I’m Hot For My Husband’s Best Friend
I know it’s wrong but I can’t help myself
For the last six months, I have been the best wife ever.
The home is immaculate. I’ve prepared three restaurant-quality meals a day and have done anything and everything my husband Paul desires of me. Most importantly, I’ve stayed the hell away from his best friend Isaac, with whom I regretfully cheated a few months ago.
Paul deserves all this and more because, in another six months, he’ll be dead.
I am naked and straddling Isaac on his couch where we first made love that night when the storm hit, and I was stuck at his house.
His strong woodworker’s hands are under my ass, squeezing my cheeks firmly as he leaves tingly light kisses trailing down from my lips to my neck, then behind my ears. He moves his lips down to between my breasts, then leaning me back, slowly edges down to my navel. He lifts me up in one swift motion, then lays me gently on the couch to continue where he left off.
I gasp and weakly, with no conviction, cry out, “Isaac, we can’t, remember?” But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he puts his face between my legs and finds my clit with his tongue, and I’m writhing, almost in tears as he builds me up slowly and lovingly. Then right as I’m about to come, he abruptly pulls away, leaving me gasping and wanting. I’m about to ask him why he stopped when a look of pain and terror comes over his face as he screams my name, “HANAAaaaaa!”
I’m jolted awake to the sound of my husband Paul screaming my name from the next room, no doubt needing water or help to get to the bathroom.
A few weeks ago, I moved out of our bedroom when it became apparent that that was the only way I’d ever get some sleep. We have a night nurse that takes a shift from 11pm to 5am, and another nurse comes in from 9am to 3pm. The rest of the hours in between are mine to handle for now.
The nurses have just started coming in the last month. Before that, Paul and I were managing everything on our own. Because his brain tumor is inoperable, we are keeping him out of the hospital as much as possible for the time he has left. They tried radiation and chemo for a couple of months, but the tumor is aggressive and does not want to set him free.
Paul has suddenly gone downhill fast this last week. On Tuesday, he began to stumble a bit as he walked. By Friday, he was no longer able to walk without aid. Then on Sunday, he had his first seizure.
Cancer is a bitch.
I haven’t seen Isaac without Paul present since the diagnosis half a year ago. We have barely even spoken on the phone or texted, except for formal discussion of necessary things related to Paul.
Isaac and Paul have been best friends since college, and they run a custom-made furniture business together. Isaac has come over at least once a week to sit with Paul and discuss the company’s future. A future that is painful to face yet necessary to settle.
When he arrives, I always dutifully leave the house for a couple of hours. I dare not stay because I do not trust myself.
Isaac and I have made a pact to do the right thing in this situation: To protect Paul and give him the dignity and respect he deserves for the last few months of his life. We’re avoiding each other as much as possible.
Late one evening, the week after Paul has his first seizure, Isaac arrives to keep him company for the evening hours. We briefly exchange hellos as I let him in the front door. I start to explain that I’m on my way out to the grocery store, but Isaac puts his hand on my arm and eyes me with concern.
It is the first time we’ve really looked at each other in months, and a lump rises in my throat as my body immediately reacts to the simple touch of his skin on mine.
Isaac quietly asks how I’m holding up, and I’m not sure how to respond. A whole lifetime of emotions and events have passed between us in a very short time. I want to hug him for an hour, but instead, I say that I’ll be okay, and then I leave.
I’m going to do right by my dying husband.
I get home around nine that night to relieve Isaac and take care of Paul until the night nurse arrives. Paul has been sleeping early most nights, but I usually sit in the bedroom with him until I go to bed. Once in a while, he’ll wake up confused and need to be calmed down.
I get in the house, and Isaac insists on helping me unload the groceries from the car. He brings the last thing in, a heavy case of water, and he’s in the pantry putting it where I instructed him to when I hear a loud crash in the bedroom.
I race there with Isaac on my heels to find Paul on the ground, with his head bleeding. He had been heading to the bathroom, and before he could reach for his walker, he stumbled and hit his head on the nightstand.
We quickly help him back to bed, but as I try to clean the wound on his head, Paul becomes disoriented and shoves me roughly away. He’s still very strong, and I stagger back and almost fall down myself.
Isaac steps in, speaking to Paul in a calm but authoritative voice. I stand, hushed, in the corner while Isaac easily dresses the gash on Paul’s head.
He’s such a dear and needed presence in both our lives. Oh, how I have missed him.
We settle Paul back in bed, then we head back out to the living room. I think Isaac is going to leave, but he says that at least for tonight, he’d like to stay until the night nurse arrives. He’s concerned for my safety.
I try to argue with him, but he plants himself on the couch and says I don’t have to entertain him — just go about my evening, and by the way, if I need his help around the house, I could have him do chores or fix stuff.
I’m weak. I say yes.
I’m tired, and I’m lonely, and I’ve been running myself ragged out of the most nightmarish mixture of guilt and love to help Paul.
I set Isaac to work in the laundry room; the dryer has been making weird noises for a couple of weeks, and I know it’s about to give out. I whip him up a quick dinner while he starts tinkering with the dryer.
I peek in on Paul on my way to give Isaac his plate. Paul is sleeping soundly. He looks so peaceful. I shudder and try not to think of what’s coming up ahead.
I walk into the tiny laundry room. The dryer is half pulled out from the wall, and Isaac is bent over examining its’ innards. My heart skips a beat as I ignore the strong urge to grab his fine ass. I clear my throat to let him know I’m there. He turns and grins when he sees the food I’m holding.
The laundry room is tiny; there’s barely room for both of us to stand in there together, especially with the dryer away from the wall. I hand him the plate and turn to leave when he says, “Wait…”
I turn back, and Isaac is looking right into my soul, the way he tends to do. I am starting to crumble, and he knows it.
He puts the plate of food on the washer, pulls me into his arms, and holds me tight. This is the support I’ve been desperately needing for months, and I’m starved of it. I fling my arms around him and squeeze my body as closely against his as I possibly can. I bury my cheek against his chest, telling myself that we are just platonically comforting each other through an impossible situation of losing a husband and a best friend.
We stand like that for a very long time as I release all the burdens I’ve been carrying into his safe hug.
What pops up next doesn’t feel very platonic, though. I feel him growing and pressing against me, and I give an embarrassed little giggle. He laughs, too but keeps holding me. My giggle turns into a half sob as I contemplate what a horrible human being I am because all I want to do right now is fuck my husband’s best friend while my husband is suffering a few rooms away in the same house.
Isaac has an uncanny way of reading my thoughts. He sighs and says, “I know. Me too.”
Tears start falling then, and I shamefully ask, “Just this once?”
In response, he shuts the door behind us, then picks me right up and gently puts me on top of the dryer. My legs automatically open as my pussy anticipates him. I draw him to me and frantically tug at his belt, undoing it, then unzipping his jeans. I pull his boxers down, and his dick is already hard and dripping for me. I grasp it and stroke it firmly as he moans softly.
“Shhhh,” I remind him, “Not too loud…” He covers my mouth with his and explores me with his tongue before I can say another word. I’m getting really hot with desire now, but I need to feel his skin on my skin, and I break away so we can fully undress each other. And then he’s back in my mouth, and I am in his, and now his hands are doing wonderful things to my fully erect nipples too.
I cannot wait any longer; I need him inside me now.
I guide his dick to my hungry, salivating pussy, and he eagerly presses into me. I am at the perfect height for him on the dryer; something about the angle makes it so that he pounds against my innermost spot, over and over and over again. I’m seeing stars now, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out as we tremble silently against each other, finding the relief and release we each so desperately need.
Afterward, we hold hands and cry quietly. We cry for Paul, we cry for ourselves, and we cry for what we have just done.
We get dressed without a word; we don’t need words to understand that this broken pact must be glued back together and reinstated immediately.
The doorbell rings. It’s the night nurse. We walk out of the laundry room, and Isaac gathers his things, promising to fix the dryer another day. He walks out as the night nurse walks in. I want to run after him and never let him leave again.
Instead, I lock the door, and go to the bedroom. I sit there with Paul for a few minutes, holding his hand while he sleeps, watching the night nurse set up his meds for the night.
Then, I go to the guest bedroom where I’m sleeping now, and I fall into the bed, exhausted.
I dream about Isaac.
I’d be grateful for a coffee :)
Read here to find out when Isaac and I first cheated together: