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You are at home. Your wife has a few friends round for the evening. As they chat together you go and fix some drinks in the kitchen, but as you carry them through into the lounge something makes you hesitate. You hover outside the lounge door, listening.
Your wife is saying, “I don’t know why they don’t make condoms in a better size. You would think that by now they would have got it right. They just never seem to fit!”
“Oh, they do make a bigger size,” says Jill. “I think they’re called Trojans. My boyfriend uses them. I didn’t know you had that problem with Andy.”
“I wish!” exclaims Sue. “No, I mean they make the normal size far too big. Andy has to put an elastic band round just to keep it on. Apart from anything else it just seems such a waste of rubber.”
Jill then says, “But Sue, you shouldn’t have to do that! God, I thought I had problems with my guy. He always leaves me feeling so stretched out. Is Andy so small? (Sue nods yes)… Oh, you poor thing. How can you even feel him? Really, can you get any pleasure from something that small? Anyway, you’re married. Do you even need to use them at all?”
“Well, I suppose that strictly speaking I don’t need to use them. I just can’t stand the slimy feeling afterwards, not that he produces much cum. After all that fumbling and humping it is just too much. Ugh! It just adds insult to injury, don’t you think?” my wife complains.
Jill says, “No, I rather like it when I suddenly feel a trickle of sperm running down my leg as I get onto the train or into the lift at work. It’s like a kiss on the thigh, a whispered secret reminder of the night before.”
My wife complains, “God, if I want a reminder of the night before I just need to look at a pencil! That has a rubber on the end too.”
All the girls burst out laughing and your face burns with embarrassment. As you enter the lounge, cheeks burning, the room falls silent, the women looking as you with disgust and pity.
The next day your wife tells you that if you can find some small size condoms and a copy of ‘Hello’ she might let you have a few minutes humping time while she reads the magazine. Humiliated, but excited at the prospect of being allowed entry you go into the pharmacy. Your heart sinks at the sight of the pretty young assistant at the till. You lurk by the ladies hosiery display, secretly stimulated by the sight of all the images of long, nylon clad female legs until the shop is empty. You nervously approach the counter. “Er, do you stock condoms in different sizes?” you ask the girl.
“Yes, of course sir,” she answers. “You mean Trojans? We get a lot of call for those. They’re on the shelf, next to the regular size.” she says.
“No…”, you answer, “I mean do you have a sm..smaller size?”
“Yes, the regular. The Trojan is for the larger man and the regular is the smaller size,” the girl looks at you like your dumb.
You sigh, “No, I mean smaller than the regular.”
A smirk suddenly appears on her face, “Smaller than the regular? (she laughs softly) Well, I’ve never had a man ask for that before, mind you I’ve only worked here a couple of years. I’ll see if the Pharmacist knows anything.”
Before you can stop her she shouts ‘Mr Patel… Can you come here please. We have a customer with a little problem.”
A handsome young Pakistani man steps forward, followed by a middle aged woman you see every week at the squash club. She smiles and nods in recognition. “What can I do for you sir?” Patel says.
You mumble your request for small condoms, anxious now ase the shop is by now filling up with customers.
“A smaller size!” he exclaims loudly.
Everyone in the shop looks up at you. So you scurry from the shop, face burning with shame and tail between your legs.
Back home you report your failure to your wife and ask her if maybe just this once you can do it without. She pulls a face, “Ugh… ‘Certainly not. I’d be sick. Maybe if you agree to what I suggest you can hump my leg for a bit while I read my magazine. Maybe it’s for the best. We can’t carry on like this anyway, you puffing and groaning behind me once in a blue moon when I give in to your pestering while I watch the clock till your 5 minutes is up. I’ve been talking to Dianne…’
Your rage boils over, “Christ! Talking to Dianne!” Her husband works with you. It’ll be all round the department by now. So that’s why he kept looking at you during the budget meeting every time he mentioned cuts, disappointing growth, lowering expectations. Why the receptionist kept humming ‘Little Things’ whenever you passed her. It all makes sense now doesn’t it.
Your wife rolls her eyes at you saying, Well Dianne thinks that if you can’t find a condom to fit your pathetic excuse for a cock, then I should find a cock to fit the condom.”
“What?” your confused.
“Darling, please let’s not fall out over this. We’ve been doing it your way for too long and it’s been a crashing disappointment. See it my way and we can all be happy and fulfilled. You can be included in everything, finding me a lover, helping me get ready for my dates, welcoming him into our home turning down the bed, cleaning up afterward. I want to keep nothing from you. You won’t have to suffer performance anxiety any more as you won’t be allowed to touch me again. No more secret, shameful wanking, we’ll have a new regime of supervised masturbation at appointed times as I tell you about my trysts. We’ll buy you a nice soft towel to spurt off into. A hand towel will do, you don’t shoot very far. We can give it a name. It can be your girlfriend. We’ll be a ménage à quatre, me and my lover and you and your towel.”
Defeated, broken, yet strangely calm, you sigh. Deep down you know your sex life has been a sham. How could anyone with a little boy’s equipment satisfy a woman like Sue?