There was a time during my first marriage when one day I was suddenly sure she had a boyfriend. I'm not sure how I figured it out, or even if I really did, but suddenly so many little minor clues and hints and strange behavior that I never noticed before all added up to some other guy on the days (or nights) when I wasn't there with her.
And the fact that our sex life had taken a constricted turn. She was unwilling to put out for me like she had, as if she had gotten tired of me.
Yet I never actually found out and confronted her. I would let her go on errands to go do laundry, and not say anything if she came home late. She would get defensive over little things I didn't bother to pursue. She would be over at the shop next to my work, and having a way too good conversation with the guys who worked there.
I didn't know how to confront her - or if I should. Or could. She was still my wife. I would push her to spend time with me, and then really come onto her, forcing her to have sex. I'm not sure if I had ever fucked her when a previous guy had been inside her - mere hours or minutes before. Perhaps my cock was pushing his sperm further up her love canal. Maybe that was why she was wetter some days than others.
The idea that the other guy's dick had fucked her had a weird attraction that made me visualize and conceptualize the details endlessly. Did she let him fuck her in the ass? Did he do her doggy-style?
I may have only fucked her 4 times more after that, although we were together another 9 months. But from that point on that pussy wasn't mine. It was someone else's. I was just using it occasionally.
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