Manhattan blues (Part 1)

I like embarrassment and humiliation in my stories and then thought of this one last night. :oops: The visit to our friends actually took place, but of course without the AR and humiliation depicted here. Please leave criticism and let me know what you would like to see in part 2.


Manhattan blues (Part 1)

“Is everything all right in there?” my wife Stella called out as I sat on the pot. I looked down at my short legs dangling above the floor.

“I’m fine honey,” I said in the most adult voice I could muster.

I visited our friends in Manhattan just last year. Their tiny studio seemed so different then. Now it seemed much bigger and more difficult to maneuver than ever. The apartment was set up like a shoebox, their living room at one end, a tiny kitchen in the middle and a bedroom and bath at the other end. They had a futon in the living room to turn it into a guest bedroom when visitors arrived.

“I don’t know what to do with him, especially if he gets much younger,” Stella whispered to Sarah in the kitchen. “He’s starting to lose his toilet training now. He through a fit when I made him wear training pants. Pretty soon I may be changing his diapers.”

Not knowing the full state of the situation, Sarah seemed surprised. “Oh you poor thing,” Sarah said, rubbing Stella’s arm in an attempt to console her. “I can’t get over how cute he’s gotten. It will work out. You’ll both work it out.”

For me, it all started six months ago. I was one of the first Americans to contract the AR virus. With my frequent overseas business trips, I knew that I had a bigger chance of being exposed, but I always dismissed it, thinking I was taking the right precautions. I didn’t know I really had a problem until well into the second month from returning from an extended stay in Vietnam. Shortly after I returned from the trip, I felt great, looked great and Stella and I were having great sex. But when it was becoming noticeable that I was shrinking, that’s when we went to the hospital.

The third and fourth months were spent at Beth Israel hospital. Doctors and nurses poked and prodded me before finally determining that it was an AR case. Once it was determined that I wasn’t contagious, they let me return home and that’s when it became very difficult to adjust to the changes. Stella kept treating me more and more like a child, my body kept tricking me. First I went through the clumsy stage, then the angry stage. I through a fit the first time she came in to make sure I was ok and again when she helped me bathe – worried that I might slip and fall. Now, for the most part I’ve come to grips with things, but I still want to hang on to every last bit of dignity that I have left.

I struggled on the toilet for what seemed an eternity, only managing a few drops. I thought I had to poop, but once again my body tricked me. After flushing, I hopped off the pot. I turned and looked at myself in a full length mirror on the bathroom wall. It was clear as to what I had become. Staring back at me was a toddler. My hairless penis was now the size of my pinky and I didn’t have much luck when I tried to cup my balls. They seemed to recede further into my body each day. I lifted my thick training pants, and my waistband jeans. I struggled to open the bathroom door and returned to the kitchen. Both Sarah and Stella stared at me as I sat down at the table.

“Did you wipe well?” Stella asked, breaking the silence. “You were in there for a while.”

“Of course I wiped,” I said in an angry tone, my face turning red as I tried to hide my embarrassment.

My wife spared me any further embarrassment. She could have easily told Sarah about having to clean my brown streaked underwear. For some reason it was becoming more difficult to clean myself, and I knew it. She also could have mentioned my accidents. I started to wet the bed at night sometimes, and then I was dribbling throughout the day. It was embarrassing looking down at the stain over my crotch, not even knowing that I had wet myself. I finally agreed on training pants to at least spare Stella from having to run a load of wash every day.

I pretended to listen as Sarah and Stella carried on an adult conversation. The doctor’s said that my mind may also adjust to my changes and I was starting to notice some subtle differences. I had trouble watching an entire television program. News programs were becoming more and more difficult to comprehend. When my wife spoke to friends like Sarah, half the time I didn’t know what they were talking about, or something else was happening – it was like my brain wasn’t translating all the dialogue.

“When is Joel coming, I’m getting hungry,” I said, not realizing that I interrupted the conversation.

Sarah smiled at me and said he’d be home soon and the two returned to their conversation.

Soon Joel arrived and but before we went to dinner, Stella asked me to join her in the bathroom.

“What do you want honey?” I asked.

Stella closed the door and removed what appeared to be a diaper from her bag.

"Darling, I want you to put this on.
I started to object but she didn’t let me get a word in.
“I don’t want to hear any arguments. We’re headed to a nice restaurant and I can’t have you traipsing to the bathroom every five minutes. I just don’t want you having an embarrassing accident dear.”

I was close to going into a fit of rage, but my sensible side kicked in. I looked over at the diaper. It was round, had leg gathers but it was the kind meant for older children who had an occasional accident. It was even meant to slip on and off easily so a child could use the bathroom.

I hesitated but agreed and slipped on the diaper. I was surprised at how comfortable it felt. Nice and fluffy, it hugged against my front and rear.

“Honey, I know that you won’t be needing them. If you have to poop or pee while we’re there, just go ahead to the bathroom. It’s going to be fine.”

I opened the door and walked back to the kitchen where Sarah and Joel were. I clearly had a slight diaper waddle of a toddler. I started to wonder what I was thinking when I agreed to wear the diaper. They both looked down at me and smiled. I didn’t know that while I was alone in the bathroom earlier, my wife told Sarah her plan to diaper me for the evening.

Soon, we left for dinner and had a wonderful time. What I didn’t know was what would happen on the walk back to the apartment that would change my life and my dignity forever.

Manhattan blues (Part 1)

This is a moderately different approach to something that hasn’t been done (at least here) for a while. Good luck with it: I hope you can pull it off.