It started the summer after my wedding, when my wife suggested we spend a week at her dads place in Atlanta. Id met Marcus only once before, at the ceremonya tall, broad-shouldered Black man in his late fifties with a deep voice and an easy laugh that made everyone lean in. Shed told me he was gay, widowed young, and lived alone in a big house with a pool. I didnt think much of it until the first night we arrived and he hugged me longer than necessary, his chest solid against mine, the scent of his cologne lingering on my shirt.
By the third night my wife had gone to bed early with a headache. Marcus and I stayed up drinking bourbon on the back patio. The air was thick and warm. He asked me straight out if Id ever been with a man. I laughed it off at first, but something in the way he looked at mesteady, knowingmade the answer come out honest. Once, in college, I said. Didnt go far.
Marcus nodded like hed expected it. He set his glass down, leaned forward, and said, You ever want to finish what you started? My pulse kicked hard.
I should have gone inside. Instead I stayed, and when he reached over and palmed the front of my shorts, I didnt stop him.
We didnt make it to the bedroom that first time. He dropped to his knees right there on the patio tiles, pulled me out, and took me deep in one smooth motion. His mouth was hot and wet, tongue working the underside while his big hands gripped my thighs. I came fast, biting my fist so I wouldnt wake my wife upstairs. Marcus swallowed every drop, then stood, wiped his mouth, and told me to come back the next night.
I did. Every night after that. While my wife slept, I slipped down the hall to the guest room where Marcus waited. He liked me on my back, legs spread, his thick fingers working me open with lube while he told me exactly what he was going to do. Gonna stretch this pretty hole till you beg, hed growl, voice low and rough. And I did begquiet, desperate pleas against his neck as he pushed inside me, slow at first, then harder, the headboard tapping the wall in a steady rhythm.
Marcus was bigger than anyone Id been with, thick and dark, the contrast of his skin against mine stark in the low light. He fucked with confidence, one hand around my throat, the other stroking me in time with his thrusts until I came across my stomach. Afterward hed stay inside me, kissing my jaw, whispering how tight I was, how good I felt around him. Id never felt so wanted or so filthy.
One afternoon when my wife went shopping, Marcus pulled me into the pool. We didnt even bother with trunks. He bent me over the edge, water lapping at our thighs, and took me right there under the sun. The risk made it hotteranyone could have walked outbut he didnt care. He gripped my hips and drove into me until I was shaking, coming untouched into the water.
By the end of the week I couldnt look at him without getting hard. The last night he fucked me slow and deep on his bed, the sheets smelling like him, his body covering mine completely. He came inside me with a low groan, then held me after, fingers tracing patterns on my back. This stays between us, he said. I nodded, already knowing Id be back.
When we left, my wife kissed her father goodbye at the door. Marcus shook my hand, but his thumb brushed my palm in a way that promised more. On the drive home I kept shifting in my seat, sore in the best way, already counting the days until the next visit. I never told her. Those nights belonged to Marcus and meraw, secret, and impossible to stop.
