The Confession

The sheets were still damp beneath them, twisted and tangled from the force of their lovemaking. Trent lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied breaths. Beside him, Stacy propped herself up on an elbow, her long brown hair falling in waves across her bare shoulders.

He felt her gaze before he heard her voice. That was how it always was with Stacy. She watched him with those green eyes that seemed to see straight through his skin, past his ribs, right into the messy, unorganized parts of his brain.

"That was incredible," she said softly.

Trent smiled beneath his arm. "You say that every time."

"Because it's true every time." She traced a finger down his sternum, along the line of hair that led to his navel. "But I was thinking about something. While we were doing it."

He lifted his arm and turned his head to look at her. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses. She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked.

Stacy hesitated. For a moment, her confidence wavered. He saw it in the way her finger stopped its lazy trail across his skin. She bit her lower lip, a habit she had when she was working up to something.

"You can tell me anything," he said. And he meant it. He had always meant it.

She took a breath. "I was thinking about you. With someone else. With another man."

The words hung in the air between them. Trent's body went still, the warmth of the afterglow suddenly cooling around his shoulders. He blinked.

"What?"

"I know it sounds crazy." She laughed, but it was a nervous sound, not a real one. "It just... it came into my head. The image of you with another man. And it made me so wet, Trent. I couldn't help it. I came harder than I ever have."

He stared at her. He waited for the punchline, for her to laugh and say she was joking. But she didn't. She watched him with those earnest, hungry eyes.

And then he did laugh. It burst out of him, a surprised bark of a laugh that made Stacy flinch.

"You're kidding me, right?" He sat up, pulling the sheet with him. "Stacy, that's... I mean... I'm not... you know I'm not."

She reached for his hand, her fingers cool against his palm. "I know, baby. I know you're straight. I'm not saying you aren't. I'm just telling you what I felt. What I imagined."

He shook his head, still chuckling. "You've got quite an imagination."

"I do," she said softly. "And it turned me on more than I expected."

He looked at her then. Really looked. There was no mockery in her expression, no teasing. Just honesty. Raw, vulnerable honesty.

"Why?" he asked. The question came out before he could stop it.

Stacy shrugged, a delicate movement of her shoulders. "I don't know exactly. I've had fantasies before. We all do. But this one felt different. It felt real."

He pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair. His mind was racing, trying to process what she had just told him. The woman he loved, the woman he was going to marry, had just admitted that she got off on imagining him with another man.

And somewhere deep in his gut, something stirred. He ignored it.

"I don't think I can give you that fantasy, Tess," he said, keeping his voice light. "I'm pretty sure I'm about as straight as they come."

She smiled, and there was something knowing in it. Something patient. "I'm not asking you to give it to me. I'm just telling you what I want. That's what you always say, right? That we should be honest with each other about everything."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I did say that."

"So I'm being honest." She moved closer to him, her body warm against his side. "And I'm curious about something."

He tensed. "What?"

"Have you ever thought about it? Even for a second? Before I said anything?"

The question hit him like a punch to the chest. He opened his mouth to say no immediately, but the word didn't come out. Because there was a memory, buried deep, of a moment in high school. A shared look in the locker room. A fleeting thought he had crushed before it could fully form.

"No," he said. But it came out too fast.

Stacy tilted her head. "Interesting."

"It's not interesting. It's nothing." He pulled away from her, standing up and grabbing his boxers from the floor. He felt exposed, but not in the way he usually did after sex. This was different. This was vulnerable in a way he didn't like.

"Trent." Her voice was soft, coaxing. "Come back to bed. I'm not trying to upset you."

He stood there for a moment, boxers in hand, feeling foolish. Then he let out a breath and turned around. She was lying there, completely naked, completely unashamed. Her body was a landscape he had explored a hundred times, but right now it looked foreign to him.

He climbed back into bed, keeping distance between them. Stacy closed it, pressing her warmth against his side.

"I love you," she said. "Nothing changes that. I'm just sharing a fantasy with you. That's all."

"It feels like more."

"Maybe it is." She traced patterns on his chest. "Maybe I want to explore this. With you. See where it goes."

He laughed again, but it was weaker this time. "Stacy, I'm not going to sleep with a man for your entertainment."

"I know," she said. "I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm just asking you to think about it. To let yourself imagine it while I'm touching you."

His body responded to her words before his mind could stop it. A twitch. A stir. He felt himself harden slightly and hated himself for it.

She felt it too. Her hand moved lower, her fingers wrapping around him.

"See?" she whispered. "Your body is curious. Even if your mind isn't ready."

"That's not fair," he said, but his voice cracked.

"What's not fair about it? I'm your fiancée. I'm the person you trust most in the world. If you can't explore these thoughts with me, who can you explore them with?"

She stroked him slowly, deliberately. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about what she had said. But the image came anyway. A man's hands on him instead of hers. A man's mouth.

He groaned, and it was half pleasure, half frustration.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she breathed against his ear.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her face was inches from his, her green eyes dark with arousal.

"I'm thinking about what you said," he admitted. "I'm trying not to, but I am."

She smiled. "Good. Now close your eyes again."

He did. He didn't know why he obeyed. Maybe because it was easier than arguing. Maybe because some part of him was curious.

"Imagine I'm not here," she said, her voice a low murmur. "Imagine it's just you and another man. He's attractive. He's kind. He wants you."

Trent's breath caught.

"What does he look like?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Guess."

He hesitated. The image formed reluctantly. Blond hair. Blue eyes. A lean, athletic build. He didn't know where it came from.

"Blond," he said, the word barely a whisper.

"Good. What's he doing?"

"I don't want to do this."

"Yes you do. Your body says yes. I can feel it." She tightened her grip, her thumb circling the sensitive head. "What's he doing, Trent?"

He swallowed hard. "He's... he's kissing me."

"Where?"

"My neck."

"And how does that feel?"

He tried to pull away from the fantasy, but her hand was relentless, her voice hypnotic.

"Strange," he said. "But not bad."

"Keep going," she whispered. "He's moving lower. He's kissing your chest. Your stomach."

Trent's breathing quickened. The image was vivid now, more vivid than he wanted it to be. He felt the imaginary mouth on his skin, the imaginary hands gripping his hips.

"His mouth is warm," Stacy murmured, her hand slowing to a torturous rhythm. "He's taking his time with you. He wants to savor this. Can you feel his lips on your stomach? His tongue tracing the line of hair below your navel?"

Trent's hips shifted involuntarily. "Yes."

"Good. Now he's going lower. His breath is hot against your skin. He's looking up at you with those blue eyes, and he wants this. He wants you. Tell me what he does next."

"He's taking me in his mouth," Trent said, his voice rough.

He gasped. His hips bucked involuntarily. The pleasure that shot through him was real, even though the source was imaginary.

"Is it good?" she asked.

He couldn't answer. He was too lost in the sensation, in the strange, forbidden thrill of it.

"Is it good?" she repeated, her voice firmer. Her hand tightened around his shaft, her thumb dragging through the moisture at the tip, spreading it down his length in a slick, deliberate stroke.

"Yes," he choked out. "God, yes."

"Tell me what his mouth feels like," she said, her lips brushing his ear. "Tell me everything."

"Warm. Wet." Trent's voice was barely a rasp now. "His tongue is... he's using his tongue. Circling. Then he takes me deeper."

"How deep?"

"All the way." His hand found the sheet and gripped it. "He's taking me all the way in. His throat is tight around me."

Stacy's hand matched the rhythm he described, her grip firm and slick as she stroked him from base to tip in long, twisting motions. "What are his hands doing?"

"One of them is on my hip. Gripping. Holding me in place. The other one is... cupping me. Rolling me in his palm."

"And you're watching him?"

"Yes. I can't look away. He's looking up at me while he does it. Those blue eyes. They're so focused. So hungry."

"What does that make you feel?"

"Like I'm going to fall apart." His voice broke on the last word.

Stacy shifted, pressing her body against his side. Her nipples were hard against his arm, her own arousal slick against his hip. "He's going faster now. His head is bobbing. His hand is working what his mouth can't reach. Can you feel it?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"He wants you to come in his mouth, Trent. He wants to taste you. He wants to swallow every drop. Are you going to let him?"

The words hit him like a wave. His whole body tensed, his back arching off the mattress. The image was so real he could almost feel the man's hair brushing against his thighs, the wet heat of his mouth, the desperate grip of his fingers.

"I'm close," he gasped.

"I know you are." She increased her pace, her hand working him faster now, her wrist twisting on the upstroke. "Come for me. Come thinking about him. Come in his mouth."

And he did. The orgasm ripped through him, violent and overwhelming. He cried out, his body arching off the bed, his hands fisting in the sheets. His release came in thick, hot spurts across his stomach and chest, and Stacy stroked him through every pulse, milking him until he was trembling and spent. And in that moment of release, the image of the blond man was the last thing in his mind.

He lay there, panting, covered in sweat and his own release. Stacy rested her head on his chest, her fingers still tracing lazy patterns on his skin. She pressed her lips to his shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat.

"See?" she said softly. "It's not so scary."

He didn't say anything. He couldn't. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and shame and something else. Something that felt dangerously close to excitement.

"I love you," she said again. "And I want to explore this with you. Slowly. Gently. At your pace."

He closed his eyes. He thought about saying no. He thought about drawing a line, about telling her this was too far, too strange, too much.

But he didn't.

Instead, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Okay," he said, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. "Okay, Stacy. We can explore it."

She smiled against his chest. And in the darkness of their bedroom, with the scent of sex still thick in the air, Trent felt something shift inside him. A door he had kept locked his entire life creaked open, just a crack.

He told himself he could close it anytime he wanted.

He was wrong.