Women have always both fascinated and intimidated me. They have always seemed to be such a mystery, and I have always worshipped them.

I have been very shy and socially awkward from a young age. I didn’t have my first girlfriend until I was 17, and then, it was only because she was very aggressive in her pursuit. I was attracted to her, which only made me more timid around her, and I would resist her advances, but she persisted until she captured me.

She was very pretty, and very sexual, and although we never had traditional intercourse, she introduced me to sex. For the first time, I felt and kissed a girl’s breasts. She let me stick my fingers inside of her, another first for me. I fell for her hard, and completely. I’ve heard it said since that there is nobody more romantic than a young man. Men in general tend to love women unconditionally, and with very little provocation, whereas women’s feelings, if they exist at all, are always very conditional.

We dated for a few months before Summer vacation came, and once again, I was marooned at home away from everyone else I knew at school, including my girlfriend. She said that we should "take a break" over the Summer, which at the time, made sense to me because I knew we would be separated so much. I hadn’t learned that this is what a woman says when she wants to break up with you, or at least, have an affair with someone else with less guilt. She was speaking a language I didn’t understand.

We did see each other a few times that Summer, when one of us would get the use of our parents’ cars, and we would talk on the phone periodically. Even though we only had a few short visits, they sustained me. I had her jacket and would smell it every day to smell her perfume and imagine she was there with me. In retrospect, our relationship was really just all in my mind.

When we returned to school in the Fall, I expected us to pick up again as we had planned in the Spring, but instead, she simply ignored me. I was puzzled. I would approach her and ask her what was wrong, and she just acted like I was bothering her. Then I started to hear the rumors from my friends: she had been dating someone else all Summer, and was still involved with him. This was all going on somewhere far away from me, all the while I was imagining that she was thinking of me as much as I was thinking of her. All of her friends as well as mine, knew what was going on, as they lived in the same town together. I was marooned in my home town a 20 minute drive away. I may as well have been on another continent.

The man she was with was in his 40’s, nearly triple her age, and they had met because he lived in a trailer next to the place that she worked for her Summer job. Her friends didn’t like him: he was very poor, a shady character, and he treated her poorly. From what I heard, the worse he treated her, the more infatuated she would be, the more she would act as his servant. How ironic! I soon heard that he liked to fuck her in the ass; because she was the first of her friends to do this, she eagerly reported it back to them, and it became a huge topic of conversation among the girls, and spread very quickly, to everyone, to my friends, and to me.

I was devastated. I was traumatized. I was utterly humiliated, and in such a public way. And the humiliation had existed long before I was aware of it. I had been such a fool, and the entire time, my friends knew I was being made a fool, but I had no idea. I had spent the whole Summer thinking I was in a relationship that simply didn’t exist. She was having the time of her life with someone else while I was home alone, smelling her jacket and longing for her. She talked to me on the phone periodically and we had a few reunions over the Summer, but it was just enough to keep me faithful to her, and to keep me as a backup plan in case she wanted it. I had to question reality or my perception of reality: how could I have been so deluded, so self-deluded. Trying to sort it all out drove me out of my mind, literally. I felt separated from myself. I drifted through my days in a haze of unreality. I had been so wrong about so much, how could I trust my own perceptions of reality?

Needless to say, this is the ultimate origin of my cuckolding fetish. Cuckolding is my oldest, most concrete and persistent paraphilia, although it found fertile soil, given my existing, if vague, desires to worship and be dominated by women, which in turn were rooted in my existing passivity and shyness. Looking back, I was already trapped, already doomed. I thought I had hit bottom, but I really had no idea how far the bottom was. There was no doubt, I was on a path now, I already had been, and I would continue to go much deeper. There would be no escape. There were already too many layers to this, and I would add many more.

This experience left me even more in awe of the mystery of womens’ sexuality, even as it damaged me deeply, and made me suspicious of womens’ motives, something that never occurred to me before, but stays with me to this day.

My cuckolding fetish didn’t happen overnight though, or at least, I wasn’t consciously aware of it. But in every subsequent relationship, including my marriage, I was cheated on while remaining faithful in the relationship myself. I began to expect it. Maybe I deserved it? Either way, this was my lot in life, that much was evident.

And so, I turned in upon myself. This betrayal that I hated so much, that hurt me so deeply, I slowly came to need. Although the pain of infidelity was unbearable torture, I came to need this torture. It was pure Hell. I was in Hell. I belonged in Hell. Although I couldn’t imagine being in more pain and still surviving, I sought out more pain. In recent years, I have begged my girlfriends to cheat on me, and that when they do, they should make it as painful as they possibly can. I am a hideous creature, and I disgust them, but that disgust too is a reason for them to cheat on me without guilt. And in a cruel twist of irony, the more a woman hurts me, the more I am in awe of her, the more I worship her, the more I am under her spell.

How disgusting can a person be? To know that the person you love is with another man, and that knowledge leaves you doubled over by stomach pangs that make you want to vomit, and yet you endure this agony because it brings with it sexual ecstasy you can’t experience otherwise.

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