She Ate Pussy For Him. He Called It Her Idea.
Open marriage worked perfectly until she asked for reciprocity
The takeout containers were still warm when she said it.
Thai food. Tuesday night. The kind of meal that happens when no one has the energy to pretend dinner matters. He was scrolling through his phone with one hand, chopsticks in the other, halfway through a story about someone at work when she interrupted him.
“I want to try a boyfriend.”
He didn’t look up immediately. His hand paused mid-reach for the pad thai, then continued. He set his phone down, laughing—a short, surprised sound that came from the back of his throat.
“What?”
She was looking directly at him. Not smiling. Not defensive. Just steady.
“I want to try a boyfriend,” she repeated. Same tone. Same cadence. Like she was confirming a dentist appointment.
The laugh came again, louder this time, but it sounded different now. Uncertain. He leaned back in his chair, wiping his hands on a napkin, shaking his head like she’d just told a joke he didn’t quite get yet.
“Okay. Where is this coming from?”
She didn’t answer right away. She reached for her water glass, took a sip, set it back down with both hands wrapped around it. The condensation left a ring on the table between them.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said.
His face changed. The amusement drained out of it slowly, like water circling a drain. He put the chopsticks down. Folded his arms. She could see his jaw working before he spoke.
“That’s… that’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.” He shifted in his seat. “I mean, we talked about this. We agreed. Women only. That was the boundary.”
She nodded. “You agreed on that boundary.”
“We both did.”
“No,” she said, and her voice didn’t rise, didn’t sharpen. “You decided. I said okay.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“You never said you had a problem with it.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “I don’t. I’m just saying—it was your boundary. Not ours.”
His hand came up, palm out, like he was trying to slow her down. “Okay, but that’s how relationships work. We set boundaries together. And you agreed to it. You participated. You *enjoyed* it.”
She let the silence sit for a moment. Long enough that he started to look uncomfortable.
“Did I?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. Too fast. “You did. You were into it.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “How do you know?”
“Because—” He stopped. Recalibrated. “Because you never said you weren’t.”
“Right.”
He exhaled through his nose, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. His voice dropped into that measured, reasonable register he used when he needed to sound patient.
“Look. I hear you. I do. But this is different. You wanting a boyfriend—that’s not the same as what we’ve been doing. That’s emotional. That’s… complicated.”
“Why is a boyfriend emotional,” she said, “but a girlfriend is just casual?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You just said a boyfriend is emotional. Complicated. But we’ve had girlfriends for four years. Why weren’t they emotional?”
“That’s not—” He stopped. Started again. “It’s different.”
“How?”
“Because it is.” His voice had an edge now. “You know it is.”
“I don’t, actually,” she said. “Explain it to me.”
His jaw tightened. “A boyfriend is… it’s a different dynamic. It’s not the same as what we’ve been doing.”
“Because?”
“Because a girlfriend is—” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “It’s lighter. It’s fun. It’s not threatening.”
“Threatening to what?”
“To us.” He said it like it was obvious. “To the marriage.”
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed now. “So when we bring a woman into our bed, that’s not threatening. But a man is.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because—” He stopped. His face was flushed now. “You know why.”
“I want you to say it.”
“Because it’s different for men,” he said, and his voice was louder now, defensive. “It just is. A woman with another woman—that’s not the same as a woman with another man.”
“Why not?”
“Because one is sexual and one is—” He stopped himself.
“One is what?” Her voice was still calm. Still even. “Say it.”
He stared at her.
“One is sexual,” she repeated slowly, “and one is what? Real? Threatening? Actually counts?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He didn’t answer.
She leaned forward now, elbows on the table, mirroring his posture from earlier. “You’re saying that me sleeping with women doesn’t count as real intimacy. That it’s just… what? Performance? Entertainment?”
“No, I—”
“Because if girlfriends aren’t emotional, then what have we been doing for four years?”
His mouth opened. Closed. He looked away.
“You had an affair.”
His whole body went rigid. “We talked about that. We worked through that.”
“We did,” she said. “And then you asked me to open the marriage. And I said yes.”
“Because you wanted to.”
“Because you needed me to.”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. She could see his hands tighten against the edge of the table, knuckles pressing white.
“I forgave you,” she continued, still calm, still even. “I stayed. I performed forgiveness so well you actually believed it. And then when you said you wanted to try opening things up, I said yes to that too. Because that’s what you needed from me.”
“That’s not—”
“And then it wasn’t just open,” she said. “It was women. Only women. Because you couldn’t handle the idea of me with another man. So I said yes to that too. And I showed up. Every time. I participated. I smiled. I made sure they felt comfortable. I made sure *you* felt like you were getting what you wanted.”
His breathing had changed. Shallow. Faster. His face was flushed now, color creeping up his neck. He was shaking his head, small rapid movements, his hands pressing flat against the table like he needed to hold himself down.
“No. No, that’s not—you’re making it sound like I forced you. Like I manipulated you into—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you’re implying.” His voice was tight now, controlled but barely. “You’re sitting here acting like I—like this whole thing was some kind of—” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “I loved you. I *love* you. Everything we did, we did *together*.”
“Did we?”
“Yes.” The word came out hard. Definitive. “Yes. You were there. You were with me. You said yes every single time. You never—” His voice caught but he pushed through. “I thought you wanted it too.”
She didn’t respond immediately. Just looked at him.
“I thought you wanted it too,” he said again, quieter now. “I really did. I wouldn’t have—if I thought you were just doing it for me, I never would have—”
“I know,” she said softly.
“Then why—” He stopped. His jaw clenched. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want something now.”
“But this is different,” he said, and his voice was climbing again, desperate. “A boyfriend—that’s not just sex. That’s feelings. That’s time. That’s—that changes everything.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Yeah,” she said. “For both of us.”
His face went blank.
“What?”
“A boyfriend,” she said. “For both of us.”
The color drained from his face. All of it. He looked gray under the kitchen light.
“You mean—” His voice came out thin. “You want me to—”
“I want *us* to have a boyfriend,” she said clearly. “The same way we’ve had girlfriends.”
He stared at her. His mouth opened and closed twice before any sound came out.
“That’s—no. No, that’s not—I’m not—” He pushed his chair back suddenly, the legs scraping loud against the floor. He stood up, hands on his head, turning away from her. “Jesus Christ.”
She stayed seated. Watching him.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me to—” He spun back around. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”
“Yes,” she said. “The same thing you asked me to do.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s just not.” His voice was rising now. “I can’t do that. I can’t—I’m not wired that way.”
“Neither was I.”
His hands dropped. He stared at her like she’d just spoken in a language he didn’t recognize.
She held his gaze. Waited.
“Do you know how much pussy I’ve eaten for you?”
Everything stopped.
The sound in the room. The air between them. His breathing.
He stood there, completely still, his mouth slightly open, his whole body frozen mid-thought.
She watched him. Didn’t move. Didn’t soften it.
His face did something she’d never seen before—a kind of slow collapse, like a structure giving way from the inside. His eyes went wide, then unfocused. His jaw worked but no sound came out.
He tried to speak. Failed. Tried again.
Nothing.
She picked up her chopsticks. Took a bite of her rice. Chewed. Swallowed.
Set them back down.
“I want us to get a boyfriend,” she said again.
He still hadn’t moved. He was staring at her like she was a stranger. Like the woman sitting across from him had just materialized out of nothing and replaced someone he used to know.
She stood up. Gathered her plate and glass. Walked past him to the sink.
Behind her, she heard him sit back down. Heard the chair creak under his weight.
She rinsed her plate. Set it in the dish rack. Turned off the water.
When she looked back, he was still sitting there. Hands flat on the table. Staring at the takeout containers like they held an answer he couldn’t find.
She walked out of the kitchen.
Left him there.
In the silence.
With the question he couldn’t answer.