On being cucked

I’ve never thought of cuckoldry as a turn-on. It’s never, ever turned me on to imagine a partner being fucked by another man. Quite the opposite: when a woman I care about fucks another man, I generally feel some combination of envy, jealousy, fear, and rage.

Recently, though, Charlotte and I have been engaged in a little project that’s making my head spin just a bit.

You see, Charlotte has been, as you may have picked up, on a bit of a manic fucking jag, collecting men, collecting experiences. Collecting disappointment. Charlotte has had more than her share of bad luck in dating: a couple of the men on whom she has pinned her highest hopes have disappeared more quickly, less kindly, than she would have preferred. She’s encountered at least a few who have been boring, dicks, deadbeats, or just nice guys who are unable to get her off. And perhaps most important: in her own words, Charlotte is “sensitive.” So one disappointment often lands with the loud “thud” (and emotional resonance) that four or five might for another.

“All I want,” she said to me plaintively, “is someone to chase me around, catch me, and fuck me hard. Regularly. Predictably. Like on the same day each week, ideally! Why’s that so hard to find?!?”

Now. I’m not that guy. Chasing? Catching? That I can do. But fucking? Not consistently. And on a particular day of the week?!? Just not gonna happen with my schedule.

“You’re looking for something that doesn’t really exist in template form in places that people have templates,” I pointed out. “I’ll bet you could find it on FetLife.”

And with that, my imagination was spinning. A fantasy sprung to mind, almost fully formed. I could be Charlotte’s owner on FL, and intermediate, and control, this little project. The men could contact me. I could meter out, and control, their interactions with Charlotte. I could compel Charlotte to move just a bit more slowly, a bit more deliberately. And, I could extract the kind of communication and safety that has been so elusive in the past with Charlotte when she’s been with others.

So Charlotte made a profile, and she linked it to mine. All communication, she wrote, would go through me. Anyone contacting her directly would be blocked. She loaded up a picture or two. Liked a few photos. Joined a few groups. And we were off to the races.

I could write about the contacts that have been made thus far – there have been a few exchanges, but only one promising enough to lead to an actual date – a date which, because reasons, won’t take place until June. But that’s not, honestly, what’s most interesting to me about all this.

“You’re not jealous?!?” Charlotte asked me incredulously as we set up the first date.

“I’m not!” I said. I’ve scripted large parts of the date. Parts that I didn’t script unfolded in my view, with my explicit blessing. They’ll meet in a bar of his choosing – one which, it happens, I spent a substantial portion of my youth in. A bar I’ve vomited in. Fucked in. Kissed both men and women in. Been thrown out of. Picked up waitresses in. Been sucker punched by the owner in. So. They’ll meet there.

Charlotte will wear clothes I will choose, I will see her put on, I will hear her come in immediately before their first date.

They will meet and have precisely two drinks a piece. Not more.

And, they will kiss goodbye.

There will be no sexual contact beyond that kiss on this first date. And immediately after they part ways, each will record audio for me telling me their thoughts, their experience of the date. I know what he will say – “Holy shit is she hot. I can’t fucking wait to fuck her!” I hope, honestly, that she’ll say something similar.

If all that goes well, the following week, the plan will be consummated. They’ll meet. Have two drinks. No more. And then she will make herself available to him to be chased, caught, fucked. All subject to at least some rules. (Condoms. No bruises this first time. Orange means pause. Red means stop.) They will send me pictures throughout the night. One of her at the bar. One of her in his apartment. One of her after her first orgasm. And one, as she leaves. Which she will do well before morning. She will not spend the night.

And again, after they part ways, both will send me voice notes describing their experience. Objectively, the details of what happened. Subjectively, the way it all felt, the way they feel now.

So that’s what, I hope, will happen.

What interests me, though, is how much fun this all has been, how fun it feels even just to write these words. Not hot, exactly. I won’t be jerking off to any of this. But it feels… safe. I am in control. Of Charlotte. And, importantly, it seems, of the man who will fuck her.

Years ago, I wrote about a date I had with V on which I triumphantly topped two young men lusting after her in a bar. About how there was something about the power dynamic between me and those men that I really, really enjoyed. On that date, after I had basked in the amazement of these two guys, I fucked V. Her mouth. Her cunt. She was my prize, and the guys were a delicious condiment.

In this scenario, things are a bit different. I won’t see, hear, feel the orgasms. Instead of being, explicitly, the victor, I will occupy a somewhat different role: that of enabler, producer, director, screenwriter, and protector. Each of which is, differently, compelling to me. Compelling. But not hot, per se….

I suppose, on one level, this could be understood as a triumphant reworking of the primal scene, with Charlotte cast as my mom, her date as my dad, and their sex now happening not mysteriously out of my view, but under my comprehensive control.

And on another level – one closer to consciousness – it’s a different sort of triumphant reworking: I’m taking a defeat I’m sure to face (the defeat of Charlotte’s abandonment of me – at least for a few hours – for a man who can give her something I can’t) into the victory of my giving her all that, owning it all, and controlling it all in ways that allow me (I fantasize) to defend against all the worst parts of the inevitable defeat.


That’s interesting, no?

(And…. If you’re interested in chasing Charlotte around and fucking her on the regular, hit me up! Men and women equally welcome.)

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