My boyfriend, Trey, had always been jealous of Tyler.
Before Trey and I got together, Tyler and I had been friends with benefits - hooking up whenever I visited NYC. It was always really fun and really casual. Tyler was a musician and a free spirit - long hair, crystal necklace, easy smile. For a couple years, Tyler was my first text every time I came to the city for work. I'd get out of the day's meetings, meet up with Tyler and his friends at a bar, and around midnight, we'd both get this look in our eye. I can't say what was behind that look for him, but for me, it was a familiar fizzy feeling in my clit. The thing is, for all of Tyler's gentle spirit and calm demeanor, I knew he was packing heat. His cock was a thing of beauty - eight inches at least, and thick as a beer can. We had this little routine: I'd catch his eye across the room, lift my drink and raise an eyebrow. He'd put his hands together and bow a little. An unspoken acknowledgement that we were catching an Uber back to his place once the tabs were closed.
I never wanted things to be serious with Tyler - a few hours clinking glasses and rolling around on his futon was perfect. No cock had ever filled me so completely - but I also didn't want to wake up on the floor of a warehouse loft full of musicians and question my life choices. I never stayed over after we fucked - we'd leave each other spent and gasping, and then I'd wriggle back into my slacks and blouse, call another Uber, and smile to myself as I rode back across the bridge to my hotel in Manhattan, the lingering taste of his cum still clinging to my lips. Tyler never complained - he knew I'd be back.
Trey, on the other hand, was husband material. I knew it as soon as I met him. He was almost everything I'd ever wanted - he asked a lot of questions, got along with all my friends, and was a wizard with his tongue. He was a TV producer, so he made good money and got invited to swanky parties. I moved to New York for good a few months after we met, and there were only two things we ever fought about.
The first was his stamina - though he was happy to eat me out for hours, he invariably came within sixty seconds once we started fucking. I didn't mention it for a while - and he loved to tell me that he couldn't help it, he was just so turned on by the sight of my body. Now don't get me wrong, a girl loves a compliment. But a girl also loves getting properly railed, and when I finally said something about it, Trey got upset. Which I understand - nobody likes to hear their partner express dissatisfaction. But for all of Trey's good qualities, there was a geyser of insecurity bubbling just below the surface. When I saw how mopey he got after my passing comment about wishing he could last a little longer, I realized I'd hit struck a vein. So I didn't say anything about it after that - which was mostly fine, except that more and more, I found myself fantasizing about those late-night marathons with Tyler.
Tyler, as you may have guessed, was the other thing Trey and I fought about. There was a bit of a dark side to Trey's ability to connect with people, which was that he could read me like a book. And it only took one meeting with Tyler for Trey to figure out that we had a history. A friend of mine threw a birthday party at her Brooklyn penthouse apartment, and Tyler showed up with his ragtag band of troubadour goofballs. As was so often the case, the party went from a seven to an eleven once Tyler showed up. Within a half-hour of his arrival, we were all singing along as he and his friends played music and made toasts. As the evening wound down, Tyler came over and gave me a very platonic hug. But as soon as I felt his arms around me, I shut my eyes, and saw myself with my palms against the wall, moaning like a wild animal as his hands clutched my hips and his throbbing dick throbbed against the walls of my pussy.
The memory only lasted a second, but Trey clearly saw something on my face. When we got home, he asked me what the deal was with Tyler. I told him we used to fool around, but it was nothing serious.
"It sure looked like you guys knew each other pretty well," he said.
"Oh come on, baby - that was all a million years ago," I protested.
"Did he last longer than me?"
"What?"
"Did he?"
"I mean...I don't know," I lied. "Maybe? I can't really remember - and besides, it's just you and me now, babe!"
"Sorry I can't fuck you like he did."
"Trey, come on! I love you - what is this?"
Trey stalked into the bedroom and went to sleep. I sat on the couch, feeling bewildered and resentful. About a half-hour later, my phone buzzed. A text from Tyler - totally innocuous: "Great to see you, pal."
I threw my phone across the room, poured myself a glass of wine, and slipped my finger into my underwear. I shut my eyes again, remembering the texture of the peeling paint on the walls of Tyler's loft under my palms. I bit my lip and started rubbing my clit. As a wave of pleasure began to build in my stomach, I forced my eyes open, and sat up straight. "You can't do this," I told myself. "It's not right." I swallowed the wine, crept into the bedroom, and curled up next to my boyfriend.
