Third Wheel Pt. 01

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Third Wheel – pt. 1 of 2

by yfnsp

[This is a true story, set in the 1980s. Well, okay, some parts of it are based on real events. Without the fantasy bits it would only be sad. But it could have happened this way, really it could!]

My wife Lynn and I are really not very compatible; it’s kind of amazing that we got married in the first place. And ironically, I think it was my sex drive that was the catalyst. We were young then and she loved my attentions; it was an ego boost for her to know I was always ready, willing, and able, and besotted with her sleek and supple body.

But, in many ways, we’re polar opposites. And not in a complimentary or an opposites-attract kind of way, either. You see, she’s a moral and emotional pillar of strength: “Do the right thing, consequences be damned.” And she doesn’t give a damn what other people think, either, “Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke!” is one of her axioms. I, on the other hand, am a people pleaser, always wanting to make a good impression and make people like me. She sees that as insincere, lacking integrity, and unmanly.

These traits are evident in our sex life too. I should have married a girl who enjoys hours of foreplay. I would be happy to lick pussy through countless orgasms; there’s nothing more satisfying than satisfying my partner; my orgasm is secondary at best. But that’s not Lynn’s style. Once her motor is started, she wants to get going, not fuck around (poor choice of words, I know). She always makes me stop licking, sucking, and/or fingering (all of which I’m really good at, by the way) long before I want to. “Put it in!” she demands, and I obey. She wants PIV, and she wants it now! Not the end if the world, I know – I shouldn’t complain. I can make her cum with my cock too (at least I believe it was real most of the time). But it just doesn’t last long enough for me. As soon as she’s ready to cum (or, I suppose, when she’s had enough) she tickles my balls or my asshole, and that’s the end of that!

We do agree on one thing, though: We both believe that when it comes to sex it’s the man’s job to always be ready, and the woman’s job to say when. Lynn’s a biologist and says that makes perfect sense in reproductive terms. I always initiate, no exceptions. I do it daily – or nightly, often around 4am for some reason – and she accepts or rebuffs my advances as she sees fit. Totally up to her. I’m not a rapist, after all, and we both respect women’s rights. And it works. We have two kids (now grown) to show for it. Of course, like all couples, as the years went by, our pattern became routine, less frequent, and maybe a little dull. But it was still working.

Did I mention I have a strong sex drive? I really need to get off daily, so I masturbate a lot – at least four or five times a week (assuming Lynn and I have our typical couple of fucks that week). When I was young I didn’t need any stimulation to masturbate, but over the years I started reading erotic stories to accelerate my slowing responses. (What would I have done without Penthouse Forum?) Eventually, in my search for new printed matter, I discovered that there were many “adult” bookshops with video booths in the back. (This was in the 1980s, long before Pornhub and Literotica.)

It soon became a habit of mine to stop by one of the three bookstores in our area once or twice a week, buy a couple of dollars’ worth of tokens, and jack off to lesbian porn. I loved lesbian porn! It had everything that turns me on: beautiful women, sensuous kisses, mouths on nipples, fingers in pussies, tongues on clits, and long, long sessions of torrid forepay culminating in passionate orgasms. I remember the joy of spewing a load in those dank little stalls. Strange how the smell of stale cum, the sticky floor underfoot, and discarded tissues scattered about, that seemed so gross, almost off-putting at first, quickly became comfortable to me. The smell in particular is still aphrodisiacal to this day.

I had noticed that some of the video booths had a hole in the wall. These holes were usually roundish in shape and about waist high. I didn’t think much about it until one day, just as I had pulled out my dick for a nice wank to the girl-on-girl action I had already put in motion with my tokens, my peripheral vision detected a small movement that turned out to be a finger coming through the hole. As I turned to look, I saw an eyeball peering through the hole at me. Well, I tucked up my willy and high-tailed it out of there as fast as I could! No way was I going to let some perv watch me masturbate!

From then on, I was extremely circumspect. If there was no booth without a hole available, I’d take one with, but I’d bend down and peer through the hole to see if anyone was in the other booth and, if so, to make sure that they were minding their own fucking business and not mine. Eventually there came a day that opened my eyes, as it were. The booth had a hole on the left-hand wall and when istanbul travesti I looked through it, I saw a guy sitting in a chair with his back to me, facing the opposite wall. What’s he doing, I wondered, I could see the flickering light of the video he had running, but he wasn’t watching it; he wasn’t even facing in that direction. Then I realized, there’s a hole in that wall too, and as his head moved I saw what he was doing. He was sucking a cock! Some guy in the booth beyond had put his cock through the hole, evidently to have it sucked! The naivet├ę fell from my eyes like scales. A whole bunch of hints I’d been ignoring suddenly coalesced into knowledge. The word “gloryhole” that I had heretofore kind of puzzled over suddenly had meaning. I looked away, embarrassed, and returned to my own business at hand, so to speak. But something like that, once seen, cannot be unseen, and it distracted me so badly that I went through all eight tokens without cumming.

Afterwards, I couldn’t help thinking about what I had seen. Lying in bed that night – it was a no-fuck night – I mulled over my reaction. It wasn’t the cocksucking itself that made it stick in my mind, nor the “gayness” of the act, after all I knew several openly gay guys. What fascinated me was the anonymity of it. It looked to me like the whole setup was designed for random encounters; neither party would have any idea who the other one was. And it got me thinking, do guys like blowjobs so much that they’d let a faceless stranger suck them off? My experience with blowjobs was pretty much, meh. Lynn had sucked me a couple of times, never to orgasm. It just didn’t trip my trigger; I much preferred eating pussy to getting blown.

The next day, I went back to the store, got my tokens, and went through my privacy check, but this time, I dialed up a blowjob video. It was a series of short clips of various pornstars sucking cock and swallowing cum. Now, I don’t know if everyone has the same reaction to scenes like that – I seriously doubt it – so I want to tell you what I experienced. The fist thing I noticed is how hot the girls were; each scene invariably began with sexy body shots and sultry facial expressions. This I expected. The next thing, though, was, OMG, look at the size of that fucking cock!!! I had seen girlie magazines, but not ones with male nudes. And although I had read plenty of heterosexual erotica, when it came to videos it had all been girl-on-girl – not a male appendage to be seen. Call me na├»ve, but I had always assumed that my not-quite-five-inch erect dick was about average. I should add that neither Lynn nor I are what you might call well endowed; I’ve always told her how sexy her A-cup breasts are, and she says my dick is beautifully proportioned, which I now realize means that what it lacks in length it also lacks in girth. So anyway, the size of the cocks in these videos was a surprise, as was the virtuosic facility with which the ladies accommodated them.

There was a third thing about these vids, though, the pi├Ęce de r├ęsistance, so to speak, and that was the evident joy with which these gals performed the act. I mean, I know they’re actresses, but bliss like that can’t be totally fake, can it? And their joy had two parts to it. There was the pleasure they exhibited in the sucking. I could relate to that – I like sucking nipples for example – although I did wonder about the taste. Apparently and convincingly, cocks just feel really good in one’s mouth. And then there was the ecstatic thrill of producing the inevitable orgasm. The joy of making your partner cum. Now that was something I could totally relate to!

So from then on, whenever I patronized the video booths, it was oral vids I stroked to. And I was fully aware from the start that it wasn’t the men in them that I identified with, but the women. Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that I wanted to *be* the woman, it’s simply that I wanted to *do* what she was doing. This was better than lesbian porn. Like lesbian porn, there were beautiful, sexy women bringing their partners pleasure, but this had an additional stimulant, and that was the more blatant visual evidence of arousal and orgasm that only the male organ can portray.

What I didn’t admit yet was that I actually found the cocks alluring, even beautiful. And over time I began paying more and more attention to the cocks themselves. Granted, pornstar cocks are not the cocks of mere mortals like me, so it was easy to slip from simple awareness to admiration and eventually to an obsession, a kind of lust. Because I realized that I was becoming more aroused by the cocks than the women! Was I turning gay? The thought occurred to me more than once. I found myself repeatedly rewatching certain videos, the ones with the most awesome cocks, jacking off to the sight of their majestic beauty. It got to where visions of big hard cocks figured in all my masturbation fantasies and even, I’m ashamed to say, when I fucked my wife.

Upon istanbul travestileri reflection, in my saner moments, I realized that I wasn’t interested in men per se, only cocks, so that’s not gay, just perverted, I decided. Cocks! – it wasn’t just their beauty (only God can make a penis!) but also the idea, the prospect even, of pleasuring them, of making them cum, that excited me. Perhaps it was at least partly the taboo, too, the idea of me, a man, doing what only women should be doing. It got to the point where I had to know what it felt like to have a cock in my mouth! I wanted to feel it pulsing, to feel the gush of cum in my mouth. I wondered what that tasted like.

Unbeknownst to Lynn, I bought a realistic looking dildo and learned to take it down my throat. I got terribly excited doing this while masturbating – the gag reflex I taught myself to control was extremely erotic to me. Stick something down my throat and my cock gets hard – weird, right? And I started catching my cum in my hand and eating it – licking it up and swallowing. That took me a few tries. At first, although the thought of eating my sperm brought me to climax quickly, as soon as I had finished cumming, the desire left me and it just seemed gross. But, on my third or fourth try, I just licked it up really quickly before I had a chance to think about it. It tasted a little strange, but not at all repulsive. It was with a sense of relief that I thought, this isn’t bad at all – I can do this. It was only later, when I’d had real-world experience, that I began actually to love the taste, to crave it. But more about that later.

So, at this point – I’m trying to be objective here – I’m a secret cock-loving, cum-eating, porn-addicted, adult-bookstore wanker living a more or less normal heterosexual married life. I suppose it was only a matter of time… Because now when I went to the back of the bookstore, tokens in hand, and performed my self-imposed booth-security check, I was no longer sure it was privacy I was after when I peered through the glory hole. Maybe I was hoping to find a willing cock on the other side.

Eventually I did. It was a Saturday afternoon. I remember that, although I don’t recall on what pretext I was out of the house; probably, “Honey, I’ve got to pick up [whatever] from the hardware store; I’ll be back soon,” or something like that. It was easier to make bookstore visits on weekday afternoons when my job or my commute could easily account for the extra 30 or 40 minutes. But I know it was a Saturday because I remember how crowded it was: all the booths were in use. There was an “In Use” light above each booth’s door that came on when the video screen was activated. So I had to wait for someone to leave, glad that the hallway was unlighted and hoping that if I kept my head down I wouldn’t be recognized on the odd chance that someone I knew might walk by.

So, this particular Saturday, forever etched on my mind, I claimed the first booth that freed up, its occupant and I studiously ignoring each other as we passed. I closed the door and slid the latch to and stooped to peer through the gloryhole – it was on my left – only to see an eyeball peering back at me. I froze for a second, long enough for the other fellow to straighten up and back off, whereupon he waved his naked cock at me and then looked back through the hole. I nodded at him. ‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘go ahead. Give me your cock. I’ll suck it.’

And that’s exactly what happened. I pulled the chair – each booth had a metal folding chair for your video viewing comfort, I had always presumed, although I never used one – up to the gloryhole. I sat down, leaned toward the cock waiting there, and put my lips around it. It felt completely natural. I liked it immediately. It was so much nicer than the dildo: softer, warmer, alive! It had a slightly salty flavor, from sweat, and barely perceptible over the ever present background odor of stale semen, but blending nicely with it, was the musky man-scent of his balls. It was lovely. I began to suck in earnest, applying suction while moving my tongue back and forth on the underside of the swelling cock. Mmmm, the first trickles of precum were now entering the arena of my oral delight, urging me to suck harder, hungrily.

Suddenly, the door to my booth rattled, startling me. Someone knocked. A voice said, “Is someone in there?” I had a brief moment of panic. Then I realized: I had forgotten to start the video. My screen was blank, the “In Use” light was off. I pushed the chair back noisily and fumbled to get the tokens deposited. The screen came to life. The guy at the door went away. But so had my little friend in the wall. He was gone, and with him my opportunity to complete the task. Huge disappointment; I had really wanted to make him cum, to feel that lovely dick pulsing in my mouth, and to taste another man’s sperm for the first time.

But I’d been gone from home long enough. I had to travesti istanbul get back or come up with a good excuse. I went home, frustrated, but excited too: I had broken the cock barrier. I had sucked a cock and I knew I would do it again. And as soon as I could. On the way home I came up with a great idea that would allow me to spend more time at the bookstore. I would join a gym. There was one just a few blocks from the bookstore, a national chain, so it should be decent. Lynn wouldn’t know how much time I spent actually at the gym…

Well, Lynn thought it was a great idea, “We’re not getting any younger, are we?” she said, “and you’re starting to grow a little pot, here.” She patted my soft tummy. We agreed that I would go for a couple of hours each Saturday morning. So I started spending the first hour at the bookstore, leaving me a good 45 or 50 minutes to work out and hit the showers. I had already discovered that weekday rush hours were not the best times to use the gloryholes anyway; on Saturdays there were always guys in there.

I had success the very next week, my first “gym day,” and for the next six months hardly a Saturday went by without my sucking a cock or two, and often more. I found every cock delightful and I knew I was getting pretty fucking good as a cocksucker by how quickly I was making them cum. I had some regulars too: every cock is unique and I started recognizing several repeat customers. I even found myself learning to adapt my style to what my “regulars” liked. I always masturbated while I sucked and sometimes I would cum first, but that didn’t deter me one bit from bringing my playmate to completion. In fact, I had come to love the service aspect of it – being there for his pleasure. And the prospect of receiving cum as a reward for my service was so exciting, that it was almost more gratifying that way.

I had my favorites: there were certain cocks that I really loved. My heart would skip a beat when one of those special ones would come through the gloryhole for me to worship – that’s exactly how it felt, like a sacred communion. I loved the way they fit in my mouth, their familiar idiosyncratic moves, and the scent, the flavor, and the texture of a beloved cock and its ejaculate. I would get hard in anticipation, driving to the store every Saturday. Oddly perhaps, I never thought about the owners of the cocks, the men behind the partition. They were just cocks, no matter how “romantically involved” I might have been with some of them.

Then one Saturday, after swallowing three loads from three different cocks and then driving to the gym, I was washing my hands at the locker room sink after peeing – my normal routine on arrival – when I heard a voice say, “Hey, cocksucker!” My head jerked around toward the sound and I saw a man coming from the showers with a large white towel wrapped around his waist He looked to be about 6’1″ (a couple of inches taller than me) with a tight, toned body. I guessed he was around my age (38), maybe a bit younger. I glanced around furtively, panicking a little. “Don’t worry, there’s no one else in here right now,” he said quietly, stepping up close to me.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked, blushing, my voice a little squeaky and my stomach fluttering with fight-or-flight hormones.

“It’s okay, man, really,” he spoke calmly, soothingly, dropping his towel to the floor. “I like cocksuckers.”

I tried to maintain eye contact, but the motion of the falling towel drew my eyes down, right to his cock. I gasped.

“I see you’re already acquainted… No introduction needed,” he chuckled softly. “In fact, I’d say you’re very good friends!”

“Oh yes!” I exclaimed, my voice husky now, affected by a completely different set of hormones. “Very good friends indeed…” I reached out and grasped his beautiful uncut cock in my right hand, squeezing it gently. “In fact, didn’t we share a little snack earlier this morning?” My cock was instantly hard, harder than his, though hardly as big.

“Ha ha, good one, cocksucker, I like that!” He smiled warmly at me. “Listen, buddy, can we talk?… Not here.” He glanced behind him at the sound of the outer door opening. He leaned in to speak soto voce, “Can you meet me at the Dunkin’s across the street? I just need 5 minutes to get dressed.”

“Sure!” I replied. And then I hoped I hadn’t sounded too eager. It was sad to let go of his cock.

He went out to the lockers and I left – no workout for me today – and crossed the street, ordered a coffee and sat down in one of the booths. By then he was exiting the gym and was waiting to cross the street. I watched him through the large plate glass window. He was dressed like me, in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. He strode across the street during a brief lull in traffic. He moved well, with graceful, confident strides. A couple of minutes later he was sliding into the booth beside me. I slid over to the right to make room for him, wondering why he hadn’t sat across from me instead.

“Good, cocksucker, you’re going to be glad we had this chat,” he spoke softly in my ear. I could feel his warm breath on my face. He took my left hand off the table and placed it in his lap. “You do like my cock, don’t you?”

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