All In

If you find cuckolding offensive I suggest that you skip to the last page, leave your caustic comment and avoid the pain of reading this story. If you want to read about a cock in a cage this isn't the story for you either. My story isn't for everyone, but you would be surprised by how many people find it oddly compelling. It's like a slow-motion catastrophe that you can't look away from.

*****

Almost everyone reacts the same way. They ask how I came to be Trudy's cuckold, why I don't expect more from the relationship, and why I don't leave her. I would try to explain, but they don't know either of us well enough to understand our bond. Somehow Trudy has understood me from the day we met, when I was a scrawny eleven year old boy. The first words she said to me were, "You're the wuss that everyone's talking about, aren't you?"

I suppose the mud gave me away. At lunch Bill Kiest and Jack Willoughby, who were both fifteen year old Neanderthals, had dragged me by the ankles through the mud, dirt and grass of the school yard. I'd kicked and screamed, but nothing I did mattered. I had no choice but to ride it out and hope the cavemen would get bored and leave me alone.

I had rinsed out my hair in the bathroom sink and gotten most of the mud out of my nose and ears, but there was nothing I could do about my filthy clothes, my humiliation, or my embarrassment. I spent the rest of the day avoiding the knowing glances and concealed stares of my classmates. Most were happy it wasn't them, but a few found a cruel pleasure in my torture.

"You're the wuss, right?" Trudy stood in the driveway of the house next door waiting for me to respond. A yellow and red moving van was parked in the street. Men wearing brown work shirts with brightly colored patches on their shoulders carried her family's belongings into the house. She wore a pretty plaid skirt and white blouse. I could tell by the way she said 'wuss,' her crystal blue eyes and the size of her tits that she would be popular as the new girl in school.

Without answering, I trudged past the weeds emerging in the cracks of our asphalt driveway, towards the front door of our run-down house and the sanctuary of my bedroom.

"Hey," she shouted, "Will you walk me to the bus stop tomorrow morning?"

It was an odd request. Usually girls like her didn't associate with guys like me. I was tempted to refuse, but I couldn't resist the chance to be with her, if only for the short walk to the bus stop. She seemed sincere enough, so I said, "I'll meet you at 7:20. I have to go clean up now." She smiled and waved as I closed the door.

I lived with my mother in a small two bedroom house that she worked two jobs to afford. I usually saw her in the morning and sometimes she would wake me up with a goodnight kiss when she got home at night. Other than that we only had time to talk on the weekends, when we did our chores.

On the short walk to the bus stop the next morning Trudy asked, "Does it bother you that people think you're a wuss?"

I had hoped that some strange group amnesia would have erased yesterday's events from everyone's mind, or, at the very least, people would have the decency not to mention it. "People don't think I'm a wuss. It's just that Kiest and Willoughby pick on me."

"But everyone calls you a wuss." Her brutal words were in stark contrast to her kind voice.

"No they don't."

"They were calling you a wuss when I registered at school yesterday."

"Is this why you wanted to walk with me, so that you could call me a wuss?"

She brightly replied, "No, my mom says my dad was a wuss, and I wanted to know if it bothered you." With that she let the topic drop.

Trudy rode the bus like it belonged to her. She laughed and flipped back her long brown hair. She expected everyone to pay attention to her, and then she ignored them when they did. She acted like telling me about herself was much more important than anything anyone else might have to say. It made me feel like I was the most important person on Earth.

Her family had moved from a town a few miles away. Her new stepdad wanted a fresh start and thought that the move would do them good. She shared a room with her older sister, who liked to party, sneak cigarettes from her mother's purse and steal booze from her stepdad's liquor cabinet.

Her life sounded so exotic. She didn't just have a father, she had a new stepfather, who had replaced the old stepfather. I couldn't imagine a life with men in it. My mom hadn't been with a guy since I'd been aware of such things. She was too busy working and trying to keep up with the house to make time for men. She said that my dad was her life's mistake and that nothing good had ever come from a man. She didn't smoke and the closest thing we had to a liquor cabinet was the bottle of vodka she brought home on Friday night.

I sat next to Trudy on the bus for three or four days before Bill Kiest and Jack Willoughby started riding the bus again. I tried to protest when they made me move, but Trudy said, "Don't be silly. You can't keep me to yourself."

She sweetly waved goodbye as I found a seat further back. From then on I would walk her to the bus stop, sit with her for a stop and then move back when the Neanderthals got on. She was always so sweet on the walk to the bus stop, but she never protested when the cavemen took my seat.

We ate lunch together a couple of times, but soon guys started bringing her treats. They would give her a sandwich or Twinkies and then they would hold hands and make out after school. She was always sweet to me, but I never had any food she wanted. She didn't even want the Ding Dongs I bought especially for her.

On the weekends her parents liked to party. They played loud music and danced on the patio in the back yard. My mom would come home late and send me to bed. She said that Trudy's family was a bunch of parasites and that they were not the kind of people that we associated with. She would take her bottle of vodka to bed and pass out. I would lie in my bed and listen to the excitement next door until the small hours of the morning. I could hear Trudy's laughter over the music. When the party was winding down I could hear her sister's high school friends tell her stories of what happened under the bleachers after the football games, and I heard her excited laugh in reply.

On the walk to the bus she would tell me how exciting it all was, how much fun it was to be drunk and how handsome the high school boys were. I desperately wanted to be a part of that world. I wanted her to laugh at my jokes and be impressed by my stories. Instead, week after week, I listened as the excitement unfolded next door without me.

One Saturday, when I was mowing the lawn, Trudy's mom came out to talk to me. She wore a low cut top that showed off most of her tits, and her pants were as tight as the girls at school. Her eyes were heavy with mascara and her lips were deep in red lipstick.

She said, "Trudy tells me that you're her special friend."

I didn't know how to react. She looked so strange trying to appear young, I was surprised that Trudy would mention me at all, and it was beyond comprehension that her mother would come out to talk to me about it.

She said, "I don't want you getting in her way, do you understand? I want her to have a real life. I don't want her to be dragged down by a wuss like you." She poked her finger into my chest to emphasize the word wuss.

My mom flew out of the house to intercept her. "Leave my boy alone."

"What are you going to do if I don't?"

Trudy's mom had a good six inches on my mom, but that didn't slow her down a jot. She wheeled back and popped Trudy's mom in the nose with her fist. Blood ran down her face in two red streams.

While Trudy's mom tried to stop the flow of blood, my mom got ready to pop her in the nose again. She said, "If you want another you know where to find it." Then turned to me and said, "Get in the house."

Looking back, I can see that Trudy's exotic life wasn't anything like what I imagined. Her stepfather moved out a couple of months after they moved in, and after only a few more months her whole family moved away. Later I learned that that her stepfather paid the first and last month's rent and then never paid the rent again. They lived in the house until they were evicted. I'd envied her when she told me that they moved a lot, I didn't realized that they moved because they couldn't pay the rent.

I remember Trudy crying as I watched them load their stuff into a small trailer. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said, "My mom says that we are moving out of this bad neighborhood to a nice apartment downtown." She gave me a hug and held me close while her mom yelled at her from inside the house. She said, "You'll always be my special friend."

Nothing she said made any sense. Our neighborhood was a lot nicer than the apartments downtown, and, except for the walk to the bus, we hardly spoke. I didn't understand how that made me special.

I didn't see Trudy again until my Junior year of high school. By then old Mr. Clifford had given me his tan Buick. For several years I'd mowed his lawn, swept his walkway, and done pretty much anything else he needed. He had trouble getting around, so I'd done the neighborly thing and helped him out. When I turned sixteen he did the neighborly thing and gave me the car he could no longer drive.

To pay for gas and insurance, I took a job at the local diner bussing tables. I worked hard and the waitresses liked me. It was the popular hangout, so I had to fetch water and clean up after the other kids at my school. But it wasn't what you might think. Bill Kiest and Jack Willoughby had long ago dropped out and now worked in the factory. I'd had a growth spurt and put on a few pounds, so nobody picked on me. I had a job and car. The other kids respected me and they envied my income.

One Saturday after work I came home to find Trudy standing in the driveway of the house next door again. Once again men were moving her stuff into the house. This time I wasn't covered in mud, so I looked respectable, but Trudy had grown into a ravishing beauty. Her cheekbones had become more defined and her frame had become statuesque. Her long brown hair was silky smooth and her eyes were even more clear than I remembered.

She told me that her family had come into some money and that her mother had loved this house, so they'd bought it. She acted like she'd always known they would come into money and now they were going to live the life they'd always dreamed of. Only Trudy and her mom moved in. I assumed that her sister was out on her own and that her mom was between men.

The next morning I gave Trudy a ride to school. I felt like a big man on campus as I pulled into a parking place with Trudy sitting beside me and my two wingmen backing me up. We were later than usual because we had to wait for Trudy, so Josh and Xander bolted out of the car and headed for class. Trudy held my hand as we walked onto campus.

"You look dapper now with your car, your girl and your friends."

"Are you my girl now?"

"Don't be silly. You'll always be a wuss to me."

I stood stunned. It was like a time machine had transported me back to the 7th grade. The embarrassment and humiliation of that day in the mud eclipsed four years of emotional and physical growth and left me stammering and confused.

Trudy laughed at me, then said, "I'm going to be late," as she hurried off.

I pulled myself together and walked to class. I spent the rest of the morning trying to work out what she'd meant, but I couldn't contrive an interpretation that made sense.

At lunch Trudy was surrounded by admirers and friends that remembered her from junior high school and others that were taken in by her beauty. She smiled and laughed and flipped her hair as she effortlessly slipped back into being the center of attention. Occasionally she would shoot a glance in our direction, just to make sure we were watching her.

Xander, Josh and I tried to ignore her, or at least we tried not to look at her. We all agreed that she was a total bitch and that she could rot in hell for all we cared. Of course, our proclamations had little bearing on reality. Not only did I care, but I desperately wanted her attention.

After school she was waiting at my car.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need a ride home, silly."

"What about all those other guys? Can't any of them give you a ride?"

"You're my ride."

"But, no. I'm just..." I looked at Xander and Josh. I didn't want to repeat what she'd said front of them.

She played coy and said, "Did I hurt my little wuss' feelings this morning? And I thought you were a big wuss now, all grown up with a car." Her obvious manipulation was almost comical.

"Why don't you just take the bus?" I was pissed and I did my best to sound pissed.

She looked from me to Josh and Xander and then back to me. "Can I please have a ride?"

Without saying anything I unlocked the car and the four of us got in. I dropped Xander and Josh off and parked the car in front of my house without saying a word.

As I set the parking brake she said, "I didn't mean to say you were a wuss. I meat to say you were MY wuss. There's a big difference you know."

"How is that any better?"

"It's not what you think. I told you my dad was a wuss, right?"

"Yea, but your dad's gone."

"That's because of my mom. He'd still be here if it wasn't for how she treated him."

"And?" I had no idea what she was driving at.

"You'll always be there for me won't you?" I was still confused but somehow I suspected she was right.

She quit calling me a wuss after that. I gave her a ride to school for a short while, but it wasn't long before she had a boyfriend with a car. He drove a new Camaro with racing stripes and a modified exhaust. It looked and sounded much faster than my Buick. In the morning he beckoned her with a couple throaty revs of his engine. She would run to his car and kiss him deeply before they drove off.

The first boyfriend lasted a month or so, after that the boys cycled through in rapid succession. They were all tall, good looking guys and each had his own car. She brought each of her beaus into the diner and introduce them to me. Of course, they were all from my school, so I already knew them, but she introduced me anyway. I was always, "Her special friend."

After parading them in front of me at the diner, she would entertain them in the backyard late into the night. They would share the chaise lounge under the cover of an overgrown tree next to the fence and just outside my window. It was impossible for me to fall asleep listening to the soft murmur of their conversation followed by the smack of their kissing and the low rumble of their fondling. Occasionally she would break into a loud laugh, and I could imagine her flipping her hair. It was like she wanted me to wake up so that I could pay attention to her.

While Trudy was cycling through guys I managed to find a girlfriend of my own. Her name was Sara, and we'd met when she helped me clean up a mess that a bunch of her friends had made at the diner. She told me that she lived in the next town and mentioned that a new movie theater had opened. In an unexpectedly bold moment I asked her to go to latest remake of Superman and after another bold moment it was a date.

Her family lived in a big house outside of town. It had a two car garage and enough pretty pink bedrooms for her and her two sisters to each have their own. They were a living cliché of family life. It was almost like they learned what families should be like from a TV show. Her father always wore a suit and tie and her mother wore floral print dresses. The girls reminded me of paper dolls, smiling and perfectly posed. They always ate dinner together, and while eating they shared stories about what happened during their day. They laughed at the right time and never said anything bad about anyone.

As much as I wanted to be a part of their perfect life, I felt like a foreigner in a strange land when I visited. There was a subtle etiquette to their interaction that eluded me. They were so unconditionally supportive of each other that I found their conversions absurd. My sarcastic sense of humor didn't fit in at all.

Sara was sweet, but an exciting night for us was a trip to the diner, and beyond the occasional peck on the lips, she never wanted to make out. I think her parents appreciated my work ethic, but I'm pretty sure they were relieved when we broke up at summer's end.

Senior year was rough for Trudy. She'd broken up with most of the eligible guys at school during her junior year and her reputation was way ahead of her. None of the guys wanted to deal with her and most of the girls were mad at her. She had to ride the bus with the freshmen, and she ate her lunch alone. She no longer flipped her hair the way she once did.

When the history class broke up into groups of three for a project, she was left in a pathetic little group by herself. It was sweet revenge to see her sitting alone, and if Mrs. Peterson hadn't asked me to work with her I would have enjoyed watching her rot there by herself.

"Thanks," she quietly said as I moved my stuff onto her table.

"Just don't call me any names, okay?"

She didn't reply, but she didn't call me a wuss either. She lifelessly conformed to my direction as we worked on the project, and after class she asked for a ride home. I couldn't think of a good excuse and I felt sorry for her, so I gave her one.

"How's your girlfriend?" she asked as I pulled out of the parking lot.

"We broke up a couple of months ago."

"That's too bad, she seemed nice."

"Yea, she was nice. She probably still is," I laughed.

"Why'd you break up?"

"I'm not sure. There was just something missing."

It was quiet for a few moments then I asked, "What about you, why so many boyfriends?"

Tears surged to her eyes and soon she was sobbing into her hands. She cried all the way home. I felt like a shit for not offering her a tissue, but there was nothing resembling a tissue in the car. I sat there quietly with her in the parked car while I waited for her to stop.

Eventually she caught her breath and began to speak, but before she could say anything she stopped herself and considered her words. I've often wondered what she stopped herself from saying. Was it a secret that she was reluctant to share or simply a jumbled thought?

She said, "I'm afraid that I'm becoming my mother. As hard as I try, I can't stop myself from making the same mistakes she made. If I don't figure it out I'm going to end up pathetic, broke and alone like her."

"She's not alone, she's got you."

"Not for long she doesn't. I'm moving out as soon as I can."

Her unhappiness and the acknowledgment of her own folly made me sympathetic to her, but she still hadn't answered my question. "But why so many boyfriends?"

She gave a weak smile, thanked me for the ride and then suggested we talk about it another time.

In the weeks that followed I spared Trudy the indignity of riding the bus with the freshmen. She quietly occupied the passenger seat of my car, resigned to her new position in society. Her skirts no longer exposed her legs and her tops concealed her cleavage. The humbled Trudy was much less fun than the self-assured girl she once was, but she was a lot easier to take.

I think it was in November of our senior year that I learned what had happened to her sister. I'm certain that it was my mother that told me, but somehow I remember the words as being spoken in Trudy's voice. Her sister had been walking down a dimly lit street late at night when she was hit by a drunk driver. The driver had passed out, and no one reported the accident until after dawn the next day. She might have lived if she'd made it to the hospital, but instead bled out on the street only a few feet from her unconscious and inebriated killer. The small fortune that Trudy and her mother had come into was the result of lawsuits with the driver and the city. I thought it was a tragedy, but my mother was entirely unsympathetic. Why was that girl out at that hour? Where the hell was her mother?