Not the Cheating Kind

Tom sits across from Roberta Mckee--Dr. Bobbie to her patients--in exam room 12. Despite his nerves, he's ready to be forthright. The best way to be with a doctor. Though he's not here for medical treatment per say. He's here out of guilt and revenge.

"What brings you in today, Tom? Becky said you were evasive on the phone," asks Dr. Bobbie. She is a plain woman. Mid-30s with dirty blonde hair pulled tightly back into a bun. She wears a formless white lab coat over blue scrubs.

When he called to schedule, Tom told the receptionist he wanted a routine checkup. Must've let on there was more to it, somehow. Tone of voice or word choice. Apparently Becky can read between lines.

"Um, well, I have something to confess, actually," Tom stammered. He has always been shy in front of Dr. Bobbie. "Last week, on my trip to New York, I cheat... uh, cheated on Stella."

"With a prostitute?" No recrimination in her tone. Tom's wife Stella and Dr. Bobbie are old college friends, but Dr. Bobbie is a professional. She doesn't jump down Tom's throat or ask "How could you?" She is clinical. Only interested in what's medically relevant.

"No, just a girl," Tom lies. It was, in fact, with a prostitute. Briefly, he wonders why Dr. Bobbie assumes he must have paid for it.

"You're worried about social disease, then?" She cuts to the chase. "Did you wear protection?"

"Yes of course!"

"Are you experiencing burning or itching?"

"No."

"Painful urination?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Any spots or discoloration on your genitals?"

"I don't think so." Genitals. Tom notices she says that word detachedly. He wonders if that's because Dr. Bobbie is a doctor or because she's in a committed relationship with a woman. Stella told him years ago she was bisexual. He had never seen her with a man in all the years he's known her. During which his wife has invited her to countless dinners and parties.

For the past two years Dr. Bobbie has dated her receptionist, Becky. She's a true lesbian. The sexual politics involved are beyond Tom. His company wouldn't allow employees with such a large power imbalance to fraternize. Not only is Becky Bobbie's employee. Becky is at least a decade her junior. Yet no one gossips about them. It's socially acceptable.

"Is there discharge?" Dr. Bobbie continues.

"No. Nothing like that."

"I wouldn't be overly concerned, Tom. We'll run tests, and best not to sleep with Stella in the meantime... if you haven't already."

"No, we haven't been intimate since." Tom intends to segue into a prepared speech, but Dr. Bobbie cuts him off before he begins.

"Okay. Why don't I have a look? Take off your pants." She wheels her chair over to a box of disposable gloves on the wall. Tom was unprepared for this. She must have noticed his reluctance, because she adds, "It's okay, Tommy. I see them all the time." Tommy? She has literally never called him Tommy before.

As his hands fumble with his belt buckle, Tom's mind drifts back to the incident which brought him here today.

-----

Through a chain link fence from across the court, Tom spied them. Sharing secrets, perhaps. Like little girls. Only they weren't girls.

One was Stella, his middle-aged wife. Tall, blonde. Broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, medium of breast. Her small C-cups noticeably sag without a bra, but today's she's supported under a clean, white tennis outfit. Her game is twice as fierce as her husband's. Unsurprising, since she visits the club five times as frequently. Often with Becky. Half of the club's only lesbian couple.

Lack of interest from men didn't turn Becky that way, Tom had noted. She was severe but breathtaking. Could have been a model. Becky was a model, in fact. Worked as one before sitting behind Dr. Bobbie's front desk.

Bobbie is the softer, more feminine one. But Becky is the one who'd occasionally show up in Tom's masturbation fantasies. She appealed to the femdom fetish he developed back in high school. Becky had the coldness he looked for in a dominant female.

Senior year, a girl bullied tormented Tom relentlessly. Back then he was skinny, short with bad skin and general social awkwardness. The skin had since cleared up. This was not your typical bully. She was a bitch, but she was hot. A hot bitch. She called him "babydick." A lucky guess, because how could she know? Tom never showed his underdeveloped member. Not at school. Not anywhere anyone saw him.

This Mean Girl's torment was blatantly sexual and utterly humiliating. Tom thought maybe she was secretly into him but was too afraid to explore that. One time, she had a pair of friends hold his arms as she snuck up behind him, licked his ear, and whispered, "You'll never have me." He got hard, but thankfully no one noticed.

All through high school and until he dated Stella at 27, Tom abused himself to memories of his girlbully's humiliation. Humiliation was fuel for pleasure. He never shared this with Stella, a simple girl with simple desires. Or so Tom believed.

Around when Dr. Bobbie fell for Becky, Stella fell into depression. She wanted babies, and after years of trying she came to believe Tom couldn't provide her one. Stella was bored as a stay-at-home wife but unwilling or unable to find work. Tennis was her main outlet. That, and hanging out at the tennis club. Drinking. Occasionally flirting. Showing off her fit body. Dominating the courts.

Tom suggested she see a therapist. She refused. Her mother went to therapy for decades, for alcoholism and sundry other maladies. Stella never saw improvement. Same-old angry, drunk mom. Signs of depression were apparent, but Stella went undiagnosed. So no one helped. Tom least of all. He threw himself into his work as a graphic artist to avoid her. While also supporting her and her club membership.

Apart from the club, Stella never went out. She barely ate and was losing weight. She slept 12 hours a day. Tom wasn't allowed to touch her sexually. She allowed him to masturbate beside her in bed each night. Tom got off on her ambivalence. Which was mildly humiliating, coming from a wife. He fantasized while jerking off next to her through the hole in his pajama bottoms.

Nothing about Becky informed Tom that she had femdom tendencies. Aside from the fact that lesbians are sometimes man-haters. At least according to the stereotype in Tom's head. If anything, Becky was lovey-dovey with her girlfriend and Stella. Nevertheless, Becky had the lead role in Tom's nightly femdom fantasies. She took on many of the attributes Tom associated with his high school bully. Except Becky was much better-looking. He didn't usually care for the tall and skinny type, but Becky also had a womanly shape. Even if her breasts were slight and her ass relatively flat.

One day at the tennis club, Tom showed up without warning to see his wife. He spied her through a chain-link fence surrounding courts. But she wasn't alone.

Against a large oak tree stood the imposing model body of Becky. The subject of Tom's fantasies. Stella stood next to her. The two spoke closely, intimately. Tom moved beyond the fence for a clearer vantage across the grass.

The girls' posture was suspicious. Something about their conversation aroused suspicion. And soon, they aroused something in Tom's pants.

Tom considered calling out, but before coming to a point of decision, Becky pulled Stella in, turned to push her against the tree, and shoved her hand up Stella's crisp, white skirt. Stella didn't visibly react to Becky's hand wiggling her fabric.

Stepping closer, Tom thought he saw fear in wife's eyes. Then she frowned. Then she looked like she might cry. But it was neither fear nor sadness. It was intense pleasure. She was cumming. Tom hadn't seen her "o" face in years. It made him hard.

There it was. His wife at the height of pleasure. A quaking in her thighs. "Oh-oh, mmm!" she squeaked. Tom thought he might cum in his pants, along with his wife.

When her body calmed itself and the orgasm passed, the girls made out and groped eachother. Becky set the tone and pace. Stella melted to the ground. Her skirt bunched up to show her white panties. Becky lowered herself to straddle Stella's right leg. They continued kissing until Becky stood up and left his wife resting against the oak. A puddle in the grass.

They never noticed Tom. He followed Becky toward the club's dining area. Wondering how she could stroll around casually, with her hand undoubtedly still smelling of Stella's pussy. Becky chatted with a few fellow guests. Tom watched dumbly.

How could she be so casual? Sipping iced tea. Laughing with another married couple. Immediately after violating Tom's wife.

No, not violating. Stella allowed it. Tom could forgive her. She wasn't in her right mind lately. But Becky. Becky deserved to be punished. That bitch shouldn't get to shove her hands inside his wife. Anyone's wife, without the husband's knowledge or consent. Especially not a wife who's friends with her committed lesbian partner.

Tom's masturbatory fantasies sold Becky short. She was more of an Ice Queen than he guessed. He wasn't turned on anymore. His mind was on revenge.

For starters, he bought a prostitute on his next business trip. To get a piece of his manhood back. The experience was a huge letdown. He came quickly and couldn't get it up again. The girl wasn't even that hot, and she acted like she might have been on something. Lethargic and unresponsive. Like his wife, only this time his dick got wet. However briefly.

This is what he confessed to Dr. Bobbie. Not because he actually thought he caught a social disease. Because Bobbie was his way to get revenge on Becky.

He wouldn't rat Becky out as a cheater. For all he knew, Bobbie and Becky had an arrangement. No, his plan was to use Bobbie the same way Becky used Stella. She is bisexual, after all.

-----

Tightie-whities weren't the best choice for showing off. But here Tom stands, slacks around his knees. Wanting to cover his bulge but not moving. In front of his doctor. His wife's college friend. The partner of the woman who touched his most precious marital property and made him a cuckold. Took sexual advantage of his mentally ill wife.

This was perhaps the most pathetic, least thought-through seduction in history. Dr. Bobbie, professional as ever, suspects nothing. Internally, she tries not to think of the idea of seeing the penis of a long-term male friend. The husband of a friend, really. She and Tom had never been close. Never alone together. Now they were alone and she would see.

Her hands silently pull his undies down. Tom's turtle shell and hairless little balls reveal themselves. His shame is exposed. He searches her face for a reaction. Dr. Bobbie's face is stone. Mind is fixed elsewhere. She's thinking about when the laborers will show up for the planned renovations to her kitchenette in the home she shares with Becky.

Tom's unimpressive package naturally doesn't leave an impression on her. She recognizes it as undersized, but her conscious mind doesn't dwell on it. Why would it? The penis of s patient is just a penis. However small.

Gloved hands manipulate his member, which grows little by little. At first Tom is embarrassed by his hardening, though that's part of his plan. Then it occurs to him that this is his chance to shift the mood.

"You're making me hard."

"Pfft, Tom..." Dr. Bobbie responds with a smirk. "Please."

He doesn't grow much, she notes. Tops out at around 4.5 inches, with a little thickness. Not much. Now her conscious mind is on Little Tom. Analyzing him. She's never been with a guy this small, she tells herself. Wouldn't know where to begin with it.

The last male lover to make it inside Dr. Bobbie was over 7 inches and as big around as three of Tom. And that wasn't her largest cock. If Tom hoped to impress her, he was out of luck.

Stella never complained. Aside from his girlbully--who never actually saw it--no one ever called out Tom's size. Dr. Bobbie won't be the first. Her mind moves on from his size as fast as it came up. It's not important to her.

Just then, Becky bursts through the door into the exam room, knocking mid-swing. Tom never anticipated this. She must have figured her sudden interruption was no big thing (much like Tom, as she's currently discovering), given their familiarity. Intimacy, by proxy, given they share Stella. But Becky doesn't know Tom knows about that.

"Honey, the Feltons need to reschedule... Oh!..."

Becky sees everything. More than peeping on our Tom. She didn't expect to see his penis. Let alone a tiny one. Stella never confided in her about his size. No wonder she came so easily their first time by the oak tree, Becky realizes. Stella must be desperate for something more substantial than Tommy Boy.

The doctor's head turns to greet her lover's eyes. Her hands resting gingerly on Tom's upper thighs, near his groin. His laughable boner stretching out as far as it can for Becky's gaze. Tight sack underneath. Becky's eyes linger on his shortcomings, staying in the open doorway, clipboard in hand. Hair slicked back. No one looks more elegant in a pair of scrubs.

"Nevermind. I'll tell you later," Becky says, giggling. She closes the door behind her. Tom and Bobbie alone again. He is more humiliated than he ever had been in high school. The woman who seduced his wife just giggled after seeing him without his pants on. His girlbully's term, "babydiick," comes to mind.

The remainder of Tom's appointment is perfunctory. Dr. Bobbie doesn't let on that anything out of the ordinary happened. She finishes her examination and does whatever it is doctors are supposed to do in this situation. She assures Tom she sees no sings of disease.

Tom pulls his undies and pants back up, buckling his belt. His shame now hidden. Dr. Bobbie crosses the room and sits at her desk.

A quietly awkward mood asserts itself. Tom is a different man than the one who entered this office. He's a man who failed to seduce a plain, bisexual doctor. He's a man who endured giggles from the woman who seduced his wife.

Dr. Bobbie notes that Tom is dazed. She chalks it up to simple embarrassment at Becky's intrusion and guilt over infidelity. Bobbie reminds herself to have a talk with Becky about barging into exam rooms.

"You know, Tom, maybe casual sex with strangers isn't for you."

"Yeah," he starts.

"Stella is a great girl and a good wife," she interrupts. "I know she's blue, but hang in there. And again, don't sleep with her until the test results come in."

"Of course."

The appointment ends. One final glimpse of Becky as Tom walks past reception. She's too busy with her computer to acknowledge him. He leaves the building and walks through the parking lot toward his car. Certain in the knowledge that he would masturbate to the day's events for the rest of his life.

The End