The Education of a Cuckold
Page 4
“God you feel so fucking small in my hand,” she said.
I looked at her hand. It was true.
“My hand almost completely covers your tiny dick,” she went on, amazed. “Jeez, with Billy even two hands aren’t enough.”
I flushed at the comparison.
“Well, maybe you’re not all the way hard yet,” she mused while stroking and taking a closer look. But that wasn’t the case. With her muscular legs straddling me and her pussy tantalizing me on her thigh, I could not have been longer or harder.
“Yep, you’re so hard for me,” Beth said. “You must like my body.” Still stroking with her right hand, she pulled at her breast with the other.
“Do you like it?” she asked me, giving me a manipulative flash of vulnerability.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I can tell,” she said, smiling at me. “I love that I turn you on so much.”
She was stroking me firmly but slowly. Even so, I wouldn’t last long. But I didn’t want to cum. I didn’t want this pleasure to end. Nor did I want to face the life that awaited me after this orgasm.
“Jason, did you dream about fucking me, dream about it for a long time?”
She stared at me, no longer looking angry. But she kept on stroking me.
“Yeah …” I said. It felt good to just tell her the truth, to stop pretending I was above lusting after her. The way she moved was so effortless. How many times had I stared at her as she walked off, or took a drag on a friend’s cigarette?
“That’s good … and that’s why you were watching me last night, right?”
I was hesitant … but she kept stroking.
“God I love to fuck,” Beth said. “Billy—the first time my sister introduced me to him, I knew he was going to be shoving his cock inside me. I didn’t care if he had a girlfriend, I didn’t care if it would hurt your feelings, I just had to fuck him. He looked at me like he could just split me open, take whatever he wanted …”
I had to try hard not to cum hearing her talk like this.
“And a few hours later, he did. God, he made me his slut!”
She started stroking me harder with her right hand while touching herself with her left.
“But then, you know that, because you saw us.”
Silence.
“I’m glad you know,” she continued. “I’m glad you know what a fucking whore I can be for a fuck like that. You probably thought was I some kind of angel, but I’m not. Well, sometimes I am. But other times I’m just a dirty girl who needs to cum on a big fat cock.”
I wasn’t going to be able take much more of this. I was twitching on the bed. I think she could tell, as she was working me faster, expertly.
“And you like to watch me, don’t you? Don’t you?!”
I couldn’t help myself, so I just blurted out “Yes!”
Suddenly I was spurting again.
“Oh yeah, look at that little dick cum. Look at it!” She was triumphant.
I spasmed into her, amazed at the intensity of my orgasm. I didn’t have a lot of cum left in me, so it was almost like dry heaves, but my whole body was writhing. It felt amazing.
Beth smiled, grabbed some Kleenex and wiped the drips.
“I wish you could see Billy cum up close,” she said. “His big cock makes such a mess. I have to shower every time he spurts near me. You need a fucking beach towel to clean up after he squirts!”
She must have seen the flash of jealousy in my eyes and had some pity on me, because her voice softened and she lay down next to me, putting her arm across my chest.
“I guess we learned a lot about each other, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said. I felt relaxed but I was probably in shock. Things were changing so fast.
When Beth told me she had to shower and go to work, I was almost relieved. As much as I enjoyed lying in her arms, I needed to get out of there.
As I watched her walk nude to the bathroom, I wondered if I would ever get to see her like that again. I was dizzy from how she had treated me. I snuck out the back hallway, wanting to avoid Jamie at all costs. I did not understand what had motivated Jamie’s diabolical behavior and I did not want to risk further assaults on my ego.
It was only years later that I considered the possibility Jamie might have been driven not to annihilate me but to liberate me. A strange form of liberation … but I was free of some illusions after that incident, that much could not be denied.
The next day, I moved out. Jamie gave me a wicked look of understanding when I said goodbye, which gave me masturbation fodder for days to come. There was no sign of Beth. I was only left to wonder if I could recover any kind of status in her eyes as I shut the kitchen door behind me.
I felt a jolt of shame shoot through my body, as if the two of them had exposed me for the depraved freak I had always been, the one I had fought so hard to deny through the “most popular rebel but treats girls classy” persona they had completely deconstructed. As I got on my bike and peddled off, I felt like a kid again, a kid with no future—certainly no future with a girl like Beth. The tears ran salty and hot. I had to stop a couple of times and wipe my eyes on my sweatshirt.
Chapter 4
I found another friend I could stay with. I crashed on his couch in the stench of dirty water bongs, but it was worth the hassles of his friends partying all around me. Believe it or not, I spent the days missing Beth. I found myself torn between savoring the taboo sexual memories of what had happened and feeling bitterly disappointed in myself. I did manage enough dignity not to call her on the phone.
In the back of my mind not calling her gave me some satisfaction, as if I was punishing her. Though I had to question whether I had any emotional hold on her at all. Had Beth just played me for companionship? The only time it all made sense was when I was jacking off at the end of the day, reliving those scenes again and again. But after I orgasmed, the emotions would always come back. Waves of loneliness and inadequacy. I found myself wondering if I would ever talk to her again. Could I ever satisfy a woman? Would a girl ever love me enough to give me a chance to find out?
Fortunately for me, life always has some twists in store, and some of them are good. In just a few surreal days after I moved out of Beth’s place, hopped on a Greyhound bus and was soon swept up in the adventure of college. The bus ride down to Atlanta was full of anticipation. And you know what? College was one of the few things where anticipation didn’t let me down. I logged as many adventures as I could have hoped for, though not necessarily the exact ones I wanted. Looking back, it doesn’t matter a bit. All the adventures feel like gold.
When you are partying into the night with dormitory pals from across the country, playing loud music, getting stoned, sharing your dreams about what life could be someday—well, it has a way of pushing some of the bad memories away. I started to get a glimpse of my former cockiness, which had been almost eradicated in those two days with Beth. It felt good to have it back.
I was relieved to see there wasn’t any lasting damage to my self-esteem. Well, with the possible exception of one night stands. I found myself especially shy around a certain type of girl I would meet in college, one who was confident in her body and evaluating me primarily for sex. Not for a relationship, just a sexual frolic.
My first run-in with that kind of girl was during the first week of school, on a sunny day in the quad outside the dorms. This girl, Cassie, was wearing cut-off shorts and her legs were thick with muscle.
“You’re staring at my legs, aren’t you?” she asked, while looking me right in the eye. So much for small talk.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” was her next question. I mumbled something. I couldn’t get away fast enough.
But there were plenty of girls who weren’t just scoping guys out sexually. I learned there was a kind of friendship I could develop with a girl. Most times it led to sexual frustration and platonic relationships, but every now and then that friendship resulted in closeness and some sex.<
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There was a girl I met halfway through my first year, Sandy, who fit that bill. We only dated for three months, and we didn’t really fall in love, but we “fell in like.” Kissing her was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t make me forget about Beth, not even close, but when I woke up with Sandy’s legs wrapped around me, her arms holding me tight, I wasn’t complaining.
The first time I put myself inside her, Sandy and I had already been dating for a month. I felt comfortable with her. Sandy was really tight, much tighter than Beth felt to me. She wasn’t cocky like Beth in bed, but sweet and vulnerable. The fact that she was tight down there—it just made me even more confident. She got a lot of pleasure from our sex—that is, after some practice for both of us. At first I came pretty fast, but over time I lasted longer and, after ten or fifteen minutes of making love to her, generally she had an orgasm. A really good one even caused her to call out “I love you!” once … even though I think we both kind of realized we weren’t in love. She had a boyfriend back in Wisconsin and she knew I had another girl on my mind.
Sandy did wonders for my confidence. Once while we were lying naked as the sun rose, she said as she stroked me, “I can’t believe how small it is, when it’s soft, I mean. But when it’s hard, it gets so big.” Things like that make you feel really good if you’re a college boy, especially one trying to get over a bizarre sexual encounter.
Sandy and I didn’t so much break up as stop sleeping together. I almost missed her more in the summer when classes were over; I really enjoyed studying with her. We had a knack for having fun but still hitting the books just enough. When she left for Wisconsin, I got a job on campus for the summer. Why go home? I wasn’t sure what was there for me.
That first work summer wasn’t the greatest. There were only a handful of student employees living on campus, and the girls paired off pretty quickly—at least the ones I was interested in. I spent my time after work biking, hiking, and writing. I was starting to learn a key lesson for my particular life: turn your loneliness into a positive.
By the end of that summer, I had lost some of the confidence I had developed with Sandy. It didn’t help that she didn’t write me back. She didn’t have an email address—many of us didn’t back then—and I didn’t even have a phone in my room. It also didn’t help that I had a crush on a girl who had a big bodybuilder for a boyfriend. She lived in the campus apartment next to mine and, on the hot nights when our windows were open and he was in town, I could hear her moans and screams.
The next school year brought some interesting times my way. That was the year I met Vee—her name was Veronica, but everyone called her “V.” If I fell in like with Sandy, I fell in love with Vee. It was almost the type of innocent high school romance you never had in college.
It was October of my sophomore year, and we were at a party. This time, instead of trying to develop a friendship, I just summoned my guts five minutes after meeting her and said, “You wanna go somewhere and make out?”
She laughed, and said “Yes.” Everything flowed perfectly with Vee. She was the first to confess, “I think I might love you.” And it wasn’t because she was cumming, either. I remember walking home from her dorm the night she blurted it out. There was a happy buzz in my life at that time, a feeling of inevitably. You could marry this one.
Vee and I lasted until halfway through my junior year. I’ll never know exactly what caused our breakup. It seemed like we were fighting more often. She was taking some “women’s studies” courses and she seemed to get more militant about my language. She’d get riled up at things I might say, and we’d be up late arguing about stupid things like whether men should hold doors open for women at restaurants. These trivial arguments would lead to almost shouting matches. She would go back to her room and we wouldn’t talk for a day or two. I would apologize, or she would. We’d try to have make-up sex, but it wasn’t very inspiring. Once I tried to recapture some of our early sexual spark by throwing her down on the floor and just ravishing her, but the whole thing was off. I had trouble getting inside her for the first time. It only dawned on me later that it was because she was so dry down there, so not turned on by the sex we were trying to have.
The breakup isn’t anything I like to think about now. This is the first I’ve recounted it in many years.
We were at breakfast in the school cafeteria, talking about the classes we were going to take in the spring. I choked down a bit of oatmeal, but I felt woozy as hell. Vee said something about getting her biology textbook back from me. It was a random comment but it had a creepy finality to it. Before I knew it, I was asking her, “Are you breaking up with me?”
Ten minutes later it was done, and I was carrying my tray to the dishroom, fighting off the tears. I managed to make it outside. I thought I was crying for Vee, and I’m sure I was. But maybe I was crying also for the end of my vanilla “Jason as Alpha Dog” sex life. What I do know is that all these years later, I have never really felt like THE MAN in a relationship again. From then on, the harder I tried to be the “wanna go make out?” alpha dog, the more it eluded me.
For the rest of my junior year, I had an excuse. Heartbreak. I avoiding the dating circuit, knuckled down on my major. There were plenty of things to think about besides girls. I was living on a quiet corridor that had been designated a study hall. No one had much fun there, at least not of the loud variety. There was no one to be jealous of. We would have tea in the lounge around 10 p.m., and then it was off to our rooms to hit the books. It was closer to a monastery than college.
Vee had moved to the housing unit farthest from me, so I didn’t see her in the dining hall. Things went better for me when I didn’t see her. I avoided getting any updates on what she was doing or who she was dating. Once in the spring, I saw her in cutoffs and a Cure t–shirt, listening to some wannabe music legend strumming his acoustic in one of the quads. I turned the other way, but not before I saw her laughing and smiling with her friends, radiating with that Vee energy that I was trying to find a way to live without.
As was my habit, I worked on campus that summer heading into my senior year. I was relieved to know that Vee was back in Montana, nowhere near the campus. It didn’t bother me that I didn’t date at all that summer. This time, I joined a campus construction crew and worked ten hour days, often in old campus buildings without air conditioning. I would get home, throw my sweaty clothes on the railing to my tiny loft, and crash and start all over again, working overtime on Saturdays when I could.
Chapter 5
In July, I made a fateful decision. I still had my place reserved on the “quiet hall,” but I was thinking for my senior year it might be more fun to be in a different dorm. It was my final year in college; I felt like I was missing out on something. The campus had a new program called “teaching advisors.” You could live on the top of one of the freshman dorms, in larger apartments that used to be for professors. The idea was that an upper class student could live in the dorms and offer workshops and guidance to younger students. It wasn’t quite like a Residential Advisor because there were no day-to-day responsibilities. Once a week or so you gave a workshop in the dorm and had open house hours for younger students.
The apartment spaces were awesome. The only catch is that you had to share the apartment with one other student who won the other spot in a housing lottery. Yeah, you did have to share a large bedroom, but there was also a living room, a TV room, and a huge outdoor balcony.
For roommates, you had to draw straws. I ended up getting this guy Zach as my roommate. Zach was a classic computer geek. He got a reputation his freshman year for hacking the library computer system. It was the kind of stunt a hacker did in those days before the Internet exploded. For his trouble, Zach was given a suspension but when he came back, he made amends by offering to improve the security on the system. He eventually got a job in the computer lab there. Soon he was helping on computer science classes, and he probably knew more than some of the teachers.
Turned out Zach was in town that summer, working at an off-campus computer shop. When he and I met up to discuss living together, I remember thinking there was something different about him. He still had the glasses, but the hair was more of a spiky punk-rock look. He shook my hand with confidence, and his geekiness seemed to have given way to a snarly “I don’t give a fuck” vibe. It was a fairly striking transition and I found myself even more curious to be his roommate; I was not opposed to making a similar transition. He seemed like he had remade himself into a whip-smart badass. It sure beat the nice guy routine I seemed to be falling into. We agreed to make a go of it in the fall.
The summer was uneventful. I ended up staying in a faculty apartment off-campus, house-sitting for most of the summer. Perhaps some would have thought it a lonely time, but not me. I wrote my first novel then. It was bad science fiction. Even as I was writing it, I knew it was bad. But I could sense something else—a discovery. When I pulled back from the outside world, I could get something done. I could change myself. I had written a book. I knew it wasn’t good, but it was better than going to bars with my friends and hoping we wouldn’t get carded, only to stand awkwardly in the corner without knowing how to approach the girls I wanted. Discovery #2: I did a lot better socializing with girls in less pressurized situations, like study groups. The study groups would return in the fall. That would be my time. My senior year.