I’ve been divorced for four years, but it feels much longer, as the years leading up to our official separation felt like a three year skid in and of itself. They were difficult years to navigate from an anxiety standpoint, with my self esteem, my identity and my sense of soul all taking hit after hit.

Intimacy during those years? Please. I felt like a houseplant that was once vibrant and green and fun to look at, but now–I was that crinkly-leaf ficus in the corner that people kept around just because it was such a pain in the Ass to throw away. Not the best way to think about yourself, but they were some pretty dark times.

I did have some very supportive friends, mostly through my relationship at work (I am a high school teacher) with my current colleagues or ex-colleagues always hitting me up with a well-timed greeting, or a fun happy hour just to get me out of my home, and out of my rut. It was nice, and even led to some laughs along the way, but when I returned home to my struggles, everything seemed to go grey again.

I had a male friend at the time, named Nick, who did his best to be “one of the girls” when we all hung out. The teacher profession is populated by about 80% women, so the men, especially the nice or cool ones you’d look forward to a few drinks with, were few and far between. Nick was one of them.

Nick and I never hung out alone together. That would have felt weird to me. Sure, I knew my divorce was inevitable, but I still had this “thing” in my head that I had to behave a certain way, and keep up appearances for the rest of my friends and family. Even a few margaritas at Applebees would have felt awkward and wrong.

But Nick had a way of diving in with the rest of our close knit circle seamlessly, and he wasn’t any sort of a third wheel–when he was away from the school, he came out of his shell, was funny, told great stories, and at ten years my junior, was quite easy on the eyes. Six-foot-two, maybe 200 pounds (I’m always bad at guessing weights, so it could be twenty pounds in either direction), gorgeous grey-blue eyes that changed with the weather, and a smile that could make a girl melt.

As I was going through all my crap, I had the sense that there was more than met the eye with Nick, and from time to time, after a few drinks, he would pepper the conversations with vague but sad mentions about his own relationship. He was married for most of the time I had known him (about five years), but from what I could siphon from his little mentions, his Wife Lisa and he were having a really difficult time having a baby, and it was becoming a “thing” between them. I felt bad every time he’d joke about it, sensing he was putting a smile on for the rest of our benefits, but honestly it was kind of a relief to know I wasn’t the designated sad sack in our group. It made us better friends.

As my divorce became official, I almost didn’t know whether I was happy or sad to be out with my friends. A little of both, perhaps. We were all out at this tacky outdoor bar connected to a Mexican restaurant that was done up with sombreros and chili pepper lights. Whatever, it was close for everyone, and I knew if I had to get an Uber home after one too many, it was like a five minute proposition.

There was something that felt different about that night, and it wasn’t just that I was “officially” divorced. I remember as we would get up, sit down, walk around, Nick seemed to be sticking a little closer than usual. I didn’t mind, mind you, after years of stress and rejection, if felt kind of cool to have an attractive guy making excuses to sit near me. The other different thing I noticed about that night was that Nick was going to the bar alone every once in a while to order a shot. Something was off, and when the night ended, I got a signal what it was.

My friend Stephanie drove Nick that day (we all left from work) so she was going to take him directly home. I mustered a smile and a thanks to everyone who came out with us. It was nice to have friends I could count on.

When Nick hugged me goodnight, he was definitely going a little diagonal, slurring his words and being boisterous. He leaned in and mumbled, “we’ll have to do this all again when I make my thing official, too.” Wait, what? What thing? Was Nick splitting with Lisa, or was he just drunk-talking? I was curious, and I told him to call me in the morning so I would know he got home ok, but really it was to pull some more information from him.

The phone call never happened, but he did text. He said he was home, a little “hung” (meaning hung over), and that everything was fine. I asked him if there was anything he wanted to talk about, giving him an opening in case he wanted to talk about Lisa or anything else. He didn’t take the bait, so I made a joke as we said goodbye texting, “well at least it’s good to finally know you are hung.”

It was a joke. Maybe a bad one, but I’m nothing if not famous for some poor attempts at humor in the worst situations. But his response shocked me. “How do you know that?” he texted back. Oh boy, he didn’t get my reference. I started to type to embarrassingly explain, but before I could hit send, he mercifully texted again, “Ohhhhhhh, got it. Sorry!”

I wanted to make another joke, but I didn’t. I was still kind of kicking the inadvertent confession around in my head. Handsome Nick was apparently blessed with some prodigious equipment. I didn’t hate the idea. In fact, it started to worm its way into my head from time to time when I was taking time for a bit of “self care.” It was great fuel to the fire, and good lord did I crave intimacy, especially as my “divorced” year two magically morphed into two years of lockdown with the coronavirus.

With no one in my bed for, now, years, I was taking every sort of opportunity for genuine thrill or erotic gratification and honest connection. I found this site, I chatted with strangers, I expressed and shared certain fantasies with men (and a few women) I met online, and at one point, even talked myself into the dare of getting my nipples pierced (I wrote about that experience also, if you are interested in that whole thing).

Nick had since taken a new position as an administrator at another school, but we kept in touch. So much was happening with covid and remote teaching, I was always happy to see his name light up my iPhone when I’d get a text alert. Our texts never really got sexual, but they were definitely more flirty as time went on. He would pretty openly remark about things I’d post on social media, and often told me a dress or top “looked awesome on you.” I should point out that I am quite curvy (an E cup in most bras) and he always seemed to make his mentions when my top was snug or neckline was low. I didn’t mind. He wasn’t gross about it, and it kind of turned me on. I flirted back from time to time, but was careful not to cross the line, as I assumed he was still married.

“So, I guess we can finally celebrate,” was his cryptic text. Celebrate what? Vaccine news? A return to classroom learning? He hit the lottery? I had no idea what he meant. “It’s official. Lisa and I are caput.” Oh no. I felt terrible for both of them (I didn’t know her well, but the times I spoke to her, she was a sweetheart.

I started to dial his number, but stopped myself. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was. Be there for him? Round up the troops? That seemed presumptuous since I assumed he had a new circle of friends at his new school. I was sort of frozen not knowing how to respond. But he texted again. “Drinks Friday?”

Did he mean just us? The rest of our friends? It seemed…oddly thrilling, really. I asked “just us?” He explained that he wanted to talk about a few legal things, some financial things, etc., and called me his “divorce specialist friend.” Ah, ok. I got it. This was more of a serious happy hour. Right? I couldn’t figure it out. He could just call and ask me anything he needed to know, it didn’t require overpriced drinks with bamboo umbrellas. But what the hell, I was game. And as I mentioned….didn’t exactly hate the thought of being alone with an attractive man for two or three hours.

It wasn’t a date, but I was nervous as if it were. I picked out a casual outfit, but spent a few extra moment in the mirror making sure Nick would have a distracting view of my cleavage. I wore a dark floral wrap sundress that was cut an inch too low, which is actually the reason I bought it. Ok, Nick, time to find out what this get together was all about. I had butterflies as I drove to the bar.

I walked in, and wow. Standing at the bar, Nick was put together. His new administrative job required him to wear a jacket and tie, and I have to say the look was working. He wore a black jacket, grey pants, and a very pretty abstract tie with just the right dash of blue that brought out his eyes. I hugged him hello, and I could feel my heavy breasts flatten against his broad chest. I liked how it felt, and I think he did too, since he held on just a fraction of a second too long. Woman can sense a lot in that extra breath of a moment. Nick liked it. I knew.

We sat down, made conversation, he asked a few obligatory questions about divorce in general. But as the cocktails went down easily, I could feel him getting a little loose, letting his eyes drink in my ample cleavage, and making the odd remark about how good I looked in that dress. I smiled. I leaned in every once in a while giving him a better view. It was all safe, but I loved it. And yet, I had no idea where this was all heading.

Nick drank too much, too fast. I think he was sad to be out, nervous to be alone with me, and really just overwhelmed with the world. I knew exactly how he was feeling. But I couldn’t let him drive, so I offered to take him home. It wasn’t that far out of my way, and he knew I was a stickler for not driving while intoxicated. As a high school administrator, he had a healthy fear of the a citation that could actually derail his career, so he accepted.

When we piled into my Cherokee, he seemed to chill out, but got one grade drunker. He wasn’t sloppy or anything, but he was just very Free with his words, talking nonstop. He admitted he hadn’t been intimate with Lisa in over a year, and was bold enough to ask me, “when I get a new girlfriend, can you loan her that dress?” Well, I guess he liked the dress. I played along. “Do you think you’ll get a girlfriend that can fill it out?” He laughed. We both laughed. After a moment, he mumbled, “not a lot of women can fill out a dress like you can, Kristi.” I knew it was the alcohol talking, but I didn’t care. I loved feeling like I was the center of his attention, and that he appreciated my dress, and what I had managed to slip into it. And I was Horny. And I knew Nick was too.

I started to get really aroused as we got closer to Nick’s home. I started to wonder how he’d react if he knew that I had gotten my nipples pierced earlier that year. It had been months since then, and believe it or not, nobody on planet Earth had seen them yet. I started to want Nick to see them. My heart began to race, and Nick continued his flirtations. We rounded the corner to his home, and he clumsily asked, “want to see what I did with the living room?”

I didn’t give a damn what he did with the living room. But I did want to be inside that house, and I wanted it badly. I felt like not knowing what could happen was the most exciting thing I could think of. It was like a surge of adrenaline. And it kept hitting me in waves. I accepted, and we walked into his home together.

He turned and looked and me in his foyer, and the pretense melted away. He leaned in to kiss me, and I kissed him back deeply. I whispered, “Nick, no one can know.” He knew exactly what I meant. Even though we were technically “single,” neither one of us wanted to deal with the drama or innuendo. He whispered back, “of course.” And our kiss deepened.

Nick had some skills. He may not have been able to create a baby with Lisa, but holy moly he seemed to have gotten a lot of practice. He kissed my neck and backed me against the wall, and cupped my breast. My sigh told him it was ok to take things further, which he did. He whispered, “I’ve imagined this since the first day I saw you.” My adrenaline surged, and I placed my hand over his, and helped him to slide my dress and bra cups down. When Nick saw the nickel barbell studs through my nipples, he went wild. “Oh, god Kristi, Jesus Christ.”

He devoured me, and I was lost in the frenetic intimacy and energy of it all. It had been years for both of us, and it felt like it. We were panting, touching, kissing with abandon. Nick reached under my dress and began to massage my Pussy through my panties. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, like I was waiting for a tornado to pass, and I climaxed hard, panting and moaning five feet from his front door. I opened my eyes. I liked what he had done with the living room. Oh my god, did I ever.

Nervous after I climaxed, I reiterated my condition. “Nick, I am deadly serious. Nobody can know, do you swear on your life?” “I swear.” I looked at the fire in his intense blue eyes, and I knew what he needed.

Slowly, I kissed his neck, and chest. I lowered myself to my knees, my bare breasts completely on display, and he seemed to need to continue to pull my studded nipples until I bowed too low. I knew what I was about to do, and I was confident he’d get over it.

I unzipped Nick’s smart business pants, and peeled his boxer briefs down, my heart racing to know whether his “slip” years ago was grounded in reality. As his cock sprung out, I moaned my approval. Yes, Nick was “hung.” And I needed to please him immediately.

A lot goes on in your head when you are dealing with troubling times, and it just felt like we both needed to be there for each other in this moment. We didn’t need to date, or even do this again (we never did)–but we both desperately needed it right there and right then. Nick looked down at me and whispered, “Kristi, please. Please.”

I knew what he needed. I needed it just as badly. I gripped his thick cock, a little thicker than a Red Bull can, I remember thinking in the moment, which I knew even then was odd. But it made me almost salivate. I opened my mouth over him, and instinct kicked in. I started to suck Nick the same way I sucked my husband all those years–with knowing skill and needy abandon. I sucked him slow…fast. I took as much of his cock into my mouth as I could, and strained to take it all the way until I spluttered a bit, my eyes watering. There we were, two friends, two colleagues. In his foyer. With his iron-hard cock in my mouth, and I wasn’t going to stop until we both got what we wanted.

I knew “Sex“…intercourse…would have been too much. I think Nick knew it too, although neither of us mentioned it. He slipped his hand in my messy thick hair and encouraged me. I moaned louder as I sucked, and began touching myself as I savored his sexy, fat cock.

“Kristi, ” he whimpered, and I knew he was close, so I abandoned decorum and simply whispered as I sucked his flesh, “where do you need it?” He almost gasped at how forward I was, but I didn’t care. I was no longer the women he helped to American History lesson plans with–I was so much more in that shared moment, and we both knew it. He whispered back, still maintaining the politeness I loved about him. “Jesus, are you sure, Kristi?”

I nodded. And seductively reiterated with a sexy whisper and lick, “anywhere.” From his reaction to my tits and nipple piercings earlier, I would have bet a week’s salary that Nick would have chosen to cum on my breasts. But I felt a surge of need when he answered, “your beautiful face.”

Oh my god. Nick, my sexy friend, my handsome partner for the evening, was about to cum in my face. When I heard his words, my hand between my thighs moved faster and faster. I wanted to cum with him, and I knew it would be a race to finish. I felt so Hot, it was indescribable.

We were both panting, and I felt his first spasm…drawing his huge, glossy cock from my mouth and placing it directly in front of my face as he gripped his own cock, pumping madly. I felt his Hot seed splash my skin…my cheeks, my chin, my hair. He came so hard it felt like it was going to last forever. I knew how much he needed this when (I am guessing) he glazed me with anywhere between 9 and 11 thick spurts. The feeling and intensity of it brought me over the edge, and I made myself cum, screaming as he soaked me.

We panted. Calming down together. I stood, wondering how he would deal with what awkwardness would come next, and I was shocked that he leaned in, held me close, and instead of being repulsed (as my husband always was) he leaned in and kissed my cum-streaked lips. I almost fainted. Wow. This guy.

We finally did calm down, he offered me an iced tea and I accepted. And within an hour we were saying goodbye as if I had just dropped by to gift him a cactus.

But, I think about that night often. Nothing is as gratifying or sexy as two people feeding each others’ needs. I loved it.