Although they had sex, it was never up to Gail’s expectations; he was inordinately attracted to her large breasts and spent more time on suckling them than on any other form of foreplay. Although Gail didn’t believe in the old saw about size making a difference in making love, the miniscule size of his testes and penis made sex difficult at best. Since he was barely three inches long at full erection and proportionally as thin, when he did manage to enter her it felt like she was making love to a thirteen year old boy. When he did get down to business, he nearly always ejaculated prematurely after two or three minutes just as an sexually overdriven and underequipped adolescent might do.
Since he absolutely refused to perform cunnilingus, Gail was forced to use a vibrator each time they made love to relieve her sexual tensions. Fortunately for Gail, she grew to like having her nipples sucked and would stroke his immature husband’s hair as he pleasured her in the only way he really could. Oftentimes, Gail would wonder what it would be like to have a real baby at her breast instead of her dependant childish husband. They tried to have a child together but were unsuccessful in their attempts. After the first year, she insisted that they go to a fertility clinic where the cause of their inability to have a baby was diagnosed. Her husband was infertile. She tried to talk him into a sperm implant but failed to convince him that they should have a baby by artificial means.
Gail suspected that he didn’t want a baby that would compete with her attentions and that he really wanted her to continue being his “mother” in lieu of his own. She was depressed by his refusal to accept her solution, but accepted a situation she couldn’t change. Gail spent next the two years of their aborted marriage caring for a man who was little better than a helpless Kindergartner. Frankly, the longer she lived with him, the more she thought she was caring for a superannuated three or four year old rather than an oversized Kindergartner. For one thing, his lack of bodily self-control was less than that of her friends five-year-olds. His clumsiness was unbelievable! Even though he didn’t drink alcoholic beverages, he stumbled around as if was either half drunk or he had just mastered the art of walking.
His manual dexterity was atrocious; he could barely handle a glass of milk without spilling it. He was such a klutz that she made him eat dinner with a beach towel pinned around his neck for a bib while seated in the kitchen. She didn’t dare let him eat on the couch in front of the TV; she would have never gotten the stains out of the upholstery or carpet. He made such a mess when he ate that she bought a thick square of clear vinyl plastic to lay under his dinner chair like baby’s feeding mat to make cleaning the kitchen floor easier after he finished his meals.
She didn’t dare ask him to help with the dishwashing or he would have dropped every dish in the house within the space of a week. She was also appalled at his lack of bowel and bladder control. A Kindergartner could stay dry all day long with fewer accidents per week than he had. He didn’t have problems with his bladder just during the day either, he had even more “accidents” while he slept at night. The back of his underwear was nearly always stained and more than once he wet himself at the end of the day in the car as well as during the night. Tests at the doctors had proven that he didn’t suffer from any treatable disease. He was merely physically and emotionally immature to the extreme.
More than once, she thought of putting him in diapers each night after he got home to cut down on the soiled underwear. Unfortunately, that resolution would have forced her to wash her husband’s dirty diapers every day and would have raised their laundry costs. They couldn’t afford the extra detergent and borax to presoak and wash thick adult diapers nor could they afford the expense of putting him in adult cloth diapers on his miniscule salary. When she called a hospital supply company to inquire the price of cloth diapers were that would fit her husband, she discovered that adult diapers were horribly expensive. She had looked at the packages of adult briefs at the grocery store and had decided that disposables were simply out of the question. His income couldn’t support the cost of putting him in disposable diapers every night. She sighed heavily at the time and went on washing his dirty laundry. The best she could do was to put a towel under him while he slept and have a plastic mattress protector on the bed. After washing almost half a thousand pairs of brown-streaked underwear and wet towels, she had called it quits in the second year and divorced him.