July Exclusive Tale - "Perfectly Natural" - Part 3

Doug can’t stop thinking about them; how they feel when he moves, what they mean for tonight. But like Patricia says, it’s okay; no one can see them.

Secret underwear, safely worn underneath Doug’s pajamas.

It was Harry’s bedroom they visited, not Patricia’s. A pair of adult-sized briefs, clearly designed for a little boy, complete with a toy car motif. As soon as Doug let Patricia pull them up his legs, he noticed the lack of a fly. They are for pulling up or down, they are for before and after using the potty. And yes, the plush material makes it feel as though Doug is wearing the blue Puppy, and he can hardly feel upset at that – he can hardly feel anything beyond a fuzzy, dopey sense of confusion and acceptance.

No one would mistake the boys for brothers. Harry is only three, after all, while Doug is…well, he’s much bigger. He towers over Harry; he should be careful he doesn’t squash him! But they do have matching underwear and they do have matching jammies.

Harry’s two-piece pajamas have red bottoms and a white top with Elmo smiling, arms outreached. Hug now, sleep later.

Doug’s have blue bottoms and a top with an open-mouthed Cookie Monster. Cookies now, sleep later.

Both are fun. Both are adorable, according to Patricia, who hugs both her boys, who gives both of them chocolate chip cookies to eat with their juice boxes, so really, what is there to complain about?

Nothing, if it weren’t for the pressure on Doug’s bladder, along with the knowledge of what that means.

Doug has been introduced to the red potties in the bathroom beckon. The little one for Harry, the bigger one for Doug. Different sizes, same application. Tonight both boys can show Mommy how they tinkle in the potty, so Mommy knows that they’re not silly babies who need diapers, so they can get special presents like a Mickey Mouse shape-sorter truck made out of recycled milk jugs. Like the sweetest of kisses and cuddles.

Mommy. The name isn’t right, but Doug doesn’t make a big deal of it. He indulges Patricia’s new name just as he indulges Harry’s chattering and playfulness. The repetition, the restless back and forth, from the toy cars on the carpet to the plush blue dog, to scribbling colors with the big box of crayons, to cuddling with Mommy on the couch and watching one…okay, two episodes of Daniel Tiger. (The second episode has the young tiger and his regal best friend bake a cake, provoking the boys hunger – let’s have cookies, just like the blue monster on Doug’s jammies – but Mommy says no. No snacks right now because they don’t want to ruin their appetite do they? Still, they can have as much apple juice as they want, and so Doug does, draining another juice box).

The boys can do anything they want, they are free to play and laugh and have drinks and cuddles and fun, as long as they don’t have an accident. As long as they tell Mommy when they need to use the potty. This is the biggest of deals. Accidents mean diapers, accidents mean they’re not big boys after all.

On his hands and knees pushing the cars and trucks along the fuzzy roads of the activity rug, Doug pauses, presses self-consciously on the padded material between his legs. Not a diaper, not at all, but still thick enough to make him waddle, still obvious enough that Patricia can’t resist patting his tushie.

Doug is irresistible, he is adorable, just like Harry. Even if he’s really a much bigger boy. Even if he sees the numbers on the unbuckled Puppy and can read them, quietly, his lips moving studiously as he counts from one to ten. A test that he takes without quite knowing why, and he looks over at Harry, who charges across the living room and dives at Mommy, safe and secure in the knowledge that she will catch him, she will always be a soft, safe landing.

Why can’t Doug let go like that? Why can’t he be free?

Just think about colors. Yellow, blue, orange, green, and red. They’re on Puppy’s buckles, they’re on the cars that race around Doug’s special underwear.

Yes, that helps. Easy to just sit there on the rug, play with the cars. Cars that fit in his hands, satisfyingly chunky, and cars on his undies. And in that moment, Doug could easily let go, soak his undies, and let Mommy take care of the consequences.

But he holds on. Because the underwear has a name that lights up like a warning signal in Doug’s muddled mind.

“Training pants”, says Patricia.

“Training for what?”

“Training to be a big boy!”

She says that like it’s some kind of great gag, the perfect punchline, and the boys laugh. But do either of them get the joke?

And when she coaxes them, cuddles and strokes them, asks them if they’re ready to make their tinkles in the potty, do the boys really know what they’re signing up for? It’s a progression for Harry, it’s the giving up of his infantile ways. And indeed, he’s the first to raise his hand.

“Ready, Mommy.” He stands in front of her, both hands up. “Ready for potty.”

“Good boy,” Patricia gushes. “Show me,” she orders, “Show Mommy.” They go to the bathroom, hand in hand, and Doug can hardly stay in the living room alone. He runs after them and then stands in the doorway, watching with a mix of anxiety and curiosity as Harry allows Mommy to help him, pulling down his pajama pants and underwear.

Harry sits on the potty. The small one, the regular one. Not the bigger one, which is for Doug, which is not quite right.

Doug squeezes his thighs together, feels the padded thickness covering his crotch, and notices he’s holding Puppy, the toy dangling from his hand.

“Good boy,” says Patricia, crouching beside Harry. “Now, do you want your bath book to read, I can get- “

No need. Harry grins as the sound of urine hits the plastic.

“Tinkles, Mommy!”

“Good boy!” Her hand is on his back, stroking, as the little boy uses the potty. The tinkling slows and then stops, and Harry gets up, can’t resist turning around to look at what he’s produced.

“Look at you!” Patricia exclaims, looking as well, and she sounds as though she’s amazed, like this is the ultimate twist. But of course it’s not. Everything happening in the bathroom is perfectly natural, a rite of passage. And as Patricia praises her little boy, as she hugs him tight, helps up put his underwear and pajama bottoms back on, perhaps she thinks of the future. Waving goodbye at the school gates, getting a tutor for those all-important SATs, teaching him how to drive, and then watching him leave, and for the rest of her life, waiting for him to come home and visit.

Maybe she thinks about that. Or maybe she’s just happy to be saying goodbye, in a few days or weeks if she’s lucky, to changing diapers.

Doug looks on, and then watches as Harry charges up to him. “I tinkled!” And then the little boy is off down the hall, because a special present was promised, and then there’s dinner, and bedtime, and the rest of his busy day.

Patricia looks at Doug. “I bet you’re ready, now,” she says. She laughs kindly. “I bet you’re ready to burst.”

“I don’t want to be little,” Doug whispers. He squeezes the plush blue dog. He really doesn’t want to be little; this is true and false at the same time.

Patricia nods. “If you don’t want to be little, then you need to show Mommy your tinkles.” She points at the cupboard under the sink and gives him a firm look. “I got diapers in your size, mister, if you wet those undies.”

Doug wrinkles his nose. It’s perfectly natural for Harry. But for Doug, it’s something different. To expose himself to her, to sit on the red plastic chair, to let her see, to let her hear him.

Isn’t he a bigger boy than this?

“Come on, Cookie Monster,” says Patricia, putting her arms around him, holding him close. She whispers, “Show Mommy what a big boy you are.”

That name. Those infantile jammies. What sounds like an offer, the sweetest of promises.

The truth is, if he waits any longer, he really will wet himself. And that has to be worse, right?

Doug rushes to the big potty chair, yanks down his clothes.

“There you are,” Patricia says softly, “there’s Mommy’s big boy.”

It’s true, and it’s quick. No agony, no indecision. He clutches the plush, blue dog in one hand, and he lets go of his bladder. It’s suddenly, completely, perfectly natural for Doug to urinate in the potty, and the hot tinkling, combined with Patricia’s cheers, brings Harry back to the bathroom.

The little boy points and cheers. “You did it!”

Doug looks down at himself, a cloud of mental exhaustion shifting into his mind. He drops Puppy. Yes, he did it. Yes, he’s the same as Harry.

He gets to his feet, and Patricia’s enthusiastic praise sounds dim, as if Doug’s ears are plugged up, and her hug might as well come from a million miles away.

All Doug can do is think that he has made a mistake, an absurd blunder, if the three-year-old sees him as an equal. This has all, whatever it is, gone too far. He needs to change his clothes; he needs to get out of here.

Doug stands on the cold bathroom floor, the ridiculous underwear around his ankles, and he groans. “I don’t…I’m sorry…I- “

“What a good boy!” Patricia wastes no time pulling the special undies back up his legs, patting him tenderly on the front and then playfully on his rear, and Doug can only giggle as his adult thoughts fade.

Patricia cuddles Doug. “Just for tonight,” she whispers, “you can be Mommy’s sweet boy.” She kisses his cheek and says tenderly, “Maybe just for tonight and tomorrow, hmmm?”

Doug nods, retreating gratefully into the mind of a little boy, where there is no embarrassment, no self-conscious indecision, and when Mommy takes his hand and asks if her boys are ready for their special present, there really is no question to answer.

THE END

"Doug tries to help his girlfriend's little boy with potty training - but soon finds he is also having to learning how to tinkle in the potty" - TTa