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Diaper Pals

I’ve been married to my husband for two years and have been with him for four. I’m a little dominant, but nothing too out there. My husband, on the other hand, is a diaper-loving, transvestite adult baby.

I’ve done everything I can to make him realize that while I’m not into his kink, I’m not against it. I’ve bought him diapers (cloth and disposable), I’ve set aside a room in our house to be his “nursery,” one weekend a month he gets to be his little-girl self all weekend, and I peg him because he likes to feel submissive and dirty. He knows that I worry—as someone who works with children—that it could get out and ruin my career, but I’m okay with all the play even if it’s not my sexual cup of tea.

However, lately our va-nilla sex life is suffering. When it’s playtime, he...

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...al cup of tea. However, lately our va-nilla sex life is suffering. When it’s playtime, he always wants to come in his diapers. When it’s not playtime, he lies there like a lump. Now he’s decided that he doesn’t want to have sex unless it’s playtime. The past three months, when I explained that I would like my turn, he came too quickly for me to have any enjoyment. I know he can hold off longer—he always does when in diapers—and I’m getting really frustrated. He says he knows he’s being selfish, but he’s just not interested in regular sex. Then he cries and says he’s a freak and he doesn’t know why I stay with him. I’m very close to walking out and taking a break, even though I believe that marriage is for life. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything I can think of, even compromising the “my turn” rule by letting him whine and cry and pretend to be a baby during my turn. I’m tired of my baby girl; I want my husband back. Beyond Annoyed It’s rare these days that I’m shocked by an e-mail, BA, but your letter did it. Several hours have passed since I read it and, damn, I’m still shocked. Let me be clear: I’m not shocked by the train wreck that is your husband’s collection of kinks. I’ve seen worse. (Never done worse, though. When the guy I’m fucking cries, it’s always a manly, adult sort of sobbing.) What shocks me is your husband’s stupidity, coupled with his shortsightedness—both of which are being madly humped by his ingratitude. Does your “baby girl” realize what he’s got in you? The world is crawling—literally crawling—with adult babies who are alone and single and miserable and always will be. While the internet has made it possible for adult babies to find each other, a shared interest in nappies and nurseries doesn’t guarantee compatibility. Plus, female adult babies are scarcer than folks who can read “my husband whines and cries and pretends to be a baby during sex” without hurling. Your husband should be doing everything in his power to keep you happy. My advice: Take that break. Cut the brat off—no more baby games until he can successfully wrap his bonnet around this: Your pleasure matters as much as his does. He may not be interested in regular sex, but he better learn to fake it convincingly. And finally, BA, tell him that his continued failure to meet your vanilla needs is gonna get his diapered ass divorced, leaving him single and shit out of luck, sex-partner wise, for the rest of his adult infancy. “Dump the honest foot fetishist,” I warned a woman a few weeks ago, “and I guarantee that you will marry the dishonest necrophiliac.” That’s the Karmic Rule of Kink. But vanilla partners are not the only ones subject to KROK. For kinksters lucky enough to be with generous vanilla partners, your somewhat-less-pithy version of KROK goes like this: “Drive off an understanding, adventurous partner by failing to joyfully accommodate his or her desires for vanilla sex and you will NEVER get your kinky rocks off again without having to pay a pro $500 an hour to put up with your bullshit.” My wife accepts my crossdressing to the point of buying me dresses. But she does NOT want to participate in anal sex. Not me doing her, but her doing me—pegging. In this one area she is inflexible. I have assured her that I would empty myself beforehand. No dice. I have had to settle for using a dildo duct-taped to the shower wall to satisfy my needs. My wife is aware of this, but will not participate. Do you have any suggestions for me that may enable her to join me in the pleasuring of my ass? Great Anal Pegging I’m Not Getting Accept your lot in life, GAPING: Pegging is out. But like BA’s husband, your lot is pretty spectacular. A wife who’s down with your crossdressing, isn’t bothered by the duct-tape residue on the shower wall, and remains flexible in every other area? Your wife has fewer hang-ups than I do. In response to Not Coming Around, using sex toys may not be enough to move her to the orgasmic column. She needs to do Kegel exercises. Flexing these muscles while using toys may be the solution. And a note to Marla, the winning bidder who gave advice two weeks ago: iPod sex toys already exist—and they vibrate in time to the music! Marla can order one at www.ibuzz.co.uk! No Witty Sign Off Thanks for sharing, NWSO. Is it true that no electric current passes through the chest cavity (heart) if a person strictly follows the guidelines of keeping the e-stim below the waist, as in the case of an anal plug and cock ring? My Buzzing Boys “The small currents used for erotic electrostimulation (AKA e-stim) take a relatively direct path between two points on or in the body,” says Eric Forbes of SexTek, makers of the best e-stim products out there. Wire your cock ring and butt plug correctly, MBB, and the current will only stimulate “the local nerves and muscles in the immediate area of the anus and genitals. As long as the contacts are below the waist, the heart will not be stimulated.” Still, the gang at SexTek forbids anyone with heart problems or implanted electronic medical devices like pacemakers from using their products—with the possible exception of the vice president—as e-stim can interfere with these devices. Learn more about e-stim and check out the goods at www.sextek.com. ConFIdential to Kendall: Your DJ boyfriend isn’t “into” kissing in public? Tell that laptop jockey that women like you—tall blondes with a thing for Battlestar Galactica—don’t come along every damn day either. mail@savagelove.net