3rd November 2001: My only story to date written from a female perspective; was the ‘pilot’ for a possible series which didn’t materialise due to lukewarm feedback

Doing A Favour For Dave
by Sarah Jane Smith

 

I’d been married to Wayne for a few months when I first realised that he might be interested in other guys. Not gay or even bisexual – just willing to try a few moves with another man if given the opportunity. I think the word is bicurious but I’m not completely familiar with the language of this kind of thing.

I actually remember that first night really well. One of Wayne ‘s mates had come around and the two of them were watching football on television, drinking cans of beer. The other guy was called Dave and was kind of attractive – I’d often considered scenarios in which the two of us were placed alone together – but he was a bit too streetwise to hold any serious interest. He was about 21, a couple of years older than Wayne , and always had a stash of stuff he was trying to sell. Wayne would occasionally buy grass from him and, despite my protests, sometimes would buy other stuff to sell on to the guys he worked with. Dave wasn’t really the sort of guy I liked coming to our house but he had a rough charm about him and didn’t try to push anything onto Wayne which Wayne didn’t ask for.  

I sat with them for a while. Wayne kept shouting at the players on the TV like they could hear him. Dave seemed less enthusiastic; lost in his own thoughts at times. I was mending some of Wayne ‘s work trousers, sitting on an armchair to one side of the sofa on which the two men were sprawled.  

At half time Wayne asked Dave about Pamela, his girlfriend.  

Dave said, staring at the TV, “She fucked off.”  

Wayne said, “What – she left you?”  

Dave nodded, still staring ahead.  

Wayne looked over me. Like he thought I knew something about it. I shrugged.  

Wayne said, “When did this happen?”  

Dave looked at him and then smirked. “Oh I dunno. Last week or somethin’. Stupid tart.”  

Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Some old blokes on the television were conducting a post mortem on the first half of the match.  

Eventually Wayne said, “Jeez. Ah, sorry mate.”  

Dave said, “No worries, Wayney boy. No fuckin’ worries.”  

I said, “Where’d she go?”  

Dave said, impatiently, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” He stared ahead again. His face looked serious. His expression set.  

I felt as if I’d intruded on whatever had happened between them. Something he didn’t want us to know about.  

I said, “Sorry Dave. Anything I can do…”  

He looked over at me. Then he smirked again. He said, “You could help me out a bit, doll…”  

I immediately saw what was coming and smiled.  

He gestured to his crotch which, as I’d noticed many times before, bulged outwards inside his tight jeans. He winked and said, “No action down here for a week or two. Prince William could do with a helping hand, sweetheart…”  

I said, “Prince William will have to make do with your own helping hand for the time being, Dave…”  

He said, smiling now, “He’s all upset though. You wanna kiss him better or somethin’?” He gave his bulge a rub, just in case I was in any doubt about which part of his body he was referring to.  

Wayne said, smiling and clenching his fist in the air above Dave’s crotch, “He’ll get a helping hand from me in a minute…”  

I think more stuff was said, more arsing about until the match came back on, but that’s the part I remember. At the time, of course, it seemed totally insignificant. It was only afterwards, in the days following when I had time to think about what I’d learned about Wayne , that I thought about it.  

I went up to bed during the second half of the match. Wayne was watching the game intently, groaning and swearing whenever the ball did things he didn’t want it to, and Dave sat next to him sullenly.  

I lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the television, the noises of the crowd and the droning of the commentator dulled into lullaby by the distance.  

At about half past eleven I woke up. I don’t think I had been truly asleep, but I became aware of the sounds from downstairs and of the coldness of the room.  

I could no longer hear the noise of the football, but I could hear deep indistinct sounds of men talking. I wondered if Wayne had fallen asleep in front of the television; in front of some babbling late night talk show.  

I got out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown. I walked out of our bedroom and onto the landing at the top of the stairs. I heard Wayne ‘s voice from downstairs. I wondered who he was talking to and then heard Dave’s voice. Until then I’d forgotten about Dave being around.  

Dave was saying, “No, no. I meant, like, squeeze it some more. Don’t fuckin’ pull it like that.”  

I dimly thought they must be smoking a joint. It didn’t occur to me that I couldn’t smell any smoke.  

I turned around to return to bed. I felt exhausted.  

Then Wayne said, “It’s totally different from my own.”  

Dave said, “Yeah, about four fuckin’ inches different, mate.”  

I wondered what he meant but still thought they were smoking weed.  

Wayne said, “No way tosser. I mean it just feels… I dunno… kind of weird.”  

Dave said, “Never had any complaints from chicks…”  

Wayne said, “I mean, you know, it’s not like wanking my own cock.”  

I stopped at our bedroom door, thinking, “Did he say ‘cock’?” The realisation of what they were doing washed over me.  

Dave said, “Less fuckin’ prattle. Just fuckin’ spank it, man.”  

Neither of them said anything else for a while. I wanted to know what was going on. I wasn’t disgusted by the idea that my husband might be masturbating another guy. I felt intrigued by it. I wanted to see it.  

I crept down the stairs. The door to the front room was slightly ajar and a segment of light spilled out of the room onto the floor of the dark hallway. I could hear low sounds coming from the television. Gun shots and tinny music, like a cheap American cop show.  

I stood in front of the door. I couldn’t see them through the opening – the door opened in the wrong direction – but, getting close to the crack between the hinges, I could make out the back of Dave’s head as he sat on the sofa. Adjusting my position and standing on my tiptoes, I saw that Wayne was in front of him, kneeling on the carpet in front of the sofa, with his hand around the other guy’s cock.  

I felt excited seeing them like this. It was totally unexpected: Wayne had always groaned in disgust at the slightest suggestion of gay sex on television. The idea that he might touch another man’s cock would never have occurred to me and now that I was faced with the reality of it, I felt stunned and fascinated.  

I saw Wayne ‘s hand gripping Dave’s cock and rolling the foreskin upwards and downwards quickly. Dave’s cock looked large; definitely larger than Wayne ‘s. The stem looked thicker and the head was much more clearly defined than it is on my husband’s cock. Like a mushroom with a fat, purple head.  

Dave suddenly pushed Wayne ‘s hand away, barking, “Not like that. Fuckin’ slow down.” He took his cock in his own hand and jerked the foreskin more slowly and sensually. He rubbed his sticky-looking bell end with his thumb while he tenderly squeezed the thick stem. He said, “Show it some fuckin’ respect, man. It doesn’t need shakin’ – it’s not a fuckin’ aerosol can.”  

Wayne looked up at him, appearing a bit hurt. “I’m doing my fuckin’ best, Dave. You asked me to do it. As a favour, right.”  

Dave said, “Yeah, yeah. Just slow down. That’s all. You were hurtin’ me.”  

Wayne relaxed a bit. “Well, it’s… kind of weird. I mean, the angle and stuff…”  

I smiled. How many times had I heard that during Wayne ‘s attempts at foreplay?  

Wayne gripped Dave’s cock again and jerked him more slowly. I loved the way he looked in this position, holding another man’s cock in front of his face. His eyes were wide, his mouth open uncertainly. He had short light brown hair and dark blue eyes. At 19, Wayne was a very attractive guy, a bit dopey sometimes, but definitely good looking. I guess that was why I married him.  

Dave sighed. He put his head right back on the top of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. I couldn’t see his face but I could hear him gasping, “Oh yeah. Fuckin’ wank it, man.”  

Wayne said, stating the obvious, “Feels good, yeah?” Maybe he couldn’t believe he’d actually mastered the technique.  

Dave sighed again, then said, breathlessly, “Yeah, fuckin’ right on, mate.”  

Wayne continued wanking the other guy for a few minutes. Dave was gasping and sighing. Like he really needed this kind of attention. I wondered how long it had been since Pamela had left him. He’d said a week or so, but Dave’s sense of time is not exactly reliable. A week for him could mean anything up to six months.  

Dave said, “Play with my balls, man.”  

Wayne fumbled around a bit. I was surprised he was so willing to comply. I’d always regarded guys’ scrotums as the ugliest things on the planet – except maybe for certain types of fish. Wayne had never asked me to play with his and if he had I’d have had six or seven excuses ready. But my husband got his fingers into the other guy’s fly and tried to reach for his balls.  

Wayne said, “I can’t get to them.”  

Dave stood up. He reached around and undid his belt with a clunk. Then he unzipped himself and pulled his jeans down to the tops of his thighs. I saw the round cheeks of his arse inside his tight light blue briefs. His arse looked good. Fatter than Wayne ‘s, but round and muscular.  

Dave hitched his briefs down to the tops of his thighs. I saw that his arse was quite hairy and that the thick dark brown hair swirling from his crack had beads of sweat on it.  

Wayne said, “Hey. You’ll have someone’s eye out with that thing.” I saw Dave’s cock sticking outwards towards my husband’s face. It arched upwards slightly and the broad bell end was a deep dark purple. I was feeling aroused watching the two men behaving like this, so open and unashamed that one was giving the other pleasure. Enjoying seeing Wayne laugh as the other guy’s cock poked into his face.  

Dave said, “Suck me, man.”  

Wayne laughed, “I’m not gonna suck your dick.”  

Dave repeated, “Suck it, man.”  

Still laughing, Wayne said, “No fuckin’ way.”  

Dave said, “Go on, man. It’s been so fuckin’ long since… you wouldn’t fuckin’ believe it…”  

Wayne looked up at him more seriously. He said, “Guys don’t do this, ‘cept queers. No way.”  

Dave said, “Fuck off. Course they fuckin’ do. It’s no big deal.”  

Wayne said, “What? Have you, like, done this before?”  

Dave said, “Fuckin’ hell. Course I fuckin’ have. Just fuckin’ messin’ about. When a slut doesn’t show up or a guy hasn’t enough money for weed or somethin’.”  

Wayne looked back at Dave’s cock. He said, “Jesus…”  

I knew he would do it. I felt so hot that I became dizzy at the thought of seeing my husband take another guy’s cock into his mouth. I thought about having Dave take me like this in our living room, but before I was able to develop the fantasy, I dispelled it from my mind. This was Wayne ‘s moment; I wanted to stay out of it.  

Dave said, “You can have some dope, man. On the house, like.”  

Wayne smiled. He said, “Now you’re talkin’…”  

Dave said, “And that’s a fuckin’ good deal… I usually only give freebies for a buttfuck.”  

Wayne looked up at him, looking slightly shocked. Then he grinned. I guess he figured it to be joke.  

He leaned forwards towards Dave’s cock. From the way they were positioned, I couldn’t see Dave’s cock at all. I could just see his arse, with its round hairy cheeks.  

Dave said, “No man. Not when it’s fuckin’ gone off. Wank it first. And feel my balls and stuff. Then suck it when it’s ready.”  

Wayne said, “Jesus. You’re worse than Sarah.”  

I’m Sarah. So that pissed me off a bit.  

He reached up and I saw him jerk the other guy’s cock quickly. Then, before Dave could protest, he said, “Sorry – sorry – slower, right?” and eased his pace to a more sensual rhythm. His other hand also reached upwards and fondled Dave’s scrotum. Wayne seemed impressed and, looking back up at Dave with a smirk, said, “Balls like a fuckin’ horse, man.”

Wayne kept playing with Dave’s cock with his right hand and rubbing the other guys’ balls with his other. He stared at the other guy’s cock as if fascinated by it. It looked like he was trying different things. At one point Dave gasped and Wayne smiled to himself. Like he was discovering what the other guy’s cock responded to. I was intrigued to see this aspect of my husband. When he is with me he always seems scared to try new things. Frightened that he’ll hurt me. Tentative and shy around my pussy, like a lost boy. But here, with another man’s cock, he was venturing forth on his own. Relaxed and curious.  

Dave gasped again and said, “Just fuckin’ right. Fuckin’ spot on, man.”  

Then he started pushing his hips forwards. I could see his buttocks flexing as he responded to Wayne ‘s rhythm.  

Then he pulled back and said, “Now. Fuckin’ go for it…”  

Wayne looked up at Dave’s face again as if for last minute reassurance. Then his gaze returned to the other man’s cock and he leaned forward, taking its bloated head into his mouth. Dave immediately gasped and gripped Wayne ‘s head, pushing my husband’s lips further onto his engorged cock.  

Dave gasped, “Jesus fuckin’…. oh God…”  

It was difficult for me to see, but Wayne seemed to take most of Dave’s cock into his mouth. It looked impossible. Dave must have been seven or eight inches long but Wayne ate the other guy like a lollypop. When I’ve given oral sex to guys I usually concentrate on the head – getting any more of their dicks into my mouth makes me want to gag. But Wayne devoured the whole thing. I wondered if he’d always wanted that to be done to him; that this was how he thought it should be done.  

Then Wayne pulled back.  

Dave said, “What? Don’t fuckin’ stop…”  

Wayne fiddled around inside his mouth. He smiled. Then he pulled something out. He said, “Your hair, mate. Fuckin’ mouthful of it. Like a gorilla.”  

Then he repositioned himself in front of Dave’s cock, but instead of sucking it again, he pushed his face into the other guy’s bush and seemed to inhale from it.  

Dave said, “What now?”  

Wayne looked back up at him smiling. He really was enjoying this. Relishing the opportunities. He said, “I just… kinda… well… it smells weird…”  

Dave said, “Huh?”  

Wayne looked back at the other guy’s cock. He said, “Yeah. Different to a girls’. But still horny… yeah…”  

Dave said, “Do you like it?”  

Wayne kept staring at Dave’s cock. He considered the question. Then he said, slowly, “Yeah. Kind of.”  

Dave said, obviously growing impatient, “Suck it then. Come on, man, finish me off…”  

Wayne went for it again.  

He took the other guy’s cock in his mouth again, drawing it into his throat until his lips were nuzzling in Dave’s thick dark pubic hair. Dave grabbed his head again and started thrusting into Wayne ‘s mouth, his buttocks flexing and relaxing to the rhythm he was developing.  

Dave gasped, “Jesus, mate… God you’re good…”  

They kept going like this for a few minutes. Dave standing up with his trousers around the tops of his legs. Looking tall and with a broad, well-built back. The back of his head visible to me through the crack in the door, sometimes looking down at Wayne and then up to the ceiling as he panted his approval. The round, chubby cheeks of his hairy, sweaty arse flexing as he pushed his crotch towards my husband’s eager mouth.  

Then Dave gasped, “I’m getting close… fuck… feel my arse… please…”  

I realised this was the first time I’d ever heard Dave say please.  

I saw Wayne ‘s hands reach around and hold Dave’s buttocks. At first he just held them there and then, as if becoming more interested in the unfamiliar contours and hairiness of the other man’s arse, his fingers started to explore the curved cheeks.  

Dave panted, “Yeah… yeah… further in…”  

Wayne ‘s fingers probed inwards towards Dave’s hot-looking crack, his palms cupping the other guy’s round furry arse-cheeks.  

Still holding Wayne ‘s head firmly, Dave bent forwards and started rapidly thrusting his cock in and out of his mouth. He was grunting and panting; sounding almost bestial. He kept repeating, through his breathless gasps, “Yeah… fuck… yeah…” Wayne ‘s face was bright red, his eyes staring into Dave’s thick pubic bush and his mouth wide open with the blur of the other man’s large cock ramming in and out of it. It was like his whole head was being fucked by Dave’s thick stem: held steady between Dave’s hands he had no choice but to allow his face to be used like a masturbatory aid for the other man to pleasure himself.  

Wayne ‘s fingers moved unprompted into Dave’s arse crack. I watched them explore the other man, feeling as fascinated by my husband’s behaviour as he evidently was by the other guy’s arse.  

His fingertips pressed between Dave’s cheeks, parting them slightly. Dave grunted in approval, the frantic thrustings of his hips seeming to grow still faster. Then, Wayne moved his hands further towards Dave’s crack and his fingers pushed their way inside, reaching deeply into the matted wet-looking hair and rubbing up and down the other man’s cleft as if searching for his hole.  

Dave bent further forwards and pushed his arse backwards onto Wayne ‘s hands, clearly enjoying the attention it was receiving. Wayne’s fingers found a spot about a third of the way up Dave’s crack and concentrated on that area, his hands moving rhythmically as he felt around the other man’s hole, teasing it with his fingertips.  

I was totally taken aback by the interest both men had in Dave’s arse. Intrigued that Dave himself would enjoy having it groped and fingered and would bend over to give Wayne better access. And even more fascinated by the fact that Wayne had wanted to explore this area of another guy. He’d never shown any interest in my arse, had never even mentioned anal sex up until that point of our marriage, and yet here he was doing something which I would have thought he’d find disgusting.  

Having Wayne’s fingers in his arsehole and his mouth around his cock was clearly too much for Dave. He cried out, “Yeah… yeah… fuck!” Then he made sobbing noises. His hips didn’t miss a beat. Wayne didn’t flinch. He just stared ahead into Dave’s pubic bush, his face now a dark crimson, his mouth still wide open with Dave’s cock sliding in and out of it, glistening and sticky. I saw his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed Dave’s semen.  

Then Dave’s thrusts slowed down. He was whimpering and almost wheezing to recover his breath but he kept his cock in Wayne ‘s mouth until he had drained himself. I noticed that Wayne kept his hands on Dave’s arse, his fingers still burrowed into Dave’s cleft and still gently teasing his hole.  

Then Dave pulled out of him and Wayne took his hands away from his arse.  

Without saying anything, Dave pulled up his briefs and trousers and buckled his belt. Then he zipped himself up. Wayne remained kneeling in front of him, looking a bit stunned. He raised his hands to wipe some of the stray strings of semen from his chin and became interested by the smell of his fingers. He sniffed them unashamedly, smelling the other man’s arse on them, and kept sniffing each hand over and over as if deciding which one was the most fascinating.  

Dave seemed not to notice. Or if he did he didn’t mention it. Maybe that kind of thing is normal among men. He said, “Jesus. It’s fuckin’ after twelve. I was supposed to meet someone at closing time, man.”  

His voice sounded higher than normal. And shaky. Like he was going to cry or something.  

Wayne stood up. He seemed to physically shake himself, as if trying to throw off the trance he’d been in. Then he laughed weakly. He said, “That was some favour… You owe me big time.”  

Dave looked at him like he’d forgotten what they’d just done. Then he said, “Oh yeah, right. I’ll get you the weed, man. My jacket’s in the hall…”  

They turned towards the door and I crept back upstairs as quickly and quietly as I could. As I reached the top of the stairs, the living room door opened and light flooded out into the hallway. I ducked behind the banister post and they walked out into the hall, talking smalltalk and saying their goodnights. Like nothing had happened. Just a favour for a bag of dope.  

After Dave had left and Wayne had returned to the living room, I crept back to bed. I lay there thinking about what the two of them had done, aware that Wayne was probably doing the same thing downstairs in the living room.  

It occurred to me that most women in my situation would have burst into the living room and made a scene. Then, after a suitable drama, would have required weeks of reassurance from their husbands to assuage their jealousy and insecurity.  

I wondered why I hadn’t reacted like that. If I see Wayne flirting with other women, I get as jealous and insecure as the next woman. But what Wayne and Dave had done did not seem to affect my relationship with him on an emotional level. It seemed irrelevant to how we felt about each other. Maybe I’m weird, but it was like they’d gone fishing together or taken up badminton or something. There was no flirting involved; no love or meaning to it. So it didn’t seem in any way to threaten me or my marriage with Wayne .  

I decided to say nothing about it to Wayne. I would, I mused as I drifted back into sleep, wait and see if Wayne mentioned it to me, or behaved differently with me.  

As it turned out he didn’t do either. So, after a week or so, I just put it out of my mind.  

And it stayed like that until the next time.