Diane Confesses

Jean-Claude went to France to join his family for a couple of weeks, and Luc was on his way to Japan. I never saw Luc after our amazing weekend together -- I saw Jean-Claude at work most days, and we shared a few lunches and stole the occasional kiss, but our schedules were so busy we didn't have a chance to really spend any time with each other before he left.

Max got back into town a day after Jean-Claude left. It had been almost three months and I was truly thrilled to see him. I missed him -- his kind face, his child-like charm, and infectious laugh. It felt good to have him home. But there was a tension, as I knew that I would have to tell him what happened.

I suppose I didn't have to tell him. But I just couldn't compartmentalize my life like this any longer. I played in my mind all the different possibilities of sharing what I imagined to be devastating news. I have been betrayed before and the sorrow was unbearable. I braced myself for the pain that I was about to unleash.

Part of the difficulty, I think, was trying to understand myself what I was doing. While there was part of me that loved Jean-Claude, I didn't have any desire to break up his marriage or my relationship. Jean-Claude is my lover and friend, not my partner. How could I make this distinction to Max? How would he ever understand? And then there was the question of Luc. How do I even begin to discuss that situation?

I agonized over where I should bring this up -- at home in our apartment? At a restaurant? In a park? At the beach? How would I start the conversation?

We were eating dinner in our apartment one night when I finally just blurted out -- "We have to talk." It's never a good thing. Nobody hears 'we have to talk' and thinks good news is coming. But he wasn't prepared for what was about to come.

"I've been unfaithful," is what I blurted out. He was calm at first, but as the reality of what I was saying sunk in, I could see his heart breaking. I could feel my heart breaking. It was awful.

I didn't go into any details of who or what or when. And he didn't want to know. He packed up a few of his belongings and left. I cried myself to sleep that night. And every night after that for weeks. Soon after, Max moved out for good.

The next few months were lonely. I saw Jean-Claude occasionally, and while he provided comfort and companionship and sex, it wasn't enough to mend my broken heart. The orgasms I had with him were like a drug -- a temporarily relief to try and numb the pain I was feeling. While I knew I had made the right decision to tell Max the truth, it was still very painful. It would take time to recover.

Max didn't want to know the details and I certainly didn't want to hurt him anymore. But there was part of me that wanted to share with him what I had learned about myself, about my sexuality. Max was my best friend after all -- but how could I possibly share with him that my infidelity awakened a hedonist inside of me? But the truth is, it had. If I hadn't kissed Jean-Claude that day, if I had remained faithful to Max, I would have never discovered this exciting, sensual, sexual part of myself. It was a gift. And yet it was a curse -- to call my sexual awakening a gift seems cruel and indifferent to the pain I've created.

Months passed. Life continued. Work continued. My relationship with Jean-Claude continued. I was starting to feel like it might be time to get out there again -- meet some people, maybe go on a date.

I tried the dating apps and eventually went on a few dates. I met some perfectly pleasant fellows, but all I could think of on my dates was Max. I wasn't ready. One night, after a particularly boring date, I made a booty call to Jean-Claude and soon after I was bent over my kitchen table, getting pounded only the way Jean-Claude could -- bringing me to a much needed climax. It was great. Jean-Claude is great. But somehow it made it all the clearer. I missed Max.

Almost eight months after our break-up, I gave him a call. And miraculously, he agreed to meet for coffee. It was awkward at first, but soon our natural chemistry took over. We were reminded of why we got together in the first place. For a moment, I thought we might go home together, but then he asked, "Who was he?"

I hesitated. Did he really want to know all this? And how much do I tell him? "Is it important?" I asked.

"No...." he said unconvincingly.

The conversation came to a halt. We tried to change the subject but it became labored and uncomfortable and the elephant in the room was too big to ignore.

So I told him. About Jean-Claude. And I told him about Luc. As delicately as I could, I explained my sexual self discovery. I spoke carefully and cautiously -- gauging his reaction throughout. I didn't want my words to hurt him, and as far as I could tell, they weren't. But knowing Max as I do, he has a hell of a poker face.

"Do you really want to hear this?" I asked.

"I do," he assured me.

I went into more detail, nothing too explicit, but enough that Max got the idea. "Were you sowing your wild oats?"

"At 50?" I asked. "I guess I was."

"Are you still?"

"I..."

I hesitated, but I didn't need to. I knew the truth. Sex has become an integral part of my life. And that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

"I am," I said quietly, but proudly. I was not ashamed.

Max looked at me -- without disapproval or judgement. He just smiled sweetly. I smiled back.

An hour later we were in his apartment making out on his couch. Our clothes came off and I found myself on my back, my legs wrapped around him as he thrust himself into me.

It was intense. My love for Max had never waned -- and to have him here now, months later -- to be wrapped in his arms, to have him inside of me again -- I was overwhelmed with a cathartic combination of pleasure and emotion. I cried. I came.

Max held me. We cuddled for some time in silence, but then started talking. Really talking. And asking the big questions. Was this a one-time thing? Were we going to see each other again? What did I want? What did he want? Could he truly forgive me? Could we have an open relationship? How would that work? We didn't come up with any answers -- but kept talking. I ended up spending the night.

It felt so lovely to wake up next to Max after so many months. We gently made out -- I kissed his face, his neck and lovingly worked my way down to his crotch. I wrapped my lips around his cock and devoured him. I licked, sucked, stroked and otherwise worshipped him -- it was the best blowjob I had ever given him, and from his reaction, I would like to think it was the best blowjob he had ever received. He let out a load epic groan as he came. His load was sizeable and I swallowed all of it with pride.

Max took several minutes to recover and finally spoke. "You've gotten really good at that."

I blushed, but it was true. I had gotten very good at giving head. Max then looked at me, somewhat seriously, somewhat cautiously. "Did Jean-Claude teach you that?"

I blushed again and before I could protest he quipped "Or was it Luc? Was this his name?"

"Stop!"

"Was there anyone else?"

"No!" I insisted.

Max laughed kindly, reassuring me that this was playful teasing, but then he again looked at me, somewhat pensively. "What did Jean-Claude think of you sleeping with his friend?"

I had told Max about Jean-Claude and Luc, but I hadn't mentioned that I slept with both of them on the same day, or that I had a threesome with them. At this point, I didn't see the point of holding back.

"Well, I think he was shocked, but it kind of turned him on," I replied.

"Really?"

"Yes -- and actually..." I hesitated for a second, but again, I didn't see the point of holding back. "We ended up having a threesome."

Max looked at me in shock -- despite everything that he had learned, this seemed to blow his mind. For a moment I thought I might have caused him more pain, but if anything, he was profoundly curious. He had questions and he wanted details.

So I told him -- about getting spit-roasted on Jean-Claude's bedroom floor and having them take turns with me in the shower. Max hung on every word. His reaction was very much like Jean-Claude's when I told him about sleeping with Luc -- he was rock hard.

I went to stroke him, but Max had other ideas. I could see the animalistic lust in his eyes. He pounced on me and flipped me over. Lifting my hips up, he took me from behind. Hard. I gasped. He grunted and groaned and pounded the fuck out of me.

He kept at it -- pulling both my arms behind my back, my head lying against the mattress. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but so very hot. He reached down and put a finger in my mouth as he continued to plow into me. That set me over edge. Screaming with abandon, I came hard. He came and collapsed on top of me.

After several minutes of recovery, I just muttered "Wow."

In the years that I had dated Max, he was always a considerate, gentle lover. I had never seen him behave so dominantly. For sheer, raw sexuality -- that might have been the hottest sex we'd ever had.

We went out for breakfast that morning and then took a walk -- everything felt blissfully normal, but I knew it wasn't. Even though I knew I couldn't be monogamous, I wanted Max in my life. I wasn't sure that's what he wanted or if he could accept a non-monogamous relationship, but I went home that day hopeful that it was possible.

That night I called Jean-Claude. "What are you up to?"

An hour later he was in my kitchen -- his big cock pulsing cum down my throat as I was naked on my knees swallowing every drop.