Borrowing His Friend's Wife Pt. 01byThe Big Bopper©
This is my first effort at writing and I wish to acknowledge tonytony3 as my inspiration, although he no longer contributes and has withdrawn all of his stories from this site. If anyone still has contact with him, please tell him that I admired his work greatly.
I am hoping that women will enjoy my story as much as men, because while there is full-on sex, it's not just quick wham-bam thank you ma'a but includes foreplay and emotion. If you like it, please vote to inspire more.
Martin Johnson was a shattered man, his idyllic married life in tatters with the sudden death of his beautiful blonde wife in a car accident. Night after night, he sat in his empty apartment, with no sounds of life other than his own breathing. He had taken up heavy drinking that was so out of character for the previously one glass of wine a night man.
As he sat, night after night, in the semi darkness for hours on end, he wrestled, not only with the loss of his wife -- the love of his life -- but the way she died. As a passenger in the car of her boss, just after leaving an outer town motel at 1am in the morning. The motel manager had told investigating police that the couple had arrived around 4pm, checked into one room and didn't even order dinner. Martin's mind was filled with the thought of the pair in that room for nine hours.
Martin had no idea that she had been having an affair. Perhaps one could call him naïve, given what he now knew, but he just believed that she was working industriously on a new project at work. She had been getting home late at night about three times a week. But he had no suspicions because there had been no lessening of activity with her in their own marriage bed … or in the kitchen, the lounge, the bathroom, wherever. There had been no doubting her sexuality, his late wife Amanda had always verged on nymphomania.
Every night now, the same questions went round and around in his head. The two of them had been so sexually active in the four years that he had known her, and their activities had only increased after they were married two years ago. Why would she want to have an affair with her boss? If she was unfaithful to him with one man, had there been others? If so, who were they? Would it really help him to know?
He was becoming fixated on having to know. But why, what good would it do him now? She was gone forever, the woman he loved and adored, his soul mate. But instead of having fond memories of all the good times, of her statuesque beauty that turned male heads wherever they went, her cheeky and irreverent sense of humour, her unashamed sexuality, their marathon sessions of lovemaking. Yes, lovemaking with her, not just sex. They would spend hours -- it was most nights, he reflected -- on intense and romantic foreplay. So much so, that they usually didn't get to sleep until well after midnight.
It would be nice if he could dwell on the good memories, as he sat alone in the apartment every night, his hand wrapped around his cock as he attempted to stroke his way to satisfaction. He was only 30, in the prime of his sexual capacity, having just had four years straight of constant mind-blowing sex, probably averaging six nights a week. Now, in the four weeks since her death, there had been no hot liquid velvet glove of his loved one's cunt to slide his cock into, or of any other woman for that matter. There had only been the palm of his hand, softened and lubed with dabs of KY Jelly, as he attempted to maintain the satisfaction levels to which his body had become accustomed.
To accompany his intense sorrow, Martin wasn't eating properly and he felt that his work was suffering. His boss had been very patient with him, telling him to take time off to complete the grieving for his wife, but Martin felt that he had to remain active, at least by day. If he spent all day and night in this apartment, just thinking about her, he would go crazy.
Unfortunately, he didn't have many friends, such had been the relationship with his wife. They just didn't have time for too many others in their life. The only couple they had become really close to was John Cooper, much older than Martin at 45 years. But John's lovely wife, Deborah was 28, just a year younger than Amanda. Deb and Mandy had been best friends since school days, so that's how Martin had met John four years ago.
Despite the 15 year age difference, Martin and John got on really well. They had a regular booking to play golf together every Saturday morning, and would often take in a football game too. The four would get together for dinner on either Friday or Saturday night most weekends. Now, Martin felt like a loose cog and had refused invitations from John and Deb to maintain the dinner engagements, although the two men were still golfing once a week.
John had noticed the sharp decline in his friend and discussed it with Deb regularly over the weeks since Amanda's death. This Wednesday night was no exception as John and Deborah shared a wine and a quiet chat before dinner. "He needs a woman badly," John again told Deborah. "He and Amanda had just been so intense in their sex life."
"More than us?" Deborah would query as she playfully grabbed John's cock through his trousers to emphasise her point.
"Yes, amazing as it may seem, more than us, my darling." John couldn't get over how fortunate he had been. When he had divorced his first wife five years ago, there had been no particular woman in his life. He had just wanted to be rid of a woman that he had married far too young and who had nagged him constantly over the years.
John stayed celibate for all of three months, but the day that he met the vivacious and attractive brunette, Deborah, he determined that he must have her. Within a week of meeting Deborah, she was in his bed and they had been devoted to each other in the four years since.
They coupled up well together, each managing to cater for the other's sexual needs and while not as frequent in their sexual endeavours as Martin and Amanda had been, they managed to get it on frequently. How did they know that? Because Amanda had regularly talked about sex at the foursomes' weekly get togethers. Amanda would regale John and Deb with tales of how insatiable she and Martin could be.
"What are we having for dinner tonight?" John asked Deborah.
"A roast, John … we're having lamb and baked veges."
"Would there be enough for another serve left over, Deb?"
"Should be, honey, I cut up heaps of potatoes and pumpkin. Why? Who are you thinking of inviting?"
"Nobody!" Then to Deborah's utter bewilderment, John suggested, "How about you make up a serve and drive it over to Martin as soon as we finish eating. I'll do the dishes here, so you don't have to come back to a mess."
"Why would you suggest that, John?"
"You haven't seen him lately, have you?" John enquired of Deborah.
"No, not since the funeral."
"Deb, that was three weeks ago, he has lost weight and he's beginning to look dishevelled. You will be stunned when you see him."
"But why do you want me to take dinner over?"
"Because I don't think he's eating right. Last Saturday at golf, he just looked terrible. He said he's just cooking himself basic things, like omelettes and fish cakes. Crap food, Deb! He's got to get some real nourishment."
"Why don't you take it over, John?"
"He still sees me every Saturday for golf. But as you said, you haven't seen him since the funeral. I think you could cheer him up, he really does like you, and you're always so good at counselling friends and family. You could probably straighten him out."
"Well, I don't know … but I guess so!" Deborah told John just a bit reluctantly.
"Be really nice to him, Deb, show some affection."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, Deb, nothing at all. I just mean that just because I'm not there, don't hold back. Hold his hand, give him a kiss and a cuddle, just like the four of us did when Amanda was alive."
Deborah looked back at John a little suspiciously. She wasn't sure why he was proposing this sudden midweek trip for her to see Martin on her own.
They ate dinner without further reference to Deborah's impending visit to Martin. As soon as she had finished, she picked up the plate she had prepared, covered with foil to keep it warm, kissed John on the cheek, picked up her car keys and was out the door.
It was only a 15-minute drive over to Martin's house. On the way, Deborah's mind tried to speculate on why John had suggested this food drive and why she was the one to make it. She tried also to decipher the code of her husband's suggestion to (how did he put it again, she thought) 'Hold his hand, give him a kiss and a cuddle'. How bizarre, she thought.
Deborah pulled her car up outside Martin's apartment block and climbed the stairs to the first floor. She tapped on the door and waited. There was no reply after 20 seconds, so she tapped again. Eventually, she heard movement from inside and the door opened. Martin's face appeared around the half open door. John had been very accurate, Deborah barely recognised the usually well-groomed and good looking man.
Martin looked like he hadn't shaved in days and his hair was unkempt and shaggy, seemed like it could do with a dose of shampoo. "Deborah, what on earth are you doing here?"
"Hoping that you're going to invite me in," she told him, holding the foil covered plate up. "I brought your dinner."
"What … what dinner … what for?"
"John thought that you weren't eating right after he saw you last weekend. It's obviously been bugging him, so he suggested I bring over a spare serve of the roast we had tonight. Can I come in?"
"Deb, I'm so sorry, where are my manners." With that, Martin flung the door wide open and Deborah stepped into the apartment. There was no entry foyer, the front door opened straight into the lounge room where a sofa faced the television and two individual chairs either side of the TV faced the sofa. "Please, sit yourself down, can I get you a drink?"
Having just come in from the dark night, Deborah's eyes adjusted to the interior lights and as she looked around, she saw that Martin was wearing just a tee shirt and shorts, his legs and feet were bare. Deborah made her way to the sofa and sat down at the far end of it, placing the meal on the coffee table in front of the sofa, indicating to Martin that he should sit next to her to eat.
"I'll have a vodka on the rocks, thanks Martin," Deborah told him, looking up to see him turn in profile to go to get her drink. She gasped, but stifled a sound when she saw that his shorts were tented out in front by what looked to be a very impressive erection. Immediately, she recalled that several times her old school friend Amanda had told her how lucky she was in finding Martin because "his equipment is king size". Deborah reflected that that had been Amanda's quaint description of how her man pleased her.
She had forgotten all about Martin's alleged size advantage until spotting it just now. Deborah was surprised that he hadn't attempted to hide it from her. Its not like it was just a bulge. Seeing him from side on, it was extended straight out horizontally from his body. 'By quite a long way', she considered.
Martin reappeared with her drink. Once again, she was confronted by his tented shorts, but this time front on and from only a step away, as he placed her drink in front of her. 'It can't be me that's caused his erection,' Deborah thought. 'He didn't even know I was coming over. I hope I haven't interrupted him with some woman in the bedroom and he's too polite to say anything.'
Martin sat down next to her, perhaps a body space to her right and peeled the foil off the meal she had brought. "Wow, looks good. I haven't eaten anything like this in a while."
"Go for it, Martin," she told him as he began eating. Then, wanting to find an answer for his obvious erection, she added, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Martin, I should have called beforehand."
"No Deb, that's fine, it's so good to see you. Of course, I still see John every Saturday, but I haven't caught up with you since the funeral."
"Well, we have invited you over … to continue the weekend dinners, I mean."
"Yes, I know. It's just that I've felt like a loose cog since Mandy died. Not very social, I mean."
"So what do you do with yourself here? Must be a bit lonely?"
"You can say that again. I just drink and drink and have a wank."
She was stunned by his frank disclosure and felt just a little uneasy.
"Needless to say, I didn't get finished tonight. You've probably noticed it by now," he said, looking down between his legs as he sat on the sofa alongside her.
Deborah was just a bit taken aback. While the four of them had frequently discussed all types of sexual activity over the years, she had never had any intimate sexual discussions with Martin without Amanda and John being involved. Deborah felt herself blushing and Martin detected it.
"Sorry Deb, but I thought you couldn't miss noticing it, so figured I should explain. That's all I've got these days. Mandy and I were on such a steady diet of sex; I guess I was coming about ten times a week. Well, for a guy, you can't just go cold turkey. I've been trying to cut back, but I'm still giving it a tug every night."
Deborah coughed nervously. "It's alright Martin, you don't have to explain," she told him, wondering why he was being so detailed, then realising that it was probably the alcohol talking. John had told her he was drinking quite heavily.
"Sorry Deb, probably a bit too much information for you, I didn't mean to offend you. Just tried to explain why my shorts are sticking out so far."
"So the memories are still there, Martin. You're obviously missing her very much."
He didn't answer her, just sat eating his dinner, staring at the television. Deborah continued to watch him, from the side. She thought she saw a tear rolling down his cheek, then another. He had gone silent, attempting to control his emotions.
"I'm sorry, Deb. Maybe you better go, I'm not very good company."
Deborah remembered John's compliments about her counselling skills, she decided that she should at least try. She shuffled along the sofa, closing the gap between them so that her right thigh touched his left thigh. She put her arm around his shoulder and tousled his dirty hair. "Martin, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring all the memories back."
"No Deb, it's not your fault, it's always there. I can't think about anything else." His head was lowered as he finished the last of the dinner she had provided. "I might have to move. Everywhere I go in this apartment, I can see her, smell her. I probably should try to let go, but she meant everything to me."
"I know she did, Marty, and she loved you. She told me that time and time again."
He turned his head toward her and stared straight into Deborah's eyes. "Did she, Deb? Did she really? Then why did she spend her last nine hours in a motel room with her stinking boss? I can never forgive her for that."
"I can't answer that, Martin. It's as big a mystery to me. We shared a lot, talked about who and what we liked, and didn't like. She never mentioned being unfaithful to you, I still can't accept it."
He turned back to stare at the TV again and she continued to stroke the fingers of her right hand through his hair. Her left hand came over to rest on his left knee, recalling John's suggestion to show Martin some affection.
Martin pushed his empty plate away from him, across the coffee table. His hands disappeared between his thighs and Deborah became apprehensive, not being able to see from the side what he was doing. Then he turned his face to hers, looking her directly eye to eye from barely two feet away.
"I hate to ask you this, Deb. I know I shouldn't, but it's probably the drink talking, so please forgive me if you're offended."
Deborah watched him curiously, not quite understanding the impact of his words. Then, slowly Martin turned, his left leg coming around and folding under his body so that his left knee was brushing her right hip. He was now half-turned toward her. He looked into her eyes pleadingly, "Please Deb!"
"What Martin, what is it?"
His eyes looked down toward his lap and she followed his gaze down. "Can you help me with this?"
Her eyes widened and she let out a gasp when she saw that he had untied the draw cord in his shorts and they lay open, exposing a rigid and very impressive erection, standing straight out from his body. Strangely, mingled with the shock, her first reaction was that she had to agree with her late friend, Amanda. It was a truly magnificent specimen. Circumcised, the smooth purply knob was oozing clear liquid while beyond it the magnificent girth of the shaft disappeared into a tangle of wiry black curls. 'It was not that it was extraordinarily long,' she thought. 'It seemed to be about 7 inches, but it was the thickness of it. She had never seen one so thick through, a rigid mass of blood-engorged flesh.' She was most impressed, but nonetheless shocked that he would reveal himself in such a way to his best friend's wife.
"Please Deb, I know I shouldn't be asking, but I do it to myself every night, and it's getting harder for me to get off. The palm of my hand is not the most romantic object I know."
She looked up at his face and he was looking into her eyes again. His eyes were filled with tears. "I just can't do that, Martin, much as I would love to help you. It just wouldn't be right, for John I mean."
"He'll never know, Deb. I promise I'll never tell him. Please, I just need you to help me get off; your beautiful soft hand would get me over the top in no time. Please!" he implored her. "I was beating away for twenty minutes before you got here, and I was nowhere near coming."
Deborah looked deeply into his pleading eyes and her compassion for him rose. Her initial resolve was weakening. "Martin, I shouldn't do this, it's so wrong."
She had gone from 'can't do that' to 'shouldn't do this'. Deborah stared at him again, her mind whirling, wondering if she should dare touch him, help him. 'Would I be cheating on John?' she thought, then wondered if John had this scenario in mind when he said to her, 'because I'm not there, don't hold back'. She considered could her husband have been that devious?
Despite her conscience telling her no, she really did want to. She wanted to touch this wondrous thick penis that lay exposed and ready before her. She still wasn't sure if she would tell John if she went ahead now and helped Martin get his release. She was reasoning with herself, 'what harm would it do?' and she told herself that there were no positive harm answers to that. 'And I so want to touch it, it's not much longer than John's, but oh God, look how much thicker it is.' She pondered all of this as she looked at her fingers and decided that they wouldn't even meet around its girth.
Martin's voice was no longer pleading, but his eyes were telling her how much he wanted her touch.
'I have to do this, damn the consequences,' she told herself as slowly, her right hand that had been around his neck and in his hair, slipped slowly down his back and came around to touch his upper left inner thigh. Her hand held on his leg for a moment and her eyes searched his, seeking some kind of reassurance for what she was about to do. Tentatively, her fingers reached out and touched the fiery knob, one fingertip tracing the clear juice from the eye of his cock and spreading it all around the knob. Her eyes watched his face closely and saw his eyes almost close in delirium from her touch.