Aftermath from the Drunk & High Party Fuck

**This post is part of a series sharing old events involving a boyfriend; I wrote it a long time ago but chose never to post it here. Please keep in mind that all of this happened after I gave up being a slut and tried to be a serious boyfriend. The mindset is different than it was when I was writing the blog a long time ago. But also keep in mind that this is just a snapshot in time…it doesn’t reflect the present either. So if you don't want to read about me being a loving and caring person, skip this series.**

Brock and I were understandably rocky after the night we spent at John’s apartment. When we woke up in the morning, Brock claimed no memory of anything that had happened. I chose not to tell him that he had broken up with me and that I had fucked John.

The first thing we did that morning was get something to eat. We talked, but we were both exhausted, so it wasn’t long before we were back at my place and both passed out in bed.

The next few days were really sucky. I was regretting what I had done and feeling a lot of guilt. I told myself that I shouldn’t feel bad because Brock had broken the relationship off before anything happened between John and I, but that wasn’t satisfying enough. Yeah, we were broken up, but Brock didn’t even remember that. He had no idea it happened! How would Brock react to hearing that John and I had fucked afterward when he didn’t even remember telling me to get lost?

I hid the truth and avoided having sex with Brock even when I really wanted it. That task wasn’t easy. Brock and I had been fucking almost every day and sometimes several times a day until this point in our relationship. I had to make up a lot of excuses about being tired or not feeling right, and we were soon fighting over the lack of sex.

I had no idea what to do. I knew John had fucked me bareback and I knew that I’d taken his load. Worse, I’d left it in my ass for several hours, until Brock had woken me up and I finally had a chance to take some time in the bathroom. If John had anything, there was a good chance I also had it now. I couldn’t risk exposing Brock, and I really needed to get an STD test fast if there was going to be any hope of keeping the fire alive.

Brock was pissed off the entire time. He knew something was wrong but didn’t understand how to make me fess up. That made him feel more pissed, and eventually he decided to spend a night in his own apartment. That step by itself was really weird—we’d basically been living together at my place for months, ever since the night we met.

“I think I’m going to go chill out at home,” Brock suggested casually.

I looked him in the eye. “By yourself, you mean?”

He nodded. “It’s been awhile. I think it might be good for us. Maybe we’ve been spending too much time together…trying to get close too fast.”

I wasn’t going to admit the truth. I just suggested that maybe he was right.

“I’ll do some cleaning and wash some laundry or something. Maybe hit up my roommate since it’s been awhile.”

I agreed that his plan sounded like a nice change.

Brock put clothes on and grabbed his important stuff. He gave me a kiss and headed out the door.

That Brock wanted to spend any time by himself was highly unusual for the reasons I just explained. I was extremely suspicious of him, to the point of seriously imagining myself surreptitiously following Brock around.

I peered out my bedroom window and saw Brock walking back toward his place. He lived within walking distance of me, so I had the perfect opportunity to embrace my curiosity and see what he was up to.

I put on a tshirt, a pair of gym shorts, and a quiet pair of shoes. I bolted out of my apartment and down the stairs, walking in the opposite direction Brock had taken.

I assumed that Brock was going to his apartment. If he saw me behind him, he would quit walking and ask me what the fuck I was doing. If I hurriedly took another street that led to the same place, I could probably stake out a view of Brock’s place without any risk of being seen.

With my choice made, I tore across the sidewalk at a fast pace. I climbed the stairs of another building in Brock’s complex and hid myself in one of the hallways, my eyes focused on his door. After a few minutes, Brock appeared, walking really slowly with his phone in hand. He opened his door and disappeared inside.

So far so good. The question was how long Brock would stay there. I got comfortable and kept my eyes open.

How did I find myself in this situation? If I didn’t trust Brock enough to believe what he told me, why was I fighting to keep the relationship together? Why was I sitting here spying on my boyfriend? I felt silly. This was all my fault.

I started worrying that one of Brock’s neighbors might appear and think that I was being really suspicious, but just then I heard his apartment’s door open.

Brock had changed his clothes and appeared again, phone still in hand. He locked the door and started back in the direction he had originally come.

Fuck. I guess he changed his mind and was starting back toward my place. I checked my phone, thinking that he might send me a text to let me know. Nothing. I thought about heading back to my apartment and looking like I hadn’t even left, but I decided to tail Brock instead. If he texted me, I would tell him that I had gone out for a walk and appear at my door within a few minutes. No harm done.

After couple minutes of walking, Brock left the path that led back to my apartment. I felt some kind of shock hit me. Where was he going? Suddenly I was very happy to be behind him, with innocent and non-innocent explanations floating through my head.

Brock kept checking his phone. There were so many friends he could be going to meet, along with a lot of gay boys, that I had no idea who he was texting.

We ended up on a main road, which Brock crossed. Luckily, there weren’t many lights, so I managed to stay relatively close and keep him in sight the entire time. And then my heart sank as Brock walked into John’s apartment complex.

“You fucker,” I mumbled. “Fuck you, Brock. Fuck you.”

I knew Brock probably had at least one other friend living there, but I was fairly certain they wouldn’t be seeing him that evening. Brock was almost certainly heading for John’s house instead, and the two had probably been texting about what they would do this whole time.

Sure enough, I trailed Brock to John’s building and watched him slip inside. The game was over now. Short of walking up to John’s apartment and looking in the window, I had no way to observe.

How could he do this to me? What the fuck? I know I had messed up too, but I had only done it because I believed Brock and I were over. I never would have cheated on him otherwise—never. I started to feel crazy. Had I really tailed my boyfriend like this? I can honestly say I’d never followed someone around like that in my life. Maybe Brock and John wouldn’t even fuck. Maybe they were just going to have a drink and smoke a bowl.

That activity could very easily lead to fucking, of course. I resigned myself to believing that it was probably happening as I sat there.

I was really wishing I had a pack of cigarettes then, but I didn’t. We’d only buy them when we knew we were going out or going to a party, and that certainly hadn’t been an option tonight. I was going to have to sit outside and entertain myself or go home.

Go home with my boyfriend fucking some guy? Fuck that. I wanted to know how long he was going to be in that apartment. I resolved to stay outside all night if that’s what it took to watch him walk back home.
I spent a lot of that time crying. I felt so fucking dumb for letting myself fall for Brock so hard. He was too young for me, too inexperienced—just not ready to settle down into a serious relationship with a guy like me. I should have seen that and admitted it to myself rather than trying to make it work. It wasn’t my job to try to mature him. Shit, I was barely ready for a serious relationship myself. It had only happened because our connection was that strong and the sex was that amazing.

I also continued to feel guilty for allowing our drunk fight to justify hooking up with John. I knew Brock and I were both extremely wasted when we were trading words…how could I have used that as an excuse to give into John’s advances?

We were both doing dumb things and finding a way to trust each other again sounded like an impossible burden. I started to think it might be best just to break up without ever explaining what had happened. We could both walk away and start over again with other people. Maybe a lot of other people…

I called Brock to see how he would handle it. He didn’t answer, texting me a couple minutes later. We exchanged a few meaningless words about what we were both supposedly doing at that moment and left it there.

I sat outside for almost two fucking hours with people going in and out of doors every few minutes, but I watched John’s like a hawk, and when it opened I was definitely paying attention.

Brock emerged alone, shutting the door behind him and starting back toward the street.

“You fucking bastard,” I whispered to myself. “Fucking bastard.”

I started tailing him again, and Brock’s disorderly stride made clear that he and John had indeed at least been drinking and probably more.

I was less careful this time, getting closer to him than I had been, but he looked too fucked up to notice. Even if he did see me, who cared?

Brock retraced his steps and returned to his own apartment, disappearing inside once again. I’d seen all I needed to see, but I thought the show might continue. I stayed there awhile thinking that Brock might come back out, but he never did.

After another hour, I went back home. I was angry, pissed, and sad, but I kept it under control. I really had no idea what happened that night, and if I wanted the true I would need to find a way to get it.

I decided the best approach would be to see Brock again. We could act like everything was somewhat normal between us and pass out in bed together. And after some time had gone by, with Brock happily dreaming, I would pick up his phone and read whatever messages he had been exchanging last night. Hopefully that would settle the question forever.

I was awake far too long thinking angry thoughts or crying. It was truly a terrible night, one that was too emotional for me to handle.

But I stuck to the plan. Brock went to work the next morning and came to my place after he got off, returning to our old pattern. I picked up some beer and we finished it off throughout that evening.

When Brock tried to sit on my dick, I pretended that I had been drinking too much to do it. Eventually he gave up, and soon after we’d each finished our last bottles Brock was sleeping peacefully in my bed.

The time had come. I kept watching TV, trying to ignore Brock’s immobilized form. After another twenty or thirty minutes I figured I would be safe to strike.

Brock tossed and turned but didn’t wake up. When the appointed time came, I took his phone and typed the password in. The password had never been a secret—he told me what it was at the time he set it. We trusted each other…neither of us had secrets on our phones. I had worried that he might change it, but the password worked and the contents of the phone were mine to explore.

John was the text message chain after mine in Brock’s phone. They’d traded nearly 50 messages since they met. I read them all.

Those texts weren’t saved, but I can relay the substance of them:

Brock: Sorry about my boyfriend last night. He’s not as open as me…he just freaked out and didn’t know what to do. [lol…Brock knows everything about me, so that’s funny]

John: No worries, it’s straight. You’re both really hot. I wish we could have all had some fun.

Brock: Yeah. I really wanted to.

John: Well we should hang out tonight. You can leave RCJS at home. I have plenty of stuff.

Brock: Yeah. I’ll text you later.

That fucking bitch. Brock had no idea then at John had actually fucked me that night, and John wasn’t dropping any hints. Apparently I wasn’t good enough, though. Apparently John needed to fuck both of us before he could feel content. The bastard was beating me at my own game.

Brock: Hey man. When did you want to hang?

John: How about 11:00?

Brock: Cool. I’ll be there.

John: You bringing RCJS too?

Brock: No. Just me.

John: Ok, see you when you get here man.

The messages were innocent enough so far. It was still conceivable that Brock had just gone to John’s place to hang out that night. They’d shared some drinks and maybe smoked a bowl or two of weed…and maybe that was it. Some part of me wanted to accept this explanation and stop looking, but the rest couldn’t accept that with the truth so easily available in front of me.

John: Thanks for coming last night. Awesome time.

Brock: Yeah. I had a lot of fun.

John: We need to keep hanging out then. Get your bf to join.

Brock: RCJS won’t do it. He made that very clear.

John: Well you never know. Try again next time.

Brock: lol, maybe. I guess we’ll see.

Still no smoking guns…everything had checked out. To see anything in those messages I would have to read it in and convince myself that it happened.

There was a problem, though. That wasn’t the end of the chain. The last message had been from this morning, probably right before Brock had gone to work. There was a set of newer messages that had been exchanged at work.

Brock: What’s up?

John: Just hanging around the house, you?

Brock: Yeah, working. Sucks.

John: lol, you would rather be doing something else? Like what?

Brock: I have a couple ideas.

John: Quickie in the bathroom there on your break? Lol

Brock: I wish.

John: So what, you really want more?

Brock: I’m not going to lie, it felt really good.

John: Come over again tonight.

Brock: Can’t. I always hang out with RCJS after work.

John: Bring him too. We can all get a little toasted and go for it.

Brock: He’ll probably kill me just for saying it. No way.

John: Are you ever coming back then?

Brock: I’ll text you sometime when I get a chance.

When I read those messages now, it’s clear to me that John really wanted to include me in what was going on. But that’s not what I saw initially. No, I saw a hot fucking faggot who thought he was so hot and so sexually talented he could fuck my boyfriend behind my back without recourse. He didn’t care that I existed—I was irrelevant. I was just a way into what John really wanted, which was my boyfriend’s ass.

Fuck them both. I’m done with this shit. I got up and started gathering up all of Brock’s stuff from my apartment. I took a few boxes and bags out of the closet and loaded them up.

I had given up so much for Brock, totally changing who I was and how I lived. Brock had done almost the same thing…he wasn’t ever as slutty as I was, always pretty tame, but he spent a good year fucking a few different boys a week. We were both great fucks, but we’d both gotten tired of being sluts. That’s how it had all begun, and that’s how we decided we were done with other people. To be fair, we were happy together for a really long time. We had totally satisfied each other in every possible way for months, acting like best friends and fucking constantly. It was nice, but I concluded that it had all been a mistake. We just weren’t ready.

I slept on the couch that night. When Brock woke up in the morning, I would tell him that our relationship was over.