Part one: some husbandly background
It was just another normal night out. Well, as normal as nights can be.
My husband and I had been living abroad for a year. New city, new life, new friends. We should have been taking every opportunity to get to know the gay scene a little more, but it was hard. We would go out to a bar as a couple, try to strike up some conversation with new people, but we never quite knew the intentions of those we were talking to. Well, sometimes we could tell by the way they kept touching us in conversation, or when they were wearing nothing but a jockstrap and nothing was left to the imagination (hello, hard cocks!), and I suppose a part of us didn't know what intentions we had. So most of the time we would order our drinks and keep to ourselves, watching the scenes unfold in front of us and commenting on them while simultaneously wanting to get in on the action.
I should back up a little. My husband and I had met several years before through mutual friends (of friends of friends). He was in finance and I was in...job limbo. Well, not quite limbo, more like "not wanting to work and hoping someone would provide for me". Somehow, we clicked. Was it the fact that I really loved listening to financial talk? No, which is obvious due to my lack of explanation of what financial talk is. Was it due to him always wanting to fully support another person? Probably not, but I've never really taken the time to deep-dive that question. Was it because we both had amazing sexual chemistry and never took life too seriously? Bingo.
Date night one, after several beers and a few slices of pizza, we wound up back at his place and watched an episode of Sex and the City when one of the ladies (Samantha? I can't recall. I never really watched the show...) finds a grey pubic hair and ends up dying her bush red. I'll admit: I laughed, but I was more interested in the specimen beside me. Dark hair, square jaw covered in purposeful stubble, a mustache kept slightly longer than the stubble, a cute pair of glasses. 45 going on 30. Caleb. He was perfect. Definitely went to the gym, but wasn't obsessive over it, as evident by the slightly rounded tummy on him. His pecs were pristine, which I could see even through the sweater he was wearing (did I mention it was winter? No? Well, now you know). He was beautiful.
I decided that I was drunk enough to warrant cuddling up next to him on the couch, and my actions were welcomed with an open arm around my shoulders. I could feel my heart pounding and the sound seemed to fill my ears. I couldn't hear the TV anymore. But I could feel Caleb's warmth right next to me. I could smell him. Goddamn, he smelled good. I can't quite describe it, but it was singular, special. Intoxicating. My head was on his shoulder when I turned slightly to look up at him and met his eyes looking down at me. He moved his head down slightly and met my lips, his mustache tickling my nose as we joined lips.
"Is this okay?" he asked. I responded by raising my left hand up to his cheek and bringing his face further into mine. I could feel his heart now, reverberating through his whole being.
"More than okay," I finally managed to say. We broke away for a moment, our lips an inch apart, our hands exploring one another's bodies, trading warm breaths between our parted lips. He cocked his head a little as one hand ventured further down and found my erection pressed against my jeans. I shuddered. I don't know why, it's not like it was my first time, but when he touched me, I felt...helpless? No, vulnerable. No...wanted. I felt wanted. And needed. I could tell because of the way he held me there, hand placed just over my cock, but not rushing for it. He wanted to take it all in. And hell, I wanted him to take me. I brought my hands down to the bottom of his sweater and lifted it up over his head, removing his glasses for a moment and then replacing them after. He was wearing a blue (dark blue? light blue? doesn't matter) button-down. I had my work cut out for me. I began unbuttoning the top button near the collar as Caleb moved his hand from my boner to the bottom of my shirt, tugging it up over my head. I was only wearing the one shirt, a white Henley, so I felt very exposed.
I let him look me over. What he saw was a fairly hairy, gym-going but not obsessive (like himself! imagine that!) guy with a good set of shoulders. And apparently he liked what he saw. He threw my shirt across the room and wrapped his arms around me, bringing me in for a hug. His stubble scratched against the side of my neck and made my cock twitch; I loved that feeling. It was so masculine.
"You're pretty handsome," he said, his voice a low growl in my ear. "I could hold you just like this all night."
"You're not too bad yourself..." I said back. At this, I reached down and grabbed his junk. My god, it felt huge. "...handsome."
Caleb pulled back from me, stood up and undid the belt on his jeans. I was a bit shocked on how fast this was moving, but also very happy with it. He wasn't wasting any time. He leaned down, grabbed my hand, and brought it to his fly. I quickly undid the button and zipped him down, lowering his jeans to around his ankles and staring, eye level, at his extremely hard and giant fucking cock.
"Oh, by the way, I don't wear underwear," he said casually. Before I could say something witty (or anything at all), he grabbed the top of my head and brought my face to his boner. I barely had time to open my mouth. Before I knew it, he was fucking my face with everything he had, and he had a LOT: at least seven inches, thick as all hell. He left some pubic hair and a slight stubble on his balls (this guy and his stubble, my god!). His cock was pounding the back of my throat, almost triggering my gag reflex, but I was hungry for this dick and willing to take it all. His hips were gyrating violently, and I reached up to grab his bare ass and bring him further into me. Hallelujah, praise Jesus, this man had a dick AND ass for the gods.
"Fuck yeah baby, take that fuckin' cock," he moaned. I moaned louder, savoring every last inch of him as I felt him stiffen more and more. I wanted to keep sucking him forever, but I knew it would have to end eventually. Question was: how would it end?
I put one hand on his thigh and took him out of my mouth, keeping one hand on his cock. "You wanna fuck me, big guy?" I asked, staring up at him while stroking him, his balls swinging loosely and his cockhead dripping with precum.
