I’m Sorry

Alex Bishop

I can remember the look in your eyes, the first time I suggested that we should go to one of those clubs; you weren’t morally against it, but still you screwed up your nose, making an adorable expression. Of course, I knew it would stick in your mind; I watched it sink into your eyes, and settle into your mind. I saw it in your eyes when we fucked later, like animals in heat, rutting harder and harder than normal. You moved as though possessed, as though picturing yourself there; you, me, us, there.

The first one we went to was small time; this little place called Divas. It was a dive; had a mini tragedy every few nights, and tonight was no exception. You looked on bemused as I sank into a bad couch and wafted away in the chaos, you there, next to me, not bored at all but fascinated. You looked at the dancers; saw their satin, saw the hair extensions. You took in the slight pot bellies, and the smokers skin- and couch, when they moved too much. I saw it as your eyes lit up; I don’t know how I felt, at that.

You had always been a little interested in girls. It was your suggestion that we should watch porn together; you never asked if I did, and I never told you or asked myself. So I went along, to a store, and bought what the attendant told me was safe porn; the sort for women, the sort for couples. It wasn’t soft core; just arty, generally poor attempts at classy. Again, your nose turned up at the first few scenes; laughed at an absurd position, or at some cheep lip gloss.

And then the climax of the piece; a threesome scene. You were silent as it began. Your mouth opened, as the two began to kiss- properly kiss, not like normal porn kissing. No, these two girls wanted, and it showed. Your mouth stayed opened; you felt for my cock with one hand, and for yourself with the other. I have often wondered which hand snaked out first, since.

We kept going; kept looking for better clubs. Of course, we both knew exactly why what we looked for; I encouraged you, made it okay for you. It made it easier for you to fall away, to turn away.

It did not take us long, not really. The club we then began to attend was not expensive, nor was it cheap, or trashy. It was discreet, and the girls in it were good; it made it difficult for us not to get to know them, all of them, or to think of them as strippers.

Of course, there was some distance between me and them; I was male, and I was going to a strip club. That I was with my girl made no difference. But to you, it was amazing; to you, the lights drew at you, illuminating the blue in your eyes as though something there lay dormant. And they welcomed you; treated you as a sister, with something they recognised. You never felt the urge to dance, thankfully. That would have been too much to bear.

One night, you asked me if I could pay for you to get a private show. It had taken you six months to work up the nerve. I smiled, and asked you, did you want me there, and who would you like. I liked how open you were, how much we shared. I liked that you liked girls, too.

Oh no, you said. You most assuredly wanted me there. I nodded.

You picked a brunette; a blonde yourself, you wanted her. She had a slight asian cast to her eyes; I wonder if, now, you remember her name. I know I don’t, but I think you would. You Gaziantep Elden Ödeme Alan Escort should, she was so important to us. The beginning of the end.

She wore a tight white tee, and long stockings, black and white thick stripes, running the length of your legs. Her hair was short, much shorter than yours; cut to end at her shoulders. It hung around her face, a silken mass, messy, desirable.

How could I blame you, for parting your lips, and sighing out desire that could not be contained or controlled within our relationship? How could I blame you for wanting, just as I had wanted? I stood in the corner, allowing you to take the seat; the woman eyed me cautiously before beginning.

She stalked towards you, her lips curving out, parting, forming a Cheshire smile. She wanted too, if her face was anything to go by; she licked her lips, bending down, and licking yours.

I start; that’s not part of what a private show is. I have never gotten that sort of treatment. You jumped, too; you almost retreated. But you had come too far, much. You shut your eyes for a second- just a second- before exhaling, and steeling yourself.

She began to dance slowly, her hips circling; she bends down, over, in front of you, her face close. You can see down her top; I want to see down her top. I want to see down yours. I want her to watch me as I fuck you, and that’s all.

But she straightens, her back curving her upwards, her hands moving to the hem of the cotton shirt. She toyed at the edges, playing; she looked at you, her eyes simmering. They’re dark, struck without colour in the dim light, burning us both with their intensity. You struggled, shifting in the seat. She watches you, and slowly, slowly, lifts her shirt.

She caressed herself, her breasts, her nipples. She carved her ribs, just visible under her skin. She made her body break out in goosebumps, her nipples tighten; I saw you bite your lip, as I hold my breath. She sighed, loudly, and spins. She placed her body against you, her hands on the arms of the chair. She rubbed her ass against your groin; you place your hands there, to softly touch her. She pressed into your palms.

She straightened, and slowly deprived herself of her briefs. She left the stockings on; you gasped, and bit your lip. I saw your nipples tighten earlier; I watched you now, as your hand found its way across, to rub your breasts; the other, down, between your legs.

If she saw, she didn’t let on. She places one leg high, her heel on the arm of the chair, granting for you the full on open view of her. You can smell her desire; hell, I could smell her, from the wall. I could smell yours. She thrust slightly, and ran her hand down; I couldn’t quite see, but I’m sure she opened her lips, and let you look all the way inside her.

You had to stop; you lent forwards, unable to hold yourself away; she didn’t withdraw, but she watched you, almost daring. She didn’t move away. She didn’t move at all.

You rose, and moved her leg. You almost made me leave, before I paid. You mauled me, outside. Neither of us were naked as you took me, fiercely, my cock so hard, so angry, so full within you. You wanted. You took.

We kept going, and every time there was a new show, with a different girl. We never went back to that club again, but that was fine. I paid for your lapdances, not objecting; I didn’t want them for myself, only to satisfy this for you. And you were satisfied, and grateful.

Then there was the next time. We made love hard, fiercely, afterwards, but it wasn’t the same. Your mind wasn’t with me, on the end of my cock, even as mine was with you. You muttered to me, afterwards, that you wanted to try something. You wanted to do me, and a girl.

The perfect dream. Every man dreams of that in their girl; why did I feel something, uneasy, uncomfortable? I wanted you, just you, and I didn’t care if it was only lust, or some archaic sense of possession. I didn’t want her, or any other. But you wanted it, and everything and everyone I have ever met told me to go with it.

She asked me where I would look; I suggested a website. You shook your head; no, maybe a prostitute? I looked at you then, and you flushed. Maybe you felt something for me still, as something other than simply the facilitator of your desires. I hope so.

I looked up a number, and I asked to meet her first; to have both of us meet her, to see if she was right for us.

She was short, very short. And thin. She was blonde, and her hair was long; it was pale, pale blonde, almost white. But the real pale blonde, not peroxide. Her breasts were not huge, nor was her form particularly womanly; but I could see from your eyes that she was yours, just for you. You would take no other; I was distanced enough to wonder if I said no, if you would have gone off, and sought her, without me.

Her name was Rory. You smiled, and I watched as you filed the name in your head. I had your vote already, and tried to engage her in conversation.

She didn’t want to talk to me. She wanted you; I didn’t blame her for that. She agreed; we agreed. You asked her if she was free this afternoon; she shrugged, and said yes.

This was too fast for me. I tried to tell you, but you were so occupied with her, in the back seat while you were in the front. You couldn’t take your eyes off her; it was nothing to do with what she wore, or anything like that. I remember that then, in that very moment, I realised I hadn’t seen you check out a guy for some time; you hadn’t had sex with me without having seen a girl near naked before.

I wanted out; I felt sick, burning. I was so hard, I could burst then and there. I wanted to fuck her, and you, and to bite you and to leave a mark and to let her see you were mine.

We were not inside the door when you attacked her; you were not patient. I had never seen you kiss a girl; I became suspicious then.

She moaned into your mouth; her clothes were as nothing, under your hands. You left her mouth, and bit the soft skin of her neck; she gasped, and I saw her tongue ring shine.

I took off my pants, and knelt down, behind you. I lifted your skirt, and parted the lace. I forced my tongue between your lips, and ran it between your slit and your ass, reaching as far as I could. You parted your legs between hers, letting me in; you moved yourself harder against Rory, your breasts pressing through your shirt and against her nakedness.

Your lips were already on her bared nipples; she was crying out, mewling, at the feeling; I ran my hand up her thigh, and cupped her soaking sex. She let out a harsh sound, and took my hand in hers, shoving me deeply.

You lifted your leg over my head, and pulled me up. You took my cock, and lined it up against her sex. She looked down, then up, then at her.

You pushed me in, and I needed no other form of encouragement.

I took her hard, angry. It was a taking, and a battle, one that I had already lost and yet I still fought, and took from her everything I could. I marked her flesh; I felt her tongue bite me, just as hard. I made her squeal, as I lifted her up, and took her to the bedroom.

I arranged her so that you could help me, straddle her. You watched us both, your mouth open, glistening, your breath coming in hoarse gasps. You squeezed your nipples fiercely.

You moved yourself over her; above her. You placed your hand between your legs, and you forced your pussy wide, and thrust inside. Your movements matched mine, and your other hand snaked around her neck. You made love to her, just as I fucked her brains out; taking, ever more.

You came first, so hard I felt it still, within Rory. You shuddered, and gripped her; her hand snaked between you both, the other against the small of your back. She pressed you, as you bucked; she kept you from escaping the fire that overtook you, even as she began to burn.

She tightened around me, harder and harder. She bucked against me, forcing me even deeper. She took from me pleasure, more than I could have taken from her, but between us that was all there was; stolen pleasure, each taken from the other. Competition, certainly.

We spent the rest of the night fucking you; I didn’t fuck her again. You watched as she licked your clit as I fucked you hard. You screamed against her mouth as I pressed the head of my cock against your clit, and you erupted all over us both. Your moaning made me vibrate as you took me into your mouth as she frigged you oh so very much, her hands working. She had pretty hands, as I recall; small, delicate. Skilled.

She didn’t rise, after we finished, as exhausted as the rest of us. I looked at the two of you, and wondered how much better my life could get. I didn’t know that always in threesomes, someone has to be the odd one out. I didn’t know, then, that it was me.

You were silent all week. You fucked me, and came, but it was reluctant. I started not to want it, and when you turned to me I plead off. Then you cajoled me, and I gave in, and gave you what you wanted, cursing my weakness all the while. I knew then I couldn’t give you what you wanted, what you were attracted to.

The breaking point came when I came home, and found you with Rory. She was between your legs; I asked you what you were doing. Rory told you to tell me the truth. You owe him that, she said.

I’m sorry, Brad, you said to me. I’m sorry, but I’m gay. And that you were sorry, sorry you hadn’t told me. Sorry you had been seeing her, but you couldn’t be sorry for that, because you loved her, and wanted to be with her. Her hand around your waist, both of you naked, before me; I couldn’t be less aroused.

I know, Em, I said. I’m sorry, too.

I walked out, and left you there, beside your lover. I hear you’re still together, and that you’re happy; I hope you think of me sometimes. I cannot help but think of you. I cannot help that I was born in the wrong shape for you to love me, to be mine forever.

I’m sorry.