I found the condom. I should have suspected. Months ago, there was the little bottle of personal lubricant, tucked discreetly under the contents that jam the drawer in her bedside table. Certainly, it wasn't there for me. When we do fuck, occasionally now, she is difficult to enter, so much so that penetration can be painful. Understandable at her age - at our age. And yet the lube has never made its way out of the drawer...

I lay back on my bed - our bed - the warm afterglow still infusing my body and spirit. I am naked, spent, wanting absolutely nothing more in the present moment as I sift through the events of the past few precious, exciting hours. My nipples harden as I close my eyes and recall his cock, so glorious in its impossible hardness, droplets pulled down by gravity from the tip of his beautiful manhood, the viscous fluid seeming...

My stomach is literally in knots as they walk through the door. My wife Jennifer and our two children, back from after-school activities, arms loaded with takeout food. I give Jennifer a brief hug and she pecks me on the cheek, not the lips. I can smell the body wash, still somewhat fresh, not normal for this time of day, of that I’m certain. Small talk about how our days were. Boring, she says. Something about faux drama...