Christopher James is obsessed with nude images– of women, and of himself.
A photographer, swimmer, and sexual athlete, he is drawn into relationships with beautiful women, before he realises there are more than just two sexes, and he is only using half of his sexual potential. He ‘reflects’ upon the many lovers he has known, and how he comes to discover his bisexuality, by opening up first his mind, then his body.
Jo graduated and got a lecturing post at the university. She worked hard and often said she was too tired for sex. I found it frustrating, but didn’t make a big fuss about it. I was still selling cameras in the city centre, and as I worked Saturdays, I got a day off during the week, usually Wednesday. So I would go to the public baths for a swim and sauna, then mess around the flat on my own. I would be naked all day, only dressing if I had to go out. There was a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door, and sometimes I would stand in front of it facing my reflection, touching myself. It was like we were two men, watching each other stroking ourselves and ejaculating together, yet I never thought about doing it with another man in real life.
I had a powerful sex drive, and I always had plenty of juice left for Jo, although she didn’t seem to have as much time for sex once she started lecturing. It came as quite a shock when I found out she was seeing somebody else. I had put her lack of enthusiasm down to the stress of her new job. We had always had a great sex life until then, and I had been sure that she enjoyed it, too.
The day I found out was my day off. I had decided to do some shopping for myself, and called into a city centre pub for a sandwich and a quick drink. Imagine my surprise when I saw Jo at a corner table with another guy. I was just about to go over and say, “Surprise!” when the guy leaned in and gave her a lingering kiss. She was enjoying it, too. I ducked out of sight, my heart sinking. What should I do? I rushed out and went straight home. I had to get my head straight. I would talk to her about it later. It wasn’t as if we were engaged; we just had, well…an arrangement. Sort of. Didn’t we? I knew we’d been getting into a rut, and the sex was becoming mechanical, but I thought we were just going through a temporary phase.
When she came home I kissed her cheek and asked how her day had been. “Usual stuff, lectures, meetings,” she replied without meeting my eyes.
“Who was the guy you were with at lunchtime, in the pub? You know, the one you were snogging?”
Her face went red, and she sat down and wept. Then she told me, all the time staring at the floor.
“Peter and I were together for two years, then we sort of drifted apart. Soon after that, he met somebody else and got married. When I started at the Uni I bumped into him, and was surprised when he said he was working there, too.” She dabbed her eyes, then continued.
“He also told me his marriage was over. His wife left him for somebody else four months ago, and he was feeling really down. We started going for drinks together, to cheer him up, so to speak. He’d really lost confidence in himself. I felt sorry for him, and I still felt something for him, you know, since we’d been lovers before.”
“So, you’ve had sex with him, I suppose?” She didn’t need to answer, it was written on her face. “Where?”
“He has a flat near the Uni.”
Then it all fell into place, her working late, and her loss of interest in making love. She would seem pre-occupied with what I had assumed was her work.
“So, what’re your plans?”
“I don’t have any plans. I haven’t thought it through yet. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll have to hurt somebody, and I think it’s too late to consider my feelings. You obviously care more about his.”
She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Chris, you deserved better.”
“I think it would be better if you moved out. Then it’ll be up to you to decide if you want to move in with him.”
“He has asked me to, but I wasn’t sure. Now, oh, I don’t know. I don’t really have a choice now, do I?”
There was stone in my gut. “You may as well pack your things and go now.”
We had been together more than a year. It took me months to get over the emptiness in the flat. I spent as little time there as possible, throwing myself into my work. On my days off I went to the gym, then for a swim. On Sundays I’d go to my grandmother’s for lunch. Later at my flat, I would round off the evening with a glass or two of wine and a couple soft porn magazines, like Men Only and Fiesta. Men Only had the most glamorous girls, all big boobs and smooth, perfect skin. Fiesta had the more attainable Readers’ Wives. Some of the wives were very sexy and showed everything. For me though, the readers’ letters were the real turn-on. The men would describe in explicit detail their experiences with their wives, girlfriends, mates’ wives, and so on. I always got an erection reading them. Also, the wives or girlfriends would write in and describe their feelings when having a big hard cock inside them, or in their mouths. I found myself getting turned on, imagining how they felt as I read every word. I loved oral sex, and sometimes I wondered what it would feel like, sucking another man’s cock while he did the same to me, never thinking it would ever actually happen.
