My Second Husband

By Jennifer Loraine


"At 43 my husband returned to the year of his birth. I don't know what we would have done if he had had to work. Fortunately, my husband received large monthly stipend from a trust fund his grandparents created," says a wife in Youngstown, Ohio. "After his forty-third birthday my husband became very depressed. He became morose and very difficult to deal with. One day, after a spat with me, he withdrew to our bedroom and wouldn't come out except to eat. He stayed in bed for a week before he came out again. When he did, he seemed disinterested in anything around him. He seemed to retreat into his own world; he spent his days dressed in a bathrobe, sitting in a chair.

He started to wet the bed at night. I tried to remind him to go potty before he went to bed but it had no effect. Eventually, I put absorbent bed pads on his side of our bed for him to sleep on. I took him to the doctor, but he couldn't find anything wrong organically and gave him some medication for depression and bedwetting. He became distant, vague and had to be reminded to do everything. when he started to forget; I thought he might have suffered an ischemic stroke, but when I took him to the doctor again, he told me my husband was physically okay. The doctor put told me it was just approaching middle age.

Each day he would lose a little more; at first I had to undress him for bed, then I had to take him to the bathroom and help him on the toilet. He couldn't bathe himself; I had to lead him into the bathroom, undress, put him into the tub and bathe him like a baby. When he started to soil the bed as well as wet it, I took him to see a psychiatrist. After testing in his office, he recommended that my husband be hospitalized. I had him committed to a psychiatric hospital where the doctor administered Electro-Convulsive Therapy. The shock treatments produced a state of confusion from which he never recovered. He was treated with anti-psychotics and anti-depressants with no success. His condition continued to worsen in the hospital and the psychiatrist began to lose hope. The psychiatrist told me my husband would probably have to be hospitalized for the rest of his life. His final diagnosis was that my husband was a schizophrenic of the hebephrenic type.

I had our lawyer begin proceedings to declare my husband mentally incompetent and had him discharged from the hospital in my care. Rather than institutionalize him, I decided to take care of him myself. When I got him home, I moved him out of our bedroom and into the spare bedroom. I put a waterproof mattress protector on his bed and began putting him in diapers at night. He was never angry or violent, but slipped back into a sweet-tempered, blissful babyhood. Within weeks he lost the ability to feed himself and had to be fed. He stopped talking and babbled and prated like a one-year old. I read children's stories to him to try and help him regain his speech. Dr. Suess, Winnie-the-Poo, that sort of thing. But he just seemed to regress further every day until he could only communicate his needs by crying. When he was tired, hungry, thirsty, uncomfortable or wet, my husband squalled like an infant.

His physical skills deteriorated as well; he stopped walking by himself and crawled on the floor. The only way I can get him to walk is to hold his hand like he was a pre-toddler still learning to walk. He lost all bladder and bowel control and had to be kept in diapers in the day as well as night. After he lost the ability to hold a cup, I started giving him Ensure in a baby bottle. He would sit on the floor in his diapers and suck on the nipple for hours. He looked and behaved just like a one-year old. He sucked his thumb, drooled and peed in his pants just like he did when he was a baby. He acted like I was his mother and frequently cried when he wanted to be held or hugged by me. In utter frustration, I began to treat him like a toddler. I slapped his hands, scolded him like a small child and spanked him when he was naughty. Strangely, he seemed to like being treated like a baby. His behavior would improve immediately after a spanking and he would be all hugs and kisses for the rest of the day. I started to coo and make baby-talk to him. He loved it; he would bubble and chuckle delightedly when I talked to him like that.

His intellectual condition suffered too; he lost interest in most TV early on, the only shows he was interested in were the Care Bears and Barney. After he returned to crawling, he found a sand-filled draft-buster doll by the door and dragged it behind him for a week. He would sit in front of the TV, watching Barney with his thumb in his mouth, cuddling that damned sand-filled doll. I finally got it away from him by giving him a large fuzzy teddy bear to keep. It was his constant companion after I gave it to him. He even started dragging the comforter from his bed around behind him like a small child; the corner of the blanket in his fist and his thumb in his mouth. I got tired of laundering his comforter every day and bought him a flannel baby blanket.

He began to put objects in his mouth; pens, coins, buttons, that sort of thing. I was terrified that he would swallow and choke on something he picked up off the floor. I finally broke down and bought him pacifiers to suck on.

Once, he got into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out all the metal cooking pans. I awoke at 4 am in the morning to find him sitting on the kitchen floor in a diaper and banging on the pans with a wooden spoon. I had to baby-proof the house as if I had a toddler running loose. I even put baby gates up between the rooms. Since he could only crawl without my help, he couldn't get past the gates. I began to buy baby toys to keep him occupied and out of trouble; fabric blocks and stuffed animals at first, nesting boxes and stacking circles later. The living room floor became littered with his new toys; soft fabric blocks, stuffed animals, and assorted picture and coloring books.

Within two years, his gums developed pyorrhea from the constant sucking and his teeth started to rot. The doctors told me I had to have all his teeth removed before they abscessed. I had a dentist extract all of his teeth and after that, I fed him nothing but puréed baby food.

In the end, I resigned myself to the inevitable and redecorated the spare bedroom as a nursery, which it remains to this day. I painted it pale blue and put up a coordinating nursery wallpaper border with brightly colored indoor-outdoor carpeting for him to crawl on. To make feeding him easier, I bought bibs and a geriatric chair with an activity tray. I had an entire set of baby furniture, sized to fit an adult body, made by a furniture wood-shop. I had a playpen, crib and changing table custom made to fit him. I put the crib and changing table in his room and the playpen in the family room. If you discount the scale of the furniture in his room, you would think you were in a baby's nursery.

After a while, I realized that it was simpler just to think of him as my baby. His education, experience, intelligence, had melted away like the last snow of spring. There was nothing left of my husband but a drooling, diaper-wetting infant. I grieved the loss of my husband, but at least I had part of him with me. If I couldn't have my husband whole again, I was glad at least he loved me and he was happy. He had such an endearing tooth-less smile and he babbled and jabbered so sweetly that I forgot he was forty-three and not a year old. I thought he looked adorable playing on the floor of the nursery dressed in diapers. He became the baby we never had. I bought an oversized rocking chair and put it in the nursery. At night before he went to sleep, the two of us would sit in the chair and I would hold the bottle for him while he nursed. When he'd finished his bottle, I'd burp him, then hold him in my arms, rock and sing lullabies until he was ready to be put in his crib. I tried to treat him as much like my baby as I could, both for his sake and for mine. I'd even started to dress him like a baby; I sewed diaper covers, sleepers, creepers and one-piece underwear with snap-crotches to make dressing and diaper changing easier. He loved to be dressed in a flannel sleeper I think he liked the fuzzy feel of the cloth on his skin.

The doctors had given me no hope of recovery. My husband had the mind of a pre-speech one-year old and the body of a forty-five year old. At the age of forty, I found my-self the mother of a one hundred and sixty five pound baby boy. Two years later he died of a heart attack. I locked up the nursery and put away my first husband's baby things after he died.

Since that time I've remarried. My second husband is an easy going, agreeable type who has let me run the household as I wished. After being the dominate partner in my last marriage, I didn't feel like giving up what I felt to be my prerogatives. We don't have any problems with money. I inherited a sizable estate from my first husband; more than enough to support us for the rest of our lives. After six months of marriage to my second husband, he became very curious about the nursery. One day, after returning from shopping, I found him in the nursery, the door unlocked and ajar. I found him standing naked in middle of the room, modeling a diaper. He had it tucked between his legs and was holding the ends together! I laughed and told him how cute he looked, then coaxed him into letting me pin it on him. I made him lay on the changing table while I diapered him and then for good measure, I put some plastic briefs over the diaper. I told him to get up and I lead him into the bathroom so he could see the results in the mirror. He was en-chanted! Imagine my surprise when he asked if he could wear it to sleep that night. Oh no! I thought, Is he schizophrenic too? I hoped that maybe he just wanted to see what it felt like. I told him that if he wanted to see how I had treated my first husband, I was willing, but if he was psychotic I would have him institutionalized. He assured me he wasn't and I agreed to show him how I took care of my first husband. I took away his dentures and put him in the crib for a nap while I went to the store to buy Ensure, baby food and disposable diapers. When I came home, I fixed him a bottle and went to the nursery to feed him. When I got him out of the crib, I was shocked to find that he had wet his diaper! I scolded him and told him he had gone too far, but he apologized so earnestly that I forgave him. I told him that if he really wanted to find out how I had treated my first husband, I would oblige him. He could spend the rest of the week in diapers! I fed him and changed his diaper, then took him out into the living room. I sat him down on the floor with some toys then went out to the garage and got my husband's old playpen. I reassembled it in the living room and put my new husband in the playpen. He looked simply adorable sitting in the playpen! I put a pacifier in his mouth and turned on the TV. As I watched TV, I started to reminisce about my first husband. I decided that I had secretly enjoyed taking care of him. The only thing that I had missed in our relationship after his illness was sex. If my new husband was sane and enjoyed being treated this way, I would be happy to indulge him!

Later that night, I took him to the nursery to put him to bed. I put him in the crib on his side with his feet at the bottom of the crib. I picked up a book from the dresser, climbed into the crib beside him with my head at the top of the bed and removed his pacifier. His eyes grew wide as I opened my blouse, lifted my breast out and guided the nipple to his lips. He took the nipple all the way up to the aureole and started sucking. I opened the book and began reading a Dr. Suess story to him while he nursed at my tit. He moaned and whimpered while he suckled which I found extremely arousing. After about ten minutes I changed breasts and let him suck the other tit for awhile. I could feel his hard penis through his diaper and knew he was as horny as I was. The feeling of power was intoxicating; I knew he would let me do anything I wanted to him. He looked so sweet in his diaper, sucking at my breast. I let him work on the other tit until I couldn't wait any longer. I put the book down and gently removed the tit from his mouth, then rolled him over on his back and replaced the pacifier. I got out of the crib, took off my slacks and panties, and got back into the crib on top of him, straddling his hips with my knees. I pulled down the front of the diaper just enough to get his penis out and mounted him. "Be a good baby, Sweet heart, and Mommy will make you very happy." I said as I began to slowly pump up and down on him. His moans of pleasure were muffled by the pacifier and I continued to pump until we orgasmed. "That's Mommy's goood baby! Mommy's very pleased with her baby. Now close your eyes, dear. It's time to go to sleep." I said, knowing that he always fell asleep after he orgasmed. I dismounted from him and got out of the crib. I covered him with a comforter, then put up the crib side. "Good night Honey-bunch." I told him as picked up my clothes and turned to the door, locking it behind me.

Later that night I was woken by the sound of him crying. He was begging me, pleading with me to come and open the door so he could go to the bathroom. I wasn't worried about him going out the window, the bars I had installed when

I turned it into an adult nursery would stop him from leaving the room that way. The diuretic and laxative I had put in his bottle were working on him. It sounded like he would soon be wearing a very wet and dirty diaper. I'd change him in the morning; he needed to get use to dirty diapers. I smiled to myself as I turned over and went back to sleep.

The next morning I got up and made myself a cup of coffee before preparing a bottle of juice for him. I finished my coffee and went in to change his diaper. He was fast asleep and looked years younger than his calendar age. I pulled off his comforter so I could change him. He woke up as I unfastened the diaper tapes and I said, "Gooood morning! Did Mommy's baby have a good sleep? Mommy is going to change baby's dydee. Did baby know he was wearing a dirty dydee?" When I pulled the front of the diaper down between his legs, the stench of ammonia and feces filled the room. I cleaned and re-diapered him quickly, then handed him the bottle of juice and said, "After you finish your bottle, I expect you to go back to sleep. It's too early for you to be up, baby." I went to the dresser and folded the soiled diaper and picked up a can of room deodorizer from the dresser and sprayed the room. Baby powder scented deodorizer filled the air as I left the room, taking the folded diaper with me. He would be asleep again shortly I knew; I had put sleeping pills in his juice.

After about two hours I woke him again and fed him mixed cereal for breakfast and gave him his bottle of formula. He whimpered a bit as I fedhim, so I knew this treatment was affecting him. I let him out of the nursery, led him into the living room and made him crawl on the floor in front of me while sucking on a pacifier. He was so embarrassed when he involuntarily pooped in his diaper in front of me! I thought the poor thing was going to cry. I comforted him and told him it was okay to poop in his dydee, that was why he was wearing it. He got misty-eyed and looked like he was about to start dripping tears. I changed his dirty diaper and put him in his playpen. Then I gave him his bottle to suck on and turned on the Care Bears for him to watch while I tidied up the house.

By the end of the week, I had completely broken his toilet training; he would have to wear diapers for a few days even if I had agreed to treat him like an adult again. Unfortunately for him, I had no intention of letting him out of diapers again. When I told him that this arrangement was permanent, he quailed. He wept in shame and told me he was just playing, that he didn't really mean it! I laughed and told him that it was too late. I'd discovered what he really wanted in life. I kissed his forehead and told him he looked adorable in diapers. He'd just have to adjust to his new role.

He spends most evenings now wearing nothing but a diaper, crawling around the floor and playing with Lego Blocks, while I sit on the couch knitting and watching TV. He loves this treatment and has become completely docile and submissive. I find him irresistibly charming crawling around the floor in diapers. He looks so innocent and helpless playing at my feet. He reminds me so much of my first husband with his pacifier in his mouth. I'm so glad I don't have to worry about him swallowing anything accidentally. At least I can let him play with something small like Legos.

When it's time for bed, I take him to the nursery and give him his evening bottle. Since I've broken his toilet training, I haven't had to put any laxatives or diuretics in his formula, however, I've found it advantageous to spike it with a drug called Ecstasy. I usually take a dose myself before I take him to bed. By the time he's finished his bottle, the both of us are incredibly horny. I read him stories from Dr. Suess every night while he nurses his bedtime bottle and afterwards we make love for hours. Our love life has never been better, he's indefatigable. I've finally found everything I've wanted in a marriage.


Copyright 1995 by Jennifer Loraine