A gay story: The Shy Husband My husband, he was a shy one. A quiet gentleman. Not a pip in company except when directly asked or talked to. Tall hulking quiet itty bitty little mouse. Which made a nice foil to yours truly, a creature who tended to the verbose at most of the time. Sometimes we made a strange pair, like when we were out and about in the clubs with friends, in the restaurants – maybe not so much in a formal setting like a restaurant – and definitely at the parties his company liked to throw, end-of-years, New Year’s Eve, Christmas, even funny ones like St. Patrick’s Day. But most of the times the quiet one and his talkative little husband made it work, and made it work brilliantly.
Not that I was that little, no sirree. But compared to my husband I thought everyone would be considered tiny, even waif-like standing beside him. See, my husband was on the good side of six feet, the real good side that made his hulking frame looked well-proportionate to everything else. It was a nightmare though finding clothes that fit, but those that fit him did so beautifully, like silk draping on marble statuettes: there was no other way to describe it.
Sometimes – all right, most times – it made me feel ever so slightly… insecure, questioning even, that how such a veritable hunk ended up married to me. Me, that little gay boy from across his street – our families still held Thanksgiving dinners together – who ran his motor mouth a mile a minute, who was bad at every sports known to mankind. Truly it was a question of the ages, but I made peace with that question a while back. Especially since my husband was the one who proposed to me on one knee – blush! – in front of our families one Thanksgiving, asking me to be his beloved man and husband and partner.
Now here we were, at my husband’s company annual springtime bash. Usually done in mid-March to great consternation of employees and higher-ups alike, but it was what the company owners like to do: they celebrated the spring of life. They held a party at the lake park in our city, with open tabs and salad bars for the ladies watching their figure. The food spread was always legendary, so that brought on the spring mood of all the attendees. It was also a charity ball of some sort, because one of my husband’s colleagues had his house practically destroyed in one of the floods that irregularly trampled our area, and we were supposed to be collecting money, with all proceeds going straight to that guy’s accounts.
I was resolutely nursing some gin and tonic – had to, kinda allergic to all these banking and finance talk – when a hand tapped on my shoulder. I looked around to see first the ridiculously bright blond hair, then the broad shoulders. Despite myself I felt intimidated looking up at this jock boy-man who came out of nowhere. That was when I noticed his smile, with tiny fangs coming out of his mouth like a bonafide sparkly vampire, complete with dimples framing a handsome, masculine face that has surely yet to see this side of thirty. “Hi, are you Kyle Grey, the one who came with Hunter?” he opened.
“Well yeah. I’m the husband.” It was 2023, there were gays, and they got married. Big deal, jock boy, suck it up.
“Oh no I didn’t mean anything by that, it’s just so encouraging and so blessed to see such warm union between two men. I’m Gary, Hunter’s new associate.” Yours truly almost groaned at the word ‘blessed’ coming out of babes these days, one of which this guy ended up being. What was he, a Mormon?
“I… don’t know what to say, except thank you for your compliments.”
“It’s just that Hunter is such an upstanding guy, so good at his job, and so nice to new people like me, even though he had been in this line for… what, a decade?”
“12 years to be exact.”
“Yes, and you rarely see such nurturing personalities in this career. Mind you, I think I stepped on some feet and hands in coming to greet you. I think if Hunter had you for his husband you must be a great person.”
Now it was my turn to blush. “Thank you, again, for your compliments.” I was also going to ask more about the nurturing part, never had I heard my husband described as such but this man seemed to believe my husband had really done a ton to encourage his apparently fledgling career. Luckily my husband came in and saved the day.
“I see you’re making acquaintances with my better half, Gary.” Did I mention my husband had a deep masculine voice when he deigned to speak, the timbre seductive as could be said to be panty-dropping in certain circles?
“Yes, we’ve been making conversation,” Gary said, sipping on his drink. I caught his eyes dipping low, as if eyeing my husband’s crotch. It was a second, but the moment passed.
“Yeah, my husband’s quite the conversationalist. Did I mention he was a debater in high school?”
“Wow, must had helped you quite a bit with that quick thinking on his feet.”
I just smiled and nodded. I had hoped my own fangs would grow and protrude out of my smile gap like Gary’s, but one kept on hoping. I took a demure sip of my drink as talk turned to which bank would probably liquidate before the end of second quarter, some finance shit. I tuned the sound out and watched as Gary’s hand, the one not holding his drink, tapped, cajoled and downright caressed Hunter’s massive arms, as their conversation turned heated. And my thoughts turned left and right, and turned muddy.
Just how nurturing my husband must have been? All those long meetings, lunch hours, pantry conversations together, with an undeniably – being the objective bitch here – handsome blond son-of-a-gun, the kind of guy who used the word ‘blessed’ without any irony or sarcasm. I imagined his foot, wrapped in the sheerest stocking, pressing urgently against my husband’s own foot during one of those meetings, a titillating entertainment to pass the long hours. I imagined him throwing compliments while rubbing on my husband’s arms and pecs, ‘Those long hours at the gym’s paying off, Scout!’ type of compliments. I imagined him looking nonchalantly back over one well-formed shoulder, bending forwards on one knee on some stupid pretext, making the curve of his ass look wider and more seductive. I imagined an accidental meeting in the washroom – or was it accidental? – where the action of washing one’s hands took on a deeper nastier meaning as his electric blue eyes stared into my husband’s warm brown ones in the wide mirror.
That night after the party-cum-charity ball, my husband was showering in the ensuite while I laid on the bed, browsing through the pictures from the party the media team had uploaded online. I giggled as I read the caption, ‘Mr. Hunter Grey’s husband and partner’, on a picture of me eating an éclair and sneering at the camera. I peered on a picture of Hunter and Gary arm in arm, like jock friends on a night out – but in suits – beer in hand, Hunter’s hand somewhere low on Gary’s back, maybe even on the curve of his ass. They were smiling gregariously, two masculine dudes out for a good time.
“Whatchu looking at, babe?” Hunter had came out of the ensuite, thick eight-inch cock flopping on his ponderous balls, drying his thick dark brown hair on his favorite silver-blue towel. I almost dropped the tablet at the view of my husband’s cock in its natural state: a real hole-puncher. I should know.
“Just pictures from the party.” I leant over and took hold of my husband’s cock, felt the blood pump rapidly to produce a mighty erection. “Mmmm, delicious.”
“Babe. Can we try… you know.”
I watched his face, boyishly hopeful, even as his cock pulsed with life in my hand.
“Okay. With lots of lube.”
Fifteen minutes later I lay gasping as my hole gaped wider than the Red Sea, as my husband kneeled near my face, his hand racing on his erection, pursuing his orgasm with great intent. Barely four inches of thick soul-branding meat had entered into my asshole before the stretch became too heavy for my synapses, and I begged on the verge of tears for my husband to withdraw his weapon.
Finally, but not without an ounce of guilt and inadequacy on my part, my husband released his cum, geyser fountain-like splashes anointing my waiting mouth and face. I received the warm-white baptism with relish. My husband chased his cum with his kisses, always welcome after our failed trials at anal sex.
We had been married for six years, and during those years he came in my ass maybe at most six times – yes, each for the years we were married. It wasn’t a question of tearing or blood – God forbid – but it was simply that my husband was too big, that at some point the fear of something breaking became very real and that was what made me reject his cock at any point during sex. Not that we did not satisfy ourselves, we learned long ago that hands and mouths were as sexual as assholes, and there was always that old save: frottage.
After my husband had licked his cum away, I cuddled close to his hulking presence. I felt warm, safe, loved, even if the complete act of sex was no-go. Hunter kissed my forehead and we drifted to sleep. I knew my husband, I knew he won’t be angry or disappointed with me, just an immense sea of love and adoration I had come to hope and expect every time from him.
Or did he?
***
That night began like any normal day. Well, as normal as a Friday in a hospital ward could have been. I worked as a nurse in an elderly shelter, day shifts, which thank the goddess, had paid for my college and enable us to save some money in case of a rainy day, which turned to be true in case of the last few years, what with Covid and everything. Apart from the occasional passing, my job was actually routine, administering medications, taking in blood pressure, charting for the more ill patients – I preferred to call them clients – all rote jobs I could have performed in my sleep.
At 4 p.m. close to my shift end, my phone rang. “Babe, babe, can you come to D’Zara after your shift? The thing is we had a bit of a meeting here in the West End and one of the clients suggested D’Zara to err, unwind.”
“What do you mean?”
His voice turned loud. “We’re afraid we had a bit too much to drink, babe-kins.” There was a loud commotion behind his voice, and when he came back on the line he sounded as if he was holding in a laugh. “Oh wow, can you help pick us up? I promise to make it up to you.”
“Who are ‘we’?”
“Me and Gary, of course.” Of course. The impeccable pair, the two stooges, the dangerous duo.
“Okay I’m coming, just… don’t hit anything or anyone.”
“Okaaaaaayyy babe-munch!” Despite the situation I chuckled as he raspberried down the line.
“Love you.”
“Love you more.”
When I arrived in D’Zara, the evening crowd was already halfway inebriated, dancing to the thumping bass of the latest disco-pop discovery. I discovered Hunter, his usually quiet demeanor for once loud and flamboyant, bopping his head to the music, sipping red-hued drinks, suit forgotten somewhere, sweat sticking to the back of his untucked shirt. Gary was nearby, dancing, one with the crowd. It seemed incredulous but his blond hair looked even blonder than the last time I had seen him, which was admittedly the only time. I watched from a bit of a distance before the two noticed me how my husband was watching at Gary’s dance, how his lean jock boy muscles leant into the rhythm, how his ass sway in the dazzling lights of the dance floor.
I popped down beside my husband, and it took him a second to realize I was there. “Hi honey. Want a drink?”
“No thanks, besides I’m driving.”
“The rest of the gang’s gone already, just me and Gary left.”
“I noticed.”
“Well, let me go freshen up and we’ll be on our way.”
I watched him stretch out of his seat and made his way to the washroom. I imagined if I look closely, I might see a hard-on adorning his crotch. I wouldn’t blame him, Gary made a very fetching picture. The man in question finally noticed his audience of one had disappeared and made a beeline to Hunter’s seat. He sat on it, and immediately shuddered. “Ummm, so warm.”
I shuddered myself to think how the warmth of my husband’s carriage must had felt against his ass.
“So, what’s your secret?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh come on, Kyle. What’s your secret in snagging a hunk like Hunter?”
I took a sip of Hunter’s leftover drink. “I love him.”
“Of course you love him. And he loves you, I can see it.” Gary shook his body, like a wet oversized schnauzer. “Is it the sex?”
“What, wha- excuse me?”
“Come on. Is it the sex? I mean, he’s clearly the top, right? Does he make you bite the pillows, clench at the sheets, all the while he was pumping deep, so deep inside you?”
I chuckled at his candor. “You’re very drunk.”
“Not drunk enough. Tell me, Mr. Grey. Is Hunter a good fuck?”
“Not that I would know.”
Now it was his turn to be flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”
“What does my husband mean what?” I was saved by my husband who appeared on Gary’s shoulder, hair and face gleaming wet from the washroom.
“Nothing, babe.” I smiled dazzlingly. “Come on let’s get you to the car.”
“How about Gary?”
“Fine, Gary can come too.”
On the way we decided to send Gary first, as his apartment was closer. I was driving, while my husband and Gary were seated behind. They were loud and laughing one minute, quite and contemplative the next, and in this schizophrenic way we drove towards Gary’s apartment complex. When we arrived there Gary was sleeping off his excesses, and my husband, who was inches more sober, had to piggyback the guy up the stairs to his door. I waited in the car.
After fifteen minutes of long contemplation I decided to follow them. I remembered vaguely the room number from when Gary was muttering his address to Hunter. It was three flights up, and there was no elevator – it was an older building. Rent must had been very cheap here. I was panting by the time I reached the landing of Gary’s apartment. Steep stairs were very hard on thighs, and my lower limbs screamed from their treatment. I staggered over the door, which was thankfully unlocked.
There was smell of coffee in the air. Ah, so that must had been it: Gary had asked my husband in for a sip of coffee, to sober up some more. The apartment was surprisingly spacious, with the walls decorated with pictures of family members and dogs, flowers on the counter, books in the cabinet. At the same time it felt somewhat austere especially in the dim light coming in between the curtains, the dark corners darker, the greys greyer than they should have been. Nobody could have missed that this was a bachelor’s pad, even with the flowers. The flowers were just an attempt at personality, an attempt which spectacularly fell flat. Must had been the cleaner’s.
There were sounds coming from the back of the apartment, near the rooms. In the dark I had to almost feel my way on hands and knees, but that was before I saw my husband’s pants lying haphazardly across the landing. My heart seized up. I felt warm and cold at the same time. I shivered in the small gust of air, at the same time a low sound came from a room. An unmistakable moan. A chuckle, and another moan. A grunt this time.
I shuffled across the landing, over my husband’s pants, and sneaked up behind the door. I found my husband in his ratty white Calvin Klein, the fabric stretched tight over his mighty meaty cock, a cock that I imagined to be dripping precum resolutely, totally unaware that it was going to ensnare a new mouth, a new hole, after six years of marriage and fidelity. Gary was kneeling before my husband in an attitude of suppliance, like an ancient priest of a manifest god, the god that stood before him in his glory, my husband. His blond hair was askew, as if blown by an absent wind, while his face was absolutely rapt in vision of the cock lying before his blue eyes. He was already naked, and his own erection was standing tall, perhaps even taller than mine would, over balls that looked smooth and untainted.
It took a few minutes to register their whispered words. “Fuck, your cock… your cock feels fucking big.”
A chuckle again. “Yeah, I’ve been told that a few times.”
“Oh yeah? I wonder if your husband takes it well.”
A second passed before my husband replied. “Of course he does.” Some husband.
“Yeah? Does he do it like… this?” Gary lifted his face and licked along my husband’s thick thigh, culminating in a languorous swipe over his cloth-covered cock, before dipping for a gentle bite of where my husband’s balls must have been.
“Ahh fuck Gary, my husband – ”
“Shh, he’s not here now. Don’t think of him.” Gary swiped his tongue again, this time taking his time to make sure the spit imbibed through the fabric. “Just think of how this feels good, how I feel good.”
“Fuck, this feels real good.” My husband’s hand, which by this point was clenched tight in his side, moved to grab Gary’s hair. But grab was not the word for it, certainly not how my husband lovingly touch Gary’s blond hair, as if feeling for each strand passing through his fist, a wave of sun-streaked gold.
“Your balls smell divine.”
“Yeah, get a load of that scent, your co-worker’s ball musk.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, like in those old black-and-white movies, Gary’s hands climbed up my husband’s thighs and closed over the waistband of his boxer-briefs. An empty second passed, as if looking to seek my husband’s permission in his eyes, before gently drawing down that last vestige of propriety.
A quick gasp was the death knell of my marriage.
***
I watched dumbfounded as the cock fell over the waistband of my husband’s boxer-briefs and lolled onto Gary’s surprised face. How surprised he could have been, he had felt up my husband and his balls beforehand. But there he was, like a deer caught in the headlights, looking at my husband’s slab of meat for the first time, and understanding that this pole would soon go somewhere inside him, be it through his mouth or perhaps more preferably his asshole. And the fact was that instantly made him very horny, as was evidenced by the sound coming from his mouth now, suddenly climbing in pitch and desperation.
“Fuck daddy, so big, so warm… This cock’s gonna feel so good deep inside me.”
“Oh yeah?” Hunter sniggered, and he was again the shy man that I married, all those long years ago. The moment passed, though, and the next time he spoke he was once again cloaked in that alpha swagger. “Well, get to sucking… bitch.”
“I love when you get all bossy at me, like you do in the office.” Gary’s tongue jutted out and caressed the edge of Hunter’s corona, relishing the sharp edge where the flesh dip inside just this much before flaring back on the fat staff. “Mmm, this cock even tastes delicious. And I’m not even started.”
Hunter was groaning, excited to be piercing a new mouth after having to be content with me. Novelty must had been a potent drug, because he was squirming and making sounds I never heard before. Gary swiped his tongue length-wise along the cock, admiring its thickness now and then by kissing the moist precum-dripping head, and swathing the balls with an abundance of spit.
Apparently Gary’s oral skills were exemplary because soon enough my husband’s breathing hitched as he approached his orgasm. “Oh no you won’t,” Gary murmured, arresting his ministrations just a second before Hunter tripped his trigger. “You’ll come when I tell you to.”
Hunter’s eyes looked wild, uninhibitedly feral. I never denied him his orgasms before, but here was a new partner, a man who was not afraid of his size and his carriage, who would wring out his climax out of him if it would be the death of both of them. Gary continued, “When you get close again, you’ll warn me. When I’m ready you will get to come, and I promise you it will be… spectacular. But not until I’m ready.”
Hunter had no choice but nod his obeisance to the terms. Gary at that time looked positively radiant, a blond young god on his knees who had this mighty barbarian in his dominion, who would kill for him just to achieve that pulsatile achievement of coming – be it by his hands or his mouth. “Good,” Gary acquiesced. Everything was reset, the prior ministrations began anew. This time Gary challenged himself to deep-throat Hunter’s mighty erection, a challenge he found rather difficult seeing the build and the width of the cock stretching his mouth.
He started slow, licking around the frenulum and the corona, before physically unhinging his jaw to consume the erection within his oral cavity. Every time he pushed his luck he was rewarded with a deep groan from Hunter, which embarrassed me: I never could have deep-throated his cock, nor would I spend so much time to oral sex. Gary’s tenacity and will-power amazed me, this resolve that he was going to swallow my husband’s cock whole as if his life depended on it.
Finally success was at hand and Gary reached that azimuth where there was just too much cock inside his mouth to fit any more of Hunter’s length. I had to tip my hat to the guy, he was that relentless, there was something sexy and innocent in the way he had to have my husband’s cock inside his mouth. Lucky Hunter to be on the receiving end of such talent. He certainly expressed his appreciation well, with his groans and moans, his thighs close to Gary’s shoulder, hands caressing his blond head, as if holding a precious treasure. Gary was on the other hand making desperate sounds, as if having my husband’s cock stuck inside his throat was not enough to deter him, as if he needed more, more to swallow.
Hunter just had a few seconds before he reached his second trigger. He gave plenty of notice to Gary, grunting, breath hitching up a notch, finally saying out loud, “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up.” This time, this time however Gary did not stop. In fact the son of bitch smiled, what with his mouth stretched wide around my husband’s meat, and gave a deep suck on the erection, which tipped my husband over the chasm.
I could almost taste the searing white of my husband’s semen erupting from his piss slit, to be immediately sucked into the oblivion of Gary’s waiting mouth. My husband let out a small roar, which reverberated in the dark of the room. His mighty thighs shaking, his chest heaving, his abs contracting, it was as if his body was working overtime to relish this one perfect orgasm, an orgasm that was wrung out of him by a man not his husband.
After a respectful respite, Gary let out the replete erection of my husband, which dropped heavily in the dark between his thighs. “Damn, boss-man. Your cum tastes so sweet.” My husband let out a gruff sigh, pulled Gary’s torso up by the sheer strength of his muscles and gave the mouth that had given him such a spectacular orgasm a deep kiss. Gary held my husband’s head in close, and then wrapped his arms around my husband’s hulking shoulders. And in that moment there was no one I hated more than this young Apollo, who had successfully stolen my husband’s precious semen from me.