The man who shouldn’t get married – Part I

It’s the first time we’ve been alone since his girlfriend, now fiancé, found out about us. I have no expectations about what might happen but when he immediately turns the conversation to sex after greeting me with a kiss on the cheek, I suspect we’ll end up fucking.

He is getting married next Sunday; his second marriage and quite obviously not his lifelong dream come true.

“If I had to have someone, it might as well be her,” he says when I ask why he is getting married.

“Sounds like you’re settling,” I reply.

“Yeah, I suppose I am in a way. It’s going to be hard giving up, you know, what we had and stuff.”

What we had was a short-lived affair. He was in a serious relationship at the time and when she found out about us, he proposed.

“But why get married then?” I ask.

“She’s a good partner to have. We get along, we have fun together.”

“And what about who you really are?”

“I’m going to have to be good.”

But he hadn’t been. Just the weekend prior he’d slept with another woman we both knew intimately.

“It was my first transgression since she found out about us three. It was just supposed to be drinks and catching up,” he says.

“It never is with you.”

K had been my sometimes roommate. He ostensibly had a room in our apartment and he paid rent, but in the six months I had been living here, he had only slept there a handful of times.

On the second of these occasions, the girlfriend hadn’t come. I hadn’t considered him as anything beyond a roommate. I didn’t know much about him and he knew even less about me. It wasn’t until a night of drinking that we even realised there was something between us. And that something was our perverted and insatiable desire to fuck.

“Do you mind if I have a shower? It’s hot outside.”

He’s stripping off in my room before I have a chance to pull out a clean towel. I make a show of averting my eyes and make to leave the room. He carries on with our conversation.

“How have you been? You still fucking that married guy?”

I perch on the edge of the bed. The only way he can hear me is if I sit directly in front of the bathroom door and watch him shower. He is hard.

“Yeah, I’m seeing a few guys, I guess. That guy in our building – I quite like him actually. Even think I might have a crush. Still seeing the married guy from work. Oh, and I’ve been sexting this guy down the coast. He’s a pilot in the Navy.”

“You’ve been busy,” he says as he steps out the shower and starts to rub himself with the towel. His cock is still hard.

“Yeah, well we haven’t actually met yet, the pilot and I, but we sext a lot.”

The conversation goes on but I’m distracted. He’s standing in my bedroom, shameless in his nakedness. I’m determined I’m not going to be drawn back into whatever it had been before. I had made a promise to myself I wouldn’t sleep with him again after she’d found out.

He pulls on his undies and shorts, but leaves his shirt off and sits down on the bed, facing me.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” I say.

He laughs.

“What made you say that? I didn’t come here thinking anything was going to happen.”

“We have history, in this room, on this bed and I’m telling you we’re not going to.”

“That’s fine. I had no expectations.”

The conversation never drifts far from sex. How our mutual friend stroked his cock last weekend while they sat on the lounge.

“We were talking about that time the three of us were here and she and you were so wet, just dripping wet, and I was taking turns fucking each of you. That was awesome.”

“Yeah, I remember. It was fun.”

“You were both gushing everywhere. H was saying she’d love to see you again.”

A pause, not uncomfortable. As we talked, we’d casually started to recline on my bed but were not touching.

It would have been so easy to reach out, touch his chest, put my hand behind his head and pull his face towards mine. It was easy. So easy that the first time it happened we can’t even remember who initiated it. One minute we were talking in the kitchen, finishing a bottle of Southern Comfort, the next we were naked, in his bed and he had his cock in me. It was so natural, so normal. Neither of us even needed to think.

“Harvey likes to use the strap-on,” I say, not really knowing why. “He likes to wear it and fuck me, like having two cocks.”

“I forgot you had a strap-on. We never used it, did we? We used that big double ender. I remember holding that while you and H fucked either end.”

“Yeah, Harvey used that on me too. He folded it in half and put both ends inside me.”

“Was it good?”

“It was really good.”

Another pause.

By now we are laying across my bed, the pillows are behind me and we’re still not touching.

“I was riding home from work the other day and I saw these gay guys. And I thought they were really attractive. And then I was like ‘where did that come from?’. I think maybe I’d like to get a gay guy to have fun with. Then it wouldn’t be like cheating,” he says.

“Would you tell her you were fucking a guy?”

“No, probably not.”

“Then it’s cheating.”

“Yeah, maybe. I really should get going. I need to pack some of my stuff up.”

His hand drifts to my hair and he starts casually brushing it to the side with his fingers.

“No one has done that to me in a long time,” I say.


“No, the guys I see want to fuck and then I want them to leave. There’s no cuddling.”

I close my eyes and let him caress my head. His other hand moves to my back. By now I’m lying on my stomach, my head resting on a cushion.

“I really should get going,” he says again. He leans in to kiss me. A peck on the lips. And another. He opens his mouth and lightly touches my lips with his tongue. My lips part and my resolve disappears.

I shift my weight from my stomach to my side and we settle into a deep kiss. His hands are gentle as they move over my body. He always was a considerate lover.

I place my hand behind his neck to hold his lips tight to mine. His hair is closely cropped, his cock is hard against me. I reach down and caress it. I can feel his pre-cum leaking through his shorts. He rolls me onto my back so he’s on top of me, slowly grinding his cock into my crotch.

“I have my period,” I tell him.

“That’s OK.”

I unbutton his shorts and unzip his fly. I slide my hand inside his underwear and pull out his cock. The tip is leaking clear and shiny cum. I use it to lubricate my fingers and slide them over and around the head of his cock. He draws in a sharp breath.

“Oh, aww, that’s good,” he says.

He pulls up my skirt and his fingers rub firmly but slowly over my clit. It feels amazing.

I’ve had a lot of sex recently, but it’s mostly been drunk and disorderly, with a desire to get straight down to business. It’s nice to have someone take the time to just touch me without even so much as sticking a finger in. He pulls down my top and starts sucking on my left nipple, gently teasing it with his teeth. I gasp. Why is it that familiar can sometimes feel better than new?

My head is back and my mouth is open as I absorb the sensation of his fingers running over my clit through my underwear. I see him watching my face as he sucks my nipple harder. I want him in my mouth.

He pulls his shorts and underwear down and off and lays back on the bed. I lean over and take him in my mouth, remembering it now. It’s on the smaller side and it means I can easily swallow it down.

He gently pulls my body closer, repositioning me so he can reach my cunt with his hand. He slides his fingers under my underwear and starts to rub me again. I can feel that sweet pressure building. I hadn’t even realised how much I ached for release until it came about 30 seconds later. I can’t even keep his cock in my mouth I’m so focused on my own pleasure.

His fingers are inside me and I remember I have a tampon in.

“Do you want me to take it out?”

“It’s up to you. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

He keeps on rubbing me and positions me so I’m prone over the tip of his cock.

“I’ll go take it out.”

I crawl off the bed and in my bathroom I remove my tampon. As I re-enter the bedroom, I strip off my clothes. He’s stroking himself and watching me, a condom is on the bed next to him.

As I lay down on the bed, he tears open the packet and rolls the condom down over his cock.

My legs are wide apart and he positions himself against me. He eases in, parting my lips slowly before plunging his shaft in up to his balls.

We both gasp. He begins to thrust and I put my arms around his back and pull him into me. He starts to move inside me faster.

“If I keep going like this, I’m going to come.”

“Then come,” I say.

He’s sweating, I can feel it running down the centre of his back as I hold him to me.

He never orgasms loudly. It’s more a breathy, extended exhalation than a roar of release. I don’t come but I already had from him rubbing my clit so I am still satisfied.

He stays inside me another few minutes, gently kissing me.

“That was good. Quick, but good. I didn’t realise it would be so quick,” he says.

“Bet you’re not going to tell her about this?”

“Um no.”

“Good luck next weekend with the wedding.”

“This won’t happen again. I’m going to be good.”

“Yep,” is all I say.

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