Case Studies in Modern Life - 4. Once More with Feeling

This is an adult story about sex, it contains sexual references and language.
 

I dropped the pile of dirty clothes in front of our washing machine, the underpants and tee-shirts spilling over the tiled floor. I crouched down and began to sort through them, mainly looking for a rogue pair of red underpants that had crept into this pale load of washing. I also wanted to check Dan’s clothes. Too often before he left important pieces of paper or even money behind in his pockets; they had gone through the washing machine and been ruined. So now I always checked all the pockets of his clothes before throwing them into the machine.

They were Dan’s favourite pair of jeans, faded and old, with carefully placed rips in them, one across the right knee and one three inches below the left back pocket. He would preen himself when he wore them because of the flattering way they hugged his groin and buttocks, the rips showing off his muscular legs. Dan always looked good in those jeans. Now they were mixed up with the laundry and they were filthy. They looked as if he’d been rolling around the garden in them; there were bright green grass stains on the knees and mud streaked around their backside. I didn’t remember him wearing them recently.

Almost automatically, I searched through the jeans’ pockets; I didn’t want another twenty-pound note being ruined by the washing machine. In the front pocket was a neatly folded piece of paper, its edges creased over and the outside of it smudged with fingerprints. Not stopping to think about it, especially when I should have done, I quickly unfolded it and read the sprawling handwritten words:

Dan,

I can’t wait until next Tuesday. Last night was fucking amazing, my arse is still on fire from the banging you gave me. I’ll come around to your place at half-six, next Tuesday. We can’t meet at my place because my flatmate’s being an arsehole again.

I can’t wait.

Kris.

Tuesday I always worked late; it was the night I ran the Men’s Health Clinic at the practice where I work. I’d spend the evening with a parade of middle-aged men worrying over their health. I wouldn’t get home until ten-thirty or eleven o’clock that evening. Often Dan would have already gone to bed and fallen asleep; his excuse was always he needed an early start on Wednesday morning.

Kris was a thin and very blonde party boy who worked in Dan’s office. He would have been handsome, he did have an attractive soft-featured face, but he seemed to wear a permanent scowl on it. He was just another shallow pretty boy, and I’ve met enough of them. He certainly didn’t like me, either. The few times I had met him, when I’d come to meet Dan from work, he’d oozed indifference towards me.

I held the note in both my hands, crouched there on our kitchen floor. I should have destroyed it, but I had no desire to. I simply stared at it. The scrawled handwriting, the a’s almost as round as the o’s, the m’s no bigger than the n’s; the creases where the note had been folded and unfolded, driving deep valleys into the paper; the dog-eared corners and dirt smudges around the edges of it, telling of its repeat reading.

This note meant only one thing. After all the tears, arguments and our endless talking, all the emotional fallout and promises. After all Dan’s repeated promises to me, Dan was back to screwing around, screwing some other guy behind my back. After each time before, he’d promised me it would be the last. It was nearly a year since he was last unfaithful, with Carlos, a fling at a work conference that carried on after he returned home. Since then he had seemed to have kept his word. I know because I’d kept a careful eye on his behaviour. But this note was proof that he’d now broken that promise, and I’d not been as clever as I thought I was.

I didn’t feel angry or hurt, I didn’t feel the betrayal and disappointment I had felt after Carlos. Instead I felt a strange and creeping curiosity. Why had he chosen Kris? Kris was nearly twenty years his junior, could barely string together two sentences to speak to anyone, and always wore clothes that seemed designed to hide his body, faded and dull tee-shirts with jeans so large they were hanging off his backside. So what was the attraction for Dan? Was it only sex? Did they only have sex and no other contact? What sex did they have? Or was there more to it?

I brought the note up to my face and inhaled deeply. There was the smell of Dan’s crotch, that distinct and sharp odour of his sweat and musk, mixed in with the vague odour of stale ink and dull wood-like paper. There was no smell of sex or aftershave or any erotic taint to it. I felt a moment of disappointment.

Tuesday was only two days away; could I get someone to cover my clinic? Ash, at work, owed me enough favours, and he could run the Men’s Health Clinic by himself. I couldn’t see anyone objecting to that. Could I slip home unnoticed? I could enter the house from the garden, slipping in from the alleyway at the rear of our house. I could easily spy on Dan and Kris; our house has such a quirky design of rooms opening off other rooms. What would I see if I could? What kind of sex would they have? Would Dan be the one in charge? Would he bend Kris over a table and take him from behind? Would he spank Kris, or even tie him up for sex? Or would they just have plain vanilla sex? I hoped not.

I felt a rush of excitement running straight to my groin, that thrill prickling at my cock as it filled with blood and swelled in my underwear. Just the thought of what those two could get up to was turning me on with a powerful sexual rush; watching them in the flesh would be even more exciting. My groin grew hard with the thought.

I stroked my fingers over that note. This was not how I’d expected to react to finding this, but I liked it, I liked this feeling.