This is just a bit of fun. It was supposed to be quite short, but it sort of got away from me. It pokes a little fun at the cuckold stories on the site. As such it could have found a home in 'Loving Wives' but I think that would put the emphasis in the wrong place.
It could have gone into 'Humour and Satire', I suppose. Yes, I agree the tale is a little far fetched, and the moral issues raised are complex, but don't let that spoil your fun! If it does -
stop
reading: there is enough suffering in the world without punishing yourself!
I would have thought that the plot line would have been used before. I searched at some length, but could not find one. Apologies to any author who has preempted me. This tale is the product of my own deranged imagination.
It's longish, but I'm taking the risk of not splitting it into parts but posting it whole. It's in chapters for those who can't stomach reading the whole thing in one sitting.
All characters, including the narrator, and all companies are fictitious apart from Bill Bailey, comedian and musician, who is in my opinion a genius. Joseph Holt and his beer are also thankfully very real.
All engaged in carnal activity are over eighteen years old, but not necessarily very wise.
*****
CHAPTER ONE
It might have been a mistake, but it wasn't all my fault. I've had plenty of time to think it through, and I'm sure it really wasn't my fault, though it did me a real favour - eventually. Some mistakes are like that.
It was Gary. That's whose mistake it was, and yes, it was his fault.
"Rod, old son," he said to me that dark cold March evening in the pub, "It's a chance you've always dreamed about. Now you can have it."
"
It
?" I'm afraid I shouted, and other patrons glanced my way. So more quietly: "
It
is a
She
!"
"Ssh!" he said. "People are looking."
"Rachel is your
wife
," I said more quietly and with exaggerated patience. "I always thought marriage was in some sense about
faithfulness
- you know -
not
going off shagging other people?"
"Look Rod," he said with a show of almost as much patience as I had demonstrated, "Modern marriage is more varied, more flexible. Couples decide for themselves what they do. After four years of marriage and six years together, Rache and I want to have new experiences."
"But you
are
saying you want to get her to sleep with another man!
You
want it. Does
she?
"
"She isn't totally convinced," he said, "but I've done a lot of research on this. Lots of men get a real buzz out of knowing their wives are fucking someone else - some other bloke is pushing his cock into his wife, and once the women get the taste for it, they love it. Variety, Rod, variety. She just needs to try it and she'll be won over."
"And what's in it for you?" I asked him. "Do you get the chance to shag other women?"
"Well, yeah, but only if she wants me to."
"So?" I was lost for words (except that one).
"As a cuckold husband I get to experience all sorts of things - jealousy, uncertainty, powerlessness, and a big erotic charge. There's also the thing that while you get to shag her, she always comes home to me. I'm the one she wants to be with for ever. Just talking about it with you is getting me hard!"
I shook my head. "I don't get it," I said.
"If you go along with me you will get it!" he laughed.
"
Her
."
"Yes - her."
"I need to think about this," I said. "Ring me tomorrow."
I should have been more explicit. I should have said "No Way!"
Gary and I had been at school together. Gary and I were mates. Rachel was in our class, and she was
gorgeous!
Dark lustrous hair, green eyes, captivating face, long neck and perfect figure, and slim shapely legs. Gary was one of the lucky sods who got to date her. There were a few who did date her, but none of them for long. She was clearly very choosy.
As far as pairing off is concerned Rachel and I were non-starters - she didn't look twice at me, and I never talked with her. I'm one of the average guys; her time, and probably she herself, was more than filled by one or two of the handsome, athletic jocks who clustered round her.
Gary was always winningly handsome in a roguish sort of way; still is. He did date her in upper sixth form, and they were together for a while, but it finished as teenage romances do; they both moved on to other partners.
Gary and I went off to different universities, and it transpired that Rachel went to a third. Then Rachel and Gary both returned to our hometown immediately after graduating, while I got a job in computing ninety miles away. They took up again, lived together for a couple of years and then got married.
Gary had a managerial job in a light engineering firm and was making good money, with prospects of rising to the top of that particular tree. Rachel was an assistant manager in a department store, and from what Gary told me was in line for a store manager's job. He told me all about their brand new cottage-style home. It looked very small and cramped to me. In Britain 'cottage' means 'cramped'! (It does mean other things as well, but not in this story).
After I'd been five years with the firm, we opened a division back home and I was offered a directorship in charge of customer support and bespoke innovation - very important in software sales - and a move back home. It included adapting existing programmes to perform different or extended tasks according to a customer's needs, but was mainly dealing with helping customers with more complex problems than those resolved by 'turn it off and on again', or 'try plugging it in'.
I was very young for such promotion, but that was life in computing, everyone seems to get promoted young, and though I say it myself, I was very good at what I did, both solving problems and organising a team for more complex tasks.
The increase in salary and the share options were mind-blowing for me at that age, and I was able to buy myself a very roomy third floor flat with great views over a golf course to the hills beyond: spacious hallway, three bedrooms, living/dining room, kitchen, large bathroom with wet shower area as well as a bath, etc. Each of the rooms, I reckoned with slight exaggeration, were bigger than the total floor area of Gary's and Rachel's 'cottage'. The flat was expensive, but now I could easily afford it. Life was good.
Gary was ecstatic I was back, and we took up again, though we only met in the pub or in my flat; I was seldom invited to their house, and when I was so invited, Rachel seemed to make herself scarce. Sometimes she would make polite conversation, you know, asking me how the job was going, that sort of thing, but she seemed distant and the exchanges were brief. They didn't seem to invite people for meals. I laughed to myself that there wasn't room to get everyone round a table in their dining room! I never invited them either.
Strangely it never occurred to me to wonder why. It was a 'guy' thing I suppose: we were drinking companions. I had a busy life at work and socially. Gary and I had no real interests in common: he talked football and cars and I listened and commented. We also commented on the attributes of my various girlfriends, and he crowed about his sexpot wife, so there was plenty to talk and joke about while out on the booze.
So now, after a settled couple of years of regular drinking with him, I was faced with this new situation. I didn't think very clearly if I remember.
First of all, I'd always fancied Rachel, but it was clear that she did not fancy me at all, and as I said, I never made any attempt to date her at school. I'm not sure she even liked me; our meetings were never what you would call warm or friendly.
In any case, Gary got to her first and mates don't poach their mates' women, do they? I must have told him he was a lucky bastard, though now it seemed he took that to mean I fancied her rotten, which I did, though very morally, hopelessly, and at a great distance.
So getting to shag the woman was very enticing at a visceral level: she was far better looking than any of the women I'd ever had. Come to think of it, she was far better looking than any women I'd ever
seen
. Realistically she would never go for it, and even if she did, morally I found the whole thing unsettling and frankly wrong.
Though she had a lively dating life in the last year of high school, and it was common knowledge that while she must have had sex, she was not 'easy' like some of the girls - the girls I went with. She had to date a boy for some weeks before they became intimate, and she was known never to cheat on the lad she was seeing. As a result only a few, which included Gary, actually got to date her. I assumed she still had those morals and would not betray her marriage.
Finally, I was not short of female companionship and I didn't need the complication of a married woman, even one as pretty as Rachel. While at university I did the one night stand routines, some of which extended into two weeks or a month.
However in third year, I had given up the casual liaisons and had two serious relationships. The first girl, Abigail, was hot. She and I had a stupendous sexual relationship, but that was all we had. We lived together in each other's rooms, but had few interests in common. Mind you, with all the sex we didn't have time for much else.
It took us two months to realise that we were going nowhere, and finals were on the distant horizon. We parted without resentment.
A month later I fell for the other end of the alphabet, Zoë. With her it was the reverse of Abi. We had everything in common, we had the same interests, the same likes and dislikes.
Though constrained by the need to prepare for finals, we supported each other through those last months at university. We studied better in each other's company, and seemed to know when we needed a break. Sex was simple and loving; it had meaning for us beyond physical performance. We were perfect for each other.
The trouble came as the offers of jobs came through. I was offered the aforesaid opportunity I couldn't turn down about ninety miles from my home town, she had a similar offer but in Germany. She was a languages and business studies student, I was in science and computing.
We were realistic about it and took the jobs, and parted with great sadness and regret after graduating.
After the bereavement of parting from Zoë, I buried myself in my new job, and made rapid progress. It was eighteen months later that opportunities for relationships began to present themselves. Nothing deep or serious - the girls were career orientated as I was - and we had sex sporadically as recreation and fun.
Once I had moved and been promoted, opportunities for flings, one night stands or weekends, multiplied. For one thing I was back on home turf. I did not date anyone from work, but there were plenty of opportunities in the pubs and clubs. In my mid twenties, I was not looking for a life-time companion.
So climbing onto my high moral horse was easy: Rachel did not fancy me, and I had all the female interest I needed. I would refuse Gary's offer. He could get some other mug to tup his wife.
