I Left My Wife To Fuck Men

Hide Your Husbands, Part 1

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“You can go on and fuck all the men you want!” Karen screamed, and I slammed the front door shut.

I trudged out of the foyer and into the sunny spring day, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Our apartment was in a couple of dignified brick walk ups smashed together on a quiet street in Avondale. Squirrels chased each other around in the newly green tree branches, and an ice cream truck warbled a few blocks off.

I really had to stop ending marriages like this.

Our silver SUV was parked at the curb, and I threw my overnight/maybe forever bag in the back with a heavy sigh. It was Election Day, and my client had a pretty good chance of winning, except for the small matter of being massively outspent and getting caught not paying his water bill. My part in it was done; there was nothing to do except reflect on how my dumb bisexual ass had stumbled into yet another bad marriage.

Where had I gone wrong? How did I even fall in with Karen? I’d been in a smoking hot bisexual, biracial throuple, for fuck’s sake. Karen wasn’t even attractive, she was straight, she hated sex, and her blowjobs were inexplicably painful. Sure, she was great with my kids, but the side of runaway insecurity, self-loathing, and eventual biphobia was a heavy price.

I leaned against the brick façade and rubbed my eyes. What a clusterfuck. I needed to find a place to stay for the night, return my client’s calls, and pick up more weed. Piper was going to be a nightmare about this. Even worse, I was sullenly horny from a near-celibate marriage with terrible, grudging missionary when it wasn’t.

…you know what? One of those things was a lot more fun to address than the others.

I took out my phone, flicked on the camera, and took a selfie right against my apartment building. I liked what I saw: salt and pepper beard, a smart fade, and a confident smile. I was fucking hot; hell, that had bothered Karen more than anything. How many times had she accused me of fucking men while I was out? And she had just told me to do it.

Up came the Google play store, and I downloaded all the dating apps that I remembered being worth a damn from that crazy time in Uptown. I slid into my car as I tapped off a quick bio: Divorced father, bisexual as fuck, weed and insider politics. There, that should be enough. I started up the car, and headed towards a coffee shop in Wicker Park.

An hour later, I had my date for the night.

Jake lived in a Streeterville high rise soaring over the toniest parts of Chicago. He was a probate attorney, divorced, Jewish, had cute glasses, and positively gorgeous stubble. Jake was also a lot more talkative than the standard issue male wordsmiths of “hey” and “sup” across the internet. Maybe it was going to be an actual date; maybe we’d hit it off and meet again.

As my Lyft got off the Kennedy, I texted him:

“Just so you know, I just ended my second marriage today, and it’s been eight years since I went out with a man.”

To which he promptly replied:

“Oh, no expectations at all! I never have sex on the first date anyway!”

Ah, he was a whore after all. I could work with that too.

The night sky was an overcast haze when I got out of the car. Jake texted me that I should just come up because “my pants are still in the dryer,” like it was a seventies porno. Well, who could resist such subtle charms? Certainly not me.

Jake met me in the lobby in shorts that oh so coincidentally showed off his bulging, rock hard thighs. He certainly didn't catch me staring at them, and he definitely didn't sway his chiseled ass at me as he led me into the elevator. His hand brushed mine as he tapped his fob to the sensor plate. Who was I kidding? He had me eating out of his hand already.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said with a little finger twirl as he opened the door to his immaculate condo, and I was so thirsty for those thighs I didn't even roll my eyes at him.

His place was a monument of brushed steel and marble. He had a little dog, because of course he did. Chicago stretched out through the wispy clouds in his wall window, just starting to count up the votes of the next mayor. Jake shooed his little gay dog into his bedroom with a wink in my direction.

“Can I get you anything?” he murmured, his gorgeous mouth in a little pout. Our fingers brushed again as he handed me a can of bubbly water from Whole Foods. God, he was ridiculous, and I was already aching in my pants to feel more.

Jake's dryer dinged while he was in the middle of assuring me it was okay and he was divorced too and knew how it went.

“Oh, looks like my pants are ready,” he said, slinking out of reach just as I went to take hold of his waist. “I'll be right back.”

As he disappeared into his hallway, I noticed that condoms and a bottle of lube just happened to be lying on his coffee table. Jake slipped past me with his warm pants, ever so lightly brushing against my bulge.

“We're both men,” he murmured, glancing back at me with a sly smile. “I'm sure you're okay if I just change right here.”

My hands closed over his as his thumbs hooked into his waistband. Jake let out a small gasp as I kissed the nape of his neck, my finger sliding under his shorts, trailing just short of his magnificent ass. His stubble rasped against mine as he nuzzled into me, eager, inviting, masculine as fuck.

Eight years of frustration vanished into smoke as he grinded his ass into my tight, straining pants. He was so good, so right, the answer to every need and ache in my body. My fingertips brushed the head of his cock, and my mouth watered. To hell with ever giving this up again.

I peeled off Jake’s clothes like the slutty divorce present he was. He squeaked with excitement as I bent him over and shoved him into the sofa cushions. His ass was a gorgeous, warm invitation, and I spread him apart and buried my face between his cheeks. I grasped his tree trunk thighs desperately as I tongued his asshole, his body a tapestry of muscle and pleasure in my arms. 

Jake’s whimpers became needy, insistent as I lapped at him. He wriggled out of my arms with a gasp, showing off his perfect body as he knelt before me. I growled with desire as he pulled open my pants. His gasp at my rigid cock sent threads of fire through me. Every woman I’d slept with had told me I’m hung, but it didn’t truly sink in until I first heard the words from a bug-eyed, drooling man. And it was finally back in the worshipful hands of someone who liked dick for a change.

He covered my shaft with fluttering, adoring kisses before plunging all the way to my base. Pleasure shuddered through my core as he swallowed me, gargling my head in his throat and caressing my balls. His sweat-slicked stubble and hair slid through my fingers, my muscular Adonis swooning over every warm thrust he took in.

I tore off my shirt and kicked out of my pants as Jake came up for air. He tore open a condom from the coffee table, rolling it down agonizingly slowly. His pouting eyes fluttered as he slathered lube on my wrapped cock, demur, inviting. I tried to move, but he stayed in place with a smirk, challenging me to take what I wanted, what I needed.

So that’s how we were doing this. Challenge accepted.

Jake cried out in anticipation as I seized him by his gorgeous thighs and wrestled him back onto the sofa. His playful resistance became an insistent tug as I hauled his legs up on my shoulders, teased his asshole with my slick head that tormented me just as much. He trembled as I thrust, slowly, powerfully, working into his depths until my hips crushed his ass down into the cushions. His eyes rolled back as I rocked into him, nodding eagerly as I pushed harder, faster.

Sweat ran down both of us in rivulets as I claimed his rippling, muscular body. His thighs were trunks of fire under my palms, his chest a heaving tapestry of need. Jake took ahold of his cock as I pumped him, each thrust adding to the tension in his body and shaft, needing more, always more. His gleaming condo faded to a blur, the yapping of his gay little dog to a smear of whispers. He was mine, all mine, my gorgeous man, my writhing temple of pleasure.

His entire body shuddered as we both drew closer to the edge. He stroked his cock wildly, desperately, grabbing at my ass with his free hand, sliding away as he lost focus. Suddenly Jake’s eyes flew open, wide and bulging. I thrust into him with all my strength as he shrieked with triumphant pleasure. His swollen cock erupted, stream after stream of mouth-watering cum painting his bulging pecs and ribbed abs. He thrashed in ecstasy as I hammered into him, grasping my arms, his eyes glazed with pleasure and wide with anticipation.

A thundering scream ripped out of everywhere and nowhere as I blew apart inside him. I howled with unbearable shudders, clench after clench wracking my cock, my guts, my bones. He was my focus, my world, tearing pleasure out of me, wringing me into nothing. My arms seized and jerked under his hands as I thrust with desperate, manic abandon. Finally I slumped into him, my cock still pulsing, my strength gone and still squeezing out spasms of pleasure that ran through both of us.

“Fuck!” I raggedly gasped. Jake swooned as I pulled out of him, the condom swollen with my load. I collapsed onto him, lapping at his gorgeous abs, tasting his delicious cum. He pulled off the condom with a smirk, and I groaned anew as he swallowed my spent shaft, taking what was left for his own.

With a happy sigh, Jake pushed me back into the sofa and laid his head on my stomach, idly caressing my legs and softening cock. I threw my head back, too spent to do anything but stare in an unfocused haze at his soft-lit ceiling, the sounds of his dog and television washing over me incoherently.

…television.

A familiar voice burbled through the glow of sweat and pleasure and cum.

“...while votes are still being counted, our election desk is prepared to call the winner…”

I blinked into focus as the new mayor-elect was announced. My client, the mayor-elect.

“Oh fuck,” I mumbled. “We won.”

Jake giggled as I lifted my head and looked over at his widescreen. Yes, I hadn’t misheard. The results were…improbably good too.

He pouted as I wriggled out from under him and got to my feet. “I’ve got to get to the election party,” I said, rooting around on the floor for my clothes.

“Do you think you can come back later?” he asked invitingly.

I snorted as I pulled up my pants. He moaned as I swept him into my arms and kissed him, deeply, warmly.

“Sweetie,” I said when I pulled back. “I just elected the next mayor. I won’t be back tonight.”

“Aww,” he pouted, but released me as I pulled on my shirt. We kissed again with one more round of appreciative groping before he saw me to the door, wobbling slightly from our unhinged tryst.

In the lobby, I pulled out my phone to see a string of congratulatory texts from colleagues…and one long, long email.

It was from Karen.

She was so happy I’d won. She was sorry. She loved me. She’d said a lot of things she hadn’t meant. She wanted to make up. She’d just bought airfare and a goddamned hotel in…Montreal? It would be a magical trip and we’d rekindle our relationship.

Wow. Talk about too little, too late. I snickered as I tapped out my reply:

“I just fucked a cute Jewish lawyer up the ass in Streeterville. See you in court.”