I fucked your husband.
I forget which one he was.
Was he the tall athletic red head, who enjoys skiing? Late thirties, handsome?
The husky Italian, the one with the sensitive nipples?
The black man—I think he works in finance—who asked me to beat him but begged me to leave no marks? Glasses, well built?
Your husband found me because I make myself easy to find.
I chose him because I liked the way he looked. I liked the way he wrote. And I understood how badly he needed to meet someone.
I chose him because I was horny. He was horny.
And we knew it would be simple.
He came to my place during his lunch break. He had about an hour, but that was really all the time we needed.
We sat on my couch and talked, drinking water.
He talked about you a little bit, fingering his wedding band.
He said that you don’t have that much sex, but he loves you and the marriage is working, so, you know, that’s just how it is.
I asked why he wanted to be with me, or any man.
He said being with another woman would be too complicated, and too much like cheating. This was easier.
I pressed for more: is there anything special you want from a man, that you don’t get from your wife?
He was shy about this, but he told me.
He likes to suck cock.
And he wants to get fucked.
I told him a little about myself. I’m bisexual, I say, and always have been. But I was married for a long time, and lived as a monogamous heterosexual.
I understand that marriage is about more that sexual satisfaction, but I also understand how frustrating it can be when your sexual pleasure is limited to long showers alone.
And I know what it is to want to be with a man, when that just isn’t possible.
He nodded. Yeah, he said, that’s it.
I assured him I am discreet, and clean. He could relax and enjoy himself. I asked if he wanted another glass of water.
He said thanks. He was fine.
Good, I told him. Then let’s get naked.
Good, he smiled.
I led him to my bedroom.
His eyes scanned the room, taking in the books, the chairs, the bed.
Stand here, I said. I want to undress you.
Okay, he replied.
I began to unbutton his shirt.
He was trembling a little.
I was calm, commenting on his nice smell, his pretty eyes.
I reached down and unbuttoned his cuff.
I walked behind him and took his shirt. I tossed it on a chair.
I stood very close to his back, listening to him breath.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulder, pressing close.
I kissed his neck.
He looked ahead, unable to see me.
Are you comfortable with kissing on the mouth?
Uh, no, not really, he replied. Is that okay?
Of course it’s okay. Just do what feels comfortable.
Does it feel good when I hold you like this?
Good. I’m going to remove your undershirt.
I lifted it over his head. It joined his shirt in the chair.
I pressed close again. I was fully dressed, but he could feel the skin of my bare forearms as my warm hands slowly caressed his torso.
He flinched with pleasure.
You like that?
Good. I like it too. I like the feel of your skin on mine.
As I spoke, my hands roamed to his belt.
I smelled the back of his neck as my hand unfastened his belt.
I unhooked a clasp.
I unzipped his pants.
I didn’t touch his cock, not yet. No need. I know how a hard on feels in your hands.
Or, in my hands, rather. I don’t know where your hands were at that moment.
Mine were pulling down your husband’s pants.
Mine were rubbing along his thigh.
Mine were inside the waistband of his underwear.
When he was fully nude, I pressed against his back, fully dressed.
I held him close to me.
He could not see me.
I pulled back for a moment. I removed my clothes, tossing them into his line of vision.
He knew I was nude.
He didn’t know if he was supposed to look.
I pressed against his back, my arms returning to his waist.
He gasped at the sensation.
Warm, tender flesh holding him close.
Such a simple thing, really.
My cock settling between his cheeks.
The cock he craved, the cock he had not yet seen.
I turned him to face me. Our eyes were close.
Too bad he doesn’t kiss, I thought. I caressed his cheek.
I took a step forward.
Instinctively, he stepped back.
I took another step, and smiled.
He stepped back, grinning nervously.
I pushed him on the bed.
I followed, keeping my body low and feline.
He had still not seen me nude.
I hovered above him, then lowered my body to his.
I moved and undulated against his torso, pining back his arms. He could feel the strength in my hands as I held him down. He could feel the gentleness in my body as I rubbed so lightly against him.
I looked him in the eyes. I knelt on his hips.
He felt my cock against his.
I sat up.
I looked down at him as his eyes, finally, hungrily, took in my body.
Jesus, he said.
I released his hands.
You can touch me, I said.
Your cock is so gorgeous, he whispered, lightly fingering it.
I took his cock and mine in one firm grip, rubbing them against one another.
He was so hard.
I kept my body moving as he watched, now and then pressing my ass down onto his balls.
I fell back on my pillows, my legs resting on his torso. He was still pinned.
I watched his eyes as he watched me stroke.
You like my cock, huh?
I do, he said.
Are you ready to suck it?
I released his body.
He turned his body as if his mouth were a pivot, ready to join with its target.
I let him suck me for a long time, as I relaxed and watched.
I fucked his face a bit.
I held him close, forcing him to swallow my shaft.
Sorry, sorry, he said, pulling away. I’m just nervous.
That’s okay, I smiled. You enjoy your cock.
Your husband was eager for me to fuck him, but I begged off. I didn’t think we had time for that.
Or maybe your husband was the one who wanted it pretty badly, but just couldn’t relax. It’s been too long, he said, and you are too big.
Or maybe your husband was the one who moaned that he was my bitch as I worked deeper into his hole.
Either way, he wanted me to cum on him.
I declined, saying I had a date later.
But I wanted him to cum on me.
I lay back. He sat on his knees between my legs.
I wrapped my thighs tight around his waist.
I stroked him until he was close.
I stroked my own cock, for him to watch.
Our two cocks, touching as my hands worked.
He jolted. Wait, wait, he said.
Oh, I’m going to cum, he said.
His eyes closed.
His mouth opened.
His shoulders dropped.
He exhaled as his body gave way.
I milked him until my belly was covered.
He pulled up, opening his eyes.
He looked at me.
Nice work, I commended.
Thanks, he panted. He smiled.
But I knew what he was thinking. It was on his face immediately.
I would give him a moment to recover. I offered to fetch a washcloth.
Thanks, he said.
I walked to the bathroom to wash up. I took my time.
I soaked a washcloth in warm water. I gave it to him.
He cleaned himself.
Where do I . . . ? he asked, holding the cloth.
Toss it on the floor, I said. I’ll get it later.
I have so many washcloths.
We dressed together.
I made light conversation as the sexy man in my bed became, once more, the working man who came home to you that night.
I offered him a bottle of water to go. He accepted.
He shook hands at the door.
Thanks a lot, he said. That was really great.
Oh sure, I said, my hand on the doorknob. You know where to find me.
I locked the door.
I made a sandwich and returned to work.
Elapsed time, about forty-five minutes.
I only fucked your husband once or twice.
Maybe that’s because he got it out of his system for now. Or maybe he found someone else when I was unavailable.
But every now and then, a few months will pass, and I will get another email.
Hey bud, what are you doing for lunch?