I am, shall we say, amused by all of the hullabaloo regarding the subject of cuckoldry and wife-sharing. This fantasy persists despite the vehemence of so many, who would mock and degrade people for indulging in this particular flavor of erotic composition. It drives me to write the story of my own life, share my own adventures, and add an element of dignity and integrity to the discussion. I shall write my story in the first person, because it is an axiom that stories written in such a manner are believed, by a great many, to be unavoidably true.
But, alas, my reverie was interrupted. My sensuous wife, Cynthia, arrived at home from another exhausting day at work. She set her purse aside and poured herself a generous glass of lemon iced tea, her favorite thirst-quenching drink. She was a truly remarkable woman, graceful and physically fit, and I was proud to have her as my friend, my wife and my confidant.
"You are sumptuous, as always, my dear," I said with a smile.
"I know. Look, I have a date with Steve tonight. Can you make sure to have dinner on the table by six?" Cynthia looked quite impatient. I felt a wave of regret, but I was not at fault; I simply had not known about her date. Certainly, I would have ensured the commencement of our meal at a much more convenient time had I been made aware.
"Steve, is it?" I said curiously. "And what frolicking adventure will the two of you be pursuing this fine evening?"
"We're planning to see a movie, then we'll be coming back here to fuck."
Cynthia and I had an open marriage. An open marriage is frequently defined as a committed relationship that allows each to engage in extramarital intercourse. Our relationship had a unique, and, dare I say, clever twist; I was not permitted to have sex with others. Oh, never mistake my true intentions; many months ago, I met a woman I shall call Sally that I very much wanted to bed. In a stroke of intense jealousy, Cynthia refused to permit this encounter to ever occur. When I told Sally I could not keep our appointment, she stated to me, as if it were fact, that I was a very wimpy man. I disagreed with Sally and told her directly, but then I felt distraught for disagreeing and apologized profusely.
I went to check on my three precious children. I tell them every day that I am so very proud of them. My oldest is Jennifer, who is now ten years-old. I must admit, she is not technically my child. A paternity test several years ago informed us that her father was, apparently, one of Cynthia's many extramarital lovers. Then there is my eight-year old son, Samuel. I am not his father, either. Through rigorous investigation, we have narrowed down his father to one of five possible candidates. Then there is Claudia, the youngest, our precocious six year-old girl. I am embarrassed to say, again, that I am not her true father. None of that is particularly relevant, because our marriage is vibrant and healthy. All three children were happily playing in the backyard with various pieces of lawn equipment while my wife was preparing for her date with Steve. I waved at the children giddily, thrilled to see them playful and contented.
I left the children to visit our boudoir, simply to inquire about Cynthia's date preparations. Many people hurl criticisms at us for conducting our marriage in a way that violates social convention. They say it isn't proper, but the longevity of our joyous union argues otherwise. I pushed open the door to our bedroom, only to find Cynthia stretching a silky black stocking up her beautiful, long leg. I gasped.
"You are breathtaking," I told her, my mouth agape in an expression of awe.
"Thank you. Steve loves my legs in thigh-highs. He loves to feel them as he eats me."
"Perhaps I can do that for you someday, too, darling," I said, watching her every subtle movement.
"No, you wouldn't be very good at it."
"Yes, I'm afraid you're probably right. But it is quite stimulating to consider. I am afraid that my erection is growing as we speak."
"What, you're small cock?" she pointed at me and laughed. "It's growing?"
"I take offense. It is not small. It is an inch and three-quarters!"
"Steve is eleven inches. I love to suck on it, it's so manly and thick. Your cock is so small that I could floss my teeth with it."
This kind of blunt language always pushed me to the edge of reason. The mere thought of Cynthia's legs spread wide, engaging in intercourse and probably getting pregnant again excited me beyond belief. My erection grew, I dare say, but nobody seemed to notice.
Cynthia continued to dress, wrapping herself in a black lace bra that revealed just the right amount of cleavage. She added a mini-skirt, an opaque top, high heels and a wonderfully brilliant red coating of lipstick. She was fully adorned for her date with Steve. I whispered to her that she was radiant, a fantastic sight to behold, then she told me that I was a wimp. I laughed, because she was always the notorious jokester.
I stepped outdoors to water the lawn, allowing Cynthia ample opportunity to complete her preparations. My neighbor, Henry, was outside as well. He and his wife, Gladys, have always been quite judgmental about our marital arrangement, but I am usually able to turn a deaf ear and disregard their vicious barbs.
"You pathetic little wimp, a real man would never let his wife screw with other men like that. You're going straight to hell, you sick bastard."
That was Henry lobbing verbal bombs toward me. He and Gladys have been married for a very long time, a fact that led them to have an unearned faith in their marital expertise.
"Hey, Henry, it is a nice day, is it not?" I said, attempting to take the high road once again.
The mail truck pulled up to Henry's house, a fortunate circumstance indeed. The truck would distract Henry and I could continue watering my lawn without the need to step carefully through his verbal minefield. The mailman handed him several envelopes. He responded harshly.
"You take fucking forever to deliver the mail, and when you get here, you give us this shit that I wouldn't even wipe my ass with."
Then, an unfortunate young girl in full uniform trotted toward Henry, wanting to sell him cookies. She was dancing and smiling, so eager to make money for her charitable organization. I always buy several boxes from her, but Henry was not usually supportive.
"Would you like to buy some cookies, sir?" she said to Henry. "I have thin mints and..."
"Holy fuck, you wander up here like a sick dog and want us to give you money for this horseshit you sell? I hope you and your stupid green munchkin friends all die horribly."
The girl fled in tears. I considered his tirade against her to be one of the most despicable acts I had ever witnessed. I was about to tell him just that, but his wife called out to him from inside the house.
"Hey, Henry, you fat fuck, get your tubby ass in here and change these light bulbs, will you? I can't believe I married a stupid cocksucker like you."
