Strange bedfellows

[Mr Fixit]

I blame my wife for what happened on our most recent vacation. She’s the one who decided it would be a good idea to team up with close friends and to share a deluxe bungalow at a Caribbean island resort.

When things go wrong, it’s always helpful to have someone to blame. So I blame my wife, Lisa. She sulked when I initially refused to consider holidaying with her best friend, Jenny, and Jenny’s husband, Sam.

I had nothing against Jenny or Sam, but I dreaded the thought of committing myself to spending an entire week with them at close quarters. An occasional dinner party or a picnic is one thing; sharing living quarters is quite another. I can only endure boring or irritating people for as long as common courtesy demands. After all, even the most annoying evenings must eventually end with farewell salutations and the sound of a departing vehicle.

I must admit it was a very nice bungalow. There was a central living area with a bedroom suite on either side. And – just a short stroll away – there were white sands and a sapphire sea. Having unpacked our luggage on arrival, the four of us headed straight for the water. I hate flying but – as the sea soothed my jangled nerves – I found myself relaxing and even looking forward to the week ahead. Sam and Jenny seemed happy to do their own thing. They drifted down the beach and out of earshot. Lisa and I were free to splash and frisk about and generally enjoy each other’s company. But the freedom didn’t last.

‘Did you see that?’ Lisa demanded.

‘See what?’

‘Jenny. She just ran to the bungalow. I think she was crying.’

‘None of our business’ I replied. ‘Sam seems OK.’

And this was true. Some fifty yards away, Sam was happily swimming and duck-diving with no sign that he had a care in the world.

‘Typical man’ my wife snapped. ‘You’re oblivious to everything except your own needs and comfort.’

This was unfair. I do my best to be sensitive and New Age and all that stuff, but I can’t be expected to detect a faint whiff of drama in other people’s lives. I had no chance to protest, however, because Lisa had fled the water and headed off in pursuit of the tearful Jenny.

Eventually, Sam and I kind of drifted into each other’s orbit. We horsed around a bit and passed judgement on some of the bikini-clad women in view. We also agreed that it was time to hit the bar. We needed a beer.

‘We can collect the girls on our way’ I said.

‘Not a good idea’ Sam replied. ‘Jenny and I had a bit of a spat. I think it’s best to leave her alone for a while. She always cools down eventually.’

I didn’t ask what they’d argued about. I’m not a nosy person. Moreover, I’ve been married long enough to know that women are seldom reasonable and husbands are almost never in the right!

Several beers later, Sam and I returned to the bungalow. Lisa must have been looking out for us because she emerged as soon as we set foot on the veranda. She looked angry.

‘Jenny doesn’t want to see you’ she hissed at Sam. ‘She never wants to see you or speak to you again.’

I was looking forward to a prolonged spell under a shower before taking a brief nap. I didn’t need all this childish drama.

‘For Christ’s sake’ I ventured. ‘It can’t be that bad. Let them talk it through while you and I have a siesta.’

‘How can you even think about sleep when poor Jenny’s heart is broken?’

‘They’ve had a falling out’ I said. ‘I’m sure her heart can’t be broken by a few words spoken in anger.’

‘You’ve been drinking!’ Lisa shouted. ‘You both have. I can smell it on you. Disgusting.’

So now it was my turn to argue with a disgruntled wife. I may have said that Jenny needed to get over her broken heart before I inflicted a broken neck. I may have said even worse things. Anyway, my few heated remarks were enough to reduce Lisa to tears and to ensure the bungalow door was slammed in our faces.

‘Let’s get drunk’ I suggested.

Sam agreed and we returned to the resort swimming pool and its island bar.

When night fell – having wolfed down a meal in the restaurant - we walked back to the bungalow. We may have even staggered a little. We weren’t totally shit-faced, but we were a long way from sobriety. We’d reached a stage where almost anything is amusing; a stage where everything and everyone on earth is rose-tinted and wonderful.

Silence and darkness had descended on our accommodation unit. I led the way, stumbling slightly as I searched for the light switch. Sam and I were confronted by a brightly-lit room that was empty of everything except furniture. Not a soul in sight. The door to my own room was ajar. The door to Sam’s quarters was shut. I spotted a note on an occasional table. It was in Lisa’s distinctive handwriting.

“Jenny is very upset with Sam and I’m not very happy with your
behaviour either. So I’m bunking down with her tonight. It’s no use you or Sam trying to open the door. It’s locked. We can talk tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll be sober by then.”

I showed the note to Sam. He sighed and shook his head.

‘Hopeless’ he commented. ‘I’ll deal with it tomorrow.’

‘That’s all very well’ I replied; ‘but what about tonight? Where are you going to sleep?’

 

[Mr Fixit]

We looked around the room. There were a few wicker armchairs but nothing remotely like a couch. Even the chair cushions were insufficient to create a mattress.

‘I guess you’re stuck with me’ Sam drawled. ‘I snore a bit but I promise not to break your heart.’

We both laughed at that before he hurriedly placed a finger to his lips and urged me to “Shh”.

We giggled our way into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. We were still wearing board shorts and T-shirts. Part of me yearned for a shower to wash away accumulated sand and sweat, but I knew I was in no fit state to deal with complicated things like soap, faucets and water temperature.

I can’t remember who closed our bedroom door. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was Sam. Or maybe Lisa or Jenny had closed it in order to muffle our snores. I only remember waking up in total darkness with an awareness that I was naked and that someone was sucking my dick.

For a brief period I thought it was my wife who was creating all the fantastic sensations that lapped over me, but then I remembered that Jenny doesn’t much like giving head. What’s more, she’s not very good at it either. And the person chowing down on my cock at that particular moment was an undoubted expert. It was blissful.

Blissful, that is, until I put out an exploratory hand and encountered Sam’s crew-cut head and designer stubble. That’s when reality bit. That’s when my addled brain made the connections necessary to establish that I was being sucked off by a guy!

I remember uttering an expletive and attempting to draw away. But my head hurt and I simply couldn’t summon the energy to resist a warm, insistent and talented mouth. Maybe I told myself it was just a drunken dream; maybe I convinced myself that it didn’t really count because I was drunk; and maybe I just threw scruples to the wind and surrendered happily. Who knows?

I wish I could tell you how wonderful the end was. I wish I could recount every tongue swirl, every sensation. But I was too far gone to notice details. I can only remember grabbing Sam’s head very firmly and forcing myself down his throat while a torrent of cum spewed out of my rock-hard dick. I know Sam was squeezing my balls and tugging at them when I ejaculated. It was mind-blowing.

I don’t know how long I lay there with my cock in this guy’s mouth. I lapsed into unconsciousness. Not until daylight did I learn that Sam had jerked off all over me. Not until daybreak did I come to truly understand that the magical blow-job was no dream; that it was real.

Dawn also brought me to a shattering awareness of how much my head ached. I could barely lift it off the pillow. It felt heavy and it seemed as though a million hot pins were piercing each eyeball. I could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom.

If I hadn’t been in so much pain, then I might have taken the opportunity to feel ashamed, mortified by the events of the night. If it hadn’t hurt so much to focus, then I might have been disgusted by the feel of another man’s dried semen on my thighs. But I did neither of these things. I just groaned and kept my eyes firmly shut. I longed for sleep and anaesthesia.

Later on, I became aware of the smell of coffee. I still felt as though death was near at hand but I also felt like a caffeine fix before breathing my last.

Through a film of blood, I discerned Lisa sitting by the bed and offering me a cup. She didn’t look as pissed off as I’d expected. In fact, she looked almost sympathetic. I raised myself up on one elbow and she held the cup while I sipped from it. It tasted wonderful. It smelled wonderful too. Perhaps I was going to live after all.

‘You two certainly had a big night’ she said.

That made me panic a bit. Her smile suddenly seemed like a knowing smile. I was suddenly alert to all possible meanings of her words. Was she simply referring to a big intake of alcohol or did she know what else had occurred during the night?

I couldn’t speak and nodding my head was out of the question, so I just groaned and took another sip of coffee. I then realised that I desperately needed to pee and that I had, as usual, awakened with a raging hard-on. I was covered by a bed sheet and my dick was making urgent pulsing motions beneath the thin fabric. Lisa placed her hand there and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

But there was to be no romantic kiss-and-make-up session. The need for a piss was overwhelming. I cast the sheet aside and attempted to spring to my feet. That’s when the need to vomit also became overwhelming. I only just made it into the bathroom.

I clung to the bowl until every skerrick of food, liquid and bile had departed my heaving stomach. And then I forced my cock downwards so I could sit on the seat and pee. No way could I piss standing up. I was like a stroke victim. I was a mess.

Lisa offered me water and paracetamol and then she turned on the shower and gently urged me under its tepid flow. I stayed there quite a while. It seemed to soothe me and I was also determined to wash away any traces of Sam’s semen. My persistent erection was soothed away too.

When I emerged, Lisa told me that Sam and Jenny were breakfasting by the pool and attempting to patch up their quarrel. I gathered that the argument was about Sam’s suspected infidelity. Apparently, Jenny was almost certain he’d been having an affair and his denials had not managed to reassure her.

I also gathered that I was now the apple of Lisa’s eye because – as she told me – she knew that I would never cheat on her. A night listening to Jenny’s woes had helped convince my wife that in me she had found a perfect and trustworthy husband.

What could I say? It was true that I had never cheated on my wife. Well, it was true until a few hours earlier. Did a drunken blow-job from Sam constitute infidelity? I decided it did not.

I do have a keen conscience but I’m also good at rationalising my occasional misdeeds. I rapidly convinced myself that I was not the guilty party of the night before. After all, drink had made me totally fly-blown and I’d been far too fragile to beat off an uninvited and insistent mouth.

As I threw on some clothes – fresh board shorts and a top – Lisa commented on my sleep attire. Or lack of it.

‘I’d have thought you’d at least have worn a pair of shorts to bed’ she commented. ‘Sam must have been a bit disconcerted.’

‘Who knows?’ I replied. ‘I think I just ripped everything off and crashed. He probably did the same. We were both too drunk to care.’

So, peace reigned once more within my own marriage. And, when we next saw Sam and Jenny chatting amiably by the pool, it was apparent that a truce had been established there too.

My only lingering concern was the infamous drunken blow-job. I wondered whether Sam had been too drunk to remember. He gave no hint, no sign that anything untoward had occurred and I decided it had just been a weird one-off event fuelled by alcohol.

I was wrong. Later that afternoon, as Sam and I bobbed lazily in the sea and our wives lay in beach chairs soaking up the sun, he abruptly commenced a tell-all story for my ears only.

‘Jenny was convinced I’ve been having an affair’ he confided.

‘Uh-huh’ I replied. ‘Yeah. Lisa told me.’

‘But now’ he continued, ‘she’s convinced that I haven’t been straying at all. And, in a way, that’s true.’

‘In a way?’ I asked. ‘Surely something’s either true or it isn’t. It doesn’t come in shades of veracity.’

‘You’ve never heard of a little white lie?’ he teased.

‘Yeah. It’s a harmless little lie you tell rather than upset someone or make a big deal of something relatively minor.’

‘Exactly’ said Sam. ‘I’ve assured Jenny there is no other woman – never has been – but I don’t see any point in worrying her about the other stuff.’

‘Other stuff?’

‘Guys’ he said.

And then he looked me straight in the eye and smiled. My embarrassment was obvious. I could think of nothing to say. So I did a hasty duck-dive and swam away, intending to join the girls on the sand.

But Sam swam after me and, grabbing my legs, pulled me underwater. When I surfaced – spluttering – I felt his hand at my groin.

‘You have a fabulous dick’ he whispered. ‘And’ – moving his hand to cup my balls – ‘you have a great set of hangers

 

[augusttaylor]

Very hot indeed