Authors: David McManus
“You may need to think about more than just being self-conscious. Judging from what she did, it seems pretty clear that she’s not satisfied with you sexually. That doesn’t make it right for her to do it. But at least some of her dissatisfaction probably has to do with your size.”
“I’ve wondered about that lately, of course.”
“She didn’t just have sex with him, Dave. She performed for him, to turn him on. And then let him choose her. And she let her friend watch what she did. What’s your wife’s name?”
“Ashley.”
“I want you to think about Ashley. She’s fooling around in this bathroom with her girlfriend, and this girl pulls him in to join this game—there was probably a reason for that. And maybe Ashley started out just playing or maybe she knew all along. But he took himself out, and then he chose her. So she must have shown that she was impressed or excited.”
“I don’t think it was planned,” I replied. “She wouldn’t be so recklessly public about it”
“There’s something sexy about public. It’s very naughty. She must have really wanted it. He must have really excited her. This may sound harsh, but can you imagine yourself—can you imagine YOU—making her so horny that she’d let you fuck her right there at a party with her friend watching? Maybe you don’t put on the kind of show she would show to her friend.”
“No,” I said.
“This is the point,” he continued, “this guy comes into the bathroom, he takes out his large penis, and both of those women want it enough to compete for him. She probably felt sexy when he picked her. And she let him have her, right there in the bathroom, even though she knew it would humiliate you, and he knew he was humiliating you when he was doing it.”
“And the larger point,” he went on, “is that you’re masturbating to this, and you like it, or at least you like it sexually. Something must have been there already for you to have these thoughts.”
“No,” I replied, “I never thought like this before.”
“Most men would have been furious and left her, or at least made her apologize to never do it again. But you didn’t do any of those things. Instead, you analyzed it from a zillion different angles before even reacting. And now you’re consumed with it.”
“I’m saying there was nothing in me before. I was very content with my marriage and sex life.”
“But Ashley wasn’t. And I bet thinking about this has made you more turned on than you have been in a while. It’s a very powerful experience.”
“It just seemed so outlandish and out of character. I wonder about the details that others probably know.”
“Yes, there are a lot of things to wonder,” he replied, “but it all comes from the same place. And you’re thinking the same answers to all those questions when you are touching yourself.
“Of course he had her,” he continued, “but it’s the reason why. She’s not in love with this guy—she is probably in love with you—so why did she fuck him?”
“I have theories but no solid answers,” I said.
“She did it because Ashley likes sex and he was a good fuck.”
“If it was only that,” I replied, “she could have met him for a drink in private, with discretion.”
“That’s why those questions bother you—because she wanted it too badly to care about any of that. Women are so careful with condoms, but she didn’t even ask. She wanted him to fuck her so bad, she didn’t care if he came in her. And he knew she needed it, so he didn’t ask. Even though you knocked, and she might have felt a little bad, she had his big cock in her hand and she couldn’t resist.”
“Probably true,” I replied.
“Look, strength is just an accident of another man’s weakness. Is it really your fault if someone else has a bigger cock and can fuck your wife better?”
“What are you saying,” I typed, “is that it’s like when I was never good enough to make varsity in high school—it wasn’t my fault.”
“Yes, exactly. In my experience, guys who get in your place already know the truth deep down and sense their limitations.”
“Well, I didn’t, I thought we had good sex life.”
“I know, but where are you now? You’ve admitted you have trouble lasting and don’t have a particularly large cock. It’s just the way things are. Men are easy to please, easy to satisfy sexually most of the time. Women are much harder. Every time you have sex with her, you cum, but for her, it ends in frustration.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“You need to look at the future. This is a time when you can redesign your life and expectations. But you have to be open and honest—not emotional—both of you. There may be serious consequences if you don’t keep discussing this with her. If she has the propensity to play with others behind your back, you are going to have some serious emotional/mental problems.”
“I’m going to have another talk with her.”
“This may be the first of many. You need to make sure you’re ready to handle it.”
“OK,” I said, “but have to go for run for now, sorry.”
I paced around, started drinking a beer, but was back at my computer screen before long.
“Hey Dave, Rob 43m from Brooklyn, how are you this Friday night?”
Suddenly I was telling this guy from Brooklyn the whole story.
“Wow, what an experience,” he replied, “as you said, I guess she just got caught up in the moment. And oh man, the embarrassment and being the last to know is the hard part. It’s pretty hot though. Can I see a picture of your lovely wife?”
I sent him one the one from Central Park.
“Man, she is beautiful. She has that innocent, fresh, young-Jennifer-Love-Hewitt look. You can see her fun personality. Can you send me some more, Dave? Like one that shows off her hot young body?”
I sent Rob the Florida bikini picture—then another of her on our honeymoon ... then another from the Jersey shore.
“Damn, you are one lucky guy. She is fucking hot—amazing tits on that girl. She looks like a real fun fuck. If I was that guy watching her ass ride my cock while I sat on the toilet reaching around squeezing those tits, I would have dumped a nice fat load in her too. I’m 8 inches and thick, send me another pic to get me nice and hard.”
There was a moment of “What the fuck am I doing?” But I had a good buzz and forwarded a couple more from Florida.
“Oh my God, she is incredible. My cock is ready to bust out of my pants. I just got to take it out … ahh, that feels good, your wife has me rock hard right now. Describe Ashley’s pussy for me. Is she shaved?”
“Not shaved, but trim.”
“Nice pussy lips?”
“Yeah, picture perfect.”
“Dude, your wife is picture perfect,” he said. “This is good … letting another guy stroke himself while talking about your wife. What a little slut she must have been for that guy. A dirty whore. Dirty whores like getting bent over the sink and fucked.
“So,” he continued, “do you want to see her get fucked hard again, but this time in front of you?”
“No, it’s not like that,” I replied, “I’m just trying to figure out where her head is at.”
“You know where her head’s at, don’t kid yourself. This is not about her, it’s about you. She’s the one who did you wrong. You need to ask her if she wants another good fucking.”
“I’m not asking her that.”
“Why not?”
“For starters, what would she think of me? She’d never respect me.”
“She went about this in the most disrespectful way. She doesn’t have respect for you fucking a guy at a party and now all her friends know.”
“I know it was disrespectful.”
“If you’re going to stay with her, you have to gain that respect back and get control … maybe confront her … If you let her get fucked in front of you, that will show you have control.”
“I don’t see getting respect back from that. I can’t imagine how she’d react to such a crazy suggestion.”
“Again it’s not about her, it’s about you. Tell her you need to get past this by actually seeing her with another guy—one of your choosing. That’s how you take charge and gain control.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, “but I have to get going.”
“Dave, I’m serious, I’m good-looking, clean cut, eight inches thick and will fuck her for you real hard—I’ll punish her real good for you.”
Good God, I thought. Who in hell am I talking to?
“I’ll give it some real thought man.”
“Dave, does she have a screen name on here?”
“What?” I said.
“I can talk to her for you and let you know what she says.”
“No,” I said, “she’s not online here.”
“How about an email? What’s Ashley’s email address?”
“I have to go.”
“I’ll give you my phone number, let’s talk for a few minutes …”
I looked out our living room window, at the cabs and cars and people on 75th Street below. Then I looked down Columbus Avenue at the lights toward midtown.
I thought about the first time Ashley and I saw this apartment. When the realtor gave us a few minutes to explore, Ashley was playfully nudging me, singing an old Talking Heads’ song, “This Must Be the Place.”
We moved in on a Friday and spent that Saturday with the couch moved up to the window, watching the snow fall, like we were watching a movie.
There was a guy I used to work with who’d say, “I partied with myself last night.” I’m not one to get drunk alone, but talking online had provided a social component.
I went back to my laptop and typed in the public scroll.
“Recently learned my wife cheated, rather blatantly, what a head f*ck that is.”
When I told the story to a guy whose screenname was Superman666, he replied, “That’s fucked up bro. Recently married, she’s already fucked someone else. Man, she’s playing you. Once a slut, always a slut. It’s obvious, buddy. Sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear.”
“I do believe she loves me,” I said. “It just did a number on my self-esteem, which maybe she’s picked up on.”
“You said it perfectly,” he replied, “she’s picked up on it, and now she’s got your number and knows you’re not going anywhere, which you’re not.”
I tried to explain myself, how this was not me before.
“Look,” he said, “sometimes we say we wouldn’t let this or that happen cause it’s the macho in us, but reality can be a different story.”
“I know, but truth is, I don’t know if any guy I know or am friends with would have reacted like I have.”
“Don’t be so sure. They’re acting like you were before you found out—when the world according to you was perfect.”
“They haven’t been in my shoes, you mean.”
“Yes, they haven’t. Have you told her it’s turned you on?”
“No,” I replied. “How could I? How could she respect me?”
“She didn’t think about that the night she was fucking him. She wanted his cock that night and she didn’t care if you were outside or not—that’s not respect.”
“I know. It’s made me feel reduced.”
“You shouldn’t feel reduced—SHE should. So her friend watched as he fucked your wife?”
“Yes.”
“And she was the one who told you to go to the other bathroom?”
“Yeah, when I knocked.”
“Sorry, but your wife was sucking his cock.”
“I’ve imagined that as well,” I said, “but I just don’t know.”
“I do agree with you that she should have took him someplace else, but her girlfriend had a lot to do with it.”
“I’m sure she did,” I replied.
“I bet the higher-ups where she works have all talked about it. Hell, some are probably hitting on her, thinking she’s an easy piece of ass.”
“She wouldn’t do it again. She doesn’t want the rumors.”
“She may regret the rumors, but her pussy’s wet when she thinks about that night. But I don’t mean to rub it in. I know you’re going through a lot. Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You said you were supposed to see him at a happy hour last night but didn’t go?”
“Yeah.”
“When you do see him again, I would just smile at him and say, ‘I fuck her all the time, and you will never get to again.’ ”
He asked for photos so I sent him the one from Central Park.
“She is very pretty,” he replied. I can see why he wanted to fuck her. If it had been me, I wouldn’t have said shit about it, and I’d still be fucking her. Damn! I bet she looks really hot nude.”
“Yeah, I don’t have any.”
“Well, given what you’ve told me, her head must be on other cocks or she wouldn’t have fucked him like that. So you better get your shit straight or you’re going to lose her.”