Reluctant Cuckold (26 page)

“Hey, Dave, how are you?”

It was my brother Sean calling.

“OK, just hanging out.”

“Are you ready for Vegas next weekend?”

“What?”

“Patrick’s bachelor party. You ready for Vegas?”

“Oh sure, you bet, are you kidding?” I said, “I’ve been practicing blackjack on the computer every night. I’ve got a book on card counting and I think I’ve got it down.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied.

“I’m serious, Rain Man won’t have nothing on me. They’re going to nickname me Benny Binion Jr. before the weekend’s through.”

“So, what time are you arriving Friday?”

“Friday afternoon.”

“I know, but what time?”

“Not sure, I’d have to check.”

“Well, can you check now? I get in at 1:30 and we could take a cab if you’re arriving around then.”

“I booked it at work. Can I get back to you?”

“Were you out?”

“No, why?”

“You sound fucking drunk, little bro.”

“Oh yeah. Earlier I was, and been a long week.”

“Just get back to me with your flight info tomorrow, K?”

I woke up on the couch in the office, confused, and then in a panic. After I realized it was Sunday and Ashley was in Connecticut, I calmed down—slightly.

There was a half-empty bottle of gin beside me.

I checked the call history on my cell and was relieved to have only spoken with my brother. I had vague recollections of what happened after that. I remembered going into the “Cuckolds” room when the “My Wife” room was full. I had a real sinking feeling.

I made my way over to the computer, which was on screen saver mode. My chat dialogues were still open. The last one was some guy asking if I was still there. That was at 5 a.m.

I looked at my “sent” emails folder.

I had sent photos of Ashley and me—on our wedding day and our honeymoon.

I felt like throwing up.

Then I noticed I had two new emails. The subject line of the first read, “Show this to Ashley”; the guy’s cock was in the attachment. The second was a returned photo of Ashley at our wedding. The sender had blown his load on the photo—right on her face.

I put my head in my hands. I could still taste the fucking gin in my throat.

Then I read some of the still open chats and cringed. I had given out our names, ages, and how we lived on the Upper West Side.

I began furiously skimming through the different chats I’d had the late night before …

“Jesus fucking Christ!” I said as I went to the living room. These guys had pulled their own online Jim Murta on me.

I opened the email again from the guy who sent me a photo of his cock and lined the image up against Ashley in her bikini. His cock was in a different league than mine. And he had gotten off on belittling me, personalizing it, talking about fucking Ashley in my apartment, right in front of me.

I thought of the guy who jerked off and came over my wife’s face in the photo on our wedding day.

All these guys verbally taunted and humiliated me …

They wanted Ashley …

They’d fuck her in a heartbeat …

They’d fuck her right in front of me …

After I came, I just sat there catching my breath, thinking, what have I been reduced to? This is all your fault, Jim Murta. Did you have any idea what your actions would do to me? You’ve got me talking to strangers, masturbating looking at other cocks, imagining that they’re yours.

“I just had a stare-down with a cow,” Ashley said when I picked up my cell a half hour later.

“You what?” I replied.

“We took a drive this morning—Julie and Bob dubbed me their ‘fresh air fund kid’ for the weekend—so they saw this cow by the side of the road and they’re like, ‘Look Ashley it’s a cow.’ ”

“Yeah, and—?”

“Well, they pulled over, and I walked right up to him by this fence, and I was like, ‘Hi cow, I’m Ashley.’ ”

“And he was like, ‘Hi Ashley, I’m a cow?’ ” I replied, still dazed.

“Mmm, not so much. He looked more puzzled, like, ‘Who is this girl, and why is she so excited to see me?’ ”

“So did you form a special bond with your cow friend?”

“No, I motioned to pet him and he gave me a look like ‘Don’t even think about it.’ ”

“Oh well, did he at least give you a ‘moo’ ”?

“Nope, I felt kind of gypped … but we’re heading out to her uncle’s farm now. Maybe I can try milking one and bring a big jug back.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “We’re pretty low on milk, but I’ll scratch that off my grocery list, since you’ve got that covered.”

“So what are you up to today?” she asked.

“Kind of a mellow morning,” I replied, “just doing some work, about to go to the park.”

“OK,” Ashley, said. “Well, I’ll probably have dinner up here, so I won’t be back till late.”

I still had a hangover, and so decided to fix myself a small drink, in a hair of the dog kind of way.

Then I saw a new message.

I realized I was still logged in.

“Hi Dave, I’m Mike, 32, so what brings you to the room?”

I thought about not replying, but then figured I could always just click him off. “I just learned the term ‘cuckold’ and was checking the room out of curiosity.”

“What are you curious about?”

“Well,” I typed, “someone had suggested I check out this room, but I just don’t get the mentality of the guys here.”

“LOL,” he wrote, “yeah, it kind of runs the gamut. Who suggested you check out the room?”

“Some guy I met online last week in the ‘My Wife’ room. But I’m not a cuckold or anything. I was just perusing.”

“Of course,” he replied, “why did this man refer you here, do you think?”

“I had mentioned my wife had recently cheated.”

“I see,” he wrote. “How have you been handling it?”

“It’s been the most fucked up thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I’m sorry to hear you’re upset. May I ask what happened?”

He kept asking questions, but he was different from the night before. He wasn’t insulting, but rather, understanding. A half hour later, I had pretty much told him the full story.

“I can see why that would have you out of sorts,” he wrote. “How are things now?”

“Ostensibly good,” I replied, “but we’ve both kind of swept it under the rug.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Probably not,” I said, “but I’ve felt a bit paralyzed.”

“That’s very understandable, and emotions are raw, but communication is essential. Do you feel you can trust her?”

“I can’t trust her like I did before.”

“So is it fear that has you paralyzed?”

“That’s certainly part of it.”

“And what specifically scares you?”

“Her telling me she wants to leave me, or doesn’t love me, or wants a divorce.”

“Has she hinted at that?”

“No, she told me that she appreciated how understanding I’ve been and that she loves me.”

“OK, that’s encouraging and reassuring right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he replied, “but it sounds like you still have more questions. What’s your wife’s name?”

“Ashley.”

“OK, so it sounds like you have unanswered questions for Ashley?”

“Yeah.”

“So why haven’t you asked them? Out of fear?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“Fear of upsetting her or fear of what she might say?”

“I just don’t want to drive her away.”

“Makes sense, I get it. So what would you ask Ashley if there were no repercussions?”

“I want to know the rumor or story in full, the details her work people know.”

“So you would like her to give you the full story of that night?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how I could handle it coming from her.”

“But hearing additional details would be erotic for you, right? I mean, it has turned you on thinking about that night?”

“Yeah, and I know how fucked up that sounds.”

“It doesn’t sound fucked up. You learned of another side of Ashley’s sexuality and after the hurt and the shock, it began to excite you. That’s a very common male reaction.”