I just watched a homemade video that has left me feeling a bit shaken, weak, inadequate, and beaten. Before I explain, it was about a year ago that my ex-wife, Alison, and I divorced. In the macro, there are but two options for a man who loses his family to infidelity. He can either:



1. Take the low road by either simmering in his own venom, paying a therapist to hear him whine, going postal, or eating a bullet.



2. Take the high road by admitting defeat, learning to appreciate the individual qualities different people bring to the table, getting on with life, and bettering themselves on a new path.



So?...



I've opted to share my story as part of my own healing process. I have a few general ideas of where that process will end, but that's likely not something you'd want to read about. It feels weird writing to an anonymous reader such as yourself, but for me, it's part of a public cleansing process. Most of the details I've learned about the man who took my wife came in the form of a DVD I received this past Friday. Watching it was a bitter and grueling experience I wouldn't wish on friend or foe, but fortunately, it also opened my eyes to a few things I never realized before.



Not that it matters, but I'm a 33 year old white heterosexual male. I married my ex in college, am good-looking, athletic, and keep myself fit and healthy. I never had any problems with women, and on whole found them pretty easy to seduce. Being from NYC, I've seen countless mixed race and same-sex couples out and about, including inside my own social circles. I'm fairly progressive, but never gave much thought to the types of relationships people choose for themselves. Though I have never dated anyone outside my own race or social class, I'm not very provincial. I have some knowledge of contrasting cultures and ideals. When referring to East Asians, I've both heard and used the racial term "model minority" (which some label racist) - but other than knowing how to use chopsticks or being willing to go for sushi or kimchi a few times a year, I'm not very acquainted with Asian culture.



Until bouncing around tumblr recently, I had never seen the abbreviation AMWF. Going further in depth, I've come across pages that espoused either personal, superficial, or political interest in interracial relationships of all different combinations. As females do not usually have sexual fetishes to the same degree males do - I am operating on the assumption most of the blogs that either trumpet memes about "breeding out of racism" or the sexual superiority of one racial group are fake accounts probably perpetuated by asexual, doughy, post-teen boys living in their parents' basement. Sharing my experiences might perpetuate some of the stereotypes I've seen trumpeted, but I have little control over how others view or use this rather public exercise in self-examination.



It's a little complicated and painful to go into all the fine details, but conceding the fact I can get a little wordy from time to time, I'll try to be as succinct as possible. I'm not writing this to complain, vent, trawl for sympathy, solicit advice, or wish guys who are self-described alpha males eternal damnation. I lost my wife and family fair and square, and holding a grudge is akin to swallowing a bottle of poison and foolishly expecting the object of my scorn to keel over in pain.



A Little Background...



I'd like to say my divorce was as painless as it was quick, but that would be a bold-faced lie. I'd probably also like to give the impression I knew of my wife's infidelity, but that wouldn't be truthful either. Looking back, I did notice how much happier my wife's mood was exactly nine months prior to the birth of "our" first son. I also chose to ignore a few telltale signs, like the mysterious appearance of stray, shoulder-length black hairs in our bedroom and bath. In hindsight, perhaps most telling was how much looser my wife's vagina had become almost overnight, and the fact she became hyper-orgasmic like the flick of a switch...going from a grunt, scratch of my back and developing a short-lived rash on her breasts when she came - to these explosive, convulsive, squirting climaxes that made an absolute mess of our bedding.



To say Alison, my 32 year old ex-wife and mother of two daughters, was pretty would be an understatement. I'm honest enough to admit I was lucky to have her. She's a natural blonde, with striking gray / green eyes. As an avid runner, her figure is more athletic than curvy. She's tall, standing 5'10, with a good portion of her height coming from her amazing legs. Her breasts are beautiful in their natural 34B cup size, which, like her ass, don't show a hint of succumbing to gravity. Whenever we went out, she was always "that girl" in the room - the one men ogled and women rolled their eyes at.



The entire unraveling of my marriage hit me like a quick jab to the nose, followed by a combo of left/right hooks that laid me out flat. It was the 11th of July, 2017, at a delivery room of Winthrop Hospital in Mineola where everything I knew and believed was turned upside down. Moments after the birth of "our" third child and first son, the only life I'd known for the last decade came crashing down around me...



"I've changed my mind about naming him Jon Christian."



"Why?" I demanded, "That's my name, and it's what we agreed on months ago!"



"Looking at him, he's no Jon Christian, he is going to be named Duc."



"Duck, what kinda name is that?" I demanded, "Are you a ducking fope?"



"I also changed my mind about having him circumcised," she coldly informed me, "his foreskin will remain intact, like his father's."



I'd never heard a name like Duc before, so I was more confused than I should have been. "Intact?" I continued, "But we both know damn well, I'm circum..."



I couldn't even finish the sentence as I realized the boy I'd just watched my wife give birth to wasn't mine. His jet black hair should've been enough of a dead giveaway (I'm auburn, and no one in either of our families has that coloring). The fact two attending nurses had complimented me on the size and girth of "my" son's infantile penis should have been another warning bell. I'm familiar enough with biology to know penis size is hereditary, coming from the father's Y chromosome, and fully aware of the fact my endowment is only slightly longer than average, and a bit on the narrow side.



Two days after being discharged from the maternity ward, my wife and I signed a no-fault dissolution of marriage agreement through an arbitrator, and I moved out of our home. I slumbered through the next 11 ½ months, focusing on my job, seeing my kids on alternating weekends, having an occasional one-night stand, feeling sorry for myself, and keeping only minimal contact with friends and family. A couple weeks back, either nostalgia or the need to feel loved overtook me, and I called home.



"Hello," Duc answered, with the hint of a Texan accent in his voice.



"Duc, it's Jon," I replied, "Can you put Alison on the phone for a moment?"



"She's in the middle of nursing our son, but I'll have her call you back."



Just hearing Duc say "our son" reopened old wounds, but I did my best to repress my discomfort. When Alison returned the call about an hour later, it was kinda nice to hear how happy she sounded. I laid my cards on the table, and awaited a response I could only hope would be forthcoming.



"Honey, you know I love you. We were high school sweethearts, prom king and queen, built a nice home, started raising a beautiful family, and had a good sex and social life. I need you back and am begging you not to throw that all away on a cheap fling."



"Cheap fling?!?" she yelled, "There is nothing cheap about my life! My relationship with Duc is not even in the same universe as a fling."



I apologized, beginning to stammer from nerves and the knowledge reconciliation never once entered her mind.



"I'll tell you what," she continued, "I'm not going to discuss any alleged love with you over the phone. In fact, I don't even believe you fully know what the word means. But I will concede nine plus years of marriage does entitle you to a response - I simply refuse to do so here and now on the phone."



Pessimism did a quick 180 turn toward toward optimism as my heart pounded in anticipation of her next words. Blood rushed into my quickly growing erection. 'She wants to set up a lunch date, or even a liaison to discuss things between us,' I hoped.



"Keep your eyes peeled," she advised, "your answer will be arriving in the mail by week's end."



Though deflated after the call, I was quite smitten for the next few days, feeling better than I'd felt since ending the marriage. I spent most every waking hour imagining a beautiful love letter, scented with her favorite perfume and sealed with a red lipstick kiss. Even when my optimism ebbed, I still imagined her sending a Blue Mountain Arts card, knowing she had a one year old that required her full attention.



The Video...



This afternoon, as I returned home from work, I received a manila envelope with our old address on the top right corner. My hands trembled slightly as I ripped it open. No stationary was included, not even an off-the-shelf greeting card. I took a whiff to try and detect the scent of her perfume, but all I smelled was the plastic slipcase of what turned out to be a homemade DVD.



I ran inside my apartment, popped the disc into the player, and saw my Alison in our old bedroom standing center frame, wearing a very sexy bra and open crotch panties. My cock was hard as steel before she uttered her first word...



"Jon, you told me you love me, and I am going to do a little show and tell to teach you what love is."



My heart raced as I waited for her hand to trace a line down to those sexy panties.



"I'm also going to show you the difference between love and a cheap fling. You see, there are all different types of love. There is the love a parent feels. There's also the affection we hold for friends, siblings, or extended family. There are even some people who espouse a love for their pets. But I am going to take a few hours to show you the type of deep, committed, carnal, and emotional love that only a man and women can feel."



I gulped, knowing what I was hoping to see and hear was quickly dashing.



"Duc, please come here," she requested, looking away from the camera, in the direction of our old master bathroom. "As you have never been formally introduced, I would like you to meet the man I love, the man who rocks my world morning, noon and nights. The man who gave me a beautiful son last year and just recently impregnated me again while I'm still nursing our first born."



As Duc stepped into frame, I was immediately struck by how handsome he was. My eyes moved down from his high cheekbones, strong jawline, prominent adam's apple, and past his shoulder length hair tied into a pony tail. I couldn't help but take notice of his alluring physique. My wife's new lover had, for lack of a better term, the type of defined, lithe, sinewy body than almost no man could acquire - even if he spent 6 hours in the gym each day - not beefy or overworked - simply shredded.



Pangs of comparative jealousy flooded my mind. The man standing next to my ex-wife on that fucking DVD - the guy whose arm was wrapped around my Alison's narrow waist, wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of bikini briefs and a cocky grin on his face - broke every preconceived notion I held about East Asian males. Newfound feelings of inadequacy were quickly changing to anger, only to be interrupted by the audio track.



"Unless you've gone blind, what you are seeing on your TV screen this very moment can only be described as masculine perfection." Her tone changed as she looked directly into her camera's lens. "Remember all those ching-chong, wimpy chinaman, and human calculator jokes you used to tell at parties with your drunk friends?" she inquired. "Not too funny - or accurate - now, huh?"



"See the bathing suit he's got on?" I squinted at what I originally assumed were underwear and saw the Speedo logo over a 'greater than' symbol on the left side of the nylon fabric.



"That's what Duc wore the day we met, at our children's swimming lessons, just about two years back. There were quite a lot of things I noticed about him that very first day: The way he looked, that stunning face and captivating eyes. The confident way he carried himself. A body with more definition than Bruce Lee in his prime. I couldn't help but admire the way he filled out his suit, both front and back. I was captivated by the way the sunlight shimmered off his golden skin and long shiny hair. I also noticed how our kids took an immediate liking to their new swim instructor. I think they laughed and played more with him in one swim lesson than they did with you for an entire month. Every single one of those initial observations are not only reinforced - but actually strengthened - each and every day I am with Duc."



She continued, as calm and collected as she was at the start of her video. "I think I have done more telling than showing, so I'm going to let you see a few things that will clearly exhibit my response to your ham-fisted reconciliation fantasies." Turning to face Duc, with a nod giving him a cue, he unclasped the front of her bra, slid it off her shoulders, down her arms, over her ass and let it fall to the floor. Her nipples, usually the diameter of pencil erasers, were twice that size from nursing and arousal. Turning back to the camera lens, he squeezed her right nipple, prompting two narrow streams of milk to spray out. "Can you also see how wet I am down below?" she inquired, the camera zooming in on the outer lips of her pussy, swollen and shimmering in anticipation. "That's how a vagina reacts when it's in close proximity to a real man like this."



"Allow me to do some more showing...Duc, could you flex for me?"



As her lover posed for the camera, flexing his already hyper-defined physique, I was startled, my head reflexively snapping backward.



Alison ran her hand over his bulging bicep, letting out a moan of satisfaction as she gave it a playful squeeze. "Mmmm, all man. The size and firmness of a bocce ball." Her long fingers traced the highway of bulging veins up Duc's forearms, then back down again to his shoulders. "You have no idea what it feels like to touch a body like this, it's so strong, yet so sensual." She tweaked his maroon colored nipples with her thumbs, then slid her fingers through in the muscular obliques around his ribcage.



"He's a perfect 10, you know, let's count together. Two, four, six," her thumb now at his shallow navel, "Eight, ten!"



Just the way she counted his abs, running her fingers across the smooth mounds of muscle that bisected his midsection - slowly pronouncing each set of two numbers like a kindergarten teacher - was nearly as abasing to watch as it was to listen to.



"I did say ten, right?" she inquired, tauntingly focusing her gaze at the camera lens. "Let's count again, only this time in one inch intervals," running the index fingers of each hand down the pair of prominent veins that protruded down across Duc's two lower abdomen muscles toward his nylon swimsuit.



I jumped up from the couch, hitting the pause button on the DVD player while noticing for the first time the size of the bulge in Duc's Speedos. I started feeling nauseous, my stomach retching, as I ran to the bathroom to vomit. Having forgone dinner, and digesting lunch hours earlier, I puked up a few mouthfuls of bile into the toilet while deciding I would neither watch - nor be further taunted - by that fucking video Alison and her new husband made.



With my head pounding, my legs trembling, and feeling about as ill as I did last time I had the flu, I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, gargled, and headed straight to bed. It wasn't even nightfall, but all I felt like doing was curling up in a ball and never waking up again. The minutes passed like hours, lying in bed and unable to sleep as the image of Alison and Duc was seared into my conscious mind. I tossed, I turned, feeling as ill as I did four hours earlier when I climbed into bed...Her "masculine perfection" and "all man" convictions about her lover ringing loudly in my ears. I thought I'd go insane if I laid in bed another moment.



Curiosity Killed The Cat...



I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water, headed back toward the bedroom, and saw the pause indicator flashing on the DVD player. Grabbing an afghan off the back of the living room couch and draping it around my naked body to take the chill off, I sat down and grabbed the remote. My hands trembled as I turned on the television, and hit the play button.



The light from the TV stung my eyes for a moment, but as they adjusted to the image on screen, there was Alison, on her knees in front of her lover, her thumbs hooked into the waistband of his swimsuit, as she slowly pulled it down.



"You see, this is also something I am more than enamored with," she taunted. The camera zoomed in on Duc's groin, as the nylon suit slowly descended. What was moments ago a massive bulge encased in fabric and had me running into the bathroom to vomit, was gradually being revealed.



Ally started counting up again. "One inch," she began, exposing wisps of straight black pubic hair around the root of a cock that was as wide across as a beer can. As unsettled as I felt seeing that first inch of Duc's cock, it didn't stop my own erection from quickly springing to attention. I'd like to tell myself the throbbing boner protruding from my groin was the result of my competitive nature, but as I look back on it now, I am forced to admit the penis I was seeing on that video was more sexually alluring than any cock you'll see on a porn film.



"Two," she continued, smiling directly at the camera. A network of bulging veins, as numerous as the vessels on his arms, cross-crossed the base of his staggeringly thick shaft.



"Three inches. Isn't that the number you used to cite when telling Asian penis jokes?" she rhetorically asked as she winked.



"Four...five...six...Hey look at that," she mocked. "That's about an inch more than where your circumcision scar starts, Johnny Boy. But on my real man's cock right here, I'm not even close to his glans yet."



The veins on my neck pounded in anger at Alison's taunts, and visually confirmed the reason her pussy became so mysteriously loose a year ago February. I involuntarily turned my attention back to the TV, seeing her try in vain to wrap her hand around the six plus inches of shaft exposed on screen.



With Duc's maroon colored erection pointing perpendicular to the floor as she pulled the tight Speedo further down his thighs, she licked her lips in anticipation. "Mmmm, it's so thick, hard enough to smash diamonds into shards , and hot to the touch," she continued. "Seven...eight..."



It was at that point I saw the corona of Duc's cock head - where his retracted foreskin made way for his exposed glans. "Look closer," she commanded, "this isn't just a grow-er or a show-er, it's both!"



"Niiiiiiiine..." exposing about half Duc's flared glans, resembling the shape and color of a ripened plum.



"Tennnnn...," she counted, reflexively moving her head back in anticipation of the kickback once the last inch of her lover's huge cock cleared the drawstring of his swimsuit.



A loud 'thwappp', resembling the sound of a fist hitting the palm of a hand reverberated through the TV audio system as Duc's erection was finally freed from its nylon prison. It sprang up so violently against his bricklike abdomen that I swore it would leave a welt or bruise.



"See that?" my Ally asked. "I told you it was a perfect ten!"



I've seen plenty of flaccid dicks in the gym locker room, and more than my fair share of erect ones on pornhub now that I was divorced, but I quite honestly don't ever recall seeing a cock that was as magnificent as the one on my television screen. Pointing nearly parallel to the tendinous intersection of his left and right abdomen wall, Duc's hard slab of manhood literally twitched and throbbed at the steady rhythm of his pulse. As much as I hated to look, I couldn't pull my eyes away. I had this nagging thought I had no reason to be mesmerized by another man's boner, especially one my ex-wife was so enthralled by. I quickly rationalized my reaction to Duc as initial curiosity and reminded myself there was a reason porn directors never use "average" sized male actors.

