Dear Susan,
 
For the last two years since finding your website, I have secretly enjoyed the stories that prove that I am not alone.  Prior to that, I thought I was the only man in the world forced to do the kind of things that get reported regularly in your newsletter.  The relief I felt when I first found you has finally prompted me to stop hiding, and to tell my story in the hope that someone else may feel that relief.

Some ten years ago I was foolish enough to have a brief dalliance (that is my word, which I prefer to "affair") with a young lady in our office.  It was very brief, but on the day I decided to break it off, I was caught red-handed by my wife.  There were many tears and the talk centered on a divorce.  I'm not ashamed to admit I begged her to reconsider, but she eventually brought the papers home to sign.  The tears this time were mine, as I begged for another chance.  To make a long story a little shorter, she agreed to forego the divorce if I would agree to her terms.  There was some debate, but I knew I was in a no-win situation so I agreed.

And that is why to this day, my legs and pubes are always shaved smooth, and I wear women's thigh-length hose gartered to a rather fearsome panty girdle, and topped by a thankfully unstuffed long line bra under my outer clothing to work each day.  Since then I have never removed my suit coat at work, let alone removed my trousers in a motel somewhere.  Her logic was that I would be more reluctant to 'drop my drawers', so to speak, if doing so would reveal my women's underwear and the childish appearance of my genital area.

We began by using her underwear, but long ago changed to me buying my own under her orders, which is terribly embarrassing in itself. If the undies I buy are not pretty and sissy enough, I have to return them myself and buy some more suitable ones. I guess that part of my last ten years is hardly unique as far as your subscribers are concerned, and if that were all there was to it, I could even kind of enjoy the excitement of possibly being discovered, while worrying that my wife might decide to bring home some breast forms some day if I should annoy her.  I have even become quite used to the girdle, and would feel insecure without it.

No, the tough part of my penance involves one weekend each month, which most nearly coincided with the day I was caught.  On these monthly anniversaries I spend the two days in bed in the spare bedroom pinned into a thick diaper which enfolds a large area covered with a heavy application of baby powder and diaper-rash cream.  She initially restrained one ankle to the bed frame, but has since agreed to dispense with any restraints unless I have "earned" them during the preceding month.  Still, not terribly unique in the archive of stories describing those like me undergoing punishment at the hands of their wives.

Ok, here it comes.  This is where my punishment differs from the norm.  She knew that one of the least favorite parts of my childhood was when I had a cold and had my chest smeared with Vicks Vaporub, which I hate.   During these "anniversary" weekends, I wear one of her flannel gowns in addition to the diaper.  She knows I hated Vaporub as a child, so three times a day during each of the two days, she comes in and smears a good amount of it between my navel and chin. A dollop under my nose completes the picture.  As you can guess, at the end of the weekend I'm covered in greasy menthol, and longing for a hot shower.  Not that I really had any choice, but I submitted thinking that she would rapidly grow tired of the game.  Well, it's been ten years now, and all I know for sure is that the grocery list I am given on the Friday will include a new 6-oz jar of Vicks. It seems I've signed up for life, but, except for those weekends, married life has never been better.  A small price to pay.
Yours in diapers,

James P.

Married life is always better with a wife who keeps her husband under firm petticoat government, and eating out of her hand. But could I suggest that your dear wife buy you some nice soft flannel nighties of your own? It seems silly to have her night gowns all stained from Vicks Vaporub. I am amazed that she hasn't done this.

I must say that I find the clear, bracing smell of the menthol in cold preparations quite pleasing, but each to their own. When I was a girl in Aberdeen some people used to make a kind of menthol preparation in a cannister of hot water, and then put a towel over their heads and the cannister and inhale the steam. It sounds like something Spike Milligan would invent, but as L.P. Hartley wrote, the past is a foreign country.
Susan