Talc talk

I had to laugh.
[This is another one of those posts where you have to stick with me if you want anything about sex.]

I have no experience of verrucas. Despite spending more time in my youth beasting myself up and down swimming pools than I have latterly wasted on the sofa, I’ve never had a verruca. So as a parent it’s been a new experience to have to deal with one. Thankfully for me, it is on a child’s foot.

Although I remember seeing many of my adolescent peers wearing verruca socks, it is only now that I have any personal experience of them.
They are, for those even less knowledgeable than I was, a rubber sock intended to be worn when swimming to prevent transmission to other pool users.

As I walked past the bathroom this morning, my wife had extracted a bottle of talc from the bathroom cabinet, and almost seemed to present it to me. It’s one I acquired many years ago for  use when putting on latex fetishwear. (In case you didn’t know, it makes getting dressed in rubber a whole lot easier if you lightly coat the inner surface with talc, or some other proprietary lubricant.)

My first thought?
Oh shit. Am I about to have to explain why I have a half used bottle of talc? Am I about to have to out myself as the fetishistic pervert I am?

Thankfully not.
It seems the verruca sock in question had merely been used yesterday and, having since been washed, the inner surfaces had (unsurprisingly to me, at least) stuck together and, according to the instructions needed talcing.

I had to laugh.

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