There once was a certain middle-aged fellow with a serious craving for a strap-on. His better half, however, had absolutely zero desire to strap on said device.

"You're an idiot! This is progress!"

"You can shove that progress right up your ass—just leave me out of it."

This "backward" woman preferred to get intimate the old-fashioned way, thereby severely stunting her husband's blossoming anal development.

"You fool, stop torturing your wife and go look for the object of your lust where it grows naturally."

"I'm strictly straight! What are you insinuating? I don't fall in love with men!"

"Love is a rare and beautiful phenomenon. But a craving for phallic symbols is an entirely different story."

Time passed. His wife moved to another country while political storms raged back home. Her husband had a few epiphanies, took a closer look at his neighbor—just as that peculiar shrink had recommended—and... And he became a happy man.

"Nelli! I wrote to you back then, remember? It worked! I’ve never felt anything like it!"

"Attaboy. And how’s the wife?"

"Even better! She’s blissfully happy over there with some Valentino who’s packing twice as much as I am! Size always matters."

"Indeed it does. You’ve now achieved the textbook cuckold dynamic. Magnificent!"

"Everything is absolutely perfect. There’s only one thing I’m terrified of..."

"?"

"That my wife might actually come back."

The paths to a personal paradise work in mysterious ways. And to each their own. May a ray of light—and the exact kind of progress that brings you joy—find its way into your most accommodating spot.

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

This is one of the most frequent manipulative tactics that occasionally lands in my DMs in response to an automated greeting featuring the price tag for my attention. The assumption is that, faced with accusations of being a digital mirage, I will immediately scramble to prove otherwise.

Ironically, just a split second earlier, this very Doubting Thomas fully believed he was writing to flesh and blood, having already managed to unfold the sheer breadth of his cuckold and ballbusting fantasies. Good boy, you've come to the right place. But entertaining that for free? That's a charity strictly reserved for your parents.

If you want to verify you're not dealing with a fake, just ask for proof. Everyone has their own standard for it. Or better yet, before you drop your virtual pants, do a little digging on exactly who your captivated audience is. Otherwise, you're the one looking highly suspect: are you just trying to dine and dash before the waiter brings the check?

The USSR has been dead for 35 years. Entire generations have grown up completely untouched by its bizarre dogmas, yet this pathetic entitlement to a free ride still lingers in some. Back in the dark, terrifying thickets of Soviet reality, there roamed dinosaurs who remembered entire social institutions built on free services. Because the specialists’ salaries were paid by that very same state that has since sunk into oblivion.

But that system came with its own caveat: the sheer desire to do as little work as possible, since the paycheck was the same regardless. Hence the miserable, scowling mugs that would greet a polite knock on the office door and a timid "May I come in?" with utter irritation.

Today, however, if you reach out to someone to employ their expertise, trust me, they are genuinely thrilled to see you. Because you are their bread and butter. God, how much they love you in that exact moment! But if you’ve shown up hoping to hustle a freebie with cheap parlor tricks... Cue the mental image of a bouncer tossing you out by the scruff of your neck. Preferably through a closed door.

"I hope you’re doing this to help people, not just to make money."

"Of course. After all, I'm fed by the gods. All of them combined: the Norse, the Egyptian, and a couple of the Abrahamic ones for good measure."

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

A Turkish suitor made the trek all the way from Odesa to Kyiv exclusively for a swing date with a couple. He had spent weeks texting, trying to anticipate their every desire. In words, at least. And then, ta-da! The big day arrived. That’s when fate played its first joke: out of all the cab drivers at the train station, he managed to pick the one who didn't know the city and drove him in the exact opposite direction. The couple—the intended recipients of this "gift"—had to track down their missing third and fish him out. They even arranged a place to stay for the guy, who could barely string two words together in the local language.

Then came the next oddity. The overseas guest completely failed to realize that he had just been cared for, that they had gone out of their way for his comfort and found him wherever his drunken cabbie had dumped him. Instead, he sat in the backseat of their car, pouting like a sullen schoolgirl. Not a single compliment crossed his lips.

"Why no flowers?" the girl asked.

"What, is it your birthday?"

The couple exchanged a bewildered glance.

"It’s customary to bring flowers on a date…"

"Next time," the 'macho' retorted haughtily.

"Are you short on cash?"

"I have money."

"Then there’s a kiosk right over there. Go buy a rose, or whatever you think is fitting. A girl wants flowers," his hosts coaxed, already realizing this whole endeavor was rapidly going up in smoke.

"I said, 'Next time.' Besides, you asked me to, and I don't do what I'm told!" Apparently, he thought this defiance made him look like a rugged alpha. In reality, he just looked like an obstinate fool refusing to fix a faux pas.

The girl smiled sweetly and sent him to wait in a nearby cafe. Her partner, a genuinely good-natured guy, texted the failed lover the address of the apartment they had arranged for him, and they simply drove off.

"You know he won't appreciate this. He's just going to get bitter, emotionally stunted as he is. You shouldn't have texted him at all. When he finally called, he’d realize he had overplayed his hand."

"I know you. You would’ve left him to sleep at the train station or just told him to take a hike and go fuck himself."

"Naturally. And I would’ve tipped off the cops about a suspicious individual—let him contemplate basic etiquette in a holding cell."

…No, he never did grasp the finer points of etiquette. He just got profoundly offended and repeatedly tried to get in touch to pick a fight.

The bottom line: the stingy guy had the miserable luck of wasting his travel money on an intercity trip only to spend the night jerking off alone in a sterile rental. And then—the journey home, burdened by a lingering sense of his own idiocy and irretrievably lost opportunities. All he had to do was act with a touch of class and reap the mutual pleasure. Skimping on flowers and compliments proved to be a highly questionable economy.

P.S. Our hero spent the next ten years trying to close this particular gestalt, writing once every year or two to the swingers who ditched him. And with every message, his addressees felt an ever-deepening satisfaction that they had made the right call.

Case Two: Latent Swinging and the Erection Check

During a preliminary meet-and-greet with a swinging couple, a prospective third participant turned out to be completely devoid of an erection. He explained this away with an absolute masterpiece in the genre of intimate quirks: it turned out he only participated in group action if his friend was there, because seeing his buddy's hard-on is what woke up his own. Without it, he claimed, he was "just too shy"…

All the while, he foamed at the mouth, screaming that he was strictly hetero, not bi. But here’s the catch: a straight guy doesn’t run around violently waving the "I’m not gay!" flag. Only a man deeply insecure about his own tastes feels the need to aggressively prove his exclusive traditionalism.

You can approach same-sex topics with humor, you can be indifferent to them, or you can simply not notice them. But a fiery, visceral denial is often the brightest neon sign pointing to a latent craving for a strong male... ahem... shoulder. Otherwise, the topic simply wouldn't come up.

Case Three: Champagne, Double Cunnilingus, and MFM

Spreading his arms, he could almost touch the opposite walls of the kitchen in that rented apartment... The guy wasn’t a giant; it was just that this "love lair," despite being in upscale Pechersk, was notoriously cramped.

And then came the ménage à trois. The girl, her man, and their guest. And something rather astonishing happened: for the first time, a stranger managed to bring her to an oral climax. Her man was kissing her neck, while the invited maestro of foreplay masterfully coaxed the spot down below with his tongue. This potent duet launched her to a dizzying peak.

It was a slight pity that "Mr. Lips" himself never quite reached the finish line. For some reason, he couldn't, despite maintaining excellent stamina throughout the entire erotic marathon. But it can be difficult with new people: some require an adjustment period. Others just "explode with joy" regardless of who is around.

By the way, this is the prequel to another video story of mine—the one where someone threw up champagne at the worst possible moment. But that moment of intense paired affection was absolutely sublime. I forgot to mention it back then.

A gag reflex during "deep lingual immersion" isn't inherently a problem—it’s actually a widespread fetish. There is even a niche genre in BDSM centered around intentionally swallowing too much liquid just to induce vomiting. To each their own.

But that evening, the participants hadn't put in an order for such specific predilections. Perhaps that is why a four-handed oral session left a far more indelible impression the next time around.

Video and photos by the author

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel