Love and Sex Ch. 02

"So, yeah, I'm proud of my cock, Cathy. Why wouldn't I be? I'm truly blessed."

"Matt had to check Paul's claim that mine could be the largest on the planet. The asshole happily stated that according to Wikipedia, the world record belonged to a white American named Jonah Adam (Cardelli) Falcon, who sported a 13.5" penis. It was so large that the poor guy became light-headed every time he got an erection because of all the blood flowing to his cock.

"Paul scratched his head and said, 'There's something strange about that record. Falcon's cock would be nearly thirteen sigmas. There haven't been enough people in the history of the human race for it to happen. I think maybe large penises don't follow a bell curve.'

"Matt said, 'Well, it's certainly not normal.'

"Paul said, 'In any case, John's cock is probably the largest any of us will ever see.'

I remembered the night John was describing. I had enjoyed sharing the two bottles of Cutty Sark he won. Now that he'd finished the story, he removed his hand from my wife's ass and gave his cock a couple of strokes. She licked her lips for perhaps the third time that I'd noticed. Her hand was still buried in her crotch. Was she absentmindedly rubbing her clit while lying across his broad, muscular chest? From her expression, I sensed she was almost as aroused as when the ambulance interrupted her, and she discovered John was watching her masturbate.

In the video, I watched John smile. "You're a lucky woman to be married to a loving man like Paul. You have no idea how rare men with such highly developed skills are. I'm happy for my dear friend. When we talked about women, he described the ideal partner. We both like strong, tall, beautiful women, but he wanted more. He wanted an intelligent, hard-working life-partner. I can see he's found his soul mate in you."

I watched my wife push herself up with her hand in the middle of his chest. Her sweaty breast hung down, and her hard nipple danced amongst the hairs on his chest. She stared into John's dark brown eyes for a moment with a concerned look on her face.

"What about you? Are you searching for your soul mate? Have you ever been in love?"

I watched my best friend laugh.

"I was in love once. It was way back in high school. Cheryl was a small beautiful girl and a very popular cheerleader. She was wicked smart and elected president of the Honors Society her junior year. The girl of my dreams was the only child of a good family living on the right side of the tracks in Selma, Alabama. She was what my dark-colored mama called 'high yaller' because of her light brown skin. She could almost pass for white. I was the third child in a large dirt-poor family living next to the tracks and definitely on the wrong side of them.

"Cheryl never gave me the time of day until I started setting rushing records my junior year and became the star of the football team. We started hanging out together at school. I was in heaven when she accepted my invitation to the homecoming dance. The head coach loaned me an old suit that almost fit. I saw her parents disgust when I picked her up. I think it was the first time they were aware their daughter was interested in a dumb, coal-black jock whose only ambition was to play professional football. They immediately started a campaign against me.

"She resisted their wishes for most of our junior year. We were both planning on going to the University of Alabama so we could date without interference. I was offered an athletic scholarship to play for the Crimson Tide. I think I know what changed her mind about me. For one, her parents threatened not to pay for her college. However, what finally did it was her parents spreading lies the summer before our senior year. The vicious rumors said I was the baby daddy for at least two trailer trash women, one of whom was a mentally disabled white girl. To make matters worse in Cheryl's eyes, they said I refused to acknowledge my illegitimate children or offer the mothers support. The only truth in the rumor was that I had a promiscuous cousin who lived in a decrepit trailer with her two fatherless children. I often dropped off groceries my mama had bought with her hard-earned money.

"I tried to explain, but the parents wouldn't let me talk to her. They transferred her to a private school for her senior year. I was crushed when Cheryl ignored my emails and text messages.

"My reputation was destroyed. Everyone in high school now viewed me as a depraved rebel. I turned eighteen that summer because I had been redshirted when I started kindergarten, so I would be bigger when I played football. I decided if I was going to be saddled with a bad reputation, I was going to live up to everyone's expectations. At first, it seemed strange that my fame as a bad boy made me popular with the ladies. I started with a young history teacher who taught me a lot more than the year Columbus stumbled upon America. A rumor about the size of my cock, made the rounds of the school. By the end of my senior year, I had enjoyed the favors of half the girls in my senior class as well as a couple more teachers and several mothers. One thing I didn't compromise on was avoiding unprotected sex. I had no desire to be someone's baby daddy.

"I also turned down the University of Alabama and chose Michigan instead. I couldn't stand to see Cheryl ever again. The idea of falling in love left me cold. I never want to be hurt so badly again."

I knew my roommate had started his career as a libertine while in high school, but I had never heard the story about Cheryl. It explained a lot about John's inability to fall in love. Of course, my wife had to press for more details.

"Paul told me a little about your girlfriends in college. He said you went out with dozens of women. You must have fallen in love with them if you were willing to bring them into your bed."

I shouldn't have been surprised about what John said next. It was straight out of his playbook. I just hadn't expected him to go there with my wife.

"No, not a single one. I didn't fall in love with any of the hundreds of women I fucked. Didn't your husband explain the difference between love and sex?"

It had been a long time since John had explained the difference to me. It was early in my freshman year after a voluptuous U of M cheerleader had taken my virginity. I fell hard for the bubbly blond and was crushed when she didn't return my affection. At first, John laughed at my naivety. Then he proceeded to explain his worldview. I objected to an idea that I considered utterly depraved. My roommate said I had been poisoned by the priests and nuns who had formed my attitude toward sex. He said that even if I didn't believe in sex for pleasure alone, the girl who I had just fucked certainly did. He claimed most of the women at the university also shared this hedonistic view of sex. In fact, he claimed most sex had little to do with love.

John had smiled as he draped his muscular arm across my shoulder. He stated that the best way to find the woman I loved was to experience the pleasure of as many women as I could. Then when I met the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I would be certain.

I rewound the video and watched the last few minutes again. I realized what my mentor was doing. It wasn't until late in our junior year that John had to put the slightest effort into picking up women. Strange ladies would walk up to him on campus and proposition him. Others would slip him their phone number in class. Some just showed up at our apartment door. Well, even with fifteen thousand oversexed coeds on campus, the well finally ran dry. John had picked all the low hanging fruit. He had to learn the art of seduction. I was flattered when he came to me for advice. While I had enjoyed the seemingly endless stream of women my roommate had passed down, I had picked up a few on my own. These were special ladies that I dated for weeks and sometimes months. These were women I fell in love with for a time.

I gave John pointers from my limited repertoire. My main advice was to show an interest in the woman's life. I suggested he ask questions and listen carefully. My roommate took my limited experience and developed it into a sophisticated art form. Seducing some women didn't take much effort. After making out with them for a while, he would offer to let them touch the monstrous erection they could feel pressing against their body. Once they saw and felt the beast, they quickly yielded. Others took more time. He came to enjoy the hunt. Probably, the best example of his patience and determination was the librarian I mentioned before.

She was the perfect stereotype librarian. She wore her hair in a bun and hid her beautiful blue eyes behind tinted tortoiseshell glasses. She dressed conservatively in a grey wool pants suit over a white long-sleeved blouse. Even so, her outfit failed to hide her tall, beautiful body. John took her quiet demeanor as a challenge. The young woman was used to being hit on by the hoards of male students who used the library to meet coeds. She was a different type of woman from the bimbos John usually fucked. He had to develop an entirely new technique to seduce the intellectual beauty.

John and I would often use one of the small quiet library study rooms when I was tutoring him on his course work. I got to see my roommate's slow, subtle approach. It took him a couple of weeks to learn her name was Ann. She was a poor graduate student working on a Ph.D. in poetry. She had a part-time job in the library to help pay her tuition. I expected my roommate to give up his chase when he learned she was married. Instead, he commented, "Married women cannot live on love alone. They deserve a little sex as well."

I shouldn't have been surprised when John started reading poetry. He discussed what he read with Ann and asked for her comments. When the Spring semester started, I was amused to learn he was taking a class titled English Pastoral Poets. Of course, Ann was the teaching assistant for the class.

John slowly became physical with Ann as he read poetry with his reserved librarian. At first, it was a casual touch on her hand that progressed to a feather-light caress of her forearm when he was excited about a phrase in one of William Wordsworth's poems. It took over a month of agonizingly slow progress before I saw John rubbing Ann's shoulders as they leaned over some slim volume of poetry. A week later, his tender caresses ran from her shoulders down to the small of her back.

If John hadn't turned me into a cynic, I would have said my roommate had fallen in love. He became absorbed in poetry. I would smile and nod my head when he began a statement with the now familiar phrase, "Ann said..."

Poetry even affected his performance in his English Composition class. Several other jocks took that gut course to maintain athletic eligibility. However, John worked hard in the class and became a serious writer that semester. His writing became infused with a lyrical tone, thanks to all of the poetry he consumed.

I wasn't at the library the quiet Saturday evening when John finally achieved his goal. The first I was aware that anything had changed was when he made a large breakfast on Sunday morning. My roommate set the table in our apartment and decorated it with a vase of flowers. I knew he had an overnight guest when I heard the shower running. When everything was ready, he asked Alexa to play Mozart and brought his guest out. I was surprised to see Ann wearing only a smile and one of John's dress shirts. If she seemed happy, my roommate was ecstatic. He fussed over Ann like she was the Queen of England for the next couple of weeks. It was the closest I'd seen my roommate to falling in love.

She broke John's heart when she and her husband suddenly left town. It wasn't planned. No one takes off in the middle of the semester, with their thesis unfinished. She refused to respond to his text messages, and phone calls went to voicemail. John finally tracked her down at her in-law's house. He called the parents' landline, but she refused to speak. Instead, He got an earful from the enraged husband. I've never seen my roommate so despondent. He went nearly two weeks without a woman.

#

To answer John's question, I had never discussed the difference between love and sex with my wife. There had been no need since I had found my soul mate. Cathy and I were deeply in love and enjoyed frequent intimate sex. My loving wife didn't believe in sex outside of marriage and had saved herself for our wedding night. I had been faithful since we began going together.

I realized John was using a variation of the seduction techniques he had first developed for the reluctant librarian on my wife. It was an intellectual approach with a slowly building physical component. I won't repeat his ideas about the difference between love and sex, but Cathy was listening intently. He didn't have the months it had taken to seduce the librarian, but he was already far along in his attack. My gorgeous wife was half lying across his bare chest, and he was gently stroking her naked back from her shoulders down to the top of her thighs.

My wife thought for a while about John's argument before she responded.

"I've never considered having sex without love. The idea that sex is pleasurable outside of marriage sounds like something wild animals in heat do to procreate. I'm not naïve. I've been to pick up bars with friends. I know what alcohol and lust can do to seemingly intelligent people. I've heard their cries of passion through the thin dorm walks. Most of my friends regretted their actions the next day, and yet I saw them repeat their mistakes week after week."

"Maybe your friends repeated their 'mistakes' because sex was so enjoyable. Maybe their only problem was being taught that sex outside of marriage was a sin. Too many married people are miserable because they even feel guilty about having sex with their spouse. Maybe animals are the lucky ones since they don't have guilty consciences.

"You already told me that you often orgasm when you have sex with Paul. What about afterward? Do you feel guilty? I'd bet you do. You can never be a good loving partner until you free yourself from guilt. To do that, you need to understand the difference between love and sex. You can have good sex without love, and you can have a loving relationship without sex. If you want to have good sex with the man you love, you need to forget what you were taught and accept your animal nature."

My wife rolled off of John's chest and laid on her side by the edge of the bed. Since the camera was looking down at an angle, I could see the top half of my wife's naked body. Her chest was glistening with the sweat that had been trapped between their overheated bodies. I could see her rib cage rising and falling with her rapid shallow breaths. The dark pink nipple that was exposed to the camera was hard and pointy. I could see the edge of her body taper from her shoulders down to her trim waist before it flared out at her hips. All of my wife's sweet charms were exposed to my lustful friend's gaze.

Cathy propped her head up with her bent arm and smiled at my big black friend who's hand had returned to stroking his erection.

"John, even if I were to concede that love and sex are philosophically distinct, I fail to see your objective in making the argument. You'll never convince me to have sex outside of marriage."

I couldn't see John's face, but I just knew he was smiling. Half of the battle was over when the woman he was pursuing engaged in an argument she was destined to lose. I knew my wife's moral upbringing was intense, but nothing could have prepared her for my roommate's relentless assault. He pressed on with what had started as an academic debate.

"Paul and I became best friends in college. We shared a lot of good times and hundreds of beautiful women. He's still the best friend I have. I want us to become friends too. You need to understand my attitude toward sex, even if you don't approve of it. I think it will also help you understand your husband better."

"Seriously? I know Paul loves me. I'm sure we share the idea that sex is a sacred part of a loving marriage. If what you say is true, I could never trust him again. Do you really expect me to believe he had sex with hundreds of women?"

John reached over and brushed a loose strand of my wife's hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her cheek for a moment before slowly sliding it along her side in a gentle caress. He left his big black hand on my wife's pale white hip.

"Cathy, I wasn't the one counting. Paul kept score on his phone calendar. Early in our junior year, he brought out a couple of cold long-necked beers and announced he had hit one hundred. He thought that with a little effort, he could top two hundred before we graduated. Your husband has always been an overachiever. I think his final score was closer to two hundred and fifty."

My wife laughed. "Come on, John. You can't expect me to believe two hundred and fifty women just hopped into bed with my nerdy husband. He's charming enough and good looking, but he's no Channing Tatum."

John's hand was massaging the edge of my wife's curvaceous ass. I was surprised my wife seemed to be ignoring his increasingly aggressive caresses.

"I never said they just hopped into his bed. At first, I gifted women to him after I had enjoyed them. Later, when he developed his skills of seduction, he returned the favor. He shared all of his conquests with me. He even shared the ones he had been in love with for a while. I always knew when he was in love because he was protective of those special women. He only shared them after the magic was gone."

While he was talking, John's hand slowly slid up and down the side of my wife's now trembling body. After several gentle caresses, he paused by the side of her chest before dropping his hand and cupping her generous breast. His thumb grazed her hard nipple at the same time he said, "but eventually, he always shared them."

Cathy closed her eyes for a moment before taking his hand and placing it back on his cock.

My wife's voice wavered as she looked at my friend in the eye and said, "John, are you trying to seduce your best friend's wife?"

John's massive body shook with laughter. "Can you blame me for trying? My taste in women must have rubbed off on Paul. You're one of the most gorgeous women I've had the pleasure of meeting."

My wife snickered. "I can't believe your technique. Does it ever work?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the bit where you talk a woman to sleep while caressing her before telling her she's the most beautiful woman in the world."

"I don't have a lot of experience with intellectual women, but it eventually worked on the librarian and the Swedish doctor in Syria."

"Yet, I'm supposed to believe that you and Paul seduced hundreds of women while you were roommates in college."

"I rarely had to try. Maybe only one or two percent of the women at Michigan was eager to fuck a black jock with a big cock, but with 15,000 coeds plus faculty, staff and townies there was pussy galore. Occasionally a woman would get cold feet when they saw the size of my cock, and I would have to reassure them I would be gentle. Then, all I had to do was let them touch my big black beautiful cock."

Cathy laughed. "You're still trying."

"Of course, I am. It's my nature. You know I won't stop trying to bed you until I'm in my grave."

"So, what now? Are you going to offer to let me touch that monster you've been waving in my face all morning?"

John gave his cock a couple of strokes like he was casting a tasty piece of bait into a trout stream.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you have been staring at my big black beautiful cock every time I give it a stroke. I know you're curious."