That’s How I Knew I Was a Willing Cuckold

Are you born a willing cuckold, or is it something you become? I’ve been asking myself that question for years and I’m still not sure of the answer. What I do know is when I first began to suspect what I was, and that’s why I’ve decided to tell it exactly as it happened, without embellishment.

I was seventeen the first time I had something like a real girlfriend. Her name was Noelia; she was part of the neighborhood friend group, and I had been head over heels for her for months. After a long stretch of flirting, of looks and late-night messages, one night we kissed in the entrance hall of her building and started going out.

The problem —though back then I didn’t see it as a problem— was that she had always been in love with someone else. An older guy, the kind who barely gave her the time of day, the kind who has his own car in his early twenties and looks down on everyone else. His name was Rubén. Noelia talked about him with a mix of resentment and longing that I preferred not to analyze.

She loved it when I stroked her, when I gave her affection, when I treated her the way no one else treated her. And I loved doing it. She had full lips that the first time I kissed her completely hooked me; I spent whole classes thinking about them. She was affectionate when she wanted to be, distant when it suited her, and I was content with the crumbs she gave me.

Back then I wanted to have sex with a girl for the first time. I wanted to lose my “virginity” with her, to check off that box all my friends took for granted. I say “virginity” in quotes because the truth is I had already had sex, just not with girls. I had been with boys, and on those occasions I was always the passive one.

In other words, I had sucked dick, but never a pussy. And I had experienced penetration, but as the one being penetrated. Sex with a woman was unknown territory for me, and I admit it made me nervous. I didn’t know if I would know what to do, if I’d measure up, if she would notice that in that area I was inexperienced.

***

When we had been together a couple of months, one afternoon Noelia vanished from school for a couple of hours. She had slipped out between classes without telling anyone. When she came back, I saw her crossing the courtyard in a hurry and I went after her to ask where she had been.

Before I could catch up with her, she ran into two friends by the lockers. I stayed a few meters away, half hidden behind a column, and I heard what she told them in a low but excited voice.

—I did it with Rubén —she blurted out—. We fucked.

Both girls covered their mouths with their hands and laughed. I froze in place. Rubén was the older guy she was in love with, and in that instant I felt as if something broke deep inside me, in a place in my chest I hadn’t even known was there. They didn’t notice I was nearby or that I had heard everything.

What was my reaction? Acting as if nothing had happened. When I asked her a little later where she had been, she told me she had been at the doctor’s. I nodded, put on a face that said I believed her, and kissed her on the forehead. Let her think I’m an idiot, I thought. Even better for both of us.

I spent days turning it over in my head. I didn’t sleep well, I imagined the scene over and over again in sickening detail. But in the end I accepted what had happened and kept going out with her, as if crossing that betrayal off the list were easier than facing it.

***

Soon after that, the two of us had sex for the first time. It wasn’t as special as I had fantasized it would be for months. I liked it, of course I liked it, but I couldn’t get out of my head the fact that she had already been with someone else, that what was a first for me was a repeat for her.

Sex with Noelia was different from what I’d had with boys. With her everything was slower, more affectionate, more careful. With boys it had always been rougher, more animal, more direct. And it was precisely then, comparing the two, that I started to realize something I would take a long time to admit.

Pure physical pleasure, sex in its rawest form, felt more intense to me with a man. Especially oral sex and penetration. The arousal I felt when I sucked a dick or when I got fucked was nothing like what I felt with her. It was something else. It was stronger, dirtier, more mine.

Even so, I loved her. I loved her for real, with that clumsy intensity of seventeen. And that’s why I put up with what came next.

***

One night out, it was the three of us: Noelia, her best friend, and me. A message sounded on her phone and her face changed all at once. She said she had to go home, that her older sister needed her for some story or other. I offered to walk her home, but she shook her head.

—Stay with Carla, keep partying —she told me, her bag already slung over her shoulder—. I don’t want to kill the vibe for you.

The message wasn’t from her sister. It was from Rubén, who was coming to pick her up in the car to take her off to fuck in some empty lot. I found that out a little later, though even then I suspected it; I could read it in the way her voice trembled, in her hurry, in the way she avoided looking me in the eye when she said goodbye.

I felt betrayed again. But this time, underneath the betrayal, there was something else. Something I struggled to admit even when I was alone. Knowing that my girlfriend was a “slut,” that while I waited for her she was spread open on another guy’s seat, turned me on. I got hard right there, in the middle of the dance floor, with my beer warming in my hand.

That went on for almost a whole year. Swallowing it, keeping quiet, playing dumb while another guy fucked my girl. I loved her for real; Rubén only wanted her for one thing. And even so, in that absurd arrangement, the one who seemed left over was me.

During that period I kept noticing how she was learning. She was evolving in bed much faster than I was: trying new positions, losing her shame, and her blowjobs improved in a way that left no doubt where she was practicing. Every advance of hers was a clue to the hours she spent with him, and I counted them in silence.

***

Carla, the best friend, and I grew closer over those months. Maybe because she was the only one who knew the truth without my having to tell her. One day, without me asking, she confirmed what I already suspected: that Noelia and Rubén were fucking often, almost every weekend.

I don’t know if after that Carla looked at me with pity or curiosity. The thing is, one night when we’d both had more to drink than we should have, we made out on the sofa at her place, with the TV on and the volume low. Carla was a very bold girl, shameless talking about sex and her fantasies, never mincing words. But physically she was a virgin, and that night I took her virginity.

So now I was cheating too. The guilt lasted as long as it took us to fall asleep. From then on, Carla and I started experimenting with everything that crossed her mind, and that was no small thing.

She was especially obsessed with guys’ asses. She said she loved the idea of giving a guy anal sex, of switching the roles around. She had no idea I had already been with men, that for me that wasn’t a fantasy but a memory. And I didn’t tell her. I let her think she was discovering something new in me.

***

One of those nights, while she was kissing my neck, Carla slid her hand downward and asked in my ear, half joking, whether I’d let her stick a finger up my ass. I told her to go ahead, without hesitation.

Her face was priceless: a mix of surprise, excitement, and satisfaction at getting her way. She put it in slowly, carefully, while with her other hand she held my dick and stroked it in a slow rhythm. I closed my eyes and let myself go.

—Put another one in —I urged her, in a voice rougher than I intended.

She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe it, but the idea thrilled her. Little by little she worked in the second finger, watching my reaction as if she were studying a map. I was insanely aroused, more by the kink of the situation than anything else: the love of my life fucking another guy while I let myself be handled by her best friend.

When Carla lowered her head and sucked my dick, I lasted only a few seconds. I came in her mouth with a groan that escaped me without permission. She sat up laughing, moving closer to me as if to kiss me playfully, daring me to do it. I grabbed the back of her neck and gave her a filthy, sloppy makeout session that left her breathless, a long, dirty kiss full of my own semen, which, to my surprise, she loved just as much as I did.

I don’t think Carla was in love with me. She had simply found a guy with whom she could explore everything that crossed her mind without being judged. And I had found in her a mirror where I could look at myself without fear. Our lives had become a whorehouse of lies and sex, and neither of us had any intention of stopping.

***

As for Noelia, I kept loving her, absurd as that sounds. But there was one night that was too much, even for someone like me, who by then had already silently accepted the role I occupied.

Rubén took her into the private room at the place where he hung out with his buddies and fucked her there, with all of them close by, hearing everything. From that night on, whenever Rubén’s friends crossed paths with me in the neighborhood, they laughed at me. They pointed at me, made horn signs with their fingers, called me cuckold out loud so the whole street could hear.

That I could no longer stand. Not the cheating, which deep down turned me on more than I would ever admit to anyone, but the public humiliation, the shame of being the village idiot in front of people I didn’t even know. One thing was knowing it myself, in the privacy of my own head; quite another was having it rubbed in my face in the middle of the square.

So the relationship ended. Not because of the betrayal, but because of the laughter of strangers. I was the one who ended it, though it took me weeks to work up the courage, and Noelia didn’t even seem surprised.

***

With time, and with a few more relationships behind me, I’ve confirmed two things about myself. The first is that I’m a willing cuckold: that the idea of my partner with someone else, far from destroying me, turns me on in a way I haven’t been able to find in any other fantasy. The second is that I love dicks, and that that day on Carla’s sofa, with two fingers inside me and her mouth around me, was only the beginning of accepting it.

If a willing cuckold is born or made, I still don’t know. But I suspect that that seventeen-year-old kid, hiding behind a column at school listening to his girlfriend brag that she’d fucked another guy, already was one. He just didn’t yet dare to say it out loud.