My experience trying to date a cuckold fetishist.
Photo by JJ Jordan from Pexels
Paul-Henri had piercing blue eyes. When he looked at me, he seemed to see right through me.
He saw inside me. He knew everything about me.
He knew I wanted sex.
My husband and I were separated but still living in the same house. I?d been in an almost sexless marriage for years. My husband and I were now dating other people, and I was intent on making up for lost time.
Yes, I wanted sex ? the great sex I?d gone without for years in my marriage.
I met Paul-Henri on a dating website. I was honest about still being married. He said he didn?t mind. It turned him on.
I didn?t ask why. I was blinded by my attraction to him. That French accent. When we spoke on the phone and he said, ?Would you like to meet for coffee?? it felt like he?d whispered a Rimbaud poem in my ear.
My skin goosepimpled. I responded trancelike, ?Oui, I?ll do whatever you want.?
Ultimately, I would until I put my foot down.
No, I couldn?t cuckold him.
Now I understood why he said my being married turned him on.
Paul-Henri had what is known as a cuckold fetish. He derived sexual excitement from watching his wife or girlfriend have sex with other men. He wanted to watch me have sex with another man.
I didn?t learn he had a cuckold fetish until we?d been having great sex for a month. One afternoon, after making love, he asked:
?Will you have sex with another man while I watch??
His eyes. All along he?d wanted to feast them on me while another man banged me.
His eyes had pulled me in. They?d also become the bane of my existence.
Now I understood why he said my being married turned him on. Still, I couldn?t wrap my head around his request. In my mind, what he wanted meant cheating on him. Men killed women because of that. It just seemed like something a man wouldn?t want.
During the last days of my marriage, I had cheated on my husband. Paul-Henri not only wanted me to do to him what I?d done to my husband ? but he wanted to watch it happen.
I told him no. I couldn?t do it. Clearly, I didn?t want sex that much. Or I did ? just not with other men. Paul-Henri was enough for me.
Call me a serial monogamist, but I get with a guy I like and I only want to be with him.
I only had eyes for Paul-Henri. The problem was he also had eyes for the men he wanted to watch me have sex with.
He pressed my hand between his legs. His cock was hard. ?What if you see how excited it makes me?? he said.
After that, he wouldn?t stop bugging me to cuckold him. Apparently, his last girlfriend did it for him all the time. Her name was Alina and she was the perfect cuckolding girlfriend. They?d go to swingers clubs every other weekend so Paul-Henri could watch her have sex with other men.
I felt like a prude for telling him I wasn?t into it. I just wanted a boyfriend I could count on as I tried to build up my confidence to leave my husband for good.
When he stopped badgering me, I mistakenly believed he no longer needed his fantasy fulfilled. Then he mysteriously disappeared for a week.
I believed it was because I wouldn?t cuckold him. When he finally materialized again, I practically offered to go find the men myself. But where? How? Paul-Henri knew.
?Ask your husband,? he said.
I told him I couldn?t do that. I never wanted to have sex with my husband again.
Not to be defeated, Paul-Henri had another solution.
?We?ll post a photo on Craig?s List.?
This was a few years ago, before Craig?s List got rid of its dating section. Paul-Henri convinced me to check out some of the men?s ads. We sat at his computer while he scrolled through the offers.
I laid eyes on bathroom selfie after headless chest photo.
Then there were the dick pics.
Small dicks, medium dicks, big dicks ? all greased up and erect.
?None of these guys turn me on,? I told Paul-Henri honestly.
He pressed my hand between his legs. His cock was hard.
?What if you see how excited it makes me?? he said.
?I could get a disease.?
?He?ll use a condom, mon amour.?
We had better sex that day than we?d had during our entire time together. I was drunk on oxytocin and dopamine. I agreed to let him take photos of me. Naked photos ? but without my face. He uploaded them to Craig?s List. Within minutes the phone started ringing.
I listened to him speak to strangers about me.
?She?s tall. Small breasts.? Pause. ?Her nipples are big and brown.?
My stomach somersaulted. No more dopamine high. ?I can?t do this,? I told him.
When he asked why not, I used the obvious excuse that it was dangerous to invite some stranger from the internet to his apartment for sex.
?Don?t worry, I?ll be here to protect you.?
I approached it from another angle. ?I could get a disease.?
?He?ll use a condom, mon amour.?
He couldn?t just rationalize away my fears. He tried. He brought up Alina again. Apparently, men were always coming over from Craig?s List to fuck Alina while he watched.
Luck would have it none of the men wanted to meet me that day. Paul-Henri said they all wanted to see what my face looked like before they made the trip over.
I burst out laughing.
?A woman?s offering free sex and they need to see if they like my face first??
At least I didn?t feel sick anymore. I felt relieved.
I was equally mortified, jealous and enraged at him for flirting with one of my female acquaintances.
One day soon after, we were walking down the boardwalk along the beach near where he lived. An acquaintance from my kids? school jogged by.
I?d been holding Paul-Henri?s hand. I dropped it instantly.
I wasn?t open about my separation from my husband with anyone at my children?s school. I didn?t want to have to explain what I was doing with a man on the beach while my children were busy learning fractions, especially since I was still fronting being a happily married woman.
My acquaintance?s name was Denise. She halted from her jog to greet me. Her son was in my eldest son?s class. During parent events, we always chatted.
But I was uncomfortable meeting her in the company of Paul-Henri. I soon discovered the bigger reason I should be worried.
?I can see you exercise a lot,? Paul-Henri said appreciatively, his eyes roaming up and down her form.
Yes, Denise was beautiful, in her mid-thirties, with the body of a long-distance runner.
He asked for her phone number so they could run together sometime. It took everything I had to feign tranquility until Denise and I air-kissed and she ran off again.
At least she?d graciously denied giving Paul-Henri her phone number with the excuse that she?d just call me next time she was in the neighborhood.
Still, I was equally mortified, jealous and enraged at him for flirting with one of my female acquaintances, much less with someone from my kids? school.
?I can?t believe you!? I seethed.
?You?re the one who?s still married,? he said.
?What? You think she?ll fuck a man while you watch??
?I saw her wedding ring. She has a husband. Maybe??
I stormed off, planning to never speak to him again. I felt used. I was just a tool to fulfill his fantasy. As soon as he found someone who would, he?d drop me.
?Really? Are you still with him? Can I watch him have sex with you??
I tried to forget him. I went on date after date in an attempt to find a new Paul-Henri. Each date was worse than the last.
I met with a guy who was at least five inches shorter than he?d stated he was in his dating profile. Another man spent our entire date, listing every movie studio he?d ever shot a camera for in an attempt to brag his way into bed with me. Another dude was so shy during our meeting that I had to carry the whole conversation on my own. I was exhausted by the end of our date.
As I drove home, in a fit of desperation, I phoned Paul-Henri.
?How are you doing, mon amour,? he said. ?I miss you.?
He missed me? That felt so good to hear. I missed him terribly. Maybe I had been too hard on him. Maybe we could try again.
?When can I see you?? I asked.
?What are you doing right now?? he said.
?I just went on an awful date with a guy.?
?Really? Are you still with him? Can I watch him have sex with you??
What do they say? Let sleeping cuckolds lie.
I told Paul-Henri I had to go and never spoke to him again.
