It’s been a week since James stayed over after helping me finish the shed, and things have spiraled far beyond anything I expected.
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A few days after he left, I started feeling uneasy. Then, my phone buzzed—his name lit up my screen. My heart sank as I glanced over, my girlfriend sitting beside me on the sofa. I told her it was just a friend from work calling, but I needed to step upstairs to answer.
At first, I caught a glimpse of a message before it disappeared. I’m almost certain it was meant for her. It showed an impressive, partially erect length—maybe 70% of a full hard-on—but clearly bigger than most men, thick and long, nearly reaching his knees.
The message read: “We definitely need to arrange another sleepover. Your tits are incredible, and your mouth felt amazing, but next time I want to really stretch you… if you’re up for it.” Seconds later, he retracted the message, then sent another: “Oh damn, sorry mate, that was meant for some girl I’ve been seeing on Tinder. My bad.”
I know he’s not dating anyone; we’d talked about it over drinks. That lame excuse was just a show. I could tell he wanted me to see what he’d sent. The little bastard was enjoying this.
That night, I couldn’t keep it bottled up. I asked my girlfriend directly what happened while James stayed.
She hesitated, then grew nervous. I assured her no matter what she told me, I’d still care for her. So she opened up, and we poured some wine, spending nearly an hour talking.
She recalled waking up thirsty and going downstairs. Passing by the spare room, she noticed the door ajar. James was in bed, stroking himself by the light. When she tried to slip past, he noticed and kept going despite her stare. Unexpectedly, she entered the room.
She attempted to suck him, but it was overwhelmingly large—she could only fit about a third into her mouth. She said it was absurd how massive he was in person.
James bragged the entire time, claiming he’d been sleeping with one of his friend’s moms for weeks, calling her his “pornstar.” He even mentioned she might be pregnant, and he didn’t seem to care.
She confessed she squirted four times that night. Four times. In all our years together, it’s only happened twice.
Listening to her, I was filled with fury, but I was painfully hard. She noticed.
I admitted I understood her obsession and that I was willing to give her a pass with James—but he could never know that I knew. It had to remain our secret. She looked shocked, but I saw the fire ignite in her eyes.
He’s coming over again tonight. I’m caught between jealousy, sickness, and undeniable arousal.
I don’t even know what I’ve done. I’ve effectively granted this cocky nineteen-year-old the freedom to use my girlfriend whenever he wants—thinking I’m clueless.
I’m furious, insanely jealous, yet I can’t stop obsessing over it.
What the hell is wrong with me? Has anyone else ever felt this way?
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