Number 2: The Guitarist

Number 2 was before the separation.

It was always on the cards too. Denying intercourse is the water-board of spousal warfare, and Medusa used it often and to great effect. Not being able to fuck the woman you love, your wife, but when she looks like that... God, it was torture, laying there at night, approaches scorned, manhood questioned... I'm sure every man becomes acquainted with the feeling at some time, and besides that's not the focus here.

So Number 2 was an old flame. She was a bit of a prawn (rip off the head and she's be great - I believe the yanks call the "Butter face" - ya know, she's good, but her face...) clocking in at a six for the face (narrow eyes, larger nose) but great body, beautiful long brown hair, great lips - an easy eight everywhere else. We'd never really dated. At all.

She played in a band, I played in a band, it was a small town. She happened to be fifteen, so always accompanied by her parents to gigs. I was nineteen. At that stage I had banged probably 8 or 9 different girls. Being a country town, and being that age, you pretty much had to be "official" bf/gf because common decency, brah, which was a slight impediment. At that stage I had no idea about game, but a couple of my friends were great naturals to learn from, I played in a band and played rugby, so I was pretty confidant in myself.

Anyway at a house party after a gig one night we hooked up. In my mates bed I had her down to her panties... and she said she was a virgin, and on her period. Needless to say she left that house a virgin. But she had tasted sperm for the first time. Mine. Less than two weeks later we fucked for the first time, and continued to do so on a casual basis until I left for Australia a year later. Apologies to you Bri, my Auckland sweetheart, I definitely cheated on you.

Back to the story! Medusa, my lovely wife, had refused to fuck me for about three months. I knew she was talking to her ex on a regular basis and preparing to move to his city to look after her sick father. My band was playing a gig about an hour away, in a city where Number 2 lived now after emigrating from NZ. I reached out to her on facebook. We had exchanged one or two emails over the last few years, but hadn't seen each other for four years.

She drove out to the venue, a suburban dive bar, and I said I'd go meet her in the car, lest someone I know report to my then wife and further decay my life. 

My heart was pounding as I walked up to her car. My cock was straining against my jeans. I opened the door and sat down, getting a heavy waft f florally shampoo and perfume. Our eyes met, we hugged over the centre console, long and hard. Cheeks grazed as our embrace loosened, and we kissed frantically. A minute later my pants were around my ankles and she was naked, straddling me in the passenger seat.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked.

"Yeah, in my wallet, somewhere..." and I rubbed my cock against her wet snatch, almost there...

"Fuck it, I don't care, fuck me!" breathless, impatient, so I did. Later she cleaned herself up and went to work. I drove home, had a shower and got into bed. Medusa was awake, so I made a move to spoon her.

"Don't touch me!"

I smiled to myself and rolled over. The end is the beginning is the end. "Goodnight."