"Whatchu looking at?" Josh asked, even as his rampant cock reared up its blunt hammer towards the ceiling, sweet vestigial cum still drooling from the piss-slit. I realized then that I had been staring, but could you blame me when there not a few feet away was a thick hog of a cock waiting to be serviced, with me lying there still lightly panting and sweating, my asshole trying but failing spectacularly to hold semen in, just minutes from the awesome sex we just had?
"I'm looking at you, of course," I answered, with my tongue in my cheek. I could see his cock twitch as I moved my tongue against the flesh of my cheek, as if sucking a large lollipop, or more preferably a large cock. "I'm looking at how handsome you are, and how big your cock is, and how lucky I am to be having you between my thighs. Regularly." He smiled at that, and his chest pecs puffed out slightly. Fuck. He really was a handsome son-of-a-bitch.
We weren't looking for this entanglement. We never did. I was a nurse in the neurology unit, specializing in stroke aftercare. Josh was the husband of one of our patients, a brilliant crime novelist who had a paraplegic stroke while driving cross-country to one of her book tour stops. Luckily she survived the ensuing accident with minimal injuries, but the paraplegia remained a hindrance. She was a strong woman and adhered to her physiotherapy religiously, but day-to-day life had to be adjusted towards her new predicament. And I was the one who had that duty.
Being a man in the stroke unit had its advantages. The sheer physical strength needed to help lift and carry patients was a godsend every time. But the job was mainly routine, thus could be boring, and made for dull dinner conversations. As it were I had next to no love life, and my personal time were devoted to gym and little else. I loved my job, but even I knew I wouldn't be receiving any awards any day soon. That was probably why when chance presented itself I chose to fuck my patient's husband. A mental reward, so to say.
I had the pleasure of meeting Josh right after Melanie was discharged from the rehab ward. I was far from a shy person, but standing in front of this tall Asian snack got me tongue-tied. I never thought serious bookish Melanie would be married to someone simultaneously so handsome and so dignified, with his thick black hair, broad shoulders, sculpted arms that must had seen the outside often as opposed to the gym like mine were. All right, I admit readily I went into this with a little crush on Mr. Josh Montgomery, more than a little to be frank.
Three months into our post-stroke care Melanie had a little accident, a toilet-related event that was easily preventable. But that event triggered a nervous breakdown that eventually required overnight hospitalization and psychiatric intervention. I was just signing off her details to the ambulance staff when I noticed Josh, who was standing near the door, had well, urine and shit all over his shirt. I indicated those to him and he shrugged as he undid his shirt and exposed his chest right there on the doorstep. I gawked at his well-formed body, his toned chest and wide masculine shoulders. Melanie was a happy wife, I presumed.
