We had been talking about it for some time. Or, at least, she had. I knew my wife loved me. For lots of reasons. But I also wasn't stupid. I wasn't quite, uh, reaching her, in those places a woman aches to be touched. The first time she mentioned it, almost in passing, just after I didn't quite, uh, measure up, so to speak, I wasn't sure what she meant. She'd whispered, "I wish it was bigger." I asked, "Huh?", and she said, "Never mind." Then, it happened again. She cried out as I came too soon, "No! Not yet!" But it was too late. I apologized. She answered, "I need a big cock baby." Not, 'I need a bigger cock.' 'I need a big cock.' Mine wasn't even "big," was what she was saying. Stupidly, I replied, "Uh, okay." She must have misunderstood me. She must have thought I was consenting. Then, when she brought the first guy home with her from work one night, I didn't know what to do or say. Not even when she led him to our bedroom. Why I followed to watch what happened, I don't know. But that is when I saw it. Saw her. Saw them. Her hand holding him. It. Touching it. Almost, no, yes, definitely, reverently. And then, when he fucked her, I understood what she'd been saying.