1.55 Strange Bedfellows (CFT)

Author Note: This chapter includes a descriptive of m/m sex and descriptions of alcohol and drug use. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please do not continue reading. I have tried to be tasteful with pictures. No nudity. 

Where am I? screenshot-105

Bill swung his legs over the edge of a queen-sized four-poster bed in an unfamiliar room. His bare feet hovered hesitantly above the wooden floorboards. He somehow managed to recall a rather persnickety squeak. He would need to be careful where he stepped.  Various beer bottles littered the night stand and the surrounding floor. He blew into his hand and sniffed.

Woo! His breath was teeming with alcoholic residue. Bill reached for the tiny aluminum container of mints. Upon opening the case, he was surprised to find something not to freshen his breath, but minty-flavored condoms. Bill grimaced. Seriously, dude! 


Bill cautiously stepped over the open messy pizza box with cheese and sauce practically fossilized on the cardboard. He tried to ignore the scents that assailed his nose, but the task was nearly impossible – worn socks, dirty work boots size eleven, empty soup cans, a Love Day chocolate box that was picked over and probably over a year old, and half-eaten takeout cartons – rotting chow mein noodles and a wimpy wilting salad from Golden Arches.One of the battery-operated mood-light candles was still flickering, the only illumination in the room.

What happened here? Bill was no stranger to waking up in strange bedrooms, but waking up in a man’s room… that was a new one. The last few days had been a drug and alcohol-induced haze. Bill recalled copious amounts of beer, an endless supply. Robert had promised him. He wished he could forget the idea to fill his belly-button with the liquid and allow the other man to slurp it out. He couldn’t remember if Robert returned the favor. There had been candy… or something that tasted like candy, but made him feel euphoric. Like he was riding high on a roller coaster or something. His head was weaving in and out of corners of his brain, memories of the days and nights blurring together.

It had been fun. He thought. Pleasurable even. Mostly messing around. Nothing more. He was a married man, and Robert was a formerly married man still scarred from his ex-wife’s affair. Neither one of them was looking for anything serious. Robert was a strange partner indeed. More submissive than Bill had expected. Heh… maybe that’s why their marriage didn’t work. Beverly probably wore the frickin’ pants.

Robert had confided in him that he and his wife started having problems years ago and tried everything from Kama Simtra to sex toys to reading dirty magazines together and watching porn. They tried a sex therapist and even tried “swinging” whatever that was. Robert had giggled beneath the covers one night and said he would’ve loved to trade Beverly for Rachel for a night if the ex was still around. Robert swore that trying out “other delicacies” made the home life more stable.


Bill wasn’t so sure. Hey you play with fire! he scoffed internally, hunting for his cigarettes. He was itching for nicotine to stave off the hangover. He lit up and inhaled a generous amount of smoke, his lungs feeling oddly reprieved. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share his wife. Nor did he think Beverly was all that hot. The woman was too close to his age to be a real babe. At least Rachel was pleasurable arm candy and easy on the eyes.


He thought about his wife. He wasn’t sure where she was even. She had said she was going on a trip and took the kid and his niece and his father, he thought. The whole thing sounded weird, but Bill had shrugged it off. Rachel could do whatever she wanted. He wasn’t going to stop her. She hadn’t even taken his name. They had long since admitted their marriage was mostly for appearances and convenience. Even so, he had a feeling his choices for the last few… he couldn’t remember…well, however many days… would cause his marriage to go up in smoke if it hadn’t already.


Bill reached for his phone. Damn! Twenty-nine missed calls. Time to face the music. He hoped it wouldn’t burn.

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