My Trusted Friend Ch. 05

When I got home that Christmas morning, she welcomed me warmly. She apologized for her temper and we opened presents. I told her that I was sorry that her Christmas Eve had been so miserable. She told me that it hadn't been all bad, that my best friend had passed by and dropped off Christmas presents for us on his way through town. He had only stopped in for "just a few minutes" because he was staying over with some other friends, she said, and he'd been sorry he'd missed me.

I had never really thought my wife would be unfaithful. She was my bedrock. The next day I found the four empty cans of the stupid diet cola that only he drinks as I emptied the trash. There had been several cans in the back of our fridge, left over from the last time he'd visited. They were gone now. Even as I wondered how my slow-sipping friend might have finished four sodas in "just a few minutes," my mind was making up excuses, weaving plausible theories that I could cling to, theories that explained away this crack in my bedrock.

I had talked myself out of believing it until this Christmas Eve.

No, the irony was not lost on me. I was freaking out because I had just learned that my wife had cheated on me with the guy I was cheating with. Who the hell saw that coming? Not me.

Maybe I was a hypocrite. I was almost certainly a hypocrite, but it felt different. I knew that what I had done with him was just sex. It was a physical expression of my curiosity about being with another man. I was just living out my desire to suck a cock and I found that I liked it and wanted to do it again. I didn't love him like I did my wife. I'd never leave her for him. They had dated pretty seriously for almost a year in college. What if this thing last Christmas Eve was part of a long-term affair? Or what if it rekindled their romance and she chose him over me? What if our three-way had just poured gasoline on that fire?

Other thoughts crept in.

What if she'd been sleeping with other men? How many others had she slept with? What if my best friend was just the tip of an iceberg of men? Was our whole marriage a lie? Could the knowledge that my wife was faithless be common knowledge? Were people laughing behind my back because I had been fool enough to have married a woman the whole world had known for a whore but me?

Stop! I stopped myself.

I had to dial back the paranoia. Letting my fears run wild wasn't doing anything but mind-fucking myself. I did everything I could to put a lid on my emotions, my fears. I amused and distracted myself. Surprisingly, neither this knowledge nor the three-way had any negative impact on our sex life in those days before New Year's Eve. I still desired her as much as ever. I might have even been trying to up my game, to convince her that I could love her better than anyone else.

The one thing I did not do was let on—in any way whatsoever—that I knew what I knew. A dozen times a day as each day passed between Christmas and New Year's Eve, my fear stopped me from just asking her for the truth. My fear also stopped me from telling her the truth. What was I afraid of? I was afraid that either might end my marriage. When I realized that finding out more about what she might have done or her finding out about what I had done might cost me the woman I loved, I took the coward's way out. I kept silent and hoped.

I could forgive her, I rationalized, even if she didn't know that I forgave her. I wouldn't be a fool, I told myself. I never knew if I could trust her again and I resolved to keep my eyes open for any other clues that she wasn't the woman I thought I had married. I gave thought to how difficult it would be if I would be forced to leave her if I found out my worst fears were true.

Yes. I can see now that I was absolutely a hypocrite, but having one's bedrock crumble beneath one's feet sends wild thoughts into one's head, regardless of whether the fall is an inch or a mile. I hoped it was the inch, but I felt I had to be ready for the mile.

Strangely—or at least it seemed strange to me at the time—I didn't feel any sort of turmoil with regards to my relationship with him regarding the fact that he had apparently slept with my wife. Maybe my hypocrisy didn't extend that far, or maybe I didn't expect the same level of fidelity from him that I did from my wife. Or maybe I'd just shared my wife with him and...

It was too confusing. I couldn't negotiate my way through the maze of thoughts and feelings. I just had to keep a lid on things. All I could do was ride this wave, love my wife, and try to be alert for things I'd missed.

+ + +

I managed to dodge or distract my wife when she asked me questions about what might happen on our New Year's Eve trip to visit our friend for several days. I honestly didn't know, and I was struggling to sort out my feelings. I would have canceled the trip if I could have come up with a reasonable excuse, but I didn't have one. I really needed more time to think, but I didn't have that either.

Once we were in the car and had begun the drive to the city in which he lived, I could dodge no longer. She asked me if I thought if what had happened with the three of us might happen again, or as she put it, "Do you think we'll be having any 'adventures' on New Year's Eve like we had on Christmas Eve?"

I tried to sound calmer and cooler than I was, "It's a possibility." I hoped that was a good answer.

"Because I wouldn't mind, you know," she said, adding, "And it really seemed like you and he were having a simply wonderful time when we, um, got together." She had at some point reached over and begun rubbing my thigh while I drove. I grew hard.

There we were. I had cheated on her by sexually experimenting with my best friend. I had just learned that she had cheated on me with him. She didn't know either of those facts. It didn't matter. The thought of being with the two of them again aroused me mightily. My flesh still lusted after both of theirs. I was weak and, with the prospect of such pleasure before me, I clamped that lid down on my anxieties and said, "Let's see what we can arrange."

We talked in more depth about our earlier threesome than we had yet done, discussed what things we'd like to do again. I felt sure she'd jump at a second chance for double-penetration, but she gave it a firm "no." She explained that she had been experiencing some "tummy trouble," and that she was too raw and sore to seriously consider anal until things were less irritated.

"Is there anything that you'd like to try if we have an 'adventure' tonight?" she asked. "Something that maybe we didn't get to do last time?"

I thought about it for a few miles. This is what I said, "I have been curious about what it might be like to suck a cock." It was true, as far as it went. "I don't know of any other opportunities that I might get to try this with someone I trust as much as him." Also true. "I don't know if he'll want to try that." A lie. "But if what I'm saying hasn't freaked you out by now, I think I'd like to try sucking him." My wife was open-minded certainly, but I had never discussed my homoerotic urges with her. I was hoping that, if she could be alright with what I proposed, it would make it easier for me to later be completely honest about my 'experimentation' with my friend. And I wanted to suck his cock again.

I took my eyes off of the road to see her reaction. She was smiling. She sounded amused when she responded, "I think a bit of gay fantasy is perfectly normal. I wouldn't bother me a bit. It might even be a turn-on to watch."

I hadn't thought through the fact that she might actually be watching me while I did it, so told her a bit more about the fantasy scenario I'd worked out in my head. In it, she sat on our friend's face, letting him work his special magic tongue on her while I sucked his cock. My description made her hot. She said she was game if I thought I could work up the courage to actually do it.

The neighborhood surrounding our friend's townhouse is well known for its bars, clubs, and various night spots. Everything was within walking distance. We arrived, got settled in, and were out the door before very long. We had an expensive dinner at a restaurant just three blocks away, where a friend of our friend had reserved us a table on one of the busiest nights of the year. After dessert it took us three hours to walk those three blocks back to the townhouse because we stopped in at every bar on the way. The places were packed with the New Year's crowd and, as was typical for us in such situations, we drank more than we should have.

We got back to his place at about a quarter to twelve and poured a toast to drink at midnight. He put on the TV and the three of us sat on the sofa to watch the ball drop in Times Square. At the stroke of midnight, my wife threw one of her arms around my neck and pulled me in for a kiss, before doing the same to our friend. These were long, slow, open-mouthed kisses, the kind that made a certain area of my pants get far too tight.

I put one of my hands on the breast nearest to me and she turned to kiss me again. While we kissed, she took his hand and placed it on her other breast. We squeezed and teased, pinched and fondled her wonderful tits as she alternated back and forth between us, kissing us again and again.

"Maybe we should take this to the bedroom," said our friend.

My wife kissed us each one more time and led us both down the hall to the huge waterbed.

Once our clothes were off, we lay upon the waterbed with my wife in the middle. We kissed her lips. We kissed her breasts. Her hands caressed us both and our hands caressed her. I began to caress him as well as her and, soon, he began to do the same to me.

Finally, I found his hard, curved cock with my hand and began to stroke. I knew my wife was watching me stroke him between the kisses she gave us in the dim light. There was some shifting and the bed undulated beneath us as we tried to establish our respective positions. She moved up onto her hands and knees, leaning over him as he lay on his back. I watched them kiss as he fondled her hanging breasts. I moved down and found myself face-to-cock with him.

I began licking and sucking just the head as I adjusted myself to reach my hand around and wrap just my thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft. I wanted this again. The wet kisses I could hear them sharing drove me nearly into a frenzy. I re-explored the silken flesh of his cock with my lips and tongue, all the while I stroked firmly with my fingers. I lost myself for a while.

I heard my wife say, "Suck!" I opened my eyes and she was watching me suck his cock. She had moved a bit and he was nursing like a starving infant at one of her puffy nipples. I had no idea whether she was talking to me or him. I don't think it mattered; neither of us could have been more intent on sucking.

He didn't last long, our friend. The combination of her tits and my mouth had him making rhythmic waves in the waterbed with his hips as he thrust up and down with my strokes. Perhaps sensing this, my wife gently stroked my cheek and softly said, "That's it. That's it."

When he started to shudder, I felt her full attention upon me as he began to fill my mouth to overflowing with what might have been the largest load I had sucked out of him thus far. I had trouble managing to get it all. I know she heard me swallowing loudly, repeatedly as I gulped it down as best I was able.

As our friend lay there trying to recover both his wits and his strength, I rolled onto my back and my wife nearly leapt atop me and began riding my cock. It was over in just a few minutes as we both erupted, me first with her following soon after.

When some semblance of coherence had returned to the three of us, we decided to nip it in the bud and moved naked to the living room, where we sat on the floor around the coffee table. For the first time in a couple of years, my wife partook of the joint my friend produced and we teased and joked and found ourselves ready to continue our "adventure".

For the next few hours we made love right there on the living room carpet. One of us would mount her and the other would caress and massage and lick strategic parts of her and her current partner. We'd stop before we came and tag the other guy in. My wife didn't stop before she came. At some point it became difficult to determine if she ever stopped cumming.

I can still see him finally succumb to the pleasure and let loose inside her, if I close my eyes and imagine it. I can still see him roll off and a bit of fluid run out of her sloppily wet pussy. I recall their aroma as I lowered my face to her sex, wetly pulsing and swollen. The taste was both indescribable and unforgettable. I savored it as I drove my wife to what would be her penultimate climax of the night. I licked the mixed flavor of his seed and her juices from my own lips. This was another thing I had never before thought I might enjoy before I first started sucking my friend's cock.

I went down for more, to drive her to orgasm again, but she stopped me. "I'm too tender," she said. "I can't take any more right now."

My still-hard cock throbbed insistently. We had fucked on the living room floor for hours and I had managed not to cum. The urge for release could not be denied. I moved up and kissed her, letting her taste what I had tasted from between her thighs. Rising to my knees I leaned and placed my cock at her mouth and she lay there, kissing it and trying to suck it, too tired to even lift her head. Neither her exhaustion, however, nor her soreness kept her from moving both hands to her pussy and rubbing her clit between her two middle fingers, which was her preferred way to masturbate.

The position and her inability to do more than exhaustedly twiddle her clit soon had me taking matters into my own hand. I pulled out of her mouth and she made a sad puppy noise, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes. When I began to stroke my cock as I aimed it at her face, the sad eyes turned into something else. She watched intently, with a hungry look that I'd never seen before as I neared my release and pumped my shaft more urgently, feeling primitive and brutal. She twiddled and diddled herself to a near frenzy as she watched, despite her exhaustion.

When my cum burst forth and flew onto her face and hair, into her open mouth in big, messy ropes, she began to shake and quietly moan as she climaxed a final time. She was still shaking through the aftershocks of that climax when I felt her lips close around the head of my cock, sucking out whatever might have remained of my load.

I leaned down and kissed my wife, very deeply in love as our tongues softly danced, swirling my own cum in her mouth. I knew at that moment that I would try to find a way to make it work with her, regardless of the past.

As I curled up beside her to snooze on the living room carpet, I looked over at my trusted friend as he dozed on the sofa and I wondered how the future would unfurl for the three of us after the things we had done that night.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Author's Note:

This was, by far, the most difficult of the series to write. I'll cop to the fact that these stories are autobiographical and I've only slightly changed or omitted information to make the story flow a bit better and to conceal the identities of the participants. I couldn't gloss over the emotional turmoil like I had in earlier chapters and therein lay the difficulty. That's not something I have much experience writing.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The comments and critiques I've received have been wonderful. I think that by following some of the suggestions made by readers that this story is a step up from earlier ones in the series. Feedback is always welcome.

I'm already hard at work on the final chapter in which my friend and I cross some boundaries neither of us thought we would cross to experience what we considered the ultimate homoerotic act.

Please feel free to rate this story with a number of stars you feel appropriate in the space directly below.

Thanks!