My Husband and His Partner Had It All Planned

Carla has been a friend of mine since school. Her birthday is only a few days after mine, and we’re both around fifty-four now. Life wasn’t kind to her: she was widowed during the pandemic and, some time later, met Mauricio, who was her partner for almost three years.

When they split up, I did everything I could to help Carla rebuild her life. But Mauricio had stayed so close to us that he became part of the family, especially my husband’s. He sold for a food distributor, a warm man with an easy laugh, one of those people who walk into a house and fill it up.

Around that same time, Mauricio proposed that Diego and I start a business together: a gluten-free gourmet products shop. We had our logistics company, things were going well for us, and the investment seemed profitable. So we agreed. Mauricio would be the manager, I’d handle administration, and Diego would take care of the suppliers, since his work kept him out of town for weeks at a time.

Before getting started, we asked the two of them if it bothered them that we’d still be tied together after the breakup. Carla preferred to step away, but she gave us her blessing.

One afternoon, while we were drinking mate in my office and I was encouraging her to open an account on some dating app, Carla started showing me photos. Among them was one of Mauricio that stuck in my mind. It had been taken from below, and showed something as ugly as it was beautiful: not very long, but unusually thick, with a vein running from tip to base.

I shouldn’t be looking at this, I thought. But I kept looking.

***

The shop was opening soon, so Mauricio came by the house often. Since he lived more than an hour away, sometimes he stayed the night on the couch. We were like brothers. We truly were.

One night, before dinner, I got lost in my thoughts, staring at him without really staring, lost in that photo. A gesture of his brought me back, as if asking what was wrong. I smiled at him and changed the subject. But something had been lit, and I knew it.

My body was carrying the damage of menopause in those months, and every so often my uterus would answer with terrible pain. One of those attacks hit me just when Diego went abroad for a whole week. On each nightly call he sounded worried, and before hanging up he asked Mauricio to stay with me so I wouldn’t be alone.

Our friend agreed without hesitation. That night he took care of me with a tenderness that undid me: warm cloths, a painkiller, herbal tea, dinner ready. Later, a hot bath, pajamas, and then bed, which was where I handled the pain best. I fell asleep right away while he washed the dishes and watched television in the living room.

Every so often I felt him open the bedroom door to check whether I was okay. Late at night I felt it again, but this time he didn’t close it. I mentally checked whether I was presentable and, with my eyes closed, waited. I felt him lie down beside me, fully dressed, his chest against my back, his warmth at my waist. I wasn’t frightened. We were both dressed. It was a gesture of company, I told myself, and the painkillers carried me back to sleep.

I woke later than usual, with no pain and breakfast served in bed. I felt like a queen.

***

That night the pain came back, though milder, and Mauricio repeated the same care. Only this time he got into bed with me from the start. Things were getting weird, but I thought I could handle it. What I couldn’t handle was curiosity: knowing he was a few inches away, with that image circling in my head.

—Do you mind if I take off my street clothes? I’ve been wearing the same thing for two days —he said.

I offered him something of Diego’s to wear after showering, but he preferred to stay in his boxers and curl up against me again, asking how I was feeling. A few minutes later I felt him come to life against my ass.

—You’re not going to fuck me, are you? —I said, half joking.

He blushed, apologized, embarrassed, and the two of us ended up laughing. Between conversation and a movie, we fell asleep. The next morning, already recovered, I went to work and he went to his, as if nothing had happened.

***

Diego came back on Sunday and Mauricio left on a sales trip for a week. Those were some of the few days my husband and I spent alone: we went out to eat, went to the beach, walked through the park. But something in me was no longer the same, and I didn’t know how to name it.

The following Saturday Mauricio returned, and Diego was leaving that same afternoon to coordinate a weekend excursion. I’ll admit it: I had missed our friend. While the men chatted, I stuck to my usual Saturday routine: cleaning the house, dressed like a bum, in old soccer shorts and a torn T-shirt.

As evening fell and the chores were done, I took a long hot bath and put on another face: a white chiffon dress, sandals, no bra, a bit of makeup, and my best perfume. I decided to cook pasta with boscaiola sauce and forget about business for a while.

We were chatting in the kitchen when Mauricio took an apron and handed it to me. Innocently —I swear— I turned around so he could tie it behind my back. And then I felt it: he pressed his whole body against my ass.

—Again —I said, reminding him of that line from the bed.

—Shhh —he whispered in my ear, and instead of stopping he pushed harder, until I was trapped against the counter.

It was very hard to resist that feeling, knowing that in a matter of minutes I was going to lose control. I know myself. A slow rocking started that drove me crazy, and I myself pushed my hip back, looking for the next brush of contact. My breathing turned heavy. He spoke softly to me, words I didn’t understand but that still melted me.

He slipped both hands through the opening of the dress’s loose sleeve and began massaging my breasts. My nipples burned. One hand went down, lifted my dress up to my thong, pushed the fabric aside, and his finger found my clit right away. My gasps could no longer be contained.

—And now what do you say? —he murmured.

—Fuck me —I answered, without thinking.

He bent me over the counter and I felt that thing from the photo burning me from behind, trying to get in. It wasn’t possible in that position: that cock was too much to take that way. I turned around, still without having kissed, and took him in my hands. That was when I confirmed just how monstrously thick he was. Our clothes disappeared while our mouths finally met in a ferocious struggle of lips and tongues.

—Let’s go to bed —he ordered.

We went without separating. There I could see in full the awful beauty of that thick, dark trunk, streaked with veins. I didn’t hold back: I laid him on his back and launched myself into the best blowjob of my life. It took forever, because every time I felt him close I stopped and played with him, making him wait. At one point he grabbed the back of my neck and finished in my mouth with groans. I swallowed everything, and what spilled from the corner of my lips I smeared over my breasts. That drove him wild.

We changed positions. With him on top, we began the arduous task of getting him inside. Lifting my legs, slowly, millimeter by millimeter, he worked his way in. It was a brand of heat that bored into my insides, burning at every centimeter. It hurt and at the same time filled every empty space with indescribable pleasure. At first we moved only a little, so I could adjust; I gave him an orgasm, two, a thousand, until the rhythm grew and burst apart in screams, his of pleasure, mine of pleasure and pain mixed together.

I was left exhausted. I went to the bathroom to freshen up, brushed my teeth, and went back to bed.

***

That was when he delivered the sentence that froze me.

—Now it’s the ass.

—No, no, that’s not going in any way —I shouted, terrified.

—This one won’t —he said. —But that one will.

The door opened. And there was Diego, naked, hard, with a complicit smile on his lips. He came closer, kissed me slowly, and whispered in my ear:

—Relax. It was all planned. It’s something we’ve been dreaming about for a long time, and we knew that if we suggested it to you, you wouldn’t agree.

Thanks, I managed to think before he took me to him on my knees. I ended up like a sandwich between the two bodies, tending to one, turning to tend to the other, while hands I could no longer tell apart explored me from head to toe, from breasts to crotch and from there to ass.

We fell back onto the bed, soaked in kisses. Mauricio lay down and had me climb onto his chest; he licked me for a long while while Diego played behind with a finger, preparing me. Then he lowered me until we were aligned again, and this time there was no holding back: I let myself fall and that cock rammed all the way to the bottom.

I felt the cold cream, Diego’s finger making its way in, first one, then two. When he withdrew them, he brought the tip closer and entered better than I had imagined, millimeter by millimeter, until he passed the limit and sank in without stopping. In seconds I was completely full, split open by the two of them, not a single empty space left in my body.

We didn’t last long like that. Diego came first; Mauricio a couple of minutes later. I was left wrecked, trembling, unable to think.

***

Our life changed from that night on. With a pleasure I would never admit out loud, I became the slave of the two of them. Double penetration became a thing several times a week, and when Diego traveled, we did it alone with Mauricio. The three of us were around fifty-five, but we discovered an appetite none of us had known.

To my surprise, that was only the beginning. One week when Diego traveled with an excursion, Mauricio arrived for dinner accompanied by an older man, the owner of the company that was going to be our supplier. Esteban was sixty-six, gray-haired, very tall, in an expensive suit and a watch that gave away his fortune. We talked business, exemptions, a generous line of credit. Deep down, I knew that final signature was going to end up being mine.

—Did you know Esteban dances like nobody else? —Mauricio said, and put on slow music.

The man invited me to dance. After a while Mauricio excused himself for an emergency and left, leaving us alone. We danced close together, cheeks touching, the corners of our lips brushing without daring to do more. When we sat down for coffee, the compliments started, his hands on mine, his eyes fixed on mine for too long.

—I’m going to kiss you —he said. —Close your eyes.

I did, and felt only a barely-there angelic brush, nothing more. I opened my eyes, enthralled, and there he still was: attractive, smiling, complicit. I didn’t hesitate: I closed them again, this time parting my lips. We kissed for hours, each kiss better than the last, until I couldn’t take it anymore and led him by the hand to the bedroom.

Once again I was where I wanted to be: undressing in front of someone I genuinely desired. We made love almost without preamble, slowly, attentively, generously. That was the start of another stage of my sexuality. But I’ll tell you about that another day.