January 3, 2020—Seattle, Washington—One Year Later #3
He got himself ready and stroked himself a bit as he felt his passion cooling down.
His hands tugged the little thong, pulling it down from Sandy’s body.
Almost mechanically, he positioned himself against her entrance and filled her with one push, making her moan.
Dissociating himself from this scenario, from the moment, from the life he was trapped in, he drove in and out of her.
At this point, Logan did not know if it was actually related to Sandy or to the deep melancholy that suffocated him, taking his air, and drowning him.
Sandy reached between her thighs and started rubbing her pussy as Logan continued fucking in and out of her. Her moans and whimpers fill the room, and she screamed as her orgasm ripped through her body, shaking and quivering around Logan, who was far behind her.
He moved within her with the rhythm of someone keeping time, each thrust a heartbeat closer to silence.
His body obeyed its duty, but his mind drifted elsewhere, to the man whose touch still haunted the edges of his skin.
He counted the moments, not in pleasure, but in escape, each breath a quiet plea for it to end.
She bit her lip beneath him, her body trembling with life, while his remained elsewhere, hollowed by absence.
The room pulsed with her sounds, with the illusion of closeness, yet he felt nothing but the slow suffocation of repetition.
It was not desire, but endurance, not love, but the dull choreography of need and guilt.
He closed his eyes as she came, not to savor it, but to vanish, to slip back into the dream of another body, another truth, one he could never name aloud.
Eventually, the sounds in his head swelled into noise, drowning her soft breaths.
He withdrew, half-hard, half-ghost, the weight of her body fading beneath his hands.
What lingered was not release, but the hollow ache of unfinished desire, the taste of someone else’s name on his tongue, swallowed before it could escape.
“I… can’t come.” He said silently.
She was panting and turned around to him. “Keep going,” she urged, her hand softly touching his thigh.
Logan wiped the sweat from his forehead and shook his head. “It’s… just not. I, hum… guess I’m just tired from work, and… there is that someone… thing. Something with work… that I… have to do—” he started mumbling, trying to find excuses as to why his sexy-as-hell wife wasn’t enough to get him off.
Sandy took her thong completely off herself, then her bra, leaving her wearing only the suspender belt and the chiffon-laced thighs.
“What do you want me to do, Logan?” she asked softly, palming one of her breasts.
Shame engulfed him as he watched her loving eyes gazing at him. She was probably willing to fulfill every bedroom wish he had, no matter what came to mind. And he knew she wouldn’t drop the subject if he asked her to just leave it alone, that he was too tired to come right now.
He sat in silence for several minutes, trying to find something to say to her. He couldn’t understand what was different about today. When they had had sex previously, Logan managed to get himself off, at least to calm his body’s needs.
He gazed at the lifesaver bracelet on his wrist, its charm shimmering like the first day he received it. It still carried the essence of salty ocean air, cool water, and soft sand.
Even now, as he stood firmly on solid ground and breathed freely without struggle, it continued to protect him in its own quiet way. Each day, it offered a gentle reminder that the memories he held were not merely figments of his imagination but tangible pieces of his Adrian.
“Porn maybe…?” she suddenly offered and rose to her feet.
“Wha…?” He blurted out. “Yeah, okay.” He managed to say.
“Your laptop is here?” she asked.
No way was he going to let her touch his laptop. He would never let any living soul look at this device for even a second. His laptop contained a world he wasn’t ready to share, a place where secrets and personal reflections were safely tucked away from prying eyes.
He shook his head, and she went for a second, then came back to the room carrying her own. Sandy typed on the keys and the screen.
“What do you want?” she asked silently, sitting on the bed with the laptop next to her.
“I… hum.” He started and felt himself blushing in embarrassment as he watched the little pictures that represented videos and categories.
“Don’t be shy with me, Logan. When you watch porn, what do you like?” she asked, her little soft smile easing his embarrassment a bit.
When he watched porn… it was always the same type. Always men who looked like him—tanned skin, muscular build, long hair that had some blond sun-kissed strands in it, a perfect mix of soldier and surfer. That rare, impossible blend that only Adrian had ever truly embodied.
There weren’t many videos that fit the mold. Not enough to satisfy the ghost of what he craved. But it never really mattered. Because in the end, when he got himself off—on the rare occasions he even felt the need—his mind never needed substitutes. It was always Adrian.
It was Adrian’s hands he felt, Adrian’s voice in his ear, Adrian’s body pressing into him, claiming him, undoing him. The memories were sharper than any fantasy, burned into his skin, etched into his bones.
“Just, whatever you want…” he said, too flustered by the situation to think clearly. “Just… ahh, pick something.”
And she shook her head with a little smile on her face and clicked a few times on the screen, and then moans and exaggerated sex noises filled the room as the video played in which a young, muscled, tattooed guy was getting his dick sucked by a woman.
Logan was hyper-focused on the guy; he watched as his ass flexed when he shoved his dick down the girl’s throat.
He watched intently as his thighs tightened with each movement, the powerful muscles rippling beneath the surface, evidence of countless hours spent training.
However, it was his arms that truly captivated him.
They were not just strong; they were impressively massive, with bulging biceps that seemed to swell with every motion.
The defined veins just beneath the skin hinted at the hard work he had put into sculpting them.
Each time he raised his arms, his shoulder blades shifted gracefully, emphasizing the sheer power within him and creating a striking silhouette that radiated confidence and vigor.
And it worked, his cock jerked to life, and he felt the pressure in his balls.
“So, you have a thing for blonds?” Sandy pointed, giggling lightly.
“Huh?” Logan said, and only then did he notice the woman.
Right. The woman was blonde.
He chuckled uncomfortably and nodded to his wife.
He pushed her back on the mattress and covered her body with his.
As he kissed her, he made sure to keep his eyes glued to the screen, where the guy was now fucking the girl from behind.
He flipped Sandy to her back and pushed into her with one movement, imagining it was the gorgeous guy he wanted to be with.
The moans from the computer and from Sandy and himself filled the silent house as Logan finally found his release.
His cock jerked into the condom as he thrust in and out of Sandy’s body, holding her hips with one hand.
As his orgasm eased, he still lay on top of his wife, and reached with one hand to close the laptop’s lid, and the room went completely silent, just the sound of his and Sandy’s breathing broke the soundlessness.
“Thank you,” he mumbled and kissed her shoulder. Her skin was soft and smooth.
“I love you, Logan,” she whispered and turned her head to search for his lips. He kissed her mouth briefly before he pulled away.
“Me too.”
It wasn’t a lie. He did love her, just… not like he knew he should have.