(Note: No FB's were harmed in the telling of this story ...)
I’ve been getting ready for an alumni event at the small-town high school where I graduated 35 years ago, so the other night I was looking at old yearbooks – those painful reminders of the worst decade in American fashion history (at least when it comes to men’s fashion), the 1970s.
I keep popping up in picture after picture – frequently in a poofy nylon shirt from one of my leisure suits; always with my wavy dark hair hanging halfway to my shoulders, without a trace of styling. Damn, I’m in a lot of pictures. Baseball, cross-country, school paper, national honor society, student council; I was such an over-achiever. Except with girls. When it came to girls, I was too self-conscious and shy.
Mustang has been reading in bed beside me while I flip through the yearbooks. She looks over my shoulder with a playful glint in her eye. “You were so cute,” she tells me.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” she confirms. “So cute, and such a good boy. I would have had to take your virginity.”
“Really!??”
“Uh huh,” she nods, reaching down to check my package. “Goodness, you’re hard.”
“Yeah,” I admit. I am realizing that I’ve never actually played with this specific retroactive fantasy. I didn’t meet Mustang until we were both in our mid-30s, so I didn’t know her when she was a teenager; but I’ve seen pictures. She had Farrah Fawcett blonde hair; the same memorable mouth (the most beautiful smile when she’s laughing, and the most sensuous lips all the time …); and the legs and ass for which ‘70s hip-hugger jeans were invented. Oh my God, if I had met Mustang when I was 16, I would have been too terrified to talk to her!
“You would have taken my virginity?” I rasp, emphasizing the aggressive verb. I had been a “good boy.” All my fantasies back then revolved around being seduced, taken advantage of.
“Uh huh,” my wife acknowledges, her voice getting husky as she leans into me to kiss me. “Just like I took Donny’s, and Buzz’s, and Eric’s.”
She’s told me before that she was precocious in high school, which isn’t the same as promiscuous; but this is a bit of news to me. She had a few boyfriends. She had sex with them while she was dating them. I didn’t realize they were virgins.
“And then me,” I suggest.
“Yep,” she teases, licking at my lips. She’s fished my erection out of the fly of my boxers. “Another notch on my bedpost.”
Now she’s swinging her left leg over me, climbing on top of me. “And I would be on top, of course.”
Of course. She’s reaching down, pulling her panties to one side, positioning herself above me. We’re still clothed, two teenagers who can’t risk getting completely undressed. Parents may even be in the other room.
“Bareback?” I ask in mock horror, instantly aware that I wouldn’t have known that term in 1974. I love role-playing, but I’m starting to do this one involuntarily.
She nods. “It’ll be okay, just this once.”
She’s not quite ready for me yet, but we’re both in a hurry, and she pushes down on me anyway. Her body resists, yields slowly. It takes a couple of short, dry thrusts to start drawing her lubrication out. Then she’s got me slippery enough to slide into her, and she seats herself firmly on my pubic bone. I’m enveloped in amazing soft warm wetness. Oh my god. I’m imagining how this would have felt for the first time …
“Gotcha,” she says. She leans forward to kiss me, puts her hands on my shoulders. I put my hands on her hips, slide up her sides under her nightgown, fondle her breasts – imagining it’s a loose sweater and she’s already removed her bra, drawing an arm back into one sleeve at a time and then out again, the way that young women did back then …
She takes my wrists in her hands and pins them on either side of my head, and dangles her hair in my face. “Such a good boy,” she teases. “In the clutches of such a bad girl.”
I’m amazed at how much I’m enjoying this; and that I hadn’t ever played it out before. My mind is frantically constructing a backstory, to get the most out of this fantasy while it’s happening. I’m 16 again, and this is too good to be true.
Except I never would have guessed that Mustang, the new girl at school this fall, was a “bad girl.” She’s gorgeous, a good student, a little on the quiet side, beautiful singing voice. Her dad’s a retired Army colonel and that’s a little intimidating. Just the kind of girl that I admired from afar back then.
I developed crushes on the pretty, radiant “good girls,” and put them on pedestals. (And I masturbated to fantasies about being seduced by hot bad girls!) My Manichean 16-year-old mind couldn’t imagine rolling those two stereotypes into a real girl… until she found me! How did she get me alone in a bedroom?
She’s in command, and she wants me on top. We roll over together and I slip back into heaven. (Okay, so maybe my fantasy isn’t totally realistic. If I was 16, I would probably have cum by now!)
She reaches up and grabs fistfuls of my hair. “You’re pretty good for a rookie,” she tells me.
Huh. Sounds like she’s experienced.
The backstory is still coming together. Her family bought a house on the lake, down the street from my house. We met on the school bus. Neither of us have our own car (yet; I’ll get one by spring!), but our houses are within walking distance. Holy cow, my life just got perfect! The All-American boy just got a beautiful girlfriend to go with the honor roll grades and the letterman’s jacket … transformed from “nice boy” to “stud!”
I look down at her, smiling and undulating beneath me, eyes closed. “So, would you go to the prom with me?”
She laughs. “Oh, no, silly. I don’t want to date you.”
I stop thrusting. For a moment. Her eyes are sparkling. “You’re really cute and I just couldn’t resist taking your virginity,” she says, “but I wouldn’t want to, like, hold hands in the hallway or anything. I just want to fuck you every now and then.” She pauses.
“Is that okay with you?”
I’m thrusting again, slowly. Evidently it is.
She tosses her hair and continues. “No, everyone likes JR, but they think you’re a bit of a nerd. I want to date one of the really popular guys. Someone with a nice car. An athlete.”
“You don’t even like sports,” I protest.
“I don’t care,” she retorts. “I like their bodies.”
We move in silence for several seconds. Amazing. Once a cuck, always a cuck, even retroactively. She’s managed to travel back in time and cuckold my 16-year-old self.
“So who it would it have been?” she asks. She’s slipping in and out of the role-playing. “Who would have it really driven you crazy to see me with?”
Uh oh. Dangerous ground. I think of a couple of horndogs that I really didn’t care for. Arrogant bastards who didn’t give me the time of day. Then the obvious choice popped into my mind. Actually, a friend of mine. Maybe that made it worse.
“Troy Ryan,” I said meekly.
“Mmm,” she responded, rolling her hips beneath me. “Tell me about him.”
“Six three, curly blonde hair. Basketball star. Football star.”
“Yum,” she said. “Smart?”
“Scholarship to the Naval Academy,” I admit. I’m thrusting harder, dammit.
She chuckles. “What kind of car?”
“A Triumph,” I moan.
“Yep, he’s the one,” she confirms. “He’s who you’d watch me go on dates with.”
Another pause. “Big cock?”
“According to rumor,” I say. Rumors promulgated by Troy, of course, I think to myself. Actually, Troy was a good guy, who for the most part just played the “alpha male” role that was expected of him – bragging about conquests, real and imagined, that no one took seriously. But there was no denying that there was a fair amount of curiosity among the girls at school (not to mention a couple of the young teachers) about the 6’3” football stud in the Triumph. And I learned eventually that at least a couple of them were true…
“Just rumors?” asks the hot little minx who is grinding under me, thinking about another man. I stammer a bit, and she cuts me off. “I’ll bet he’s huge.”
And just like that, my sudden fantasy of imagining my 16-year-old self with a hot girlfriend, is irretrievably converted into an image of myself as a love-lorn dweeb, watching the girl of my dreams take off with the school stud …
But Mustang is on a mission. “I’d still hang out at your house,” she tells me. “Troy could pick me up there. And you could watch us drive away in his Triumph … and know that later tonight he’ll be filling me with his big cock … bareback … the only guy who gets to do that …”
“You’re taking me bareback,” I point out.
“Just this one time, to take your virginity,” she replies. “From now on, only Troy gets to cum inside me …”
She goes on saying something about arranging to let me watch Troy taking her, but it is too late. The fireworks are going off in my head; my entire spinal column connecting my brain to my groin is glowing white hot with the intensity of my orgasm. I shudder and spasm and erupt into Mustang (for the first time! The last time! The only time!).
As my orgasm and my erection subside, I move down between her legs, as I frequently do, and manipulate her with my fingers and tongue. I don’t really like the taste of my own semen, but pretending it’s someone else’s – my sort-of friend Troy’s – does make me feel cuckolded and submissive. She’s got a couple more twists to offer to the story she’s weaving, about me cleaning her in his presence, but she grows quiet as she starts to bear down on achieving her own orgasm, and that’s all right. In my post-coital slump, I can’t sustain the fantasy. My sixteen-year-old self would have been way, way too freaked out to eat a creampie; and for that matter, there’s no way in hell Troy Ryan would have ever been naked and hard in front of another guy!
On the other hand, would my sixteen-year-old self have eroticized having the incredible beautiful new girl down the street seducing me, then abandoning me for the school stud? Uh … I’m thinking …
… probably.
***
I went all through college and a first marriage and a few dating relationships and the first seven years of my marriage to Mustang without being aware of my cuckold tendencies. But did I have them all along?
Or did Mustang travel back in time, like the Terminator, to make it so?
This morning I walk into the family room and look at a collage of images from Mustang’s youth that has been hanging in the same corner for fifteen years. There’s a picture of her in high school, taken outdoors. The wind is lifting her blonde hair off her shoulders, which are bare except for the straps of a blue sundress she’s wearing. She’s looking up and to her left, squinting slightly in the sunlight, her perfect smile framed by her soft, full lips. I’ve always loved that picture just for the beauty it captures.
This morning, I look at it and imagine … she’s smiling up at Troy Ryan.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
I’ve been married to this woman for sixteen years. We’re in our early ‘50s. And she’s still finding new buttons to push, or at least new ways to push old buttons; and to give me soul-stirring (and simultaneously gut-wrenching) sexual experiences. I guess on the whole, I’m a lucky dog.
If their kids could only see them now and yeah it was all captured on camera. There's gonna be a lot of embarrassed and hung over people in the morning. 
Let me just say it's not easy to drive, take pictures with my phone and watch your wife finger her little pussy without running off the road... Thank god there weren't many cars on the road cause I has having one heck of a time keeping my eyes on the road. So enough is enough I pull into a park, this is the best part literally a stone throw away from where we live. If I walk out my back door and walk 100 yards I'm in the park. I get her out, keep in mind we were both feeling little pain at this point. I bend her over the hood of her Suburban hike up her dress and I'm getting busy fucking her like no one's business. It's around midnight or so and there were no cars around so I assumed the park was ours for the night. From there we switch to the grass, a real throw back to our wild days as teenagers. My pants were down around my ankles and she was practically naked from the waist down and we were going at it hard. 
Got in his cruiser and was gone. The ordeal lasted maybe a minute or two but felt like hours. Donna was still adjusting herself, I thought she was going to kill me, but was just relieved. It could of been worse considering he caught us cold or as they say red handed and with our pants down. I could just imagine us having to explain to our kids why mommy and daddy's picture is on the front page of the paper. Being a little dense after I put my now limp dick away I told her to get back in the truck and drove home. It took all of a minute before we were safely inside our home and soon thereafter I was back inside her. 
