by Matt Moreau

Copyright© 2011 by Matt Moreau

Erotica Sex Story: Just another she needs a bigger dick and he can't suppy it.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Cheating   Cuckold   Interracial   Slow   .

My name is James Dalton. Marianne, my current wife, and I met twenty-one years ago at a small soiree for her date, Mr. Mel Calvo, a gentleman who had just been promoted from sales manager to VP of sales for Riley and Bozman Industries, that, upon the retirement of his predecessor. At the time I was twenty-four, and proud holder of an M.B.A. in business from Wharton. I had just been hired by RBI, who incidentally are makers of various electrical components and computer hardware; it was my first company party.

RBI had been headhunting for a couple of assistant product managers and one such for a quantity control position. Though I'd had but limited experience working summers during my college career, I'd gotten the assistant quantity control managerial job based on my degree and the subsequent interview I'd had with Nick Bozman himself. It was he who had invited me to the party that night.

Marianne at the time was a refugee from the secretarial pool. Mr. Calvo had taken a fancy to her and asked her to be his arm candy for the affair. At any rate, after that night at the party, Marianne and I had become an item. We'd danced some, drank some, and talked a lot. She accepted my enthusiastic offer to begin dating, and a year later we were man and wife.

Our home life was good, or so I'd thought. No damn it! It was good. It really was. And, I thought, I really thought, that the sex had been as well. It was only later that I discovered just how illusory some of my thoughts were in terms of the sex part. But, more about that in a bit.

I progressed over time at RBI; finally becoming VP of procurement and quantity control. My division did all of the materials buying and all of the inventory control. I loved the job, and I especially loved the pay and the perks. The pay, allowed Marianne to be a stay-at-home wife and mother. Yeah we had children: twin girls Melanie and Barbie: both twenty now and juniors at—where else—Wharton. Marianne became active in the community, and her commitments kept her, and keep her, almost as busy as me.

At any rate, for the first few years the sex between us had been hot, then lukewarm, then hohum. Neither of us realized what was happening at first. When we did, our attempts to revitalize our libidos took the forms of fantasy talk and role playing; it'd worked for a while. But now...

I am sitting on the barstool at the wet bar in our den and reading the letter she'd left me. She'd done it; she'd actually really gone and done it.

I'd begged her not to. I'd even tried to bribe her: she'd always wanted to go to Europe. But, evidently not more than she wanted to take a lover and have me be okay with it; all of it, her ideas, the result of our shared fantasies. I was not okay with it, fantasies were just that and nothing more. The verbal warfare that ensued was not good. Eventually, she called my bluff. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The whole mess began two months ago, a Tuesday it was. The mess the result of us deciding to go for one of our fantasies one time, that more or less for the hell of it. Tonight was a Friday, if that means anything at all, and I am alone holding her letter, thinking about our daughters, Marianne, us. My life is fucked!

I reread the letter for maybe the fourth time.


I have decided to take the bull by the horns and take a lover, as we—well I—talked about, and yes, it's Marcus Williams. I am not doing this to hurt us or to end us. I am doing it for me. I need it Jimmy. I hope you can find it in your heart to allow me this freedom. Trite as it may sound, I love only you; I love our babies; I do not love Marcus, but, I do need what he can do for me.

That one time, seemingly so long ago now, Jimmy, has made me need it. If we hadn't decided on me taking a lover so you could watch, well, we did and so here we are. I know we planned on it being a onetime thing, but well, sometimes things don't work out like we think they will. This is one of those times.

I'll be home around 10:00. If you're home and waiting for me, well, then I'll know we have a marriage and we can talk about where we will go from here. Jim, I hope we can move forward and continue as husband and wife, as mom and dad. I need you and I want you, Jimmy. Please allow me to fulfill this need.

Your loving wife,


I refolded the letter and set it almost ceremoniously on the bar. I went around to the back of the bar and found me a marker, a red one. I wrote my response on the back of the letter: NOT A CHANCE! She wanted me, she said; well, evidently not as much as she wanted her freedom. It, we, were over.

She was right of course, at least in part. I had encouraged her to getting it on with another man so I could watch, and, so she could watch me watch her—in our fantasies it had always been a two-way street. It had been a really hot fantasy that we'd shared for years, among a number of others, and the time seemed right to just do it. The Man, Marcus Williams, was a sales agent passing through; and he seemed right too. He was here for a few days, as he said; he'd be gone forever after that—so we erroneously thought. I'd approached him with Marianne's tentative approval. I arranged a dinner meeting for the three of us.

After some shy-time where all concerned consumed a significant amount of liquid courage, Marcus began flirting shamelessly with Marianne. It took a bit longer for her, but soon Marianne was reciprocating. Me? I was—what—an interested spectator. I will admit to feeling some negative vibes as Marianne began to more or less ignore me as the flirtations went on; but, I reasoned; and I was still able to reason; Marianne and I were in our mid-forties, Marcus was in his early thirties, too young for him to get involved with us to any significant degree. Again, that was my reasoning. I was wrong.

Again, Marianne and I had engaged in so many different private fantasies, on so many nights, and never tried hardly any of them. It seemed to me that here was an opportunity to get one of the biggees done with no risk. Marianne, again, had agreed that so long as it was a onetime deal, that it might be a kick. So ... two months gone we did it.

Two months ago:

Marcus had showed up that first night, and in spite of the previously noted ice breaker at the bistro, he was at least as nervous as I was. I counted that a good thing. As for Marianne, she appeared—what—comfortable. I thought that odd as hell; but, what the hey, she was a woman; women didn't think like us men.

She'd made us tea. There would be no drinking this night, no alcohol that is. She was in charge, and she wanted everybody in full performance mode.

As we sat and sipped our tea, I noticed that she and Marcus kept glancing at me. I had to wonder what was passing through their minds. But, their words, everything they said to me, was clearly meant to allay any concerns I might be harboring. All in all it was a good beginning or so I thought then; now, is a whole different kettle of fish. After maybe half an hour of making ourselves more or less at ease, she sent Marcus down the hall to get himself ready; she came to me; I was going to get a reup of my marching orders.

"Jimmy..." she started.

"Well, here we are, babe," I said. "Wanna call it off?" I was kinda smiling, but it was a weak smile, I knew, I was becoming a little unsettled, worried. She gave me a condescending smirk and ignored my weakly expressed negativity.

"Jimmy, once again, when we go in there, you know what to do, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I sit and watch but say nothing," I said.

"And?" she said, clearly not satisfied with my incomplete answer.

"And I'm not to play with myself or to give—him—dirty looks or do anything to upset the apple cart," I said. She nodded.

"Yes, and after he's gone?" she said.

"I am to strip naked and eat you out, clean all of his cum out of you. Yes, I know," I said. I'd been cleaning my own stuff out of my wife for as long as we'd been married. Somebody else's? Well, how bad could it be.

"Yes. Jimmy, that's exactly right. I know we've been over this several times. But, I just wanted to make sure that we don't have any glitches. You know, so we can enjoy ourselves and get the most out of it as we can. You've agreed to become a real cuckold tonight, Jim, not just an imaginary one. We have talked about that too—a lot—and while some of it may be a real test for us, none of it should be a surprise. So again, are we okay, Jim? Are we sure?" she said. I nodded. "Jim, once again, this is a onetime thing, so if we are going to do it, go ahead with it, we need to make the most of it. Okay?" she said. She was repeating herself; I guess she wasn't quite as comfortable as I'd thought; she was nervous too.

"Yes, of course, and we will," I said. She pointed to the credenza by the far wall.

"Bring your cap. Put it on the night stand when we go inside. Once you have been cuckolded, you will have to put it on and go to your knees and stay there the rest of the while my lover is here. Okay?" she said. I nodded.

The cap was a conical thing. It was an exact replica of the old dunce caps of bygone eras; its sole purpose was to humiliate and chasten. But, instead of DUNCE being emblazoned on it; it had the word CUCK on it instead, again, same purpose obviously as the old dunce cap. She'd made it herself, sewn it, out of felt. When she'd first shown it to me, I was appalled, but, I had agreed to wear it as she dictated; it was part of the scene: the lot of a fantasy cuck was to obey, so I'd obey.

She led me into the room and pointed to the chair some six or eight feet from the bed. After setting the cap on the night stand, as she had directed me, I took my seat.

No words of greeting, or looks for that matter, passed between me and her guest. He stood at the foot of the bed and waited for instructions. He was her servant the same as I was; well, maybe not the same, not the same service for sure.

She flashed me one small smile and went to her knees in front of him. Neither had so far touched the other. She looked up at him and then down at his still hidden manhood. She seemed mesmerized by the thought of it.

She stretched her hand toward him and traced the outline of the bulge in his pants with her index finger. He, for his part, shuddered at her touch.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she unzipped his jeans. The bulge that had been restrained by his zipped pants, now protruded almost, but not quite, obscenely through the opening in his trousers. His cock, the actual flesh of it still hidden by the material of his kelly green boxers, was clearly huge. I swallowed hard. I had to wonder if my wife would ever be able to go back to my less than generous member. That thought began to grow in intensity and caused me some worry.

Unbuckling his pants, she pulled them down to his ankles. Her thumbs invaded the elastic of his boxers and peeled them down as well. Her eyes never left his penis as she did so.

Taking hold of his cock, she stroked in almost inquisitively. She kissed the tip and then with a final glance toward her now suffering husband—me—she let it slip between her lips. She began to suck and lick him lovingly; her commitment to him bothered me a lot; but, straining to maintain my senses, I gathered the last, vestigial elements of my self-control and watched.

Marcus eyes were glazed over. No words had yet passed his lips, but his look was screaming his rapture. He came; he came copiously. Marianne's lips were smeared with his cum, that is, that amount that she had not managed to swallow.

She rose and went to the bed splaying her legs as she waited for him. He stood over her for a moment not yet ready to take to the bed as she had. He slowly jacked himself for a couple of minutes. Miraculously—it seemed a miracle to me—he was hard again. I thought I detected a look of concern from my wife at the sight of his engine: I thought her legs closed a smidgen, but it could have been my imagination.

He loomed above her submissive and prostrate form. Leaning down, he kissed each of her nipples and finally her lips. He had so far been very gentle with her. He raised himself a bit and played with her breasts. I could see her lick her lips in anticipation of what was coming.

"Are you ready, woman?" he whispered.

"Yes, sir," she said. He looked over at me.

"Are you ready, Mr. Dalton?" he said. I swallowed and nodded. His smile was condescending, as though announcing my inferiority to himself. Well, I deserved it; hell, I was inferior to him. I noticed my wife looking at me as he spoke to me. Her smile was benevolent. She looked back at him as he lowered himself to her and found her opening.

I saw him take hold of his penis and rub it gently up and down her slit. Suddenly he pushed the head of his cock into her. She grunted.

"Oh my!" she said. He pushed in a little more, pulled out a little, and pushed in again. He started seesawing in and out of her and then he did it. He rammed himself home. She shrieked her shock at his skewering of her.

I was a cuckold. Once he came, I would have to go to my knees and wear my cap. My humiliation was total; I felt giddy. He seemed almost in a hurry to do it to me. But, I suppose, as hot as I was, I would have been doing the same thing.

I saw him stiffen just as my wife screamed in the throes of her own orgasm. His jerky movement told me that my status had been changed from master of the house to that of my wife's cuckold, and, his. I rose to my duty.

He lay beside her now. They both watched me as I made my way, tentatively to the night stand. My back to them, I donned the cap. I turned and did my best not to meet their gaze as I went back to where my chair was and took my place on my knees facing them.

He took her twice more before even he couldn't get it up again. He dressed—he didn't hurry—kissed my wife, and came to me. Still on my knees, he looked down at me, smiled turned and left without another word; that was just as well.

Marianne smiled over at me. "Time for you to do your duty, my husband," she said. I stood, disrobed, and came to her. I was still wearing my cap. Her inner thighs were a mess—my mess to clean up. Starting at her knees, where a small amount of her lover's cum had somehow been smeared, I began licking her. I slowly worked my way up toward her slit and began sucking him out of her. I had worried that I wouldn't be able to stand doing another man's clean up, though I had determined that I somehow would; the reality wasn't as bad as I'd feared.

She grabbed my head and forced me to greater efforts as she neared another orgasm; I was proud of myself for that one.

"Lay down on your back, Jimmy, do it now," she commanded. I followed her directive. She swung her legs over me and settled her pussy over my face and lowered herself. I'd thought that I'd cleaned her out; boy, was I wrong. She drained a seeming quart of him from her vaginal canal. I took it all. I licked her anus now and she giggled.

"That's it my little cucky. Clean my pooper real good. Oh my what a wonderful gift you've given me tonight, my husband," she said.

I had to allow that I was feeling pretty good too. She swung her legs back and settled onto her back. She spread her legs as she had for him. "Take me, Jimmy. Come on and take me, and don't you dare cum until I do! Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, getting into my role. She did cum, but not until my second go. I was far too hot and horny too last in my first go 'round.

All in all things had worked out according to plan. It had been a great evening.

That night with Marcus, was a watershed, at least for Marianne. For me it had been one hot session, but a onetime only event, not to be repeated. My wife and I had seemingly been rejuvenated sexually because of it. The next weeks were a succession of sexual adventures between us.

The experiment had been great, and, again, at least as I thought, that should have been the end of it. It wasn't.

One month Ago:

"Sorry, I'm late, babe. The boss called me in for a meeting," I said.

"That's okay, but I'm feeling frisky; I hope you're not too tired," said Marianne. I smiled.

"Never too tired for a woman that looks like you," I said. She giggled and all but dragged me upstairs.

She slipped out of the middie skirt and blouse she was wearing and stood looking at me like I was some kind of a dummy. "You need help getting undressed slow poke?" she said.

"Uh—no," I said. Coming out of my semi-reverie. I hurried to get naked. She was still in her heels, panties and bra. She crooked a finger at me and pointed to the floor. I looked askance at her.

"Huh?" I said.

"On your knees, mister. Do it now." I did as she said. She moved to me and took my head and pulled me to her still panty-clad mound. "Suck on my panties, little man. I need you to get me ready for a really good screwing. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I pulled her into my face and sucked on her panties and her mound. She was soaking wet. I couldn't believe how hot I was. I needed this woman and I needed her in the worst of ways.

She pushed me away and turned around. "Pull my panties down," she said. I did so. I could smell her female musk. It was very powerful. "My anus, Jimmy, lick it and suck it." I can't remember any time—ever—that I was so turned on. I went after her butt with a wild abandoned I had never equaled. She was softly laughing at my desperation.

Pulling away from me once again, she went to the bed and bent over it, her legs dangling over the side. "From the rear. Now!" she said. I pushed my penis as deep as I could into her flowing pussy. I went slow at first, but soon I was drilling her with everything I had. She was struggling to maintain control as one small orgasm after another shook her. Finally she screamed, then panted, then squirted her juices out onto me and down my legs. Jesus, she'd been hot and ready.

I slid to the floor and leaned back against the bed, not even able to make it up and onto it. I sat gasping for breath. "God, that was good," I said. Marianne was still bent over the bed my cum leaking down her leg.

"Yes, yes it was," she said. She climbed onto the bed and spread herself. "Get up here and clean me out," she said. As hot as I was, I didn't hesitate. I had eaten my own cum many times in our marriage, but never with so great a need to do it. She came again at least once I was sure of.

Hard once more I took her missionary style before I had to surrender, unable to go again.

We slept hard and long. Little did I suspect that that night, as glorious as it had been, was nothing but a set up to get me to accept my place as a permanent cuckold of my wife and her lover. I would soon discover that truth, and in the discovery just how destructive of us—or at least me—it would be.

I could smell the coffee, even from our room. I headed downstairs to find the source.

"Good mornin' sleepy," said my wife.

"Back atcha," I said. "Coffee smells good." She smiled and brought me my already poured cup. There are few things better than that first cup of java in the early morning.

"You taking the day off like you said?" she said.

"Yeah, after last night I need a day off. I guess us doing our fantasy last month has a small downside," I said. "I'm freakin' tired all of the time anymore, and I'm blaming you!" I was smiling like a possum.

She giggled. "Jimmy?" She had become tentative. I knitted my brow wondering what was suddenly so serious.

"What?" I said.

"Jimmy, our little experiment, you know last month—well—it was good right?" she said.

"Very," I said.

"Yes, it was for me too. Jimmy. You love me right?

"Of course," I said, now beginning to wonder in earnest what was on her mind.

"And you know I love you more than anything, right?" she said.

"Also of course," I said. "Marianne, what are you trying to say?"

"Jimmy, I really liked it. I'd kinda like to do it again, at least..." she stopped in mid-message.

"What? You want us to have another go at it? Do it again with some other guy?" I said.


"Well, what?" I said. "I mean we can talk about it. I'm not against it totally. But, well, we did make a promise to ourselves not to do it more than the once. It was supposed to be a onetime deal."

"Yes, I know. But this time ... Jim this time it would be me alone. You wouldn't..." I think I paled, then flushed.

"What!" I almost screamed. She quailed. "The answer is a flat no! Not a chance! You do that and it ends us. Got it!"


"Who did you plan to do it with, just for the record?"

"Jimmy, please don't yell. It would only be for a short time. He's in town again, and..."

"Marcus? Marcus Williams?" I was still blowing out the walls.

"Jimmy please! Please don't yell," she said. I was progressing from angry to insane with rage

"Pack your bags, Marianne, you no longer live here," I said, and I stormed out.

I drove around for literally hours. I didn't stop even to pee. Finally, there was no holding it back; I had to go; some things won't wait.

Spike's Bar and Grill had bathrooms; I used the men's. The place was busy even at noon: lunch crowd, I supposed, the food must have been good. There was a seat at the bar. I took it, ordered a straight shot of Cuervo Silver, and settled in. I was fuming and the Mexican elixir had always been there for me when I was, fuming that is. The barkeep dropped by periodically to see how I was doing. Around three o'clock he asked me for my keys; I gave them to him.

"I'll get you a cab, man, when you're ready," he said. I nodded without saying anything. I had no place I had to be, and I just wanted the traitorous bitch I'd married to be gone and away from me. Of course you knew that it wasn't going to be as easy as that.

Around 5:00PM I was delivered to my house. Things were kinda blurry, and kinda mellow; and those were the good things. I somehow managed to get my uncoordinated physicality into the house, challenge though it was.

"Jimmy! Where have you been? I have been worried sick!" said Marianne.

"Yeah right," I said, not quite sneering. "What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to get out. We're done."

"Jim, this is my house too. You can't just kick me out, and we need to talk; and, we're going to," she said. "And, we are by no means done."

In my inebriated state it was hard to press my side of the issue.

The, " ... we have to talk," shit she'd laid on me turned out to be more of a, "she talked" kind of thing; there was virtually no input from me. I actually started to nod off a couple of times. She was having none of that though; I got periodically shaken pretty good to keep me on point whether I liked it or not. Some little time later; I had no idea exactly how long; she finally got to the bottom line.

"So okay, Jim, that's all I have to say. I get it. I won't ask anymore. You win. There will be no repeat with Marcus or anyone else. Satisfied?" she said.

I heard her, and I think I tried to smile. "I feed to fleep. I tire," I said.

I stumbled up the stairs and made it to the bathroom, that just before an estimated seven Cuervos on the rocks brought about an intestinal revolution—or maybe it was a revulsion—that caused me to spend a deal of time worshipping at the porcelain altar.

Marianne stood just inside the door to the bathroom the whole time watching me retch my guts out. She said nothing. I think she was sympathetic to my plight, but this was one ordeal that she could do little to help me with. The dry heaves having finally subsided, I literally crawled back into the bedroom and onto the bed. Marianne helped me shuck my shoes and socks and pulled my pants down and off. I was out cold in a nano-minute.

Things were kinda frosty for the next few weeks, but, overall, we were seemingly getting along without undue difficulty; but, then, now, the letter. Helluva a thing. I wasn't getting drunk and manipulated this time; I was gone; that since I didn't seem to be able to run her off.

I packed, and spent the next couple of hours finding a place to flake out for the night. Tomorrow being Saturday I figured to look for a little better place than the La Quinta Lodge; I had the money—helluva deal.

I had been just about to cross the parking lot from the lodge to get myself a drink at the little bar there when I looked at my watch. It was 9:00PM. The letter said that she'd said she'd be back by 10:00.

I was parked a little ways down the street from the house when she pulled in; it was 10:05. I'd left the front porch light on, when I'd left, and now that worked for me. She got out of her car. She looked a bit disheveled. Well fucked too, I thought. I saw her hesitate before keying the lock to go inside; I wondered what was going through her mind. She went inside. She'd find my note soon enough.

I drove off. As I did I was thinking of our girls. Soon, I would have to tell them, tell them something. But what? That their mom and I had fantasies that had come back to bite us in the ass? That was the truth, and the truth didn't look too good. Maybe I could come up with a plausible lie. Fuck! For a smart guy, I sure wasn't thinkin' too smart—if at all.

She sat at the kitchen table, head in her hands, her cell phone on the table in front of her. She picked it up and punched in the numbers. Fifteen minutes later, a late model Caddy pulled up in front of the house. A large, well dressed, black man got out and went up to the house. He didn't bother to knock; he just went inside.

"So he's gone," said Marcus.

"Yes," she said. She handed him the paper with the large print note drawn in red marks-a-lot on the back of her letter to her husband. He took it, looked at it, and nodded his sympathy.

"I thought that maybe he'd—well—I don't know what I thought," he said. Her turn to nod. "Whaddya gonna do?"

She looked up at him. "I don't know. I think I may have lost him. Damn him!" she said.

"You've got me. I mean if you want," he said. She shook her head.

"I don't know, Marcus. Like I told Jimmy, with you and me it's just the sexual need not the emotional stuff that I have with him; well, had with him. I just don't know."

"Well, you know I'll be around when you finally decide," he said.

"I know, and I appreciate your willingness to help out," she said. "I just hope he's okay. I feel like shit if you wanna know. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the guy. He's just so one way. I don't know, maybe it's me."

"No, it's him right enough. He married you, and he isn't into sharing; not in any real sense of the word. I can understand it; I don't agree with him of course, but I do understand where he's at," said Marcus. She gave him a frustrated look.

"What?" he said.

The same bartender was on at Spikes. He remembered me. Sign of a good barkeep, I thought to myself.

"Cuervo Silver?" he said. I looked at him. He was wearing a name tag this time. I didn't remember him wearing one before. It read Sam. A good name for a bartender, I thought.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, a few hours maybe. I looked up at the wall clock; it read 1:37. It was almost 2:00AM and closing time. I slid off the stool and somehow managed to get to my car and back to the La Quinta. The next thing I knew the sun was up and burning me awake. I'd left the blinds open, and now I paid for that little faux pas by having to get out of bed and close them.

The little bar and grill across the lot from the motel had the virtue of being open at 6:00AM. I took advantage of that little reality.

I'd just gotten my dry toast and soft boileds when a woman slid into the booth across from me. "Hey Jimbo, how's tricks?" she said. I looked at her for a full ten seconds before recognizing her.

"Dory! Is that really you?" I said. I hadn't seen Dory Simmons since high school. She was every boy's punchboard at the time, even mine. And, here she was sitting across from me smiling like she knew something I didn't.

"Yep, it's really me. I could ask the same of you, Jimmy. But no, I recognized you last night when you checked in across the street at the motel. I was just coming out of my room when you registered and headed for yours. You looked kinda down, so I figured to wait till morning, now, to come on to you." She giggled.

"Yeah, well it really is me," I said. "And you look good, Dory. Come on to me?"

"Yeah, I remembered you from the old days in high school: Horny, dinky dick, pretty good oral. I'm in the market. Need a little tender loving?" She said, laughing. I frowned. "I'm just pushing your buttons, guy; lighten up for goodness sakes. Nothing's that bad."

"Yeah, well, not everybody shares your opinion about the state of things," I said. "And, it might be a little while before I'm in the market."

"Uh-oh. Woman problems?" she said.

"Marriage cratered. Wife decided I wasn't enough for her. How's that for tellin' it like it is," I said.

"Really? I remember when, if I may," she said. "I mean, you weren't that bad. Not much of a cock, but you did real good oral, like I say. Some of your skills get a little rusty did they?" she said. I looked at her; I was not amused.

"Must've," I said. I wondered what she was doing staying at a cheap assed motel like the one across the street. I didn't ask.

"Wanna talk about it?" she said. For the life of me I did want to talk to someone. But Dory? Well, why the hell not. Two hours and several cups of Java later she knew the whole story.

"Wow," she said. "That is heavy. Jimmy, if you don't mind a little advice..."

"Shoot," I said. "Whatever you've got to say couldn't be less useful than what all I've been thinking." She leaned back in her seat and took on a serious look. In high school nobody would have accused Dory of ever being even remotely serious, a good piece of ass. But serious, not. But, it had been a long time, and people do change; that was sure as hell a fact.

"Jimmy, we've not seen each other in forever. Now, some unnamed god has decided to have our paths cross, go figure. Jimmy, I've been married four times. Twice I was dumped on and twice I did the dumping. I'm a complete failure economically. But, at the game of love—read sex—I'm a regular icon. I can tell you for sure I've learned a helluva lot; trust me on the one; I have learned one fucking helluva a lot in the love department," she said.

"Well, that makes you and me pretty much diametrical opposites, I guess," I said. "I'm a major success economically, but, unlike you, a complete failure at love, or sex if it comes to that." She smiled her understanding.

"Jimmy, from your story, I'm gonna go out on a limb and tell you straight up: you're doing it wrong. Go back to your woman. Give her her space, and learn to live with her little quirks," said Dory. I looked at her like she was some kind of alien.

"Are you fucking kidding, Dory? She's replaced me. I'm clearly not enough for her. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel," I said. "Oh, she wants to keep me around right enough. Her salesman boyfriend does not command the kind of scratch that I do. In the divorce she'll get alimony, probably, if I can't figure a way to get out of payin' it; but her lifestyle is going to take a major hit at the very least."

"Exactly," said Dory. "She knows very well, I'm sure, that she might get a serious ass kicking economically by doing what she's doing, and she's willin' to risk it all for this—salesman—as you say. It isn't the money she wants, Jimmy; it's the physical stuff and maybe the affection that she evidently feels she's not getting enough of—well—from you Jimmy. We women, Jimmy, do not think like you guys. We need to feel loved, protected, adored. You guys just want to be turned on all of the time. Once the new car smell goes out of a marriage, read sex life, it takes people who are real adults to get their act together and make the marriage work.

"Jimmy, you need to suck it up and go back and prove to the woman you love that you do in fact love her," she said.

"Hah! Fat chance. Wimp out! Not me, I'm not a wimp, Dory. I will grant that I am an idiot—no argument—but a wimp? Not even," I said.

"Really? Whose idea was it to do the original sharing?" said Dory.

"Well, we both..." She raised an eyebrow; it stopped me cold.

"Not what you just got done telling me just a little bit ago," she said. "You are a wimp, Jimmy. A big, giant, huge assed wimp sure as you sit there. Only a wimp would be willing to watch while his wife was getting royally screwed by another man.

"Let me ask you, Jimmy, before Marianne met mister whatshisname, did you check to find out how big his cock was?" I eyed her. "Well, did you?" I looked down.

"Well, I did ask him to, you know, describe—well—himself," I said.

"And, is he bigger than you, Jimmy?" She was smiling; she knew the answer to her own question.

"What does that have to do with anything!" I said, beginning to lose it. She smiled.

"It has everything to do with it, Jimmy. You are one of those guys who gets off on being humiliated, and mister big-dick did just that to you, and your wife saw it. That's why at first she all but ignored you that night, Jimmy. I don't think she even realized what she was doing, I mean the ignoring, but that is what it was: she saw you for what you were. She still loves you, and yes a woman can love her wimpy little fellow, don't doubt it. But, the bottom line, Jimmy, is you are a wimp," she said. "Still...

"The good news for you is that it doesn't matter an iota. Being a wimp in the bedroom, if not in life in general, is neither bad nor good. It's just one of many realities, and sometimes it can even be a conscious choice. If it turns you on to be a wimpy cuckold, Jim, go for it. It hurts nobody. What can hurt, and that big time, is the price people pay for denying the truth about themselves. Accept what you are and enjoy it."

"You couldn't be more wrong, Dory, but thanks for the advice. See yuh around," I said. I got up, threw a twenty on the table, and left her sitting there, a half smile playing across her features. We'd meet again and, when we did, it would be a surprising situation.

The meet up with Dory had both bothered me and got me to thinking. Oh she was totally wrong about my being a wimp, but was she wrong about my wife thinking I was. That much of what she'd said made some sense to me.

I had indeed become my wife's willing cuckold. But, it had just been a game, just the playing out of a mutual fantasy, a onetime deal. The problem was that Marianne had discovered that she enjoyed it too much to give it up. And not only that, she wanted me to be okay with it. She had to know I wouldn't be okay with it; unless, unless she did think me a wimp and was just trying to see if she could get me to accept my place as one. Could that be it?

Question: should I go back and try to see if my wife and I could find some middle ground? I didn't think so; that would be wimping out for sure. So, failing that, what next? What should I do? I was floating and the current was all crazy and without direction. My daughters! What was I going to do—tell them. That had to be my next move. There was nothing for it.

"Who was that on the phone?" said Melanie.

"Mom. She just laid a bomb on me—us," said Barbie.

"She and dad are having trouble, Mel, big trouble. We gotta go home and see what we can do if anything."

"What? What kind of trouble?" said Mel.

Barbie looked at her sister, "Mom has taken a lover. She's told dad about it, and, surprise surprise, he isn't happy. He's moved out. Mom hasn't seen him for days. She's called his work, but he won't take her calls.

"Mel, I think mom and dad are getting divorced. This is not good."

"No!" said Melanie. "Not mom and dad."

The twins sat across from their mother just staring at her. "Please, girls, one of you say something," said Marianne. She had just gotten done explaining herself, and her daughters had not been especially supportive.

"Mom, how could you! Why?" said Barbie, finally taking her cue. Her mother looked at her with a forlorn expression.

"Girls—I—I couldn't help it. Marcus, your dad, I had to make a choice. I made it and I'm not even sure it's the right choice. But, I've made it, and I am going to stick by it. If I get the chance to make things—somehow—right by your father, I will. But—girls—I have to do this for me. And yes, I admit it; I betrayed your dad, and I did it big time. I guess, I know he will never forgive me for what I did; but girls, I hope you will be able to forgive me. I just had to do it, girls," said Marianne.

"You haven't answered my question, mom. Why did you do it? Melanie and I need to know," said Barbie.

Marianne rose from her seat and walked across the room, faced the wall, turned, and returned to her daughters. "Girl's, I'm forty-five years old, same as your dad. I have never had an orgasm with him. Never! I was with Marcus Williams one time, and I had three. Have you got any idea how that rocked my world! I tried to tell your dad. I tried to have my cake and eat it too, but he wasn't going for it. I don't blame him. I completely understand his feelings, and how I hurt him. I'm a selfish skunk. But, that said, I can't help it. I need, I mean need, what Marcus can do for me," she said.

"But mom, dad could learn. Even as young as we are, Melanie and I know that a woman has to train her man," said Barbie.

"Yeah mom," said Melanie. "Teach that good man you're married to what's what. He's not stupid, mom, he could learn how to please you." Their mother looked at them, her face a veil of sadness.

Girls, when it comes to being a provider, when it comes to being a loving father, a gentle lover, an interesting and funny life's partner: your father has damn few equals," said Marianne.

"Then what's the problem, mom, that only leaves what we've been talking about here. This—thing—has to be fixable," said Marianne.

"Girls, what I'm going to say, you must never repeat to your dad. If he figures it out for himself, well that's one thing, but none of us must ever mention to him what I am about to tell you. Got it!" said Marianne. The twins nodded.

"Girls, if you took a Hebrew National frank and cut it in half you'd pretty much have a replica of your father's cock: slender, very short, good for peein'. I can hardly feel him when he's inside of me," said Marianne.

"And of course this Marcus fellow..." started Barbie, almost sneering.

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