Friend Bangs My Wife in Front of Me

by Ryan Robert Anderson

  around Forest Park, or went to the ballpark, or hung out in Busch's Grove.

  One Saturday, we spent the day at Forest Park. When it was time to go home,

  Freddie walked past his apartment to mine. Something was amiss, but I was

  not sure what.

  Once inside my apartment, Freddie decided he needed a shower. He left the

  door open. My shower curtain was clear plastic, so I could see him in the

  medicine cabinet mirror. He was a work of art. He ran and swam almost every

  day, so there was not an ounce of body fat on his granola body. His chest

  and stomach were covered in curly brown hair, as was his crotch. His back

  and ass were hairless. His legs were thick and muscled, especially his

  calves.

  "Don't stare," he admonished, shocking me to my senses. "If you like what

  you see, then come on in."

  I stripped and joined Freddie in the shower.

  "You were right. You have a really nice dick," he said.

  "Thank you. So, do you."

  "Yeah, but you knew that already. This is my first time seeing yours. It's

  too big for you."

  I put my hands on his sides and asked what he was doing.

  "Just having a little fun," he said.

  I moved my hands to his chest. I loved the hair on his front. I lowered my

  face to his nipple and started to lick and suck it. I worked my way down

  his body and took his dick in my mouth kneeling in the shower. Freddie

  grabbed my head and held it still. He drove his dick in and out of my

  mouth, fucking my face until his legs were trembling and he came down my

  throat.

  The next time I saw Freddie, I asked why he had invited me into the shower.

  His answer was simple. "I was horny, and you give great head." And, that

  was that.

  *****

  At the end of the summer, John and I took a week long trip to San Blas,

  Mexico. San Blas is a tiny Mexican town on the Pacific side. It felt like

  the edge of the earth. I didn't speak Spanish, so I was totally reliant on

  John.

  San Blas was sick with mosquitoes. We had to use Deet when we got out of

  the shower. If you missed a spot in your ear, they swarmed to it. It was

  gross.

  But, we were where nobody knew our name. We spent our days drinking

  Pacifico and body surfing. We spent our evenings drinking Pacifico and body

  surfing. We had a ridiculous amount of sex. I may have been wrong, but it

  seemed like it got better each and every time.

  One day, I jacked John in the ocean, his cum floating to the surface. I

  scooped it in my hand and sucked it through my teeth.

  One night, John fucked me on the beach. We were careless and crazy, as we

  could easily have spent our lives in a Mexican prison if we had been

  discovered. But, the risk added to the delight, and we both had explosive

  orgasms that left us exhausted and laughing.

  The penultimate day of our trip, we went fishing. We were in a tiny boat

  with no life preservers when I hooked a sailfish. Our "guide" immediately

  yelled "sailfeeesh," hit the throttle, and took out across the water,

  chasing the fish out into the ocean. "Let heeem ruuuun," he yelled, as we

  flew. We were slapping against the water and laughing hard to suppress the

  real fear we were going to capsize and die. It took almost an hour, but we

  got the sailfish to the boat, unhooked him, and set him free. The landing

  of him had been spectacular. He'd dive deep, reverse course, and fly out of

  the water, shaking himself violently, trying to free himself of the hook.

  That night, I decided to tell John about Freddie. I felt guilty, even

  though I was not sure I should. I told John I had blown him twice.

  "Well," he said, "I cannot say I am happy about either one."

  "I know. I feel like shit. But, I can't undo it."

  "I think it might make me feel better if you told tell every detail," he

  said, looking at me slyly out of the corner of his eye.

  "You're a pig," I said.

  "Agreed. Now, tell me every detail." I did, leaving out nothing. John

  started jacking his dick as I talked. I took over, jacking him as I

  described how Freddie pounded my face in the shower. As I finished, so did

  John, spraying his chest and stomach. I straddled him and licked all I

  could off him.

  *****

  As we flew back to his clerkship and my third year, I asked "is this

  sustainable?"

  "I do not know, Carrot. I hope so, but I do not know."

  "I don't think I want what you want," I responded.

  "How do you mean?" he asked.

  "I don't want to be your plaything. I want to be your everything."

  "You are my everything," he said.

  "I'm not. Vi lurks. Your desire to be married lurks. Your desire to be

  hidden lurks."

  We held hands as we flew. We were leaving paradise. But, paradise was in

  our past. We would soon need to face cold, hard facts.

  Part Ten

  John headed to D.C. and his clerkship. I stayed in Chicago for my final

  year of law school. We had talked about me spending my the year at

  Georgetown so we could be together, but John ultimately let concerns about

  Vi and "what everyone would think" thwart the plan. He wanted to keep

  everything hidden. But, things need sun to grow, and there was no sun

  where we were hiding.

  Looking back, I think we should have cared less and made sure I was a Hoya

  so we could be together. I think things may have turned out differently if

  we had.

  We muddled through the first semester. I visited D.C. when I could, and

  John made trips back to Chicago when he could. But, that was not as often

  as I wanted, as he also had to visit Vi in Denver.

  When we were together, things were awesome. When we were apart, things were

  difficult. Staying connected through landlines was difficult, especially

  when we were both busy and rarely had the same amount of time at the same

  time. When we talked, it was usually very late, when we should have been

  asleep.

  I'd have been lost if not for Freddie, who took me in when Georgetown fell

  through. Other than John, Freddie was my best friend, my non-romantic life

  partner. And, he was tremendously solid, never emotional, erratic, or

  irrational. When I was ready to leap, he pulled me back from the edge.

  John did not like that I was living with Freddie. But, he really had no

  room to complain.

  Freddie satisfied the emotional hole John's absence left. We were always

  together: we took the same classes, ran together (Freddie was a fitness

  freak and got me into it), worked out together, and lived together. We even

  started adopting each other's mannerisms and inflections. Maggie called us

  "the Tweedles," after Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb and Dee. I insisted

  Freddie was Dumb and started calling him Dummie. He, in turn, started

  calling me Dee.

  He also satisfied -- somewhat -- the physical hole John's absence left. I

  am physically needy -- I would later learn physical touch is my love

  language -- and Freddie did not mind satisfying that need. He let me rest

  my head on his lap. He let me play with his chest hair as we talked in his

  bed or mine. He let me run my fingers through hi
s hair when he rested his

  head on my lap. We were physical, but not sexual. We hadn't been since the

  shower incident the summer before.

  Still, many nights, we fell asleep in the same bed, talking, or with

  Freddie reading to me. Almost always, my hand was on his chest.

  The first time, I was next to him, talking and looking at his chest. My

  look must have been longing, as he offered, "You can touch me, if you want.

  I like being touched."

  I tentatively reached over, letting my hand fall gently to his chest. I

  stroked his nipple and played with his chest hair. When Freddie tucked his

  hands behind his head, I also played with the hair in his arm pit.

  My recurring attention to Freddie's chest often aroused Black Bart. But,

  Freddie and I never acknowledged it. He never asked me for anything, and I

  never offered.

  *****

  John got only a brief break for Christmas, and -- according to him -- he

  "had" to spend it with Vi and her family. I spent mine depressed, thinking

  of the ghost of Christmas past.

  The second semester of your 3L year is a bore. Everything is decided. Even

  if you're competitive, there's really nothing left to fight for. I was

  coasting along.

  I spent Spring Break in D.C. with John. Physically, we were fine. Actually,

  we were better than fine. We wore each other out, sexing all weekend and

  every morning before he left for work and every night when we got home. We

  couldn't get enough of each other. We branched out. We used food. We tried

  every position we could get to work.

  John always asked if anything was going on with Freddie. I always answered

  truthfully.

  The last full day of the trip, John seemed particularly blue. I was on the

  couch with my head in his lap, and I asked a question I wasn't sure I

  wanted the answer to, namely what he was thinking.

  "I am struggling with where I am going," he said. "I have always imagined

  that I would get married and have children and live the perfect life. Now,

  I do not know if that is what I want at all. I love you so much."

  "You can't have it all," I said.

  "I know," he answered. "You have made that clear."

  "Even if I hadn't," I answered, "you couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to

  anyone but you."

  "I know."

  John started tickling my face. "Sometimes, I want to grab you, steal away

  to an island, and live happily ever after."

  "We don't have to go to an island to live happily ever after."

  "I think for me we do."

  "We don't. Together, we can have the life you imagine. I'll go wherever you

  go. We can be together. We can adopt children. We can make a family and a

  life together."

  "I do not think we can."

  "I know we can."

  "Mace, I am not gay," he protested. "You may be, but I cannot be. I just

  cannot."

  I knew he was kidding himself. But, I also knew he was not persuadable on

  the topic.

  We did not make love that night. I couldn't be sure, but I think John was

  crying as I fell asleep.

  He sobbed at the airport the next day when it was time for me to board. I

  hugged him good-bye. He held me tight, then kissed me, for everyone to see.

  I fretted the entire flight home. I thought the kiss may have been

  good-bye. I feared I knew what was coming, and I desperately wanted to

  avoid it. I just didn't know how.

  It didn't take long. The phone woke me up at 2 a.m. that night. I reached

  for it, filled with dread. I knew who was going to be on the other end

  before I picked it up.

  "Hello."

  "Hey, Mace."

  "Hey, Josie."

  Neither of us said anything for a long time. We just listened to each other

  breathe.

  "What's going on?" I finally asked. "It's 2 a.m."

  "3 a.m. here," he corrected me.

  "Regardless, what's going on?"

  "I just needed to hear your voice."

  We both paused. I thought I heard tears. I bucked up.

  "John, are you calling to tell me it's over?" I asked.

  "I do not want it to be."

  "Then don't let it be. Don't do this."

  "I think I have to. I am straddling two different worlds, and I am not

  living in either one. When I am with Vi, I want you. When I am with you, I

  feel shitty about Vi."

  "You're making a mistake," I responded.

  "You are probably right."

  "I'm definitely right," I said. I started to cry myself. Neither of us said

  anything. We just listened to each other cry.

  We couldn't stay on the phone forever. I broke the silence. "I love you,

  Josie. Always and forever."

  "I love you, too, Mace. Always and forever."

  "Be happy, John."

  "This is not good-bye," John offered. "We will still be friends . . . .

  great friends."

  "I doubt it. That never works. And, you won't move on if you don't let go.

  Neither will I. You'll always want to come back, and I'll always want you

  to come back."

  "Can we talk about this?"

  "Not now," I sobbed. "I need to go." It felt wrought and over-dramatic, but

  it was the most wrought and dramatic moment of my life, so I ended the call

  with a "Good bye, LOML." I hung up before John could say anything else.

  It was not long before I heard a knock on my door. "Come in."

  "I thought I should check on you," Freddie asked. "Good news never comes at

  2 a.m."

  "It's not. John called it off. We're done."

  Freddie came over and sat on the edge of my bed. I cried into my pillow as

  he stroked my hair. I continued to cry as I felt him move in beside me. I

  rolled into him, put my face in his chest, and cried. We wrapped me up, and

  I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, Freddie was still holding me. I kissed his chest and felt

  for Black Bart. I was needy, and I wanted to be cleansed of the call with

  John.

  "Not like this," Freddie said, turning his face from mine and grabbing my

  wrist. "But, you can tell me what happened."

  I told him about the weekend. And, how I knew the ringing phone was John

  doing what he'd been too cowardly to do hours before in person.

  "Mace," Freddie said. "He can't help who he is. He was raised a certain

  way. You were never going to change that."

  "I thought I could. I almost forced him to choose. I was sure I'd win."

  "I was sure you'd lose. People like John live their lives in chains. They

  may break a few, but there are too many for them to break free. They can

  wander only so far off the path of expectation. People like us have no

  chains. We get to choose our path and then walk down it."

  "We're not so alike, you and me."

  "We are, more than you think. We grew up different, but neither of us were

  raised with expectations about who we are and who we would be. Your parents

  couldn't set them. Mine just wouldn't."

  I pushed Freddie onto his back and put my cheek on his chest. "Read to me,"

  I said. He did, grabbing my book off the nightstand and picking up where

  he'd left off the last time. He stroked my hair as he did.

  *****

  Sadness can be consuming. It was for me. I ached at the thought of
John.

  When you're older, you realize things come and go, doors close and windows

  open, and challenges can be opportunities. When you're 22, you realize no

  such thing. When you're 22 and losing your first love, you realize nothing.

  Freddie told me all the right things, but I wasn't open to them. I

  wallowed. I ate and slept little. I rarely went to class. I spent my days

  consuming the war, learning the ins and outs of scud missiles and watching

  Bill Redeker duck into bunkers while Arthur Kent -- the Scud Stud --

  ignored the sirens and kept reporting.

  I spent my nights curled up next to Freddie. I didn't even pretend I was

  going to sleep in my own bed. I climbed in next to Freddie, put my hand or

  my head on his chest, and sulked.

  Freddie tolerated my intrusion into his bed and my affection for him. He

  let me tickle his chest and stomach and thighs while he read to me. He

  never asked for more.

  John telephoned me a couple of times, which made things worse. The sound of