Free Reluctant Cuckold by David McManus Page A

the floor and said, “You know, his penis ... was it bigger than mine?”
     
    She waited for my eyes to get back off the floor.
     
    “He was … wasn’t he?” I asked.
     
    Ashley looked pained, as though having to tell a kid the truth about Santa Claus. “Yeah” she said.
     
    “How much bigger?”
     
    The way I blurted out the question caused her to laugh slightly.
     
    “Just bigger, OK,” she replied.
     
    “OK,” I said, utterly floored, emotionally reeling, mentally stumbling. “Well,” I added, “I understand how things can get out of control or how you can get caught up in the moment.”
     
    “Yeah, and I’m sorry, I should have told you before tonight.”
     
    “It’s OK, Ash, no worries, I’m just glad we talked about it. I felt it was important.”
     
    “Me, too.”
     
    “So,” I said, “anything new with your mom? I mean, it looks like she’s coming out here in September?”
     
****
     
    I didn’t initiate sex that night. I was still reeling, and Ashley conked out on our bed pretty quickly. I spent another night lying there thinking. My wife had just admitted to me—her husband—that she’d indeed let another man fuck her at a party we were both at. And now she was sleeping serenely beside me.
     
    Her apology seemed insanely marginal. She hadn’t said, “I’m sorry I did that.”
     
    She hadn’t said, “I’m sorry I let a guy fuck me at a party you were at,” or “We all heard you knocking on the bathroom door, and I’m sorry, I was just too horny, I just had to fuck him.”
     
    The only “sorry” she’d offered was for not being upfront afterwards. What kind of apology was that? She might as well have said, “I’m sorry, I forgot to pay the cable bill.” Was it possible she didn’t recognize the magnitude of what she’d admitted? Where were the tears, the begging for forgiveness?
     
    You just told me another man fucked you, Ashley! And you simply feel bad for not telling me earlier? That’s the only thing you’re sorry for? You’re sorry for the rumors at work? Really? That’s your main concern? Your reputation trumps our marriage? All I get is, “you OK?”
     
    Could she really think this hadn’t affected me? Or was that what she meant when she said she figured I knew? Why? Because I seemed more nervous around her, less self-assured? Because I cum within a minute of fucking her now?
     
    Is that how you put two and two together, Ashley? You assumed I knew, and yet you didn’t even bring the subject back up with me? You left it for me to do. You let some junior punk salesman fuck you in a ratty little apartment bathroom with your own husband outside, and it’s the work rumors you’re concerned with? Not how your own husband feels about it? You can’t even offer a real ‘sorry’? Instead I get a ‘thanks’ for being so cool and understanding?
     
    Was she fucking serious?
     
    “You let Jim Murta fuck you and cream inside your pussy while I stood outside knocking. And now that we’ve finally talked about it, you can sleep peacefully.”
     
    And Jim fucking Murta ….
     
    “Oh God no, Dave, I have no interest in him now.”
     
    Why Ashley? Because the guy fucking blabbed to your fellow work colleagues how he fucked and spermed you? Is that the only reason you have no interest now? If he had kept his fucking trap shut, would you have fucked him again? Would you still be fucking him? And then, good God, you tell me Jim Murta’s cock is bigger than mine.
     
    Sure I asked the question and sure I suspected that answer, but couldn’t she have at least lied or downplayed it? Said something like “not really”?
     
    And that fucking brief laugh when I asked “how much bigger?” Could she be any more condescending?
     
    “How much bigger Ashley?”
     
    “Just bigger, OK?”
     
    What was with the “OK”?
     
    Like, “you don’t pay it any more mind, don’t trouble yourself with the details, just know that it was bigger.” And