After wiping off all the cum, his and mine, with the designated post-sex towel, I'd gone for a long heavy piss that burned slightly, not entirely uncomfortably. While in the bathroom I saw more glimpses of their married life: photographs of them on holiday, trinkets from those trips and the comfortable disarray of two people's belongings scattered across the surfaces of their countryside haven.
"Beer? Whisky? Vodka?" He asked in his booming, still American-accented voice when I came out of the bathroom.
Brad, his cock now holstered inside a pair of boxers and light blue denim jeans - out of my sight but not out of my mind -, became the amiable host once again. It was as though I hadn't been licking his ass minutes before and sharing his heavy load of warm cum with his wife; or that I hadn't recently deposited a voluminous amount of my own cum deep inside his wife who had begged me to do so. We could've been two friends catching up after a separation.
"A beer, please. And a glass of water."
"Thirsty business, eh?" He winked at me and jogged downstairs, light-footed and sprightly. "One cold beer coming up." It was Michelle who was now the more reserved of the two. She looked exhausted when she came out of the bedroom wearing a white dressing gown. But there was a sly smile on her face, the expression of a conqueroress. She didn't say anything. Instead she gave me a kiss and rested her head on my chest.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"I'm amazing. Thank you, Jack. I'm going to have a little soak to soothe my war wounds. See you downstairs in a bit. Have a smoke and put your feet up."
I dressed in jeans and t-shirt and followed the sounds of clinking glasses and Brad's feet padding through the kitchen. He was pouring my beer into a glass. I marvelled at his body. His torso was so powerful and ripped: it was the torso of a man who spends his days lifting heavy things and twisting his core to place them somewhere else, not the typical body of a man was secures deals and charms clients. I knew he'd shown some promise as an athlete at college. The body must've been a happy relic from those sporting days. I felt woozy at the thought of Brad and his teammates hitting the shower after a game.
He and I moved to the living room to enjoy the sound system. Brad wasn't exaggerating: Michelle could roll a perfect joint. He put on some droning, hypnotic music I wasn't keen on, but the joint, the frosty-cold beer and the respite from sweaty, exhausting sex made the Tibetan music bearable.
"So, how did all this begin?" I asked him when we sat in the living room, track 1 of his hippy chill-out music beginning.
"Ha! It started when we were both seeing other people, and we met and started flirting. We texted for a while and then agreed to meet in a hotel with the sole intention of a one-time fuck. But we couldn't stop just the one, you know, we were hooked on each other. And when we ended those relationships and fell in love, we still didn't want to give liberal attitude to sex. We agreed on a number of rules, actually more an agreement, and we've been happily doing this for four years."
"That's brilliant. I'd love something like that," I said, even though I knew his story was off. Perhaps it was the joint: he was blowing a huge plume of smoke out of his mouth. But I'd heard a different story about how they ended up together, one that placed him in a less heroic light. He was a loud and brash man, and when his ego revved up it seemed he began twisting his tales so that would enhance his ultra-masculine persona: that of a rampaging sex god.
"It's not for everyone, bro," he warned with his index finger. "We're both lucky because we very like-minded. Tread carefully. Jealousy will destroy a relationship faster than any drug or money problem. Jealously is in here." He stabbed his chest. "Those things, money, drugs, whatever, are all extraneous, and can be fixed...most of time."
"I understand." I wanted to ask if jealousy had ever been an issue, but I didn't want to besmirch the convivial atmosphere. "The important things is you guys are sound."
"Sound as a pound, like you English say."
He passed me the joint and we lapsed into the contemplative silence of two friends comfortable in silence. Or maybe it was the weed and the post-sex lethargy. I felt very happy to lay there. I thought about the sight of his cock entering Michelle, the way it teased her lips inside and out with each thrust. I thought of the sensation of her vagina. I was getting aroused and enjoying the post-orgasmic ache in my cock as it tensed against my jeans. Brad was flicking through his phone and sipping his vodka, the ice cubes clinking when he returned his glass to the art deco table. We were both worn out.
Soon Michelle joined us. She was still wearing her white dressing gown and a pair of flip flops. Her skin was pink from the heat of the bath water, but she appeared rejuvenated. She collapsed onto Brad and they kissed once. He ran his hand up and down her calf, although there was no erotic undertone now, it was merely affection. Everything had become very pleasant. I wondered how long it would be until things became a sordid fuckfest once again. For now, the conversation turned to food.
"I can whip something up," Michelle offered.
"Please, baby. I'm starving," said Brad.
"OK, I'll go and have a look and see what we've got." She stood up and then looked over at me. "Oh, shit, what terrible hosts we are! Would you like a shower, Jack? You must be all sticky."
"Yes, that'd be nice. Maybe after dinner? I'm pretty chilled right now."
And chilled is how I remained. While Michelle went and busied herself in the kitchen and Brad smoked and flicked through a book a friend had gifted him at the party, I dozed. I was woken by Michelle nibbling at my ear lobe. "Dinner's ready, handsome."
Dinner was typical of such a successful, cultured couple: salmon, quinoa and sticks of steamed asparagus. Brad had opened a bottle of champagne, a gift from a man in senior management who'd visited the party, and we toasted to the evening ahead and to our new friendship. Throughout the meal, they held hands whenever they were using their cutlery; Michelle also constantly stroked my feet as well. My penis, quite spent and feeling dull and heavy, quivered at her touch, but didn't come roaring to attention.
"Jack was asking how all of this began," Brad said as he finished wiped his mouth was a napkin.
"How what began?"
"Us fucking other people."
She giggled. "We started fucking each other while we were seeing other people."
"That's what I told him."
"We had to meet up because you wouldn't stop texting me. And all those cock pics. There'd be a puddle in my chair at work every time I received one from you. You had an artistic streak."
"It's all about the angles," Brad replied, and laughed before reaching for his glass.
"We fell in love straight away," said Michelle before tweaking her declaration: "Love and lust."
