Evolving as a cuckold - through the seasons of life

[venus-can99]

Thanks Owl for recounting the human experience/experiment. I tend to believe humans are lifelong experimenters - the success is defined by each individual by the level of dopamine rush.
Your stories are fascinating

[The Owl]

Venus-can99 wrote:

Your stories are fascinating

Thank you Venus...

[nnjcpl2002]

Thanks Owl. Your writing is excellent and you clearly are developing an inexorable progession toward what I expect to be a full cuckolding life experience. For us fellow cucks, we are eager to share the eroticism.

My mother kicked my natural father out when I was an infant. I was a war baby. She was very beautiful. She left us to go to Reno for the purposes of the divorce. Things were different then. For the next decade she had a super active dating life and we stayed with my grandparents. I remember that I was jealous for her attention during those years. And guess what, I am a dedicated cuckold of many years. Still craving the experience of sharing my wife with a lover whom she can enjoy. Yes, I need that feeling.

So.... I think there is something to you emerging self analysis. I have often wondered why I have those feelings and the need, and you are helping me see that somehow the early mother gone experience has something to do with it.

Please continue! And I admit I'm looking forward to the juicy parts and to learning of your deep dive into cuckolding. Thanks a

[nnjcpl2002]

Thanks Owl. Your writing is excellent and you clearly are developing an inexorable progession toward what I expect to be a full cuckolding life experience. For us fellow cucks, we are eager to share the eroticism.

My mother kicked my natural father out when I was an infant. I was a war baby. She was very young and very beautiful. She left us to go to Reno for the purposes of the divorce. Things were different then. For the next decade she had a super active dating life and we stayed with my grandparents. I remember that I was jealous for her attention during those years. And guess what? I am a dedicated cuckold of many years. Still craving the experience of sharing my wife with a lover whom she can enjoy. Yes, I need that feeling.

So.... I think there is something to your emerging self analysis. I have often wondered why I have those feelings and the need, and you are helping me see that somehow the early mother gone experience has something to do with it.

Please continue! And I admit I'm looking forward to the juicy parts and to learning of your deep dive into cuckolding. Thanks

[The Owl]

I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going to let everybody down when I get to the cuckold part of the story? The story of life is not always exciting and arousing. It's simply the story of life. But I'll keep telling it... from time to time... you judge for yourself.

[nnjcpl2002]

I'm pretty sure that you won't let us down!

[Long Lurker 34]

I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going to let everybody down when I get to the cuckold part of the story? The story of life is not always exciting and arousing. It's simply the story of life. But I'll keep telling it... from time to time... you judge for yourself.

TO - See that's the thing, for those who are truly interested it doesn't matter, for those who are only here for the sex part you will likely get fewer checking in.
- Do carry on, just be prepared for queries about this and that. Quite possibly from angles you had never considered.

[The Owl]

The Dutch story continues...

Being a young male in a foreign country like Holland is the perfect set up for erotic interactions. Many women around the world love to have a fling with a sailor who is temporarily in port. Being a one-year exchangee was a similar setup for a fling. I won't bore you with all of the details, most of which have nothing to do with cuckolding. Let's just say there were many flirtatious experiences, some consummated, and some unfulfilled for one reason or another.

One exceptional experience happened when I traveled with a group of fellow exchangees to Bavaria to attend a conference in the south of Germany. There was a young blond German woman (Heike) whom I randomly met at the conference. I was speaking Dutch fairly fluently by then but no German. She spoke no Dutch and almost no English. But there was a spark, an attraction between us. Using the nonverbal cues and gestures that supercede language, we communicated. We both could feel the attraction, the erotic connection. She ended up in my room, in my bed, and in my arms. We kissed and petted for hours. Again, we couldn't communicate very well with words although some were exchanged. Much was communicated with gentle touch, lips, tongues, and bodies. She was beautiful and we were both aroused.

We undressed each other and ended up naked on the bed. But whenever I positioned myself above her for penetration, she would clamp her legs tightly together, letting me know that my cock was not going inside her pussy. She was welcoming in all other regards. I was not allowed to touch her labia or pussy for more than a few seconds. She was wet and ready but completely reticent. Nonverbally, I offered her cunnilingus. She allowed me to kiss and lick her belly and her thighs. But if my lips got close to her pussy, she made it clear that her mysterious well of pleasure was verboten.

I tried to figure out if she was a virgin. To the best of my ability to understand what she was telling me, she was not. As the night unfolded, I'm pretty sure she was telling me in German (which I barely undersood) that her uncle had sexually abused her on one or more occasions, including having intercourse with her. It wasn't clear if the incest was violent (rape) or just a straightforward violation of boundaries by an older family member. In any case, she clearly was conflicted about having sex with me. She was very aroused and very attracted to me but when it came time to close the deal, she closed down. I was willing to give her pleasure with my fingers or my tongue without penetrating her, but she refused any contact that would lead to her enjoying an orgasm.

After several hours of intense petting, I decided to roll onto my back and let her explore my body without putting any pressure on her. She touched me everywhere, eventually exploring my cock with her hand. I began using my hand to guide her hand on my cock, to encourage her to give me pleasure with the right level of pressure and the right motions up and down the shaft. All I could do to communicate how good her hand felt on my cock was to moan with pleasure between kisses. We had been naked for several hours and dawn was approaching. I had been stimulated for so long that I was at risk of getting blue balls. I was young and felt an intense need for release.

As she continued rubbing my cock, I began feeling the stirrings of orgasm slowly rising from the tips of my toes up through my legs, into my groin, gut, and heart. My thoughts were shattered into meaningless shards - bursting like a million stars - as the rest of my being began feeling the first wave of orgasm washing over me.

Heike felt the tension in my body and the intensity of my shallow breathing. She didn't know how to respond and began pulling her hand away. I reached down and circled her hand with mine. I put enough pressure on her hand so that she continued to have a firm grasp on the shaft of my cock. I then began moving her hand up and down on my cock to make sure my orgasm wasn't ruined.

Release... as spasms took charge of my torso, warm cum squirted onto my belly and dripped down our intertwined hands. We kissed passionately. My head fell back and I could tell she wasn't certain if I was ok. I used the few words of German I knew to say "Danke" and "Alles gut." She giggled and we cuddled and kissed some more. We showered, she dressed, and I never saw her again. I was off to Holland and she was off to her ongoing life in Germany.

Heike could have become a great hotwife partner for a cuckold. She knew how to restrict access to her pussy even when feeling very aroused and emotionally connected with a partner. And, if she even learned how to allow herself to enjoy the pleasure of intercourse, she was beautiful enough to attract a lot of Bulls. It wasn't a cuckold experience with me... but she had the right features and skills to become a very hot hotwife!

[jane]

another interesting piece of your story. keep them coming

[Bsod83]

Im also following this thread. Its indeed interesting. Many different paths seems to leed to cuckolding.

[The Owl]

Fast forward... I returned from Europe (was it really Holland or did I alter the name of the country to protect the guilty???). I'm back in the Midwest, in a single dorm room at college, struggling with reverse culture shock. I am back in my old normal life but it feels so different now that I've lived somewhere different for a year, and had so many very different experiences than everybody around me. They were cornfed in the buckle of the Bible belt. I had been exposed to the world... had gone free range for a year.

And... my dorm room provided an ongoing experience that turned out to be oblique training that taught me one of the pleasures of the cuckold lifestyle - listening to a woman's pleasure at close range while being deprived of access to her pussy.

In the Midwest, dorms were segregated into male and female buildings. Visitation between the sexes had been tightly restricted, but then came the 60s and early 70s - the PPPP era (post-pill, pre-plague). When I returned from Europe, it was fine for either sex to be in any dorm room although I think all men (or women) had to be out of the opposite sex's dorm rooms by midnight or some other set time.

I was in a single room - no roommate. The walls were made of concrete blocks through which noises could be heard fairly well. If my neighbor was playing music while I was studying, I could hear every note, lyric, and drum beat. The guy living next door to me was a handsome white guy from Bermuda. He was blonde, muscular, and tanned. A co-ed from California spent a lot of time in his room. She was a petite brunette with a tight body and perky breasts. I frequently saw her in the hall wearing a thin t-shirt with no bra. Her nipples were to die for. I could feel my mouth go dry, and my tongue quiver, when we passed in the hall.

I knew each of them well enough to greet them by name. But we never did anything together. We were friendly, but not friends.

Quite frequently, I could hear them enjoying sex in his room. I didn't have a girlfriend at that time and found myself listening to the sounds of their pleasure through the cement blocks that separated our lives. His headboard would rhythmically tap against our shared wall. She sounded multiorgasmic.

The percussion of the headboard on the wall would begin, a slow firm steady beat. Her moans of pleasure would slowly follow, building to a crescendo; then a pause. The rhythm section would start again followed by more moaning, more pleasure, exploding into another intense orgasm. I would lay naked on my bed, a short distance away from them, separated by a an impenetrable barrier of concrete blocks.

The sounds of sex - especially her moans of pleasure - would arouse me. I would toss myself off. My self-inflicted orgasms were intense. I undoubtedly uttered a groan or two of pleasure while squirting on my belly. Looking back, I am certain some of my groans were loud enough for them to hear.

From time to time, she and I would exit the adjacent rooms simultaneously. Our eyes would meet in the hall. She was gorgeous. There was nothing about her that suggested embarrassment about her sexuality. But she came across as slightly shy interpersonally. She knew how to connect with others but wasn't the type of woman who could be a cheerleader. She was the quieter type... the type of woman who you wanted to quietly join you in bed. Her style of presentation exuded assurance that there wouldn't be any post-sex drama, just pleasure and afterglow. Of course, I never had the pleasure of getting to know her better. Just the erotic pleasure of listening to her orgasmic moans through the wall.

I assumed she knew that I listening to her moans of pleasure during sex, but we never spoke about it. I also assumed that she occasionally heard my grunts of solo pleasure while listening to their coupling. In the privacy of my thoughts, I wondered from time to time if she deliberately belted out some of her moans with sufficient amplitude to make sure I could hear. She knew I was there and she must have known that I was stimulated by the sounds of her pleasure. She moaned while slowly climbing her wall of orgasm. I lay at the base of her wall, touching myself alone, while she savored the pleasure of the climb; his skin on her skin; his cock pulsating inside her; while my throbbing erection pulsated in thin air. It was erotic torture for me. Erotic pleasure for her.

They were never public about their relationship. If you saw them together on campus, you'd think they were good friends. But they didn't behave likes a couple who were on the path to a permanent committed relationship.

Only later did I learn that she had a long-term boyfriend back in California. Her Bermuda beau was her backdoor man. The man who satisfied her while she was away from her high school sweetheart. He was her Bermuda triangle. All triangles are made of three angles: 1. Her; 2. Her California boyfriend; and, 3. Her Bermuda Bull.

I have no idea if her CA boyfriend had any idea how intensely and frequently she was having sex with her Bull from Bermuda while living in the fertile farmlands of America. All I know is that I was getting trained to enjoy sex without having sex. I was learning how to feel aroused while being deprived; while listening to her moans of pleasure through the thin wall separating us. She had a Mona Lisa smile, a demure gaze, and the loose sway of freshly fucked hips as she walked down the hall when leaving his room. Our eyes would meet for a moment, and I could detect pheromones wafting in the air as she sashayed away - with satisfaction written all over her. So hot. So arousing.

I can almost smell her now... as I type. The hot girlfriend in the next room. I wonder if she became a hotwife. She liked to fuck and was good at it.

[isinlarsa]

Enjoying your slow build. I've often talked about that golden time after effective birth control and before we were really aware of the dangers of STDs, but I like your abbreviation PPPP.

I've also become addicted to listening to a woman's passion at close range, but being deprived of her pussy.

[Long Lurker 34]

TO - Awesome recounting of part of your dorm life. I hope there is more.
- Visualizing this girl wearing glasses.

[The Owl]

Long Lurker 34 wrote:
Awesome recounting of part of your dorm life. I hope there is more.
- Visualizing this girl wearing glasses.

She certainly was an audtiory spectacle!!!

[Long Lurker 34]

Long Lurker 34 wrote:
Awesome recounting of part of your dorm life. I hope there is more.
- Visualizing this girl wearing glasses.

She certainly was an audtiory spectacle!!!

TO - You will be here all week?

[The Owl]

"In a world full of fugitives, the man taking the opposite direction appears to be running away."

T.S. Elliot (whomever he was...)

[lanceHarden25]

“ The percussion of the headboard on the wall would begin, a slow firm steady beat”

Damn, you have a way with words.

[The Owl]

Summertime... back from Europe and completed one more year of college. Caught a ride to New Hampshire with a friend from college. Now hitchhiking through New England to visit a couple of friends - one of whom was reported to be living in a tree house in Vermont. That's what a year in Europe can do to you!

I'm on the shoulder of a back road in Vermont. Warm asphalt shaded by large maple trees. The smell of nature in the air. Not much traffic. An old VW bug approaches. My thumb is out, moving back and forth, beckoning the driver for a ride. The VW slows and the driver takes a look at me. It's a beautiful woman, about my age behind the wheel, long dark hair, and fair features. There were no passengers in her car. She came to a stop a few feet beyond me. I picked up my backpack and jogged up to her passenger door. She leaned over and opened the door before I arrived. She was dressed in a long flowing skirt, a colorful top, and sandles. Her garb and presentation made her look like she had just departed from Woodstock - the hippie uniform of the era. I leaned down and in. She smiled as our eyes meet. I couldn't believe my good luck.

"Where are you headed?" she asked with a flirtatious lilt in her voice.

"Mayfield." (actual name changed, once again to protect the guilty).

"Oh... that's a pity. I'm headed to Brattleboro. You're going straight and I need to turn south at the corner just ahead."

"Thanks for stopping..."

"You're welcome. I was hoping I could give you a ride. Good luck."

I helped her shut the door and watched her use her delicate right hand to move the knob on the gear shift into first. Her left leg rose under the fabric as she released the clutch. As she drove off she raised her hand and waved goodbye. She turned right at the corner, and it immediately felt so wrong. I had no schedule, no urgency to go to Mayfield. Why didn't I just jump in and go to Brattleboro?

I wish I hadn't gone straight that day. I should have followed my thumb, and the urges that began to rise in my loins while leaning into her car.

That relationship lasted less than 60 seconds. But it remains burned in my memory today. Perhaps she went on to enjoy being a hotwife. She oozed beauty, sexuality, and the ability to connect. Zebras don't change their stripes. I'm guessing her beauty and sexual energy did not wane during the coming years. Who was she? Where is she now? The winds of fate blow this way and that throughout life. I failed to follow a gust of fate on that blue highway in Vermont.

[Long Lurker 34]

“ The percussion of the headboard on the wall would begin, a slow firm steady beat”

Damn, you have a way with words.

LH25 - Now is that the auditory spectacle?

[Long Lurker 34]

Summertime... back from Europe and completed one more year of college. Caught a ride to New Hampshire with a friend from college. Now hitchhiking through New England to visit a couple of friends - one of whom was reported to be living in a tree house in Vermont. That's what a year in Europe can do to you!

I'm on the shoulder of a back road in Vermont. Warm asphalt shaded by large maple trees. The smell of nature in the air. Not much traffic. An old VW bug approaches. My thumb is out, moving back and forth, beckoning the driver for a ride. The VW slows and the driver takes a look at me. It's a beautiful woman, about my age behind the wheel, long dark hair, and fair features. There were no passengers in her car. She came to a stop a few feet beyond me. I picked up my backpack and jogged up to her passenger door. She leaned over and opened the door before I arrived. She was dressed in a long flowing skirt, a colorful top, and sandles. Her garb and presentation made her look like she had just departed from Woodstock - the hippie uniform of the era. I leaned down and in. She smiled as our eyes meet. I couldn't believe my good luck.

"Where are you headed?" she asked with a flirtatious lilt in her voice.

"Mayfield." (actual name changed, once again to protect the guilty).

"Oh... that's a pity. I'm headed to Brattleboro. You're going straight and I need to turn south at the corner just ahead."

"Thanks for stopping..."

"You're welcome. I was hoping I could give you a ride. Good luck."

I helped her shut the door and watched her use her delicate right hand to move the knob on the gear shift into first. Her left leg rose under the fabric as she released the clutch. As she drove off she raised her hand and waved goodbye. She turned right at the corner, and it immediately felt so wrong. I had no schedule, no urgency to go to Mayfield. Why didn't I just jump in and go to Brattleboro?

I wish I hadn't gone straight that day. I should have followed my thumb, and the urges that began to rise in my loins while leaning into her car.

That relationship lasted less than 60 seconds. But it remains burned in my memory today. Perhaps she went on to enjoy being a hotwife. She oozed beauty, sexuality, and the ability to connect. Zebras don't change their stripes. I'm guessing her beauty and sexual energy did not wane during the coming years. Who was she? Where is she now? The winds of fate blow this way and that throughout life. I failed to follow a gust of fate on that blue highway in Vermont.

TO - I'd bet it took you way longer to key that in than it took to live it.
- Those little vignettes of life we retain through the years that we relish, turn about, view from different angles, what if about and mentally kick our selves over.
- Nice one. And DAMN!

[isinlarsa]

Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken", personified.

[The Owl]

Fast forward... is it a memory? Is it a dream? Irrespective of the truth (which no story captures completely), the story to be told goes as follows:

*******************

"No... just because you used your tongue and made me cum does not mean I am going to go get the key - wherever I hid it last - to unlock your cock cage."

"God... I need more pussy... more... please."

"Honey, how can you say I should give you 'more' pussy, when I'm not giving you any at all? More of nothing is still nothing. Not to change the subject, but, you may want to wipe off your goatee before you leave the bedroom. You have a bit of Jack's cum on your chin that your tongue didn't catch while you were performing clean up duty. Honey, you always use baseball metaphors to help explain life. I've learned some baseball lingo from you over the years. So let me explain things metaphorically. As you would say, 'Jack - our Third - my Bull - was in the hole.' After he used his handsome bat and balls to get on base with me, you were allowed to bat clean up, but only with your tongue. If you want my opinion, your tongue hit a double. I got to first... you know... my first orgasm... when Jack was batter up, in the hole. The double happened when your tongue took me over the edge of pleasure a second time after I returned from Jack's place, and slid into home. Hitting a double with your tongue doesn't mean your balls get to fly over the fence. Instead, I'm going to savor knowing your balls are tingling with desire, right under your caged bat. Now go find something to wipe up your goatee. You don't want one of our kids asking you, "What do you have on your chin?"

Then, she shifted her torso, leaned down toward the foot of the bed, and gave my scrotum a lingering moist kiss while lightly caressing my balls with her fingers, sliding one of her fingers lower toward my ass, lightly pushing on the 'taint' (it ain't scrotum and it ain't anus) to increase my erotic torment. While still supporting my balls with her fingers, and pushing one finger firmly against the taint, she pulled her lips and tongue back and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "You boys will be alright down her, won't you? You sure do smell and taste good. But Jack left me feeling stuffed and I don't have an appetite for more." She quietly giggled at her private joke as as she pulled back and moved her head toward the pillow, turned her naked back toward me, and covered herself with the sheet and blanket. "I'm going to take a nap now. Goodbye."

My balls tingled more intensely than ever as I reached for the box of tissues.

[Long Lurker 34]

Fast forward... is it a memory? Is it a dream? Irrespective of the truth (which no story captures completely), the story to be told goes as follows:

*******************

"No... just because you used your tongue and made me cum does not mean I am going to go get the key - wherever I hid it last - to unlock your cock cage."

"God... I need more pussy... more... please."

"Honey, how can you say I should give you 'more' pussy, when I'm not giving you any at all? More of nothing is still nothing. Not to change the subject, but, you may want to wipe off your goatee before you leave the bedroom. You have a bit of Jack's cum on your chin that your tongue didn't catch while you were performing clean up duty. Honey, you always use baseball metaphors to help explain life. I've learned some baseball lingo from you over the years. So let me explain things metaphorically. As you would say, 'Jack - our Third - my Bull - was in the hole.' After he used his handsome bat and balls to get on base with me, you were allowed to bat clean up, but only with your tongue. If you want my opinion, your tongue hit a double. I got to first... you know... my first orgasm... when Jack was batter up, in the hole. The double happened when your tongue took me over the edge of pleasure a second time after I returned from Jack's place, and slid into home. Hitting a double with your tongue doesn't mean your balls get to fly over the fence. Instead, I'm going to savor knowing your balls are tingling with desire, right under your caged bat. Now go find something to wipe up your goatee. You don't want one of our kids asking you, "What do you have on your chin?"

Then, she shifted her torso, leaned down toward the foot of the bed, and gave my scrotum a lingering moist kiss while lightly caressing my balls with her fingers, sliding one of her fingers lower toward my ass, lightly pushing on the 'taint' (it ain't scrotum and it ain't anus) to increase my erotic torment. While still supporting my balls with her fingers, and pushing one finger firmly against the taint, she pulled her lips and tongue back and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "You boys will be alright down her, won't you? You sure do smell and taste good. But Jack left me feeling stuffed and I don't have an appetite for more." She quietly giggled at her private joke as as she pulled back and moved her head toward the pillow, turned her naked back toward me, and covered herself with the sheet and blanket. "I'm going to take a nap now. Goodbye."

My balls tingled more intensely than ever as I reached for the box of tissues.

TO - Now does that classify as a bunt?

[The Owl]

Now does that classify as a bunt?

Absolutely.

I have to admit that the story with the baseball metaphors was contrived mostly from the recesses of my imagination. Each of the components of the story are based on some aspect of personal experience. But one event never happened in that specific sequence, within a few minute span, exactly like the story. I'll get back to writing the facts, and nothing but the facts, in proper sequence, absent embellishment or rearrangement in my next missive.

The Watchful Owl (viewing can be very satisfying to an Owl)

[venus-can99]

Thanks for the very poetic descriptions of your encounters TO. Looking forward to just the facts.