My Girlfriend Didn’t Know I Dreamed of Sharing Her

My name is Damián, and I suppose this is the kind of thing one only dares to write when one knows no one will connect it to their real name. I’m one of those guys girls describe as “the best friend”: white, light-eyed, a few extra pounds, and with a smile that’s likable but never really sparks anything. I was never the handsome one in the group. And, to finish the portrait, nature wasn’t generous with me where it matters most to a man: I’ve got a short, thick cock, the kind that doesn’t impress anyone even when it’s hard. I’m saying it bluntly because everything that follows begins exactly there, in the insecurity that has been with me forever.

My girlfriend is called Renata. We’d been together three years when what I’m about to tell happened. She is, quite simply, one of those women who make people turn their heads in the street. Tall, very pale-skinned, brown-eyed, with a long dark mane that reached her waist. She’d played sports since childhood, so she had a firm, athletic body, with legs and a back anybody would envy, and a round, hard ass that stood out in any pants she wore.

If anyone wonders how a guy like me ended up dating a girl like that, the answer is boring: we’d known each other since childhood. Our families were friends, we vacationed in the same places, and what was a game when we were kids turned into something more serious in adolescence. We confessed our feelings on a rainy afternoon, barely looking at each other, and from then on we were inseparable.

We came from a country going through a long crisis, one of those that never seem to end, but our families were well off and protected us from almost everything. When we finished school, our parents decided to send us to study abroad, to a big university on another continent. And, to our surprise, they agreed to rent us an apartment for the two of us. The excuse was safety and convenience.

The news made me euphoric for one very specific reason: I thought we would finally have all the privacy in the world, that I’d finally be able to fuck her whenever I felt like it, with no parents behind the door. At our parents’ houses we were almost never alone, and the idea of living together, with no one watching, seemed to me like the beginning of something perfect. How little I imagined what was really waiting for us.

***

Before the trip there was one detail that changed Renata more than I could have foreseen. She had always been self-conscious about having very small tits. It was the only part of her body she didn’t like, and she mentioned it more often than anyone would have guessed. As a graduation present, she asked her parents for a breast augmentation. Her argument was that starting adult life without that complex hanging over her was almost a necessity.

They argued quite a bit, but in the end they gave in. I went with her to several consultations with the surgeon, sat through endless conversations about measurements and materials I didn’t understand, and supported her through everything. Deep down, I confess, I also imagined those new tits on my face, sucking them while I fucked her. The operation went well and recovery was slow, so for weeks we couldn’t fuck. I waited patiently, like a good boyfriend, jerking off alone every night, thinking about the debut.

The farewell party was at her parents’ house. Renata showed up in a tight dark-blue dress, and when I saw her from behind, talking to some cousins, I went breathless. Then she turned around and I understood why everyone was staring at her. The neckline revealed two new tits, round and high, pushing the fabric outward as if they had a life of their own. She noticed my face and came over smiling.

—Well? What do you think? —she asked softly, biting her lip.

—You look incredible —I told her, and it was true—. The surgeon did a perfect job. The cousins are going to fall off if you keep showing them off like that.

—I’m still getting used to them —she answered—. I can’t sleep on my stomach and the recovery is slow, but it hardly hurts anymore. And I want you to break them in, baby.

I kissed her and went back to the guests with her. There was music, games, too much wine. At midnight, when the house started emptying out, I slipped away with her to her room, as I had done so many times before. We kissed on her bed and she asked me to help her with the dress. When she finally let it fall and turned around, I felt like my heart was going to burst. She was in a thong, with the black bra pushing those new tits up until they seemed ready to explode, and her white skin marked by the fabric.

—Careful —she murmured when I brought my hand close—. I’m still sensitive.

I unclasped her bra with clumsy fingers and her tits dropped just a little, firm, with the pink nipples hardening in front of me. I ran my tongue over one, very slowly, and she let out a low moan that made my cock hard in a second. I sucked the other one, careful not to squeeze, and barely bit the nipple; Renata dug her nails into my neck. I went down her flat stomach, ripped the thong off with my teeth, and found her pussy already wet, shaved, shining between her legs. I ran my tongue from top to bottom, very slowly, and she arched her back.

—God, Damián, it’s been so long since I… —she gasped, clutching my hair.

I opened her lips with my fingers and buried myself fully in her pussy with my mouth, sucking her clit, sliding my tongue inside her, while she writhed on the bed and muffled her moans against the pillow so her parents wouldn’t hear. I slipped two fingers into her and curved them upward, searching for that spot that drove her crazy, and within minutes she came with a long shudder that shook her legs.

I climbed on top. She grabbed my cock with her hand and guided it; the tip slid between her wet lips and I shoved it in with one thrust. Renata moaned and pressed her heels into my ass to make me go all the way in, even though we both knew that with my size there wasn’t much depth to search for. I started moving slowly, watching her new tits barely shifting with each thrust, and she whispered in my ear that it had been too long since we’d fucked, to fuck her, not to stop. I didn’t last long. The truth is I always lasted too little. I came inside with two or three clumsy thrusts and stayed on top of her, panting, while Renata stroked my back and told me she loved me. We had never been with anyone else. We were, as far as I knew, painfully faithful.

***

The trip was long, and as the plane crossed the ocean I fantasized about the life waiting for us. I imagined lazy mornings, afternoons of studying, and whole nights fucking until we collapsed. When we got to the apartment, though, I discovered the first cruel joke our parents had played on us: it wasn’t the love nest I had imagined, but a place with two separate bedrooms and two single beds. They had thought of everything to keep our living together from getting out of hand.

I laughed to myself. As if a wall were going to stop us. But, looking at it in hindsight, that layout ended up being a symbol of what came later: two lives that, without my noticing, began to drift apart in silence.

The university was enormous and dazzling. It had courts for every sport imaginable, a pool, study rooms that looked like movie-set libraries. On the first day they took us around the facilities and, when it was over, each of us went off to our faculty. I would study engineering; Renata, psychology. We said goodbye with a kiss in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by hundreds of new faces.

The first few weeks were all about adjusting. The language, the pace, the different way of teaching. I joined study groups so I wouldn’t fall behind. She, true to form, signed up for the university volleyball team. And there, without either of us saying it out loud, a crack began to open. We saw each other less and less. I came back exhausted from my classes; she, exhausted from training. We overlapped at night, with no energy even to talk.

Our sex life, which had been intense when we arrived, slowly faded until it became almost nonexistent. At first we fucked every two or three days; then once a week; then almost never. When we did, it was quick, her half asleep, me finishing in three minutes and apologizing. Not for lack of love, I told myself. Just tiredness. A phase. It would pass.

***

One afternoon I went to watch one of her matches. She played brilliantly, as always. When it was over, as I was coming down from the stands, I saw her talking at the edge of the court with a guy who took my breath away for very different reasons than usual. He was huge, well over six foot three, broad-shouldered and built in a way you only get from training every day of your life. An athlete from head to toe. And on top of that he was Black, with those thick arms and that square jaw that make girls go weak in the head without meaning to. Renata was laughing with him in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time, throwing her head back, touching her hair. I glanced at the bulge without meaning to, outlined under his basketball shorts, and felt a stab in my stomach I couldn’t identify.

I didn’t introduce myself. I stayed watching from a distance, with a strange feeling in my chest that I couldn’t name then.

That night, in the apartment, I brought it up casually.

—Hey, I saw you talking to a guy after the game. Who was he?

—His name is Marcus —she replied without looking up from her plate—. He plays for the university basketball team.

—He looks like an athlete —I said—. I mean, the body.

—Yeah, apparently a professional team wants to sign him as soon as he graduates —she went on, getting animated—. And he’s incredibly good at what he does. He’s helping me with a couple of subjects I don’t understand, especially history. He’s really nice.

—You should introduce me sometime —I replied, pretending to be calmer than I felt.

—Of course, baby. Now come eat before it gets cold.

We changed the subject, but something stayed lodged in me. It wasn’t ordinary jealousy. I didn’t think Renata would cheat on me; I trusted her blindly. It was something else, more uncomfortable and more mine: comparison. Marcus was everything I had never been able to be. Tall, strong, brilliant at a sport, admired by everyone. And he probably had a dick the size of my forearm, I thought without wanting to, and the sting in my stomach turned deeper. Me, on the other hand, I’d tried a thousand different things as a kid and failed at all of them, until I settled for books. Seeing him, so close to her, was like looking at myself in a cruel mirror.

***

The following weeks pulled us even farther apart. She between classes and training; me between exams and assignments. Our meetings became so scarce that desire, with nowhere to go, began looking for other outlets. When the need got the better of me, I fell back on the usual: I locked myself in my room, opened the laptop, and jerked off watching videos at low volume so she wouldn’t hear me through the wall.

I had never been a big porn consumer. But in those months of shared loneliness —because we slept under the same roof and were still alone— I sank into a nightly routine. I’d start by watching anything, two blondes, a brunette sucking cocks, the usual, and I’d come in four minutes onto my stomach. And one of those nights, browsing aimlessly, I fell into a category I had never explored: men fantasizing about seeing their partner fucking another guy. Cuckolds, they called them. Cucks.

At first it seemed absurd to me. Who would want to watch their girl getting fucked by some other dude? But something in those videos kept me there. A scrawny husband, sitting in a chair, watching as a huge Black guy, with a dick twice the size of his, tore his wife apart on the bed. Her moaning in a way she never moaned with him. Her screaming as she came, hanging on the other man’s neck, while the husband jerked off in a corner. I got rock hard. I came in less than two minutes, with my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream, and then I just stared at the ceiling with a very strange shame. It wasn’t the images that hooked me, but the emotional knot: the mix of humiliation and arousal, of surrender and jealousy, that impossible contradiction that was still so intense. I started reading stories instead of watching videos. Confessions by guys like me, insecure, with small cocks, in love with women who were out of their league and who ended up spreading their legs for a better-endowed man.

And then, without meaning to, I started putting faces to those stories. The girl in the stories stopped being a stranger. She was Renata, with her new tits, her round ass, her long hair falling in her face. And the other one, the man she looked at with desire, the one who fucked her all the way in, had Marcus’s height, dark skin, and smile.

I hated myself for it. She was my girlfriend, the woman I’d loved since childhood, the only one I’d ever been with. Imagining her legs open for another man should have made me feel disgust, rage, anything but what it made me feel. But the truth, the truth I kept silent for months and am only now daring to write, is that those fantasies became the only place where my desire stayed alive. My cock only got hard if I thought about Marcus breaking her in.

At night, while she slept exhausted in her room on the other side of the wall, I stayed awake, jerking off slowly, building scenes in my head. Renata laughing with him the way she laughed that afternoon on the court. Renata letting him kiss her neck, at the gym entrance. Renata on her knees in our living room, mouth open, with that huge Black dick going in and out between her lips, strings of saliva hanging from her chin. Renata face down in my own bed, ass up, while Marcus grabbed her by the hair and shoved it in to the balls, and she screamed my name asking forgiveness while she came on his cock. And me somewhere in a corner of that image, watching, with my small cock in my hand, split between pain and an excitement I didn’t understand.

When I came, I always came a lot. Long, hot spurts over my stomach, over my hand, sometimes all the way to my chest. Then came the silence, the guilt, and the wall separating me from her suddenly seemed very thin.

I never had the courage to tell her. How do you tell something like that to the person you love? How do you confess that your darkest fantasy has her as its lead, with her legs open for her new friend, while you jerk off watching? I kept it to myself, fed it in secret, and let it grow inside me like a shadow.

***

I don’t know the exact moment when a fantasy stops being an harmless game of the mind and starts pushing toward something real. I only know that, night after night, that idea took up more and more space. And that every time I saw Renata checking her phone and smiling, or casually mention Marcus’s name, I felt that confused sting, half fear, half my cock getting hard without permission inside my pants.

This is the confession I’ve been keeping silent. I’m writing it without really knowing why, maybe to get it out of me, maybe because putting it into words is the only way I have to look at it head-on. What happened after that —if anything did happen— is another story, and I’m still not sure I can tell it.

For now I’ll stay here, at the threshold. In those nights when my girlfriend slept a few meters away, completely unaware of the fantasy her own biggest insecurity had awakened in me, and when I came in silence thinking about another man’s cock going into her pussy.