The Grass Isn't Always Greener

Hope had been depressed since Michel had left. Her friends had been taking her out dancing and drinking almost nightly to help lift her from the funk that she found herself wallowing in, but it was having no effect. She needed the man she loved, and she couldn't believe how their blissful life, their future was now cast with little regard onto the pile of what-ifs and never mores. As she needed him desperately, and though he strictly forbade any attempt to communicate, she still had tried to force the issue. She had been trying at his school, with his parents, and with his friends. Call after call after call was diverted, intercepted or parried by those that surrounded Michel, and protected him.

Eventually though, through sheer persistence and by weathering the storm of roadblocks placed in front of her, he had taken one of her calls. However the elation she felt when he finally picked up the phone soon withered and died.

"I told you no communication." He had snipped immediately. This wasn't the loving, gentle Michel that she had known, this was a hardened, cold man. Someone who had been hurt deeply.

"Michel, I'm so sorry, I want us back together." She had pleaded with him, but his resolve had been unmoving.

"I don't trust you, Hope. I feel like you strung me along, leading me on, you were never honest with me. Looking back, I can see it now. You should have told me of your reservations before we got engaged."

There was a long pause, neither could breach the silence.

"You broke my heart."

"I'm so sorry, Michel. Please, can we try again?"

"And what then, when you feel the need for another man once more? When you decide I'm not enough for you? I can't live like that, Hope, waiting for you to either ambush me again, or go behind my back."

She cried. "Can we at least still talk? Please?"

He wilted, his heart was still full of love for this woman, even though she had crushed it under her heel. She heard his stutter, his choking pain. She wanted to hold him, to love him, and be loved by him.

"Please Michel. I love you. I... I miss you."

"I miss you too, Hope." His words were soft, and she could tell that fresh wounds had been opened as much as old ones revisited.

"Once a week? Monday night? Can I call you? Please Michel." She was desperate. Even a short conversation with him was better than no contact at all. He had been recalcitrant to have any contact with her, and deep down, she could understand that. She knew that he didn't want to know about her life without him. He was protecting himself, shielding his heart and his pride.

"Just one phone call, once a week. I can't bear this, not a year. I need you."

"Monday nights then. Call me at eight." He relented, and then disconnected.

It was a win. A small win, but a win just the same. And that night, when her friends took her back to The Green Room, she was in brighter spirits. She danced with other men, she flirted, she had a spark to her, and that night, Orlando claimed her body.

He was a skilled and energetic lover, and he revelled in taking Hope again and again, until the early hours of the morning. It was only afterwards, as she lay, sated and exhausted, cum dripping from her red and swollen lips, that she realised they hadn't used protection. She hadn't needed it for all but the first few months with Michel, and it had become a practice and consideration that she was not used to.

She excused herself, and sheepishly dressed, whilst Orlando lay nude on the bed, leisurely manipulating his large member whilst watching her.

"That was amazing, you're amazing." His words echoed in her mind. The sex was good, it was better than good. But now, she felt dirty, used, soiled. She thought of Michel and wailed internally. She had cheated on him. She had let another man fuck her for hours, and spill his seed in her multiple times. She had taken him in her mouth, and he had reciprocated. She shuddered at the thought, and the words of Eliza came back to her, haunted her.

"....if I had to choose between the dick of a stranger, or one of a man who loved me, I'd take the love dick every time. Sex without love is over and then gone. But love continues on, even after the dick is limp and soft."

She knew that her friend was right, even as she still had tingles all over, especially at the crux of her shapely legs.

"Can you get me an Uber?" she asked meekly.

Orlando nodded. "Sure baby. When do you want to do this again?"

She didn't answer, but he had her number. She had given it to him earlier in the night, before the conquest. She knew he would call her, and he knew that even though she seemed to have post-coital doubts now, she'd agree once more. Someone didn't scream with pleasure like she did, without wanting another serve.

Her friends were happy for her, but still saddened. All of them, even Lila, had hoped that she wouldn't go through with it. That her and Michel could rekindle their relationship and build back the foundation of trust and love. There had been a buzz of excitement and expectation after she confided that he had taken a call from her, and that they had agreed to begin a dialogue again. And then, she had been swept up and away by that man. Their words meant nothing, their attempt to protect her meant nothing, she left with him, and they knew what would be happening not long after.

"I did it!" She squealed when they all gathered the night afterwards. They were at Hope's apartment, the one that she had shared with Michel in what seemed like an age ago. "I got my brains fucked out! For hours and hours!"

But her words rang false to them all, they could see the conflict within. They cheered, and clapped and embraced her, wanting to know how it was, did it scratch the itch, and could she now end this madness? But they knew, even as they spoke to her, that Hope would go back for more. Even as she had tears in her eyes, even as she compared Orlando to Michel, and said that they were comparable in performance, but sex with Michel meant more due to their love and affection, they still knew that she would want more. More of him, and perhaps now, more of others to compare with. That initial line had been crossed, and it could never be uncrossed.

"Did you make sure he used a condom?" Trisha whispered to her, when they were getting ready to go out once more, though it was to be an early night with just a few drinks and a couple of dances.

Hope's eyes widened as she remembered, and she shook her head. "I forgot. I'm not used to them." Then she pulled out a packet from her clutch that she had bought that day, and showed her friend. "But I won't forget again."

"You need to make sure you get checked for STI's, girl. That man is a player, and I'd hate to think how many other women he's fucked."

Then she stopped suddenly, "Are you at least on birth control?"

Hope nodded, she'd been the pill since she was fifteen, her gynaecologist had put her on it to help with period pain. Then, as she became sexually active with Michel a few years later, she continued to take them, to try and make sure that there were no accidents. She wanted to bear Michel's children, but only after the wedding. Only after she was Mrs Corbin.

[ -- ]

Michel had eventually moved from his parents and back in with Jason's now furbished spare room. He needed to be closer to work, and his parents lived too far away. His mum and dad, though Jean especially, had pestered him to try and work it out with Hope. To work hard to get her to change her mind instead of just giving in to her demands. They didn't hide the fact that they were disappointed, but his mother thought that Hope had just been afraid of the wedding, as though it was a weight that would soon be attached to her leg, holding her down and back. Fear of such a long-term commitment wasn't something uncommon, though her way of dealing with it was unusual and self-destructive.

But Michel didn't accept his parent's pleas. He knew that deep down, this was not born out of fear, but out of lust. This had to run its course for better or worse.

Michel and Hope continued to speak on the phone, every Monday at eight. Even if she wasn't well, or was down, or had other feelings swirling through her mind, she still made sure that she was home, alone, and that she called. She always called, never him. Their conversations had started tentative and terse, but over time they had opened up, becoming closer to how they had been before, but never reaching that level of intimacy or familiarity.

Michel had immediately demanded that if they were to speak, that all talk of their dating and sex lives were taboo. He didn't want to hear about who she was bedding, not even the fact that it was happening, as he was certain it was. For her part, she was grateful. She couldn't bear hearing of his sexual partners either, even though it had been her actions that started this, her desires, and her that had insisted he do likewise. With the dawn of realisation, that the man she loved was most likely pleasuring and being pleasured by other women, Hope cringed and felt sickened and sad. But this was what she wanted. The thoughts and realisation scared her.

Their separation had been going for six months. Hope had a string of steady lovers. She had made sure, with input from her friends, not to settle on any single one. They feared developing a level of intimacy which would undermine the end goal, to regain Michel, and become his wife. Orlando had moved on to other women after two more outings, and she had been with nine other men, having sex at least two or three times a week. Some were good, a few were disappointing and had been cast aside after only a single night. One was exceptional. His name was Tye.

Michel had, as Gianna feared, become the central focus in a ravenous frenzy at their school. It wasn't uncommon for affairs, or casual hookups, even among the married or committed members of staff. But with Michel suddenly back on the market, the very eligible once again bachelor, was front and centre. He had dated a few, and if rumour was to be believed, had bedded many. But he was still elusive, and none seemed able to lock him down. If Hope had cast him aside, then there were many others that were only too willing to pick him back up.

"Our wedding would be in three weeks," said Hope, wistfully one Monday evening, whilst engaging in the weekly conversation. They had been speaking for close to an hour already, whilst she gazed intently at the calendar on her wall, with the date, circled clearly, with bright rings and love hearts. She teared up, something she hadn't done in some time.

"Michel. I want to stop this craziness. I want us back. Please come back to me. I hate this."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and a sharp intake of breath, and she regretted mentioning the wedding and her desire for him back in her life. She didn't want to pressure him. She felt after a moment of introspection that she had done enough of that earlier in the year, when her thirst for other experiences had sent them into this spiral of self-pity and loneliness.

The line went dead.

"Fuck!" Her cry was loud, and sudden, so much that she shocked herself. Moreso, when she discovered that her tears weren't only welling at the corners of her eyes, but were freely streaming, uncontrollably spilling down her cheeks and falling onto her bed.

The pain was suddenly back to the same levels as it was when first they separated, burning deep within her. She was hurting.

In her pain, she then did something that she had vowed never to do. She made a booty call on hers and Michel's night. Since he had agreed to speak with her, Mondays had become sacrosanct. It was for the two of them to remain close, to have something to cling to. Hope had always gently rebuffed any who asked for her companionship on those nights, but now, destitute and feeling rotten and unloved, she needed something. She needed to forget her pain. She needed Tye.

"Hey babe," he answered her call on the second ring. "What's up? I thought you weren't available on Mondays. That was your night with your ex?"

Your ex.

It stung. She had never referred to Michel as her ex, but she had told the story, albeit in a condensed form. She had always been truthful to those she was with, advising them that there was no long-term relationship on the cards, her heart still belonged to Michel, and she fully intended to return it to him and be faithful once more when they met again at The Brown Street Cafe.

"I need you Tye. I need your huge dick. I need you to pound me into the mattress until I pass out." Her pleading had an air of desperation and despondency about it, but she tried to sound sexy nonetheless.

Tye missed the sadness in her voice, and only heard what he wanted to hear. And hearing that, how could he refuse? He was there in record time. He was the only one that she had ever brought back, the only one with whom she had ever defiled Michel's bed with. He had been there numerous times, but tonight was the first time that she would be with him on a Monday, Michel's night.

Hope met Tye at the door wearing only a garter belt and stockings. She had freshly shaved her pussy, and moisturised it lovingly with an edible skin cream. Tye was amazing at oral, he seemed to live for oral. Even with his enormous long and thick nine inch penis, he preferred to use his tongue, he revelled and delighted with bringing his partners off with his mouth. It was only after that he would move onto the assault with his hardened rod.

As she opened the door, revealing herself to him, he licked his lips, as he devoured her with his eyes. Tye stood back to look, marvelling at the beautiful, sexy and alluring creature that she was. Her naked body was framed by the light from within as well as the light at the front door. She was visible to any who would look, with her rounded hips and bountiful breasts, her glistening and slightly parted labia all on display, not to mention the look of unadulterated lust upon her face.

He lunged at her, picking her up, and carrying her to the bedroom. As he moved through the apartment, he began planting passionate kisses on her face, on her neck, and on her lips. He was rock hard with passion. He knew that he was falling in love with this woman, and had come to consider designs on how to get her to forget Michel. He wanted her for his own.

Tye roughly threw her onto the bed, manhandling her with a dominant strength that he had soon learned she responded well to. And then he was on her, his mouth searching for the treasured land, the place between her legs. He licked and nibbled at her thighs, drawing his tongue towards her, before he wheeled off and gently bit one lip, tugging and pulling at her. He sucked on his fingers, before searching out her canal, she was wet, oh so wet, and he slid first one, then two and three in easily, curling them up to reach that spot that would make her scream. And scream she did whilst he simultaneously latched onto her clit, sucking and licking it as though he were starving and her vagina was the only form of sustenance in the land. She was in heaven as she writhed and came on his face, flooding him and threatening to drown him in her nectar.

He kept driving though, not relenting, even as she tried to push him off, to try and recharge as the sensitivity increased and became unbearable, he continued to drive his fingers deeper into her, licking and sucking even harder. Her orgasm seemed to never end, and her keening cries rang out loud enough for all her neighbours to hear.

"No more, no more. Please, oh god....."

She whimpered, and finally he relented. Letting her come down from her orgasmic, dizzying heights. And as she did, as she twisted in the post orgasmic bliss, he began to remove his clothes.

He stood above her, admiring her body as he slowly stroked his rock hard monster.

"Oh fuck Tye, oh baby, that was amazing. Now stick that giant dick in me. Fuck me, fuck me hard. Please."

He playfully hit her thigh with his cock, making a smacking sound, as he did it again and again. "What do you want?"

"Your giant dick," she breathed.

"Beg for it baby, beg for it, tell me who you belong to."

"Oh God Tye, please fuck me with that giant dick, make me yours, fuck me, pound me, I need you. Oh God, I need you. Fuck me, please fuck me. I'm all yours. Only yours." Her voice was loud and clear, full of passion and desire, full of unrestrained lust, and clearly heard by Michel as he walked through the front door, hoping to put all this craziness behind them, as Hope had implored him earlier in the night.

Michel had the engagement ring in his hand, wanting to place it back on her finger, to rectify their failings, to regain her love and her hand. But now, he felt the long forgotten dagger, thrust back within him, deeper than it had ever been. Its blade burned hot. She had called him, asked him to be hers once more, to end this separation and re-establish their love. But it was a lie. She didn't want him at all.

He heard her moan, a deep, guttural moan followed by the rhythmic slapping of two naked bodies slamming together. Soon her moan was met by a man's deep voice groaning, growling, exalting in the pleasures of the flesh. The two voices matched each other, beat for beat as the smacking intensified. Michel stood still, listening, his insides twisting into knots.

All lies.

He took a page from the pad, the one that he had written the date and time on many months ago, and wrote a new note for her.

I thought you wanted me back, to fix our relationship. I was wrong. You lied. I guess I'm an idiot and you're a bitch. Here is your engagement ring. I don't want it anymore. Maybe you can wear it for Tye and his giant dick since you're only his.

Michel didn't sign it, there was no need. She would know who it was from. He placed the note and the ring on the kitchen bench where she was bound to see it and then, with a heavy heart he left. He left, though he didn't shed a tear. He told himself that there would be no more tears, not for her, not in this lifetime.

"FUCK ME YOU BASTARD! Oh God I love your dick!" he heard her scream one last time as the door shut behind him.

[ -- ]

Lila was waiting for him when he exited the school and headed for his car in the teacher's carpark. She was sitting on the bonnet of his i30 when he saw her, stopping dead. It had been just over three weeks since that fateful night when he returned to the apartment to discover Hope and Tye. He had ceased communication with her again, blocked her number, and threatened her with an AVO if she continued to harass him. The threat was without merit, but he had bet upon her not knowing that.

"You're an ass, Michel." Lila shouted at him. "That woman loves you."

"Fuck off Lila, Hope and I are done. It's over. There's no going back."

When he had returned that night to Jason's he had been hurting terribly, but he held it in check. As painful as it was to internalise the grief, he wouldn't let it out, wouldn't let it consume him. Jason had seen right through him, their friendship had grown over the months, blossomed from good friends to great and from great friends to best. Michel had relied upon Jason, leaned heavily on him, and Jason had been there to help whenever he could, however he could.

"I told you not to go," Jason had said once he returned, downcast, and once Michel had told the tale of Hope and her lover. "But you wouldn't listen. This is how it always ends. There's jealousy, rage, horrible feelings of inadequacy. Someone always gets hurt in an open relationship. Oh people argue that they don't, but deep down, they do. When the person you love wants intimacy with others rather than with you, enjoys it with them more, it's not possible to avoid getting hurt. You'd have to be less than human if it didn't affect you. You had your twelve month plan, you should have stuck to it."