February 2012
*ADVISORY*: This is a story about cuckolding. It says so in the title, and I'm saying it again now. My wife has a lover, and I'm excited by that. If you read this story, you'll see that cuckolding has an effect on the husband's psyche, and I accept that. If YOU do not accept that, or if you find it weird, unnatural, perverted or otherwise disturbing, please don't read this! And if you read it anyway, please don't bother to write that you found it weird, unnatural, perverted or otherwise disturbing.
And yes, it's all true.
People have written to ask if we're still doing this, and why I haven't written more of this Diary. I always responded that Sally and Ted are doing great, but I wouldn't write another chapter until I had something new to say. Now I do.
Comments welcome. Flames cheerfully ignored.
To the story:
First there was the kiss. Then the tissue. By that time my brain was scrambled and the only word that kept coming to mind was the word Ted used to describe me a week ago: "pathetic."
I didn't start out to feel this way. I always knew I wanted Sally to have sex with other men, but I didn't know it would feel like THIS. I'm not complaining – what we do is really exciting for me. Sally doesn't walk all over me; we are partners, lovers, friends and everything else a spouse should be. Only in the bedroom – in matters of sex – did our roles shift... and they shifted gradually. Now we have something that excites each of us – all three of us – and which "works" for each of us, too.
Sally and Ted have each found a wonderful, caring sex partner in the other. They are not in love with each other, but they really LIKE each other... and they LOVE having sex together... and they have enjoyed being together more and more as the years have passed. I have found out who I am; who I was always supposed to be. I am a cuckold. Not a game; real life. And as I think about the over-five years since Sally said she didn't want to have sex with me at all anymore, I feel... pathetic. And that strange, shameful word feels right. Not very pretty, I know, but a certain variety of cuckold understands completely.
Cuckolding is the most exciting sexual adventure I can imagine, but my ego has taken quite a beating along the way. My question has always been, "why does MY ego WANT to be beaten?" Yes, I'm a masochist, something I've described in earlier chapters of this Diary. And sometimes that's a problem for Sally and me, because it's just not easy for Sally to hurt me, even when I ask (beg. PLEAD.) to be hurt. I know how strange it sounds to say that Sally will fuck another man but won't hurt me, because her fucking another man hurts me plenty.
On their dates, Sally is amazing – to Ted AND to me. He always tells me how much she turns him on and how passionate a lover she is. And she "gets" what I need, to be able to sit there and do nothing while another man fucks her. Our problem – my problem, actually – is all the time in between their dates. Almost the moment we leave the hotel after seeing Ted, Sally changes her persona from "Bad Girl," which is saved for Ted, to "Good Girl," which is for the whole rest of the world... including me. As she said after their date, "I can compartmentalize."
"Good Girl" can barely believe that Bad Girl does the things she does. Good Girl is a respected professional in our community, a tireless volunteer for things she believes in, the most amazing wife / friend / partner / confidante a man could ever have. No one would imagine in a million years that we don't have sex anymore, and NO ONE in any age or era would have the slightest suspicion that Sally has a long-term lover, and I am a cuckold. But she does, and I am.
A little about me, beyond that I'm a cuckold and a masochist. Fourteen years ago I finally succeeded in convincing Sally to try sex with another man. We found a great guy, who is her lover to this day. I found that I was more excited about Sally cuckolding me than I had been about anything since I was first trying to seduce her over 30 years ago. Five years ago (November 20, 2006, to be exact) Sally asked me if I could accept our not having sex anymore. She explained that she had never liked it with me, and that often I actually hurt her with my clumsiness in bed. She also said that Ted was SO good to her, and SUCH a wonderful lover, that she wanted to share sex only with him. The idea was terrifying... and exciting beyond words... so I said yes. I didn't think she would stick to the no-sex policy for very long, but to this day she has said only that she loves "our arrangement." (She did promise me a once-a-year mercy fuck on our anniversary, saying that was very important to her, and she has kept her promise each year. But that's it, and she assures me she is very happy with that schedule.)
So each time my wife and her lover have a date, I sit outside their bedroom door and listen to them fuck. They will usually call me into the bedroom once or twice, to get them a drink or just to be polite to me, since they know I'm sitting alone, masturbating. And Ted usually spends 15 minutes or so sitting in the living room with me when he is dressed and ready to leave, very politely telling me some of the things they shared and how they made each other feel. When he tells me this I am sitting naked opposite him, jerking off like a man possessed. He never puts me down, never abuses me as the "bulls" do in commercial cuckold porn films. But we both know that my wife fucks him... and only him. We both know that I only feel my own hand 364 days a year, so he helps me accept my role by telling me the most intimate, exciting details of their sex. And he always adds, "You'll NEVER know how it feels when Sally does that to me..." I really appreciate the time he takes to do that, as by that time he has fucked my wife at least twice and he is DONE. Besides, he doesn't come to talk with ME.
Bottom line: my ego – my image of myself as a MAN – has taken quite a beating over these past 14 years, and especially over the past five. What makes me a cuckold is that I accept this; actually, it feels RIGHT. For some reason, I know I am supposed to be outside the door when sex happens; as Sally says, "I don't want you any further away than that, but I don't want you any closer, either." Writing the 34(!) chapters of this Diary has helped me to accept and embrace the emotions and the deep sexuality that surround the word "pathetic" for me, and I have a few online friends who, as fellow cuckolds, actually get what I'm describing. Otherwise, it's just me, my hand and my memories of the sights and sounds from their many dates.
Many cuckolds will agree that they would be very excited if other people knew they were being cuckolded. Most of us will also agree that family, job, community, etc., demand that we not share our adventures – or our shame - with anyone else. For me, that means the only people who know me - know I am a cuckold and know I am pathetic as a man - are my wife and her lover. And that is why I asked each of them, prior to this week's date, if they would acknowledge to me what they are doing and would help me to feel the shame in front of them that I think about every day on my own. Actually, what I said was, "I'll do anything I can to make sure both of you have a wonderful time together, and I'd really appreciate it if you would help me have a terrible time."
They did. They had a VERY wonderful time together, and they each helped me to see who I am, stripped for a while of any sense of concern for my wellbeing.
Their date was scheduled for two weeks ago, but 36 hours before it I got a call that I would have to work that day. We were all frustrated – Sally got herself off several times, telling me how much she missed "being filled up by him." Ted and I chatted on YIM and he expressed similar frustrations – and horniness for my wife. And I felt bad that my work had come between them. We rescheduled for two weeks later, and as the day approached, Sally made time to have her hair done, her fingernails done and her toenails done... for HIM.
We got a late start on our drive to the hotel the night before their date; by the time we got there it was after 11 pm. We had a quick drink and Sally relaxed and read her book; I excused myself, went into the living room and jerked off, thinking about what would happen in the morning. Eventually we both got to sleep, but my sleep was fitful: I kept imagining that another man was going to get into THIS bed and fuck MY wife, then I would wake up and realize it was true. Fifteen minutes before my alarm went off, I gave up on sleep and went to get ready. I dressed, went down to the lobby for breakfast, then brought breakfast up on a tray for Sally. Our suite had a fireplace, so she ate her breakfast in the living room, in front of the warm fire. As she was about to get up to get dressed, Ted called to say he would be a half-hour late. That gave her time to relax, wake up, and get ready for... him.
When Ted arrives at our hotel room, our general practice is for them to sit and talk on the couch in the living room for a while. When they do, Ted is completely dressed and Sally is wearing whatever outfit (or lack of an outfit) she has chosen to turn him on: either a negligee or just a bra and panties, with her silk robe wrapped around her until he opens his present. I always offer to get them coffee from the lobby, and they always say yes; I think they enjoy those first few minutes alone at least as much as the coffee. Usually they will kiss while they talk; sometimes Ted's hand will caress her breast through her negligee or bra. Not much more than that happens until they go to bed, without me.
Maybe it was their pent-up excitement from their delayed date, or maybe it was just to be blatant about what they do together, but this time things were NOT the same. Sally usually sits up on the couch and invites Ted to sit next to her; this time she reclined seductively, her legs spread so as he approached her he was treated to the sight of her open pussy. After seeing that, he knelt by the couch and started kissing my wife – not just a "hello, nice to see you" kiss, but a sexy, passionate, intimate kiss. Followed by another one. And another.
When I returned with their coffee they hadn't moved; their mouths were still glued together. As soon as I came into the room, Ted moved his hand to my wife's breast – first over the thin fabric of her negligee, then reaching under it to feel her skin. I sat down in a chair across from them and watched my wife and her lover make out... is it considered "petting," and does anyone use that word anymore, to describe when a man touches, squeezes and sucks on a woman's nipples before they have sex? Actually what happened was that they engaged in foreplay right in front of me. I didn't do anything or say anything; I just looked at my wife's open pussy, realizing she hadn't let me see it this much in many months, and watched her lover prepare her for sex.
After nearly a half-hour of foreplay, they got up from the couch to go to bed together. As they – I say "they" because from the moment Ted comes into the room, "they" are a couple and I'm the outsider – walked by me toward the bedroom, Sally stopped in front of me. She came over to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and gave me a deep, loving kiss. When she did, my head nearly exploded as I tried to reconcile the love I felt in her kiss and the knowledge that she was about to fuck the man standing beside her.
After the kiss, and without a word, she took Ted's hand and led him to bed. The last thing I saw was the door closing between me and them.
