He was watching another man screw his wife.

Jake thought that it was surreal that he would be standing at the open side window of their bedroom and watching another man thrust into his wife and her moans engorge the air.

She never moaned like this when he rode her.

She never writhed under him like her body was the elastic long length of a snake. And she never hissed out moans that sounded like baby grunts. Plus, he couldn’t quite recall her fingers raking along his back, or her voice hissing out his name in a frenzied pitch like she did his.


Ailen, the man he’d hired to redo the carpentry work in the kitchen at her insistence.

Ailen, twenty-eight—he’d said when he’d asked out of curiosity. Skilled wood worker. Expert in cabinets and shelves. Exceedingly polite and impressively respectful.

Ailen, who called him sir and dipped his head when he addressed him.

Ailen, who had a shaggy dread mop on his head and a face that gave meaning to the word ugly. His clothing, usually a ripped-at-knees faded out blue jeans and saggy neckline dirty brown long tank, both of which smelled of stuffy sweat and sawed wood.

Ailen, whose teeth was crooked and brown, and whose breath usually carried a certain undefined odour.

Ailen—twenty-eight, carpenter, ugly and scruffy looking. That Ailen was screwing his wife and she was wheezing out his name.

He had turned her over, had her propped on her knees and arched ass backward and was now… He thought about the perfect verb for the animal like spectacle and decided that ‘pounding’ was well suited. Ailen was now pounding his wife, and she was screeching no longer moaning and the word, ‘harder’, ‘harder’, ‘harder’ was panting out of her.

She never demanded that he go harder on her. No, she never did. She always lay there, legs parted, hips tipped up a little and barely audible sighs filtering through her slightly parted lips.

It was always like that. No difference. The dignified, for he always considered it dignified, response of a woman in the throes of passion.

But she wasn’t dignified now.

%0ustify;”>No, she was… wild. Like an animal. Uncontrolled. Uninhibited. Natural, he added the word. Natural and unpretentious.

She was once again on her back and his thrusts were more accelerated and convulsive. The climax approached, he knew, and he knew it would be nothing like he’d ever experienced with her.

And it wasn’t.

Her shrieked cry of yes! had merged with his loud unearthly grunt and he was now a collapsed heap on top of her. He was never allowed to collapse on top of her. She hated the weight, she said. So, he always withdrew swiftly and disengaged their bodies.

She didn’t seem to mind the weight now. As a matter-of-fact, she held on to him by his sweat creamed shoulders.

It was over, he thought and was about to turn when he heard her murmur.

“Thank you.”

Jake shut his eyes and felt something, something that still clung desperately to life, crumble and die. He tasted the salty tear as he lumbered back to the front door.

He knocked. Well, it seemed appropriate to do so.

It took—too long, he thought, for her to come to the door and she looked surprised, albeit mildly so, to see him.

“You’re home early. I didn’t hear your car.” She stepped back from the door.

She had put on her black and white check dress, and brushed back her hair.

“The car’s at the mechanic’s.”

“Oh really? Sorry about that.” She reached for his suitcase, took it out of his hand. “Hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Carburettor problem.”

Ailen walked in, from the kitchen. He was back in his faded blue jeans and dirty brown long tank. “I’m done for the day, ma. Good evening, sir.” He dipood evening, sir.” He dipped his head.

Jake stared at him. He saw his right hand come up with a handgun and he emptied its bullets into Ailen.

But he didn’t own a handgun, or any other kind of gun. So, he saw himself wielding his machete, lashing into Ailen, dismembering him. Or maybe he should run him over with his car multiple times, and multiple times more after that.

“Okay, Ailen. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

His wife’s voice broke into his mind travel.

“I am almost done with the work. It won’t take long now.” He still had his head lowered before him.

Almost done with which work, the one on his wife or the one on his kitchen? Jake wondered and stared at him, trying to ferret out any mockery in his respectful demeanour.

There was none.


“All right then. Till tomorrow, Ailen.” She gave him only a dismissive glance before she focused again on him. “I’ll run your bath and thereafter set your food. It’s jollof rice and oven grilled chicken.”

Jollof rice and oven grilled chicken, that was his dinner. It would be delicious. She was a good cook and she usually cooked his favourites.

He followed her to the bedroom.

“You have changed the bed sheet.”

It had been the light blue and white patterned one when she and Ailen had been undulating on it just minutes earlier. Now, it was the eggplant flowery one.

“Yes, I did.” She glanced at the bed. “I thought I’d do a clean-up today.”

The air smelt fresh and fizzy with the recent spray of air freshener. He looked at the waste basket by his triangular desk. “You forgot to empty the bin.”

Her gaze shifted swiftly to it. “Oh, I must have done. I’ll run your water, then empty it before setting your dinner.”

“Why did you thank him?”

“Hmm. Did you say something?”

He stared at her between the bathroom door. “You told him thank you, why?”

“Told who thank you?” She was staring blankly at him.


“Oh.” The blankness cleared. A frown etched between her brows. “You mean when he was leaving? Did I tell him thank you? Must have been unconscious.” She gave a laugh. “Anyway, he’s doing a good job.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “You should inspect the kitchen.”

Jake nodded. He would inspect the kitchen. Examine Ailen’s work in the kitchen. “You told him thank you after he… fucked you.”

There was no fine way to put it. It was fucking, what they had done.

“What?” The smiled wiped off her face and her jaw sagged.

“I came home much earlier.” It seemed an explanation would help her understand him better. “After I dropped the car at the mechanic’s, I decided to come home. It seemed pointless to return to the office when I’d already left it. As I entered the yard, I remembered my jogger you’d hung at the backyard this morning and decided to get it. I heard sounds—moaning sounds. The back window was open and I saw you.”

“Oh my God!”

“He was fucking you. You screeched his name, moaned loudly—and you told him thank you.” His eyes searched her shocked face. “Why?”

“I… Jake…”

“Why, Tina?”

“Jake.” She took a stumbling step into the room. “You saw us. You know.”

“I know he fucked you. I don’t know why you thanked him.”

“I…” She met his eyes, stared for a long minute, and then loosely lifted her shoulders. “It was so good. I’ve never had it like that before. Every time… each time, it is good. Better than good.”

“Every time.” It dawned on him. Jake didn’t know why it didn’t before. “This was not the first time.”

“No. Today, when you saw us, was the third time. The first was on Tuesday.”

And today was Thursday. Every day since Tuesday. “Why?”

She let another minute pass. Then she shrugged. “Your dick is…” She made a gesture with her fingers. “I never feel it. It just slides in and out, no friction, no impact. But his…” Again the gesture with her fingers. “It’s so big, so strong, and it just fills me. Then he knows what to do with it. How to do… whatever with it. I… once I saw it, I couldn’t stop myself.”

Once she saw it. He would question that but something else was gnawing his heart. “So, he’s bigger and better then?”

She shrugged, looked away, said nothing.

“You never said anything to me. You never complained. You never told me. I asked you—once—you said it was okay. Why?”

She looked at him again. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to crush your pride. I thought I could bear it. Manage it. But… I want more. I love sex. I deserve to enjoy good sex and you…” her hand gestured to him, to the lower part of his body. “Sorry.”

Jake saw pity in her eyes and winced at its dull glare. “You should have told me. I thought we were… that I was satisfying you. I thought your soft sighs were your ladylike ways of responding to me, to sex.” He blinked and felt the wetness on his cheek. “You should have told me I was not good enough.”

“I didn’t want to crush your pride. You’re a man. Men are sensitive about their tool and performance.”

His tool had not been adequate enough. His performance had been below par. “I am crushed now—pride, heart and all. I saw a worker I hired to work on my kitchen fucking my wife. I am crushed, Tina.”

“Sorry.” She mumbled the word.

Again, he realised it was sorry for him, not sorry for her act of infidelity.

Jake nodded, turned and walked to the closet.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“I have to go. I am not good enough. My tool and performance are not good enough.” He lifted up the suitcase, looked at her. “You deserve good sex, you said so, and I can’t give you that pleasure.”

“Sorry.” She said the word for the third time, and this time, something almost like contrition glimmered in her eyes. “But this is your house, you should not leave it.”

“It is a rented house, both of us will have to leave it, unless you are willing to continue paying its rent.” He pulled the suitcase forward and stopped beside her. “Why here? Here in the house we lived. Here on the bed we shared.”

“It seemed easier, quicker. I didn’t think of it. I am sorry.”

Jake nodded. Contrition, for that part, was plain now. “I didn’t create myself, Tina. I didn’t choose to have a dick that is inadequate and I tried my best to please you in other ways. But I guess size actually matters.”

He looked at her one last time. She was his wife. She would be no longer. “Goodbye.”

“I am sorry, Jake.”

“So am I.”

And he went through the door.

*** ~~~ ***

This story is not about creating the perfect or more realistic scenario. It is a simple story to show a certain point of view we hardly ever look at: The man with the small dick.

What do you think of him, the un-endowed man, and his helpless situation?

Many marriages are breaking up these days because of sexually related matters and the issue of the man’s size and his performance is one of those matters. What’s the best way to deal with such things?

Like Jake said, and it is true, he, and all un-endowed men, didn’t create themselves.

Let’s talk.