Cameron and Manny

by Matt Moreau

Caution: This Drama Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Cheating, Cuckold, Interracial, Prostitution, .

Desc: Drama Story: A wife wants to be a prostitute, husband is not so enthused


Cameron and I were married for fifteen years. No children, bills paid, house nearly owned. She's thirty-eight and I'm forty now. She's still a tawny haired beauty with B-cup boobs and the plumpest ass ever to have graced the backside of a 110 pound five-foot four-inch female woman! Her olive complexion is to die for and she smells like something descended from Mt. Olympus.

Our sex life was terrific through most of those years. Was, being the operative word. She eventually filed for divorce, that was two years ago, and moved out. So while we had indeed been married for fifteen years at that point, as I said, it was but six months after that that little reality became past tense.

Now, you might think that she left me because I was cheating. Maybe because she had to find herself. Maybe because I didn't make enough money: I'm a bartender. But you'd be wrong. Nor did she leave me because she was in love with somebody else. No, she swore she still loved me and only me; and, in her way I think that was true, and I am of the opinion it remains true even now.

No, she left me because of a career move she felt impelled to make. She wanted to be a prostitute! Not forced to be, not blackmailed into it, not talked into it—well, there were influences. She wanted to do it to enjoy herself and at the same time make good money. She felt, not unreasonably, that I wouldn't have been able to handle it, and so she left me. Well, she was right about my not being able to handle it. I hated it! But, that said, I can't bring myself to hate her. Go figure, but I just can't, even now.

Two years ago:

I'm meeting her in fifteen minutes. She wants to talk to me. I don't know what about. I mean we're divorced, almost. She didn't want anything from the house other than her personal stuff. She didn't ask for alimony or anything. We don't have kids, as I said, so there was no problem there. So I don't know what she wants now. But, I am curious.

"Want another drink, Manny?" said Rhonda. Rhonda Davis is the early shift bartender. She and I have worked together for these past many years. We love each other like brother and sister and have each other's back when the occasion requires it. She knows my situation and empathizes.

"Yeah, I guess, Rhonda. I mean I haven't come close to my limit of sixty-four beers in a day yet," I said.

Rhonda returned with the beer and set it in front of me. She looked up and past me. She nodded. "Incoming," she said. I turned. Cameron had come in and was looking around for me. She saw Rhonda who pointed me out to her.

My soon to be ex-wife slid in across from me. "Hi Manny. How are you today? You okay?" she said, by way of greeting.

I nodded. "Okay I guess. Yeah" I said. I just looked at her. She clearly wasn't dressed for business. Jeans, a t-shirt, and lightweight slip-on sandals, no socks.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," she said. She paused, and then jumped in. "I gotta ask again, are you okay? I know I hurt you, Manny, and I feel like a skunk for doing it. But, it is just something that I had to do. You know, like I explained before."

"Cam, I'm as good as can be expected. I miss you. I wish you hadn't done this to us. But, it's done now, and I guess we have to move on, both of us," I said, sounding far more logical than I felt.

"Yes, well, I miss you too, if it comes to that," she said. "Manny, I need a favor. It can work to your benefit too if you want," she said.

I was immediately suspicious. She'd killed my heart. Divorced the hell outta me. Disgraced me, my family, hers, the whole damn world; but now, she needed a favor and apparently I was the only one in the whole wide world who could supply it! Well, the gods do move in mysterious fucking ways.

"Huh?" I said.

"A favor, Manny. It won't cost you a dime," she said.

"Can I ask you something, first?" I said.

"Sure, anything, honey buns," she said.

"You know—our love life—it wasn't enough for you? I mean, I thought it was. I thought we did good," I said.


"Yes," I said, and I knew I shouldn't have.

"Manny, I could hardly even feel you're little four-inch dick inside of me. You tried hard, and you were marvelous with your mouth and tongue. But, overall..."

"You sure no how to hurt a guy," I said.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Manny. Believe me, Manny, that is the last thing I want to do. You are a wonderful guy. Any girl but me would be tickled to death to have you and to hold you. But, you asked, and I will never lie to you. Not ever, no matter what," she said.

Why couldn't she be like other women and lie to me. But, she was right, I'd had to ask. Talk about dumb shit moves. "Yeah, well, fucking wonderful."

She looked at me. I could tell that she was sad she'd felt she had to tell me something that she knew would hurt me, and that hurt her.

"Okay, what's the favor that little dick here can do for you?" I said.

"Manny—I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you again. But, you are to honest and good a man to treat like an idiot. I will not lie to you. Not for anything."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay get on with it," I said, trying not to cry.

She nodded. "You remember Calvin, right?" she said.

"Yeah, the asshole who influenced you to get involved with this escort stuff," I said.

"Yes. Well, you're right. He did turn out to be an asshole. He dumped me. My pimp dumped me. Can you believe it!"

"Oh my, that's absolutely horrible! I don't know how you can stand it," I said, as sarcastically as I could.

"Manny, you don't have to be so sarcastic and mean," she said. "I was never nasty to you."

I looked at her like she was crazy. "Not nasty to me? You dumped me to become a goddamned street walker! I'd call that supremely nasty," I said, trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity and failing miserably.

"I'm not a street walker, Manny, too dangerous. I make dates, and then only with men who have been vetted. I needed a pimp for that though, and Calvin let me down," she said. She said it like it was some kind of minor business failure. Like she'd only have to call HRO to get a replacement. But, she soon disabused me of that thought. "That's why I'm here."

"Huh? What are you talking about?" I said. I had a thought, and I laughed. "Hah! You probably want me to fill in."

She wasn't laughing. "Exactly."

It took me a minute. I think my mouth was hanging open. It was definitely dry. I had to be dreaming. My wife, soon to be ex-wife, had left me to become a prostitute. She'd had a pimp who'd arranged—uh—clients for her. The pimp had blown town. Now she wanted me to pick up the slack and pimp for her. To say that words failed me would not come close to describing my confused state. I couldn't talk, not at first.

"Manny? I know this is a strange request, but..."

"Strange? Strange request? It's fodder for Guinness. Let me answer you this way, "Get the fuck outta here!"

"I know I've shocked you. But, someone has to do it for me, and there are not too many people I would trust, like you. In fact there aren't any," she said. "Please, give it some thought. I know when you think about it you'll want to help me. And, in case it matters, Manny, you'd be making a lot of money!"

"Cameron Lee, get the fuck outta here before I call the cops and have you picked up."

"Okay, I'm going, but please think about it. I'll be back soon. I need you," she said.

I sat there stunned. Rhonda arrived like some kind of guardian angel with another mug. I sloshed it down fast and furious. I needed something. Like I said, my mouth was dry.

"What'd she want?" said Rhonda.

"You wouldn't believe it," I said.

"Try me," she said.

"She wanted me to pimp for her."

Rhonda couldn't contain herself, she broke out laughing. "You know, Manny, it wouldn't be the first time a husband pimped out his woman," she said, as she gained back a measure of self-control.

I looked at her like she was some kind of crazy person. "Not me," I said.

I didn't hear from Cameron for two weeks. I figured she'd gotten the message that I didn't want anything to do with her offer. I was wrong.

I was sitting in my living room watching Alabama and Arkansas go at when the door bell rang. Getting up to answer it I spilled my beer and swore.

I opened the door, and she was past me before I could slam it in her face.

"You really need to stop that swearing, Manny, it doesn't become you. What's that I smell—beer?" she said.

"Yeah, when I got up to answer the door for you, I spilled it. "Thanks a helluva lot.

"Whaddya want, Cameron. I told you I wasn't interested in your proposal and I'm still not. Call me little-vanilla-dick," I said.

"Geezsus, Manny, is your male ego that fragile? If I'd realized how sensitive you were about the size of your cock, maybe I would have lied to you," she said.

"That's my wife, always thinking of new ways to belittle me," I said.

"You're right. That was uncalled for. Got a beer for me?" she said, settling into the easy chair next to the couch. "And, I am sorry for belittling you before. I really mean it," she said.

"Look can we forget about my cock. It's never going to bother you again, so I don't see any reason to keep on bringing it up," I said.

"Okay, you're right again. I'm an idiot," she said.

I wanted to say she'd get no argument from me, but it was too easy. I let it slide. "So what do you want?" I said.

"First I need a place to shack up for a couple of days. Any chance you might have mercy on me?" she said.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Cheating / Cuckold / Interracial / Prostitution /