Mike

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Like typical middle-aged men, I had found myself in a dead bedroom. My wife was never in the mood or tended to have another headache.

Sex has been steadily declining for the last couple of years. I remember being upset the first time we went three weeks between.

"How'd we get to this point?" I asked her at the time.

In an unconvincing tone, she brushed me off with a simple, "I don't know."

Through the delicate conversation, she assured me that she still found me attractive and still thought about sex, she just couldn't seem to find the time.

As the last eighteen months went on, I started missing the every three-week cycle as the distance grew. It's been months since the last time I felt her wrapped around my cock. Jacking off has replaced that intimacy. Now it's just normal, everyday life.

Until last night...

Twelve hours earlier:

We were sitting under the pergola with some friends, just hanging out. Mike and Cheryl are good friends and always a delight to be around. Cheryl is a part of my wife's friend group and they get together for ladies' night pretty regularly. Mike and I have gotten closer over the years, generally, I consider him a safe place when I need to talk. I trust him.

The four of us were sharing gossip over beers and wine. Cheryl had just shared one of her co-workers had caught her husband cheating and they were splitting up.

The beers had set in and my lips were getting a little loose. "Dead bedrooms are the main driver of infidelity!" I boldly declared.

In my impending doom, I watched the expression on my wife's face morph into disbelief. "Really?" She snapped.

Unwilling, or unable to step back from that ledge, I doubled down on my proclamation. "Yes! Really!" I swelled my chest forward. "Guys cheat because they ain't gettin enough at home."

Mike slapped my chest, his mouth gaped over my insistence. "Dude. Thin ice bro." He warned my liquid courage.

The misses shot me a glare that any normal man would have tripped over themselves to take back the foolishness that they were embarking on. Not me, not tonight. I was on a self-destructive mission to vent the frustrations that I had long thought were behind me.

My wife rose slowly from her place on the bench next to me, threw a couple of explicatives, and stomped off with Cheryl who shot a glare in Mike's direction and followed.

"Fuck her!" I proudly huffed. "She ain't give none up in months!"

"Dude, tact?" Mike questioned. "Where'd that go?"

"I jacked it off down the toilet!" I told him.

My mouth ran on and on, now confiding my lack of sex to Mike, and how tired I was of it.

"Yes, several times over the last two years!" I informed him when he asked if we had ever had any conversations about it. "She doesn't have time!"

"Damn dude, that sucks!" Mike agreed.

"Shit doesn't change, I might be the next one caught cheating." I admitted.

I hadn't paid attention, but during my ranting, Mike had moved to the bench next to me, almost touching my leg with his own.

I flinched when I felt his hand rest down on my thigh, but I didn't remove it. "Do you trust me?" Mike asked, his eyes begging for a yes.

My mind was already buzzing, my frustration had peaked and my inhibitions were gone. "Yeah, ya know I do." I confirmed.

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