Let It Go

Conscious thought returned to me in a sudden flash, like a summer eve lightning. Suddenly I was hyper-aware of my surrounding, the colors, the textures, the temperatures. One drop of sweat dripping through the centre of my back became magnified a thousand times, so that it felt as if I was carrying Atlas' load on my poor spine. And the sensations coming off of my asshole was suddenly too intense, too strong for me.

"Babe, babe, stop. It's not working."

"It'll only be another minute babe, please babe-kins," my husband Ryan murmured. His thrusts which had been gentle to that point began to increase in intensity and strength. "Just a few minutes."

"Babe, please," tears began running down my face. I turned my hips this way and that, looking to dislodge my husband's thick cock from where it was burrowing inside my anus.

My husband let out a sigh and pulled out, finally, from my gaping hole. "Okay babe, I'm coming out."

"Let me make you come with my mouth."

Ryan, dear handsome Ryan, smiled and kissed my sweaty temple. "That's okay, honey, you get some rest. I'll take care of it."

"But--"

"No but's. Go to sleep."

I watched with bleary eyes in the dim darkness of our bedroom as he shuffled and made his way to the ensuite, naked as the day he was born, tall blond jockish frame slightly defeated by his failure to make love to me. A few minutes later I shut my eyes tight as I heard the grunts start over the rush of the water, the grunts and the moans and the sighs, as my husband masturbated to his heart's content in the running shower. Shame, shame on me. Shame, and perhaps a tinge of relief.

"So..." my friend from college Aidan lifted his eyebrows suggestively, smiling like the Cheshire cat. "How was date night?" Oh God. I totally forgot date night, specifically how it ended in disaster as my husband failed -- yet again -- to make love to me. I gave Aidan a look and God bless him, he read so much into that single glance that he made a pearl-clutching move instantly. The gesture was so truthful, and so very gay, that I fell in love again -- as a friend -- with this brown-eyed nerd with a penchant for the dramatics. "Was it truly a disaster? Don't you just want to sit in a corner, nursing a pumpkin spice chai latte -- with extra ice to resemble your dead bedroom?"

I swallowed. "More like nursing a bourbon. And fuck you too, bitch." That came out a little bit too violent, so I blew him a kiss at him to soften the blow.

"Anyhoo what is the problem? I mean, it's not like he never fucked you before, so what really is the problem?"

"I don't know, it's like this feeling, like I can't brush it off, like he's going to leave me, and soon. I don't know." I took a sip of my drink. "This is a mistake. It's all there to it: a big silly mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have gotten married."

"Oh baby, you should not have said that. Marriages -- even gay ones -- don't fall apart just because of one occasion of failed sex, no matter what you think your fault is. Have you tried talking to Ryan yet? Have you thought of therapy?"

I made a face at the t-word. "You know how I hate therapists, thay always blame the mothers. Unfoundedly."

"I don't mean those quacks on the helpline. I mean, like a, you know," Aidan swallowed, "A sex therapist."

"Like good old Barbra?" I had to launch into a deep guffaw.

"No, I mean like Dr. Ruth. Don't knock off those sex therapists, they make perfectly good sense to me, especially in cases like yours."

"Cases like mine?"

"Yeah, I mean like you know what I mean, cases where you don't see the problem, where you need a third pair of eyes to see what the problem is. It's a suggestion."

"I don't know, babe, I -"

"Just mention it in passing," Aidan said, leaning on the back of his chair like an omniscient sex guru. "See what he thinks about it."

What he thought of it was shit. Ryan stared at me speechlessly for a minute, his shock and anger palpable in the ether, before rising slowly from the dining table and going into his den -- our den, but reserved for him in situations like this -- and quietly shutting the door. "Babe," I started, but thought better of it. In a few minutes I could smell the cigar, even through the door. "Babe you promised not to smoke again." I couldn't hear his gruff reply behind the door, and gave up on the whole thing.

I cried. Oh, how I cried on the shoulder of my beloved friend. Aidan brought in a cake, pastry products and most importantly his ever-so-tactful self. Tears ran down my face even as I laughed to see that he had brought in pumpkin spice chai latte -- with extra ice -- in a big tumbler, the funny bitch. "He just went for his smoke. His smoke! He knows how I hate his cigars, how my dad died because of smoking, all that shit. It was not even that expensive Cuban stuff, just one of those knock-off brands."

"So he's cheap. It's the economy these days."

"Huh. You're one funny guy. Re-aaaaal funny." I burped. I already had a few glasses of wine inside me before Aidan came in. Thank god for his chai. I took a healthy swig of the concoction.

"You know what. Let me talk to the guy."

"What?"

"Let me talk to Ryan. Let me be your third pair of eyes. You trust me, right?"

"Of course, but -- "

"Then it's settled. I'll talk to him tonight, you be out of this house while I talk sense into your fool husband's head."

"Thanks, Aidan. You're one swell friend." I gave him a kiss on his cheek. "Reeeeeeeal swell."

"You're drunk."

"I am, am I? I am!" Aidan chuckled at my antics.

As I nursed my drink later that night -- pumpkin spice chai latte, of course -- at my usual coffee haunt I nursed my running thoughts. What if... what if Ryan hit Aidan? God forbid, Ryan was always a total sweetheart and never was a violent person, but he was significantly larger than Aidan, and what if his old jock self came out in his anger and target this well-meaning officious nerd-boy albeit having his own husband's best interests at heart? I swallowed a large gulp of chai latte, fetched my keys and rushed back home, intent on calling off the whole thing.

I could smell the cheap cigar from behind the door. I sighed, ready to launch into a tirade against the dangers of smoking -- again -- before listening more intently. No, there were no words being spoken, there was no ongoing discussion. It was puzzling. I saw two pairs of shoes in the threshold, Aidan was clearly in the house. Where were they? I made the turn into the living room where I could see Aidan's coat hanging over the couch. I remembered my inane thought then was that coat was going to smell awful with the cigar smell. Then I saw the shirt lying on the carpet, the pants, the thin belt running like a confused snake from the waist of the pants. Most tellingly I saw the pair of Diesel underwear, a cerulean apparel so tiny it must had been Aidan's.

Blood curdled in my veins. Unbidden tears came to my eyes. I remembered all the times I confided in Aidan -- how Ryan loved his cigars, how big and thick Ryan's cock was and how he had the stamina of stallions, making love five times in one night. It all seemed so innocent then, we had such a nice laugh about it, when in hindsight I should have kept my mouth shut about such things.

The words came to me now despite the closed doors. "Fuck, fucking tight ass I'm gonna fuck soon."

"Come, Ryan, fuck me, fuck your tongue into me, nnnggghhhh I felt that, fuck!"

A moment of silence, of deep silence. I realized later that these lulls in the voices were occupied by the deep sinful kisses between my husband and my best friend. "Mmm. Your mouth's so warm from the cigar. If you were my husband you'll be smoking them every single day, blowing the smoke up my asshole so it'll be so warm, so ready for your big manly cock."

"Fuck Aidan, I never know you're such a dirty bitch."

"Dirtier than your husband?"

A pause. "There's no contest."

"Good answer. Now come, breed my ass."

There was a shuffle as they adjusted their positions, ready for the inaugural fuck. I found my fingers itching to open the door, to peek into the scene, to take a look as my friend and my husband betray my trust, right there on our marital bed. Just as my fingers touch the metal knob, there was a long-winded groan from behind the door.

"Nnnnnnggg fuuuuuuuck your cock, fuck it, your cock's so biiiig nnnnngggghhhh," Aidan moaned.

"Fuck, your ass' so warm, so smooth."

"Is it tight? Tell me, is it tight?"

"Yeah, so fucking tight. Fuck."

A pause again, I imagined them kissing deeply, passing the musk of cigar and smoke and ass between their mouths. I imagined my husband smiling in his kiss, leaning into the sensation of breaching a new hole after so long having to be content with failures after failures to inundate mine.

Time passed. I listened to countless moans, groans and grunts as the new lovers chased the intoxicating feel of body against body, skin against skin, of steel-hard cock against warm silky anus. It took a special strength within me not to pounce on the door, to make a scene. After all cock had already pierced asshole, the deed was done. It seemed like forever had passed when I heard Ryan went into overdrive, the huge huffing noises he always make when he was reaching for that pinnacle of orgasm.

"Fuck, fuckin' tight ass, fuckin' warm ass, ass I gonna come, gonna come in your tight ass GODDAMMIT YOU'RE SQUEEZING FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

A single tear ran down my cheek as my husband anointed that duplicitous asshole into his own. Only then I realized I had been holding the door knob the entire time, the metal against my skin giving a false sense of comfort and compassion. I let it go then, as I let go of everything that was dear to me that night. My friend, and my husband. Even as I resolved I could hear the lust-addled whispers and words between Ryan and Aidan, no doubt planning an alibi for me later. A laugh, and another moan as Ryan climbed back onto Aidan's supplicant form, eager for a second round of mind-blowing sex.

Let it go.