“Sure,” I said, “so did you watch?”
“Yeah, but like I said, I was in a real fog. I sat on a chair nearby and watched them use my girlfriend.”
“What was your reaction?”
“I didn’t have much of one. I just watched, stunned, and they looked over at me and said things like, ‘You see what we’re doing to your girlfriend?’ and I just nodded, watching. Like I was totally stoned or something.”
“Damn,” I typed, “that’s crazy.”
“Well, you want to hear crazy,” he wrote. “So I’m sitting there, watching them fuck her, right?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“So the marine doing her from behind pulls out and walks over to me, and with his big hard cock pointed at me, he shoots his cum right on my face.”
“Jesus,” I said, “that is freaking super crazy. What did you do?”
“What was I to do? I just sat there and took it. A minute later, the other marine, the one my girlfriend was sucking off, pulls out, walks over and blasts his load on me as well, on my already semen-covered face.”
“What the fuck?” I typed, “They were gay?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “They were just asserting their dominance.”
“What did you do?”
“I just took it. A few minutes later, they got dressed and left. My girlfriend’s on the couch naked and I’ve got their cum dripping down my face.”
“Oh my God,” I typed. “Did you ever see them again or have to face them?”
“Yeah, they came by the restaurant afterwards. I talked to them.”
“Did they say anything about it?”
“Not that I know of. Not to the people I waitered with, anyway. It was like this inside joke kind of thing. My girlfriend broke up with me shortly afterwards and they’d make cracks, like ‘You dating anyone? You are? Bring her by, we want to meet her.’ ”
“And?”
“And nothing. It was a joke. I just laughed.”
“Were you pissed?”
“Not really. These guys were hardcore alpha males and I had respect for them. I knew I wasn’t or never could be like them. It was like they had the right to do that to me.”
“Did they ever do that again, I mean, cum on your face?”
“No, like I said, they weren’t gay and neither am I. It was about showing me my place. And they weren’t assholes about it after. It was like this memory we all had.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I certainly will never forget that night,” he wrote. “Ever suck another man off?”
“No” I replied, “I’m not gay curious in the slightest.”
“It’s not about being gay. It’s about being submissive to a dominant man. My wife’s lover makes me blow him in front of my wife.”
I was starting to get creeped out and told him I had to go.
So fucked up.
What those two marines had done to him was a royal fuck you. Talk about rubbing it in. Not only had they sent him a message tag-teaming his girlfriend in front of him, they wanted to rub it in his face, literally.
And they reduced him in front of his girlfriend. She must have been equally shocked when they pulled out and coated her boyfriend’s face.
Damn, how could the guy even look his girlfriend in the eyes after that? No surprise that she broke up with him. How could she have any respect for him? How could he look back at her with the cum of two marines who had just DP’d her, dripping down his face?
No wonder he’s fucked up now.
Still, as he said, part of him was born that way. Despite what he said, there had to be some gay tendencies going on, especially since he’s sucking cock in front of his wife.
Jesus, I thought. There are men out there who are way more fucked up than me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ashley was still working on her presentation the following night.
I left her alone and went back into the chat rooms. Only this time, I waited until the “My Wife” room was free. I typed into the public scroll, “Anyone learn their wife cheated and how did you react?”
I got a few of the same “Have a pic of your wife?” replies before I got a message from a guy who introduced himself as Phil from New York.
“I take it something happened with the wife?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, “has it happened to you?”
“I’m not married, but my girlfriend fucked another guy,” he said, “and it was the first time I’d ever been cheated on.”
“How did you react?” I asked.
“I kept trying to think of questions to ask and wanted to know every detail, to the point that she was getting very annoyed. Well, I’ve got a very liberal view on sex.”
“So you were OK with it?”
“We had just started dating and I was taken aback. But she told me right away and I appreciated that. And to be honest, it turns me on thinking of her fucking another guy. So what’s your situation?”
“Well” I typed back, “my wife f’d a guy in a bathroom several weeks ago, with me outside clueless. She told me about it, but portrayed it as a rumor. She only told me because she thought I’d already heard.”
“Tell me more,” he replied, and I told him the details of what I had learned about that night—how I had knocked on the door, how Tamara sent me upstairs, and what Craig had told me.
“Who was the guy? A friend of hers or yours?”
“A guy she works with.”
“Her boss?” he asked.
“No, a junior salesman from a different department, but word got around at her work and I felt like the last to know.”
“Hmm, that sucks,” he wrote, “but let me ask you an honest question. What bugs you more? The fact that she cheated or that you were the last to know? I know it’s tough to answer because they both probably bothered you, but it’s an important distinction.”
“It’s all wrapped together. It’s just a colossal head fuck.”
“OK, let’s try to figure out the root issues, though,” he said, and then asked basic bio questions—how long married, how long dated, our ages, where in NYC, was it the first marriage for both.
“OK,” he wrote, “so back to my question—although I know it’s all wrapped up together—the most important thing to figure out is if you feel mad at the thought of her fucking someone else, or mad that you were excluded and humiliated. Because if you think she’s worth staying with, it’s important to try and make that distinction. Clearly there’s something she needs or wants for her to cheat—especially like that—the question is whether you truly want to figure out what that is and work on it with her.”
“I don’t know if mad is the word,” I said. “I felt gutted when I heard what happened. And I cried, which I’ve haven’t done in years. I know I should have confronted her or him, but I was scared of losing her. And I know my friends or brother would tell me to kick her to the curb if they knew.”
“Yes, it’s a lonely feeling, I understand,” he said, “and the best thing to do is NOT get your family involved because then there is even less chance for recovery. And for the record, NEVER worry about crying about something like this—it’s human to have that emotion and you should feel no embarrassment.”
I told him more details—about my talk with her, how she’d replied, “Just bigger, OK?”
“You need to have open dialogue with her,” he wrote. “That’s the only way to real recovery—and you may not like the answers that come out in that discussion, so be prepared. So why do you think she cheated? Be honest, I know it’s a tough question.”
“I don’t know. I thought our sex life was good but obviously it left something to be desired. Maybe she was just curious or maybe her friend influenced her.”
“Is your wife a pretty wild gal in general?”
“No, this came out of left field.”
“Has she ever talked about fucking other guys?”
“No, I know about a few past boyfriends, but we never
got into sex talks about them.”
“So you beat off thinking about your wife at the party?”
“Yeah, which is embarrassing to admit and way fucked up. I feel like a pussy about it.”
“No need to feel like a pussy,” he replied, “I understand your self-deprecation, but you have to take it easy on yourself and not hold the blame. Too bad you’re not in Brooklyn, because I was going to suggest we get a beer.”
“Thanks, but I couldn’t get away anyway tonight.”
“I cheated on my ex-wife,” he wrote, “so I understand that side of it, and have been cheated on, so it gives me both perspectives. I think you need to talk openly with her about what she needs sexually. You might have to accept that she might be sluttier than you realized—I don’t mean that harshly, just something to prepare for. Taking into consideration the other stuff you told me, she might have—well, probably has—cheated before.”
“I know I should talk with her more about it,” I replied.
“You’ve been fucking her since all this started?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“As often as you did before?”
“No, less often.”
“Do you fuck her dirty or nicely?”
“I guess the answer is nicely because that’s how I thought she likes it.”
“Ever call her a slut while fucking her?”
“No, I’m not sure how that would go over.”
“You should just fuck her hard tonight, USE her,” he wrote. “It’s taken me a long time to realize that I am most attracted to slutty women. I think you might have one here, my friend. Those are the best women—a lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom. I should moderate a convo between you and your wife over beers. By the way, you got a picture of your wife for me to check out?”
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, “I actually have to get going.”
“OK, I’ve added to you my buddy list.”
“OK,” I typed, “good night and thanks for talking with me.”
I couldn’t believe how much I had just confessed to a total stranger. But, I felt a sense of liberation. He didn’t think I was crazy. He seemed to understand and relate. I wasn’t alone in some Ziggy-Stardust, Major-Tom space capsule. He was like the first guy I had chatted with the week before, telling me to keep my chin up, that I wasn’t abnormal, that he could relate to what I was going through and how I was reacting.
And other guys were so much further out there.
Phil from NY sounded normal, a regular guy just as curious about the details of his girlfriend cheating as I was. He told me to “take it easy” and that I wasn’t “a pussy” Basically he was telling me, “you’re simply human and you can live with that, can’t you?”
A load had just been taken off.
And then, before leaving the room, I quietly masturbated, looking at Ashley in her blue bikini.
****
Later that night in the bedroom, Ashley began returning my kisses. I wasn’t sure if she was going to say, “I have to get up early,” so I proceeded slowly, licking her neck, then rubbing my hand against her breasts.
Then back to kissing. Back to her breasts, pulling her bra down and looking at her beautiful erect nipples. I lowered myself and began licking each one.
A few minutes later, feeling the wetness on her panties, I slid my finger inside. This was my green light, my off-to-the races signal, and I slid farther down and began licking her precious pussy, immersing my face in it, French-kissing it.
About ten later minutes, I heard her cry out, “Oh God” and listened joyously as she reached orgasm.
I got on top of her quickly afterwards, thinking confident thoughts, praying to the patron saint of stamina.
As soon as I slid inside her, my dick was again in over-excited mode. I took it slow, trying to distract myself, like I wasn’t there. I started thinking of Yankee scores from the prior week … Yanks 7, Orioles 2, Orioles 3, Yanks 1. I had been watching the clock on Ashley’s nightstand from when I went inside her. 10:42 had become 10:44. 10:45 had become 10:46. I thought of an auctioneer with his megaphone … “10:46! Do I hear 10:47?”
But Ashley’s pussy just felt so good, and when I heard her moan “Oh yeah,” there were only so many mental acrobats I could do. I pulled out suddenly to try and hold it, but it was too late. I went back inside her and came within seconds. I thought of Jim Murta cumming up inside her and gave it an extra umph at the end.
“That was good,” Ashley said, holding me as I lay on top of her, both of us naked.
It was good, I thought, as I told her “I love you so much.”
We pulled up the covers and she rested her head on my chest and within minutes I could tell she was sleeping.
It was a huge improvement ... I had gone a solid three to four minutes. I wasn’t back to my pre-rumor self, but hell, I was on my way.
I felt relaxed and euphoric. She was my wife, we had just made love, and she was naked, sleeping ever so peacefully beside me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“How did the presentation go?” I asked Ashley when she called that afternoon.
“Really great, I got lots of compliments—a relief that’s over.”
“Do you want to get drinks and celebrate tonight?”
“I would love to,” she said, “but I’m already committed to see a movie with Jen.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“But I’m not leaving for Candlewood Lake until Saturday now. You’re around Friday night, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, “what are you thinking?”
“They’re having a happy hour this Friday. Would you be up for going?”
“What? A work happy hour of yours?”
“Yeah, it’s casual, very informal, but it’s at Old Bridge and I know you like that outside area they have.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “I think I can swing that, this Friday, yeah, sure, sounds good.”
****
Was she fucking kidding me?
Ashley had just invited me to face people who all knew the rumor. To them, I was the clueless husband bumbling outside while one of their colleagues fucked his wife. And now Ashley wanted me to show up and socialize with them.
Hell, there was a good chance Jim Murta would be there. I might have to say hello, make pleasantries, even shake hands with that self-satisfied, cocky prick—in front of everyone, no less.
How could she possibly think I’d be “up for going?”
I had thought she was asking if I were free on Friday, because she wanted the two of us to do something. Instead she gets me to say I’m free, only to drop the happy hour A-bomb.
She was throwing me to the lions. Could she not see how incredibly embarrassing and humiliating this would be? I’d be the sap, chump husband on display for everyone’s amusement.
They all knew what happened that Monday, a week and a half before me. And they probably knew a lot more details. Craig had probably only given me the condensed version and hadn’t the heart to offer up everything he heard.
Wouldn’t Jim have blabbed about what was going on when Tamara relegated me to the upstairs bathroom? Wouldn’t that be part of the full rumor? Had Ashley let on to Mr. “Just Bigger OK” Jim Murta that she was particularly impressed with the size of his cock? Might she have added it was a lot bigger than she was used to? If she had, wouldn’t Jim have included that juicy detail when he blabbed? I’d show up as Ashley’s smaller-dicked chump husband—the guy who bumbled around outside while his own wife’s pussy was being seeded by another man’s larger cock in a ratty little bathroom.
Could Ashley not realize how incredibly mortifying that would be? Did she want to humiliate me? Did she not know how much she humiliated me that night? Did she want to add insult to injury? Or was she just incredibly clueless to how I was feeling?
Where was the, “I understand if it’s awkward and you don’t want to go?”.
Well, I had no intention of going. Not freaking happening.
&nb
sp; I said “Yes” because I had been put on the spot.
A last-minute excuse was going to sound more believable. And I quickly agreed, like it was no big thing, to make my eleventh hour rain-check sound that much more believable.
I was going to have to have unanticipated extra work Friday night.
Reluctant Cuckold Page 17
