Dylan hobbled two streets back to his car. He was trying, and failing, to hide the erection that bulged tightly against the stained fabric of his pants. Crowds still came and went down the street, but they passed him by without much scrutiny. As he collapsed back into the driver's seat, he was still grinning from ear to ear, soaked in sweat, and reeking of sex. It was a good day. The need to slide his cock out of his fly and release the pent up need was overwhelming His fingers trembled above the waist band. Reason won out, but only by a hair's breadth. He turned the keys and headed home.
His mood blackened with every mile.
Molly would be home the next three evenings. She had taken her time off on her night shifts, so that time had been stolen from him. There were so many men at the party, and he had hardly had the chance to talk with any of them. He was forced to leave hours early, so he could clean up in time for her. And when would he ever be at a party like that again? Next year, at best?
He was quite sullen by the time he had scrubbed himself clean, finished the chores, and made himself believably comfortable on the couch. A moment later, his wife reached the front door, and the mask was back on. He sat on the bathtub as she showered, listening to her day with a happy smile, scrolling through posts from bi men in the area. He felt his pulse in this throat as he took in their photos. He sent each of them messages, detailing his need for them.
His face was blotchy red from blushing again by the time she stepped out of the tub. "The humidity," he explained.
Some of the men had responded by the next time Molly was busy in the bathroom. Dylan responded with half-hearted enthusiasm. He could feel the frustration building, and was annoyed at himself for being so childish about it. He spent the night seated beside her on the couch with the TV on, but he glared at the wall and waited for time to pass. His phone vibrated, and he opened up the messages on instinct.
"i miss your wet mouth around my cock. u busy now?"
Dylan closed the screen. Molly turned her head, and her eyes shot to his. "Work," he croaked, uncertain what she had seen.
Her eyes went back to the television and he breathed again. His heart was racing erratically. Who the hell was that? It only took him a moment to remember: It was the stranger he had jerked off on.
His marriage had nearly ended over that single, stupid moment. It was like a near death experience. He felt a cold sheen of sweat down his back. "What the hell am I doing?" he thought, and not for the first time.
His heart rate didn't slow again for the rest of the night. But, the moment Molly left to brush her teeth, he sent the man his email account and an explanation. Then he blocked the man's number. Crisis averted.
At midnight, after Molly had fallen asleep, he crept back to the bathroom and locked the door. The man had replied again.
"its me"
"Hey there," Dylan wrote back. "I've been dreaming of your cock all night. I wish I could have stayed longer. My wife is here now. I can't text. When are you free again?"
"no worries." The reply had only taken a moment. "free tomorrow. u?"
"I'll make time," Dylan replied.
"what times she leave the house?"
"She's out by eight."
"be there at eight thirty?"
