What happened next would be burned into both of their memories forever. She saw a passing look of concentration, then the emergence of horror on his face. He choked off a short cry, squatted, and let loose a large amount of soft stool into his diaper. It went on and on, and she just stood quietly near the door, watching. He was, of course, consumed with the process, and had given himself over to the full completion of the task.

The room quieted, but slowly became filled with the smell of his act. After a moment, his breathing seemed to become regular again, and she gently crossed the room to him. She touched his shoulder, and asked, “Do you think you’re done? Or is there some more poop in there?”

He couldn’t answer, or even look at her. She moved so that she was in his line of sight. “Are you done?”

Once his eyes refocused on her, he nodded numbly.

She smiled. “Then let’s get you into a nice clean diaper. Come over to your changing table.” She grasped his hand and led him toward the table. He waddled gingerly, slowly, and she could see him trying not to let the contents of the diaper touch his skin. Of course, this was futile, but she understood the need to try. His expression soured as he felt the effects of the suppository coat the skin under his diaper.

When he had reached the table, she said, “Ok. Pants down, hop up!” Then she caught herself, and said, “Well, maybe not hop.”

He positioned himself to ease himself up onto the table, then stopped. “Would you please let me do this myself? It’s…disgusting.”

“Nonsense. Pooping is just a natural part of living. Now get up there so we can get you cleaned up. This is advanced diaper-changing and you would be…outmatched. I can do this far faster than you.”

And she really didn’t mind. Babysitting jobs throughout high school–not to mention family members in diapers–had kept her changing diapers much of the time. During and after nursing school, she became comfortable with the medical side of caring for grown men, and she had realized that young or old, men often needed her hands to be gentle at some times and firm at others. Her motherhood of young boys had only seemed to reinforce that.

She wasn’t put off by the cleanup, and actually found that changing a diaper was one of the more intimate experiences she could have with a male. It was one her first experiences in being in charge. How could she not enjoy that?

He sighed, and discovered that he could not really get up on the table without sitting right in the middle of his mess. As he uneasily settled himself onto the table, his expression mirrored the disgust he felt, and she noticed.

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “We’ve done this a hundred times. It’s no different to me. Just lie back.”

He couldn’t really respond. His mind was consumed with the horrible sensation of warm squish. He wanted to escape, but he felt caught, like a fly in a web. Not having any better options, he sighed, and gently reclined, feeling movement under him as he shifted weight.

Once he was down, Julie let out her breath and put on some vinyl gloves. The hard part was over. Now she had to make it—as promised—easier than changing himself.

She smiled as he reflexively let his knees fall apart, showing her the discolored diaper he wore. She untaped him, and pulled open the front of his diaper, immediately instructing him, “Up.” As he pulled his knees up, she took the diaper and efficiently wiped the bulk of his mess off of him, rolling it as she went. A few wipes later, and he was clean. She removed the dirty diaper and placed a clean one under him, powdering and taping him quickly. Within 2 minutes he was sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the table as if nothing had happened. Julie disposed of the diaper as he dressed himself.

She caught him as he was trying to turn away, toward the door. She stood in his way and waited for their eyes to meet.

Still ashamed and wanting the experience as far in the past as he could make it, he couldn’t escape her gaze. When he caught sight of her raised eyebrows, he intuited her meaning quickly and now felt bad that he hadn’t said what needed to be said. “Thank you,” he said softly, staring at the floor.

He felt her lift his chin again, which made him feel like a little kid. But for some reason he allowed this, and once she held his gaze, heard her say, “That wasn’t so bad, and I don’t think it is gross. If it happens again, please man up and let me change you, okay?”

He was silent, his emotions muddled and his mind spinning. How could she not hate what just happened? He wanted her to think of him as a man, not a baby. But she was equating being a man with letting her change his dirty diaper. He was finding it hard to come to terms with what their relationship was.

Shouldn’t it be employer/employee? It seemed more like mother/child. She couldn’t really be attracted to him at this point. Not after that.

Of course, he felt grateful to her for making him feel better when he had felt terrible, and for not humiliating him about it. It could have been much worse, but she had been so kind.

But he was deeply infatuated with her, and wanted to spend time with her. He lusted for her and loved her hands on him. He respected her intelligence and clinical skills. He wanted to be manly around her, to take her and kiss her, but she seemed to want him to be more passive and childlike. And—if he was honest—that did feel like the more natural role for him in this relationship. She was so strong and certain. It felt right to let her be in charge.

She saw the thoughts whirling through his brain, and sensed a lot of internal conflict. What could she do to help? What did he need more than anything right now? Probably acceptance.

Impulsively, she drew close and put her arms around him, holding him warmly and tightly, as she had first done two weeks ago. She felt his body stiffen for a moment, then relax a bit, then she felt his arms around her, too. She smiled.