About a year before my first wife and I divorced, we’d been to a picnic with fellow employees from where she was working at the time, when somehow she and I got into a thinly veiled argument about our sex life. We probably shouldn’t have been talking about that in such a context, but we were. I’d been alluding to the fact that she didn’t seem all that interested in sex these days, and that embarrassed her. I could see her face turn slightly red. There was a brief pause, and then she replied: “So—who are you going to please with that little thing?!” Meaning, of course, my cock! That caught me a little off- guard, but I rallied by retorting: “ME, I guess!”
There was a brief, nervous chuckle from those who had overheard our conversation, and that was the end of that.
Fast forward now two years (this would be 1983)—
At the time of the picnic conversation I alluded to above, I didn’t know that my wife was involved in fucking someone else. That only came to light about six months after our divorce. I’d met the guy she was fucking, too, but I didn’t know it. He was a slightly younger black guy by the name of Duane, who worked in the shipping-receiving department where my wife worked; and though I maybe should have been angry about that…strangely enough, I wasn’t! In fact, rather than angry, I found myself very sexually aroused by it!
Our marriage was over. I didn’t try and fool myself into thinking it wasn’t, and yet, in spite of the fact that we were no longer married, I would have gladly gone back to her…even if she kept fucking Duane, or whoever else she might have fucked besides him; but she’d made it perfectly clear that there was absolutely no way that she wanted back together with me! Nevertheless, I carried a torch for her for a long time; and I began to find that the thought of her fucking that young black guy—excited me, sexually!
I can’t begin to count the many, many times I sat alone in my apartment in the evenings after work, or on the weekends, jacking off while picturing my ex-wife fucking Duane—it had to be many hundreds of times; and over time, I recalled the thing she’d said that afternoon at her company’s picnic, when she’d replied: “So—who are YOU going to please with that little thing!?” The answer, of course, was the same one I’d replied with then: ME!
I eventually came upon a whole genre of porn called ‘interracial cuckold’ porn, and once I’d begun watching it, I was immediately hooked!
I couldn’t get enough of it! With my small, pale white ‘penis’, I began to indulge in what was now my only form of sexual pleasure, or release, namely—masturbation! Watching interracial porn, I was so amazed at how much BIGGER these black guys cocks were compared to mine; and it seemed far more appropriate to use the word ‘penis’, rather than ‘cock’, when I compared mine to theirs. ‘Penis’ somehow sounded more fitting for me. The word penis conjured up the idea of sexual ‘inferiority’; MY sexual inferiority. After all, my wife had divorced over that very fact, hadn’t she? Yes, she had.