I’ve Been Cheating on My Wife with Another Man for Months

My name is Tomás, I’m forty years old, and I’ve been married to a woman I love for almost a decade. What I’m about to tell you I’ve told no one. Not my friends, not my brother, not the psychologist I went to a couple of years ago for something else. I’m writing it here because I needed to get it out of me.

I met Matías almost six months ago, on one of those sites you go into “just to look” and end up messaging strangers at two in the morning. He was thirty-five, lived half an hour from my house, worked in logistics, and, like me, was married. His wife was a hospital nurse. Mine was an accountant. We both had small children, we both fucked our partners on Saturday nights, and we both swore this was just a curiosity and nothing more.

We spent three months like that. Just messages. First inside the site, then on WhatsApp with a new number I bought for him. We talked about everything we’d like to do if we ever worked up the nerve. I’d tell him in detail how I’d strip him, where I’d kiss him first, how I’d suck his dick all the way down, how I’d suck him off while looking him in the eye. He answered with the same precision: he told me how he’d fuck me, how he’d open my ass with his fingers, how he’d cum inside me. Neither of us had ever touched a man in our lives.

—I’m not gay —he told me once—. I just imagine it with you.

—Neither am I —I answered—. But for weeks I’ve been getting hard thinking about your cock.

Every night, when my wife fell asleep, I slipped out to the living room with my phone and jerked off reading what he wrote to me. Every morning I promised myself I’d delete the conversation and never did. The idea of someone finding out about us terrified me more than the idea of actually doing it.

One Thursday afternoon, without really discussing it too much, we decided to meet. At a mall, in a crowded place where nothing could happen and, above all, where it would be easy to run if either of us got cold feet. We ordered two juices in the food court and sat facing each other like coworkers catching up. The only thing that gave us away was that neither of us touched our drinks.

Matías was shorter than in the photos. He had big hands, broad shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard. He smelled like a citrus cologne that stayed stuck to my clothes for the rest of the day. We talked about football, work, the kids. Every so often, one of us would accidentally slip in something we had promised each other over messages, and then we’d hold each other’s gaze a second too long.

—How much time do you have? —he asked after a while.

—As much as it takes —I said.

***

What happened after that was partly planned and partly not. We went up to the top floor of the mall, to that bathroom almost nobody uses because it’s far from the open stores. He went in first. I followed a minute later. There was no one there.

When I came out of the stall, he was waiting for me against the back wall, eyes down, breathing shallow. I kissed him without thinking. A clumsy kiss at first, all teeth and nerves, and then another longer one, my hand on the back of his neck. I felt his beard against my cheek, his tongue pushing all the way into my mouth, the bulge in his pants pressing against my thigh. I unzipped him and slipped my hand into his underwear. He was hard, thick, wet at the tip. I wrapped my hand around him completely and started moving it up and down while he bit my lip. He reached for my package with an open palm and squeezed my cock over my pants until I let out a moan.

—Not here —he whispered when we heard footsteps outside—. I want to suck you off in peace, not here.

We left one by one, acting like nothing had happened. By the time we got to the parking lot, we were barely talking anymore. We got into my car and drove around the city aimlessly, smoking with the window down, trying to sort out the rest of the plan. His wife was on shift at the hospital until seven in the morning. Mine was at a training session two hours away, sleeping in a hotel paid for by the company. No one was waiting for us.

We found a motel on the old highway, one of those with themed rooms and garage entry. I asked for one with a jacuzzi. The girl at reception didn’t even look at our faces. Before going in, we stopped at a 24-hour convenience store and bought lube and condoms. I paid, without looking at the cashier.

***

The door closed and, for the first time in six months, there was no screen between us.

I kissed him in the middle of the room, still dressed. I took off his jacket, then his T-shirt, then his belt. He did the same to me, with the awkwardness of someone who had never unbuttoned another man’s pants before. When I pulled down his jeans and boxer briefs at the same time, his cock sprang out hard, pointing upward, with a vein standing out on the left side and the head flushed red. I dropped to my knees without thinking. I took him in both hands and put him in my mouth halfway. He tasted like clean skin and something salty at the tip. He dug his fingers into my hair and let out a hoarse “holy fuck” that made me even harder.

I sucked his cock standing there, eyes closed, learning how to coordinate my hand with my mouth, swallowing what no longer fit. He pushed himself slowly against my palate, without forcing it, measuring how far I could take it. When I felt his legs start to tremble, I eased off and stood up. He bent down and returned the favor: he pulled down my pants, took out my cock, and took it in all at once. He sucked me with his cheeks hollowed, making a sucking sound that bounced off the tiles in the open bathroom. I had to hold on to the wall so I wouldn’t come right there.

We moved to the tub with the water on the verge of overflowing. I sat behind him, pulled him against my chest, ran soapy hands over his belly, his nipples, the inside of his thighs until I grabbed his cock again under the water. I started jerking him off slowly while biting his neck, right below the ear. He leaned his head back against my shoulder and reached behind with his hand, squeezing my balls.

—I wanted to do this from the very first message —I told him in his ear—. I wanted to have your cock in my mouth, I wanted you to fuck me.

—Me too, you son of a bitch —he answered in a rough voice—. I’m going to fuck you all night.

We went back to the bed wet, without drying off. We looked at each other for a moment as if we had to decide who would go first. I started. I shoved him back onto the mattress, spread his legs, and dove between them. I went down his chest licking his nipples, then across his stomach with soft bites, until I took him in my mouth again, this time with more confidence. I licked his whole length from base to tip, then sucked his balls one by one, then came back up. I did it the way I’d wanted someone to do it to me: slowly, my hand matching the movement, glancing at him so I wouldn’t miss a single reaction. When I saw he was close, I stopped.

—Not yet —I told him—. Come here.

He settled in reverse, his head between my legs, mine between his. A clumsy, hot sixty-nine where each of us learned something new about the other’s body. I sucked his cock all the way to my throat while he sucked me with his tongue curled around me. I felt his beard scraping the inside of my thigh, his fingers spreading my ass cheeks to lick me lower. When he ran his tongue over my hole for the first time, a moan escaped me that made him laugh against my groin. He did it again, slower, circling with the tip of his tongue, and I sucked him harder, taking him deep so he’d understand what he was doing to me.

When he came in my mouth, I was surprised by the amount, the heat, the thick bitter taste that stuck to my palate. I swallowed without thinking, though a strand escaped from the corner of my mouth. He kept sucking me nonstop, two fingers gripping the base of my cock, and I came a minute later, shooting into his mouth in spurts while I squeezed his thigh with my free hand. I heard him swallow. Then he licked my tip until the very last drop.

We lay on our sides, holding each other, not saying much. I ran my hand down his back slowly, counting the moles on his shoulder blade. I won’t be able to look at her the same way tomorrow. I thought it, and still knew I wouldn’t regret it.

***

We slept for an hour, barely. He woke me by pressing against my back, hands on my waist, his hard cock resting right between my ass cheeks. We didn’t need to talk. He reached for the lube we’d bought on the way to the motel and put a good amount on his fingers. I felt the cold of the gel first, and then the finger sliding in slowly, up to the knuckle. A groan escaped me, more surprise than pain.

—Tell me if it hurts —he said against my ear.

He put in one, then two, moving them in circles, opening me up. He was preparing me with a patience I didn’t know he had. By the time he got to the third finger, I was already panting and pushing my ass back on my own, looking for him. He pulled them out, put more lube on his cock, and pressed the head against my entrance.

—Slowly —I asked him.

He pushed in slowly, millimeter by millimeter. It hurt a little at first, a burn that made me clench my teeth, and then it stopped hurting. Then it was something else. A strange mix of discomfort, surrender, and pleasure unlike anything I had ever felt with a woman. I felt every inch of his cock entering, pushing something inside me I hadn’t known existed. When he was all the way in, he stayed still for a moment, letting me get used to it, breathing hard against my neck.

—Move —I said.

He started fucking me slowly, long, deep thrusts, holding my hip with one hand and my throat with the other. He kissed my shoulder, talked in my ear like he had in the chats, only now with a broken voice.

—What a delicious ass you’ve got, you son of a bitch. I’m going to fill it up completely.

He drove into me harder and harder, the sound of our hips colliding filling the room. With his free hand he grabbed my cock and started jerking me off to the rhythm of his thrusts. I couldn’t speak, only moan into the pillow, pushing my ass back to take him. When he found just the right angle, something inside me clicked and I felt a jolt run through my whole body.

—There, there, don’t stop, you motherfucker —I shouted.

He sped up. He fucked me harder and harder, the bed banging against the wall. When he came inside me, I clearly heard him moan my name as he dug his nails into my hip. My name. Not the nickname or the initial we used in messages for safety. My full name, said as if he had spent months waiting to say it out loud, amid hot spurts I could feel filling me from within. With two more strokes of his hand on my cock, I came too, staining his fingers and the sheets.

He pulled out slowly. I felt the semen leaking between my ass cheeks, warm, sticky. I turned and kissed him with my mouth open.

—Your turn now —he said.

I put him on his back, lifted his legs up onto my shoulders, and ran lubed fingers over his ass. It was tight, virgin. I slid one finger in slowly, then another, not stopping jerking him with my other hand to relax him. When I saw he was ready, I pressed the head of my cock against his entrance and pushed in slowly, watching him wrinkle his face and then relax it.

—Jesus fuck, you’re tight —I muttered.

—Don’t stop, come on, deeper —he panted, clutching the sheets.

I went in all the way. I stayed still, feeling how tightly he gripped me, how his ass adjusted to my cock. Then I started moving, first gently, then harder, just as he’d asked. He told me not to stop, harder, like that. I did as he said. I took his legs behind the knees to open him wider and started driving my cock in to the hilt, pulling out almost all the way and thrusting back in with a slam. He grabbed his cock with his hand and jerked off while staring into my eyes, mouth open, moaning every time I pushed in.

—Cum inside me, don’t pull out —he begged me, his voice wrecked.

We finished at the same time, or almost. I came inside him in spurts, grinding my teeth, buried to the hilt. He came onto his own stomach a second later, a white pool that reached up to his chest. The two of us, covered in sweat, staring into each other’s eyes from inches away, with my cock still inside him, throbbing.

***

At six-thirty in the morning, the room smelled of sex, sweat, semen, and the citrus cologne that had never quite left him. We got into the shower together. While I soaped his back, I felt his erection against my hip again and couldn’t help myself. I grabbed his face with one hand, turned him, pressed him against the tiles with his cheek against the cold, spread his ass cheeks with my other hand, and shoved inside him in one thrust, without lube, just with the soap and what he’d had left from the time before.

He moaned loudly, a groan that was half pain, half pleasure, and arched his back to take me better. I fucked his ass standing up, while the water fell over us, gripping his hair with one hand and his hip with the other. It was short, urgent, almost violent, as if trying to close out everything that was still left unfinished. I bit the nape of his neck when I came inside him, the third time that night, just a few thick drops. He jerked off with one hand against the tile and came too, his semen slipping between his fingers and disappearing down the drain.

When we were done, we stayed wrapped around each other under the stream, not moving, until the water started to cool.

We got dressed in silence. I dropped him off on a corner near his house. Before he got out, I grabbed the back of his neck and gave him a long kiss, not caring if someone passed on the sidewalk. I drove home with my clothes still smelling like him, with my ass burning every time I put weight on the seat. I showered again, twice. Just in case.

My wife came home that night tired, told me about the course, we had dinner together, we made love. I love her. I still love her. Don’t ask me how these two things coexist inside me, because I don’t know.

***

That was four months ago. Since then, Matías and I have seen each other almost every weekend. We found a motel we like, a particular room, a routine that is no longer just sex: we cook something quick in the place’s tiny kitchen, watch twenty minutes of some series, sleep for a while wrapped around each other like a couple we’ll never actually get to be.

Sometimes, when I’m with my wife, I think about him, about his cock slowly entering me, about the sound he makes when he comes. Sometimes, when I’m with him, I think about her. There isn’t a good side and a bad side. There are two lives coexisting inside the same person and, for now, I don’t want to let go of either one.

I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t know what would happen if one of the two women found out. The only thing I know, and why I’m writing this here, is that for six months I believed this confession would bring me relief. And I’m still waiting for that relief to come.