One-Sided Fidelity

When I first met G, I assumed “being kept” would involve sexual fidelity on my end. I knew he was married and had intimate encounters with other women, but I thought that (given the nature of our blossoming relationship), he’d expect to be the only man for me.

We were in a hotel room, enjoying a day time rendezvous. He was face down, and I was giving him a back massage. He was surprised to hear how little I went “out,” never having gone to a club, never having gone dancing, always remaining at home and preferring the company of my books to sexy Los Angelians… He told me I was young and should be enjoying my life. Enjoying people. Having sex.

I said, “Well, I’m not going to sleep around.”

He said, “I didn’t say sleep around.” But then he shrugged his shoulders, as though that was what he implied, or that it wasn’t his place to judge…

That sucked.

My feelings were hurt…  and yet I KNEW that was ridiculous! The objective, rational side of myself was happy at this revelation. Oh how nice… he’s going to lift me up, and he expects no amount of fidelity in return. I’ll be able to have my cake and eat it, too. When I’m ready to date, I’ll be able to do so freely. Cool.

But it bugged me. I was impressed with how un-jealous and fair-minded he was… but it bugged me.

For a few months, I didn’t do any dating. Remember I’d recently ended a long term relationship. But the day after Valentine’s day, G asked me via text if I’d had a date the night before. I answered that I had, and he wrote,

“Good. Xo”

Good? Good? That asshole. Fine, if he was so glad I was dating, I’d do it a lot more.  And I did.

Childish? Of course, I don't pretend otherwise. You'll notice a theme of mine is trying to grow up. As is pouting and stomping my feet when I fail.

Irony.

I understood it made things less complicated for him if I dated other men. I felt him constantly worrying that I’d receive the wrong impression about a future for us, since there is no future for us. And since I was so obviously crazy about him, he worried I’d let my heart run away from my head. That I’d picture sunset run-a-ways. That I’d get my heart broken. His encouragement of my dating other people was a measure to protect me. I understood that, too.

But I thought it could bother him a little. 

I mean, he could at least PRETEND to be bothered in order to preserve my ego.

I remember the most jealous I ever was of Mrs G. I picked up her husband after he’d done some drinking and took him home with me for a visit. I never asked him questions about his marriage, because I thought they’d be intrusive. His private life was private, and I respected that. But… when he was buzzed and talking about it anyway, I took advantage and asked him something I’d been dying to for months.

Whether Mrs. G slept with other men.

She did not.

I asked, “Because it would bother you?”

He said,“Yeah, it would bother me.” And then he trailed off saying other things that I honestly don’t remember because I was so jealous I lost focus.

Ok, yes. I had already assumed that was their dynamic, but without confirmation I could convince myself it was an open marriage and he was incapable of possessiveness.  But nope! Not anymore. He didn’t want other men touching her, but he wanted me to go whoring it up all over LA.

I know I can’t compare my relationship with G to the one he shares with his wife. They’re in an actual relationship. They’re real in a way G and I never will be. But… I couldn’t help feeling insulted. This knowledge hurt both my pride and my feelings.

I couldn’t exactly TELL him that, could I? What would I say? 1) He’d worry I expected more from “us” than was right. And 2) It seemed crazy! Why would I want such a thing?

My desire for him to keep me all to himself couldn’t be healthy, could it? I should be dating and gaining experience and transitioning out of my Kept arrangement with G into something more orthodox. Healthy choices… Dating was the healthy thing. Like taking your medicine.

Unfortunately, medicine always tastes like shit. Sometimes dating was fun, but mostly it was like sucking on a mouthful of Robitussin.

Eventually G and I reached a more honest point in our relationship. I started saying that I wanted him to be the only man touching me, the only man inside me… these confessions were uttered between the sheets, but they were true.

I liked saying them, but what I needed was to HEAR them from him. And while he seemed to like what he heard, he never reciprocated the desire. I had to remain content with the fact that he wasn’t disputing me.

One day after a brief east coast dalliance with G, I took a flight home by myself. I masturbated in the plane lavatory with a tiny vibrating bullet. I fantasized about G telling me I was his… reminding me that he could fuck his wife whenever he wanted and any other woman he felt like…but that no other man could lay his hands on me. That I was only his to fuck… I came that way, in the tiny metal bathroom.

That evening  in a remarkably good mood, I agreed to go with a couple new friends to my first bondage party. I dressed in lingerie and stockings and texted G about my plans. One of the things he wrote back was, “I’m jealous.”

What he meant was, I’m jealous that you have a fun night out planned, and I’m staying home.

What my desperate, eager little brain thought he meant was, I’m jealous because you’re getting all sexed up and you’ll be around horny men all night. (As though he was exhibiting a twinge of territorialism).

I felt so happy! I immediately wrote back about how glad I was to hear that, what I thought about when I was masturbating on the plane, how I’d wanted to hear him say that for a long time…

… Until two minutes later when I realized my mistake. I was mortified. So hungry for him to be jealous, I imagined he told me what I wanted to hear. I hate embarrassment. On Clarissa Explains It All, Melissa Joan Hart used to say, “Embarrassment is my least favorite emotion.”  I think about that quotation a lot. It’s my least favorite, too, Clarissa.

That’s one reason the night progressed the way it did. I was in a bad mood all evening, sipping a poorly mixed cocktail and wanting to be alone. I was alone when I sat on the edge of a dais in my lingerie, watching a man beat two women while they squealed and tried to protect each other. After “the scene” was over, the beater came and sat next to me. He was dripping in sweat. I indicated his forehead and said, “Hard work?”  

He told me later I was “choice of the night” and that every Dom there noticed me the moment I walked in. How flattering. I was feeling low and therefore in a receptive mood for flattery. That’s probably one reason I didn’t stop what happened next. That, and it happened so fast! One moment we were talking, and the next he wrapped his hand around my throat and pulled me over his lap, sliding an electrical knife down my body.

This led to an extended session of our own. Things went farther than I would have consented to, had I been asked beforehand. I'm not saying he crossed any lines as it happened… it’s complicated when something like this is happening to you. I’ll expand on that another time. I’ll say this much. I was beaten, exposed, and kissed.

The odd thing is, I thought about G the whole time. I remember specifically lying on a backwards chair and getting flogged, thinking about G… because it felt like I was cheating on him. My neckline was around my waist by that point, and my breasts were mashed against the chair’s cold leather as the flogger’s strokes rained down on my bare skin. I thought about my earlier text, the way I’d embarrassed myself. I thought that just because I wanted G to care this was happening, didn’t mean he would.

So I let it continue.

The next day I told G what happened. And after a day’s contemplation, he told me (drumroll please…)

that it bothered him.

Yaayyy!

The thought of another man touching my ass or pussy made him feel “nauseated.” Not the choicest of words to rev my kinky little engine, but I still ate it up… later upon reflection, I grew to like his diction. “Nauseated” is so much more visceral than “angry” or “upset.” Nauseated…

The problem is, G’s too good of a guy. He was so aware of the imbalance in our situation… he didn’t feel decent asking for or expecting my fidelity. He thought it would be the height of hypocrisy. Which it is!.. But that’s what gets me off. The unfairness. I hadn’t properly communicated to him that I wanted the unfairness. That it was exciting to me for my own twisted reasons.

I couldn’t communicate these things to him blatantly… I was embarrassed, and I didn’t want him to think I was misinterpreting our relationship. So I kept my mouth shut. Until…

The next time I saw him. We were in bed, and I told him I thought he should be the only man I slept with. He hesitated momentarily, and I asked, “Don’t you want it?”

He said, “Of course I want it.”

Of course I want it…

Mmmmm.  Tell me that’s not the yummiest thing you’ve ever heard. As though his desire to have me to himself should have been obvious.

I said, “Put your hand between my legs, so you can feel how wet that makes me.”

That’s all it took. Once I said that, it was on. Like once he understood it was a sex thing, a switch was flipped.

That's my baby.

He told me everything I’d been dying to hear. How I’d only be with him, only touched by him, felt by him, taken by him… The sex was hot… hearing these words spill out of him, words I’d been aching to hear for such a long time, all while being taken with force.. At one point he used the word “demand.” In regards to my fidelity, he said, “I demand it.”

Uhhhh… I’ve relived that moment many times. For my fidelity to be demanded… not requested or hoped for.. but demanded. I loved it. My physical needs were met that day, but more importantly, this twisted, psychological desire of mine was satisfied.

As he left, he said he was glad we’d gotten this straightened out, because he “doesn’t share well.”

I love that about him.

It’s so strange… when I first started sleeping with G, given that we were knowingly entering a temporary relationship, albeit an addictive one, we used to consider finding me a cuckold. If I fell for the right man with the right predilection, G and I could sleep together indefinitely… Just a couple-a crazy kids, married to some cucks, bangin' each others' brains out… happily ever after.

I know now I could never be happy with a cuckold. I don’t like being with more than one man. Women are a different story. I consider myself to be currently positioned in the ideal situation. I can get all the yummy, giddy fun of first meetings, flirtations, saucy encounters (with women), but I get the deeper satisfaction of remaining un-shared by my male lover.

These circumstances would be enough to make me happy, but getting to bring my women to G so he can enjoy them, and getting to arouse him with the stories of my lesbian exploits are all icings on my cake.

Instead of finding a cuck, I turned out to be one.

G could ask me for pretty much any sexual deviancy... but if he decided to share me with another man, it would break my heart.

I’ve been doing a lot of research on cuckquean forums and messageboards. What I’ve heard from a few women I’ve asked, is that their choice to be faithful stems primarily from indifference toward other men. They don’t sleep with other men, simply because they have no interest in it. It’s a secondary, if not tertiary, aspect to their cuck relationships.

For me, it might be the most important thing. I derive a significant amount of pleasure from NOT being shared. It’s crucial. I like being owned, controlled, possessed…

…Kept. ;-)

Xox

KC