NOTE: I don’t like to read long blog posts, and as I began to write this one, I realized it was going to be pretty long. So, I’ve decided to split it into three separate posts:
No doubt, some of you will go straight to “The Act,” but the purpose of this blog, at least for me, is to find the serendipity in our experiences–to learn from them. So, here’s “Pre-cuckold”:
Okay, so after months of hot discussion, fantasy, pondering, even fretting, it happened on Tuesday night. I cuckolded Nick. I
had sex with fucked another man.
The opportunity arrived rather spontaneously, and as a bit of a surprise. But maybe that’s best. Given enough time to think about it, I might have chickened out. Late Tuesday afternoon, I received an email from a Prospective Bull, asking if I’d like to meet for drinks that evening.
I texted Nick to let him know:
Some experienced cuckolders might say that we are too tender with each other, that I need to stay in “Dom” mode. But, this is new to me, and I feel a need to tend to Nick’s feelings, and he to mine.
Anyway, Nick and I texted back and forth as I “prettied” myself for my date. I could tell he was getting hotter and hotter.
I arrived at our agreed upon meeting place first. For several minutes, I waited in the entryway of the establishment, occasionally peeking at the bar and inside the restaurant to make sure he wasn’t already there. Of course, I’d never seen him in person, so I wasn’t positive I’d recognize him.
After about 10 minutes, the hostess asked if I’d like to sit at the bar. Feeling awkward and way too conspicuous in the entryway, I decided the bar might be better, although I hate to sit at a bar alone. Wouldn’t it be funny if I was picked up by somebody else, while waiting for The Bull? Now, there’s a whole other fantasy there.
Anyway, after another 10 minutes or so sitting alone at the bar, I texted Nick to let him know I thought I’d been stood up. I was both disappointed and relieved. But before Nick could reply, The Bull (I’ll call him Robert) came up behind me and said, “Hi.”
I turned around and, relieved and pleasantly surprised at both his “normality” and handsomeness, smiled and gave him a hug.
Part of cuckolding is keeping Nick involved. So I texted him:
Robert had a broad smile and a warm and open personality. We talked a bit about comfortable things, just getting to know each other. Then, he asked, “So tell me about this cuckolding thing and why we’re here.” Like me, he’d never heard the word “cuckolding” before.
I have to say, I kind of giggled–really outside of my role as a dominant cuckolder, huh? But frankly, it was a little embarrassing, even a little intimidating, to talk about what I was doing there, even though in previous emails, I’d been clear about what Nick and I are looking for, as described in my post titled “Bull Shit.”
He was intrigued. Somehow, it made me feel more comfortable that this was new to him, too. The fact that he was a former cop also gave me some comfort, though a little voice in the back of my head told me anybody could say he was a former cop. But, on his iPhone, he pulled up an article that had been done about him that included a photograph. So, I no longer had doubts that he might be pulling my leg, and I felt safe with a cop.
I enjoyed the ninety minutes or so of our easy conversation–I usually do enjoy getting to know someone new. Most of all, I enjoyed being desired, flirted with. Still, I expected to go home and think about how to proceed.
But, he already knew how he wanted to proceed and popped the question I hadn’t expected that night. “So, do you want to come to my place?”
“Right now?” I asked.
“Sure. Why not?”
I struggled to think of reasons why not, but really had none. Still, I tried. “Well, I was thinking that maybe we’d get together again next week.”
“Why not now?” he asked, matter-of-factly and not in a threatening way.
I thought about Nick–wondered how he’d feel about this fantasy becoming REAL. Finally, I said, “Okay, but let me just text Nick to make sure it’s going to be okay with him.”
“Sure,” Robert replied.
About that time, Nick texted me first, just checking in, and I replied:
And so, Robert and I left together and headed to his place, where we would make cuckolding Nick REAL.
To be continued in “The Act”…
I was at lunch and walking, watching for a text from Elise when she texted, asking about a possible date at 5:30 that night.
I shook and did a double take. It might happen, really happen that night. We’d been getting closer and closer. There was something bare and bold about the message that fit my cuckold fantasy perfectly. A date. She might have a date that night.
I slipped down into that delicious, revved up, submissive space. My mind started reeling with questions. I walked and we began texting about it back and forth. I checked for texts, wrote back, checked again. It became more and more real with every message. They had a place picked out. He was a tall cop. She’d have to start getting ready.
I wanted closeness, wanted to go to her place and hug her, kiss her, but couldn’t. The distance left me feeling helpless, craving and obsessing, all hers.
She texted, “Are you going to come over tonight?”
Huh? Was she kidding? Teasing? To not see her would have been torture. Of course, I thought, a natural disaster wouldn’t have kept me away, I wanted to be right there when she arrived home.
“If so, I won’t invite him over,” she continued.
I cringed and quivered. She’s teasing me, isn’t she? Has to be. Maybe not. Perhaps? Perhaps this guy really has her turned on. I know how she enjoys being desired. It’s a slippery slope. Is she slippery for him already? Considering inviting him over?
I texted back. “I didn’t think you wanted to bring guys over to your place.”
She responded, “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, right?”
Instant heat. There’s so much separation in those words. I thought, “She will do as she pleases.” There’s the turn on: her will—that she’ll assert it with me, and I have to deal with it.
It was not him—not him that turned me. It was her choice to turn her erotic attention away from me and to him, any him—her reminder that I don’t own her.
She texted again. “What kind of panties shall I wear?”
I trembled again. She was inviting me to join her in her preparation to see another man. I walked faster. I had to move. The excitement had me electrified as if I was about to go onstage completely naked, with unknown lines. I was getting into that submissive space where all I did was feel, I could barely think, my body was surging and electric for her, for the story she suggested was about to happen, for her body which I craved—her body that would be handled by another man I did not know.
I began the wait. Went back to work to finish my day. She would be texting me through the evening.
After she texted me at around 5:15 to say he had arrived at the restaurant, I didn’t hear from her for about an hour or so. Her silence told me he had her attention. Had her slippery slope kicked in? He knows all she wants is sex. That’s a setup for a cuckold night. The longer I didn’t hear from her the more likely I thought it was to happen.
I sat at work fidgety, restless, unable to bring my attention to anything other than her and what she might be doing. Once I arrived home, it was the same. Time slowed. I was so impatient. But I was submissive. Her boy. I was about to be cuckolded, about to become her cuckold boy. She was going to fuck him. I was sure.
She texted asking about going home with him. I said yes and asked if she felt safe. She did. I detected anxiety. She was asking permission, afraid I was having second thoughts perhaps. I wasn’t. But I was in such a heightened state my reasoning wasn’t good.
She told me she was going home with him. I called her and we spoke briefly. I was concerned about her safety. Part of me knew this was too fast, too soon, too risky. But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to believe she was taking care of herself. I asked her if she was safe and she said yes.
Then I waited. I knew it was coming. I knew I’d be cuckolded.