My wife is good to a fault. She’s so good that she HAD to tell me that there was a surprise male stripper at her co-worker’s bachelorette party.

“I didn’t know there would be, but there he was pretending to be a waiter one minute, and then the next minute… he yanked his clothes off!”

That she HAD to tell me about there being a male stripper at all was likely because she HAD to preempt me finding out from someone else. Several of the girls there let the dick out of the bag, so that everyone would inevitably know, and she must’ve anticipated that.

“Everybody thought it was hilarious.”

I had a really hard time believing she was good enough to tell me if she engaged the stripper beyond, as she described it, “I was there… you know… like this, hand-shielding my eyes and laughing it off.”

She never hand-shielded her eyes when male nudity appeared on television or at the movies. I thought she doth protest too much.

But the only way for me to be sure was to go around asking, and I didn’t know who would tell me, or what they’d think of me for asking.

Wait a minute! Wendy god-damned Hoopes was there!

I called her.

“Wendy.”

“Yeah?”

“You were there. Did Tiana do anything?”

“With the stripper? Why don’t you ask her?”

“She said she didn’t.”

“So then she didn’t.”

“Come on. No bullshit.”

“I’ll put it like this: she let him dance on her. She didn’t suck his dick or anything.”

“Did she touch his dick?”

“Well… yeah. The stripper did the take-her-by-the-hands-and-put-them-on-his-body move they all do, and his dick was in her hand for, like, a few seconds.”

I was manic, man. I tell you what, I was motherfuckin’ mad!

My wife came in from work at her usual 5:45, and I just started yelling. She didn’t so much as close the door behind her.

“Bitch! You lied!”

She set her stuff down so calmly I realized she expected this; of course, Wendy would have given her an apologetic warning call. She let me yell a bunch of crap I’m not proud of. For the record, I don’t get violent, threaten violence, break shit, or anything. But I was on the verge of crying and blowing out my voice.

She stood and took all that. When I was done, she calmly answered some of the torrent of rage I deluged her with, a piece here and a piece there.

“I’m sorry. I regret that it happened, and I regret not telling you.

“I should have told you that, but I was too afraid and embarrassed.

“I didn’t enjoy it.

“In the moment, I just went with it.

“I had the stripper’s dick in my hand, yes. Hands.

“I honestly don’t think I cheated, but I understand that it’s similar.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get out!”

And so she did. She drove back the way she came because her work was exactly equidistant from our house and her mom’s place. I felt kinda guilty about that; she looked tired.

I was on the sofa in our empty, quiet condo, thinking… what was I going to do now? How was I going to decide? Not that I wobbled at making decisions; I could make them pretty quick usually, good ones and bad ones. But this time was different because every time I tried to land on a resolution, my mind filled with images of her stroking some buff bro’s bouncing boner! Grah!

And then Wendy called.

“Do you feel better?”

“Better? How would I feel better?”

“Can I say something before you make things unnecessarily worse?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“There’s nuance and context to this. She didn’t have an affair, or a fling, or arrange for anything. She had a penis flopping in her face…”

“…and her hands!”

“Right. For a moment. It’s borderline, granted. But calm down and think about it. She thinks you’re 100% going to divorce her now. Are you?”

“She said that?”

“That’s why I called you. I want to tell you, I saw what happened with my own eyes. Whatever you’re imagining it was like in your head, it was way less… terrible. The same stripper turned and went around the whole room ambushing a dozen others, doing the same goofy dick dance. Don’t be that insecure, please.”

I almost cussed Wendy out for telling me how to feel, but I had the presence of mind to appreciate that she was the whole reason I knew anything at all.

“I have to go.”

“Where?” she yelled before I hung up.

“I’m going to pick her up at her mom’s. Since you’re going to tell her I’m on my way, tell her I just want to talk. OK?”

“OK.”

Driving to her mom’s place so late seemed to take forever. Part of me wanted to abort the mission and let her ass sit and think. But I was too bursting with things to ask. I was… curious.

And that was when I first noticed it. Sitting at a red light, I realized that I was adjusting myself for the fourth or fifth time because my cock was maximally erect, uncomfortably so.

What the fuck?

I arrived at her mom’s house, and her car was in the driveway, but not her mom’s. The first thing I asked when I entered was, “Where’s your mom?”

She cried hard. She cried weirdly, really weirdly. She let out these long, shuddering sobs and almost sounded like a scary ghost haunting a cemetery. I had never heard my wife cry like that; I was disarmed by it.

“Tell me where your mom went.”

“I don’t know. She said I’m disgusting and that she didn’t raise me to be a slut and that she’s ashamed of me and that I deserve it if you divorce me and that I’m stupid and a lot more.”

“She said you deserve it if I divorce you?”

“Yes. Please don’t divorce me! I’ll do anything!”

Knowing that her mom had given her a tongue-lashing worse than anything I could muster let the hot air out of my balloon. I felt like a wimp for saying this, but… I pitied my wife. What really moved me was how distraught she was at the notion that I was leaving her.

I didn’t know if that was logical or supported by psychology, but didn’t that mean she loved me? The problem was, petting another guy’s dog was a problem because it demonstrated that she lacked respect for me. But what if she still deeply cared about me? What if she would miss me? What if she needed me, deep in her heart, and… um… a male stripper didn’t change that?

So I tried to reassure her, while not caving like a cuck.

“I don’t… I didn’t… I’m not decided on it, that I’m going to leave you.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m super fucking furious and hurt. We have serious work to do if we’re going to…”

“Oh! I love you!”

And at that, she rushed forward across the room, went down on her knees, and embraced me around my legs, pressing her face into my crotch.

“Knock it off! What? Are you a magnet to dick now?”

She looked up at me with her big wet eyes and pink nose, and I couldn’t be mad.

“Well? Are you?” I said, the anger gone from my voice.

“I’m just so relieved you’re being understanding,” she said.

“I want to understand, I do. So what exactly happened, anyway?”

“Can I show you?”

And she undid my pants. I didn’t object, so she pulled them down to my knees, and then my boxers too.

“So he was about this close to me… wait.”

She pulled the nearest chair up and sat in it. Then, guiding me with her hands on my hips, pulling me in closer, my leg between her knees, she continued explaining.

“Yes. He was exactly this close. And… uh-huh… he did a kinda dance.”

She did an impression of the dancer rolling his torso and flexing his arms over his head, snapping his fingers.

I did my best to copy that.

“Like this?”

“Uh-huh.” She watched as my cock inflated like a party balloon. “And he gyrated his pelvis at me, making his… his, um… his dick bounce and point in my face. And then…”

I did the pelvic movement, and my dick bounced ever closer to her. She stared at my cock like she’d never seen it before, getting nearer and nearer to her face until she had to lean back away from it.

“I didn’t ask for that. And I was laughing. And he took me by my wrist and put my hand on his thing.”

I took her by the wrist and placed her hand on my dick.

“Like that?”

She started stuttering. “Uh-y-yeah. And I-I…”

“Then what did you do?”

“I stroked it. Like this.”

And she gave me a handjob… then removed her hand, holding it to her chest.

“And that was it.”

“Only for a few seconds, then?”

She nodded hard.

“Yes. Only a few seconds. Just like that. I swear.”

“What did you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn’t have me, if you didn’t have a husband… what would you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Be completely honest. I need your full honesty right now. The single women there blew the stripper, didn’t they?”

“Some of them did.”

“You would have too. Wouldn’t you?”

“If I were single, maybe. Yes.”

“Show me.”

She began swirling the tip of my cock around her lips. I thrust it into her mouth. She spoke in murmurs with me in her mouth.

“I mwanted to, mbut I mdidn’t.”

“You wanted to suck his dick?”

The thought of her there sucking a stripper’s cock in front of all those women who knew her, unconcerned for her reputation, not giving a shit about her husband at home, letting that new dick slip in and out of her mouth with all those familiar ladies’ eyes on her, disbelieving what a slut she was when the opportunity presented itself.

I was too hard!

She must’ve been imagining the same. She sucked it with such energy and enthusiasm. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, her cheeks hollowed out, she drooled and didn’t care to wipe her chin. She got noisy; her moans and the wet slurping filled the room.

Then we heard a car in the driveway. It was her mom. She would take a minute getting inside, but not more than a minute.

My wife looked up at me, but her eyes were different. She wasn’t looking at me as me; she was imagining I was the stripper from the party. She was visualizing him in place of me.

“Cum down my cleavage where nobody will see it.”

And she pressed her chest forward and jacked my cock. I was going to burst. She aimed my head right between her tits, into the darkness between them, and I released. She subtly tightened her grip on my shaft and squeezed me out. My load disappeared down between her breasts.

And then we heard the door open as her old mom entered the kitchen. I put myself away. My wife brushed her hair with her fingers, and we did our best to look normal.

“Are you two fighting in here?” her mom asked as she came in.

My wife nodded. “More or less.”

“Then she can stay here tonight, or however long need be. I hope you two work this out, but I won’t say anything more.”

I looked at my wife. She was so adorable, her eyes, her lips, wondering if her husband would really leave her there… while his warm jizz soaked between her tits.

“No. She’s coming home tonight.”

Her eyes lit up. She tried not to smile.