As he went down on me, I
started looking up at the ceiling. I had been drinking quite a lot and then, he
had rolled a marihuana cigarette in seconds and we had smoked it together while
laughing about people that we had met in our pasts. We shared a lot and we knew
it but, for the night, we had decided to remember certain things and not the
whole picture. We hadn’t discussed it with so many words but it was clear to
both of us the moment he had stepped in my apartment that night.
It felt nice what he was doing
and, I have to say, he looked better than ever. He had recently entered a gym
and the results were already showing. Granted, he might never become an Olympic
athlete or nothing like that, but he did look amazing, just like I remembered
him from the past, or even better. Back then; he was tall but very skinny, with
a beautiful body that had virtually no curves. I never complained then because
our relationship was based on love and he had been my first love.
This time around, however, as I
closed my eyes out of pleasure, I knew that everything we did was simply based
on lust. That love that had united us so many years ago had been dead for
almost as long as we had been apart one from the other. We had lived a lot and
we hadn’t spoken much through the years, only following each other on Facebook
and such social networks where you can take a peak on the lives of others,
almost always just to have something to regret.
But then, we reinitiated our
relationship by talking at least once every two months and then more and more
often. As the time passed, we realized we had grown to be very different people
socially but very alike in everything that had to do with sex. Sometimes, we
would chat online for hours, talking about what we would do together if we
could and things like that. I didn’t mind at all, as I had vowed to be a single
man for a long while. I was certain that kind of flirting wouldn’t amount to
anything.
Him, however, had a very
different life going on. As we started talking, he wouldn’t say much about
himself and would often prefer to talk about me or about the times we had been
dating. But eventually, he had to confess that he was not only dating someone,
but that he had been doing so for more than a couple of years. Furthermore, he
hinted to me once that his partner had proposed to him with a ring and
everything one would imagine, but that they had agreed on marrying after they
were able to afford living together and everything that came with that.
At first, I had decided to slowly
pull away from that friendship of sorts we had developed. For a while, I
couldn’t understand why someone that was almost married would talk to me like
he did. Furthermore, it was outstanding to read how he described my body with a
precision I would never imagine a surgeon to have, much less a boyfriend I had
spent less than half a year with. It scared me but at the same time it felt
very flattering, as no one else was telling me the things he said so often.
Then, one day, he wrote to me on
my cellphone one afternoon. It was a weekday and he just said “Hi”. I said the
same thing and then we engaged on the typical conversation one has with any
living person: we talked about what was going on with both our lives, what we
were doing right then and there and, finally, the weather and such things most
people don’t really care about. Then, after about fifteen minutes of filler, he
finally said what he had been wanting to say for a while: “I’m alone in my
house now…”
I immediately understood what he
meant with that. He clearly wanted me to drop by and have sex with him. In
minutes, he confessed he had been thinking of me for some time and that he
wanted to feel again what he had felt with me back in the day. He was very
flattering, telling me a bunch of stuff I was very glad to read. He told me I
had been the best lover he had ever had and that my body was ingrained in his
memory forever. He said all the right words, in the right order.
However, I was reluctant because
I remembered his almost husband. And I have to confess something: I have not
been an angel all my life. I have been known to go to bed with people that had
previous engagements, me knowing about the whole thing. The difference this
time was that I actually knew him and I had been in a relationship with him.
Somehow, that changed it all and I had to lie in order not to meet him for sex.
One part of me wanted to but my true soul gained the upper hand.
Not that my decision changed
anything. Especially not after, one night during a shopping spree with a friend,
I stumbled upon my former boyfriend and his fiancée. We couldn’t just pretend
we hadn’t run into each other, so we decided to shake hands and talked a little
in the middle of the mall. I don’t know how, but I ended up chatting it up with
his partner and I have to say I found him to be a very nice person. He wasn’t
the type of man I had envisioned for my former lover, but he was undeniable a
good person and I understood why that relationship had formed and had lived
through the years.
However, I had no idea why the
guy wanted to cheat on that nice man. I didn’t understand it at all and didn’t
understood either when he called me out of the blue in order to invite me to a
“game night” at their place. According to my former boyfriend, it had been his
fiancée’s idea. I struggled with the decision of whether to go or not but
finally the decision was taken for me, when the fiancée himself called me on my
cellphone and begged for my presence. After that, I couldn’t say no.
The evening, I have to say, was
pretty tame. They drank conservatively and their jokes were just like their
level of general fun: just average. Other friends of theirs were there, thank
God, so the evening passed without a hitch until my ex-lover pulled me aside on
the kitchen, touched my genitals over the fabric of the pants I was wearing,
and told to my ear that he really wanted to fuck around with me. When he
realized nothing could happen there, he told me the story he had created for
his almost husband.
He hadn’t told him that I was a
former lover or boyfriend. He told him we had gone to college together and that
we had gone out several times together because of mutual friends. But his lies
proved unnecessary, because his fiancée never asked anything. He was being a
gracious host and a nice person overall, not drilling into people’s lives or
anything like that. That made me feel even worse when I got home. So that’s why
I’m staring at the ceiling right now, trying not to think a lot or feel much.
When he came back to kiss me on
the lips, I did it in a very distracted fashion. He had come in to my apartment
out of nowhere, as his fiancée had left the city for a couple of days because of
a death in the family. He was in mourning, who know where, as the love of his
life was getting rid of all his clothes and my clothes as well. Yes, I felt
guilt but then I realized, or told myself at least, that none of that was my
doing. I wasn’t the one doing something wrong, or so I told myself.
As I had sex with him, I tried to
dedicate my senses to the moment. The marihuana kicked in right when it had to.
I heard his moans and I felt the heart of his body very close to mine. And we
spent hours doing the same thing, in different ways.
When he left early the following
day, I realized that I was one kind of person. And I have to tell everyone that
I’m not ashamed of that. I am the person that fucks someone that wants it and I’m
the person that does something knowing the consequences and ramifications it
could have, if any.