My Friend the Bitch
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I have a friend, Remy. Or rather, I used to have a friend Remy. He was one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever had laid eyes on. Didn’t you have friends like that, those who were so good-looking you find yourself tongue-tied just being around them, and the fact that they were your friends – heck, the fact that they were your acquaintances – was so mind-blowing and utterly gobsmacking that you couldn’t help to invest everything into your relationship? Well, Remy was one of those friends. Not to say I have lots of friends like Remy, far from it, but they simply didn’t have his – for lack of a better word – beauty.
I’d seen the way girls and boys fell and trip on their toes around him. It was the way he carried himself, like nary a care in the world, that was what was so attractive about him. Physically he was more in the line of sylph-like perfection that the ancient Greeks and Romans – and perhaps, me too – knew and prized and worshipped. His body was all elongated planes, all perfect lines, the lines that ballet dancers made whole careers out of. There was nothing exotic or foreign about him, rather he was the perfect example of the male specimen.
Remy played the flute for our college orchestra, and the way this orchestra was the flutes sat way up front. It was like the gods were playing us, because there was no more beautiful sight ever was than Remy playing the flute – all lines and planes, again, that art adored. I was a tuba player, all huge and boisterous and clumsy, the lowest instrument on the staff, in fact we sat way at the back of everyone else, but Remy seemed to like me and I of course worshipped the ground he walked on, so we had a fair weather relationship.
One day we played an outdoor concert of a new song, in which Remy played a short but brilliant solo – more like a cadenza than anything else. My parents were in attendance, my mother with the ever-present pashmina shawl that she bought on an Indian holiday one time and never forgot, together with my handsome but distant father. I even wondered why my father joined my mother for this excursion, because usually it was just my mother who took an interest in my collegiate activities. But I was to get my answer in a spectacular way later.
After the concert my mother and I went to the cafeteria while my father strolled the ground, uncomfortable of the lunch-going crowd. While tucking in at the delicious rolls, I realized I forgot my camera. My mother tut-tutted, remarking how could I forgot such an important thing, and told me to fetch it. It was on a shelf in my room in the dormitory. Remy’s and his roommate’s room was facing mine. I didn’t know why but I sneaked a look into the open door and had a shock.
My father, my handsome tall misanthropic father, had his pants and his sedate black boxers down his ankles. His thighs were thick and separate, testifying his gym-going days. His cock was rampant, thick and erect and vibrating in an apparently intense orgasm by the look of it, spurting white cum flowing lava-like down his crown and his foreskin, into the lips and tongue of one who was very familiar to me.
“Fuck, daddy, so delicious, so fucking worth it,” said Remy, as he lapped around my father’s cock head.
My father was still panting lightly. “Never knew my son’s friend could suck cock like a champ.”
Remy smiled lasciviously. “Hmmm, it’s the daddy’s approval-seeking in me, much like your own son.”
“Oh yeah, you nasty freak,” my father hissed, surprising me in its lustful venom, “How much like my son?”
“Correction, Mr. Fraser. I’m nothing like your son.” With that Remy turned around and bent out like a bow waiting for an arrow, ass out, lubing his hole with the cum that ran from his mouth. “Now, fuck me silly, daddy.”
My father grunted. “Your wish is my command, son.”
I turned away as they commenced fucking. Half of me was eager to see, to witness my father’s betrayal of my friendship and my mother, but the rational half of me reasoned enough was enough. This would be one of those secrets sons were privileged to see and to keep until the bitter end.
The bitter end, apparently, could not come fast enough. My father came out, blasting out of his closet in all his forty-five year old glory, and divorced my mother. My mother, ever being the practical one, cleaned my father out of the coffers – of which were plenty – and claimed custody of me and my three brothers. We moved across the country, because there’s no distance like the devil to put between my mother and her former spouse, as she called him, which was better than the ‘sperm donor’ moniker she called him when she was depressed or drunk.
In all of these upheavals Remy lurked in the background, and after a respectable interval he and my father married in a happy little ceremony. I visited them a few months after their nuptials – by that time I had came out myself, realizing my worship of Remy’s altar a manifestation of my own homosexuality. Mother, dear mother, had sighed and only remarked, rather inanely, “Oh poor baby.”
My father Maltepe Escort on the other hand had beamed, strangely affable, a major difference from before. With his arms around Remy he welcomed me to their home, our old home with some renovations, all masculine in style and fashion, as if erasing my mother’s influence with every minimalist touch. By that time I was dating Gerry, an exchange student from Singapore, who was tall, lean and a mean fuck machine. I brought Gerry to that first meeting with my father and Remy – in retrospect I should’ve had noticed my mistake right away.
I was talking with my father for a long time, updating him about how my life and those of my brothers had progressed sans him in the picture. He was saddened by the circumstances, but insisted he must live his truth. I could have rolled my eyes at that, but then again I hadn’t had the pain of breaking a marriage in my own coming out, so perhaps I lack understanding of his predicament. I was sipping my third glass of wine before realizing Gerry and Remy had been gone a long time, surely his plants and roses were not that aplenty?
Suddenly as if their names were being called, Gerry and Remy arrived at the gazebo where I was sitting with father. Remy’s clothes were slightly dishevelled, Gerry was mildly flushed in the face, and there was a strong whiff of perfume in the air, as if hiding the smell of something. Then I noticed a pearly glint at the corner of Remy’s mouth. The fucker. I waited until father was inside the house fetching another bottle of wine before I hissed at Remy.
“You haven’t married my father for long, yet you’re already sucking off someone else? What are you, really?” I pushed at Gerry. “And you, you fucking cunt. Couldn’t you keep it in your pants for a goddamn visit?”
“It’s not his fault,” Remy started, but I threw the wine at his face.
“You’re goddamn sure it wasn’t his fault, because it’s yours homewrecker,” I spat out before dragging Gerry off the premises, surprising my father. “I’m sorry that you ended up with him.” I told my father before driving off, but not before leaving Gerry on their porch. Let him try to explain everything to my father.
I spent the next year or so devoid of commitments of the familial kind. My job as the classical music critic at the local newspaper was thriving, even after our print edition was abolished in favor of online version. I had a side gig teaching piano to children ages below ten, and while the stresses of teaching kids at that age were many, the rewards were plentiful.
Say, for example, Sam. He was one of the dads of my students, and he was one of the most handsome men to ever walk across my path. His kid, a rambunctious 7-year-old boy named Aidan, preferred baseball to the piano and had remarked such predilection to me, but his father was adamant that his boy at least knew how to play ‘Happy Birthday’, or every other songs, really, in the key of C.
We became close when his wife passed on from cancer. Little Aidan was suddenly not so little anymore, and devoted more time to the piano and me, as if processing his mother’s passing with music. I understood his change and nurtured it, so at the very least he could play something else other than ‘Happy Birthday’ when the occasion called for it. Sam was almost overjoyed at Aidan’s uptake, even if it came after his wife’s demise. We began a private schedule for Aidan, at his home where his dad bought an upright for his son, just suitable for a growing student.
One day we finished late, learning a simplified version of the famous Casta diva from the opera Norma. I was at their door when Sam stumbled out of the shower, hair dripping down his gorgeous face, his crotch covered by white briefs which hid nothing to the imagination, and if imagination were to be believed he had quite a bulge down there. I took a look at his bulge and his face – which was smiling – and swallowed. “I was just going to go.”
“I was going to see you off.” Sam remarked, still smiling, making no move to cover himself.
“Dad, why are you naked?” Aidan whined, perhaps angered by his dad’s uncool appearance. I smiled and waved away the awkwardness.
“That’s okay. See you at our next class, Aidan. And you too, Sam.”
That was when I put on a resolve: I was going to have Sam Cooke’s cock in my ass.
It took a year and a half, but when it happened it was as if I was seeing fireworks for the first time. Aidan was away at camp, and Sam finally overcame his guilt at his wife’s memory and asked me out. It was a simple dinner at a high end restaurant, where we had the best of time talking about everything and nothing.
At the end of the night we were sitting at his house, drinking cheap wine and continuing talking. It was so easy to open up to him, as if there were never any boundaries. Finally we kissed, and that first time we were like – blush! – teenagers, unsure and unknowing how it would feel, but after that first hurdle was overcome there was no stopping us.
When he finally turned Anadolu Yakası Escort around, naked, I said a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever power that was watching over me. He was perfect, perfect in every way, with armor-like chest and broad shoulders, abs for days, and a massive nine-inch cock that was yearning to be inside me. He pushed me gently down the bed and smiled above me, a god waiting to imbibe my hole.
“I’ve dreamed so long to do this to you,” he quietly said, before bending down and kissing and then twisting my left nipple in his mouth. “Fuck, so long,” he continued, before suckling on the nub until it was dark-red in the low light.
“Fuck, Sam, come and fuck me,” I called to him, raising my thighs to present my hole to him. He knelt and began inserting two lubed fingers into my recesses. Eventually he finger-fucked me with three of his thick fingers, paving the way for his cock, before he huffed and whispered lovingly.
Didn’t I say the first time was like seeing fireworks all over again? That was how it felt, as his firm spongy cock head ventured into my grasping wetness, plunging again and again and again as slowly and surely we neared a massive orgasm, his all the more from being celibate since his wife died. When he came it was with a huge wild grunt, and I could feel the cum spilling out of my hole and dripping onto my taint and making a huge wet spot on the bed.
Sam withdrew slowly, and I gasped as his cock cleared my hole. I bent down and chuckled at the mess between my thighs, the white-sweet cum dripping everywhere. I dipped my finger in a pool of the sticky stuff, and gave it a lick. The look that Sam gave me as he tugged at his rapidly reawakening cock made me confident that finally, this was my true love, not Remy, not Gerry, not even my father.
Our happiness was marred by the news: my father had a stroke. He was left paralyzed from waist down, and would require care and physical therapy to regain a semblance of function. As I was nearest in distance to him I was the first among our family to visit him. I brought Sam with me as emotional support.
When we got there father and Remy already had the routine down pat. Apparently the stroke nurse would come once every three days to look after dad, and the rest was handled by Remy who used to volunteer at a hospice. The stroke nurse allowed Remy some respite from the care, which was important for stroke caretakers so that they would not be burned out.
The look in father’s eyes haunted me. It was as if he saw death – he probably did, and survived to tell the tale. Still, he smiled when I introduced him to Sam, which was the first time I called him ‘my fiancé’. I commiserated with Remy, which was no easy feat considering how our past turned out, but the important thing was I patched things up. Meanwhile, Remy was playing the zealous nurse card to the hilt, putting on blankets on my father, moving his limbs in simple exercises for his physical therapy, making sure his medicines were on time and at the right name and quantity.
In all of this I watched hawk-like for his and Sam’s interaction. Did I imagine Remy sending longing looks at Sam when he thought I was too occupied with father? I could not bear the truth, so I kept quiet about it. But being a musician and a music lover all my life I certainly detected a softer note coming out of Remy’s voice every time Sam was involved. Can you help me, Sam? Will you fetch me that, Sam? Would you like me to bend over and let you shove your cock up my ass, Sam?
The next day the stroke nurse came and took over. Remy didn’t come out of his room for breakfast, so Sam and I went on our errands. When I returned, I was surprised to see Sam standing beside the window overlooking the swimming pool. I refrained from making my presence heard, and witnessed as Sam rubbed his bulge as he watched Remy sunning himself at the pool. My heart lurched in my throat, but I kept quiet. This might have been a one-off occasion, and I didn’t want to make another scene like the last time I brought a man home to see my father and Remy. I watched as my fiancé tugged his cloth-covered cock until near completion. I didn’t know what I would do if he had a complete orgasm from watching his young stepfather-in-law sunbathing while his husband was lying in bed from stroke.
That night when I came to around 2 a.m. Sam wasn’t in bed with me. I immediately woke up with a bad taste in my mouth. Everything was quiet… too quiet. I walked out of our room and spied near Remy’s room – all was quiet within. I walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where to my amazement I heard sniffling. Sam and Remy had been drinking by the looks of it, talking in hushed voices, commiserating about how hard it was to take care of a loved one with stroke.
I vacillated between being touched to being incredulous of the whole thing, certain it was a subterfuge for some illicit sex. I pulled Sam back to our room, where he reassured me everything was okay in the way he knew best: by fucking İstanbul Escort his load into my receptive ass. Though in my mind’s eye I could still see Remy speared on Sam’s substantial cock, all in vivid technicolor. Had I imagined it, but I could see Remy looking at our sex from behind the door, diddling with himself, coming at the exact same time we came.
After making sure that my father wanted for nothing, and that Remy was capable enough, we returned to our city and Aidan, in part to prepare for our own wedding. Aidan was especially thrilled that his piano teacher and his dad were going to be married, and he was going to have free piano lessons for the rest of his life. I chuckled at the memory when he said that exact thing, at which Sam spill his drink in a move worthy of Rue McClanahan.
On the other hand Sam had been distracted ever since we came back from father’s. I shuddered to think it might have something to do with Remy. I prayed to whatever power that be that it was not what I thought it was, that Remy had felled another one of my loves in his snares. At any rate the preparation for our wedding was progressing quite nicely, and everything seemed all right with the world, when out of the blue Sam said he had a work trip scheduled to Los Angeles.
The day of Sam’s flight came, and I was struck by a melancholic feeling, as if something was not right. I tried burying myself in the pamphlets and brochures for my wedding, but found everything lacking. It was almost stressful, so I called my father. He answered on the second ring as was his wont, which was strange – why didn’t Remy answer the call? My father said Remy was away seeing his parents, and the stroke nurse was residing with him for the moment.
My blood curdled. Remy came from L.A.
At that moment Sam came in, kissed me goodbye and went off to take an Uber to the airport. He looked happier than in a while, and I felt numb when I realized it was because he was going to see Remy. I waited up with Aidan, then put him down to sleep as I continued my vigil. When Sam messaged me he had landed in L.A. and was checking in a hotel, my heart calmed down, at least enough for me to catch a few wink.
At 2 a.m. my phone blinked silently. The cold glare pained my sleep-crusted eyes, so I rubbed my eyes thoroughly before opening my phone. It was an unfamiliar number. I stared at the photo on the phone, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.
I’d recognize that hard rampant cock anywhere. The fact that it was embedded in an ass that was foreign and familiar at the same time was almost too much for my poor heart. The fact the cock was raw, covered only with minimal lube, was the final straw. I could feel tears running down my cheek as I saved the picture in my gallery, not a tad moment too soon because the picture disappeared from my feed as soon as I clicked save.
I clicked at the number, hoping for answers. None came. Instead the phone was let to ring before it was picked up and left apparently at the bedside dresser where Sam and Remy was fucking. I could hear every word of their whispered voices.
Creak creak. “I had wanted this ass ever since I first saw it,” Sam said quietly.
Creak creak. “I know you have a big cock, I know it the moment I saw how my stepson hold onto you,” Remy said. It was weird to hear him call me his stepson, when we were the same age and used to be college friends.
Creak creak. “Oh yeah? So am I to your satisfaction, stepfather?”
Creak creak CREAK. Someone moaned. “Don’t I sound satisfied, son?”
Creak creak. “You sound like someone fucked.” Apparently this sounded funny to Remy, who cackled like a banshee, which set off Sam’s impending orgasm. “Fuck, I’m cumming, cumming up your tight ass, cumming cumming CUMMING NGGGHHHHARRRR!” roared Sam. With that I clicked my phone shut. I didn’t need to hear anymore.
I decided to keep the peace when Sam returned from L.A. After all said and done Sam came back to me, so there must be something still in his heart for me however diminished it became every time he came in Remy’s ass. And we still had Aidan between us, it wouldn’t be well to break the poor boy’s heart however broken my heart was by his father. And of course, we still had the upcoming nuptials.
I never remarked that I knew of his adultery with Remy. That recording of their hushed conversations was still in my PC with a copy in my personal cloud. I thought he would stew in guilt or remorse, but apparently Remy’s hold on him was strong and he just felt he could get away with it if he kept his mouth shut.
I tried to keep an open mind and open heart when it came to Sam. But it was so hard when you know his heart and his cock were not yours alone anymore. Maybe this was what my mother felt when my father came out and divorced her, like everything was a big fat lie.
Not to say that Sam did not rise to the occasion if needed be. His cock was his cock, it was still a marvel of this world, and he still could drive me to screaming abandon and orgasms so good you ended up with tears in your eyes, and that deep dull ache in your ass that marked a happy bottom. But everything felt perfunctory, dutiful as opposed to the ecstatic first days of our relationship, when everything was perfect and there was no Remy hovering over the horizon.
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