Lola`s Chapter (5)

Chapter 2
the next few weeks

Chapter Description: Part 2 of 3.

The next few weeks were equally pleasant. Jon had some paid time off squirreled away, and as long as I spent the time I wasn’t taking care of him on writing, we’d have no reason to worry about bills to pay or food to eat. Good thing, too; taking care of Jon had become a job all its own.

You see, 24 years old he may have been, but Jon was a little pants-wetter. This was partially my fault. I mean, it could have been all my fault, considering such was the natural progression of the formula, but who knows? I’m sure he had gotten drunk and pissed his jeans in college a buncha times. Maybe not while he was awake, but I’m trying to allow for all possibilities.

You should’ve seen the look on his face the first time it happened, too. It was priceless. I was cooking dinner (complete with the added ingredient that had led Jon to a spell of nightly self-consciousness), and the boy was just hanging around, drinking a beer, useful as ever...which is to say, not much. I heard a gasp, I turned around, and there he was, looking down in surprise and increasing horror as he helplessly emptied his bladder into his blue jeans. I failed at suppressing a giggle as I watched the dark stains streak down his pants’ legs and amass as puddles of water on the floor at his feet. He looked like an overgrown toddler, and when he glanced up again, our eyes met...and his face was beet-red.

“Beer goes right through you, doesn’t it, honey?”

A few more instances of this and I had had it. Jon agreed with me that maybe it was in the best interest of our security deposit (and his inexcusably expensive wardrobe) that he remain diapered throughout the day. And so it went, me with my writing, him with his TV-watching and video-game-playing and other petty male meanderings, taking time off every so often to waddle into my study, his soaked diaper dangling between his legs, and asking me to change him.

He could’ve changed himself, of course, but neither of us was willing to sacrifice the intimacy of the moment. Every time I changed my boyfriend’s diapers, it culminated in a sequence of lovemaking so intense that we started getting noise complaints. This whole episode had been the greatest thing to have happened to our love life since we had started dating.

All good things must come to an end, however; and, in the case of these ribald vignettes, the good things came to an end as soon as Jon started messing his diapers. He had been “going potty” perfectly well for an entire week, using his diapers only to “make peepee” (he hated my terminology... wink), when, one day, he came into the study asking for a change...and he doubled over, caught a startled gasp in his throat, and let out an audible groan as he grabbed his knees and forced the contents of his bowels into his already-saturated diaper.

I just sat there in my computer chair and watched. My boyfriend had always been so suave, dashing, independent, and just plain cool - that watching him helplessly fill his diapers in front of me was some sort of catharsis that had been far too long in coming. He whined - practically cried, the humiliation was so severe - as he just kept going and going, dumping in his didees as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

He squealed in shame when I swatted the loaded padding surrounding his butt and insisted he change himself. But, as all previous conditions had been, mine, at this point, was clear: Mommy Lola was to change Baby Jonny. And he would just have to deal with it.

He didn’t deal with it so well. Honestly, the way you boys act sometimes, I start to thinking that you aren’t in touch with your emotions whatsoever. Not Jonny. He cried and cried as I changed his messy diaper... not bawling, mind you, but a genuine, stilted sobbing. The tears flowed freely as he lay there on the bathroom floor, his girlfriend wiping the nasty poopies away from his widdle bum-bum, cleaning him up nice and good and putting him in a fresh, dry diaper without so much a jerk or two to satisfy his burgeoning libido. I mean, seriously... if you had gone through what I had just gone through, would you have felt the least bit sexually inclined? Huh-uh. Didn’t think so.

It was only a matter of a day or so before the next phase of the formula kicked in and Jonny began to lose his adult mind. This began manifesting itself innocuously enough; frequently I would turn on our television to find that it had been left on Nickelodeon rather than, say, Comedy Central or Showtime. Perhaps as a means of coming to terms with his humiliation and accepting his new condition, Jonny had taken to giggling and playing with his toes while I changed his diapers, and every so often he would blow a spit bubble just to see how big he could get it before it popped.

I was actually beginning to find him rather adorable.

The boy realized this, too, of course, and he began to use it to his advantage. It was getting hard to tell what was resultant from the formula and what was resultant from his trying to remain in my good graces.

“Mommy Looolaaa!” he would howl, giggling. “Me twied to use da big-boy potty dis time but me! didn’t! make! it!” And he’d bend over and look at me upside-down through his legs, his loaded diaper pointed skyward, and he’d blow a raspberry.

He liked his tickle tortures, and he liked all the soft, stuffed animals I bought for him (except the cats...he stuck his tongue out at them and swatted them aside), and he liked crawling around for Mommy wherever he went. Jonny made such a cute toddler that I often forgot that he was 24 years old... and when he made me proudest, like when he once managed to finish all his strained carrots without making a mess of his high chair, I forgot all about how he had cheated on me.

We were, once again, the perfect couple. Only the dynamic had changed, as these things so often do.

to be continued

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