Message-ID: <11568eli$9805271522@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: cwcobblest@aol.com (Cwcobblest) Subject: Hubby Humiliation Bonanza: "Second Fiddle" Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <1998052402423900.WAA13971@ladder01.news.aol.com> "Second Fiddle," (MmF, wimp husband) by c.w. cobblestone I was staring a hole through the bottom of my cup and I didn't notice the waitress approaching my booth. "Would you like some more coffee, honey?" Her voice startled me. "Uh...sure, thanks," I muttered. "Two sugars, please." I barely noticed the woman as she refilled my cup and set the two packets of sugar onto the table near my elbow. "Mister, you look like you just lost your best friend," I heard the waitress say. "What's wrong, honey? Oh, no, don't tell me - it's a woman, ain't it?" I shook away my thoughts and looked up at this annoying woman who insisted on making conversation with me. She was an older lady, in her 50s. She looked like she'd been waitressing for at least 40 of those 50 some-odd years! She repeated her question: "It's a woman, ain't it?" I nodded dumbly. She smiled to herself, impressed with her own clairvoyance. "I knew it," she said triumphantly. "I've seen that look a million times. But, don'tchoo worry, honey," she added in a matronly tone. "Everything gonna be alllllll right. There's other fish in the sea." The woman flashed me a gold-toothed, sympathetic smile, then she was gone, off to wait on the other customers. I glanced at my watch. Ten till ten. Still another hour before I could go home. "Home." I mouthed the word silently, and it left a bitter taste on my lips. The concept of home was almost amusing, given my circumstances. Home is supposed to be a place where a man can feel wanted, even when everyone else is rejecting him. Home is supposed to be a place where a man can go to escape the cruel world. For me, home IS the cruel world. As you can see, I wasn't exactly feeling like the king of my castle as I sat alone in the coffee shop, wondering what my wife was up to. Rachel has been spending her Friday evenings with James for more than a year, and she says I ought to be used to it by now. But I don't think I'll ever get used to these lonely nights away from home. Who is James, you ask? Well, he's Rachel's lover. Every Friday evening, while I'm out cooling my heels in the coffee shop, James is back home fucking my wife's brains out. It's a long story. You see, I'm impotent. In layman's terms, that means I can't get it up. I can't get a hard-on. I'm a limp-dick. The bonerless wonder, as my wife calls me. I don't know what the problem is. I'm okay when I'm by myself - but when I get near a woman, I freeze up. I went to see a doctor about it, and he told me it wasn't a physical malfunction. He said it must be a psychological problem, and that I should get counseling. But I just couldn't see myself lying on some shrink's couch, and I ignored the advice of my physician. So my problem persists. But I have another, more pressing problem: my wife. She told me long ago that she wasn't about to deny herself the pleasure of a good, hard cock. So we've come up with a somewhat unique arrangement: every Friday night, I vamoose while Rachel and her lover James spend the evening together in our home. I have a standing order from my wife not to come back home until 11:00. By then, they've usually done their thing, and Rachel is happy again. Sometimes Rachel will page me and tell me not to come home at all. Those nights are the worst. I've spent many a night driving aimlessly around town, waiting for her to page me again, so I can come home. It's a great situation - that is, it's a great situation for Rachel. She gets all the sex she can handle, and on top of that, she doesn't have to worry about me cheating, because she knows I can't get it up. I'm not too happy about the arrangement, but what can I do? It's killing me inside, but I know if Rachel doesn't get her way, she'll want a divorce. * * * Before I met my wife I tried to make it with three different girls, but the outcome was the same each time: a limp disaster. So, when I started dating Rachel, I avoided the issue of sex as much as possible, for as long as possible. I was terrified that she would find out about my impotence and leave me, just like all the others. I'll never forget the night when I finally broke the news to her. We'd been dating for about four months, and we still hadn't had sex yet. It wasn't for a lack of trying on Rachel's part - she often got frisky with me, but I always found some excuse to get out of it. How was I able to ward her off for so long? Let's just put it this way: I had a lot of headaches in those days. Anyway, on this particular night, we had been out drinking, and Rachel had polished off her fair share of the hooch. By the time I drove her home, she was feeling mighty spunky. We were parked in front of her apartment building, and she started nibbling on my earlobe and making animal noises. I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she darted her tongue back and forth between my ear and the nape of my neck. Suddenly, she reached over and put her hand in my crotch. I must have jumped a foot out of the car seat. I quickly pushed her hand away and mumbled something about being tired. Rachel's mood changed immediately. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Jerry?" she spat at me. "Are you a fag or something? Every time I try to get something going with you, you give me some lame-ass excuse. What's wrong? Are you a fag - or can't you get it up?" The blood drained from my face when she said that. How could I answer her? There was no way. I tried to stand up for myself. "Look, I've already told you - I just don't want to have sex right now, okay?" I was trying to make a stand, but my words fell flat. "Well, then, if you're not interested in a physical relationship with me, I don't see the point in carrying on," she said. With that, she opened her car door and stepped out onto the curb. "Wait, Rachel," I called after her desperately. "Please, please don't go." She stopped and turned toward me. She leaned down so I could see her face through the car window. "Four months is a long time, Jerry," she said. "You're a sweet guy and all - but what the hell do you expect me to do? I have needs, Jerry." "I know...I know," I said, shaking my head. What could I say to her? Did I dare tell her...the truth? "Rachel, please get in the car. I have...to tell you something." I couldn't believe I was going to go through with this. But I couldn't just let her walk away. Thankfully, Rachel reached down and opened the car door. I was flooded with relief that she was going to hear me out. Now...what the hell was I going to say? Rachel scooted back into the passenger seat and I started driving. I didn't know where to start. I wanted to weigh my words carefully. "Rachel, I have a problem," I began tentatively. "A problem?" she asked. "What problem?" "Well...Rachel, I'm impotent," I said. "I-I don't know what the problem is, but I just can't...well, I can't get it...you know...up." Rachel surprised me when she started giggling. It really hurt my feelings, but she didn't seem to notice. She was holding her hand up to her mouth, trying not to laugh. She was trying to keep a straight face, but she kept bursting into laughter. "I-I'm sorry, Jerry," she said between giggles. "But that cracks me up. You're impotent! I can't believe it - Jenny told me that was the problem, but I didn't believe her. Wait'll I tell her she was right!" I was furious! I couldn't believe that she had told her friend about our personal business. "You-you TOLD JENNIFER?" I screamed. "What the hell are you doing telling Jennifer about our sex life?" "LACK of a sex life, you mean," she corrected me spitefully. "Yeah, I told Jenny about it, and she was right. You are a limp-dick!" "Listen, Rachel, this arguing isn't getting us anywhere," I said, quickly trying to change the tone of the discussion. "Rachel, I love you. I know if you'd just be patient and give me a little time, we'll be able to work through my problem." "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" she asked. "Jerry, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I mean...like I said, you're a sweet guy and all...but I'm not interested in a platonic relationship with someone. I can have all the friends I want. I need something else. You know what I'm talking about, Jerry. I need to be fucked. I'm a woman, Jerry, and a woman needs to be fucked, hard and long." Her words were shattering me, whether she knew it or not. "But...but I love you, Rachel," I said. "I - there's more to life than just sex, isn't there? I can provide you with so much, Rachel, if you'd just take a chance on me. I can get you out of this apartment building and buy us a nice house on a lake somewhere. You name it, Rachel, you can have it. I love you, honey, and I don't want to lose you." She was looking out of the car window, not saying a word. I put my hand on her knee and started to say something, but she quickly knocked my hand away. "Don't you fucking touch me," she said. "You don't deserve to touch me, you wimp. You want to keep seeing me? Okay, Jerry, we can do that - but I want you to know right now that I'm not gonna go without sex." "W-what does that mean exactly?" I asked, my heart sinking. "You figure it out," she said, looking out the window again. "Now shut the fuck up and take me home." >From then on, the roles in our relationship changed drastically. * * * James entered the picture soon after we had our argument. He was a security guard in the office building where Rachel worked. She had told me about this "cute guard," who worked at her building, but I hadn't paid much attention. Maybe I should have. A few days after our argument in the car, I dropped by Rachel's apartment unannounced. I had a key, so I just let myself in. I was surprised to see a big black man lounging on the couch, wearing just a pair of underwear. "What the hell's goin' on here?" I demanded. "Who are you? Where's Rachel?" The huge black guy sat up and smiled at me. "You must be Jerry," he said. "I'm James. Rachel told me all about you." "What...what did she tell you?" I asked. There was no way she would tell this guy about my sexual inadequacies...or would she? James answered my question right away. "She tells me you need a crane to get your little peter hard, that's what she told me!" he said, shaking his head and laughing to himself. "She says you make a lot of money - but you ain't man enough to get the honey!" I was humiliated beyond belief, and furious at the same time. How could she do this to me? "Where is Rachel?" I asked again, this time in a more subdued tone of voice. "Is..is she here?" "Naw, she went shopping," James said, leaning back onto the couch again. "But you're welcome to stay here and wait for her, if you'd like." What nerve! This guy was inviting ME to stay at MY own girlfriend's' house! But I wasn't about to confront this guy. He was huge, and I knew I would come out on the short end of any confrontation. I mumbled something about having to get home, then high-tailed it out of there. * * * After Rachel found out about my encounter with James, she didn't even try to hide her relationship with him. She openly dated him, even after we got engaged. She would call me up at the last minute to break a date so she could go see him - or even worse, she'd stand me up completely, leaving me sitting in some restaurant alone and broken-hearted. Despite our unusual relationship, we got married that spring. Rachel insisted that I ask James to be my best man, so I had to suffer the indignity of having the man who was fucking my bride hand me the wedding ring! My family all wanted to know who he was; I told them he was a friend from work. As promised, I bought Rachel a luxurious Cape Cod right on the lake. I was working a lot of hours in those years, and didn't spend too much time at home. It was a good thing, too, because Rachel was spending more and more time with James. James doesn't like me to hang around when he's with Rachel. He says I'm always in the way, and he doesn't get off having me watch him and my wife make love. So we quickly figured out a workable solution: Friday nights are James's nights. He gets together with my wife on other nights as well, but they usually go out somewhere. But on Fridays, he comes to our home. My job is to make sure everything is perfect for them. As soon as I get home from work Friday afternoon, I start cleaning the house. Then I make sure there are plenty of snacks and a couple bottles of wine chilling in the refrigerator. Then I get the hell out of Dodge. * * * Well, that's my story. Strange and unusual, I know, but it's my life now, and I'm trying to learn to live with it. The clock says it's a quarter to 11. I suppose I can pay my bill and go home now. "Home." I mouthed the word silently, and it left a bitter taste on my lips. THE END -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----