Apparently one pizza wasn’t enough, and apparently, none of the alcohol that I’d bought was good enough because Jackson arrived with a backpack full of his own. He brought the expensive wine I only drank when my dad or my boss paid for it.
“You’re a high-earning engineer man, why do you drink such low-quality shit?” he said, bursting his way into my house and unloading his goods all over the counter. I closed the door behind him and stood by the fridge, with my arms folded.
“It’s not shit, and it’s far from low-quality!” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Might as well enjoy your cash before your ex-wife drains your bank account.” He paused, looking around for glasses, and spotting mine on the table. “If there’s one piece of advice I can give you, it’s that women only get dirty after they leave you.”
I laughed.
“My wife promised me filth!” he exclaimed as he topped up my wine glass with his wine, which I noted was also an Australian wine, but I said nothing. He passed me my glass, and looked around for his. I quickly moved to the cabinet where wine glasses were generally kept and picked one out for him, after a quick inspection to ensure it was clean.
“They say they’re bisexual, nibble on your ears and let you butt-fuck them, give amazing head like those girls in porn while you watch group-sex porn, then the minute that ring’s on their finger, bam!” His palm hit the counter with a huge bang. Everything rattled.
His eyes slowly turned to me, and the sudden silence after his outburst was unnerving.
As though to punctuate his story, he said in a much lower voice – not quite a whisper, “they’re only into missionary, no back-door policy, no head, girls!” he gave me a wild-eyed crazy look, “why the fuck would I want to eat pussy honey?” evidently imitating his wife.
I laughed. “I’m sorry,” then added, “I’m sorry.”
“See the point I’m making?”
I nodded, but couldn’t help myself. “Hello Jackson, nice to see you again.”
He grinned, then laughed. “Come here you big softie!” and took two steps forward and pulled me into a bear-hug.
It felt so good I almost cried.
We moved to the sofa instead, and Jackson picked up my neglected pizza and started eating it.
“This isn’t the best pizza; you know that don’t you?” he started. “The best pizza is…”
“…Mario and Pepe’s, I know…” I cut him off.
With a look that I knew too well, he asked, “then why the fuck?”
I shrugged. “Mario and Pepe’s is where…” I looked around.
His eyes widened and he began to shake his head with understanding. “Ahhh. I see.”
We drank, and we talked. He ordered Mario and Pepe’s from his app while I wasn’t looking.
I didn’t realise until they were at my door with pizza in hand, and asking for cash.
“What?” I looked over to Jackson who shrugged.
“Don’t look at me,” he said looking innocently, “I got the wine. Least you can do is pay for the pizza.”
“You ordered pizza on your app and told them I’d pay in cash?” I stared in disbelief.
He shrugged again as though I was the one who was nuts.
The delivery girl at the door watched the interaction with interest, while holding the boxes in her hands and shifting from one impatient leg to the other, though she seemed more amused than annoyed.
“You gonna let the better-quality pizza go cold?” he asked me, topping up his wine from the second bottle he’d opened.
“Luckily, I have cash in my wallet. But seriously, who pays in cash these days?” I gave her enough to leave a generous tip. The girl’s eyes widened, and she thanked me twice before bowing away from the door.
Smiling, and shaking my head, I bought the two pizza boxes over to the lounge area and put them on the coffee table on top of the old, allegedly inferior pizza box.
“You’re a card Jackson,” I said, as I plopped down on my original seat.
“A card you’re glad popped over, huh?” he said with a wink.
I shrugged, but did not comment, even though I did feel thankful for his company.
“You’re having problems with your wife?” I asked him.
He istanbul travesti nodded. “Yeah, been happening for a while. We argue a lot.” He emphasised ‘a lot’, and topped up both our wine glasses.
For the first time I noticed his stubble and the tinges of red streaking the whites of his eyes.
“You’re not looking your usual self,” I said, not meaning it the way it came out.
He scoffed, picked up his wine and said. “You’re not exactly looking…” and he sniffed like a dog, “…or smelling too fresh yourself pal.”
That made me laugh out loud.
“That bad huh?”
“To be fair you did warn me you were in a bad place. I just didn’t realise you meant physically.”
I laughed again, and raised an eyebrow. “When did you become such a bitch?” I asked with genuine interest.
He shrugged, drank more wine. “Guess it comes with bad sleep and a bitchy wife.”
We talked for a while, and we laughed a lot. While Jackson was clearly bitter about his predicament, I liked that he turned it into humour and catty, but jovial remarks. While bitchy, he was funny.
When I woke up the next morning, with a hangover worse than any previous day, it was with Jackson’s arm over my waist and a pillow clutched tightly to my stomach.
We were in my bed, but both completely dressed.
I recalled the conversation the previous night with Jackson convincing me that together we’d get through this. Being drunk, it was music to my ears, and I’d felt a bit of hope, though in the cold light of day, the return of that ongoing feeling of sadness was inevitable.
I showered, dressed and went to make coffee, giving the lounge area and kitchen counter’s mess barely a glance, while focusing on the machine and the coffee.
The shower went on, so I figured Jackson was awake. It made me smile. With him around, I felt much better.
Then Jackson came out of the shower via the bedroom, drying his hair and stark naked.
“Jesus,” I said, realising only weeks earlier I’d done the same to my wife. But I stared at Jackson’s cock, which was easy to do given it was massive and swung like a pendulum.
Wearing only a smirk, a twinkle and holding a towel, he said, “what are we doing today?”
I turned around, ignoring the stirring in my pants, and set to make us both coffee.
Jackson sat on the other side of the counter, so I only had to stare at his perfectly formed hairy chest.
“I’m going to catch up on some work, while you…” I poured him coffee, and pushed a sugar container in his direction along with the milk, which he immediately pushed back my way, “…you can do whatever you like.”
He nodded, as though considering my proposal. “Interesting,” he said after a sip of his coffee, “and decent coffee,” after taking another sip, “but…” he put the coffee down while continuing to admire it, “I have a better suggestion.”
I folded my arms and stared, but didn’t feel I looked as intimidating as I’d hoped.
He sipped, looked around, then back at me with an irresistible smile. “Or…you and I have a nice breakfast, go for a run together, because…” he shifted his attention to my belly, “…well, all this sitting around drinking and eating takeaway isn’t going to burn itself off…”
I rolled my eyes but smirked.
Then his comment played back in my mind and I looked down at my small, almost unnoticeable belly. When Jackson laughed, I did too.
“Ouch.” But continued to laugh.
He stood, and walked around the counter and stood facing me. His eyes bored into me, and my knees kind of trembled lightly.
“Um…” I began, and looked around for something.
Anything.
Jackson, big strong biceps leading strong hands that grabbed my face and forced me to look at him.
There is something about the way Jackson looks at me that feels like he knows what I’m thinking, or at the very least can read my mind. Whether it’s because he had that perpetual smile frozen on his face, or whether he was always toying with people, I couldn’t tell, but the effect was always the same.
I melted.
I didn’t realise istanbul travestileri my dick had gone rock hard and pressed against my trousers until his hand came down and grabbed it, never once taking his eyes off me. And because at that precise moment I still felt like he could read my mind, I couldn’t reject him.
Because he’d know that’s not at all what I wanted.
And I also hadn’t jizzed in days. Nobody had touched my cock in weeks. Maybe months. Time had eroded much of my routine and sense of life.
My dick spoke for me. It pushed so hard against Jackson’s hand that he brought the other hand down and started to stroke.
“Jackson…” I started. Not entirely sure what I was going to say.
“Mmmm?” he asked, beginning to unbutton, unzip and lift my underpants away from me while sliding his hand down there.
“I’m going to nut in ten seconds.”
“In my mouth,” he said, and dropped to his knees.
I think it took eight seconds.
I don’t even know how I managed it. Jackson dropped to his knees – totally naked on my kitchen floor, and grabbed my throbbing dick with one hand, and opened his mouth. As he did that, my dick seemed to freak out at all the sudden attention.
One moment he’s about to put it in his mouth, the next it’s in his mouth and as soon as I felt his hot mouth slide from the very beginning of the tip of my cock to about halfway, I throbbed. And pulsed. And throbbed again.
And by the time Jackson had gotten to the base, hot juice shot out of my dick while pins and needles tingled all over my body while it shook and went all weak.
Then I found myself standing against the fridge, spent, confused and with absolutely no energy left at all. I think I almost slid down to the floor if it hadn’t been for Jackson, who leapt up and grabbed me.
“Fuck!” I tried to get myself under control.
He was smiling and licked his lips while checking I could stand on my own. I shook him away and moved to the counter and felt my legs stabilise a bit.
“Damn,” I added.
“That’s a record, not even ten seconds. Hot!” I could hear him licking his lips.
I turned, and stared. His dick was rock hard and I felt like I owed him.
I moved towards him, and held up his hand, “You don’t have to.”
So I lied, “I want to.”
And I sucked his dick, without the impetus that drives me because I’d already shot my load, and so I wasn’t as into it as I’d always been before, but I did it because it was only fair.
A couple of minutes in, I’d apparently been less impressive than I’d hoped.
Jackson pushed my head away and lifted me up to meet him.
He leaned in and kissed me, while he bated.
The taste of my seed was strong, but the warmth of his mouth, the way his hooded eyes gently regarded me carefully sparked something within me so I went along.
The kiss, was sensational, I had to admit. He sure knew how to kiss.
Apparently, he thought the same, because he shot his load all over my kitchen floor quite quickly.
Then we both did something strange.
We hugged.
A strong, tight hug.
Then we moved away and had a brief awkwardness.
Jackson went off and put his shirt and undies on and returned, then went to my fridge and opened it, and surveyed the contents. Luckily, a few too many wines a few nights earlier I’d gone on a spending spree and bought a bunch of groceries I expected would go off before I’d gotten around to using them.
He seemed happy as he began to pull out various items.
The awkwardness had dissipated as quickly as it had set in.
“What are you doing in my fridge?” I asked him.
“What do people usually do in fridges?” he asked me, quick as lightning, placing items on the counter, and rummaging through all my cupboards looking for things.
I’d already grabbed some cloths and cleaned the floor, then proceeded to mop it.
“You could ask me what you’re looking for?” I said it as both a question and a statement as I put my cleaning tools away.
“Hmmm?” he said absent-mindedly, as though absorbed, then, “and spoil travesti istanbul the opportunity to go through all your cupboards?” he pulled out a fry pan, two saucepans, a cutting board and some knives. He held the sharpest knife I owned, pointed it at me and stepped forward. “I need space.”
I took that as my only warning and jumped out of the way.
With Jackson in the kitchen, I grabbed my laptop, mumbled that I needed to finish something and sat where he’d previously sat naked and worked.
While he cooked, and delicious smells came out of my kitchen, I watched his perfect butt strain against his underpants.
If there was one thing that could definitely help me feel slightly better about my new-found reality, it was watching his tight arse making me breakfast knowing I could fuck it anytime I wanted.
Either he was really quick at making breakfast, or I’d been too absorbed in my work to have noticed the time. But I was thankful that I’d finished an email and a design I’d started the night before, and it also meant that I was free for the day, though it was the weekend, and I knew that Omar was more than happy with my progress.
In fact, the colleague I’d often gone drinking with, who incidentally liked a bit of gossip, whispered that Omar had several times remarked that I had been working around the clock to catch up and that I’d been a godsend to the company, long before my recent troubles.
I kind of already knew this, but it was nice to hear from other colleagues how valued I was. It did make all the hours I put in worth the effort.
And as Jackson eloquently put it, I earned the bucks, so I should start spending the money.
“Not that I’m agreeing to your ridiculous plan to hang out all day and do things together,” I started as we dug into his delicious omelette, “but what are you suggesting beyond our run together?” I finished, licking my lips and considering complimenting his culinary skills.
He seemed to consider it for a few seconds. “After our run, we can go to see a movie, then there’s a couple of new bars I’d like to go check out. Apparently fit, hot young girls go there and I’m feeling feisty.”
I nearly choked on my food.
“Wait… what? Hang on…where’s your wife?” I realised with him staying over at my house, his wife must be wondering where he was.
“Away at her parents for the weekend,” he stated simply, while lifting up his empty coffee cup.
I nodded over to the coffee machine. “Press the big green ‘Start’ button.” When he raised an eyebrow at me, I realised it sounded more sarcastic than I’d meant it to, but I said nothing more.
“…and…hot young girls? Really? You’d cheat on your wife with a girl?” the idea of it seemed to shock me.
He shrugged. “She won’t give me sex; you won’t give me sex. What am I? A monk?” he poured coffee.
I decided not to compliment him on his delicious breakfast after all.
“Apparently a blowjob on the kitchen floor won’t cut it.”
“No. It won’t. It’s a snack, but not a meal,” he said.
“Thanks for breakfast. Wow.” I stared at him, then looked away, unsure what else to say.
He smiled and folded his arms.
“What?” I said.
“I’m kidding!” he said, with a big smirk.
“You are?” I asked with suspicion.
“Of course! Having sex with guys, and you is one thing, but with girls? That just feels like…”
“Cheating…” I finished, but realised how absurd it sounded.
“Precisely.”
We both disappeared in our own thoughts.
“We’re a bit fucked,” I said after a while.
Jackson nodded, then laughed.
I joined in.
“Totally screwed up. But…” he winked, and I laughed at that, “I’m glad I’m not the only one who is screwed up!”
We were a lot more alike than I’d ever figured.
And so that day, we jogged together, went shopping together, watched an average movie and then went on a pub crawl.
Having been married and out of the pub scene, we were both really happy to have a huge number of new bars to explore and like-minded company to explore them with.
We laughed a lot, bantered with others, commiserated, laughed again, got stupid drunk and had a lot of fun.
I realised that night as I collapsed into bed that it was the first time that I hadn’t tried once to either message or call Helena that day.