Mary and Daphne #42 (Patreon)

Sometimes I think Mary plays the straight woman to my madcap antics. And anytime I get to thinking that way, it’s like she somehow knows and makes a grand gesture to remind me there is nothing, at all, straight about my wife.

“Wuh,” was my clever response as she nudged me awake. “What time is it?”

“Time to get up.”

“It’s Sunday. Lemme subuhhmm ssss....”

“No, honey, it’s time to get up.”

THWOCK!!!

That’s the sound of a big swat on a butt covered by a diaper covered by a comforter. Mary just had to put me in it at bedtime, and I had to sleep splay legged for how thick it was. She assured me I’d get used to it, and when she suggested it be an every-night thing to facilitate my acclimation faster, I shut up and let it happen.

I rolled over. There she was, her hair a wonderful bedhead mess, the morning light through the window scattering through it and making her glow like my very own angel beaming down at me.

And if you believe that crock, I got lots more. Though the bedhead part is true. But what caught my attention was, um, well ...

“What the heck is that,” I politely exclaimed upon seeing her (I’m blushing even thinking about it) wearing the pajama shorts she went to bed in but with a, well, a thing under them.

I’m a very genteel lady, as you know, shy and retiring and easily embarrassed by human anatomy. Well, not really, but I get a little blushy about facsimiles of parts I don’t have showing up in unexpected places, like the thing forming a gigantic tent in her pajama shorts. It was like a circus in her pants!

“Marrrryyy, what are you doing,” I whined and giggled and blushed like a maid on her lesbian wedding night. I even pulled the covers up to just under my chin and I don’t know why.

“What,” she casually asked like nothing was out of place. “O, you mean this?”

“What is that?”

“Morning wood.”

Well, to say I was speechless would’ve been a true thing to say, is what it would’ve been. And then I cracked up and couldn’t stop giggling. And just when I was ready to, she grabbed me by my shoulders and pinned me down and straddled me because I am a shy and retiring woodland bunny, and she is queen of the whole damn forest.

“I’m gonna need your help making it go away,” she said to me. And then she, well, she kissed me like I’m a Disney Princess who got lost in an R–rated movie, and I, heh, suddenly found things less funny and more sexy. In that same very earnest, so not earnest tone of voice she uses when she’s trying to embarrass me and wants me to know it, she said, “I can’t go to church like this.”

“Ooh,” I said kittenishly, twirling a strand of her hair around my finger, “whatever will the parson way?”

“We can’t find out.”

“I just need a minute,” I said.

“Whatever for?”

“To, um, clean up?”

“You look spick and span to me.”

“But, um, I’m wearing a ... you know.”

“I think that can stay right where it is until after church.”

Talk about a deer in the headlights. Stunned (and just the right kind and amount of afraid – the forest Queen has a hard in for me! It was very intimidating!) and faux scandalized.

“You’re so crude,” I lectured her. I put the back of hand to my forehead like I was overcome with the vapors. She pulled the covers off me and started nipping at my neck.

Ya know, she’s right about most things most of the time. Which I reflected on while sitting under the covers with her behind me resting her chin on my shoulder and that diaper still around my waist (if a little worse for wear) and her arms around me while The Right Reverend Pastor Sara talked about something on Mary’s iPad. I forget what. I couldn’t concentrate very well.

I had a hard enough time suppressing the giggles because I couldn’t stop thinking about Mary’s prop comedy. Well, that, and I had this overall, whole body, glowy feeling going on not uncommon to those who’ve just been to the circus.

I like my wife very muchly.