I once caught my boyfriend of the time having sex with another girl, and someone I knew, though didn’t know all that well.
Once upon a time I live in a shared house, students all of us, me and two other girls Sam (Samantha) and Yvonne, and 4 guys, Tom, Ragesh, Phil and Stephen. A large house, three floors and everyone has their own space and room/ rooms. I like it being it felt quite gothic and I was always sure it was haunted but luckily I believed by relatively benign spirits. It was strange thinking that, in other words, even when you were alone you were never truly alone, or at least couldn’t be sure whether you were or not But, I suppose that’s another story I will probably tell another time.
One evening after one of the relatively common late lectures I returned laden with food shopping as I was the usual cook in the house for the time we ate communally or in two’s or threes. I didn’t mind having ended up with this role, as it was exclusive but I did enjoy cooking and inventing new things to do with sometimes a wildcard of ingredients.
Having dropped all of the stuff in our large shared kitchen I went upstairs to my room before unpacking it all to delayer myself a bit from the cold winter weather. I was on the third, top, floor which lucky for me afforded some amazing views over the rooftops of other houses in the street across the mountains not that far away, and I got most of the sky from this eyrie vantage point.
On my way back down on the second floor landing I heard noises coming from Yvonne’s room. I say ‘noise’, it was a cross between someone breathing hard as they might on treadmill and, bizarrely, grunting. It didn’t take long for my brain to consider it sounded not unlike two people having sex. Of course, I didn’t think this was actually the case, though I don’t know why, but drawn to it nonetheless and thought, well, if it was then lucky them and actually lucky Yvonne as it was emanating from hers.
I realised I couldn’t have been that discrete coming up the stairs and they must have heard me, although, then again if they were somewhat preoccupied then quite possibly they didn’t. So, I tip-toed past this time so as not to disturb them or ruin their momentum, so to speak: that would be tragic.
As it happened, though the door was slightly ajar, slightly more than slightly being almost half open which I felt was a bit careless. But, I suppose heat of the moment and all that; I very much know what that’s like. I chose to not look on passing but nevertheless, curiosity seemed to get the better of me, and I’m sure anyone else would have not been able to help themselves in at least not rushing a peek.
I could see them on her bed, a dishevelled duvet discarded and strewn on the floor which left them on top totally naked, two sweaty, moving mounds of flesh and limbs and recognisable sounds. I don’t know how many seconds it took me to realise that I recognised the bottom and then the rest of the guy with her: my boyfriend, Sean. She was humping my boyfriend. He was fucking her. They were wrestling with each other, both guilty suspects now culprits, partners in crime: partners in unfaithfulness.
My boyfriend! She knew Sean and knew we were an item, loosely-speaking at least, not engaged or ‘promised’ in any other way than girlfriend and boyfriend.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and realised I kept saying the same thing over and over in my head: my boyfriend!
Then I was thinking, what a bitch, and of him, what a bastard. I’m sure other words for him went through my head too but I can’t recall now. I was horrified. It was only after what seemed like no more than five minutes or so that I realised I hadn’t stormed in ranting and raving and basically kicking him where it hurts. Instead, I was just watching, still watching from the door ajar, holding my breath, not making a solitary noise of protest or otherwise.
Get in there, I told myself, give them what for. I felt conflicted: a friend and my boyfriend, fucking, and fucking like they really meant it too. I could tell as I watched how involved this was.
Yes, I watched, still watched, staring in disbelief frozen to the spot, to the shadows of a now darkened landing almost melting into the heavy wooden door. It was then I realised I hadn’t said anything because all too quickly I found myself pretty much captivated by the sight; a sight I most definitely wasn’t expecting Maybe I was experiencing trauma, early-onset post-traumatic stress, I didn’t know, certainly now wasn’t the time to analyse, but it did seem that it was time to watch and stay quiet, at one with the shadows. Be like one of the house ghosts: invisible, intangible, there and not.
So many emotions crashed through me causing a chaos inside me that just failed to get through my skin or to my muscles or even my reflexes and trigger me into some kind of action, even if it was only just to walk away. I stood there feeling… feeling all of a kind of thrill. I didn’t at first recognise it as that, more perhaps a rippling of the fight or flight reflex as I stayed watching, with all my sense, drinking in what I was seeing taking place before my eyes: two people having sex, me the voyeur, two people who I knew, one I knew so very well and weirdly wishing I was the one in there even if I too was being watched having sex. It wouldn’t have been the first time being seen in such an act.
I should go in there and after a good healthy outburst of indignation then break up with him. As for Yvonne I would have to deal with that later, somehow, though had no idea at this point. I should, but, what was stopping me? What held me back?
I hated confrontation, hated conflict of any kind and always wound up in tears invariably, so I reasoned, as much as I could at that point, that I should let them finish. Let them finish! Was I totally mad? What am I thinking? But there it was, that thought, I should just wait, not watching until they’re done then it won’t feel as awkward, or at least that’s what I told myself. How could it not feel awkward at whatever stage they were at? Clearly I was in two minds, if not more.
Clearly this wasn’t happened, but it was, clearly.
Yvonne is extremely attractive, in so many ways, physically yes, but also she is just a great person which makes her easily a magnet for people, particularly guys, unsurprisingly. She is instantly likeable, some people are just like that. I watched Sean’s thick black, shoulder-length hair now sweaty, lank and clinging to the back of his neck. They clearly had been going a while and I knew all too well he had a lot of stamina when it came to sex, which definitely suited me, being I’m the same. It contrasted with Yvonne’s very long, straight fire-red hair spread out on the bed sheets as they fucked with ever-increasing enthusiasm.
Was this the first time they’d done this? Is this a regular thing that I’ve been totally oblivious too? Has he done this with other women while with me? I had never done it to him, although admittedly, I had been unfaithful in thought, that’s true. Maybe ‘unfaithful’ is too strong a word being we were only going out, with benefits of course. Now here I am with the prospect of what they call an ‘open’ relationship. Either that or I dump him completely.
I watched. I watched him between her legs up wide open for him, knees bent gripping his thighs, letting and feeling his cock that’s been in me now inside her, again and again and again. I felt my armpits sweating, tears almost coming to my eyes except, they didn’t come: they refused to cry. I was aroused. I couldn’t believe myself, what was I thinking? It was like watching porn in a way, not that I did that much, in fact hardly ever having found it mostly dull, dumb and rather silly.
They were slightly angled onto the door where I continued hiding, continued staring unable to turn away or walk away. Sean’s buttocks tensed as he pulled out and then tensed again as he entered her, thrusting ever more enthusiastically making her shake and shudder, quietly respond with encouraged gasps and moans. He had a nice bum; I always thought that and loved that about him. Who wouldn’t? But from here it looked faintly ridiculous too, laughable. I didn’t laugh, that was the last thing on my mind. I realised that’s how he looks when we fuck, between my legs, deep in me and I hold him, scratching, pulling, wanting; moaning.
At the same time I found it erotic, fascinating, I wanted that to be me now, I wanted to be the one being watched, and wondered if Yvonne knew I was watching would she be horrified, or would she be excited, driven to fuck my boyfriend harder. They were being illicit, going behind my back, but then so was I right now, illicitly watching. How was I any better watching her small breasts shudder at each rhythmic thrusting of their hips and waists, her fingers digging further into his back I thought she might impale him on her nails.
They were both sweating heavily and I felt now more involved, felt a part of this unexpected turn of events. We had become an unwitting threesome, which prompted a thought I quickly discarded about whether or not I should just strip off and join in in some way. No! No way! That would be… be what? My brain was doing somersaults as their bodies oozed melted into each other determined to see where this ends, as I seemed to be now, also committed to what was unravelling before my eyes: quite possibly at least my relationship with Sean, and maybe even Yvonne.
I was angry. I was aroused. I was frustrated. I was speechless. I was becoming seriously turned on. I felt awful for watching, awful for having caught them. Is it best I never knew, or is this best, that I found out? Not like this though, surely. But I was enjoying it, seeing them, watching my boyfriend having sex, which I had never seen from this, from this angle I supposed. I placed my hand over my jeans, over my sex, maybe protecting myself in a way but also feeling a heat filtering through the denim and my knickers. My hand stayed there, holding myself between my legs, feeling Sean inside me even though he was inside her. Watching Yvonne’s glistening face, flushed, about to orgasm then she does which makes Sean fuck her faster, like he does with me, his body slapping into her as she bites her lips to not scream.
I dug my own fingers into my thighs; I was kneading myself wanting to pull them off and breath. Then I heard a familiar sound, of Sean, the sound he makes, almost inhuman, quietly like sinews snapping, of him about to ejaculate as his buttocks now also flushed pink with Yvonne’s grip were hypnotic to watch, and then he did, cumming inside hers and not mine.
I almost swore out loud, stifling the word fuck under my hand. At that I dashed as surreptitiously as I could back upstairs, though I’m sure right now they wouldn’t have heard me anyway being in the throes of orgasm heaven.
Back in my room I sat on my bed tense, wound up, mind racing, and unfathomably horny. Laying back in the covers, my legs dangling over the edge I placed both hands on my hips and run them around my waistband very aware of the warmth, the arousal inside. I undid the buttons and slipped my hands freely over my knickers now wet then inside exploring myself as I’ve done man times, except this time felt different because of what prompted it: my boyfriend, or soon to be ex-boyfriend and Yvonne fucking, and me watching them, willingly.
My hand crossed my smooth pubis guiding the fingers to where they need to be moving with practised grace smearing the soft secretions, closed my eyes and saw them again as I had done only minutes ago and let my hips imagining his body spreading me wide and bearing his weight down upon me, knowing the nuance of his love-making. Is that what I just saw: them making love? Or was it just raw, primal sex; fucking? We’d done that and I love it a knew what Yvonne must have been experiencing, the spontaneity of it, the urgency, the intensity.
I pushed a finger inside and gripped myself almost painfully, making myself hurt, wanting to feel as much as I could and as I did felt stirrings, a flooding of emotion, of lust, like angry sex. Two fingers inside me, entreating my folds to become engorged with blood. I couldn’t get the image of them having sex out of my mind and didn’t want too. I consumed it, greedily over and over, his buttocks, her naked pale legs, her nipples, his taut arms bracing himself for the crescendo.
I exploded inside. My body convulsing silently as I almost bit through my lip. It engulfed me like forest fire bringing tears to my eyes, I kept pushing and pushing and wanting and swallowing until I sunk even further into the mattress.
I was drained. I must have looked a sight, my jeans halfway down my thighs, knickers too, soaking, clutching for breath, reddened eyes. I curled up, slipped one hand comfortingly between my legs knowing that even though I’d been initially shocked finding them as they were I had soon became engrossed, an accomplice, letting it awaken deep-seated desires, mixed as they were, in seeing them fuck so deliciously.
The next day I finished with Sean and, rightly or wrongly, didn’t tell him I saw them, watched them, masturbated because of them but I did say I knew he and Yvonne had had a thing. He didn’t deny it but he did feel awkward and embarrassed saying he was planning to tell me. I’m sure he was, or maybe anyway. I no longer minded having realised I would’ve been fine with an open relationship as long as both knew that’s what it was.
Me and Yvonne didn’t talk much for a while but eventually it was just history and again no longer was an issue. We actually got to know each other much better and have stayed really good friends. Neither did I tell her I saw them, watched them, masturbated about them. This was my secret, my dirty little secret I suppose, and when I remember I do so with a knowing smile on my face.