I wasted about a year of my life after my second long-term cuckolding relationship came to an end. I was more lost than heartbroken. What started off as a decision to take some time for myself ended up being months of complete social withdrawal.
I got a shitty job working midnight shifts at a Purolator sorting warehouse, slept the days away, and over time saw less and less of my friends in the evenings. I don’t think I was depressed, but I was in one of those ruts where doing nothing became too comfortable. I convinced myself that I needed to be alone to think and put things in perspective, but in the end, what I was really doing was shutting out the world around me.
A year of living like that finally got to me. So I made some big changes. I quit my job, sold everything I could, moved from Toronto to Kingston, and enrolled in Queen’s University.
I didn’t know anyone in Kingston at the time, and I was nearly thirty, which meant making friends at school unlikely. I found a local pub called the Black Dog that mostly catered to young professionals. It was a five-minute walk from my apartment, and about 15 minutes from Queen’s, which made it the perfect spot for me.
The first friend I made there was a bartender named Angela. She was about ten years older than me, and her husband was a retired NHL hockey player who was then working for Kingston’s major-junior hockey team, the Frontenacs. Through her, I met some of the regulars, and before long, I had a circle of friends in a city that was starting to feel like home.
As I was getting to know my new friends, I kept hearing about a woman named Veronique. She almost seemed like a myth. She was never around, but I’d been told so much about her I felt like I already knew her. At some point, I probably told a story about her myself, as if I’d been there and had been a part of it.
That’s just the way it was. Everyone had a Veronique story, and they all ended the same way. She’d do something outrageous, and someone always got burned.
From what I gathered, Veronique worked as a flight attendant and lived three hours away in Montreal. She was also close to Angela. They went back to when her husband was still in the pros.
The story of how they met was one of the first I heard about her. Angela’s husband played for the Carolina Hurricanes at the time, and Veronique was dating one of his younger teammates. When she found out that he was cheating on her, she went to a party and made sure his friends saw her hanging off two black guys before leaving with them. She disappeared for a few days, then showed up with the two guys at the next ‘Canes home game and sat behind the players’ bench. Angela loved her attitude and took her under her wing.
“She was a new breed of Puck Bunny,” Angela told me. “The girls my age knew what happened on the road and just accepted it. Veronique went for the jugular.”
When the day finally came to meet her, Angela tried to prepare me for it.
“She’s coming tonight.”
I didn’t even have to ask who she meant. The way she said it, I knew right away.
“Oh yeah?”
“Grey, I’m just going to tell you this right now. Don’t fall in love with her.”
“You think I’m going to fall for her?” I said with a laugh.
“It’s part of her charm. Everyone does. But it never ends well.”
Angela didn’t know anything about my past, but I couldn’t imagine anyone doing a number on me worse than my first two girlfriends did.
“Nothing ends well,” I said.
“She goes nuclear,” Angela replied, using her hands to mime a bomb going off.
I thought back to how my last relationship ended. An atomic explosion would have been a mercy.
“You think she’d be into me?”
“You’re new. That puts you in the running.”
The red flags were all over the place. Angela was trying to warn me, but everything she said just made me more curious. I should have seen it for what it was, but I didn’t. I was already throwing out all the promises I’d made to myself about turning over a new leaf, and I hadn’t even met her yet.
“Well, I won’t,” I said. “I’m not even looking for love.”
Angela looked at me like she didn’t believe me. She could already see it coming, and that talk we were having was just so she could say I told you so when it all blew up in my face.
“When guys see her, love isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. That’s just where they end up. Then get crushed.”
When her shift behind the bar was over, we sat at our regular table in the back corner of the pub. We were joined by two other guys, Rob and Karl. The second they sat down, Angela couldn’t help herself.
“Grey’s meeting Veronique tonight.” She was brimming with excitement.
Karl just shook his head and looked away, like he wanted no part of our conversation. Rob had a different approach.
“She likes new guys. Fuck her if you can, but don’t get sucked in. Keep a safe distance after.”
“Why’s that?”
Angela answered for him. “I already told you.” Again making an explosion with her hands.
Rob raised his eyebrows and nodded like he was confirming what she’d just said.
“When’s she getting here?” Karl asked.
“About an hour,” Angela replied.
He looked at his beer. “Good. Enough time for me to finish this and get the fuck out of here.”
There was obviously some history there, but I hadn’t heard it yet. After he left, I asked Rob about it.
“Karl was the new guy, before you became the new new guy.”
“They hooked up?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
“He fell for her fucking hard, poor guy,” Angela said.
“I told him to be happy he was fucking her, but he wanted more than that,” Rob said.
“I don’t even think they fucked. She told me she didn’t even kiss him,” Angela said. “They went out a few times, and he was talking about kids and marriage. And she was like uh-uh and pulled the plug early.”
“There’s more to it than that. Some guys in Europe or something. I don’t know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Angela shrugged. “Anyway, it didn’t work out. He kinda lost it, and she stayed clear of Kingston for a bit.”
“And tonight is the triumphant return,” Rob said with more than just a hint of sarcasm.
I still had more questions, but halfway through that conversation, Veronique walked in the door. No one had to point her out to me.
I’m not joking when I say her entrance felt like one of those movie moments where the record scratches and everyone stops and stares. She came in, looked around, and spotted Angela in the back corner. As she made her way to our table, heads turned, and I distinctly remember seeing at least one woman smack the guy she was with because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
The two girls I’d been with before were hot. The first looked like a fetish model, the second was a stripper. Veronique wasn’t hot. She was beautiful. Tall, thin, and blonde – someone you’d expect to see on a California beach, not in Kingston, Ontario. She was dressed casually in jeans and a linen shirt, but somehow made it look like New York Fashion Week.
As stunning as she was, there was also something lowkey about her. A bit of a granola, hippie vibe that could make a guy who wasn’t in her league think he had a shot. I was already imagining it, despite all the warnings.
When she joined our table, she sat down next to me. Before she even greeted anyone else, she looked at me and said, “You’re new,” and smiled, knowing exactly how her attention was putting a spotlight on me.
“Grey,” I said. “From Toronto.”
“Well, Grey from Toronto, I’m Veronique from Montreal.”
“Me too, actually. Originally, I mean. Montreal… I grew up there… also.”
When she angled her head down a little and looked up at me, I gave up on whatever I was trying to say.
There was something about her you felt right away. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. She had a presence. And when she singled you out, you felt chosen. Defensive, even. Like this was your chance. Don’t fuck it up.
I can’t even remember how or when Angela and Rob left. At some point, it was just the two of us, and it felt like it had been that way all night.
At closing time, we stood awkwardly outside on the sidewalk.
“Do you have a car?” she asked.
“No, I uh, sold everything to move and pay for university,” I almost felt embarrassed to admit it. “The uh, Queen’s is over there, my place is just down that way, and the Black Dog, well, that’s ah, right here. I walk everywhere in between.”
I felt like a nervous schoolboy the second she sat down at our table, and that feeling hadn’t let up all night. At first, I thought that she had to think I was stupid. Then I realized she probably didn’t notice it as much. She had to be used to making men feel this way.
“What about you, can I walk you to your car?”
“I’ve had too much to drink, I can’t drive.”
“Oh right, good thinking.”
“There’s a 24-hour coffee shop around the corner. I usually go there to sober up and drive home in the morning.”
“You could um, you could come to my place. Like, if you wanted. Sober up there instead?”
She literally laughed at me. “Nice try. That was almost smooth, but no.”
“Right. Ok, well, uh, I’ll walk you to the coffee shop. Maybe hang for a bit?”
“C’mon,” she said and took my hand, pulling me away from my apartment. We took a few steps, then stopped. “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s go to your place.” I’d soon learn that Veronique made a lot of decisions that way.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But she couldn’t have meant anything by it. I figured she just had a quick thought, and a soft couch sounded better than a plastic bench at a coffee shop.
“It’s… the other way,” I said, pointing behind us. “Opposite direction.”
“Well then, lead the way, Grey from Toronto.” She didn’t let go of my hand.
It was a short walk, and we barely said a word the whole time. I was just trying to calm my nerves. For her, I think she just liked watching me squirm.
“It’s not much of anything,” I said, opening my apartment door. “But the rent is ok, and you know, it’s close to… to the… uh…”
It happened again. When she stepped past me, she flashed a subtle smile, and I completely forgot what I was saying.
“It’s nice,” she said, turning to face me. She took a few steps back, and her smile grew. “Listen, we’re not going to fuck. Get that idea out of your head.”
“No, I mean—I didn’t—”
“…but if you want to go down on me, I’ll let you.”
I’ve never been knocked off my feet by a sentence, but that nearly did it.
“At least you’ll get to see me naked, right? Something to jerk off to later.”
She was trying to sell me on it, as if there was some chance I might say no.
“You’re… serious?”
“There’s worse ways to kill time,” she said, looking around. “Which way to the bedroom?”
I didn’t speak. I just pointed.
Veronique started walking, untucking her shirt as she went. From behind, I watched her hands move to the buttons. She undid a few, then pulled it over her head and let it fall to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She slowed for a second, popped the button on her jeans, and kept going.
By the time I reached the bedroom, she was standing at the foot of the bed, topless, with her jeans hanging open.
I moved toward her, thinking I was going to kiss her, but she held up a hand.
“No,” she said, angling her head toward the floor.
I dropped to my knees and reached for her pants. They were tight. I had to pull harder than I expected, working them down as she wiggled her hips to help me.
“Again.”
Another couple of tugs and they came the rest of the way. She stepped out of them, one leg at a time.
I glanced up at her, and I wasn’t ready for how she looked standing there, practically naked in front of me.
“These too,” she said, hooking her thumbs into the band of her lace panties, inviting me to take them off. I slid them down slowly.
She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her legs until her pussy came into view.
“Show me what you can do.” She rested a hand on the back of my head and pulled me in closer.
If there was one thing I was confident about in the bedroom, it was my oral skills. Two girlfriends and eight years of being told my tongue was more useful than my dick. I got good at it.
Veronique had been in control since the moment we met, but this was my chance to show her she wasn’t doing me the favour she thought she was. I was about to do her one.
I kissed my way up her thighs, and I think she felt the change in me right away. All the fumbling from earlier disappeared. I knew what I was doing.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Oh, yes. That’s nice.”
She leaned back and got into what was happening. Her hand stayed on my head, but it wasn’t controlling anymore, just running her fingers through my hair.
All of my attention was between her legs. I felt her relax, and bit by bit, give herself over as I worked her pussy with my mouth and tongue. I was pretty sure she came into it thinking she’d have to fake it or finish herself off, but that didn’t last long. When her orgasm hit, I knew it was real. She couldn’t hide how shocked she was.
“Oh my God,” she panted. “Just like that. Keep going. Don’t stop.”
She moaned and rolled her hips for the next few minutes. Her breathing got heavier, her legs trembled, then tightened. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she cried out. “Don’t you dare stop. Keep your tongue on my clit. Use your fingers.”
Her hands grabbed at the sheets, bunching them up, as her head thrashed from side to side.
“Oh my god… my god… I’m gonna… I’m gonna… you’re doing it.” She was struggling to keep it together now.
Her legs closed around my head, and she bucked her hips up into my face in a series of short thrusts. “Oh my fucking god. I’m coming…” Veronique went limp, still moaning as her hand kneaded my hair.
She recovered for a second, lifted herself upright and looked at me in disbelief. “You actually made me come.”
She dropped back down on the bed and, for a few moments, didn’t say anything. She just lay there, breathing hard, staring at the wall one second, the ceiling the next.
I didn’t move. I was still between her legs and had the best view of my entire life. If I had any shot with her at all, I knew I just improved the odds, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. At that point, I would’ve been happy just to see her again. Veronique had a much better idea.
“Is your cock hard?”
“Yeah,” I said, too quickly.
“Go on, get it out. You deserve some pussy after that.”
This is where I’d like to say I fucked her in half a dozen positions for the next hour, but the reality is I hadn’t had sex in a year. And never with anyone who looked like Veronique.
When I climbed on top of her, my pants were still around my knees. I thought if I took even a minute to take them off, she might change her mind. I tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head away.
“Just fuck me,” she said. “Get yourself off.”
I wasn’t going to last long. I had no hope. I just didn’t want to completely embarrass myself, so I tried to think about anything else. An essay I had to write. A reminder I still owed Rob fifty bucks. Taxes. At one point, I was trying to remember the order of the planets from the sun. And for a while, it worked.
Then the stories I’d heard about Veronique started to creep in. I tried to push them out, but I couldn’t. When I got to the one where she left the party with two black guys, my mind locked on it. I didn’t want it in my head, but like an intrusive thought, it wouldn’t go away.
All I could see was her on her hands and knees, one of them slamming into her from behind, the other feeding her mouth with his cock from the front. The fact that I was fucking her didn’t make me come. But the idea that I was fucking a woman who’d done that did.
That’s when I realized that all the things I’d been telling myself about putting my past behind me were lies.
When I woke up the next morning, she was gone. For a second, I panicked and thought I might’ve imagined the whole thing.
But then I saw a Post-it note on the bed next to me. She later told me she’d stuck it to my forehead before she left.
I’ll be thinking of you with a little heart drawn next to it.
