Douglas was 6-foot-2, 42 years old, and a cuckold.
Douglas sighed deeply — a sigh that seemed to deflate his torso like a punctured exercise ball — swung his legs out of bed, and was a cuckold.
Douglas wore a suit to work, which made his shoulders look even more broad, and loosely fingered the cufflinks his wife had bought him, and was a cuckold.
Douglas slid his size 13 feet into dress shoes using a shoehorn that a now-distant friend had given as a wedding present, and was a cuckold.
Douglas’ voice cracked during a conference call at work and, later, when Debbie, the secretary, asked him if everything was alright, he said it was, and didn’t mention that he was a cuckold.
Douglas walked brazenly out of work early, slumped into his leather car seat, and was a cuckold.
Douglas picked up his daughters — seven and nine — who squabbled and tittered in the back seat, while he sat silent in the front, driving slower than the speed limit, and was a cuckold.
Douglas traded his suit for a polo and poured himself an inch of Woodford Reserve, and was a cuckold.
Douglas idly stroked his youngest daughter’s straw blond hair when she fell asleep on his lap on the couch, and was a cuckold.
Douglas went to bed, alone.