Mrs. Taylor Chapter One (C&C invited and welcome)

[Ohmo]

Comments and critiques, constructive criticisms, and meandering remarks invited, requested, and welcome. Personal pronouns discouraged.?

 

Mrs. Taylor

Chapter One

 

The hand on my shoulder startled me. I had been concentrating on not concentrating on the protective underwear the urologist suggested I wear for the next week. His nurse told me the enema might leak for several hours and that I would have some loss of control over my urine for a few days. They had given me a pair of flimsy, disposable adult protective underwear and suggested I buy some more on my way home. I spun around to see who was grabbing me and saw a blonde woman about my height and at least twice my age.

“You were just standing there, so I asked you if you are all right,” she said, hesitating, then adding, “Is that you, Teddy? Little Teddy Monroe?”  She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, but I had no idea who she was.

Before I could confirm her suspicion or ask who she was, the woman grabbed me and hugged me. She was surprisingly strong, pinning my arms to my side. I stumbled backwards, but she kept me from falling, then stepped back.

“Oh, dear,” she said almost sadly, “you don’t remember me. It’s your old neighbor, June Taylor.”

Flashback! Mrs. Taylor, Mom’s best friend, our next-door neighbor, and my frequent babysitter until she moved away when I was 14. By then I was too old for a babysitter, so the reality was Mrs. Taylor was the only sitter I remembered. At that age I had had a crush on my babysitter and was crushed when she moved.

“Mrs. Taylor. Of course. I apologize for not recognizing you.”  I shifted from foot to foot more worried about possible leaks than being impolite. “Nice to see you again, but I have to get going.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Mrs. Taylor said taking my arm, turning me around and moving me along the sidewalk. “How long has it been, Teddy? Or do you prefer Theodore now that you’re all grown up?”

“About 12 years, Mrs. Taylor,” I said hoping she would accept my short reply as a hint that I really did need to go in more ways than one.

Mrs. Taylor hooked her right arm around my left and began chatting as though determined to bring me up to date on the last decade of her life. I could not stop to try to exercise control below my waste so there was an occasional dribble from my rectum or penis. Just frequently enough to keep my mind off what she was saying.

She stopped me in front of a small coffee shop. “How thoughtless of me, Teddy. I have been going on and on without letting you get a word in edgewise. Let me buy you a drink and a snack, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to,” she said and before I could decline, she’d opened the door and pushed me inside.

We found a table for two by the shop’s bay window, and Mrs. Taylor ordered tea and muffins for us. I squirmed on the chair because the leaks I’d experienced were damp and warm despite the absorbent material in the underwear. I was glad, though, that the jarring motion of walking was over for, at least, a little while. Maybe I would make it home with any more leaks.

The tea was good, and the muffin, large enough to feed a family of four, was excellent with nuts and small pieces of fruit along with an occasional explosion of brown sugar, not dry and almost gritty like most healthy muffins I had tried to eat. Sugar was not the only bomb set off, though.

Mrs. Taylor leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, and asked, “Do you need to be changed, Teddy? Or maybe just some help?”

How did she know? My face flashed hot red! Speechless, a crumb of muffin tumbled out of my open mouth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Teddy, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said dabbing my lips with her napkin then picking up the crumb. “It is obvious, though, that, based on the little wet spot on your bottom, you have something going on under your slacks. I just thought I would offer to help if you need it. Maybe like old times?”

She had never been mean or cruel, just bossy with more than enough sweetness to make everyone agree with her. So, I poured out my problem explaining my doctor’s visit and the short-term problems it caused.

“So, yes, I am wearing protective underwear, so I wasn’t aware it had leaked. So, maybe changing would be a good idea. When you stopped me, I was looking for somewhere to buy some more before heading home.”

“So, you need a change and have nothing to change into?” Mrs. Taylor had that thoughtful look I did not care to remember.

“There’s a pharmacy next door. Why don’t I dash over there, buy something for you, and then you can change in the restroom here. Or I can help if you need it.”  She beamed at me, proud of her solution.

My hesitation convinced her I agreed, and she was out of her chair before I could stop her.

“You enjoy your muffin, Teddy, and I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”  With that she was out the door.

So, I ate the muffin while waiting. I will have to buy one to take home. The few minutes turned into 20.

Mrs. Taylor entered the coffee shop with a large reusable knit shopping bag hung on her shoulder. The size of the nearly full bag meant she had bought more than a package of disposable protective underwear. Because I did not know what else was in the bag, I hoped it was not all for me.

Sitting down, she commented, “Oh, my, Teddy, did you eat the whole muffin? Those are for helping keep a person regular if you know what I mean. I only eat half of one on any given day, but I don’t know what eating a whole one will do to you in your condition.”

How much more bad news can there be?

“Well, what happens happens. You should be protected, though.” 

Mrs. Taylor told me what she had bought while sipping her tea and nibbling her own muffin. Unsure what style of protection I might need over the next week, she had opted for what she thought was the most protection, adult briefs. That did not sound too bad, but when she mentioned inserts for them, I was confused but kept quiet. Then there was powder to keep me dry, wipes to clean me up, and, of course, the bag itself to carry it all home in.

“Now, if you’ve never used adult briefs, I should ask you if you know how to put them on.”

No question followed so I replied, “I guess so, you just pull them on like a pair of boxers – right?”  That was, after all what I had been given at the doctor’s office and what I was wearing.

“Oh, heavens no, Teddy,” she snickered. “These have tape tabs to hold the back to the front and are often called adult diapers.”

Diapers? I felt like a deer caught in a truck’s headlights.

She saw I was not familiar with what she had bought for me so suggested she accompany me into the restroom to show me how it was done. Concerned I would do it wrong and leak more into my slacks I agreed. Mrs. Taylor smiled as she stood up, picked up the bag, and took my hand. I did not feel so much embarrassed as I felt small. And protected.

Inside the restroom Mrs. Taylor locked the door and then lowered the changing table. It was almost as long as I was tall, and a label declared it would hold a hundred pounds more than I weighed. She opened the bag and laid out all the supplies on the back edge of the platform, and then opened one package labeled, Disposable Pads. After unfolding one and arranging it on the table, she patted it and said, “Up you go, Teddy. Not exceptionally soft, but it will get the job done.”

She waited several seconds, then said, “Don’t make me wait, Teddy.” That fist of steel inside the velvet glove voice. A flashback reminded me of the last time I had heard it.

Not wanting a repeat of something that happened almost two decades ago, I gingerly climbed onto the changing platform and lay on my back with my knees up so my feet would stay on it. I had not considered removing any of my clothes. Mrs. Taylor appeared OK with that and pulled off my shoes.

“That’s my good Teddy,” she cooed while unfastening my slacks and pulling them, too, off. She literally tore the flimsy protective underpants off me by ripping the sides apart, something they were designed to do, but that I had missed. She clucked her tongue and used an adult size wipe to clean up around my genitals and the thigh creases. After tossing the rag in the trash she patted my hip.

“Up, baby, so I can get your bottom, too.”

I raised my hips not sure if my embarrassment was more from the intimate cleaning or from the arousal it was causing. She washed my behind, gently scrubbed the crack, and finally twisted the wipe into my sphincter.

“All clean,” she announced, “but keep that cute behind up until I tell you to drop it.”  I did.

Next step was the adult brief, the diaper. That is exactly what it looked like, an infant’s disposable diaper but big enough for someone my size. Blood filled my face again when Mrs. Taylor pushed the diaper under my hips then told me to lower them. I did and was amazed at how soft and thick the material felt.

“Before we close you up, Teddy, I need to use some baby lotion on her behind to keep it from chafing, and some powder to keep your front dry. So, up again, baby.”

Why does she keep saying ‘baby’? But I ‘upped’ again while she coated my bottom with a generous dollop of baby lotion. The scent was nice, almost relaxing, until her finger invaded my rectum and twisted around while she moved it in and out for several seconds. Oh, crap, I’m getting hard, so I bit my lip trying to divert attention away from my cock.

“Down, Teddy.” Her laughter was soft, not cruel. “That’s all right, Teddy, you wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t get a hard-on,” she said while dusting me with baby powder which smelled almost as nice as the lotion.

The bitch of it was being left with the erection while she pulled the front of the diaper up and fastened both sides. After a pat on the diaper right over my penis she leaned over me, rubbing her large breasts against my chest and kissed my forehead.

“Alright, Teddy, up you go and get dressed while I pack your bag for you.” I was so glad she did not say diaper bag.

The plastic diaper was heavier than the flimsy absorbent underpants I had been wearing so some of my confidence returned as I buckled my belt.  Mrs. Taylor straightened my polo shirt around the waist of my trousers but I was quick enough to block the swat she aimed at my behind. That earned me a pair of raised eyebrows that I ignored.

I also ignored the gurgle across my midsection as I held the door open for Mrs. Taylor. Most of my newfound confidence wilted when the busty, ginger barista smirked when we returned to our table.

 

 

 

[BoTox]

I liked it. However, did you mean to use pinioning in the context of "pinioning my arms to my side" instead of pinning?

Overall, good premise and I like what I'm reading.

[Ohmo]

27 minutes ago, BoTox said:

... did you mean to use pinioning in the context of "pinioning my arms to my side" instead of pinning?

 

Pinioning:  tie or hold the arms or legs of (someone).

Pinning:  holding someone firmly in a specified position so they are unable to move.

Although the two words can be used almost interchangeably, pinning was chosen because:

• it more accurately describes the scene a viewer might look upon
• it brings a better rhythm to the phrase
• in my circles it is the more commonly used term of the two in this context

Thanks for your feedback. I appreciate it!

 

 

[BoTox]

10 hours ago, Ohmo said:

Pinioning:  tie or hold the arms or legs of (someone).

Pinning:  holding someone firmly in a specified position so they are unable to move.

Although the two words can be used almost interchangeably, pinning was chosen because:

• it more accurately describes the scene a viewer might look upon
• it brings a better rhythm to the phrase
• in my circles it is the more commonly used term of the two in this context

Thanks for your feedback. I appreciate it!

 

 

Not to split hairs but did you agree with me or did autocorrect take over?

[Ohmo]

7 hours ago, BoTox said:

Not to split hairs but did you agree with me or did autocorrect take over?

Autocorrect took charge.  The error has been corrected to reflect the first of several drafts/edits and my response to your first question.

Another example of why a writer should read their ramblings after every edit.

Again, thanks for your feedback.  It is helpful.

 

[parkintochter]

I like it

[zzzz50]

On 7/30/2021 at 1:29 PM, Ohmo said:

Mrs. Taylor hooked her right arm around my left and began chatting as though determined to bring me up to date on the last decade of her life. I could not stop to try to exercise control below my waste so there was an occasional dribble from my rectum or penis. Just frequently enough to keep my mind off what she was saying 
Should “waste” be “waist”? Otherwise a good start.

[Ohmo]

9 hours ago, zzzz50 said:

On 7/30/2021 at 1:29 PM, Ohmo said:

Mrs. Taylor hooked her right arm around my left and began chatting as though determined to bring me up to date on the last decade of her life. I could not stop to try to exercise control below my waste so there was an occasional dribble from my rectum or penis. Just frequently enough to keep my mind off what she was saying 
Should “waste” be “waist”? Otherwise a good start.

Yes, it should.  And now that it has been pointed out I distinctly recall staring at that word wondering if that was the correct spelling. Waist/waste is one of those pairs that, for whatever reason, bedevils me.  I plead guilty of a crime that frustrates me in others' writings - not checking when there is doubt.

Considering the sentence, though, context could be changed by removing "exercise" and "below".  Decisions, decisions. ??