My Betrayal - PART 3
I'm having to post this confession across several posts as it's quite long, sorry if that's not your thing but it felt good for me it to write everything out. This is PART 3. The final part.
Wow, you are fucking trouble, he said, kissing me gently on the lips. It was getting really late by now but I wasn’t ready for the night to end. I straddled him and lowered myself onto his face, rubbing my clit against him, his sensational tongue inside me. I was a quivering mess by the time I came once again. Lying in his bed, he told me I tasted amazing and that my fiancé was a lucky guy. I can’t remember the last time he ate me out so I really needed that, I admitted. It was at this point I thought I’d better check my phone, and went to find it. I’d had one text from the sweet, trusting man I’d just betrayed so thoroughly telling me that he was going to bed but hoped I was having a good time. Reading it, I felt a pang of guilt for the first time that evening and knew it was time to go.
Jake had other ideas though. Ideas involving my mouth and his dick. And as bad as it sounds, I wanted to be the best he’d ever had, better than all the other girls I imagined he’d brought here to fuck. I teased and licked and sucked him like my life depended on it. I stroked his balls and fingered his arsehole until I felt his cum hit my throat, swallowing every drop. We kissed passionately after, utterly spent and never more satisfied.
He was surprisingly gentlemanly after. He helped me get dressed and called me a cab. I drunk in the sight of his naked body moving around, resolute that I couldn’t do this again, and when he asked for my number, I turned him down. It would have been so easy to keep seeing him, and I now know I’m probably the sort of person that could manage a discreet affair without getting caught, but it would have consumed me at that point in my life. I’d have lost myself in the passion of it all. Even after one night, I knew that outside of the bedroom there’s no way we were compatible and I’d agreed to marry someone else.
I was getting ready to head down to the cab. Jake came up to me and put my, now washed, engagement ring back on my finger. I don’t think I ever said congratulations, he said with a grin. I laughed and told him he was a dick. We had one last, sensual kiss, I thanked him for an incredible evening and left. It was gone 4.00am by the time I got home, showering the smell of sex off of my body before slipping into bed next to my fiancé. It seemed I’d gotten away with it, but I knew I’d have some explaining to do in the morning.
He woke me up with breakfast on a tray, and asked me if I’d had a good time. My cover was that when I’d had to go back to the bar to find my phone, I’d missed the last tube and it took ages to get home on the night bus, which was perfectly plausible as we lived on the other side of the city. He totally bought it, luckily. Lying to his face felt bad but it was also something of a rush, knowing the things I’d let another man to do me and how much I’d enjoyed them. We slept together that morning and I hadn’t been this horny for him in a long time as I replayed the details of hot night with Jake in my mind.
Later that day, I took secretly took the morning after pill and that was that. I got married six months later and it was the happiest day of my life. Our marriage has been steady and loving but I know I’ll never have that kind of wild, heart-pounding sex with my husband and there are occasional days when I really crave it and think about straying. I never told my friends. The only person I’ve ever confessed to is a therapist, whose advice was to keep the secret, but try and spice things up with my husband. I’m not sure she understand that, for me, what made it so good was the fact that it wasn’t my husband I was sleeping with.
When I bumped into Jake at a cafe by complete coincidence two weeks ago, it was agonising. The sexual tension was still there and you could tell neither of us had forgotten that night. We didn’t address the elephant in the room, instead chatting about our lives. He’s now working as a music producer, still single and, I’m sure, still screwing every attractive girl he comes across. I told him about the wedding, family, holidays. My ordinary, ordinary life. He said he thought we should hang out again, as friends, and I found myself agreeing to take his number this time. I’m not daft, I know the friends thing was just his way of trying to get into my pants again, so I haven’t text him. But I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m worried I’m going to cave in. Even though I know how wrong it would be, I’d have fucked him again in a heartbeat if he’d asked at the cafe.
Why is human sexuality so messed up?
