Are There Really Men Like That: Marge

By Patty Marie

Jen is best friends with Marge; the wife of her husband, Ron's best friend Jerry. Ron and Jerry have been friends since middle school and Jen and Marge for more than five years. One day while leaving Marge and Jerry's house, Jen overhears conversation that revels Marge has cuckolded her husband.
"'The cuckold wants to know if you're bringing me home or are we going to your place tonight," was the line that Jen overheard and it brought her up short. Is it for real? What should she do? Just what the hell is a "cuckold?"

Her husband Ron has to look it up online. The definition causes Jen to ask, "Are there really men like that?" They are amazed that that not only the concept of a willing cuckold exists but that there is such a thing as a "Cuckold Community." Ron is of the opinion that she misunderstood or that if she didn't it isn't any of their business. However, circumstances cause Jen to confirm she didn't misunderstand anything and it is very much for real.

After she discovered it was for real she confronts Marge and listens with disbelief as Marge explains how she ended up cuckolding her husband.

Marge reveals her wild sexuality in college, a past that Jen never knew about and then goes into detail about her first three dates with Mark, that man who helped her cuckold Jerry. What's most shocking of all is Jerry's complacency and culpability in the story.

It's this last that Jen finds hard to believe, but in the end she must.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patty Marie
• Release date: Oct 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310012938

Patty Marie

I'm a senior citizen (semi-retired) who enjoys reading and writing erotic fiction. None of my stories actually happened, to the best of my knowledge. I grew up in and around Portland Oregon and still live in the Pacific Northwest. Most of my stories will take place there, though literary license may be taken with names and locations of places (actual or fictional) mentioned in my books.I am happily married and nearing my 50th wedding anniversary. I enjoy time with my grandchildren, and walks on the beach with my ever lovin'

Book preview

Are There Really Men Like That - Marge

An erotic novel

Book 1

Are There Really Men Like That – Marge

By Patty Marie

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by Patty Marie

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free eBook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Cover Photo from FreeDigitalPhotos.net contributed by imagerymajestic

Are There Really Men Like That - Marge

By Patty Marie

Disclaimer:

This is a fantasy. No one in their right mind should participate in the activities the characters in this story do. If you don't like cuckold stories don't read it.

Chapter 1

I make a discovery

What's the matter? My husband, Ron wanted to know. As I slipped my clogs off at the door. You look like you've seen a ghost?"

I … are… wha… I stammered. I don't know what to make of what I just heard, I finally managed.

What did you just hear, Jen, he said, asking the obvious.

Well, you know I was at Marge's house. I went to give her that recipe for Ambrosia that she liked so much.

Marge was married to Ron's best friend, Jerry. Ron and Jerry had been best friends since high school and Marge and I had become close since they move into our neighborhood about five years ago.

Go on, he urged.

"Well, we got to talking and time got away from me. When I realized it I made my good-byes and headed out the door. You know on a day like today, they always leave the door open. I had just closed the screen door when I heard the phone ring. I thought it might be you, calling to see what was taking so long, so I stopped to find out, thinking I'd yell back in and have them to tell you that I was on my way. But what I heard sounded unreal to me.

"Jerry answered and after a few moments, yelled at Marge, 'It's your date. He wants to know if he can make it 7:30 instead of seven.'

Marge said, 'I'll be right there.' Then I heard her come to the phone and say, 'Hi, what's up?' After a few, she continued, Sure, that'll give me time to get extra sexy for you.'

"I've got to tell you that floored me. But it was nothing to what I heard next. Jerry called from the other room, asking, 'Will he be bringing you back here or will you be spending the night?'

"Marge said, 'The cuckold wants to know if you're bringing me home or are we going to your place tonight,' into the phone and came back with the answer, 'He says he'll leave that up to you. But if he brings me home, you'll have to sleep in the spare room, he has plans for me in the master bedroom.'

"'That'll be OK,' Jerry replied. 'I was just thinking, that if he were to put his clubs in the trunk of the car, you guys wouldn't have to get out bed so early for us to make our ten o'clock tee time.'

"Marge passed on the message and replied, 'I guess you better make up the spare room.' Then into the phone, she said, 'I'll see you at 7:30,' and hung up.

Well, as soon as my head quit reeling I beat feet off the porch and came home. What does that sound like to you? I mean, I don't even know what cuckold means, but Jerry asked if 'he' was bringing her home and she said, 'he has plans for me in the master bedroom.' Doesn't that sound like Marge is having an affair?

Well, yeah, Ron said, except it sounds as if Jerry knows and is really calm about it. I'd say that making a suggestion about getting to their tee time doesn't exactly sound like he's talking about a man who's having an affair with his wife.

What is a cuckold anyway? Do you know?

No, let's go online and see if we can come up with it.

Wow, 'a man who has an unfaithful wife,' Ron read from the computer screen. "My God, look at all those hits on Google.

'Cuckold Community!' What the hell is that? He clicked on the link.

After clicking through several pages, he said, My God this place is full of guys claiming their wives fuck around and they like it, but there are even more wishing it was their wife and asking advice on how to make it happen.

Are there really men like that? I asked.

Apparently, Ron observed. Either that or there are a lot of men who fantasize about it.

Do you think that this is for real with Jerry and Marge? I mean that they seem so normal.

I don't know, it maybe some game they play… you know like when we're in bed and do one of our role play nights.

Well yes, but we don't involve other people.

No, but it might be more exciting if we did. It would add a sense of realism, don't you think?

Well, yeah, sure, but I don't think I want anyone else knowing just what we do in the bedroom.

-=#=-

I tried my best to put the whole thing out of my mind, I really did. I used all sorts of arguments, like; I didn't hear both sides of the conversation, so I misunderstood what was being said. Another that didn't work was; everybody had fantasies. Finally I told myself, Even if it's true, it's none of my business. Jerry wasn't upset, so why should I be? Besides, in all likelihood there's some reason that Marge has to go somewhere with some guy and they are just having fun making like it's her lover.

I'm not sure if it was because of that, or something else, but I had a hard time staying asleep that night. Somewhere around two in the morning I decided to go downstairs to get some warm milk to see if that would help. As I sipped my milk, I walked to the front room and stood looking out the window. A Lincoln Town Car drove by and in the light of the street lamp I could swear even though she was sitting over next to the driver that Marge was in the passenger seat. Marge and Jerry don't have a Lincoln; they have a Dodge. I sat my mug on the end table and hurried to the door. Grabbing my long raincoat and slipping on my clogs, I sprinted out the door to the street. Looking after the Lincoln, I saw it turn up Marge's street.

Holding my coat closed around my nightgown, I sprinted to the corner and ducked into the shadow of a big Elm tree. Sure enough the Lincoln pulled to a stop in Marge's driveway. I froze in the shadow, hoping they wouldn't notice me. But they didn't get out right away, so tree by tree, I made my way down the street, until I was directly across from the car. The rear windows were tinted; so I couldn't see clearly what was going on inside, but no one was visible in the front window.

After what seemed an age, Marge appeared at the passenger door opened it and got out. Let's get inside. Much more of that and we'll be doing it here in the car like a couple of teenagers. All I need is for one of my neighbors to notice the car rocking and come to investigate, she said, pulling her too short dress down over her thighs, not that it covered much of them.

A guy I'd seen before at some of Marge and Jerry's get-togethers got out the driver's door and said, It was your fault if you hadn't wanted a kiss, I'd have waited until we got to the bedroom. Now I'm not sure I can even wait until we get upstairs.

Marge came around the car and as they walked up to the door, he put his hand on her butt and gave a little squeeze. Hey! she said, putting her hand on his. Wait until we're inside mister, or you'll joining Jerry in the guest room. But I noticed she didn't move his hand.

He chuckled and said, Hollow threat. You're so hot right now that if I did go to the guest room you be right there to do us both… or is that what you want.

No, she said as she fished her keys out of her purse. Besides, Jerry's not into threesomes.

Good thing, I'm not in a mood to share tonight. He can have tomorrow night… if I don't use you up tonight.

The door shut and I had to hold on to the tree. I was shaking. There was no doubting what I'd heard. Marge is planning on screwing… whatever his name is. I should know his name; I've met him at least twice. No doubt at all, the euphemisms were plain as day. Doing it, do us, threesomes, all about sex.

I was shaking as I walked home. I couldn't believe my friend, Marge, would screw around on Jerry and what's more I couldn't picture Ron's best friend allowing it. After that, I really didn't sleep.

-=#=-

Ron had been talked into a fishing trip with a guy from work and was up and gone by six. I was up shortly after, pouring coffee down my throat trying to clear the cobwebs from my brain. By seven o'clock, I parked myself in front of the window, thermal carafe of coffee next to me, to watch for the Lincoln to leave. Our house was on the main route out of the development. Sure enough, about twenty minutes to nine, the Lincoln came into view. Jerry and the guy from last night in the front seat smiling and talking as they went by. Jerry sure didn't look like a guy talking to someone he knew to be screwing his wife, but I knew what I saw and heard yesterday.

I was almost angry as I headed out to confront Marge, but the nearly two block walk took the fury away and left only burning curiosity. I needed to have Marge either confirm or deny what I knew was going on. If she denied it I doubted if I'd believe her given what I'd seen and heard and if she confirmed it, she'd have a lot of explaining to do.

I rang her bell and when she didn't answer right away, I knocked loudly. I heard her call out, Alright already, I'm coming!

When she reached to door, she looked at me and blinked. I stared back at her open mouthed. She was still not dressed and was clutching her robe about her, not quite keeping it closed on top to reveal a diaphanous black nightie.

I pulled back the screen door and said, We have to talk, and walked in as if I'd been invited.

I haven't even gotten dressed yet.

I've notice. You have any coffee?

I don't know; I doubt it. Jerry and Mark had breakfast here before going golfing. They probably didn't leave much if any.

I'll make you a deal. I'll put on some fresh coffee and whip up some French toast for you while you get a shower. You look like you need one. I should have said, … smell like you need one. She did have an odor of sex and sweat about her. It was getting harder to doubt what I knew was the case. Then we'll talk.

Sounds ominous. Maybe I should shower. It'll clear my head and from your tone of voice it sounds like I'll need a clear head.

I watched her climb the stairs and decided that Marge had lost her mind and I'd have to watch out. It was obviously contagious… Jerry had caught it from her. In the kitchen I found a sink full of dirty dishes with what appeared to be the leavings of bacon and eggs. Men! Marge was right about the coffee. There was less than a cup left in the pot, which was still on. I started a new pot and began cleaning up the kitchen. The stove was spattered with grease… don't men know about lids on frying pans? The table needed wiping down. It took about twenty minutes to clean up everything and start fixing the French toast.

By the time Marge walked into the kitchen, I'd had three more cups of coffee. I poured her one and sat it on the table.

I feel like a teenage girl who's about to have to explain to her mommy why she was out so late last night, she said, sipping her coffee.

Close, I told her. But it can wait until you've eaten.

Before she had finished her coffee I had four slices of French toast on a plate in front of her, which she attacked with gusto. As she finished I refilled her coffee cup and got another one for me. For good measure I started another pot.

Sitting at the table, we stared at each other for a time. Marge broke the silence by asking, So what is it we have to talk about that got you over here bright and early?

Bright and early? Marge, it's ten o'clock. Ron left bright and early at six to go fishing. Even Jerry and his golfing buddy didn't leave bright and early, I answered, stalling, afraid to broach the real subject.

OK, so bright and early is subject to your point of reference. What do we need to talk about?

Why I couldn't sleep last night.

What? You couldn't sleep and decided to come over and wake me up?

Any other morning, you'd have been up and had half a day's house work done by this time… but last night you were out late and I presume that the action took a while to die down when you got home at some time after two AM.

How do you know what time I got in?

I was awake at two this morning and saw you come home from your date. Nice car. I seem to remember the guy from a party or two you've thrown. Nice looking, a couple of years younger than you and Jerry. Where did you guys go last night?

She studied me trying, I'm sure, to determine how much I knew and how much I only suspected. Marge, I continued, we've been close friends for five years now and Ron and Jerry have been best friends for a couple of decades. If that wasn't so, I'd be filling the gossip pipeline with some mighty juicy stuff right now.

OK, just what do you know and how did you find out?

How I found out is from your own lips and firsthand observation. And what I know is it looks like you're having an affair and Jerry is aware of it and letting it happen.

The color drained from her face like water draining from a bathtub. I waited for her to respond. How she responded would determine whether our friendship could continue. Not so much because she could hurt me, but because unless she was willing to open up and admit everything, it would just be too awkward. Hell, it might be awkward anyway. I knew what I knew and she had to have known that anything but the truth wouldn't fly.

She looked down and said, Jen, for the sake of our friendship and that of our husbands I hope you'll try to understand what's going on or at least be tolerant, even if you can't understand.

"Try me Marge. You and Jerry are like family to Ron and I. The evidence, though circumstantial, is pretty strong to convince me what I've said it appeared to be is in fact what it is. With that in mind I came over here to see if I could make sense of it all.

"Look, I'll tell you what I heard and saw and you tell me what it means. I can't think of any explanation other than what I've already said.

Yesterday, when I was leaving, I heard the phone ring. You remember I said as I got up to leave that Ron was probably wondering where I was. I thought it might be him calling to find out when I was going to come home and start dinner. So I did something I would normally not do; I eavesdropped on the conversation. The first thing I heard was so shocking I couldn't tear myself away and continued to listen. Do you remember what Jerry said when he answered the phone?

Marge closed her eyes and struggled to get a breath. He told me my 'date' was on the phone, she said. Opening her eyes she continued, You heard that conversation? The whole conversation? I nodded. She closed her eyes again. Damned by my own words. I call Jerry a cuckold.

I didn't know what a cuckold was, so I had to look it up on the Internet. It's a man whose wife has sex with other men.

She nodded. In truth cuckold isn't entirely accurate. It would be better to call him a wittol.

Wittol?

"Cuckold carries the connotation that Jerry either doesn't know or is