Chapter 1
I'm sure there are some people who were expecting and ready for their spouse to say, "I want a divorce." But somehow, it really threw me for a loop. I was getting ready to head out and pick up my wife from the airport and waiting for her call. That's when the "it" came.
"Don't come to pick me up," she started. I hadn't even had time to say hello. "I'm going to stay with my sister."
"Uh... Hi... What?" was all I could muster in reply. And that's when she lowered the boom.
"I want a divorce. So, I'm going to stay with my sister until you can move out. My sis will be over to pick up Jenny and our things." She paused for a moment. "You have until the end of the month."
I was shaken, shaken to my core. As most people do, we had some small (I thought) issues that we were working on. Then she goes off to visit her friend on the East Coast and all of a sudden, we're getting divorced.
I was able to move out in less than a week, into a friend's place. It was a temporary fix, but it worked. Maybe I should have fought, and I did try to talk her out of it, but I figured that if she was just going through a phase the best course would be to acquiesce to her desires.
Fast forward a couple months and the divorce papers arrived awaiting my signature. No amount of protest would sway her to relenting. I was crushed. I had no desire to do anything. I fell into a deep dark abyss, contemplating many things. My friends all had my back, though. Without them I'd be homeless or in a gutter bleeding out somewhere. It was six months before I finally started to feel like living again.
When I finally decided to awaken myself to life, I still had no desire to pursue anyone or anything. I was still employed, somehow, and was just starting to finish my daily tasks with any sort of consistency. A group of co-workers invited me out to celebrate something or other. I agreed. What happened that night awakened me to a life much more thrilling than the one I had been mourning over for the last six months.
***
Ok, so here's where I freed myself from doubt. Amanda was this amazingly hot lesbian that flirted with me so openly I thought she was actually hitting on me. This outing was her idea, mostly. She and her wife, Heather, had thought it'd be good to spread my wings. And of course chose to invite a man we suspected, but didn't know for sure if he was gay. And, as I'd confided to Amanda, someone that I'd possibly be interested in. Yes, Amanda and I had talked about the possibility of me trying the "dark side," and this was her way of giving me a light, yet forceful, shove.
Honestly, I love women, but I'd been hurt. For some reason, I felt hurt enough that I didn't want to get too intimate with another woman. Part of that was finding Amanda to be exceptionally sexy and being disappointed I was not at all her type. It got me thinking back to my pre-married days, where I'd thought long and hard about... Actually, I really did fantasize about being with a guy. And getting married hadn't stopped those fantasies, but getting divorced certainly did lead to me considering it as a viable option. The truth is, ever since those fateful words from my ex, I pretty much gave up and decided I would follow through and try it: having sex with a man. But enough about me, let's talk about Devon.
Devon was a coworker that I hadn't really gotten to hang out with, as he was fairly new to the company. He was about my height, fit, and had an agreeable personality. He wasn't obviously gay. I would definitely describe him as being an enlightened metrosexual: he had style, he was clean cut, he was artistic. But, unlike most gay men I'd known, at least the ones I knew were gay, he didn't have that feminine flair, that campy lisp, nor that melodramatic flamboyance. We got along fine at work, so it was nice to spend some leisure time together. Here was my chance to be with a man who liked men and acted like a manly, masculine heterosexual.
"Three. Two. One..."
I was still waiting for the command to drink. Jaeger bombs: a great way to start on a hangover. What was I doing?
"CHUG!" Amanda finally yelled.
We all dropped the shot and chugged. I was far too out of practice to be first, but it all would hit me just the same. Still chugging away, Devon poked me in the ribs, eliciting a spewage of alcohol from my lips.
"Alcohol abuse!" they all chimed in almost in unison.
Yeah, my first night out in six months and I'm being abused and coerced into drinking profusely. And now this.
"You gotta do a shot, man," I heard Heather call from behind. "That's the penalty for not finishing the bomb."
The whole situation was foolish, preposterous, and downright fun.
"Tequila!!!" Devon shouted.
The four of us at the local college bar pounding drinks like alcohol was about to be outlawed, we were a scene. I was already two shots and a Jaeger bomb deep before Devon forced me to spit out most of my second. Somewhere after the next round, or two or three, I blatantly asked Devon if he was gay. He unabashedly replied that he was, and my drunken, lustful selfishness fantasized of what he might look like naked... I wasn't at all inhibited by my Catholic upbringing, thanks to the alcohol and, maybe, just a little bit, due to the joint I'd shared with Amanda before we got to the bar. It led to a boutt of footsie and fondling under the cover of the bar. He kept a good poker face, but mine must have been like watching a gay porno play out.
"Just take it easy," I told myself. "No sense in rushing things."
Drink after drink, the night sped on. It wasn't long before I made a fool of myself in public: I actually started seriously hitting on Devon. I'm not certain if he thought I was just fooling around, but we did actually kiss right there at the bar, open lips and tongue. Everyone whooped and hollered, thinking Devon and I a couple. And I honestly hoped we would be, at least for this night.
I don't remember how it was decided, but Heather shoved me into Devon's car.
The second we were in his car, I leaned in and kissed him. He kissed back, even better. And it was an amazing kiss. I could feel the blood rushing to my cock: I fucking wanted him, and I wanted to fuck him. Well, I wanted him to fuck me. I was just divorced and was horny to try a man's forceful touch for the first time. He had merely joked about getting in my pants, but I'd already had a few drinks and was ready to take the plunge. And let's be completely honest here: I knew I was curious, what didn't know is if he'd do it. God be praised, by sunrise, I was... Well, we'll get to that bit later.
Anyway, my hand rested on his jeans around a growing bulge. I worked his zipper down and, with great difficulty, maneuvered his gorgeous member out of his pants. I saw his eyes close and decided to take the plunge. My lips wrapped around his thickness, the taste musky and very masculine as my tongue explored.
"Whoa! Take it easy. Let's get home first," Devon whispered. I sat back reluctantly. His cologne was intoxicating. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears, was breathing heavy.
