Prelude:
I was watching a video of Samantha Bentley stripping off a black bikini top and tattered jean shorts when the question popped in my mind:
How many times had I cheated on my wife?
I knew it was a lot, and it was all with guys. But putting a number on it was harder.
I thought back starting with the year I got married. Back then, I worked a swing shift and had the house to myself a couple mornings a week while my wife was at work. One married guy who came over a few times had a major fetish for cumming in my mouth. It was all he wanted to do. So I wore my wife’s pink bikini while blowing him on the couch in the living room.
On the third hookup, he told me that he knew my wife. He must have figured out her name through my address because he and I never exchanged names. It freaked me out at first, but then it turned me on to know that someone who was in my same situation knew my secret.
That guy alone accounted for 7or 8 hookups, but that was just a bare start. How many more could there be?
I’d fucked guys up the ass, and I had been fucked up the ass. There had been at least six transsexuals and nine cross-dressers. Did it count if I made out with a cross-dresser but didn’t fuck her? I once sucked off two guys at the same time. Did that count as one or two?
In the end, the best estimate was 30-40 hookups with at least 25 guys. I stepped back and looked at that number. Astonishing. I was a serial cheater, no two ways about it. But I was nowhere close to stopping, and I’m still not.
The longer I do this, the more I want it. One of the things I love about gay cheating is that I have to out myself just a little bit to do it. Every time I go through with a hookup, one more guy knows my deepest, darkest secret.
All of you know, too, and that is such a turn on.
As I write this, I oscillate between typing on the keyboard and jacking to a Jennifer Vandeven striptease. I am half drunk on fancy, craft beer that I had to sneak into the house because everyone thinks I’m sober. My wife is asleep in bed, and I am on the couch in the living room. I haven’t fucked her in over a month and want to put my throbbing cock in a married guy’s asshole now.
I will probably cum soon.
But before I do, I want to thank each one of you for reading, reviewing and commenting on my stories. I especially want to thank those who took the time to write me your detailed fantasies and story ideas. Nothing turns me on more than hearing from guys who are married to women but cheat frequently. It’s so good to know so many of us are into the same thing. Keep the comments coming!
And let’s keep it in the closet. 🙂
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Now… Ankara escort it’s story time:
In this next installment, I want to tell you about the two times I sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night to hook up with guys.
The first time was in mid spring a couple of years ago. I often sit on the couch in the living room to watch porn, pinch my nipples and drink beer while my wife is asleep in the bedroom. One night, she went to bed around 9 p.m., and I hit the porn and Bud Lite hard. I edged and drank until nearly 1 a.m. and was about to cum when a guy named “Discreet Married” sent me a message on Grindr.
“Hi,” he wrote. “Looking?”
We got to chatting. It turned out he was staying in a posh hotel a couple miles from my house. He was in town on business, and his wife was back home. The guy invited me to his room, but I couldn’t go because starting the car would wake my wife. Leaving at that hour would raise too many questions. But I knew of a place down the street that looked safe. I told the guy about it.
“Let’s do it,” he wrote.
I told him to message me when he was at the corner three doors down from my house. When he sent “here,” I quietly turned the knob on the back door and stepped out into the fresh night air. I figured if I got caught on the way in or out, I would just say I was taking a walk.
When I got to the sidewalk in front of the house, I saw the guy waiting in a dark BMW X5. I ran over, opened the passenger-side door and climbed into the leather seat. The guy and I looked each other over. He had on a white collared shirt and khaki pants. The guy was a little chubby and probably eight or nine years older than me.
“Ready to have some fun?” he asked.
“Fuck yeah,” I said.
“Ok,” he said. “Where to?”
I directed him to a gravel service road about a half mile from my house. The entrance is tucked away behind some trees and bushes just off of a high-traffic road. Most people who drive by probably don’t notice, but I’d seen and explored the road while out for a jog one morning. We drove to the end of the road, which ended in a cul-de-sac surrounded by pine trees. The dude put the BMW in park. The only light came from the half moon and a few street lamps that poked through the pine needles.
Without a word, the guy opened the door and stepped out. I did, too. We both closed our doors as quietly as possible. I met him on his side of the BMW. He fished a travel-size tube from his pocket and then pulled down his pants and boxers. The guy squirted some lube on his fingers and reached between his legs to grease his bunghole.
“I want you to fuck me,” Ankara escort bayan he said.
He set the tube of lube on the roof of the BWM. Next to where he set the lube was a small yellow bottle. He twisted off the cap, shoved his nose in front of the bottle’s mouth and inhaled deeply. He offered me some, but I waved it off. I knew he was doing poppers but didn’t know a lot about what it was supposed to do to you.
“Fuck me,” he said.
I positioned myself behind him, and he leaned forward. The dude was a good three inches taller than me, but it didn’t matter. He was my bitch, not the other way around. My cock honed in on his asshole like a laser-guided missile. It felt amazing to slip inside him. He was eager for dick.
“Fuck me hard,” he whispered.
I was happy to oblige. It was a major thrill to be having gay sex in public. It was as if I wanted to get caught and let everyone know my secret. I could hear cars whoosh by off in the distance every few seconds. Knowing that any one of them could be a cop coming to bust us made it all the more exciting. I was grunting hard.
We had just started fucking, but I knew I was already close to the end.
“I’m gonna cum,” I whispered.
“Do it,” he said. “Cum in me.”
I immediately blew my load, gallons of jizz pouring into his ass pipe. At least that’s how it felt. I knew I was giving him something his wife never could, and it turned me on. The guy started jerking himself off. All it took was three strokes for him to blast his load all over the gravel road.
As soon as I pulled my cock out of his ass, a wave of post-sex shame washed over me. Worse, I needed him to give me a ride home. We both pulled up our pants and got back into the BMW. The guy started the SUV and drove us out of there.
“I can’t fucking believe we just did that,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
“I think I’m a faggot,” I said.
“Me too,” he said.
The guy dropped me off at the same corner where he picked me up. I hurried to my back door and slowly turned the handle. The door creaked open. I stopped to listen, and the house remained still. I checked the clock on my cell phone. It was 1:22 a.m. I’d been gone less than 15 minutes.
I laid on the couch and passed out.
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Another time I sneaked out of the house after midnight was to hook up with a transsexual I’d been wanting for a long time. She had long, black, curly hair, and she was heavy-handed with the makeup, which I loved, especially her cherry-red lipstick. Her pictures on Grindr always showed her in a short, sassy dress.
She messaged me about 1:30 a.m. on a Sunday. We had chatted on Escort Ankara Grindr several times, and, to be honest, I had chickened out on her a couple times. She either didn’t remember or didn’t care. I didn’t ask.
I noticed from the distance feature on the app that she was closer than usual, just three miles away. It turned out she was at a swingers’ bar I drove by at least once or twice a day.
“Want a BJ?” she asked.
“Yeah, but where?” I asked back.
“In my truck,” she said.
I told her to meet me at the corner by my house. Fifteen minutes later, I was climbing onto the bench seat of a big, dark pickup. She was smoking hot, decked out in a sequin dress and slutty high heels, just like in her profile picture.
I was already hard. She started driving away.
“You are fucking beautiful,” I said.
I put my hand on her stocking thigh and started feeling her up. It was so hot to do it without permission, to just know I treat her like a cheap slut. The only problem was where to park. The city had shut down the utility road since I’d hooked up with the married dude out there.
At the moment it hardly mattered. It was just so hot to be French kissing a transsexual’s ear while feeling her thigh just inches from her prick.
“You know a place to park?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said in a husky-yet-feminine voice.
“Let’s go there,” I said.
I stuck my tongue in her ear as she stepped on the gas, revving the engine. The pickup sped down the street, but we didn’t have to go far. She hung a fast right into a strip mall a quarter mile from my house and parked in a dark corner behind a sandwich shop. All the stores were closed. We were the only ones in the lot.
She lunged at me, shoving her tongue in my mouth. We kissed for only a few seconds, while I pulled down my gym shorts to reveal my hard cock. She put her mouth on it and started bobbing her head. It was so hot to know that all it would take is for a cop to drive by or a neighbor to stumble by, and I would be busted.
“You like sucking married guys?” I asked.
She just moaned and kept sucking. I crossed my arms and pinched my nipples. Right before I came, I said, “Snowball me.” My load shot fast and hard. She took every last drop and held it in her mouth. Then she planted her lips on mine. I made an opening, and she pushed the jizz into my mouth with her tongue. I accepted my salty seed and swallowed.
She settled back onto the driver’s side and started the truck. It was a quiet ride back to the corner. She dropped me off, and I jogged to the back door to let myself in.
I laid on the couch and covered myself with a blanket. I jacked off twice before falling asleep.
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As you can see, I’m a pretty sick puppy. I know some of you are, too.
Tell me about it!
So many of you have written me sexy letters. Keep them coming!