From the moment I met Evan, I knew I had found someone extraordinary. He seemed to fall for me immediately, and honestly, so did I for him. We clicked in a way I’d never experienced before. His alabaster skin and golden blonde hair were a sight to behold, but he was so much more than that. He was full of life and laid back in a way I never could imagine being. Together, we created a balance that felt perfect.
Our whirlwind romance felt like something out of a dream. The first time we had sex, it was so explosive I almost blacked out. I remember it clearly. We’d met as volunteers at a drive for an animal shelter. The minute I saw him I got a stiffy. He was thick like a rugby player, and though he definitely knew his way around a gym, he looked like the kind of guy who could eat a couple cheeseburgers and dessert for dinner without feeling guilty. I made sure to work next to him so I could ask him out if he was gay. By the end of the day, we were back at his place, tearing each other’s clothes off as soon as we closed the door. I remember his smell, so musty after a day of being in the sun carrying boxes; it was intoxicating. My cock was the hardest it had ever been because I don’t think I’d ever been so attracted to someone.
His tongue was deep in my mouth and his hands were all over my body. I had my hands full of the firmest, juiciest ass I’d ever held, not wanting to let go of it. Unlike muscle guys whose bodies are great to look at but are so hard and fat free that they don’t feel like human flesh, Evan’s body was all beef—plump and supple—and I wanted to lick it, taste it, kiss it, bite it, possess it, make it mine… He dropped on his knees and swallowed me whole without much effort. I’m a little over 9” hard, and as turned on as I was, I probably was even a bit larger by engorgement at that moment, so I was impressed. But as much as I was enjoying it, I also wanted to taste him. So after only a few moments, I lifted him up and asked where the bedroom was; I wanted a go at his cock as well. He smiled widely and without saying anything took my hand and walked ahead of me. I can still see his perfect ass in front of me, each cheek relaxing and flexing with each step taken. I couldn’t believe such perfection was possible, even Michelangelo’s David would have been jealous.
There was a king-sized bed in his bedroom and as soon as we walked in, I pushed him onto it, jumped on top of him straddling his head with my hips while taking a hold of his cock, aiming it at my mouth. We gave each other head for a bit, and it was heaven. I was intoxicated with this man; everything about him triggered in me a sexual hunger I’d never experienced. His precum was delicious, his dick the perfect size and shape, a respectable 8.5” without any curve. Unlike me, he was cut, but the musk coming from his sweaty balls was inebriating. I massaged the head of his cock with my tongue and then I deep-throated him; he kept squirming and moaning with my dick deep in his own throat. After a bit, I moved down to his balls and alternated each in my mouth. This seemed to drive him crazy, and I never thought it would have a similar effect on me. But it was also making me hungrier for more.
So I licked my way down to his hole and I found the most delicious part of his anatomy. Despite having been in the heat all day long, it smelled of manly musk, not filth. Unlike me, he didn’t have much hair around his asshole, and I was easily able to taste the entirety of his perineum. As I dragged my tongue all around that sensitive area, he let go of my dick from his mouth and I heard him whimper before feeling his hot tongue licking every inch of my groin. We were both ravenous for each other’s body.
After I do not know how long, having dug deep into his hole with my tongue, I was ready for the real thing. I pulled back from that delectable feast and asked for condoms. As turned on as I was, I was terrified of STDs. Soon after coming out, I had contracted hepatitis B and paid too high a price for my sluttiness. I was so ashamed of this that nobody outside of my family and doctors knew. Fortunately, without responding, he nimbly got out from under me, quite an accomplishment for someone as solidly built as he was; he opened the bedstand drawer and took out a box of condoms and some lube. The box was new and the bottle of lube almost full. I quickly wondered if he slept around a lot and I just happened to be there after a recent purchase, or whether he didn’t, just like me. Eventually I’d learn that even in that regard we were similar, both highly sexual men but discerning almost to a fault on whom to bed. He handed me one and kept the lube for himself, telling me “I’m next.” Just like me he was also vers, which turned me on further, if it was at all possible.
I quickly put on the condom while he wantonly fingered himself, laying on his back with his thick legs spread wide open for me. I was mad with desire, seeing this bull of a man ready to take me. I got on my knees between his legs and started teasing his hole with my dick. I had done a good job of opening him up with my tongue, and he had finished it by applying enough lube with his thick fingers. We looked at each other, not saying a word out loud, but speaking loudly with our eyes. Take me, I dare you, was what I saw in those eyes. I feasted my eyes on this sight as I slowly sunk into his glorious hole. Being in the medical field, and having had sex with a few men before, I knew each hole is unique and thus, feels differently; his felt like a warm sea of silky, buttery, plump flesh. I was in heaven, feeling my dick wrapped, engulfed in the depths of his hot hole. His eyes barely flinched as I drove the entirety of my cock into him, slowly but without pause. The only sound was that of our breathing, which was surprisingly calm. After waiting a moment for him to adjust, I bent over to kiss him, but before I could do so he told me he was ready. I kissed him passionately as I started fucking him. He moaned into my mouth and wrapped his legs and arms around me tightly. I was caught in this powerful double embrace, but my hips went into overdrive. I started thrusting faster and harder, pulling a bit further back each time, losing all rational thought. He let go a bit and I lifted my body to have better leverage as I fucked him faster. I felt his hands grab a hold of my ass and start pulling me deeper into him, which I took as indication he could take it harder. I soon became drenched in sweat from the exertion. Thank God for all that cardio at the gym, I had never found a better reason to do it than what I was experiencing in that moment. “Fuck meeeee,” he managed to say in between grunts, and I complied, gyrating my hips while simultaneously thrusting vigorously in and out of his insatiable ass. His eyes were fixed on me, and mine on his, sweat dripping down my face and dripping onto him. He opened his mouth and without realizing why, I spat into it. His eyes sparked with animal lust and this time he pulled me down into a deep kiss, immediately guiding his hands back to my ass to ensure I wouldn’t stop the rhythm of my thrusts. I was in heaven, and the need to cum was rising in me. I started feeling the most delicious pain at the root of my cock, an indication that my orgasm was approaching. As if he sensed this, he told me he was getting ready to cum, I told him to do so.
Despite having been fucking for a good while, I had enough energy to really pick up the intensity of my thrusts. His moaning evolved into grunts and whimpers, his hands desperately pulling me into him, his expression wild with lust. And then I felt the orgasm finally coming, so I told him and in a matter of seconds we both exploded into the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. I collapsed onto him and he bit hard into my shoulder. The world became bright and dark simultaneously, a vertiginous cliff of absolute pleasure, I came and came and came, my body convulsing while all I could do was attempt to breathe. Finally, it started to slow down and I became aware of myself and my surroundings again. I was panting, soaking wet, on top of the most beautiful man I’d ever met and he was smiling at me. “Hey,” he said to me and I smiled widely. There were no words needed; surely an experience of this intensity meant this man was here to stay.
But the night was not over. As I pulled out of him, I was amazed the condom had not burst with the amount of cum within it. Additionally, I was still rock hard. I started kissing him again and almost immediately felt his throbbing hard cock poking me with a sense of urgency. I didn’t wait for him to ask; I took another condom from the box and rolled it onto his beautiful cock, slathering it generously with lube. I also reached back and inserted my fingers with more lube into my hole, I was going to enjoy this even if it meant taking the biggest dick I’d ever had.
I straddled him and slowly lowered myself onto his hard cock; my abs, which were normally visible, became even more pronounced as I made every effort to control the penetration. My breathing was deep, his was shallow, as if he was holding back letting go. By the time I bottomed out on him, I was feeling an intense heat radiating from my hole to the rest of my body; it was the most delicious sensation of fullness. His hands were gently rubbing my sides, caressing my torso, while his eyes were glazed over with a warming lust. I felt complete and decided to start riding him. I slowly started bouncing up and down on his dick, squeezing my hole’s muscles every time he sank in me and letting go as I pulled up; this seemed to drive him crazy, as he was squirming beneath me while holding firmly onto my hips. The frenzied gyrations picked up speed and we were both moaning loudly. His hands ran up my torso and grabbed my neck; I had never been choked before, as I was accustomed to being the dominant one in bed, but the minute I felt his hand close in on my neck, an animal lust took over me and I became feral. I was going to suck the life out of this man with my ass just as he was attempting to do with his hands. Our wild thrusts started to become a disjointed rhythmic dance, despite us staying in sync. I don’t know how long I rode him, but eventually I started to sense an urgency in me that anticipated my orgasm. I didn’t need to say anything, he seemed to understand and simply nodded. I then gave it my all, engaging every muscle of my body to suck the cum out of his perfect cock. A moment later, his breathing became haggard and I realized it was time to let go; “ready?” I asked, he screamed, “yes!” and within seconds another blinding orgasm. The room was spinning and I was on fire. This time, without a condom on, I was able to see the ropes of cum fly onto his face first, then his torso, and finally onto his solid stomach; it was the only thought I could muster, shock at the amount of cum flowing out of me. As my movements slowed down, I realized he too was overtaken by the spasms that only the best of orgasms can bring about. Both our breathing was labored, we were completely soaked in sweat, and in the blissful throes of the hottest sex either of us had ever experienced. I once again collapsed on his body and kissed him deeply, passionately, without any rush. Sometime later I pulled back and asked him if he was OK; “better than ever,” was his response. I smiled and kissed him some more, we were just getting started.
That night we fucked each other senseless, cumming about 5 times each. I remember it not just because of how meaningful it was, but also because of the practicality of running out of condoms, and instead of going out to grab dinner—we were famished after the long day’s event—we went out to buy more condoms. Yes, if love at first sight and matches made in heaven existed, Evan was all the proof I needed to believe in them.
We quickly became two halves of a whole, moving quickly from dating to living together, and then to engagement. I proposed first, though he had planned to do the same that night. It was one of the many moments that reassured me this relationship was meant to be. Our wedding was lavish, our honeymoon adventurous, and soon after, we welcomed Kye into our lives. He was the perfect culmination of our union, blending the best of both of us. Life was idyllic—or at least it should have been.
But beneath the surface of my seemingly perfect life, something began to shift. Evan was a business professor at a small liberal arts college, and with Kye’s arrival and his work’s demands to secure tenure, I started to feel like I was no longer the center of his world. I realized it was illogical to feel this way. It wasn’t something I could voice aloud—how could I, when his devotion to our child and his career were exactly the qualities that made me fall in love with him in the first place? But a seed of resentment took root.
At first, I brushed it off as the natural evolution of a relationship—the cooling down that everyone says happens over time, giving way to a deeper connection. And yet, I wanted more. I wanted the fiery passion of our early days, the nights that blurred into mornings, the way he once looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. I told myself it was irrational to feel this way. After all, I had been the one who wanted children, and Evan had embraced fatherhood beautifully. But as I watched him pour himself into Kye, his work, and everything but me, a darker part of me whispered that I had been left behind.
That whisper grew louder over time, insidious and persistent. It fed on my insecurities and twisted them into justification. My upbringing had instilled in me a relentless need to excel—in academics, sports, and later, my career. That same drive bled into other areas of my life, and I found myself seeking validation in ways I couldn’t explain. I began to tell myself stories to bridge the gap between my feelings and my actions. Evan was too busy. I was too neglected. I deserved more. These thoughts churned in my mind until they felt less like excuses and more like truths. Rationalizing my discontent became a skill I honed with chilling precision.
Sex between Evan and me was still good—great, even—but it had slowed from the feverish, multiorgasmic nights of our early years. We still had chemistry, but it lacked the edge of newness, the thrill of discovery. Even though Evan’s body was just as stunning as the day we met, I found myself craving something different. Not better, necessarily—just new. At first, I convinced myself there was no harm in looking. After all, Evan and I had always played a game of pointing out hot guys to each other, turning it into a shared joke. This complicity was hot, but we had been keen since the beginning of our relationship on absolute monogamy. This had not only felt right, but also an unnecessary precaution as I only desired my husband’s hot body, and others were fun to watch but I never pictured myself having sex with them. But what started as harmless fun began to morph into something more dangerous.
When Truvada hit the market, it became a symbol of sexual liberation for many gay men. The term “Truvada whores” made its way into conversations, and while it initially struck me as crass, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. The idea of men reclaiming their sexual freedom in a way that had once seemed impossible fascinated me. There were no untreatable STDs anymore, and what this meant was too complex for me to understand from the vantage point of my monogamous marriage. It was around this time that I started noticing Billy—a nurse at the practice where I worked. He was the kind of guy who turned heads effortlessly: a hot twunk with hazel eyes that seemed to see right through you, an unruly head of curls, a mischievous grin, and an ass that rivaled Evan’s. I told myself it was harmless to look, even as I realized he was looking back at me with unmistakable intent.
Then came the moment that changed everything. One day, while searching for something in the storage room, Billy followed me in. His movements were deliberate as he reached above me to grab what I needed, his body brushing against mine just enough to blur the line between accidental and intentional. His plump ass pressed against me, and for a moment, I froze. The surge of arousal I felt was electric, and as much as I hated myself for it, I couldn’t deny it: I was rock hard. When he twisted to hand me the item, his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, his tone dripping with suggestion as he ground into my crotch.
I mumbled a thank you and fled to my office, my heart pounding like a drum. But the damage was done. That fleeting moment had stirred something deep within me—a hunger I couldn’t suppress. Billy seemed to sense it, and from that day forward, he turned it into a game, finding sly, calculated ways to test my limits. A lingering glance that held just a second too long. A subtle brush of his hand against me, charged with unspoken intent.
Early on, I had let him know where I stood. During one of our casual conversations, I mentioned that my husband and I valued monogamy above all else, that we weren’t interested in open relationships. He’d nodded, seemingly respectful of the boundary, but I eventually realized that respect was merely a pretense. Billy had a way of making his intentions clear without saying a word, and his audacity chipped away at my resolve like waves against a weathered shore.
I told myself I was strong enough to resist, that I would never betray the trust my husband and I had built. But each charged interaction left cracks in my defenses, leaving me increasingly vulnerable to the storm brewing within me.
It all came to a head one Friday evening. Kye had been sick with a minor cold over the previous weekend, and Evan’s overprotective response had driven a wedge between us. He called me callous for downplaying it and started sleeping in Kye’s room. His devotion to our son—a trait I should have admired—left me feeling shut out and invisible. As the week went by, my frustration simmered beneath the surface, amplified by the growing distance between us. That Friday night, instead of going home, I stayed late at work, burying myself in financial reports to avoid confronting the tension at home.
When Billy appeared in my doorway, I should have sent him away. Instead, I looked up and found myself drawn to the way he leaned against the frame, his scrubs clinging tightly to his ass in all the right ways. His smile was pure mischief, and I felt the pull of temptation like a physical force.
“I was just letting you know everyone’s gone,” he said, his tone casual but loaded with meaning. “I’m also about to head out to celebrate, unless you want to help me with that.”
I should have told him to leave. But instead, I heard myself ask, “What are we celebrating?”
“My latest clean panel for my PreP,” he replied with a wink.
“And how does one celebrate that?” I asked.
“By getting fucked raw until I’m drenched and stupid. Thought you might want to help me with that.” He responded.
His words lit a fire in me that I couldn’t extinguish. Before I knew it, he was walking toward me, undoing his scrubs as he moved. Every step he took felt like a point of no return, but I didn’t stop him. When he dropped to his knees between my legs after kicking off his briefs, I surrendered to the darkness I had fought so hard to ignore. In that moment, the rationalizations I had carefully constructed over months came flooding back. I deserved this. I was neglected. It didn’t mean I loved Evan any less. But even as I gave in, a small voice inside me screamed that I was crossing a line I could never uncross.
He proceeded to expertly undo my belt, unbutton my pants, and zip down my fly. I was already rock hard and my dick was obscenely tenting up my underwear. I saw lust in his face as well. He used one hand to pull on the strap of my underpants and with the other one he held onto my balls, pulling my dick forward as he engulfed it all the way down his throat in one motion. The warm wetness of his mouth made me lose whatever sense I had left. I was nobody, nowhere, nothing but overwhelming sexual release. He bobbed up and down while he gently, but firmly, tugged on my balls. I leaned back with my eyes closed and took a deep breath. My hands took hold of his head, my fingers intertwining in the mess of unruly curls, and I proceeded to forcefully throat fuck him. I was going to make the most of this, and treating him like a slut was the only way I could do it. He didn’t mind, in fact, it seemed to spur him further. He let go of my dick from his mouth just long enough to pull his shirt off and proceeded immediately to get back to his ministrations. He would engulf it whole and after a while, he’d go down on the its side all the way to my balls, which he gently took in his mouth with skillful hunger. I sat upright and noticed his perfect ass; he was sitting back on his ankles, his back carefully arched to showcase the solid mounds of muscle. As he realized I was looking over him, he probably realized moving it suggestively would turn me on even more and as I bent over him to grab a handful, he throatily moaned his approval.
This slut was purposely driving me crazy with lust and an inexplicable anger took over me. I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off my dick. I spat on his face and pulled him up in one swift movement. He didn’t object, he just continued to wiggle his ass as if taunting me. I bent him over my desk and pushed his upper body on its surface. He understood and spread his legs wide enough to position his hole at the height of my dick. I quickly finished undressing and looked down at myself. My dick was covered in a thick layer of frothy spit from his mouth, and I jerked it as I spat on his hole, smearing it with the tip of my cock to ensure he’d be ready. He moaned before telling me to fuck and breed him. I slapped his ass hard, and seeing that hard ass jiggle under the force of the impact of my hand gave me a feeling of prideful satisfaction. Yes, I was going to breed this perfect ass and make it mine.
I positioned my dick at the entrance to his hole and told him “This might hurt a bit, but I’m going to fuck you stupid as you wanted, so enjoy it bitch.” I pushed hard and popped into his hot, moist ass. It felt different then Evan’s, but still so fucking good. As I sank in, I felt some of the air leave me as if my life force was shifting to my cock. There was almost no resistance, yet he didn’t feel loose. I wondered if he’d lubed and prepped before coming to my office. I quickly brushed off that thought focusing instead on what I was feeling. I started thrusting into him and pulling back at an increasing pace; he started moaning gently while allowing me to open him up. Before long I was hate fucking him hard and rough, like I wanted to wreck this man who had coopted my will. His moans were getting louder and he became verbal.
“You like my ass, don’t you? Punish it, rip me open with your huge married cock, Dr. Dick!” The bitch was taunting me, so I grabbed him by the hair with my right hand while I slapped his ass before proceeding to twist his arm behind his back with my left. “I’m going to rip your hole open, slut! Let’s see if you still want to parade your slutty ass in front of me after I’m done with you.”
“Fuuuuck! I can feel your wedding band on my wrist! Give me more of that cheating monster dick, fuck me harder!” He was now thrusting back into me with great force. Every time our bodies collapsed into each other an obscene clap was produced that could have been heard throughout the entire building. I was drenched in sweat, and his back glistened under the soft light, a delicate sheen of perspiration accentuating the curve of his muscles. His ass bounced against my groin as I started fucking with greater force. This seemed to turn him on further and as it probably stemmed from the rage I felt from being called out as a cheater, he decided to taunt me further.
“I can’t believe you were keeping this good cock just for your husband. Married dick is so fucking good, but cheating dick is even better! Yeesssss, fuck meeeee!” He said.
I was so turned on by his words that lifted him while being impaled on my dick, he moaned and held onto the back of my neck with both his hands, allowing me to thrust him up and down on my cock holding him by the back of his knees. Sex between Evan and I had always been physical and adventurous, but I’d never felt dirty. With Billy, we were two pigs rolling in the muck and that alone was making it hotter. After a bit, he asked for a breather. I put him down but pushed him to lie on my desk, “there’s no rest for the wicked.” I told him as I thrust into him with force. By now I had opened up his second hole; after all my dick was quite big, so this wasn’t unexpected, but his reaction was. He squirmed and appeared to attempt to flay his own face with his hands. I took control by slapping him and choking him with my right hand. He responded by taking hold of my left hand and sucking on it. He eventually got to my ring finger and his wicked tongue proceeded to play with my wedding band. The moans were almost as eloquent as the words he couldn’t articulate: for Billy, getting me to cheat was hotter than getting fucked and bred by me. I realized then that I felt the same way. My cock was melting into his plump ass, but my whole being was sinking into depths of depravity I’d never experienced, and this realization was pushing me to my limit.
As I felt his tongue pry my wedding band off my finger, I choked the slut further and spat on his face. Sweat was flying in every direction, trickling down my face and into my eyes, but my gaze was focused on his face. His hazel eyes were no longer just taunting me, no, they were now screaming that we were complicit in this and the more it turned me on, the greater the rage that burned in me. I pulled my left hand back, but my finger stayed in his mouth. He placed it on the tip of his tongue for me to see as he screamed “Breed me, breed me deep!”
I lost it and in quick succession I backslapped his face and shot my load deep in his guts. I realized he was also cumming hands free, an exhilarated and wild look in his eyes, head flailing from side to side, wet curls sticking to his skin. Rope after rope of cum shot into him, and yet I continued thrusting. It was like I hadn’t had enough and needed to destroy this man with my cock. He continued to moan, eyes glazed over with a faraway look. He then closed his eyes and the spell was broken. I stopped moving and slowly pulled out of him. There was a plop of cum that fell out of his ass. His hole was red and swollen, evidence of the pounding he’d taken. His face was also red from the last slap I’d given him. I could see my finger marks around his neck from how hard I had restricted the airflow into his lungs. But what kept me hypnotized was my wedding band on the tip of his tongue, and the wanton look of lust in his eyes, when he opened them. I realized my breathing was labored and I could feel the cool draft of the AC blowing on my wet skin. Reality was coming back and I became aware of who I was and where I stood.
I looked down at the floor, searching my underwear among the clothes that had been so carelessly thrown there. I started collecting them and headed to the sink I had in the corner of my office, intending to start washing off. He continued to lay on his back on my desk, rubbing his body with the mix of sweat, spit, and cum that covered his torso. I understood what he’d meant by being fucked raw until he was drenched and stupid. His face evidenced his mind was elsewhere, if any thought was taking place. I was surprised at how calm I was when I realized what I’d done. I had just put my entire life as I knew it at risk; everything I’d so carefully built: my family, my career, and my reputation. Further, why was I not regretful or remorseful? In fact, as the images of what just occurred flashed through my mind, I felt my dick tick again. Yes, cheating was hot and I had loved it. Billy had shown me a dark side of myself I didn’t even know existed. I finished washing my hands and turned back to see him still lying on my desk, but now he was looking straight at me.
“You want more, I know it. Come get your fill.” He said, as he opened his legs lasciviously, letting me see how his swollen hole was winking at me. He slowly inserted his fingers in his hole and pulled them back just to take them into his mouth. The slut was eating my cum and that was enough for me to get hard once more. I was going to fuck him again, but now I was going to do it consciously. I sauntered over to him, hard dick swaying heavily from side to side.
I grabbed his legs and he showed me my ring on his tongue, smothered in my cum and his juices. I bent down and kissed him, which I hadn’t done so far. The kiss was deep and urgent, both our tongues playing with my ring. I pulled back and straightened up as he moved his hand to his mouth. He took the ring and while looking piercingly into my eyes, proceeded to place on the entrance to his hole, rubbing his finger around it and smearing it further with the leaking cum. I was so turned on that I aimed my dick at his hole and pushed the ring all the way in.
This was almost too much even for him. He arched his back lifting himself partially off my desk while I proceeded to fuck him like there was no tomorrow. This time, I choked, slapped, licked, bit, and manhandled him when I wasn’t kissing him passionately. I do not know how long I fucked him, but this was hot shit and we were equally committed to experiencing all the pleasure our mind and bodies could give us. As I was about to shoot, I let him know, “I’m about to cum again, this time I want you to hold it inside.” “Yes, Dr. Dick.” He said tauntingly. My strokes became more forceful, the loud clapping echoing in the otherwise quiet building, and then I blew my load into him again. He had tried to stroke his own dick, but I had slapped him hard letting him know he wasn’t allowed. Once I had blown my load in him, slowly pulled out telling him again to keep it inside. His sphincter squeezed my dick tightly, which impressed me after the pounding he’d taken. Once out, I looked down at him and smiled. “I’m going to get my ring back, be sure to slowly push it out.” I dropped to my knees and licked his bruised hole gently. He squirmed and started moaning. I smacked his ass and told him to focus. Little by little cum started trickling out of his hole, and I happily lapped it up. I also started massaging his entrance with my tongue; he seemed to enjoy this and asked if he could touch himself. I told him he could, but he should focus on continuing to please me by helping me dig out my ring. This must have turned him on, because I noticed he started stroking his dick almost violently as more cum continued to come out of his hole. By now, my tongue was entering him easily and after just a couple minutes, I felt my tongue hit metal. This spurred me and after only a couple tries, I was able to wrap it around my tongue as I pulled slowly out with the assistance of his pushing. I looked up at him with the ring on my tongue and this triggered him to blow his load. He was loud, and he squirmed from side to side on my desk. I slowly stood up and looked down at him. This had definitely been worth it.
I glanced at the clock and saw it was past 7. I told Billy we needed to clean up and head home. He nodded, his demeanor matter-of-fact, as if we hadn’t just shattered the boundaries of my marriage. He dressed quickly and helped me straighten up the office without much fuss or conversation. For that, I was oddly grateful. I wasn’t ready to unpack what had just happened—or what it meant—and the silence gave me the space I needed to think.
After he left, I texted Evan, saying I’d swing by the gym for a quick cardio session before heading home. The lie came so easily, it startled me. In truth, I just wanted to shower off the scent of sex before stepping back into my life. Evan replied that he was making dinner and it would be ready in a little more than an hour. I used the small shower in the office, scrubbing myself until the water ran cold, unaware of it as my mind was replaying the events over and over.
That evening, there was a subtle shift between us. Evan was warmer, softer. He came back to our bed, and the next night, we slipped seamlessly into the rhythm of our usual intense sex. It felt familiar, comforting—like a reassurance that everything could go back to normal, but I had already tasted the forbidden fruit and couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Deep down, I knew that normal was an illusion I’d shattered the moment I crossed that line. The door I had opened couldn’t be closed, and some dark part of me didn’t want it to be. I had stepped onto a new path, one I wasn’t sure I could turn away from. It wasn’t just the act of cheating—it was the hunger it awakened, the pull toward the shadows of my mind that I could no longer ignore.
The following Monday I made a point of not treating Billy any differently than I had before, but everything about him felt… off. Gone was the playful teasing, the glances that lingered a second too long, the electric undercurrent that had simmered between us. At the end of the day, it was almost as we had both planned to be left alone again. He stood in my office doorway, casual but detached, as if the charged moment we’d shared had never happened.
I started to bring it up, stumbling over my words like some nervous kid. “About the other night…” I started, but before I could even finish, he cut me off with a subdued edge to his voice.
“Dick,” he said, his voice calm but resolute, “what happened between us? It was fun, sure. But it was just sex. I’m not looking to go any further with this.” His words hit me like a slap, though his tone remained annoyingly kind. “You’ve got a lot at stake—a husband, a kid, a whole life. I don’t want to be the guy who messes that up. And honestly, I like my life as it is. Free, easy, no strings. What we did? It could get real messy, real fast and I don’t do messy. I could easily fall in love and I’m smart enough to know I could never compete with your husband. I’m not sure you became aware that he was indirectly present in what we did the other night.”
I stared at him, completely thrown. Just sex? Was that all it was to him? And yet, his bluntness had a weird clarity to it, like a splash of cold water on a fevered mind. He didn’t want to do this again. He didn’t want me. And though his words stung in ways I couldn’t quite articulate, there was also a strange sense of relief. Billy had drawn a line in the sand, one I hadn’t been brave enough to draw myself.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel… disappointed. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d been hoping he’d want more. Not love—not exactly—but some acknowledgment that what had happened between us wasn’t just nothing. At the same time, I realized he was right. If we kept going, it wouldn’t stay “just sex.” I could feel it, and Billy had sensed it too. He wasn’t willing to risk his easy, untethered life for something that could spiral out of control. And yet he gave me something terrible: the realization that I was capable of doing unspeakable things without restraint.
When he left, I sat there, replaying his words in my mind, trying to untangle my feelings. I felt rejected, but also… unburdened? It was like standing on the edge of a cliff and realizing someone else had grabbed my arm before I could jump.
But now the hunger was there, fully awake, gnawing at me in ways I couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t put it back in the box, couldn’t pretend it hadn’t been unleashed. Billy wasn’t going to be the answer, but I needed an outlet for this dark craving that I could no longer deny.
That was when the idea of PreP started to make sense. I told myself it was about responsibility, about safety, but deep down, I knew better. It was about freedom. PreP wasn’t just protection; it was permission. A way to explore the shadows without the constant specter of consequences hanging over my head.
I told myself it was logical, smart even. If I was going to give in to this, it had to be on my terms. I’d be in control. No emotional entanglements, no risks to my family, just indulgence in its purest, most carnal form. Or at least, that’s what I wanted to believe.
As explosive as the sex between Billy and I had been, it had lacked the connection I felt with Evan since the first time we fucked. His casual approach to it being “just sex” further drove me down the path of sexual exploration and depravity that would be my undoing. The dark appeal of sexually fetishizing cheating on my husband lay in its forbidden allure—the exhilarating thrill of breaking the rules that had once defined my life. It wasn’t just the act itself but the way it made me feel: reckless, powerful, filthy, and untouchable, as if stepping into a shadowy world where I could momentarily shed the weight of responsibility and perfection. I had taken a dangerous cocktail of lust, rebellion, and defiance—a way to assert control over a life that often felt dictated by expectations. In those moments, infidelity became more than an act; it was a fantasy of liberation, a rebellion against the very love and commitment I cherished yet sometimes trapped me.
I made an appointment with my doctor under the guise of a routine check-up, but the real purpose was to get on PreP. He was professional, of course, but there was an unspoken tension when I broached the subject. We meticulously reviewed my medical history, assessing any potential risks. The conclusion was clear: the risks to my health were minimal. Still, as both a doctor and a friend, he asked me if I was certain about this decision. His words carried weight—he warned that this could be life-changing, a step that would lead me down a path I might not fully understand yet. But I was resolute. The darkness inside me demanded to be explored, and I was done resisting.
The prescription was filled, and within a few weeks, I was ready. Evan, absorbed with work and Kye, barely noticed the subtle shifts in my routine. I used that to my advantage, carefully crafting opportunities to disappear into my new double life. Initially, I tried seeking men online, but that proved too risky when I saw a few familiar faces on the apps. I knew about cruising, but it carried its own set of dangers—one wrong encounter with someone who knew us, and everything could crumble.
That’s when I came up with a clever solution: assigning myself the task of visiting our practice’s other offices in the neighboring state. The two-hour drive was manageable, and the trips provided a perfect alibi. Sometimes, I stayed overnight, but on daylong trips, I’d hit the gym to clean up before heading home. These trips became my escape, a secret portal to indulge my shadowed desires.
In the span of a couple of months, I had sex with at least a dozen men. Most encounters were straightforward; I topped, keeping the power dynamic firmly in my control. I realized fetishizing my cheating was a source of exhilarating pleasure for me. In fact, it was so hot to me that it consumed a lot of my thoughts throughout the day. It was almost as if my identity was shifting from loving husband to cheating stud.
But then I came across a rough-looking group of men at a cruising spot—a group that exuded raw, unfiltered dominance. The fantasy of being passed around by a group had always lingered in the corners of my mind, and here was my chance to live it.
There were four of them, and they took turns on me with a primal intensity that sent me spiraling into the depths of my darkest cravings. I noticed HIV positive tattoos on a couple of them—a stark reminder of the risks involved. Yet, I felt no fear. Instead, I marveled at the era I lived in, where PreP allowed me to navigate these waters without the shadow of dread that once would have loomed over such encounters. As I drove home that night, sore and exhilarated, I realized I was deeper into this life than I ever imagined. The man I once was felt like a distant memory.
However, I was smart enough to not blow up my life, and to the regular people in my life, I was the same upstanding man, loyal and devoted to my family. My indiscretions were carefully compartmentalized, hidden away from the life we had built together. The secrecy amplified the intensity, turning every stolen moment into a high-stakes gamble where the risk of exposure only deepened the rush. I convinced myself these didn’t matter because they were never about love—just fleeting moments that allowed me to escape the weight of perfection. Yet, deep down, I knew I was playing with fire. Yet I lied to myself by rationalizing that I always came home, didn’t I?
When the call came from the doctor’s office, I was in the shower. I had been expecting test results but hadn’t thought much about them. Evan answered, which wasn’t unusual, he told me they wanted me to call them back. I dismissed it, assuming it was routine, and didn’t press further.
By the end of the week, my doctor had asked me to come in, and he delivered the devastating news I wasn’t prepared for: my liver was damaged, and I might need a transplant. It felt like a sledgehammer to my carefully constructed façade. In my arrogance, I had failed to disclose my history of hepatitis, dismissing it as irrelevant. That omission had likely compounded the damage, with the PreP regimen acting as a catalyst.
When I walked into the house that afternoon, it felt as though the walls were closing in around me. The air seemed heavier, the rooms darker, as if the house itself knew the weight I carried. My secret life had become a looming threat to my health, threatening to shatter the delicate balance I’d managed to maintain. Guilt, fear, and shame swirled in my mind, each emotion intensifying the next. It was no longer just about my betrayal of Evan or my reckless indulgence in forbidden fantasies—it was about the very real possibility that my actions had irreparably damaged not just my marriage, but my body. The burden was suffocating.
He was there, calm and steady, as he always was. I broke down, breaking the terrible news to him, but carefully omitting the cause. I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. He comforted me, promising we’d face whatever came together. His kindness was almost unbearable, knowing what I had done.
That night, lying in bed, I stared blankly at the ceiling, my mind racing with a torrent of regret and disbelief. How had I let it come to this? I had everything I’d ever dreamed of—a husband who adored me, a beautiful son who lit up my world, and a career that many would envy. And yet, I had thrown it all into jeopardy. The fleeting pleasure of forbidden encounters now seemed hollow, laughably insignificant compared to the steep price I was being forced to pay.
I was a mess, trapped in an endless loop of self-recrimination. I kept replaying every decision that had led me here, every moment I could have turned back but didn’t. Talk about post-nut clarity! I promised myself I’d do better, that I’d find a way to fix it, to make things right. But promises are easy to whisper in the dark, easy to clutch at like a lifeline when you’re drowning. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t a situation I could charm or willpower my way out of. For the first time, I was confronted with the stark reality that some damage couldn’t be undone—and that terrified me.
We had agreed I would schedule an appointment with a specialist friend of mine from medical school. I made sure to call while he was checking on Kye, so I could confide that this was related to my PreP. but asking him for discretion as my husband didn’t know about it and he would come along with me.
The day of the appointment, we showed up early, and I was visibly nervous. Evan held my hand and reassured me everything would be all right, but deep down I could see him observing every detail of my demeanor. I felt the weight of his silent scrutiny. Once in the office, Ike explained to us that indeed I had moderate cirrhosis, probably the outcome of an earlier hepatitis infection. I confirmed I’d had hepatitis B when in college. I noticed Evan’s shocked expression—he had never known. I told him I was ashamed, as I had contracted it during my slutty phase after coming out. That was why I had always insisted on a monogamous relationship between us. In fact, we’d been together for months and got tested together before deciding to forgo condoms. I wondered what Ike thought as I tried to balance my explanation, aware of the delicate web of truths and omissions I was weaving. Ike reassured us that though not ideal, it was a condition that could be managed, and if things were to get worse, liver transplants were pretty advanced with a high success rate. “Liver transplant?” The gravity of the situation began to set in, and I saw a flicker of fear in my husband’s eyes, though he quickly masked it.
As we left Ike’s office after scheduling follow-up appointments for the next several months, we got in the car and drove home in silence. During the drive home, I felt my resolve build in me. I was the luckiest man in the world and I had risked everything for some cheap sexual thrills. All the sleepless nights had gotten me nowhere, but I felt the old me come forth and take control of the situation. When we arrived, I parked the car and held his hand before getting out. I told him I wasn’t scared because I knew with him I could face whatever challenges lay ahead. Kye and he were my rock, and I’d just have to work harder at staying healthy. I reassured him that our sex life wouldn’t be impacted. That we had recently let it slide by, but that having an active and satisfactory sex life was part of being healthy, and I intended to improve on that too.
That statement seemed to reassure him, and over the weeks that followed, I felt a change come over both of us. I became more attentive, more present, more loving. I even cut back on my work hours, taking on fewer clients to spend time with them. Financially, it wasn’t an issue, and it allowed me to show my commitment to myself. I wanted to prove that despite everything, I would fight to keep what we had built together.
Sexually, we became like rabbits again. Evan morphed into a ravenous lover, demanding I breed him over and over every time we had sex, but especially so on the nights he worked late. It seemed to be the only way to get his mind off the stress of work. He’d get home, shower and come out already lubed and ready to go. At times I teased him about becoming his real-life human dildo. He said it was my fault for being so irresistible, that he wanted our DNAs to fuse together into one as we were forever tied to each other. Those words impressed on me the depth of the risks I’d taken in my folly to cheat on him.
We carried on with this new routine for several months, and then, as the fall was coming to an end, I came down with a mysterious flu-like illness. Evan stayed by my side, doting on me like the incredible partner he was, just as he’d done with Kye every time he was sick. At first, I assumed it was just the season—nothing more than a passing bug. But the symptoms lingered, and I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something deeper was wrong.
When my next routine checkup showed odd levels in my bloodwork, I wasn’t too alarmed. I had faced health concerns before and managed them well enough. The doctors suggested more tests, and I complied without much thought. But my husband’s quiet observation during this time felt different, like he was piecing together a puzzle I couldn’t see. I chalked it up to his natural tendency to worry and didn’t press him on it.
By the time they decided to run an HIV test, I felt a growing unease. The doctors reassured me it was standard protocol given the circumstances, but I couldn’t help but feel the weight of their words. The day I received the results, I asked my husband to come with me. His calm presence had always been my anchor, and I needed it now more than ever.
As we sat in Ike’s office, I felt the tension in the room. Ike looked at me with a mix of professionalism and personal concern. “I really don’t want to beat around the bush,” he began, his tone measured but direct. “We ran as many tests as possible and couldn’t make sense of the results, so I decided to check for HIV. You’ve tested positive. I reran the tests to be sure, and the results were confirmed.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I stared at him, uncomprehending, as if the meaning of his statement couldn’t penetrate the fog in my mind. I glanced at my husband, whose face was a mixture of shock and something else I couldn’t place. Fear? Disappointment? Betrayal? My expression must have mirrored his, as I struggled to process what I’d just heard. I opened my mouth to speak but found no words. Instead, I blinked rapidly, trying to ground myself in the moment.
Ike continued, his tone gentle but firm. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we need to discuss next steps. There are treatment options available, and the sooner we start, the better.”
My husband broke the silence. “How can this be?” His voice trembled slightly, and I could see his knuckles turning white as he gripped my hand with a strength that shocked me. I felt the emotion pouring forth out of me and I couldn’t control the crying that began as I pulled his hand to me and started kissing it. “I’m sorry Baby, I’m so sorry…” I mumbled. “Sorry for what?” asked Evan. “I might have put you at risk” “Might have!?!?!” Evan cried, pulling his hand out of mine.
Ike’s gaze shifted between us, and I could sense the unspoken tension. “Dick,” he said, addressing me directly, “have there been any possible exposures you can think of? We’ll need to understand the source to better manage your care.”
I hesitated, my heart pounding. I knew the truth would devastate my husband, but I couldn’t lie in this moment. Not to Ike. Not to myself. “I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was careful. I didn’t think this could happen.”
My usually calm husband seemed to be gone, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Careful?” He whispered as his voice broke off, and I could see the pieces clicking into place. The nights I’d worked late, the trips to the neighboring state, the changes in me that I thought he hadn’t noticed. He was putting it all together.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “You didn’t mean for this to happen?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve risked?”
Ike intervened, his voice steady but authoritative. “Let’s take a moment,” he said. “Emotions are running high, and that’s completely understandable, but we need to focus on the medical side of things right now. This is a manageable condition, but it will require both of you to work together.”
Evan shook his head, his face contorted with despair. “Together?” His voice cracked, the possibility dawning on him that he might be positive too. Ike’s gaze softened, the weight of the situation clear in his eyes. “This is a tough one, but we have to stick to the facts. We need to get you tested as well.”
I froze. The thought that I might have passed this on to my husband hit me like a freight train. Was he infected too? Ike remained calm, taking control of the situation, and after a tense, drawn-out silence, managed to get Evan to agree to the test.
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a more agonizing wait. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. During those moments I confessed to getting on PreP without Evan knowing, letting him know that the liver damage was probably brought about by it as well. That was the only possible explanation for a breakthrough infection. When the results finally came back, it felt as though the ground beneath me gave way—Evan was negative. The relief that flooded me was indescribable, but it was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of guilt. My heart broke as I looked at Evan, his face now fully aware of my betrayal. The look in his eyes said it all.
The rest of the appointment passed in a blur. Ike explained treatment options, scheduled follow-up tests, and emphasized the importance of open communication. My husband sat stiffly, answering questions in clipped tones and avoiding my gaze. By the time we left the office, the weight of the diagnosis and the revelation felt unbearable.
The drive home was silent. Evan stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched. I wanted to reach out, to apologize again, to explain, but I knew it wasn’t the time. When we pulled into the driveway, he turned to me, his expression unreadable.
I was about to say something, but he interrupted me. “Not now” he said quietly. “But know this, you will never touch me again. You will move your belongings to the spare bedroom in the basement and give me space.”
I nodded, unable to argue. I knew I had no right to ask for forgiveness, not now, not when the wounds were so fresh. As he walked into the house, I stayed in the car, letting the tears that seemed to want to drown me spill over. That evening, after putting Kye to bed, I moved downstairs into the basement bedroom. I couldn’t bear to talk to anyone about this, and I only wanted Evan, the love of my life, my everything, and he couldn’t stand even the sight of me. I didn’t sleep that night and cried more than I thought a grown man ever could. I don’t know where Evan went, but he came home very late and I heard him go straight upstairs to our bedroom. I needed him as much as I needed air to breathe, but I knew I couldn’t hurt him further. The next morning, I was upstairs by the time the nanny arrived. I let the office know I wouldn’t be in for a few days and asked them to rearrange my schedule. As I heard the first signs of Evan awake upstairs, I asked the nanny to take Kye to the park. I was going to be a man and tell my husband everything. As he walked downstairs, I asked him if we could talk, after telling him where Kye was. He seemed strangely calm and simply replied “I’m listening.”
“There’s so much I have to tell you…” I paused, my hands shaking slightly as I struggled to get the words out. “I was always so committed to monogamy because of what happened in college. I had this horrible experience with hepatitis B, and it really scared me. But deep down, I always felt like I missed out on… the slutty life that most single gay men get to experience.”
I could hardly breathe as I spoke, my heart pounding in my chest.
“When I met you, I thought I had found the one, and for the first years, I never had any desire for anyone else,” I continued. “But then Kye came into the picture, and I guess I started feeling… left out, you know? You were so dedicated to him, and I didn’t feel like I could talk about it. Then men started looking really good to me. At work I overheard some of the nurses talking about how with PrEP, the risk was no longer there, everything could be treated and nobody cared. They said sex was just sex, it didn’t have to mean anything. And as a foolish adolescent, I started thinking it was true, rationalizing my dark thoughts.”
My voice cracked slightly as I paused, looking at Evan, I knew I couldn’t tell him about Billy. They knew each other and Evan even liked him. I had already broken his heart and I just couldn’t hurt him further. “I thought about coming to you, asking about opening the relationship, but I was terrified. You were so happy, so committed to our marriage. I was afraid that just asking would make you leave me. So I asked my doctor to get on PrEP. He was opposed to it, telling me what I was risking, but I just couldn’t hear nor see reason. I couldn’t have sex with anyone we knew, but…” I stopped, exhaling deeply, almost as if I’d been holding my breath for years. “So instead,” I whispered, “I decided to be smart, be discreet. I could have my cake and eat it too. I was on PrEP for about six months… and during that time, I had anonymous sex with… probably a dozen men.” I fought back the tears that were once again suffocating me. Even in my confession I was lying to the man I’d promised to love over all else. Ironically, I realized I did love him more than anything or anyone in the world, and it was this love that wanted to protect him from further pain.
I then proceeded to tell him about the call from the doctor, and how the liver damage was a result of PreP. I assumed that I was infected by the guys that had passed me around, but there was no way to prove anything and I had willingly taken the risk of having unprotected sex with them. I didn’t give him specifics of any of my sexual encounters, the shame was too powerful, and he didn’t ask for any. I did tell him how relieved I was he wasn’t infected, and though not a religious man, it was possibly the closest to a miracle I had ever experienced, and I was grateful for that. I saw a flicker of emotion flash through his eyes when I mentioned it, but it was quickly replaced by a look of disappointment and exhaustion.
As the weight of my confession hung in the air, and I could see the toll it was taking on him. I asked him what he wanted to do, bracing for the worst. His voice was calm, when he finally spoke to me.
“I want to have my breakfast, get on with my life, and then find the time and peace of mind to think about what this means. Rest assured I will not throw you out; Kye does not deserve that and you have always been a great father. But in regards to me, you’d do well to let me be and stay away from me.”
The days that followed were a haze of isolation and regret. Evan avoided me as much as possible, throwing himself into work and caring for Kye. I tried to focus on my health, attending appointments and starting treatment, but the guilt weighed heavily on me. I had destroyed the life we’d built, and I didn’t know if it could ever be repaired.
I soon realized that treatment was not as easy as I had believed. Eventually, Ike let me know the truth I had already figured out. The damage to my liver was too severe and any treatment would accelerate its failure. There was nothing to do but wait for the virus to take its course. He tried to comfort me by telling me many people lived without treatment before developing symptoms that would lead to full blown AIDS. I asked him not to give me false hope, my liver was damaged and the inevitable would come sooner rather than later. A transplant was beyond a reasonable expectation. I now had to break the news to Evan.
We had fallen into a routine of being painfully polite to each other, but mostly avoiding being alone or interacting if unnecessary. Nobody knew any of this was going on, including the nanny and our families. As I broke the news, I let him take a moment to let it sink in, “I’m trying to prepare for whatever comes” I added. He nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ve decided to take a sabbatical from work. Kye deserves to have both of us around, for however long that might be.” He finally responded.
Tears filled my eyes, and I reached out instinctively, but he stepped back. “Don’t,” he said, his voice firm. “This isn’t about us. This is about him. And about making sure he has stability, no matter what happens.”
I nodded, understanding the boundaries he was setting. “Thank you,” I said. “For being willing to do this. For Kye.” He turned away, his shoulders tense. “Don’t thank me,” he said quietly. “Just make the most of the time you have left.”
As he walked away, I realized the full extent of the damage I’d caused. My health was failing, my marriage was in ruins, and the man I loved could barely stand to look at me.
Over time, practicality took precedence. Doctor’s appointments, medication regimens, and discussions about my care became the focus. He came to every appointment, his presence a clear fulfillment of what he viewed as his duty. He had told me so one day, when I was telling him the doctors were rather pessimistic about my outcomes and had asked my primary caregiver start attending appointments with me. I told him I’d hire someone as I had no right to ask so much of him. “That’s unnecessary” he responded. “I will be there for you. I remember my vows, and they included in sickness and in health, in addition to fidelity and loyalty.” He immediately apologized for letting that cruelty slip through. I told him he was right, I knew he was entitled to his unspoken resentment. I eventually made peace with the fact that what he gave me wasn’t forgiveness—it was duty.
As my health deteriorated, so did the remnants of our relationship. We coexisted in the same space, bound by our shared love for Kye but estranged in every other way. The intimacy we once had was a distant memory, replaced by a cold civility. I had left the practice early on, giving my liver illness as a reason. HIV and AIDS still carried stigma, and I didn’t want my family to suffer any further on my behalf. Financially I had always been comfortable, and I remained a partner, which with life insurance would allow me to leave Evan and Kye financially secure.
Evan took a yearlong sabbatical to care for us both, always the dutiful spouse and father. At first, we clung to a semblance of normalcy, but as the months passed, the cracks began to show. That winter was particularly harsh on me; pneumonia struck after the holidays, landing me in the ICU for nearly two weeks. Evan stayed by my side, never leaving, a quiet sentinel as I drifted in and out of febrile delirium, medication-induced sleep, and fleeting moments of lucidity.
When I began to recover, I didn’t need the doctors to tell me what I already knew: the end was near. Each day, I struggled to summon the strength to be the man I wanted to be for my family. But my body was failing, and I found myself increasingly dependent on Evan’s unwavering patience and tireless care. If he or Kye weren’t near, an unbearable angst consumed me, stripping me of any control. Yet Evan never complained.
As his sabbatical came to an end, he applied for FMLA to continue caring for me. The gratitude I felt for him was almost as overwhelming as the love I still harbored, but I could see the strain in his eyes. In the rare moments of clarity that came to me, I wondered how he managed to endure it all. I never suspected the façade might crack—until that night, when it finally did and he broke in my hospital room.
I had been hospitalized again, and this time had had a tracheotomy. I knew this was truly the end, and a strange detachment had settled over me, as though I’d unconsciously accepted the inevitable. Yet in a rare moment of lucidity, memories flooded back to me—a vision of the life we’d once had, so perfect, so real. And the weight of what I had done to destroy it overwhelmed me. Tears filled my eyes.
Ever solicitous, Evan leaned forward. “Are you in pain?” he asked gently, his voice barely audible.
I managed to shake my head, my wasted body otherwise useless in expressing the gratitude that swelled in my chest. “Don’t exert yourself,” he murmured, but I persisted. I needed him to know how deeply I appreciated him, how much I still loved him, so I mouthed the words: “Thank you, my love.”
He forced a small smile, though I could see the effort it took. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his voice steady but heavy. He took a deep breath, hesitating before adding, “Actually… I have something I need to tell you.”
I looked up at him, his gaze holding mine, extending a silent invitation for him to continue. My heart pounded as I feared what was coming. His words came slowly at first, then poured out like a flood, unstoppable and all-consuming.
“I need you to know everything,” he began. “From the very beginning. Before meeting you I too had a slutty stage. But mine was reckless beyond reason. I was playing Russian roulette with my life, and after a while, it caught up to me. I had a scare when I found out people with whom I’d had unprotected sex tested positive. This is how I found out I was immune to HIV. I thought it was a blessing and took it as a sign to work on my life and stop engaging in self-destructive behavior.”
“That’s when I met you, and you made me believe in love, in building a life together. Just as you kept your hepatitis a secret from me, I also kept my immunity I don’t know if out of shame for having such privilege or because I learned about it by being a careless slut…” He drew a deep breath and continued. “You transformed me in ways I didn’t think were possible, turning me into the best version of myself, a man I was proud of becoming. You made me a father before Kye even arrived… My life was perfect, or better than perfect, as it was a fairytale that was real… And then… you ripped it all apart.”
His eyes glistened with tears, but his voice was calm and measured. I felt my own tears roll freely down my cheeks as I just listened.
“You killed my heart,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly at this point, “and with it, my ability to ever trust or love a man again. And when I found out what you had done—when I learned how you betrayed me with all those men, over and over—I wanted to leave. God knows I wanted to. But I stayed, so I kept it hidden from you too. I needed to find a way to get back at you for what you’d done.”
He paused again, as if gathering the resolve to continue. “I stayed because of Kye. Because if I had left, I knew I would have lost him too. And I couldn’t let that happen. He was—and still is—the only good thing left in me. The only thing worth fighting for.”
I was crying now, silent sobs shaking my frail body.
“I did this to you,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “I made sure you’d pay for what you did, and I did it for Kye… So I could keep him, so I could protect him… Because he’s the only thing in this world that keeps me going! And if anyone ever tries to hurt him—whether it’s you, or me, or anyone else—I swear I’ll fight! I’ll kill if I have to, even if it means killing parts of myself…”
As he stopped talking, I processed what I’d heard. I didn’t need the details, as I figured it out. The intense passionate sex after the incident with PreP, where he always insisted on bottoming for me with an aggression I had never witnessed before. It all made sense now. The room felt suffocating, heavy with the weight of everything I had just learned. For a moment, the room was filled only by the quiet hum of the machines monitoring my dying body. And I realized I was not angry. I was free. The guilt I’d experienced over everything made way for the compassion I needed to forgive both of us. I had hidden how cheating on him had been the source of my drive to destroy our lives. Who was I to resent him for doing whatever possible to protect himself and my son from the ruins? I couldn’t let him feel guilty for what I had caused.
Then, with immense effort, I reached out and placed a trembling hand over his. My touch was weak, but in it, I wanted to let him know I didn’t blame him. I accepted the outcome still in love with the best possible man I could have ever met. It was too late to salvage what we had lost, but in that moment, there was nothing left to hide. Just the wreckage of two lives bound together by love, betrayal, and the unrelenting fight for something good amidst the chaos: Kye.
“I stayed because of Kye,” he said, his voice raw. “Because he deserves a shot at life without the burden of betrayal. I knew if I’d divorced you, I would have lost custody of him in court as you were financially so much better off than I, and I knew you’d be the best father you could to him. I couldn’t risk losing him…”
I motioned with my hand that I wanted to write something, but I couldn’t even hold the pen with enough strength to write, so instead he opened his tablet and let me type what I wanted to say, “I’m sorry I hurt you so.” There was nothing left for me to say. I realized my body was dying and I would soon be free of all feelings. But he was healthy and I didn’t want his life to be burdened by my betrayal any longer. He had to be free so he could be the father Kye needed. He didn’t say much after that.
In my final days, I had tried to make peace with the choices that had led me here. I had spent every moment I could writing letters to Kye, hoping to leave behind some part of myself that he could cherish, free of the mistakes that had defined me. I told him stories of love and resilience, of the freedom in forgiveness, the strength in vulnerability, and the beauty of living life to the fullest. I hoped he would see the best of me, even if I hadn’t always lived up to it. I wrote of the admiration I felt for his father, who loved so unconditionally and cared so much for us. I wanted the bond between them to be stronger than the one I had severed.
The night I died, Evan was there, holding my hand. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and for a moment, it felt like the old us. I looked into his eyes, searching for some sign of absolution, but all I saw was sadness.
As the darkness closed in, I held onto the hope that, in time, he would find healing. That Kye would grow up surrounded by love, even if it wasn’t me who’d be there to give it to him. That the wreckage of my mistakes wouldn’t define the lives of those I loved most.
And then there was nothing.