Sliding Along The Scale

[chunkychains]

“You alright in there hun?” my wife called out from the corridor.

“Yeah” I managed to holler back, between the groans and the panting. “Big one” I eventually added.

I heard her laugh out loud, before she presumably made her way down the stairs to get ready for the weekend away with her sister. I, meanwhile, did everything I could to not collapse onto my front as the man she’d picked out for me on Grindr tore my arse in two with his raw horse cock.

For the many men who have drunkenly sobbed while admitting their sexuality to their wives, there would be something you might call an ‘aftermath’. Separation, divorce, having to build a new life from scratch, and so on. They would have some internal peace and freedom, but also the challenge of setting out to find a place for themselves in a world of which they probably knew and understood little. For those in their late 40s, this world may have seemed to have already passed them by, with its focus on youth and beauty.

In my case things were a little different. It was bisexuality that I revealed to my wife, a few days after our youngest son had been dropped off at university for the start of his first year, leaving us for the first time with an empty nest. She held me tight as years of pent-up emotions flowed out of me, and she proved to be astute enough to recognise that I was really telling her I was gay. She had sort of guessed I might be at some point in the marriage, but so good a father and husband was I that she let it be until the day it would need dealing with. A week with no offspring to focus on had caused that day to come, and with a bottle of Rioja serving as the catalyst, the fragile walls finally fell.

This night of revelation did not, however, come with the dissolution of our marriage. At that point I somehow still believed I wanted to be with her, and that I just needed to get out of me the truth about the unrequited urges I had experienced all of my life. She seemed to know better than me, and immediately began to hatch a plan to help me realise who I actually was. We truly loved each other, and the heroine that she is, she knew that the most loving thing she could now do for me was to help me find a path to being fulfilled and happy.

It took a while, but as she sensed me becoming more comfortable with myself now that some version of the truth was out, she eventually suggested that we could bring another man into the bedroom for a night so that I could try things out without it being cheating. I was initially horrified, but could not get the idea out of my mind and soon let her know I was up for it. She organised everything, and throughout the evening we spent with the handsome man she’d contacted, she really knew how to get me to quell my nerves and enjoy it. That first evening I only really explored his body, the experience of touching his naked flesh and grasping his erect cock being enough to take me over the edge. However, as these threeways became more regular, I got bolder and more confident, until eventually I was to be found gripping my wife’s hand tightly as I was fucked for the first time. 

Within just three weeks of that, the sessions were no longer threeways (if they ever really were), with my wife getting whoever she had brought over settled in with me before making herself scarce. I found my true calling as an eager and hungry bottom, and in a short space of time added ‘cumdump’ to that description after a guy asked if he could do away with the condom. This development in my sex life was something I did not tell my wife about though. Had I done so I imagine I would soon have found myself on PrEP, which would have been sensible. There we go.

This brings me back to the horse cock. It was huge, stretching me like nothing before, causing some pain, and yet I could have happily stayed on that thing all day. The guy was actually good for a second go after a bit of a rest, so by the time he left in the late afternoon I had two of his loads lodged deep inside me. By this point my wife was also gone, and would not be back until Monday lunchtime, and I had not actually made any other plans. There was half a bottle of wine left over from the night before that I decided to enjoy outside in the evening sunshine while I basked in the afterglow of the best sex of my life, inadvertently setting in motion the events that would finally land me right at the far end of the Kinseyian scale. My wife already knew I was there, and the next few hours would help me to understand it too.

The wine lubricated my inhibitions, and the dull ache in my arse along with the knowledge there were loads in there just got me increasingly horny. However, with my wife away my mind started to turn to the sorts of videos I had been secretly watching on my phone of guys getting bred anonymously in woods, public toilets and other such places. Visions of these types of encounters occupied my mind as I found myself wandering to the corner shop to buy another bottle of wine, and it was while I was approaching the till that I just felt something snap in me. I put the wine back, picked up a couple of cans of premixed cocktails instead from the fridge, then grabbed a tub of Vaseline off the shelf. With the evening light fading, I headed out of the shop with my purchases and turned towards the country park near our house, making my way to the wooded area at the far side. I had always heard things about that place, and tonight I was going to find out for myself what it was all about.

I stopped on the way at a bench, sitting down to open up one of the cocktails and ensure I maintained the buzz that was so emboldening me. I was probably on that bench for half an hour before I finally got back on with my quest, dropping the two empty cocktail cans into a litter bin I passed by en route.

I really had no idea where specifically I was looking for, so ended up wandering aimlessly around in the trees for quite a while. Fortunately there was a nearly full moon and clear skies, so I was just about able to see where I was going. Eventually the flare of a cigarette being lit off to the side caught my attention, and I headed in that direction to see what I might find. There was a little clearing around a recently fallen tree, and there I found a couple of guys standing at the side smoking. They were watching me intently, but I decided to stop across from them for a moment. I gently leaned against a tree and looked over at them while they smoked, hoping I was sending the right signals.

One of them eventually approached me slowly, looking me up and down in the dim light as he got closer.

“Nice evening” he said.

“Yeah” I replied, “it is.”

“Good to be outside” he continued.

“Yeah” I said again. “More free outside.”

He smirked at me.

“Is that so?” he asked. “So you looking for freedom?”

“I’m looking for fun” I said, feeling a little bolder.

“Great” he said, before gesturing towards the remaining stump of the tree at the edge of the clearing. “That’s where we tend to find freedom in these parts.”

I took a deep breath, and then walked over to the stump. With my back still turned to the men, I took another deep breath and then pulled down my shorts to reveal my lack of underwear below. I then bent forward and waited.

I never looked behind me at what followed, so I don’t know which of them it was who poked at my hole with his fingers, nor whether it was the same one who pressed his cock against my open hole and slid in as the first one of the night. I never saw who took me second, nor whether anyone else joined in who may have added the third or fourth loads to my hole. I just stayed there, bent over as I was fucked, my head a little light and my whole body on fire as I gave in to my true nature. I could happily have stayed there all night.

But after four fucks it seemed to be over, so I stood up straight and pulled up my shorts before turning round. The same two men as before were there lighting up cigarettes, making me think it probably had just been them.

“Want one?” offered the man who had spoken to me earlier, shaking the pack in my direction.

I walked over to take one, despite not being a smoker, and it just so happened that the other one tapped on his phone at that point which caused both of their bare torsos to be lit up. The huge biohazard tattoos on their chests were unmissable, and I felt my stomach drop as I put the cigarette between my lips. I was not a smoker, but through the initial coughs, that cigarette was a godsend.

Yet, I did none of the things someone should do in that situation. I did not leave. I did not go to A&E and seek PEP. I did not learn. No, I stuck around, smoked more of their cigarettes, and then bent back over the stump for another pair of loads from them. I came back the next night and took several more, including from another man who had joined in that evening whose status seemed pretty clear from the scorpions inked on his neck.

In the week that followed my wife never asked any questions or batted an eyelid as I set out in running gear after dark on each and every night. She must have suspected that something had changed, and I was now going it alone. Maybe she knew the risks I was taking, maybe she didn’t, but it was never brought up. Then she was gone again for another weekend away that seemed to come out of nowhere, and I was free to do away with the exercise charade. I was free to spend longer out in the park without worrying about getting enough sleep for work. I was free to invite the two men back when it was clear that the heavens were about to open. I was free to spend all night face down or on my back on my marital bed as the pair of them used me nearly continuously.

When the inevitable happened and I came down with the flu, my wife dutifully nursed me through the conversion. Apparently while out of it I had blurted out a slightly incoherent account of all that I had been up to, as she took me off to get tested once I was mostly recovered. Then we set about sorting out an amicable divorce so that she could have her freedom, as she had helped me to find mine.

She’s now remarried to a great guy, and they’ve moved to a house on the coast to which I get invited for Christmas and other landmark family occasions. The kids sometimes come and stay with me at my apartment, but mostly I’m alone and able to pursue my own passions. Well, my one passion. I am an out-and-proud poz gay cumdump, living his best middle aged life. My hole rarely goes a day without being filled, and I am nearly always carrying around some remnant of a load. Whether it’s hookups at home via apps, visits to the local cruising bar that I deliberately moved close to, or many an al fresco adventure, I see plenty of action. I have even done some topping during med breaks, given how easy it is to find a handsome young man who wants what I can give while I give my body a break from the cocktail.

This will all do for a while, before I maybe look for something more from someone. There’s many years of self-repression still to exorcise from the system, but I’m in excellent shape and still getting what I need wherever I can find it. Long may it last!

[sleazebugga]

Great (and very horny) piece of writing ☣️☣️

[gingerdaddyG]

8 hours ago, sleazebugga said:

Great (and very horny) piece of writing ☣️☣️

As ever from @chunkychains!