drink can strip away a few inhibitions. If he is regressing at all, he may be struggling against it. Anyone would. This medication helps us to see the real situation without any overlays like that. So just respond, well, in kind, if you know what I mean. Treat him as he acts.”
Millie felt quite frightened by what Janet had said. It put into perspective not just Steve’s irrational stubbornness, but his other odd behaviour recently. Then there was the whole question of having the children Millie wanted so much. Millie often felt that she was built to be a mother, and here she was in a childless marriage. So far, anyway. Ironically, it was a childless marriage with a childish husband.
Millie wasn’t sure how she felt as Janet opened the door and called quietly to Steve.
Soon after downing the drink Janet gave him, Steve had begun to feel different. He didn’t mind being told to go and lie down. Janet was very nice, and seemed to like him. Millie was there too. He felt warm and comfortable when he thought of her, and suddenly wanted a cuddle. His mind was filled with memories of her big, soft breasts. He was glad she’d brought him to see Janet.
Steve lay back with a smile on his face.
Then the door opened, and Janet said his name. Steve sat up, and swung his legs off the high bed. He was a bit unsteady, and Janet helped out her arm which Steve gladly took. She led him into the other room. Steve’s smile widened as he saw Millie. He let go of Janet’s arm and rushed over to Millie, embracing the seated woman as best he could.
“Hey, honey, hold on,” said Janet, pulling Steve away from his surprised wife and leading him to a low sofa against one wall.
“Make yourself comfortable on here, Steve,” she said. “I know you’ve missed Millie, but I want to have a little talk. Is that ok?”
Steve nodded happily as he settled himself on the sofa.
“Now, Steve,” began the doctor. “Do you remember before, we were talking about your little accidents?”
Steve nodded again.
“Yes please,” he said.
Janet looked at Millie.
“He may be a little confused. That’s quite normal. The main thing is that we get to what is really going on in his head,” she said.
“Yes, OK,” said Millie, as Steve lay back on the sofa, still smiling happily.
“Now, Steve,” said Janet, turning to him and brushing his hair away from his forehead. “You’re not working at the moment, are you?”
Steve shook his head.
“I help Millie,” he said.
“I’m sure you do,” said Janet. “When you were working, how did you feel about it? Were you enjoying it?”
“It was too hard,” Steve said.
His smile diminished, and he looked solemn.
Millie knew he was having problems, and had in fact been demoted shortly before his employer’s closure. Millie had thought that might have triggered some sort of depression in him, but now it occurred to her that it may have been a symptom not a cause. Janet continued.
“I see. Now I want you to think carefully, Steve. We’re there some things at work that you used to be able to do, but you were finding harder and harder?”
Janet watched as Steve gave her question some thought,
“Yes,” he said. “I got into trouble.”
Millie had discussed with Janet how Steve’s role at work had changed from managing a sales territory and dealing with customers to ‘office support’ some months before the firm’s demise. Steve had resented the change, and particularly the promotion of a former female subordinate, but also seemed happier with the lowered responsibility. His bedwetting had become significantly more frequent around that time.
“Mm,” said Janet. “Now Steve, I want to ask you about wetting the bed. Is that ok?”
Steve nodded. Millie was surprised. The topic was taboo in their house. Steve would become angry whenever Millie brought it up, and he had sulked for days when Millie put him in the spare room on a plastic under sheet.
“Steve, do you think it’s ok to wet your bed?” Janet asked him.
“I can’t help it,” said Steve.
“I know that, honey, but how do you feel about doing it?” Janet continued.
“OK,” said Steve quietly.
Millie rolled her eyes, and got a sharp look from Janet.
“Steve, can you remember wetting the bed before, a few years ago?” Janet asked.
Steve nodded.
“And did it feel OK then to wet your bed?” asked Janet.
Steve nodded again.
“Did it feel OK because you were only little?” Janet asked.
Millie had told Janet that Steve had been a regular bedwetter until his early teens. He was 27 now.
Again, Steve nodded.
Janet continued.
“Steve, who looked after you before, when you wet the bed?”
“Mummy,” said Steve.
“And who looks after you now?” Janet added.
“Millie,” said Steve.
Millie’s heart went out to Steve. She had a sudden rush of maternal feelings towards him, and uncrossed and recrossed her legs. It was a very pleasant feeling.
“Steve, this is a funny question, but is Millie sort of like mummy?” Janet asked.
“Yes,” Steve answered, with a loving look towards his wife which went straight to Millie’s heart.
Janet swung her chair around to her desk. Quietly, she put on a pair of thin latex gloves.
“Thank you for answering my questions, Steve,” she said. “Now, I want you to help me have a closer look at you. Can you open your eyes wide for me?”
Steve complied, and Janet peered into each eye in turn.
“And now, your mouth. Open wide please,” she said.
Once again, Steve complied. Janet produced a tongue depressor and inspected Steve’s mouth.
“Good,” she said. “Now, can you take off your top?”
She helped Steve up and as he held up his arms, she slipped off his shirt. She tapped here and there on his chest, turned him around and tapped on his back.
“You’re a big, strong boy,” she commented, which drew a grin from Steve.
“Now, Steven,” she said, “I want to look at your tummy. I need to take your pants down. Is that OK?”
Steve looked confused, and appealed with his eyes to Millie.
“It’s OK, sweetie,” Millie assured him. “She is helping you.”
Steve stood uncertainly as Janet undid his belt buckle. He put his hands to his crotch, preventing her from going further.
“Steve, it’s alright,” said Janet reassuringly. “I know your undies might be a bit damp. That’s quite alright. Do you think you might be a bit wet?”
Steve nodded slowly, and let Janet move his hands gently away. Janet continued to unfasten Steve’s black pants.
Slowly, Janet pulled Steve’s loose slacks to his ankles. Steve stood quietly in his white underpants. The little lump of his genitals was covered by a rough circle of wet cotton about six inches in diameter. Janet pursed her lips. She had felt that the front of Steve’s slacks were quite wet, although Millie’s strategy of dressing him in dark pants had hidden the dampness well. I addition to the wet circle were several yellowing rings of previous wettings.
Janet’s next, unprofessional, thought was to wonder how such a small package could possibly satisfy a robust-looking woman like Millie.
“May I just pull these down?” Janet asked kindly, pulling the waistband of the briefs to reveal Steve’s pale upper thighs and a small penis resting on two little testicles held tight against Steve’s body by a hairless, dark pink scrotal sac.
Janet could sense Steve’s tenseness. She recognised what she saw as definitely bring at the very lowest end of the spectrum of size for male genitalia. There was only a little sparse, blonde pubic hair. The whole was more or less prepubescent.
Janet held up the little penis between her thumb and forefinger. The testes beneath it were definitely prepubescent in size. Delicately, she released the penis and turned Steve around. There was no hair near his anus.
“Good boy,” Janet said and immediately regretted her terminology.
“Steve, you’ve had a little accident this morning, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Steve.
“Do you remember when, honey?” Janet asked.
Steve shook his head.
“That’s OK,” she said. “We often don’t feel everything that’s going on, do we?”
Steve shook his head.
“I think we’ll just get these off completely, huh?” said Janet.
Steve nodded, and lifted each leg in turn as Janet stripped him completely.
“We can’t have you naked, can we?” Janet went on. “Let’s put your shirt back on and I’ll find you some nice dry undies to wear. How will that be?”
“Good,” said Steve.
Janet soon had Steve’s shirt on, and produced from a cupboard a pair of disposable pull-ups. Steve’s body language changed a little as he recognised what the puffy, white package was. He looked at Millie, and backed away slightly from Janet.
“Now Steve,” Janet said, “Before you say anything, these are not diapers. They are disposable underpants with a little absorbent padding in them, just like lots and lots of people wear and just like they sell in supermarkets anywhere. They’re not much different than the pads ladies wear for their periods. Their just for catching a little leaking pee. They are very comfortable and you’ll be just like all the other men and women, and girls and boys, who wear these. Do they sound like something you might need?”
Steve looked anxious, and put one hand to his genitals.
“I think you need to wear these, honey. Do you think you would feel more comfortable in these than in your wet old underpants?” Janet asked him.
Steve nodded slowly.
“Good,” said Janet. “Now, just to make sure, I want you to ask me if you can wear these nice special pants, and tell me why you need to wear them.”
Steve looked again at Millie, who nodded encouragement, and said, “Ask the doctor if you can, sweetie.”
Steve shifted his feet.
“Can I… can I please wear those?” he said after a moment.
“Certainly,” said Janet. “And why do you need to wear these special underpants, Steve?”
“Because I wet my pants,” Steve said in a quiet voice.
“Very good,” said Janet. “Now, let’s out these on, so if you have an accident you won’t need to worry about it and we can work on trying to make you better. If you have an accident, you can just throw these away and put in a nice, dry pair.”
While she was talking, Janet had gone to the cupboard again and replaced what she had been holding with a larger, bulkier garment.
Millie was a little surprised, then applauded to herself Janet’s tactics.
Soon, Steve was looking very well padded in his new pull-ups. It took a little tugging to get even Steve’s loose fitting slacks over the thick pull-up. It was very obvious he was diapered, but Steve seemed oblivious as Janet finished dressing him and turned him around.
“There you are,” she said. “All done. Do they feel comfortable?”
Steve’s mind was swirling with thoughts. He knew he needed to have these, and he felt grateful to Janet for letting him have them. He thought of the girl he had seen in the waiting room, and could feel the secret jealous feeling he had when he had seen her diaper, just melt away. He wanted to go out and play, just like he used to when his mummy changed his diaper years ago. He couldn’t help himself giggling. He was so happy.
“Thank you!” he said in an impulse to Janet and put his arms around her.
Janet laughed, and said, “I think you should thank Millie. She is the one who brought you in here.”
Steve turned and gave Millie a long hug.
“OK, Steve,” said Janet. “I want to talk about waking up in a nasty, cold wet bed. I’ve got something that will stop that, too. Would you like to know about it?”
Steve nodded enthusiastically.
After she had led Steve in a discussion about his night time wetting, Janet told Steve about the special night time pants she had for him. They were just like the ones he had, only they didn’t just pull up. They wrapped around him ‘like a nice warm blanket’ but he would need Millie’s help to put them on. Just like he sometimes helped Millie zip up the back of her dress.
The couple left the clinic, Millie in awe of Janet’s skill in getting her darling husband into the protective clothing he needed, and Steve happy in the knowledge that his condition was not something secret and awful, but something that made him special rather than bad.
Further,mSteve felt but could not articulate the feeling that he had been given a glimpse through a door into a special place that he wanted to be. These pants were from that place, and were his connection to it.
They stopped for coffee on the way home, and Steve was all smiles as he trotted along next to Millie, holding her hand. Everyone they saw returned his happy smile, and Steve felt better about the world than he had for years. He felt himself wetting in the car on the way home, but even that couldn’t dislodge his smile.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers

Thank you all for the lovely compliments! I like the ‘stories leaking out under pressure’. Ha ha. And thank you especially, charlie22, for your insightful comments. That’s pretty much how I see ‘men’ as well. Still, they have their uses. ; )
All joking aside, it amazes me that so much research and money, not to mention advertising, is involved in providing protection for women for the few days per month when we are liable to slightly stain our undergarments. There’s a vast industry supplying solutions for this ‘problem’, yet there’s another 50% of the population who stain, soil and wet their under clthing on a daily basis, and no-one seems to mind. Certainly no business has arisen to capitalise on the issue (no pun intended).
The men reading this must be aware of the problem. Damp undies from leakage, spillage or not wiping (or flicking or whatever) after unrinating; stains in the seat from not wiping their bottoms properly, etc. Any wife or girlfriend would acknowledge this. Yet where are the disposable or at least discreetly padded garments for men? I suspect the answer may have to do with the male management of the potential solution providers. What man would want to admit that their sex needs the same protection as women, but on a daily basis? I’m quite serious. Men generally wear loose fitting pants over their underwear. Not many wear the form-fitting pants that we often wear. I’ve washed many a pair of adult male underwear with stains on the back or rings of dried pee on the front. Any suggestion from me that the men who’ve been in my life should be more careful has been met with an indignant grunt, or some flimsy excuse. Light, disposable pull-ups would be the logical answer, but at best, all that is available are undies with a double panel in front. Always ‘for extra support’, never ‘for absorption’. Even a waterproof layer stitched between the double front panels would help, but no, there’s nothing. Adult men can’t bear to admit that they need protection here. That’s the long and short of it, I’m quite certain. They focus so much on the little tadgers dangling between their legs - they fret and carry on about size, function and so on, but are blind to the obvious fact that for basic hygiene and cleanliness, those same little wee wees need to be snuggled up in protective underpants. As for ‘going commando’, that’s just ridiculously irresponsible. I’d like to see such gentlemen in tight fitting pants which change colour when wet. Then we’d see who needs to wear diapers. Sorry, padded panties. I mean, underpants with ‘additional support’. I don’t know why feminists are silent about this issue, either. One of life’s mysteries.
Anyway, I’ve written a bit more, and hope to write even more tonight. I’m all alone tonight, just me and the keyboard. And the cat.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
Millie and Steve Chapter 2
Janet had told Millie that the effects of the drug would persist for several hours. She described the effect as ‘suspending the filtering of information, both incoming and outgoing, in Steve’s mind.’ He would answer questions simply and honestly, and accept what he was told without question. In addition, Janet said, the levels of various ‘feel good’ chemicals in his brain would be elevated, and he would be feeling perfectly happy with himself and the world.
Steve chattered away about the nice doctor for most of the way home, when he wasn’t pointing out things he saw and giggling.
When they arrived home, Steve helped Millie unload and carry the packages of day and night time diapers the clinic had provided.
“What are these, Millie?” he asked as Millie gave him one of the two packages.
“They’re special pants for you to wear at night, honey, so that the bed stays dry,” Millie replied.
She wondered how true Janet’s description of the drug was. Until now, Steve had refused to accept that his bedwetting was a problem.
“Can I put them on now?” he asked excitedly.
Millie laughed.
“No, honey, you have your daytime underpants on now. You can wear these tonight,” she said.
Steve was quiet for a moment.
“I’m wet, mummy,” he said, looking at her placidly.
Millie was taken aback. Where did ‘mummy’ come from!
“Er, OK honey, I’ll change you in a minute,” she replied, a little stunned but feeling a small jolt of pleasure run through her body.
“Thank you,” said Steve, and went through the front door as Millie held it open for him.
Millie followed, watching Steve’s thickly padded rear as he trotted ahead of her to the bedroom.
The next morning, Millie was awake early. She stretched and half-rolled to see Steve, sound asleep as he was most morning when Millie woke.
Millie looked at him and smiled. He always looked so peaceful when he was asleep. Sometimes, if he was dreaming, he made sweet little grunting and mewling noises, like a puppy. He obviously wasn’t dreaming now. His breathing was slow and steady, behind his fist, bunched up in front of his face as usual.
Millie wondered if the drug had worn off completely by now. It had been easy to get Steve into the thick diaper he now wore.
Millie slid her hand under the bedclothes to Steve’s smooth, warm tummy, and kept going to the front of his diaper. She could feel a lump down there. Not Steve, of course, but a big mass of cold, gelatinous diaper gel. Millie smiled. She withdrew her hand and after a moment, felt the round bulge of her own stomach, then the thin elastic of her panties and below that, the soft mound of her pubis. Gently, with one finger, she pushed the sheer fabric into the central depression where her clitoris lay. Mmm, she thought, then decided that she couldn’t. Steve waking and finding her masturbating would only add another wrinkle to what might be a difficult day for them both. Millie considered the trick of taking Steve’s hand, and using his fingers to start the job, but not this morning. This morning could be complicated.
Millie got up, showered and made them both coffee. Returning to the bedroom, she saw that Steve had moved the bedclothes away. He was half exposed - still asleep, but with his thick diaper in plain view. Millie’s first thought was that he looked like an oversized baby. Smiling as she enjoyed that weird thought, Millie put the coffee on the dressing table, and leant her crotch against the curved corner of the top of the dresser. She could feel that she was quite damp as she gently worked herself up and down on the rounded timber. The corner of the dressing table was one of her little secrets. Who designed these things, she asked herself with a smile.
Steve groaned, and seemed to be waking up. Millie felt herself blushing, and moved away from the superbly designed dressing table. Before she picked up the coffee cups, she had to pull her nightie out of her crotch where it was slightly stuck. Sex was definitely on the cards this morning, she told herself. She hoped Steve was up for it, one way or another.
“Good morning, honey,” she said, giving him a kiss as he opened his eyes. “Here’s your coffee.”
Steve groaned again and propped himself on one elbow as he blinked at Millie’s big breasts hanging loosely above the slack bodice of her nightie.
“How did you sleep, sweetie?” Millie asked.
“OK,” said Steve, as Millie stood up again.
Steve moved his legs and felt the diaper. He Looked down and stared at it for a good five seconds.
“Millie…” He said in a strange, fearful voice.
Millie put down her coffee, and sat on the bed close to Steve. She leant over and held Steve’s head close to her breasts.
“Steve, it’s ok,” she said quietly. “Do you remember going to see Janet yesterday, honey?”
Steve nodded. Millie felt his eyelashes blink against her skin, and felt the moisture of tears there too.
“Oh Steve,” she said, patting him gently on the back as she spoke. “Do you remember what Janet said? Do you remember what you asked her if you could wear?”
After a long moment, Steve nodded again.
“And you know why you asked to wear them, don’t you honey?” Millie asked gently, rocking Steve slightly as he cried into her breasts.
She felt Steve swallow.
Another long moment passed.
“Because…?” Millie prompted.
“Because, because I need them,” Steve said.
Steve’s soft crying became loud sobbing.
Millie sat, holding him and stroking his hair.
Steve always needed to pee when he woke up, and he needed to now. Millie could just hear the faint hissing sound, and she saw the already saturated bulge of Steve’s diaper swell further as he peed.
Steve’s sobbing increased, and he caught his breath.
“I need to wear diapers,” he said between sobs, and gripped Millie as best he could in his position. “Mummy, help me! I’m wet, mummy!” he added.
Millie was shocked. The phrases ‘psychological element’, ‘age-inappropriate behaviour’ and ‘infantile regression’ whirled around her brain in a sea of what Millie was further shocked to admit was a kind of satisfied mental pleasure. She felt her groin tingling and looked down to see that one of her breasts was freed of her nightie, half flattened by Steve’s head, but with the exposed pinky-brown nipple unmistakeably engorged and erect.
“I will help you, Steve,” Millie said lovingly. “I’ll help you all I can.”
Feeling quite indescribably maternal, Millie moved Steve’s tear-streaked face to her exposed nipple. His lips closed around it immediately.
“Mummy’s here, honey,” Millie said quietly, and with an odd feeling of guilt, as Steve began to suckle.
His sobbing subsided, and a few moments later, Millie experienced a wonderful, crashing, multi-layered, multi-coloured orgasm. She practically crushed her own ribcage with her husband’s head as she pulled it towards her.
“Oh God, Steve. Oh God!” was all she could manage as she gulped for air and her heightened senses began to return to normal.
The phone began to ring.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
Millie and Steve Chapter 3
Millie listened blankly, if such a thing were possible, to the ringing of the phone on her bedside table. She pushed Steve away as gently as she could, and settled him back on his pillow. She swung her legs off the bed and sat for a second, one hand clamped over her damp groin. She inhaled deeply, and let out a long sigh. Then she picked up the phone.
“Hullo?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Hullo?” she tried again.
“Millie, it’s mum,” the voice on the phone said. “Are you ok, darling?”
Millie smiled.
“Yes, mum, never better. How are you?” she said, leaning over and striking Steve’s hair.
Steve was a lot calmer now, and his crying had reduced to a sniffle.
“Oh, the usual,” said Sue, Millie’s mum. “I was just ringing to remind you that you and your boy are expected here for the weekend.”
In her kinder moments, Sue referred to Steve as Millie’s ‘boy’.
“Oh, mum, yes of course. We’ll be there. Would you like me to pick up anything?” she asked.
Quickly, Millie put her mind to the question of Steve. Janet had said that it was important to enforce a routine of diaper wearing from the start. Steve would have to wear the thick pullups Janet had given her. That meant she would have to warn her mother - a woman with eagle eyes who would definitely notice if Steve were even lightly diapered. Steve was lightly built, if a little chubby, and the pullups he had worn yesterday were blindingly obvious on his small frame, even under loose-fitting jeans.
“No thanks dear,” said Sue. “How’s Steve?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” replied Millie.“He’s still asleep.”
“Lazy little boy,” said Sue, and Millie could imagine her mum’s annoyed look as she spoke. “Did he wet his bed again?”
Millie had kept her mother informed about Steve’s condition. It wasn’t hard - Sue was highly inquisitive about it, and seemed to derive some satisfaction at every report of a wet bed or wet pants.
“Yes, mum,” said Millie.
She looked at Steve, who seemed to have gone back to sleep.
“What did Janet say?” Sue asked.
Millie was not in the habit of lying to her mum.
“You know, just that we have to handle the problem,” said Millie. “And we are.”
“So he’s back in diapers?” Sue asked.
Millie could sense the hope in her mother’s voice.
“Yes mum,” said Millie. “We’re due at 11 o’clock, aren’t we?”
“Well that’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time,” said Sue. “I hope you diaper him properly before he sets foot in my house today. He wet the carpet last time, remember? Playing with Pete and Mike. He’s at about there level a lot of the time, in my opinion. So juvenile. 11 is fine.”
“OK, mum,” said Millie.
She didn’t really care to hear her mother’s well-known opinion of Steve’s maturity every time he came up in conversation between them, but it was true that he had wet the carpet. And it was odd how he had told Millie later all about the game he and Millie’s sister’s children had been playing as if the two kids were his equals. Perhaps he did have that streak of ‘infantile regression’ Janet had talked about.
“And don’t forget to bring some spare diapers for him. My grandchildren don’t need them any more. They’ve matured, Millie. So There aren’t any spares around the house,” Sue said. “See you at 11.”
“OK, mum. Bye,” said Millie, but her mother had already hung up.
If only she could see how adorable Steve could be, Millie thought as she put the phone down and looked at Steve, who was now sleeping peacefully.
Millie’s eyes widened a little as she saw a dark crescent on the bedsheet near Steve’s diaper. The diaper was so full it was leaking.
“Steve,” said Millie, shaking his shoulder.
Steve opened his eyes.
“What?” He asked drowsily.
“Your diaper is leaking, honey,” Millie said. “You have to get up.”
Steve grumbled and rolled away from her. The wet patch was quite large.
“Steve, you’re wetting the bed, please get up,” she asked him again.
Steve blinked.
“I’ve got a diaper on’” he said without moving.
“And it’s leaking,” said Millie. “Up you get!”
Millie took him by one arm and helped him up. He stood by the bed, his heavy diaper sagging between his thighs.
“Look, honey,” said Millie, indicating the big, dark crescent on the bed,
Steve’s gaze followed her finger.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Yes,” said Millie. “More washing. Now, into the shower with you.”
Millie took Steve by the hand and led him into the bathroom. It seemed natural to her to pull down his diaper and shepherd Steve into the shower.
“OK, OK,” Steve said, turning on the mixer tap and beginning to wash himself.
“Don’t forget your ears and your wee wee,” Millie said.
“No mum,” said Steve, this time consciously using the ‘mum’ word in jest.
“Have a good wash, and mummy has a surprise for you,” said Millie, leaving Steve to his shower.
She wasn’t sure why she had said mummy, and she certainly didn’t know what surprise she might have for him. Then she thought of one.
Steve found himself grinning happily. It was a nice relief being out of his diaper, and he had got a bit of a buzz out of Millie calling herself mummy. It gave him a warm feeling. How many 27 year olds have their mummy giving them surprises!
Steve liked showering. Once he was covered in soap, he began washing his wee wee. He giggled as he began to pee. The pee felt oddly cool in the warm shower, and it didn’t occur to him that his sudden opening was not a voluntary act.
“Hurry up in there, honey!” Millie called from the bedroom. “We’re due at mum’s at 11 o’clock, and we don’t want to be late!”
“OK,” Steve responded.
He thought of Millie’s mother, and stuck out his tongue.
In the bedroom, Millie was choosing what to wear to her mother’s. She decided on a favourite pair of stretch pants and a mohair sweater. She had on her panties and was just putting on a bra when Steve walked in, still wet from the shower.
“Oh Steve!” she said. “You’re still dripping! Come here!”
She grabbed the towel from her earlier shower which was on the stool in front of the dressing table and began vigorously to dry her husband.
Steve submitted to his drying, enjoying the way Millie’s breasts swung against his back as she turned him around.
“We might as well get you dressed,” she said, picking up the pack of pullups and extracting one. She opened its waist and with her fingers stretching it open, held it for Steve, who stepped into it without a word.
Thinking of Steve’s sagging night diaper, she had an inspiration and opening a drawer in the big chest of drawers against the wall, took out her old pair of denim shortalls. Millie was actually a couple of inches taller than Steve, and a little chubbier, but she correctly assumed that the straps would take care of the height difference, and that any extra fullness would accommodate the thick pullup.
She was right. With a t-shirt on, the shortalls fitted Steve very well. The pullup filled out the garment, and even made it a little snug across the front below the waist. The padding under the stretchy denim removed any semblance of a masculine bump, but the fact that the garment wouldn’t allow a soaked pullup to sag compensated for that as far as Millie was concerned.
Steve giggled once Millie had him properly strapped into the garment.
“And what’s so funny?” Millie asked.
“Your boobies,” Steve said, pointing.
Millie hadn’t expected that. She was suddenly aware of her bare breasts swaying in front of Steve as she adjusted and buckled the straps of the shortalls.
Steve had always referred to them as her tits. Where had he got ‘boobies’ from?
“Milkshake,” said Steve.
Millie ignored whatever that meant.
“Come on Steve,” she said. “We have to get going.”
Millie put two spare pullups into her largest handbag, and added a container of the baby powder Janet had recommended, and which she had used when she changed Tom into his diaper last night.
She looked at Tom. With his plump bottom, smooth, rounded tummy and his shiny brown hair growing out a little since he’d stopped working, Steve looked a little like a chubby young girl in the shortalls. Oh well, she thought. Mum never likes what he wears anyway.
Millie finished dressing. She pulled the tight pants over her full stretch briefs and snug up over her slight pot belly, then put on a bra and pulled on her sweater. Very nice, she thought, admiring herself in the big wardrobe mirror. She tried on a couple of pairs of shoes, settling on a pair with a couple of inches of heel. She was now considerably taller than Steve, but quite liked the idea.
Steve had wandered into the kitchen, and was making himself a bowl of cereal when Millie walked in. He was just about to pour the milk.
“Steve, for heaven’s sake, we’re going to mum’s for brunch!” Millie said, grabbing Steve’s arm as he was about to pour the milk.
“I’m hungry,” Steve objected.
“We’ll eat at mum’s,” Millie said crossly, and taking Steve’s hand, led him to her car.
There didn’t seem any doubt who should drive, and Steve’s car had gone with his demotion at work, anyway. He’d long given up complaining when Millie drove anyway.
Soon, they were making their way towards the near countryside where Millie’s mum lived.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
Millie and Steve. Chapter 4
Steve sat quietly for most of the trip, while Millie was content just to drive. They both had a lot on their minds.
Millie was aware turning up with a husband who was now officially back in diapers would confirm to her mother in the clearest way that she had married a man-child rather than a genuine man.
Steve was hoping that no-one would notice. He was generally aware of the constant communication between his wife and her family, but he tended to think - more so lately - that if something wasn’t absolutely obvious, it didn’t exist, or at least, it didn’t matter much. Steve’s main concern was that he didn’t wet Sue’s carpet, as his two playmates had made him do on his last visit to Sue’s. He wondered if Pete and Mike would be there. At least they were fun to be with. Sue was quite boring, and she got cross with him all the time. But now he had proper diapers on, thanks to Janet, who was an expert. How could Sue criticise him for that?
So Millie kept driving and Steve kept looking out the window. He had missed his usual morning poo in the rush to get ready for Sue’s, but he was sure he could go once he got there. He was quite happy to wet himself, but he knew that doing a poo, even though he now had a diaper on, was a bit naughty. He checked his diaper by squeezing the front, like Millie did. He was still dry. He smiled. Take that, Sue.
Steve gradually drifted off to sleep, thinking vaguely how special he was.
Some time later, Sue pulled the car up in front of her mother’s house, the family home on a small acreage where she had grown up.
Sue was tending plants near the front door. She was tall, like Millie, and still quite attractive. She had a well-developed, womanly figure like her daughter. She had lived alone on the property since the death of her husband many years before. Sue looked up and watched as Millie parked. The two women embraced and Steve was ignored as he climbed out of the car.
Sue didn’t mince words.
“Hello Steve,” she said. “It’s good to see you’re back in diapers. It looks as though you need a change now. I expect Millie will change you once you’re inside.”
And that was it. Steve felt even smaller as Sue brushed past him to help Sue bring some items inside. It was obvious to Steve that Sue didn’t see him as someone who could be trusted to carry anything as valuable as a platter of biscuits or whatever was on the trays Sue and Millie were carrying. Sue patted the back of Steve’s sagging diaper as she passed him.
“He’s soaked, Millie,” Sue announced.
“It’s OK mum, I’ll handle it,” Millie replied, with a reassuring smile at Steve, who looked to be on the verge of tears.
What a start, thought Millie.
“You certainly will handle him,” said Sue. “My days of changing diapers are strictly over, now that all my grandchildren can keep their pants clean and dry. That only leaves my baby-in-law still in diapers.”
“Mum!” said Millie. “Why can’t you be nice! He can’t help it!”
Steve had heard what Sue had said, and had moved towards his wife. He was doing his best to hold back his tears, but was losing the battle.
“It’s OK, honey,” Millie cooed at Steve as she held him with one arm, the platter with the other hand, and glared at her mother.
Sue smiled back, and held the door open as Millie and Steve went inside.
“You can change him in the kids’ bathroom,” Sue said. “There’s still a diaper pail in there.”
A few minutes later, Millie had Steve on his back on the big mat in the bathroom the grandchildren used. It was the same one Millie used when she was a child, and she thought how strange it was to be changing her husband’s diaper there, all these years later.
Sue looked in during the proceedings. She had seen her son-in-law naked before, but she was still surprised to see the little hairless bobble of his genitals covered in talc as Millie put an overnight diaper on him. She wasn’t taking any chances with Sue’s carpet or furniture for that matter. She had asked Steve to sit on the toilet for his bowel movement, but he was adamant that he didn’t need to go. He would miss one or two mornings if he had only eaten lightly during the day before, and this was clearly one such case.
“I’ll be serving in a few minutes,” Sue said. “Does he need a sippy cup or anything?”
“No mum, he doesn’t. He’s not a baby,” Millie replied with some vigour.
Millie saw poor Steve biting his lower lip. He was trying so hard, and Sue wasn’t making it easy.
The brunch began on time. Millie had had a few words to Sue, accusing her of picking on her husband. Sue had agreed to relent - “As long as he behaves and doesn’t wet anything.”
So the trio sat to eat.
“How was the trip up here, Steve?” Sue asked after a few mouthfuls.
Millie felt better and smiled at Steve, who began explaining about a big red truck full of cows they had seen.
Millie was wishing that he had chosen a more mature subject to talk about, when there was a noise outside.
“Shush, honey,” she said, stopping Steve as he was happily describing the noises the cows were making. “I think someone’s here.”
“Probably Jane,” Sue said, referring to Millie’s older sister, the mother of Mike and Pete who lived nearby. “She said she might drop in.”
“Are Mike and Pete here?” Steve asked with interest.
“No, they’re at school,” Sue told him. “Look at the mess you’re making of that!” she added, as he dropped a spoonful of scrambled egg onto the front of his shortalls.
“Millie, get him a bib, please. They’re in the second drawer on the left of the sink,” she said. “Next it will be on the floor.”
Millie helped Steve for a moment.
“Well, off you go. I’ll let Jane in,” she said, standing up for the table.
There wasn’t much to be done other than her bidding, Millie knew. She had noticed Steve getting a little sloppy when he ate, but she had never put a bib on him. She’d never thought of it, actually, but it did seem a good idea at the moment.
Millie found a fairly plain bib, and had just tied it around a protesting Steve’s neck when pSue walked into the dining area with Jane.
There were greetings all round, and Jane looked quizzically at Millie as she cleaned up the last bits of egg from the table.
“It’s just while we’re eating,” Millie explained rather pointlessly, and Jane shrugged.
She had seen Steve being ordered around by Mike and Pete. Nothing surprised her about Millie’s odd husband. That he was now back in diapers day and night hadn’t really surprised Jane at all. In fact, she found it quite attractively kinky, compared to her own meat and potatoes husband.
So the meal continued, with Jane sipping her coffee and catching up on news. Steve’s story about the cows was left in abeyance.
After brunch, the group went for a walk in the garden Steve waddled ahead, exploring.
“Are they your old shortalls?” Jane asked as she watched Steve’s thickly padded rear.
“Yes,” said Millie. “They’re very…well, they’re very practical at the moment.”
Jane laughed. The sisters had often discussed Steve.
“You know, Mill, with his hair long like that, and that chubby bottom and his little belly in front, not to mention that you can’t see a hint of a package down there, he looks like you did when you wore those. I remember when you got them. Put a padded bra on him, and it’s you at 16. And you’re still chubby,” Jane added.
“Look who’s talking,” replied Millie. “Miss muffin top herself!”
Millie gave Jane a playful jab in the bulge if flesh above the waist of her pants.
“At least I don’t go round with a cameltoe,” Jane said with a giggle.
" I do not!" Millie replied indignantly, tugging at the crotch of her pants.
The girls had spent a lifetime ribbing each other about their clothing, often quite coarsely.
“Well, I don’t even own a body suit!” Millie added.
She knew Jane had several, and also that she constantly fretted over her figure.
“I do,” said Jane with dignity, “And I like them. In fact, I have just bought a corset. Black with red ribbons.”
Millie’s eyes widened.
“Jane!” she said. “How old are you!”
She was truly shocked. She had seen a few young women showing off their anachronistic corseted, but she never imagine her sister wearing one.
“I’m 35,” said Jane, “And proud of it. But I’m not to old to augment my figure.”
“You always did pad your bra,” Millie responded, as Jane laughed and gave her a resounding spank on her denimed bottom.
“Ouch!” said Millie, and took off after Jane who had sprinted away.
“OK girls!” called Sue above the giggling. “I recall you both padding your bras, by the way,” she added as the sisters, out of breath, returned from their lap of the small lawn.
“Not that there’s any need now, double E, or is it F now?” ?Millie taunted her even more well-endowed sister.
“Stop it!”
Sue had to shout above the laughing and giggling.
“You’re not kids,” she said. “Where’s Steve?”
“Speaking of kids,” Jane said.
Millie stopped laughing. She turned spot her sister.
“Jane, you are a bitch. That’s so unfair. Steve has got some problems, and he’s, we’re both trying to deal with them. I don’t care what kooky underwear you like, but I do care about Steve. I love him and he loves me. He’s the most special person I know, and I won’t have you…”
Millie turned to her mother.
“Or you making light of his condition. Can you imagine what it’s like for him, being a grownup man, then your body, your body, and even… even your mind starts, letting you down, and, I know he’s childish, do you think I don’t? I know what people must think. But even, even if he was my baby, I’d love him. I just want to look after him, and just because he’s different, you can’t… you don’t know…”
Sue and Jane weren’t laughing. They were concerned for Millie, and tried to reassure her. Her makeup was streaking down her face, and she was now sobbing quietly as Jane held her.
“Sis, I think we knew,” Jane was saying, “At least, we know it’s not his fault. We’re with you, Mill, you know that.”
Millie calmed down somewhat, and wiped her face on the sleeve of her sweater.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It all gets a bit much and a bit mixed up sometimes, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologise, Mill,” said Jane. “We’re just trying to understand, that’s all.”
Millie’s natural good spirits returned.
“I know,” she said. “And I know it’s even a bit funny. A grown man waddling around in diapers, I mean.”
“Well,” said Jane. “I’m not really laughing, honestly. I like him a lot too.”
Sue listened quietly. She still wasn’t convinced of Steve’s great value, but she didn’t want to say so. He was what he was. And if that’s a slightly annoying, messy, diapered 27 year old toddler, then that’s what he was to her, and would be treated accordingly. If this therapy of Janet Freeman’s, which as far as Sue could see comprised putting a childish adult with marginal continence back in diapers full time, was the right way to go, then she was Abraham Lincoln. Personally, she thought, she would let him wet himself in public, and she’d get him a potty and she’d smack him when he didn’t use it. It’s called toilet training, she thought to herself. Obviously, that silly bitch who brought him up did a lousy job of it, so it was clearly time to start again. But, it was not her business.
At that moment, Steve appeared from the direction of the yard where Sue kept a couple of horses.
Steve was muddy from head to toe, and by the droop of his shortalls, desperately needed a change.
“Horses!” he said happily.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
My pleasure, nia. There’ll be more soon.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
It was quite a little tableau.
The three tall, well-proportioned women, casually but attractively dressed, turning as one to look at the smaller, slightly chubby man in the childish bibbed shortalls. With his longish blonde hair and his rump amplified by the thick, sagging diaper, he looked effeminate as well. Spattered in mud from top to toe, it would have been hard for a newcomer to guess his gender, let alone his age.
Sue spoke first.
“Steven, come here!” she ordered.
“Mum…” Millie protested, moving towards her mother.
“Millie Mitchell, you stay out of this,” Sue barked at her.
Millie stopped in her tracks. Jane watched, aghast. She hadn’t seen one of her mother’s slow-burn exhibitions of exasperated determination for years.
Sue had Steve by his muddy shoulder now.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said to him, practically spitting as she enunciated each word, “But I damn well do. You are a selfish, dirty little boy. And unless someone takes you in hand, you will grow up to be a selfish, dirty man.”
“Mum, for God’s sake,” Millie shouted, rushing to Steve’s aid.
“Millie, keep out of this. Go and stand by your sister or go inside. It’s quite obvious you haven’t a clue how to handle this prat of a baby you’ve taken on. I intend to straighten things out for once and for all. You can have him now, and leave this farm and your entitlements to my estate, or you can stay and thank me for doing what you can’t,” said Sue, still holding the now bawling Steve roughly by his elbow.
Millie stood in shock for a moment. She knew her mother meant every word, but her concern for Steve was balanced by her concern for their joint future.
'Good girl, Miss Millie," Sue said. “I can see you thinking. 'This cot case that I married can’t support me. I can’t do without my share of mum’s estate. And you know I mean it, darling. I mean it as much as I know how to deal with your two year old here. You’ll thank me for this. Look at him!”
Steve was broken. From his happy announcement that there were indeed horses in the stables just beyond them, he had become a quivering, frightened child.
Millie was crying too, her head now buried in her sister’s consoling chest. Jane, always the more stolid of the two girls, watched proceedings with interest. Privately, she tended to agree with her mother regarding Steve’s maturity, but she also had a high regard for her sister and a concern for her happiness. And she could see how Millie could love Steve, diapers and all.
Sue had Steve squarely in front of her, and was looking down into his eyes.
“You are nothing but a dirty irresponsible child. You act like a little tearaway, and in my house, that is how difficult little children are treated. As little tearaways. You are a very bad little child. What are you?” Sue asked, shaking Steve bodily.
“I, I’m a…” Steve said, his shoulders shaking with sobs.
“I am a bad little child,” Sue said slowly and clearly. “Say it.”
“I’m a bad… little child,” Steven managed with some effort.
Sue reached a hand around Steve and pulled up the sagging seat of his shortalls.
“I’m a bad little child and I’ve wet my diaper again,” said Sue in the same loud, clear voice.
Millie continued crying, while Jane patted her back. This is getting interesting, thought the older sister, and shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
Steve repeated his lines.
Sue had Steve’s head between her hands, and was staring at him.
“Do you know what happens in my house to little children in diapers who can’t keep their clothes clean, Stevie? Do you know? Of course you don’t,” Sue went on, “So I’ll tell you. Those naughty children wear only their diaper, and they have to stay on the floor. Do you think that applies to you, you dirty, wet little child?”
Steve nodded.
“And why does that apply to you, Stevie?” Sue asked.
“Because I’m dirty and I wet my diaper,” Steve replied.
Sue and Jane noticed that by his answer Steve seemed to accept that he was, in Sue’s eyes at least, a child. Sue continued her verbal assault, unloading years of pent up emotions regarding her daughter’s choice of a mate.
“That’s better, Stevie. You only pretend you’re grown up. It’s a joke. You’re really only a little toddler in diapers, and not even a very nice toddler. Janet knows that, that’s why she put you in diapers, and I think Millie knows it too, that’s why she keeps you in diapers. And you know it too, Stevie, don’t you. That’s why you wet and mess your diapers. That’s why you’re wet now. When did you wet your diaper, Stevie? Do you remember?”
Steve tried to think. When did he? He used to feel himself peeing, but now… He couldn’t remember. He felt so ashamed.
“Don’t know,” he said quietly to Sue.
“Don’t know what?” asked Sue.
“Don’t know when I… When I wet my, my diaper,” stammered Steve, and his bottom lip began quivering.
He chewed on his thumb to hide his emotion.
“Look at your man, Millie,” said Sue, turning the now thumb sucking Steve to face the two girls. “Pathetic as a man, but as a toddler, there’s some hope. Millie, you and your doctor have had a go, now I will take charge for the rest of the weekend. I guarantee results. And as I said before, you can take it or leave it. You can take this psychological wreck and walk out of my life and your future, or you can stay and help me give you at least some semblance of what you need.”
Millie had half turned her head, and now, still leaning her head on her sister’s ample bosom, listened to her mother.
“First,” said Sue, “We get this child cleaned up, then I think a good spanking is in order.”
At this, Steve, who had been standing quietly in front of Sue, became animated and rushed towards Millie.
“Mummy!” he cried, and ran to Millie’s embrace.
Sue looked serious, and thought for a moment.
“Well,” she said, “I think that’s a very good start, and from the subject himself. If you’re mummy, I’ll be nana. He really is a child, Millie. If you disagree, then you’re the only one here who does. What do you think, Auntie Jane?”
“You know what I think,” said Jane.
A strange statement, but typical of Jane. No-one did know what she thought.
There wasn’t much more for anyone to say. Steve was still sobbing quietly as Millie took his hand. Sue strode off towards the house and Jane followed thoughtfully.
Steve was in considerable mental turmoil. Janet’s cocktail might have worn off in a clinical sense, but it’s action left traces in Steve’s psyche, something like ruts in a muddy road. More importantly, Janet’s added ingredients, the substances that released the pleasure-inducing chemicals in the brain had associated those ruts in the road with a wonderful sense of fulfilment and well-being. In Steve’s case, given his state of mind, his general situation and not least his childish clothing, soaked diaper and recent excursion into the mud of the stables, the result was probably predictable. Steve believed Sue. It was obvious now what he really was.
Steve also had an adult persona, built up over his 27 years. That persona now collided in his overtaxed brain with this revealed ‘truth’, the fact that he was demonstrably a child. Like a religious revelation, knowing the truth gave Steve a profound sense of well-being, but the clash with his troublesome acquired persona presented something of a problem.
Naturally, the person to whom both his emerging inner child and his adult persona turned was - mummy.
Once they were inside, not much was said. The sisters knew their mother well enough to accept that her proposed arrangements, whatever they were, were a done deal. If that scenario was weird, how weird was the reality of Millie’s husband permanently in diapers, dressed like a child and, it had to be admitted, behaving like one.
Certainly, in his present condition, he could hardly be relied on to do more than collect the mail from the letterbox. Even with simple tasks, it was clear that he needed supervision.
Millie ran a bath in the ‘kids’ bathroom’ for Steve, and soon had him scrubbed clean and happily sitting in a half tubful of warm, sudsy water.
Back in the living room, Jane was finding out more than she ever suspected about Millie’s married life.
“No wonder he thinks you’re his mummy,” Jane said with a laugh. “You buy his clothes, put out what he’s going to wear, you hold his hand so he doesn’t rush across a busy road to look at something, and now you change his diapers! Tell me you don’t suckle him!”
Jane looked at her sister’s solemn face, and her eyes widened.
“Oh God, Jane! I don’t believe you! Really?” said Jane, putting her hand to her mouth.
Millie was feeling both stimulated and embarrassed.
“Did he ask or did you offer?” Jane wanted to know.
Millie shrugged. “It just, sort of…”
“Oh, Millie, there’s a big difference between being sucked and suckled. Millie, have you got a nursing bra?” Jane asked with wide eyes.
Millie nodded.
“Hey, Sis, don’t cry. I shouldn’t have been nosy. I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s just…”
Jane could contain herself no longer. She burst into laughter. The thought of Steve curled up against Millie, having his dinner, was too much.
“It’s funny!” Jane said in defence of her laughter.
“It’s loving,” Millie replied seriously.
Jane stopped laughing, and looked at her sister. She leant over and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
Millie smiled. The pair had always quickly made up any differences.
Then Jane leant over again, took Millie’s head in her hands and planted a serious, lingering kiss on Millie’s lips.
After a few long seconds, Jane released her sister’s head, and looked smiling at her shocked face.
“That’s to give you something to think about, Mills,” said Jane as there was a crash from the hallway.
“That will be your baby in the bath,” said Jane brightly, and got up from the sofa they had been sharing.
In the big yellow tub, Steve had pulled out the plug and had managed to push the toys that weren’t in the bath with him onto the wet floor. Now he sat in the tub, his pale, chubby little torso still flecked with suds, and his little pink, hairless genitals below the bulge of his tummy. It was clear he had just peed because he sat in a small, golden pool.
The sisters stood at the open door. Jane began picking up the toys from the floor, while Milie helped Steve out of the tub.
“Oh, Steve,” Millie said as she saw the puddle of urine.
“What?” asked Jane.
“It’s ok,” said Millie. “He’s just done a wee. It was probably the crash of the stuff hitting the floor.”
Jane smiled. Priceless, she thought.
“Mummy,” Steve said suddenly, as Millie was drying him with a large towel.
“What, honey?” Millie replied.
“Am I really only little?” Steve asked.
Jane glanced at Millie and made a face which combined rolling her eyes, raising her eyebrows and blowing air softly through her lips. Then she left the room.
“Oh Steve,” said Millie, hugging him
She was wondering what to tell him.


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
Thanks for taking the time to analyse the story and write, Whetoric.
Although I’m the author, I’ve wondered about some of those things myself. In trying to make a story realistic, it’s ironic that the closer you try to simulate reality, the more exact and believable the simulation must be.
In Gulliver’s Travels, for example, no-one is bothered by the presence of giants or talking horses, but in Jane Eyre, to stay with the classics, much has been written about the believability of ?Mr Rochester’s domestic arrangements for example, or whether the teacher/priest figure (I’m a bit rusty on this) is realistic or not.
In my ABDL stories at least, I’m sort of stuck between reality and fantasy. The doctor should be struck off, I realise, and Sue is an overbearing bully who should have been dealt with by now.
Thankfully, i don’t come from an abusive background, so my bullies and bullied are probably caricatures. They are certainly exhibit an exaggerated combination of behaviours that I’ve read about, seen or heard of.
In reality, any decent doctor would have ensured that Steve received proper treatment if some sort. Injecting him with a potent cocktail of drugs with lingering effects, putting him in diapers then allowing him to be looked after by a group of people he might be better off without is hardly good treatment.
I suppose there’s an element of BDSM in there. I personally am not interested in it, but I think it comes as part of any story in which an adult male is reduced one way or the other to the stays and physical condition of a child in front of his former peers - other adults.
I do admit to what you might call ‘gratuitous demeaning’ of men by my descriptions of their genitalia, for example, or their wimpy behaviour.
I don’t hate men, far from it, but I am constantly amazed by the way guys correlate their worth and their status by reference to the, to me, slightly comical appendages between their legs. I don’t mean to condescend, but it is funny.
To return to your main point, about suspension of disbelief. The key is the word, used by Coleridge when he coined the phrase, I believe: ‘willing’.
You can’t enjoy a fairy story unless for the duration of the story you are willing to suspend your disbelief in fairies. In the case of ABDL stories like mine, you are asked to suspend your disbelief of the medical practices and other dubious behaviours that go on.
Certain peopleshouldbe in diapers, though!


Re: Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers
You know, I think I’ll leave that story right there. I tried to get a bit psychological, but I don’t think my knowledge or my writing abilities are up to it.
There’s a problem with any genre story, I think, and adult diaper stories are an example. It’s a bit like climbing a mountain. Once you’re there - once your protagonist is reduced to diapers and whatever else, what happens next? More diapers?
It certainly doesn’t make the stories pointless though. Just like climbing. Every journey up a hill is different. Every story is diffferent, and even if your plot isn’t new, you may be able to bring something new to it.
Most of my stories have similar plots, but I try with each one to make it better than the last. More interesting for readers, basically.
So I’ll keep going, experimenting occasionally, and trying to do what I do better than the last time. And I welcome criticism, positive and negative. At least it shows me people are interested enough to write.
Sally