I guess the separation was inevitable. I stopped sleeping in the marital bed and slept in the spare room, frequently falling asleep to the sounds of my wife's lovemaking with one of her, now many, girlfriends. I knew now that I was probably 90% gay, and was slowly coming to terms with the change in my predicament. I began spending more time with Jim, sometimes going home from work with him for a shag, before facing the wife. Occasionally, Steve would join us for a threesome. I enjoyed having my ass plowed, and even topped now and again.
I was sat with Jim in the works canteen as usual, pouring my troubles out on Jim, and anyone else who could be bothered to listen. Steve was there, and one or two others within earshot. An attractive young guy called Paul, who had only just joined the company came and sat down with us. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help but hear the conversation. I may be able to help." My ears pricked up, and I smiled rather lamely at him, he was at least 10 years my junior. "I have my own two bedroomed apartment. I came into some money and bought it a while ago. You are welcome to share with me, as long as you contribute to the bills." It was music to my ears. "That would be amazing, when would I be able to move in?" "As soon as you like, this weekend if you want." I couldn't wait to get home and tell the missus I was leaving. Maybe one of her girlfriends could move in." It was all quite amicable, considering it was only weeks ago that we'd been at war with each other. I packed up my possessions, and moved in a couple of journeys. Paul was wonderful, and an accomplished cook, so I did the washing up and clearing the kitchen.
It was on the second or third night that it happened. After a bottle of wine, we were sat on the sofa, watching some shit on the TV. He turned it off. "Jim has spilled the beans. " I thought I sensed trouble, but he went on, "You're safe with me. I am at least bisexual, and I have a preference for older men, like you." With that, he stroked my leg and drew me into a kiss. My heart pounded as relief came over me, had I fallen on my feet? The kiss turned into a full on snog. I felt under his top for his nipples, and he rubbed my growing hard on through my jeans. We went to bed. There we slowly undressed one another and crawled under the duvet. We kissed and cuddled for seemingly ages before he went down on me. After a bit, he came up for air, and reciprocated, and then into a sixty nine, all the time, getting to know each other's bodies. He mounted me missionary, kissing and beginning to pump. I certainly wasn't his first, as he controlled the tempo, lifting my legs high into the air and driving in deeply. We stopped, cuddled again, and he took me from behind, pushing in at different angles. Twenty minutes in, and I just came, flowing down onto the sheets, shortly after, I was bred. I stayed with him for the night and I drove him to work in the morning. We had a few knowing winks and grins from our colleagues, but I couldn't give a fuck. From then on, we made love three or four times a week, more than I ever had in my marriage. Weekends were especially nice, as we had more time to unwind. Rarely, I would top him, but my preference was to have him inside me. When I got lucky, Jim or Steve joined us in a threesome. My ass would get pounded so much over a weekend, I thought I walked like John Wayne.
Two years flew by, and my divorce, by mutual consent came through. I celebrated by going out for a few drinks with Jim, Steve, and Paul. Back at the apartment, the inevitable happened. I was undressed in the lounge, and they took it in turns to have their way with me, changing round before they could cum, until I could take no more, and I received their babies. It became a thing on Bank Holidays to have a repeat performance, even lubing myself before they arrived. I counted down the days to the next time. In the summer, the four of us went on holiday together, renting a caravan near the sea. For two weeks my ass was filled with semen and constantly oozing, so much so that I had to sit on a towel. No one cared about watching the proceedings, and we became adept at putting on a show. In the end, Paul and I were married, with Jim and Steve as our Best Men. I invited the ex, but she declined. We honeymooned in The Canaries, and consummated the marriage every day.
It didn't prevent Jim and/or Steve coming to see us, and we would have a weekend of shagging. Paul, being younger, had a very fast recovery rate. One weekend, when I was done in from fucking, I watched him top Steve with a gusto I hadn't noticed when he was doing me. Other times, when we were tired after work, he'd happily lay there while I went down on him, enjoying the taste of his juices running down my throat. I couldn't have been happier. I didn't go looking for love, love found me.
And that, dear readers, is my story. I hope you have enjoyed it. x
