jerked off now, it might ensure full stamina later tonight—when Ashley came home.
Fuck it , I thought, and began stroking.
Was his cock in Ashley’s mouth when I’d knocked? They’d stay motionless for a moment, Jim’s hand on Ashley’s hair, his cock in her mouth. Perhaps Jim had shoved it in even farther and held it there at the sound of my voice. Then Tamara had shooed me upstairs, and he’d given her the green light to go back to sucking—sucking the cock that was about to fuck her.
I looked at Tamara in the photo, picturing what she was saying as she urged him on: “Go for it Ashley, don’t worry, I sent clueless Dave upstairs. Oh yeah, ride that cock Ashley—you’re getting good and fucked now, girl.”
I looked at Tamara in the photo and then at Ashley beside her, and I came hard, looking at my wife.
I felt dumb and embarrassed in the moments afterwards, sitting there with my pants down. I cleaned up and put the photo book away. I thought, what the fuck was that again , but I didn’t want to dwell on it.
There were more important things.
I began wondering if Ashley was still interested in Jim Murta. Had they been together since? What kind of impression had that night left on her? Could Jim Murta possibly be out with her tonight? Had Jim Murta been a better fuck than me? Was Ashley comparing me to him? I knew last night had been a disaster, but had she been comparing him to me before all this?
Did he have a bigger cock?
Suddenly, that last question had me reeling. I had never felt I was small. My dick did the job. It passed the pass-fail test.
A friend used to tell me he was a “standard six.” The only bragging was in his honesty. He was confident enough to state it. It was reassuring to me as well. After all, I was average, or at least close—a solid five and a half, anyway.
But I began to wonder, was Jim Murta bigger? Could Ashley have even told him that? When he pulled it out and stroked it in front of her, did she remark on its size?
Like “Oh my God, wow!”
“Bigger than your husband’s, Ashley?”
Good God, I told myself, stop driving yourself crazy.
And so I started making some dinner. I made extra in case Ashley was hungry when she came home.
I realized I needed to have a talk with her about this rumor. I’d have to position it delicately, in an understanding, non-accusatory way. But, I couldn’t continue to sweep it under the rug. I needed to get a sense of where her head was.
Was she still interested in Jim Murta? Was she not happy in our marriage? I needed answers.
I’d call Craig in the morning. I could at least ask if any sort of relationship seemed to be happening between them. He couldn’t begrudge me that.
****
Ashley was a little buzzed when she arrived home.
“So Tamara was pitching me on going to Burning Man for Labor Day,” she said, as she sat down. “You know what that is, right?”
“Yeah” I said, “I’ve heard of it.”
“She wants to rent an RV for a week and was gung-ho’ing me on it.”
“Is she serious about actually going?”
“She talked like she was. She wanted to go last year.”
“It’s where—Nevada?”
“Yeah, exactly, three hours outside of Reno.”
“Isn’t it just a big rave-type event in the desert like some Nuevo-hippie group love-in?”
“No,” Ashley said dismissively. “It’s this whole community, built out of nothing. It’s all about self-expression and self-reliance. Tamara’s trying to marshal up a crew, and wants to build this artsy lounge for people to chill in.”
“So like a girl’s week away?”
“No, her friend Trevor would be the one really organizing it, and some of his friends. You’ve met Trevor, he threw that Cinco de Mayo party.”
“The gay guy?”
“Yeah, he’s gay” she replied, “He had that exhibit in Dumbo. He seems to be making a decent
Fuck it , I thought, and began stroking.
Was his cock in Ashley’s mouth when I’d knocked? They’d stay motionless for a moment, Jim’s hand on Ashley’s hair, his cock in her mouth. Perhaps Jim had shoved it in even farther and held it there at the sound of my voice. Then Tamara had shooed me upstairs, and he’d given her the green light to go back to sucking—sucking the cock that was about to fuck her.
I looked at Tamara in the photo, picturing what she was saying as she urged him on: “Go for it Ashley, don’t worry, I sent clueless Dave upstairs. Oh yeah, ride that cock Ashley—you’re getting good and fucked now, girl.”
I looked at Tamara in the photo and then at Ashley beside her, and I came hard, looking at my wife.
I felt dumb and embarrassed in the moments afterwards, sitting there with my pants down. I cleaned up and put the photo book away. I thought, what the fuck was that again , but I didn’t want to dwell on it.
There were more important things.
I began wondering if Ashley was still interested in Jim Murta. Had they been together since? What kind of impression had that night left on her? Could Jim Murta possibly be out with her tonight? Had Jim Murta been a better fuck than me? Was Ashley comparing me to him? I knew last night had been a disaster, but had she been comparing him to me before all this?
Did he have a bigger cock?
Suddenly, that last question had me reeling. I had never felt I was small. My dick did the job. It passed the pass-fail test.
A friend used to tell me he was a “standard six.” The only bragging was in his honesty. He was confident enough to state it. It was reassuring to me as well. After all, I was average, or at least close—a solid five and a half, anyway.
But I began to wonder, was Jim Murta bigger? Could Ashley have even told him that? When he pulled it out and stroked it in front of her, did she remark on its size?
Like “Oh my God, wow!”
“Bigger than your husband’s, Ashley?”
Good God, I told myself, stop driving yourself crazy.
And so I started making some dinner. I made extra in case Ashley was hungry when she came home.
I realized I needed to have a talk with her about this rumor. I’d have to position it delicately, in an understanding, non-accusatory way. But, I couldn’t continue to sweep it under the rug. I needed to get a sense of where her head was.
Was she still interested in Jim Murta? Was she not happy in our marriage? I needed answers.
I’d call Craig in the morning. I could at least ask if any sort of relationship seemed to be happening between them. He couldn’t begrudge me that.
****
Ashley was a little buzzed when she arrived home.
“So Tamara was pitching me on going to Burning Man for Labor Day,” she said, as she sat down. “You know what that is, right?”
“Yeah” I said, “I’ve heard of it.”
“She wants to rent an RV for a week and was gung-ho’ing me on it.”
“Is she serious about actually going?”
“She talked like she was. She wanted to go last year.”
“It’s where—Nevada?”
“Yeah, exactly, three hours outside of Reno.”
“Isn’t it just a big rave-type event in the desert like some Nuevo-hippie group love-in?”
“No,” Ashley said dismissively. “It’s this whole community, built out of nothing. It’s all about self-expression and self-reliance. Tamara’s trying to marshal up a crew, and wants to build this artsy lounge for people to chill in.”
“So like a girl’s week away?”
“No, her friend Trevor would be the one really organizing it, and some of his friends. You’ve met Trevor, he threw that Cinco de Mayo party.”
“The gay guy?”
“Yeah, he’s gay” she replied, “He had that exhibit in Dumbo. He seems to be making a decent
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