Evolving as a cuckold - through the seasons of life

[The Owl]

Another developmental detail from about 10 years old.

I was the youngest of five kids. My mother was 42. I felt like I was her favorite child. She was movie star beautiful and had NO interest in being a minister's wife. She got caught up in the post WW-II culture where all women were expected to get married and have children, personal preferences be damned.

At 42, she decided to bolt. I had only a couple hours warning that she was leaving. I saw her very little after her departure. That feeling of abandonment was central to so many other things that happened as I continued to develop. I'm pretty sure my mother had one or two affairs before she bolted. And I'm completely certain that she explored her sexuality with several different men after bolting. She was still very attractive in her 40s and could easily play the field. There's a LOT more to that story but I'll leave it at that. She was a hottie... and I was a 10 yo boy who felt abandoned by my mother, with whom I thought I had a very close relationship. In retrospect, I imagine I met many of her emotional needs as a child giving me the feeling of closeness between us. But she had many other needs that were not getting met. So, she moved on to other pastures, leaving almost everybody in her family (including her family of origin) behind.

I'm certain my mom's abrupt departure at such a tender age was a big part of me becoming who I am. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if she had stayed. Would I have become one of those momma's boys that nobody likes? When she left, I knew it was "sink or swim." I decided to swim.

Early abandonment and all the feelings that go with that. A desire for rapprochement, but never fulfilled with her. All of these dynamics led me down a path which made me into who I became. A willing cuckold... a wittol... and erotic creature in my own right.

[The Owl]

[/quote]

TO - Quite. I find it really interesting how people get to where they got. There many different paths that have been taken and none are identical.
- I can truly empathize with you for when you were a young guy and lost S, really cutting to the quick. I had something happen too that caused tremendous hurt at that age.
- Please continue.
[/quote]

Thank you Long Lurker and others for your comments and encouragement.

[The Owl]

"Obviously... I am having difficulty figuring out how to quote messages from others. Sigh...

[Long Lurker 34]

"Obviously... I am having difficulty figuring out how to quote messages from others. Sigh...

TO - Super easy, just go to the comment you wish to quote and courser over the box with " click it.
- So that gets the passage onto a new comment window, as above. Then as I frequently do you can go over a portion of the text, if you want to highlight a specific portion, with your left mouse key (well it might be different on your set up) pressed down. You will see a emboldened area. Take your courser up top and click on the B I U etc and tada.
- We will get you there.

[hotpastdawn]

Without any specific action on my part, she withdrew from him and snuggled up next to me on the couch. I put my arm around her, quietly welcoming her closer. The moment felt good to both of us. But my friend was relentless. He kept touching her and tickling her. She tucked in closer to me, suggesting she had chosen me over him. He didn’t stop. He grabbed her hands and somehow got her to stand back up. He moved in close to her and told her in a very dominant voice, "Come with me to my room." His alpha moves prevailed. She said nothing more, glanced at me and made eye contact with her tender eyes as she walked hand in hand with him to his room, leaving me alone on the couch. Soon, I could hear the sounds of their sex coming from his room. She was very vocal during sex and through her orgasms. I was alone, but the experience was very arousing. I wondered if she was having any thoughts about me as he gave her pleasure.

My late husband, while discussing his desire for me to cuckold him, told of a similar experience when he was at a party in high school. He could tell that a girl really liked him, but another boy "made the move" on her in front of him. The boy had the reputation of having a large penis, and my husband knew that he himself was probably among if not the smallest of his male peers. He told me that he fantasized more than one if the girl sucked the boy's large cock, and the fantasies were fuel for his following masturbation sessions.

I'm enjoying your story! Please do continue!

[jane]

oh my goodness Owl, is abandonement by a mother key in development of cuckold feelings??

[The Owl]

Hi Jane... No... abandonment is not "key" but I suppose it could be classified as an ingredient in the soup that lead me to savor aspects of the cuckold lifestyle.

I'm thinking my experience of abandonment at 10 yo was contributory to why it hit me so hard when my girlfriend ghosted me before I left for college.

And, I'm sure that those abandonment experiences played a role in how I got connected, and then disonnected, with my ex-wife. And, all of the experiences contributed to me savoring being in a full-blown cuckold relationship several years after my divorce. But those stories have not yet been told. In time, they will be.

[The Owl]

After the summer of the one-night fling with the unreformed Reform School lass, my second year of college included a vanilla relationship with a girl who was studying to be a teacher. We enjoyed having sex with one another. I visited her parents' home once. The truth is there wasn't much erotic energy between us. The sex was ok, but very vanilla. We were like two ships that met in a seldom used port during a storm. I decided to drop out of colllege for a year and to move on... to Holland for a year.

The flight from the US to Europe was a charter flight filled with young people leaving North America to spend a year abroad in Europe. Some of the seats were arranged like a train, with two banks of seats facing each other. I don't know if I've seen seats on a plane arranged like that ever then. In any case, I was seated next to Zoey from Indianapolis. Across from us was Raquel, Zoey's friend from HS. Zoey had been dating a Danish guy (Nils) for the past year who had already traveled back to Denmark. He wasn't on our flight.

During the flight, a kid from Mexico who was headed to Europe for a year broke out a bottle of tequila he was intending to give to his host family as a gift. Instead, he opened the bottle and we started drinking shots on the flight. Quickly, Zoey and I were feeling no pain. I leaned in and got more comfortable with her. Raquel was also two sheets to the wind and couldn't help but see the physical flirtation between Zoey and me. Raquel blurted out, "Zoey, forget about Nils. Enjoy the moment... the flight with The Owl." Ok... ok... that wasn't my nickname at the time. But the quote works to communicate Raquel's message to Zoey.

Zoey grinned, turned her face toward mine and we began kissing. The 7 hour flight was full of 18 to 20 year old males and females who were leaving the safety of home for a year. We were all nervous, excited, and full of a sense of adventure. Betsy and I made out intermittently during the flight. Some others were kissing from time to time. We were excited, aroused, and sorting out how to best pass the time. None of us had ever heard of the mile high club at that point in time so we didn't even think about shagging in the bathroom. But we had as much fun as we could in full view of others. Zoey and I also had fun interacting with others on the plane - the lad from Mexico, Raquel, and many others. The mood was wild... as if anything was possible.

A few months later, Raquel was living in a small apartment in Amsterdam attached to a program that worked with street people in the city (hookers and druggies who needed help). Zoey had made arrangements to visit Raquel one weekend. They invited me to join them. In addition, another young woman from Ohio was invited (Beth). There were two other young males from America who were invited. All six of us were living in Europe for a year. None of us were partnered or coupled. We were all staying for a night in Rachel's one room flat that had just enough room for a couch, a one-person bed, and a rug. The bathroom was down the hall.

After spending time walking around the walletjes (Red Light District), we all went to Rachel's room to share a bottle of wine. We naturally began pairing off. Zoey and I had some unfinished business to attend to. We ended up on the floor. Rachel and one of the other guys were on her bed. Beth and the third guy were on the couch. The lights went off - pitch black in the room. We could hear one another but we couldn't see anything. Each couple got hotter by the moment. The women began moaning between kisses. Zippers unzipped in the darkness. Giggles were emitted from time to time after somebody said, "How do you work this thing?" probably referring to the. clasps on the back of a bra.

Soon the sounds of fucking could be heard on the bed, the couch, and the floor. Zoey and I were still at it after Rachel and Beth had enjoyed orgasms with their partners. i was focusing on giving Zoey pleasure with my cock. Through the darkness, I heard Rachel say to her partner on the bed, "I think Zoey is about to cum." She was. She did. I enjoyed an orgasm inside Zoey moments later.

We were all young and I'm sure we could have enjoyed "round two" before slipping off to sleep. We all knew each other and none of us were tighly bonded as couples. The pairing into MF partners felt mostly random, with the exception of Zoey and me who had gotten a head start on the flight to Europe. As I rested next to Zoey, running hand over her relaxed torso, I briefly considered saying something like "Musical chairs" or belting out a square dance call such as "Dosey Doe" or "Women to the middle, men sashay", encouraging each of the women to move to a new parter for the next round of sex. I'm fairly certain with only the slightest encouragement, we could have savored a full blown orgy that night. But I think we were all refractory from our orgasms, and fell asleep shortly thereafter. Six spent naked bodies strewn in the complete darkness of a tiny room in Amsterdam, a room full of the scent of pheremones, sweat and fresh sex.

Zoey and I got together once more several months later for some one-on-one fun. I heard a thing or two about her years later. She got married, had kids, etc.

The "orgy" in Amsterdam wasn't a cuckold experience. However, it was one more experience involving a female (Zoey) who was quick to savor an erotic moment on a plane with a new male (me), despite her romantic connection with Nils. One more experience to teach me that women are not monogamous by nature. I was learning that women enjoy sex as much, perhaps more than men.

[The Owl]

Feedback welcome... especially if you want to read more about the trail to being a cuckold.

[jane]

well what can i say, i am fully abosrbed in your story , and cannot wait to hear more of it, and your views on us being nonmonogamous

[wittol]

oh my goodness Owl, is abandonment by a mother key in development of cuckold feelings??

I'm pretty sure it is, in my case. Very similar to Owl's experience, my mother left her husband and three kids suddenly, irrevocably moving halfway across the country. I was a little older than Owl, and my mother stayed connected to us throughout, but from a distance and over occasional holidays.

I'm sure every cuckold tries to figure out why he is the way he is. For me, that early sense of abandonment, the felt implication of some fundamental inadequacy (notwithstanding all objective evidence to the contrary), carried over into my own relationships. I think I unconsciously dealt with the anxieties and fears of possible rejection by the women I love by sexualizing those insecurities, by developing the fantasy that she does in fact "reject" me for the better man, but loves me and always comes back to me in spite of my relative inadequacy. Fear of abandonment thus psychologically controlled. In real life, it takes a special woman to understand this therapeutic imperative, and some of us are very lucky.

Thank you, Owl, for your interesting and well written account. I look forward to more.

[The Owl]

I think I unconsciously dealt with the anxieties and fears of possible rejection by the women I love by sexualizing those insecurities,

Bingo! The issue is what it is. Nothing more and nothing less. Not all cuckolds have experienced the same things in life - such as abandonment. But the dynamics of "subspace" are present in some form or other, and are learned over time.

[The Owl]

well what can i say, i am fully abosrbed in your story , and cannot wait to hear more of it

I am honored, Jane. Thank you.

[venus-can99]

Owl it is fascinating to hear your story. I love the way you write so engagingly encouraging the reader to reflect

[The Owl]

Several years ago I wrote the following short story. It's written somewhat metaphorically but each even happened to me as written... Enjoy!!!

The story goes back to very early childhood. I hope some of it makes you giggle...

For the Love of The Owl

The Owl loves women. Women love The Owl – with passion.

After loving The Owl, many women grow to hate him – the forsaken side of the coin of love. Over time, most of these scornful women forgive The Owl for his way of loving, and love him again – this time with compassion – because The Owl loves women and women love The Owl.

The Owl’s earliest memories are riddled with the experience of being deeply loved by his mother. The Owl’s mother may have loved him too deeply. She was a head-turner, a gorgeous woman in her thirties, who felt like she was in captivity, shackled to a mediocre post-World War II marriage – a woman burdened with the task of raising five children whom she shot out like bullets from a semiautomatic rifle, year after year from 1950 through 1955. During these challenging years, The Owl’s mother discovered an unexpected source of solace through her emotional connection with her youngest son, the son she loved too deeply – The Owl.

Barbara was The Owl’s first girlfriend. They met on the kindergarten playground.

“Want to play, The Owl?”

“Play what?”

“House.”

“Ok, what are the rules?”

Silently, The Owl pondered why anybody would want to play an inside game like “house” on an outdoor playground. But he was willing to cooperate with Barbara’s proposal if it allowed him to spend time being close to the mysterious beauty.

Barbara replied, “I’ll be the mom and you be the dad.”

The Owl asked, “Can I be the boy?”

“No, that’s against the rules.”

The Owl played the dad.

One thing The Owl learned from his romantic fling with Barbara on the kindergarten playground was that women make the rules. He already knew that if he followed his mother’s suggestions at home that he got a much better response from her than if he ignored her suggestions. Following Barbara’s rules felt like a natural progression for The Owl. Women always make up the rules. If you want a woman to love you, follow her rules, even when her rules seem absolutely crazy – even when she changes the rules in the middle of the game! Always follow her rules.

The Owl and Barbara’s relationship almost lasted a bn entire recess. But they drifted apart before the teacher called them back inside when the game of house lost its appeal for The Owl.

At first, the connection with Barbara felt like it had legs. The Owl imagined that he and Barbara would have children in their house and that they would all live happily ever after. But The Owl grew tired of being the dad. Despite The Owl’s very active fantasy life, he knew in his heart of hearts that he was a boy.

Unbeknownst to The Owl, Barbara was growing a bit weary of The Owl’s way of being the dad in the game called house. She was already eyeing another boy on the playground whom she was sure would be a better dad. Barbara felt a sense of relief – a sense of freedom and new found opportunity – when The Owl drifted off toward the monkey bars. Barbara let him leave seamlessly. She moved on to her next relationship without even a hint of drama toward The Owl. But The Owl would learn soon enough that most women don’t like it when men play house and then become drifters.

Of course, The Owl’s first romance with Barbara happened many years before The Owl had an inkling about what it feels like to lose your way in the labyrinth of love, or about the razor’s edge of abandonment. As a five-year old lad in kindergarten, The Owl assumed that – with the exception of his beloved mother - that women in his life would come and women in his life would go. In his heart of hearts, The Owl was certain that this was the way the world worked. The Owl had no idea how lacerating love could be.

The Owl went through a bit of a dry spell after the recess relationship with Barbara.

In second grade, Shelly moved in across the street with her grandparents. She was one year older than The Owl. The Owl had no idea where Shelly’s parents were. He picked up shreds of information from hushed conversations between his parents about Shelly – something about her father being a deadbeat and her mother preferring to be a tramp rather than a mother.

All The Owl knew about tramps was that they were men who wore old tattered clothes with holes in their soles. Tramps carried sticks over their shoulders with a small white bag dangling from the end of the stick as they walked along the railroad tracks of life. This was the first time that The Owl had ever heard of a woman deciding to be a tramp.

Shelly and The Owl enjoyed playing in the yard. Shelly helped The Owl discovered the joy of swinging his hips wildly round and round inside a hula-hoop. Shelly taught The Owl how to ride her bike. The Owl fell over several times, and even skinned his wing once. Shelly laughed at The Owl each time he lay sprawled on the ground beside her bike. But The Owl stood up and tried again. Eventually, The Owl learned how to balance on two wheels without getting bucked off. Little did The Owl know how important bicycling would become later in his life. And Shelly got The Owl started.

Shelly also got The Owl started with kissing – osculation – an act that would become even more important than bicycling later in The Owl’s life.

After the hula-hoop fell to the ground from Shelly’s loose hips, The Owl noted a mischievous look on Shelly’s face. She asked The Owl, “Want to make a tent in the backyard and eat some fried chicken?”

The Owl was perplexed. “You have a tent? Where are we going to get chicken?”

Shelly didn’t answer. She grabbed The Owl’s hand and took him inside her grandparents’ house. The house smelled like old people – stale. Shelly opened the linen closet and grabbed a bed sheet. She then went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bowl full of cold fried chicken.

The Owl asked, “Did you get permission for us to eat this chicken?”

“No.”

One lesson The Owl learned that day was that women not only like to make rules, some women like to break rules. The Owl felt uneasy being dragged down the path of poaching some fried chicken from the neighbor’s kitchen. He had never previously committed a misdemeanor but here he was, on the brink of serving as an accomplice to refrigerator burglary. Despite his misgivings, The Owl found it difficult to resist Shelly’s charms.

As The Owl stood frozen in front of Shelly wondering what to say or do next, she touched The Owl’s arm and said, “Oh come on. My grandparents won’t notice a few pieces of missing chicken!”

The Owl fell for her line of reasoning and headed out the back door – sheet and chicken in tow.

Shelly instructed The Owl to sit cross legged on the grass right in front of her. She told The Owl that each of them would serve as a tent pole. The bowl of chicken was placed on the ground between them and the sheet created a tent over them. All The Owl could see was the white sheet surrounding them, Shelly’s face, green grass, and a bowl of cold fried chicken between them, beckoning to be tasted. The Owl suddenly noticed he had a big appetite.

The Owl started with a leg. Shelly decided to enjoy a thigh. The Owl licked the leg with his tongue. His teeth sank into the cool flesh. A hint of salt and pepper enhanced the pleasure of the moment. After several bites and repeatedly spinning the leg in his fingers, The Owl tossed the bone aside and began digging his fingers in the bowl below the neck and the back so he could get his hands on the breast.

As he pawed deeper, The Owl felt Shelly’s greasy fingers on his cheeks. He looked up as she pulled his face toward hers. The Owl noticed that her lips were pursed as if she had just bitten into a lemon. He felt confused as Shelly’s face drew close to his.

“Kiss me The Owl…”

“How do I do that?”

“You pucker up like this,” pausing to demonstrate, “and hold your lips against mine.”

The Owl clutched the breast and did his best to kiss Shelly just like she asked.

As The Owl was experiencing the first kiss of his life, Shelly’s grandma walked into the kitchen from the den where she was watching Lawrence Welk with Shelly’s grandpa. Grandma glanced out the window and noticed a bed sheet in the backyard with two short blunt poles holding it up like as tent. The poles were moving back and forth, toward each other and back again. Grandma was perplexed. She hastily called grandpa to the window.

The Owl leaned back from the kiss and returned his attention to the breast. He raised it to his mouth and sank his teeth into the delicious white meat. While he began to chew, The Owl decided that the pleasure he derived from the breast was even greater than the pleasure of kissing. As The Owl was preparing to bring the breast back to his mouth once again for another nibble, the sheet shot up off of both of them as if a tornado had struck. The first thing The Owl saw was a pair of old house slippers on the grass – then two angry legs.

Shelly’s grandpa yelled, “Where did you get that chicken? That was for our lunch! And, what are you doing in my yard? Get out of here and go home. Skedaddle!!! Find your own food to eat.”

He turned to Shelly and growled, “Get in the house right now. You have some explaining to do.”

Without a pause he spat more words toward The Owl, “ Move it boy before I move it for you!”

Grandpa wasn’t looking for answers. He wanted action and he wanted it immediately if not sooner. The Owl ran as fast as his legs could move until he was across the street and safely inside his house.

The next day, The Owl saw Shelly, walking hand in hand between both grandparents toward the car in the driveway. Shelly looked very sad. She didn’t even look across the street and wave at The Owl as had always been the case before the chicken caper. As The Owl watched the car drive away, he vowed never to steal chicken again. But he made no such vow about kissing. The grandparents returned, but Shelly never did. The Owl was fairly certain the hula-hoop fad that had swept across America had come to an end – coast to coast - that day.

Almost two decades later, The Owl decided to ride a bicycle across America east to west. He remembered Shelly teaching him how to ride her bike so many years before. When The Owl passed through the small town where The Owl lived in second grade, The Owl pedaled toward his old home on Georgia Street, in Washington, near the might Columbia River.

While gazing at the house where The Owl had lived in 2nd grade, The Owl looked across the street and noticed an elderly man walking out of the side door of Shelly’s house. The man entered his car in the driveway and started the engine with his back toward The Owl. He leisurely began backing up his car. He was halfway out of the driveway when The Owl got his attention through the driver’s window. The old man stopped, rolled down his window, and looked at The Owl.

“Sorry to bother you Sir, but when I was in second grade, I lived in that house,” pointing to his old home across the street. “I used to play with a girl named Shelly who lived in your house. I don’t know how long you have lived in this house but I thought you might be Shelly’s grandfather.”

The old man’s face scrunched up. He looked grumpy and distressed. He immediately diverted his eyes and blurted out, “I’ve lived here more than 40 years and there has never been a young girl who lived here. Certainly not one named Shelly. You don’t know what you are talking about.”

Without giving The Owl a chance to reply, the old man abruptly rolled up his window and quickly drove back up the driveway, exited his car, and rushed inside his house – seemingly in a huff. The Owl had no idea why his question had distressed the old man so much. On the heels of this interaction, The Owl’s speculative thoughts about Shelly’s fate were anything but pleasant. The Owl pedaled away, completely perplexed. This would be the last time that The Owl would ever pedal a bicycle on Georgia Street. To this day, Shelly’s fate remains a mystery. The Owl always wondered if Shelly had followed in her mother’s footsteps, with a hole in her sole.

After this brief romance with Shelly, The Owl moved forward into the stage of psychosexual Freud called latency. As far as The Owl was concerned, latency was simply a very long dry spell with no sex. The Owl basked in the warm love showered over him by his mother. During latency no other women created rules or broke rules with The Owl until sixth grade.

When The Owl was ten, his mother – the first woman The Owl loved and the first woman who loved The Owl – abruptly left the family. From The Owl’s egocentric ten-year-old view of the world, she didn’t leave the family – she left The Owl, completely alone in the emotional wasteland of abandonment. The day of her departure was the most painful day of The Owl’s life. The Owl had seen packed boxes in the basement. He felt tension in the air between his mother and father. But The Owl felt completely blindsided when his parents began their final argument in his presence. In less than a minute, The Owl’s mother proclaimed she was leaving. The Owl had never heard his mother say these words before. In less than three hours, she was gone – forever. The Owl survived that day but his emotional landscape was forever altered by his mother’s abrupt, unexpected, and complete departure from his life.

The Owl continued to love women after his mother left him. But in The Owl’s heart, abandonment had become woven into the warp and weft of love – commingled as if love and abandonment were two dancers engaged in a perpetual tango in The Owl’s heart – love leading, abandonment following.

The dye for The Owl’s erotic love life was set. Sure, there were other influences at play. For example, when The Owl was nine months old he was hospitalized for a couple of months and was give a diagnosis of leukemia. The Owl may have been one of those lucky children in the 1950s who enjoyed spontaneous remission from leukemia before chemotherapy or any other treatments existed. Likewise, The Owl may have been misdiagnosed. He may have spent two months in a hospital bed and in the arms of nurses for no good reason at all. A zealous doctor may have stubbornly clung to a misdiagnosis until enough time had elapsed to declare The Owl in remission – cured. The Owl’s hospitalization predated his earliest memories. But The Owl’s hospitalization undoubtedly had an impact on his emotional development making him even more vulnerable to the emotional consequences of abandonment. Of course, The Owl’s experiences in the hospital undoubtedly also created an innate bond between The Owl and nurses – and all other women who like to be nurturing with boys like The Owl.

Other early influences could be discussed but none would match the day his mother abandoned the family. That day was the ultimate defining moment in The Owl’s life; the day he began down the path of loving with complete abandon – on the heels of abandonment.

One of The Owl’s earliest fantasies emerged in a dream during a nap when he was three years old. The screen memory from that nap involved The Owl dreaming that he was lying on a conveyor belt that smelled like it had been rubbed down with isopropyl alcohol and then slathered with female musk. The Owl was carried slowly along the belt through a line of attractive young women standing next to the conveyor belt who were wearing white dresses, unbuttoned in front just enough so that The Owl was able to sense a hint of their cleavage, breasts barely covered in white above him on both sides of the conveyor belt. As the belt carried The Owl headfirst down the line, each woman had a few moments to enjoy caressing his welcoming skin before he was conveyed toward the next set of nurturing female hands.

For the rest of his life, The Owl loved this fantasy and the many variations his mind created from this core theme. As a very young lad, The Owl had no idea what this dream meant but he knew he liked the feeling of being caressed by the loving hands of nurturing women – especially naughty nurses dressed in white!!!

[The Owl]

Oops.. I meant to say "each event" happened in this story... but it was written a bit metaphorically in the third person... "The Owl... did this..." "The Owl did that..."

Again, I realize the story is not concretely related to enjoying subspace (being a cuckold) as an adult, but it sets the stage. The preamble as it were.

[The Owl]

An erotic haiku (not perfectly construed in haiku format, but close enough) to demonstrate that I am capable of brevity...

Cuckold Bliss

Hotwife restricts access for days
Bull's cock fills, quenching her lust
Reclamation denied

[The Owl]

Holland... eary 70s. The one-year visitors from around the world (exchangees) were having a meeting for a couple of days. One of the organizers was a woman (Sandy) in her mid 20s who was from the USA and had come to Holland when she was 18 on the same program. She had married a Dutch guy and stuck around. Her husband was a "sex therapist." They were very public about having an "open relationship."

Sleeping arrangements were sparse. I put my sleeping bag on the floor. Sandy put hers next to mine. Another male exchangee, Ose (Japanese American by heritage) put his bag on the other side of Heidi's. I cannot recall how it all began but Sandy and were kissing. Ose moved in closer behind Sandy and began spooning her from behind, touching her intimately with his hand, and kissing her on the neck. Sandy's hand found its way inside my bag and she began rubbing my cock, gently at first, and then more firmly. She knew exactly what she was doing. Soon, I was gasping my way through an orgasm and she had semen on her hand - semen in the bag. I was momentarily spent. Sandy rolled onto her back and Ose moved in on her, kissing her passionately on the lips. His hand was inside her bag and had found her pussy. He continued rubbing her until she was thrown across the great divide, moaning her way through an orgasm. Sandy got up to use the bathroom. Ose initiated a high-5 to celebrate the moment. Interestingly, Ose never enjoyed an orgasm but he enjoyed bringing Sandy to orgasm with his hand.

In some ways, this 3sum was a gentle training experience for being a cuckold. The woman who showed interest in me was quick to shift her erotic focus to another male who was being dominant with her.

A woman's pleasure has alwasy been important to me. In a more typical MF tryst, I would have made sure that Sandy enjoyed an orgasm. But in this situation, Ose took over and gave her the pleasure she desired. I was essentially ignored after my orgasm. Sandy decided to go for her gusto with Ose.

I quietly lay next to Sandy as Ose kissed her and brought her to and through her orgasm. The Owl passively watching sex from his limb in the dark forest. The smells and sounds of sex in the air.

[isinlarsa]

I liked how this 3sum was gentle training for becoming a cuckold. In the middle of a 3sum, the other man takes possession and finishes the woman. It's particularly hot if she is your paramour (wife or girlfriend). When it's happened to me it has really tweaked my cuckold gene.

[subtoall]

Wonderfully creative thread

[The Owl]

There's more to come... much more. Not sure when I'll have the time and energy to tell it. As evidenced already, it's not all classical cuckold experiences. It's about human experiences involving sexuality that evolved into a cuckold relationship. But categorizing anybody or anything is a fool's game. We are more than a label. All of us.

[The Owl]

I wonder if anybody read my July 17th story "For the Love of the Owl." The story covers a lot of waterfreont and took a long time to write. Feedback welcomed. It's not a one minute ADHD read, that's for sure. But it's also not a Tolstoy Novel. If you read it, it should give you a chcuckle here and there. Free entertainment.

[thinman]

Hello, wise Owl,

Yes, I read your July 17 story. It is very interesting to me in many ways. I’ve been thinking a lot since I read it about the abandonment issue. I had my own abandonment in childhood, but the circumstances were very different from yours. I think I might be very roughly your age. When I was a very young child - 2 or 3 years old?, my mother went away for treatment in a mental health facility. Although I don’t remember how long she was gone, I surmise that it was several months. My grandmother came to stay with me while my mother was away and my father was working. The only actual memory I have of this event is that it happened, and that it was traumatic for me. I don’t actually know what she was being treated for, but I am guessing it was depression. I’ve often wondered what effect this event had on my psychological development.

[The Owl]

Hey Thinman... all events in life contribute to who we become as individuals. The first influence is the big shuffle in the poker game played around the gene pool. You are dealt 23 chromosomes from mom, and three from dad (who may or may not be your psychological dad, so to speak). From there, the next big influence in the in utero envionment. So many factors are at play while growing in the womb (e.g., mom drinking, drugging, using nicotine, nutrition, her joy, etc.). Then we pop out and the real fun begins. Life as we know it. But our brains are not well enough developed during those first 3 or 4 years of life to have episodic memories. Some have very early memories but if somebody tells you they remember their first steps, etc., they're telling you a memory they constructed from "reading the book", not a scene from a movie in their head. And those unremembered early experiences play a big role in all of my lives. And on it goes. At my age, life experiences continue to impact who I am, how I roll. That's the nature of life.

Whether we are willing to admit it or not, all of us get our wings clipped at some point during childhood/adolescence. No life is perfect. Abandonment does not happen to one and all. But something happens that gives our sense of self, our sense of the world, a bit of a pause. Some of us get crushed in the moment. Some just slightly clipped. But nobody gets through life unscathed. Some pretend that they've never had a challenging moment in life. Those individuals are either lying or in deep denial.

All that aside, as adults a huge amount of the variance in how we interface with the world derives from attitude and action. What attitude do we bring to the moment. What actions do we take? Fate plays a role, of course. At risk of sounding like I'm endorsing magical thinking, I have had enough experiences in life to occasionally believe that attitude and action influence fate. Likewise, fate can influence either attitude, action, or both. The three variables are inertwined like a braided rope. Each strand tugging on the other strand as the rope of three influences guides us down the path of each of our lifes.

Again, thanks for sharing your experience. I don't claim to be wise (a wise ass perhaps) nor to know the truth. But I like to sit and wonder from time to time. Owl's like to watch and experience their environment... which is what a cuckold is sometimes relegated to do while his partner is being pleasured by the Bull.

[The Owl]

Thinman wrote:

Yes, I read your July 17 story. It is very interesting to me in many ways.

Thinman, I hope you got a kick out of my first romance with Barbara in Kindergarten. Our romance lasted almost one full recess before we drifted apart.

The story of Shelly a few years later still haunts me. Why did her grandfather deny she ever existed when I approached him about two decades later? Why did he appear so distressed when I asked him? Those aren't cuckold issues... just life experiences with associated questions for which I have no answers.