A Cucold's Diary

Chapter 30 - "The Towel Waver"

October 2014

Here's an old Jewish Joke:

Sam and Sarah, married 20 years, are having trouble in bed. Sarah seems unhappy and keeps wondering if there isn't something she's missing when it comes to sex. Finally they go to the rabbi for advice.

After hearing from both of them, he agrees that something has to change. He tells them the following.

"Go out and find a good-looking, well-built young man. Tell him you need his help, and invite him to your home. When you get ready for bed, hand him a large towel and ask him to wave it over you while you have sex. See if that fixes the problem."

It's an unusual request, but the rabbi is never wrong, so out they go. They find a perfect specimen at the gym – 22 years old, handsome and quite the hardbody. They explain what they need, and he agrees to help them out.

The next day they go back to the rabbi. "Nothing changed," Sarah complains. The young man stood there and waved the towel the entire time we had sex, but... nothing. I am SO disappointed!"

"Hmmm," says the rabbi, "that's very surprising. It almost always works." He thinks for a minute then says, "Let's try just one more thing. This time, Sam, YOU wave the towel while your wife has sex with the young man." Desperate to find a solution, they agree.

That night, the guest get in bed with Sarah, and Sam takes his place by the bed. He starts waving the towel and the young man takes Sarah passionately, intensely and repeatedly. Sarah is over the moon with pleasure, crying out as she cums again and again. Finally they finish and collapse in a pool of sweat, pussy juice and cum.

With a look of absolute triumph Sam says, "You see, shmuck? THAT'S how you wave a towel!"

*************

I'm Paul. My wife is Sally. I wave the towel.

It's been a long time since I wrote the previous chapter in my Diary. Not that things haven't been wonderful for us, but because they have been pretty much the same. Sally gets together with her long-time lover, Ted, about once a month, and they spend 3-4 hours having a date. Their dates include sex, talking, sex, lunch, sex... you get the idea.

A while back, Ted asked me what the most exciting thing was for me on their most recent date. I said it was knowing how excited Sally was about spreading her legs for him – about fucking him. "But there's nothing new about that," he said. I told him it didn't have to be new: I was a cuckold, and he had just fucked my wife. More important, my wife WANTED HIM to fuck her. "It never gets old," I said, and he had to agree that fucking Sally didn't get old, either. So there hasn't been much to tell, since "He fucked my wife again" is exciting as hell to experience, but doesn't translate into a very captivating story!

But recent events are, indeed, new developments. For those who are not cuckolds or cuckoldresses, I doubt you will enjoy what I'm going to write, or even see the excitement in it; that's all right, since I'm basically writing it for myself. For those who "get it" – enjoy!

Two dates are worth relating. This chapter is about the first of them.

A brief recap: After 15 years of my asking/begging/pleading with Sally to try cuckolding, she finally did in April, 1998. She met Ted, and they hit it off. They were "an item" for about four years, then stopped seeing each other for a variety of reasons. Then in 2005 they got back together again, but with one difference: when Sally thought about restarting their relationship, she asked me if it would be possible for them to have sex together, without me in the room. I said I thought I could handle it if they were willing to throw me some crumbs from time to time, and that's the way their affair began again. I would reserve a hotel suite for their dates; this allowed me to sit outside their bedroom door and masturbate while they had the privacy of the bedroom for sex.

Their "reunion" went very well, and subsequent reunions went even better. There were ups and downs for me as we tried to find a balance that worked for everyone: them showing me enough that I could get off on what was happening, and me backing off enough to let them have their time – and their sex – alone together.

By the fall of 2006 I saw that Sally was truly enjoying her dates with Ted. Far more than she ever enjoyed sex with me, by her own account and by my observation. In November of that year I said that if she wanted to stop having sex with me, saving herself for her dates with Ted, I thought we could make it work. After spending time thinking about it she said no, she didn't want to stop having sex with me... she still wanted to do it once a year, on our anniversary! She was so earnest in her "demand" that we still fuck once a year that she took my breath away, since it was clear she was equally earnest in her desire not to do it with me more than once a year.

That conversation took place on November 20, 2006, and we kept to our new arrangement through the summer of 2007. Between dates I would hold her in our bed while she used her vibrator to get off, then I would go downstairs to my home office and masturbate. She especially liked it when I helped her think about fucking Ted while she got off; in fact, it seemed like the best thing I could do to help her get excited. So in the summer of 2007, when she asked me if I would be willing to sit on the floor by the bed where she couldn't see me while I helped her get off by talking to her about Ted, I was hurt but not surprised. I asked her why she wanted that, and she said that, honestly, my presence in bed got in the way when she was trying to get off; my best efforts to turn her on just weren't that good, and what I did best was talking to her about her dates with her lover. Recognizing the truth of what she said, and excited that SHE was comfortable enough to hurt me like that, I asked if I could play with myself while I did as she asked. She LOVED the idea.

So, my wife has had a relationship with Ted for over half our marriage. I have made the arrangements for their dates and then sat outside their bedroom door for the past nine years. For eight years – one-quarter of our marriage – she has fucked only him, other than my once-a-year mercy fuck on our anniversary. And for nearly that long I have had NO sexual contact with her, or with anyone, except for one time a year on our anniversary. She tells me that the two things I do that make her feel best sexually are taking her to Ted and agreeing never to ask her for sex.

I know this sounds harsh, but in fact it feels right – right for both of us, or rather, for all three of us. Just about the only thing Sally and I fought about over the years of our marriage was sex: I thought she was repressed and frigid, and my invitations to sex were often postponed, ignored or rejected outright. Even when we had sex she was never wet for me and couldn't wait for it to be over. Coming as she did from a truly sexually-repressed mother, I blamed both of them for our less-than-adequate sex life.

Imagine our mutual surprise when she first went to bed with Ted, and didn't need any artificial lubrication! What's more, after the first time she was actually excited about going to bed with him – to the point where SHE became the aggressor. It took her a while to acknowledge it, since she really does love me and didn't want to hurt me, but she LOVED sex with him.

And, she realized, she hated sex with me.

In other words, SHE wasn't the problem in our sex life. I was. She realized it, I realized it, and Ted realized it, too. I was the problem. I was always the problem.

Fortunately, I'm a cuckold. Or maybe it's more than a happy coincidence. Maybe I was always the problem because, deep down, I knew that my place is outside the bedroom door. Whatever the genesis of our relationship, this is how we got to where we are today: a wonderful, loving, cuckold relationship in which all three of us get what we need and what we want. Mick Jagger, you were wrong – sometimes you can get both.

Which brings us to their two most recent dates, and why I'm writing again. This chapter will explore the first of those dates, and the next chapter will finish the story.

In September our schedules presented an interesting challenge: the only time we could get together with Ted was in the afternoon, rather than our (their) usual morning dates. It took a little negotiation with the hotel since renting a room from noon to 6pm is generally frowned upon in hotels that don't charge by the hour. Fortunately we are good customers – we only go there for Sally and Ted to fuck, but that's been over 70 times in the past eight years – so they understood when I said we had a meeting in the area in the morning and a party to go to at night, so could we get the room for the afternoon? "Of course, Mr. Pines. We're happy to have you here any time," was the reply. Hampton Inn, you rock!

On the appointed day we checked in, Sally fixed her makeup and we waited for Ted to arrive. He texted me and said he wanted to pick us up and go to lunch before sex, but when I read that to Sally she was NOT happy. She debated about how much she wanted to reveal, but finally agreed that I could send this text:

>Your call, but she'd rather fuck you the minute you get here. Why don't you call her and talk?

He responded,

>Well all righty, then. It's fucking before food. I'm not complaining.

Sally was pleased with his response, and I think she was pleased that she took the aggressor role more than she ever had before. So when he arrived and sat down on the couch in the living room of the suite, she basically attacked him. He started talking about life and work, but she concentrated on undressing him – completely – within two minutes of his arrival. I sat there in awestruck silence until we were both staring at his naked body.

With that, Sally got up from the couch and walked over to me to give me our now-traditional "good-bye kiss" before going to bed with him. As she kissed me passionately – the sexiest kisses I ever get from her are when she's about to fuck Ted – he walked up behind her, reached around her and began caressing her tits. She turned to him, kissed him at least as hard as she had just kissed me, and they walked together to the bedroom.

I quickly undressed and was about to pull a chair over to the now-closed bedroom door when I saw his clothes – everything, from shoes to underwear – lying on the floor where Sally had left them. I thought about what they meant; if his clothes were here, then he was in there naked... with my wife. As if to punctuate my thought, at that moment Sally moaned so loudly I heard her through the closed door and down the hallway. Sex had begun – without me.

I dragged a chair over to the door, sat down and started masturbating. I heard small pants and gasps from Sally, and the soft murmur of Ted encouraging her in her pleasure until, in less time than it took to write this, my wife came in her lover's arms. She cried out, the bed shook as her body spasmed again and again, and Ted's loving, encouraging words carried her through her orgasm. I thought back to all the times we played at home and how so often Sally would say, "I wish Ted was here to get me over," and I stroked my penis while my wife's wish came true. I thought about how my job was to bring her to him – to make all the arrangements, to make sure everything was perfect for their date – and then to sit outside the bedroom while he gave her what I never could. That's when I remembered the joke about the towel-waver.

But it wasn't a joke. Ted was making love to my wife the way she always wanted, always needed, and I was waving the towel and congratulating myself on how good I am at it.

My reverie was interrupted by a gasp from Sally and a groan from Ted: he was fucking my wife. The strangest thought crossed my mind – one that hasn't left me since. I decided, then and there, that I was going to be the best towel-waver in the world; the best towel-waver in history. At that moment I accepted everything that had happened up to this point: how they started, how they got back together, how Sally gradually took away sex from me and gives it all to him, and how it feels to sit outside the door while my wife and her lover have sex. I'm no good at sex, and I never was. But dammit, I can wave a towel.

Instead of wondering when they were going to call me in so I could watch and get off, I sat in my chair and masturbated while my wife fucked her lover. I listened to every sound she made, every sound he made, and began a cuckold's mantra: "This is why I brought her here. This is why I brought her here." To my amazement, it worked. I wasn't just excited to hear them fucking; I was actually... happy. To hear the sounds of my wife's pleasure as a real man fucked her; to hear her lover grunting and moaning as his cock slid in and out of my wife's pussy... this was, truly, what I did best. I made everything perfect for them, so they could have sex. Together, and without me.

I heard them moving on the bed: sheets rustling, bodies repositioning. Then he let out a long, drawn-out moan, almost inhuman in quality. I didn't know exactly what was happening, but I had no question that it felt good to the man in bed with my wife. I didn't hear the bed banging, so it didn't sound like fucking, but then again, it wasn't my business. His moans/groans/gasps grew louder, more powerful, more insistent; he was almost crying. Then he came, and it sounded like he was ejaculating several internal organs. It went on forever: the sound of pleasure. Ultimate pleasure. Whatever she was doing, my wife was giving him the pleasure she no longer wants to give me. I almost felt the pleasure, so clear were his cries of passion. Almost, but not quite; that pleasure is reserved for him. It was all I could do not to cry, and not to cum. This is why I brought her here, I thought, as I heard his voice reflect every spasm of his cock.

I concentrated on being very quiet. No one likes a loud towel-waver.

After he finished, they were quiet, too, for a long time. Then Sally called to me and asked me to bring her a cold drink. I ran to the kitchen and pulled a Snapple from the refrigerator (it's the towel-waver's job to make sure the lovers have the drinks they want, when they want them; I had loaded the refrigerator when we arrived). Back at the bedroom door I knocked politely, and waited for them to invite me in.

When I opened the door I was confronted with Ted's naked back, ass and legs. He was on his left side, facing away from me – facing my wife, who was lying on her back next to him. I went around the bed and handed the open bottle to Sally, who stretched out to reach for it. She was, of course, naked: her tits were exposed to me, but more important, they were exposed to... him. She was unashamed, unapologetic, unconcerned; I had to blink a few times to realize that I wasn't imagining her naked, because she couldn't have been more relaxed in front of another man if she had been fully dressed and sitting in an armchair. I rubbed my penis, and she laughed.

Ted interrupted my admiration of my wife's body by saying, "Why don't you sit down on the floor and we'll talk for a while?" I wasn't sure where he wanted me to sit, but I was SO excited that he wanted me to stay in the room with him and his lover! He motioned to the foot of the bed, where I happily grabbed a towel and sat on it.

His first words were, "Your wife just gave me the most amazing blowjob. Her mouth is incredible! It felt so good, and her lips just drew my orgasm out of me. Did you hear me cum?"

"Yes," I said, literally shaking as I responded. My wife's lover was telling me how she sucked his cock, and was checking to make sure I heard him cum."

"Good," he said. He continued telling me how good it felt to have sex with my wife. As he talked he paused from time to time, and I knew he was kissing Sally at those moments. I have to say that I've never hated the huge, heavy duvet which Hampton Inn uses on its beds more than at that moment, since it kept me from seeing anything of them except Sally's two hard, pointing nipples which stood up like miniature monuments to sex. But I wasn't complaining; how often does a cuckold get the honor of hearing about sex from his wife's lover?

At one point Sally turned onto her side, facing him. I saw her hand moving under the covers, and I knew she was caressing his cock... again. He continued to talk, but now his conversation was interrupted both by kissing and by groaning as her hand worked its magic on him. Finally he said to her, "Let's pull off the cover so your husband can see the wonderful things you're doing to my cock."

She threw off the covers, but when her hand returned to his sex it went straight for his balls and her mouth went for his cock. He groaned loudly, and asked me if I could see what she was doing. I said it was difficult to see from the bottom of the bed, and would it be all right if I moved around to the side where I could see better?

(Yes, I really did that. I asked my wife's lover if it would be all right for me to crawl from the foot of the bed to the side of the bed, so I could get a better view of my wife sucking his cock. Even now I'm ashamed that I asked, but I am SO glad I did.)

As my wife sucked his cock, Ted acted as if this was actually important enough for him to care. After what seemed like an eternity he said, "Sure, be my guest."

I really did crawl. I didn't want to stand up – that would put me too much in their line of sight, and I didn't want to ruin their lovemaking by imposing myself on them. Or was it that I was afraid Sally would see me and send me away? Either way, I walked on my knees, hand still stroking my painfully hard cock, to the side of the bed.

What happened next, dear Diary, is one of the reasons I'm writing again. I will try to describe the most exciting, humiliating, powerful, shameful experience I can ever remember.

For the next 10 minutes my wife sucked her lover's cock right in front of me. And while she did, for the entire 10 minutes, she never took her eyes off me. I saw – no, she showed me – how she gave him the most intimate pleasure imaginable. I saw it. I was RIGHT THERE. She kissed the head of his cock, then slowly swirled her tongue around it. She licked from the base of his shaft to the head, then did the same on the other side. Her hand caressed his balls and occasionally slid up the length of his cock. His contented sighs turned into moans as she continued her blowjob.

"This is your wife, Paul. Look at her. Doesn't she look beautiful?" Ted taunted me.

I hadn't stopped looking at her. Yes, she looked beautiful. She always looks beautiful. I love staring into her hazel-colored eyes which, when she's excited, get very large and open. And she looked no less beautiful with her mouth wide open, too, forming an O around her lover's penis.

What could I say? "Yes, she looks very, very beautiful," I croaked in response.

"What's she doing, Paul? What is your wife doing right now?" he continued, with an edge of dominance in his voice.

"She's sucking your cock," I said.

"Yes, she is. Look, Paul – look at YOUR wife sucking MY cock. Why aren't you stopping her?"

I thought for a minute about how to respond. I was kneeling beside the bed – THEIR bed – jerking off while my wife filled her mouth with Ted's cock. Then I remembered the towel and quite literally I threw in the towel. You want me to shame myself in front of my wife? Okay, here goes.

"I'm not stopping her because I'm not a man. YOU are."

"What do you mean, you're not a man? Tell me why you're not," he continued.

I answered him, but never took my eyes off her. And although she didn't say a word, she never took her eyes off me.

"I'm not a man because I can't give her what you give her. I never did. YOU make her feel like a woman, and I never did. She loves the way you respond when she sucks your cock, and I never responded like that. I didn't get hard, or I didn't stay hard when she did that to me. She never got wet for me. Never. I never made her want to fuck me, or NEED to fuck me. But she wants to fuck you. She wants to turn you on because you turn her on. And I never did.