Cuckold Asian Husband

My name's Vincent, I'm a 26 year old Singaporean who moved to Australia when I was 18 to study Accounting. By most standards, I'm fairly average - except maybe a bit fitter than your typical Asian guy. I hit the gym everyday, standing at 170cm and consistently weighing 60kg with around 14-15% body fat. However, despite achieving a body good enough for sports magazines, and forking out a small fortune on dating app subscriptions, I found myself disillusioned with the Sydney dating scene. Eventually, I gave up its beautiful beaches to explore other horizons.

Though I climbed the actuarial ladder faster than most, I decided to move to Melbourne, accepting a slight demotion for a $150k salary as a risk manager. I settled into a nice high-rise apartment with some financial help from my parents. It became quickly evident that the Melbourne social scene was as frigid as its weather.

I turned to online dating sites and that's where I met Linda. She lived in the Philippines and after 3 months of chatting, she was ready to move countries, marry me, and start a life together. She was a couple years younger and I did grapple if she was a bit too young, but Linda was easy going and consistently initiated our conversations, which also helped me come out of my shell.

I suppose my financial status might have played a big part in Linda's parents pushing for our marriage. The moment they saw my apartment during a virtual tour and learned about my job, it seemed like they would have sent her off that very moment if they could.

As I turned my camera to the towered skyline, offering the view from my living room, Linda's parents gasped, their eyes wide with surprise, as they watched from a crowded local internet cafe. In the background, kids huddled around other computers, watching their friends play, eagerly waiting their turn. It was only daytime on their side of the world, but moths were already fluttering around the cold fluorescent lights above them. Meanwhile, my parents still haven't received word of our marriage to this very day.

Making friends immediately became easier after getting married. It was something I've constantly struggled with, despite already a few years in Australia. Overnight, Linda and I were a curiosity at meetups, effortlessly drawing sufficient attention, as opposed to when I used to attend alone, resorting to nerdy groups in the back corners, embellishing my stories through gritted smiles, desperate to engage with others who merely tolerated my attempts at conversation.

Over the next few months, however, some of the attention we received began to wear thin, well, at least for me. There were moments when an overconfident bloke would tower over us, casually placing his hand on Linda's shoulder. She would smile politely and walk away, of course. Or when they'd bluntly ask for her number, and that's when it hit me--no one had ever asked for mine.

It became noticeable when Linda started letting herself ignore me whenever a guy approached, as she giggled and entertained their questions. She had a strong accent and her English could do with some refinement, yet her countless social faux pas seemed invisible, like she belonged, despite only being in the country for a few months. I suppose it's true when they say when you're hot, you could get away with anything. To her credit, Linda was more cautious at first and made efforts to include me, so I'm not sure what shifted to change her behaviour. One night, fueled by a mix of horniness and tipsiness, I told her, what the hell, she's free to reciprocate other guys' advances if she wants. She looked at me apprehensively, like a fish surveying a worm for any coil. I scoffed, promising she can keep her wedding ring -- only on one condition, and that I had to be included through her escapades.

I may have caught a smirk form on her lips as she looked away demurely, feigning outrage at my proposal. "Don't be ridiculous, I love you only", she said, rolling her eyes, though as I grabbed her to my lips, she simply managed to elude me. I don't know what she did, but I simply remember, we did not sleep together that night, nor most other nights we've been married, except for that night of our discreet wedding ceremony, a day after picking her up at the airport.

The very next day, we found out how easy it was for her to invite some horny white guy - a tall mechanic - to our bedroom, as I watched them rail my wife while I listened to her whimpering moans of desire she's long kept closeted. Coaxed by another man's musk and raw virility, there I witnessed the Mr Hyde that's been hiding in the depths of her boudoir, on the guise of simply being Catholic.

Once we became more comfortable with having other guys over, I even helped with setting up her Tinder and gave her permission to say she's single. Within the day, she immediately had 999+ swipes, a good chunk seeming earnest in forming a relationship. Secretly, my heart did pang with envy as I recalled how I barely managed to earn 10 matches during my failed attempts to use it.

She gave me turns to swipe for her, and boy did my thumbs move fast across her cold screen, my imagination ripe on swiping right on those I'd have liked to see with Linda. She quickly revoked my swiping privileges because I wasn't swiping right to her type: tall, beefy men - no degree required. I'd have said that birds of a feather stick together, but Linda was the tropical tamarind fruit before a herd of starving giraffes, and I the chimp on the ground waiting for fruit to fall.

When her parents would ask us if we're going to church and making friends, I smirk as I hear her say "yes of course". They always sign off telling her to be good and that they're praying for us, and telling the neighbours of how proud they are of their daughter. She once joked that if her old neighbours and relatives back home knew what she's really been up to, their well-wishes may even turn to seething jealousy. Getting sexual validation from locals was somehow more of a social accomplishment for her than marrying up a nice well off guy who swiped her off her feet to a comfortable life in the West, than what she had in her Tondo shantytown.

I've never been attracted to men, I'm not gay, but there's this tantalising feeling of being humiliated and impotent, the way you might press your fingers on a sore tooth, or bite down on it, to savour the pain and also make it go away. It's the primal shame of wanting to save your wife from a stranger having his way with her only for your wife to prefer the company of her much manlier captor.

Like when I stripped my clothes off for the first time, initially embarrassed, as I caught my reflection next to a much taller man, and the yellow glint of a measuring tape that Linda held between us. But what the hell, there I realised 'life's too short' to just not embrace the sensuality of it all.

So whether it's a tall european backpacker wanting to save up on accommodation, or a group of his friends, we'd often offer up our bed while I sleep in the guest room, my ears glued to the wall, my hands down my pants, imagining the different ways they're hilt-deep into Linda. Flesh would pound against flesh and the springs on our bed would squeak, competing with her squeals, only to be followed by a whisper, then her laughter. Sometimes, they would leave the door slightly open, providing a slit small enough for a peek, just in case the soles of my feet wandered silently along the floorboards.

One thing I've noticed was Linda does get a bit jealous whenever a guy has bisexual tendencies. I'd never imagined in my childhood that my marital woes would be fighting over another man's affection.

And my wife, with her lack of world view courtesy of her shanty town upbringing, doesn't really get how the men pick up on this dynamic and love pitting her against me. Whenever this happens, it makes my wife's pointed remarks a lot more personal.

And they would sneer, knowing they've completely turned the unfaithful wife against her pathetic husband. I would have kicked anyone out overstepping their boundary but it never came to that. Though I can't refute it. They've usurped my position of don in my modern Melbourne apartment, 50 floors up, staying in the master bedroom for free, instead of their original plan of a crowded backpacker for $30 dollars a night. I can only imagine their egos swelling with pride, realising how good it feels to colonise.