Mommy Knows Best – Chapter Three – Bathroom Denial in Public
Daniel had always hated busy stores. The chaos of voices, flickering fluorescent lights, and the rustle of shopping carts made him feel claustrophobic, like he was being slowly buried under other people’s lives. But today was different—not just because it was Saturday and the aisles were overflowing, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier that week.
That tiny dark patch. The chill. Samantha’s eyes.
She hadn’t said much. Hadn’t teased him beyond a gentle smile. But somehow, her silence was louder than any lecture.
Now, every time he felt the slightest urge in his bladder, his body tensed with panic. And in a crowded home goods store filled with the scent of cinnamon candles and artificial air, that panic was quietly mounting.
Samantha walked ahead of him, calm as ever, her hand lightly brushing over a folded towel set. She glanced over her shoulder, her voice casual.
“Still holding up, baby?”
Daniel flushed. That was new. She didn’t usually call him that in public. Maybe it was a slip. Or maybe she didn’t care if someone overheard.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, trying to sound annoyed.
She smiled like she didn’t believe him—but said nothing more. That made it worse somehow.
They were in the middle of the bath section, passing displays of cartoon-themed toothbrush holders and padded toilet training seats. Samantha paused in front of a row of colorful step-stools. She picked one up thoughtfully, turning it over in her hands.
“Something like this could be useful at home,” she said offhandedly.
Daniel blinked. “Useful for what?”
She tilted her head. “Just for little things. Reaching. Washing up. I don’t know, maybe even in the bathroom. Doesn’t matter.”
He let out a small huff. “I don’t need that.”
Samantha didn’t argue. She just set the stool down and continued browsing.
Daniel wasn’t sure why that felt like a loss.
The urgency came on slowly, like a warning. A soft pressure. Then a slightly sharper pang. He shifted from one foot to the other, trying to ignore it. Samantha was comparing hand soaps now, picking up each bottle and sniffing them with an indulgent kind of slowness that made him twitch.
He checked the signs overhead. No bathroom in sight.
“I think I’m gonna go find the restroom,” he said quickly. He tried to sound casual, but it came out rushed.
Samantha didn’t look up right away. “Mmm?”
“I’ll be right back.”
She glanced at him then. Her eyes settled on his face—searching, but still gentle.
“You sure you want to?”
Daniel frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean we’re almost done. And you’re always so tense after public restrooms. I thought we agreed you might need some better planning.”
He flushed. “That was one time.”
Her tone softened. “You said that last time too.”
“I just… I really need to go.”
A pause. She looked around, then gave him a quiet smile. “Okay. If you’re really sure, go ahead.”
Something about the way she said that—like it was a test—made him hesitate. And in that pause, she added, “Just so you know, if anything happens, we’ll handle it. No big deal. I’ve got wipes in my bag.”
His stomach dropped.
“You brought wipes?”
“Just being prepared,” she said breezily, turning back to the soaps. “It’s what mommies do.”
There it was. Not a slip.
He stood frozen, his bladder no longer the only source of pressure.
By the time they reached checkout, Daniel was walking stiffly. The urge had peaked, then settled into a throbbing tension. Not quite desperate. Not yet. But definitely not comfortable.
Samantha placed the items on the counter with deliberate care: a soft plush bathmat, two sets of towels (one in pale blue), a soap dispenser with smiling whales.
Daniel stared at it all, realizing it looked suspiciously… childlike.
“Do we need that stuff?” he asked under his breath.
She smiled at him without turning. “Of course. Just trying to make home feel cozy.”
The cashier rang them up, unfazed. Daniel kept his hands in his pockets, his weight shifting minutely as he fought the discomfort in his bladder.
Once they were outside, Daniel spoke up. “So… is there a bathroom around here?”
Samantha handed him the bag. “There is. But we’re only ten minutes from home. I figured you’d rather wait and be comfortable.”
“I—what?” he blinked. “But I said I really had to go.”
She stopped, keys in hand, her tone kind but firm.
“Daniel, if it’s urgent, I’ll take you. But if you can hold it—just a little bit longer—it might be better. No stress, no worries, no strangers. Just us.”
It wasn’t a command. But it wasn’t really a choice either.
He hesitated again. His legs pressed slightly together.
“I can hold it,” he said, reluctantly.
“Good boy,” she murmured softly.
The car ride was quiet.
Daniel stared out the window, trying to ignore every bump in the road, every motion that jostled his overfilled bladder. His hands were tight around the plastic bag of towels.
He hated this feeling. This combination of anxiety and awareness, like he was shrinking somehow.
Samantha reached over and rubbed his shoulder gently. “Almost there.”
He nodded without speaking.
Back home, Daniel nearly bolted from the car. But as he reached the front door, Samantha called after him.
“Wait.”
He froze, halfway up the steps.
“I need help carrying the rest of the bags in.”
Daniel turned, half-panicked. “I really have to—”
“I know, sweetie. Just one more trip. You’re a grown-up, right?”
There it was again. The softness in her voice made the question feel like a challenge.
He muttered something and went back. Carried in a second load.
When they were finally inside, he made for the bathroom again. But this time Samantha stepped between him and the door. Not blocking him—just… standing there.
“I want to check first,” she said gently.
“Check what?” he blinked.
“Just… if anything happened. No shame. It’s okay.”
He flushed. “I didn’t have an accident.”
“I believe you. But if you’re damp at all, I need to know. It might be time to think about changes.”
Changes.
The word hit like a bell.
“I’m dry,” he said quickly.
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.
“Alright. Go ahead.”
He went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat down—more to collect himself than anything else. He was dry. Barely. But the tension in his chest hadn’t left. If anything, it had grown heavier.
That evening, Samantha was unusually affectionate. She had him help fold the new towels, letting him choose which color was “his.” She cooked dinner while humming, occasionally glancing at him with a strange softness in her eyes.
He tried to brush it off, but it clung to him.
Later, as they were winding down, she patted the couch beside her.
“Come sit with me, baby.”
He hesitated.
She held up the small blue plush she’d picked out earlier. “Thought you might like this. You kept looking at it in the store.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I know. It’s okay.”
She didn’t push. Just set it next to her and turned on a show. A soft, animated series—definitely for kids.
He sat beside her eventually. Not close at first. But as the minutes passed, her hand found his thigh, warm and reassuring.
She didn’t mention the near-accident again. Didn’t need to.
That night, as he stood by the bed, she tilted her head at him.
“Bathroom before bed?”
He nodded.
“You sure?” she asked, gently. “You looked pretty unsure earlier.”
“I’m sure,” he replied, defensive again.
She smiled, stepped close, and ran her fingers over his waistband. “Alright. Let’s hope we wake up dry.”
He flushed again.
She didn’t say more. Just kissed his forehead, tucked him in carefully, and placed the blue plush beside his pillow.
“Sweet dreams, my little man.”
Daniel stared at the ceiling, wondering what exactly he was holding onto anymore.
The End of Mommy Knows Best – Chapter Three – Bathroom Denial in Public
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