My Husband's Adventures

by Alex Hathaway

  I started stroking Brad’s penis to full hardness.

  “Look Brad,” I said, going right back into teasing mode. “I only need two fingers to stroke that little tiny dick.” It felt perfectly natural for me to talk like this to him. It didn’t even feel mean anymore. We were almost like a couple of girlfriends who had exposed it all to each other.

  “Brad, let’s review this one more time,” I said forcefully as I stroked him a bit faster.

  “Why is Alicia fucking Jackson in the other room?”

  “Because she’s a slut!” Brad exhaled.

  “Uh, no, Brad. That’s not why. Tell me why, Brad. You know why.”

  He looked at my breasts longingly, then back down. He moaned.

  “It’s okay, Brad, you can touch them,” I teased. “As long as you answer me.”

  Like a clumsy adolescent, Brad greedily grabbed at my right tit. It made me smile, but I was also flattered. I suddenly realized I could help Brad in his marriage, but I’d have to take it further.

  “Answer me, Brad!”

  “Because I’m … small,” he said.

  “That’s right, Brad.”

  “Tell me more, Brad! Tell me why she needs it so bad that she fucked her good friend’s husband!”

  “Because I’m too small.”

  “Too small for Alicia.”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s not all, Brad.” I stopped stroking him.

  He moaned in disappointment.

  “You want to cum, Brad?”

  “Oh, so bad!” he said.

  “You want to me to make you cum?”

  “Oh god, yes!”

  “Then tell me why Alicia needs to fuck Jackson.”

  “Because I’m too small!”

  “Yes,” I said, “but there’s more.”

  “Because she needs to cum hard!”

  “Yes,” I said. “Good. But there’s still more. I’m not making you cum until you say it, Brad.” I had my hand away from his dick, rubbing his thigh to keep him on edge.

  “Because ….”

  He paused. Then he got it. Small as he was, Brad was sharp as hell.

  “Because I’m too small to fuck pussies?”

  “Yes!” I said. “Not just Alicia’s pussy. But most pussies. Maybe all pussies. So there’s no point in being mad at Alicia just because you are inadequate, is there?”

  “No.”

  “And she needs fucking very badly, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Without someone like Jackson … without your arrangement … she would cheat on you. You understand that, right?”

  “Yes ….”

  “It’s not that she doesn’t love you. She just … needs it. Needs it so bad!”

  I reached for Brad’s tiny penis again and put a few fingers around it, marveling at how I could encompass him so easily.

  He moaned as I started stroking him.

  “Say it again, Brad,” I commanded.

  “I’m too small,” Brad said.

  “Too small for what?”

  “Too small for … pussies!”

  “Say it again, Brad!”

  “I’m too small for pussies!”

  Totally in control of Brad now, I pulled my hands away. His look was desperate.

  “Please, don’t stop,” Brad said. I smiled at the way he thrust his hips up, searching out my fingers.

  “Only if you say it louder, Brad,” I said to him in my sternest voice.

  “I’m too small for pussies!” Brad called out, loudly.

  “That’s better!” I said, grabbing his dick between three fingers and pulling hard. I marveled as his small size. As hard as it was, his dick was even smaller than Daniel’s.

  I started stroking faster, thrilled to have so much power over his cock, over all of him.

  He moaned helplessly.

  “Brad, do you want to cum?”

  “Oh god, more than anything!”

  “Then I want you to yell it … loud enough for Alicia to hear.”

  I kept stroking him, egging him on with my touch.

  “Okay,” he said helplessly. Finally he called out, “I’m too small for pussies!”

  “Louder, Brad!”

  “I’m too small for pussies!!”

  “Fucking louder, Brad!!”

  “I’m too small for pussies!!!”

  This time he really screamed it.

  “Okay, Brad, squirt that tiny dick!”

  I was shaking his cock in a blur, totally blanketing his tiny dick in my fist. He was not going to hold out much longer.

  “Oooohh!!”

  And out came the squirts, urgent and fast, peppered by his cries.

  “That’s it, Brad,” I cooed, continuing to stroke his penis, reveling in my ability to make him cum at will. “Did that feel good, Brad?”

  “Oh my god … yes.”

  “I’m glad. Not much cum in that tiny dick,” I teased. “You’ve seen Jackson cum, right?”

  “Yes …” he said sheepishly

  “And?”

  I was still casually stroking, surprised to feel him twitching already.

  “You felt like a little boy, didn’t you Brad?” I asked, still stroking.

  “Yes …” Brad said. I could see a pleading look in his eyes, as if he wanted me to make him cum again, and again, and again.

  “Brad, I think that’s enough for today,” I said, cleaning some cum off my hands and handing him the Kleenex box. “You can always get back to this later.” I started putting my clothes back on. “Let’s go see what Jackson and Alicia are up to, shall we?”

  Brad nodded, and rose to get dressed as well. It did not feel awkward in the least, like sex usually does with someone new. I felt compelled to give Brad one more hug.

  “Thanks, Brad. That was … really good for me.”

  “Uh, me too,” Brad said. I loved how he was okay being so completely naked with me. Maybe he and I could be friends.

  With that, I grabbed his hand and opened the door, guiding him through the hallway.

  Jackson and Alicia were dressed and scrubbed, sitting at the kitchen table and drinking Earl Grey as if they were book club members. They must have heard Brad yelling, but if they did, they didn’t let on—a compassionate gesture on their part. Brad’s face was red enough as it was.

  I’m not going to lie and claim this moment wasn’t weird. With the four of us, it almost always was. Too many crossed wires. I refused Alicia’s offer of tea, and within a few minutes, Jackson and I were driving home again, leaving Alicia and Brad’s relationship more complicated than where we found it.

  Chapter 11

  That was about it for the drama of Jackson and Alicia. To my knowledge, they never fooled around again. Brad and I, however, continued along the path toward friendship. I think it bothered Jackson a little, but he couldn’t say dick about it.

  It was odd having coffee with Brad at the Java Roaster, or lunch on the sub shop patio when things got warmer. Brad was a genuinely decent guy. I think he reveled in our lack of secrets. If only my marital problems could be solved so easily.

  After Alicia/Brad, Jackson and I weren’t back yet. Touch and go was the new normal. Jackson alternated between trying to win back my trust and expressing his mounting frustration. His “I always get the girl in the end” patience was tested. I knew I had uncovered some clues to my marital mystery. Other puzzle pieces eluded me.

  One night when Jackson and I were up too late, camped out at our kitchen table, he swore up and down he would not cheat again. There was no way I could really believe that. Not now. I’m not sure he believed it either. The only times we found closeness was when our daughter was around. Cheering her on at band events or dance recitals seemed like the only thread connecting us.

  It was strange to feel so dry between my legs—even when Jackson walked around in his briefs. Watching him do household chores while his muscles casually rippled had once been a surefire way to warm me up. Now, watching
Jackson putting away silverware was just … Jackson putting away the silverware.

  I’m still not certain how Jackson went without sex while we were so distant; maybe he jerked off a lot. I’m pretty sure he didn’t cheat. Would that last? Especially when I was keeping him at bay, and rather coldly at that. The memories of our encounters with Alicia and Brad lingered. When sleep eluded me, I found myself masturbating to the scenes in my head, rotating fingers until I lost it. As sleep drifted in, I’d wonder how I’d become such a dysfunctional mess.

  I needed something to pull me out of marital purgatory. A few months later, that something came in the form of my college friend Lisa. Lisa had married at an early age—twenty-two—then divorced. I’d never liked her ex, Walter. For one thing, I didn’t like how Walt looked at me when we were out together. Some guys stare in a harmless, flirty way. He stared in a greedy way, like he would cheat on Lisa in a second, which he did, just not with me.

  They divorced, childless, when Lisa was twenty-five. Now twenty-seven, she’d moved closer to my area in search of work, and maybe a new life. I was glad to have a new girl pal, especially with Jackson and me on the outs.

  But her “guess who’s back?” text message still threw me. I was a bit afraid of the trouble Lisa could get me into. Back when I knew her, wild times were the rule.

  Lisa and I made plans to drink and catch up Friday—the same evening as Jackson guy’s night out. They had taken to driving to the casino across state lines once a month. Jackson would roll in when the morning light was peeping in, sleep-deprived, too played out to do anything but crash. These days, that was fine by me.

  I’d take a big whiff of Jackson’s casino binges once the snores kicked in. He always smelled of cigarettes and beer overflow … but never of perfume. Somehow he was holding out. Jackson’s fidelity was the only expression of love I accepted then; he was smart enough to know it.

  Out with Lisa, I worried about alcohol. I don’t drink much anymore. Lisa was always disappointed when you didn’t take the shot glasses she pushed in your direction. But it wasn’t as easy for me to stay in shape. Alcohol always led me down a binging/smoking path that left me sluggish and in no mood to exercise.

  When I cut out the drinking, the lifestyle changed with it. My attempts to stay closer to my ideal weight were successful. Yeah, my hips were a bit wider, but Jackson liked it that way. Plus, being a mom had sunk in. Somehow I had to keep Lisa—or was it me?—in check.

  I slithered into a red cocktail dress I’d bought recently. It was the kind of dress married women probably shouldn’t wear when their husbands aren’t around, but I liked the way it felt on my body.

  I’ve always been a bit self-conscious about my ass; it required extra shopping to find jeans that didn’t make me feel like an elephant from behind. This dress made me feel sleek—rounded, but not ridiculous. Guys objected to my curvy butt a lot less than I did, but it comes down to how you feel when you move across the room. This was a “move across the room” dress.

  I wore a bra that pushed up my breasts, not that they needed much help. If anything, my breasts were getting a little bigger with age—though the drooping I could do without. Thank god for the push-up bra. I knew I’d be getting a few stares tonight, not that it would be easy to earn them around Lisa.

  Lisa was one of those girls who was really skinny, with all the fat on her body impossibly landing on her tits. She wasn’t tall—I would have said five-four, given I was a few inches taller. But she had striking dark hair and angular features that brought to mind an Egyptian goddess. The only concession I made for Lisa—no heels. She hated it when I wore heels. “You make me look like a damn midget!” she’d snarl.

  Ah, and I had the perfect red heels for this outfit. I looked at them longingly, opting for black loafers instead. On the fun side, subtracting those four-inch heels would make me more approachable. When I go out in my highest heels, I’m close to six feet tall; only the tallest and cockiest men have the guts to approach me. My feet will thank me on the other side, I thought. I took one more look at my ass, talked myself up with a “fuck me if you think you can handle me” as I wiggled in the bedroom mirror, and headed out.

  Lisa and I picked up where we left off. We plowed through dinner before settling into the corner table of a hopping techno bar. It was a good spot to talk/shout amongst ourselves, swatting away boys.

  Lisa was her usual mixture of alluring and intimidating. I was surprised to see that she had worn a bulkier shirt than usual. I’d expected to see her tits on display. I was a bit disappointed that they were restrained, subdued, offering those around her no clue as to how gorgeous those breasts looked when they were bouncing free—now that was a sight to behold—but her skirt was short, and her legs were hot. I had to stop myself from dwelling on a couple college nights when I had pushed those thighs apart myself ….

  Relief! Lisa didn’t force a shot on me that night. To be honest, I probably drank more gin and tonics than she did. Guys hit on us a little bit, but they were quickly turned off by our intense girly chatter. As the beat droned on, our conversation turned toward career, dispensed with that, and went to the jugular.

  “So Lisa, have you been getting any?” I asked her.

  “Corrie! That’s none of your business, hoochie.”

  “Since when? It always used to be my business.”

  “I guess you’re right about that,” Lisa replied. I expected her to talk about some hot new boyfriend, but instead she paused and made a doleful face. “To tell you the truth, single life hasn’t been that great. I don’t want a relationship right now, but the flings I’ve had … well, they haven’t exactly rocked my world.”

  “Good cock is hard to find,” I joked, thinking of my own ups and downs.

  “No lie,” she said. “But it’s not just that. I get attracted to certain guys, but it’s a superficial thing. And before you know it, they’re glomming onto me.” I remembered this phenomenon from college—guys getting a kiss from Lisa and deciding she was their future wife. Then the obsessive phone calls began.

  “There was this one guy …” Lisa said. “I thought I’d hit the jackpot. He was a professional snowboarder, of all things. Free-spirited dude, but sweet as hell. He wasn’t your typical doormat guy you can boss around…” Lisa hesitated.

  I leaned in to get the good stuff. “You’re not stopping now,” I scolded.

  “Okay. Well, he was up in my business from the beginning, assertive. The first time we were alone together, he pushed me back without any messing around, and had my skirt up. Before we’d even kissed he was eating some of the best”—Lisa looked around to see who was listening—“pussy I’ve ever had. I was cumming so damn hard. He had this long blond hair and I was grabbing it and pulling him up to me and yelling, ‘Eat it! Eat it!’ ”

  I almost lost it and did a spit take.

  “It was hot!” Lisa insisted. “Corrie, I’m telling you, his tongue was in command, and there was something so … well, he had technique but … it’s like he was starving for me. He made me feel like I was yummy enough to be eaten whole. I was so damn wet. I felt like a river down there, spread my legs and begged him to take me, and he did, but ….”

  “But ….”

  “Well, his penis was just sooo small.” I thought I saw our beefcake bartender’s lips twitch.

  “Maybe it’s because I was so freaking wet, but I couldn’t feel anything down there. It was so disappointing. Especially after three weeks of flirting and late-night phone calls and—”

  “Sister, we’ve all been there,” I said reassuringly.

  “Yeah, well, I kept him around for quite a while, because he really knew how to go down,” Lisa said, leaning toward me. “I mean, he would stand above me and move my legs wide, and it was like he was directing an orchestra or something, and I was the damn violin!”

  I started faking the performance with broad bow gestures while we howled.

  “But then I wanted to fuck! And he couldn’t finish me.�
� Silence. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have sex,” she said finally, shaking her head.

  “Why?” I asked her. “Your body is made for it!”

  “If only guys didn’t have so much trouble finding their way around me!” she said. “Am I really that hard to please?” She struck a pose, showing her biceps.

  I laughed, but I was thinking, If I was a guy, I might be a little intimidated by her swagger. I didn’t tell Lisa that.

  “Well, when I’m by myself, I can self-service okay.”

  “Lisa!” I said, feigning righteous indignation.

  “But when I’m with a guy, say, like Tiny Surfer”—cackles from both of us—“let’s just say, he can eat it real good. Yeah, that is awesome, but then, guys just … well, I don’t really cum from intercourse anyway, so why should I even care if he’s small? It feels good, but I end up, I don’t know, restless. Like I’m over-thinking sex. Thinking something is wrong with me. Thinking … maybe sex is overrated.”

  “Overrated?” I asked, astonished.

  “Yeah, a little bit!” Lisa said.

  I gave her my best therapist look, even though I’m the furthest thing from a therapist.

  “Maybe you just need someone who doesn’t shoot as soon as he is granted entry,” I joked. More laughter and another smirk from the bartender.

  “I’ve been dating a guy on and off who can go for a pretty long time,” Lisa said. “Sometimes I have to ask him to stop.” She drifted into thought, then came back. “Sore but not satisfied,” she finished.

  “Sore but not satisfied!” we both called out together, way too loud. I almost peed from laughing as I gripped my chair.

  You had to be there. Or maybe it was the gin and tonics.

  In the middle of all this, I got a text from Jackson. I didn’t want to stop this chat, but I checked to make sure all was well with our daughter, who was at her new best friend’s place. Turns out Jackson wasn’t at the casino after all. No casino. Flat tire. Back home, was all he wrote.

  A few of the guys who still hadn’t left looked over at us. I don’t think they quite believed what they’d heard coming from our table. They gave us big drunken smiles to support our raunchiness, which they probably thought would blow back on them before the evening was done.