My Pet is my first cuckold.
Coming off two relationships totaling 20 years of my life, who both claimed to be poly, and instead were jealous and possessive, I was skeptical.
And even without that skepticism, I’ve always known that fantasies are fantasies for a reason, and reality is often NOT the same thing…
So, even though we’d talked for about 6 months about what he thought about cuckolding, and I’d teased him with some scenarios, when I decided to go through with it, to plan it, execute it, and SURPRISE him with it…
I knew it could go horribly wrong.
Now, I felt sure it wouldn’t.
But it COULD.
There was a chance.
I call it the 2% chance.
It’s the chance that even when I’ve done all my research, I’ve talked it out ad nauseum, I’ve planned everything meticulously, that it will still go sideways.
Maybe sideways, like a condom will break.
Maybe sideways like our relationship will break under the strain, and end in a massive fireball of dramatic pain….
But there is that chance. A 2% chance.
That’s my sweet spot.
I am 98% everything will go amazingly, and I am 100% committed to that chance.
The same chance applied to our first 6-hour road trip together. That we would hate each other after, that we would be terrible auto travel companions.
But I was prepared, in case we were.
NOTHING, for me, is guaranteed.
And I’m OK with that.
Because when I can reduce my worry to 2%, and feel confident that even then, I’m potentially prepared, I can try damn near anything. And I know I won’t be frozen if it goes wrong unexpectedly, because it’s not unexpected.
Pet, he doesn’t believe in the 2%. He’s an optimist. And so far, it’s not gone wrong, we’re still amazing and wonderful together. The 98% has come through for us over and over.
I’m the dominant. I’m responsible. And I’ll always pay attention to that 2%.