Chapter 2 — So This Happens Too – Part 1 (2)

A cold winter wind sweeps across my spine, sending a chill down my back. Goosebumps rise and I shiver involuntarily.

I wonder if I've completely lost my mind—but when else would I ever get to do something like this with my wife?

Just in case, I leave the car door open as I step outside.

She grins mischievously and thrusts her hips back toward me.

The freezing air snaps me back to reality, and the slick wetness between my legs stiffens in the cold.

I push inside again.

Her body is still warm.

Someone might be watching—we could be seen—but I don't want to stop.

Slowly, gently, adjusting pressure and rhythm as if savoring every moment.

I think I hear murmuring voices nearby, but she doesn't hesitate. Instead, she speeds up, bolder than ever.

I catch sight of a couple passing by, oblivious—or pretending not to see—the two of us panting beneath the wall. The thought sends a strange thrill through me.

Lifting her onto the trunk, I stand comfortably upright. The angle is perfect.

Now I let the cool night air wash over me, breathing deeply as I channel purified energy downward.

In the darkness, her eyes are nearly rolled back.

At the final moment, I come inside her mouth.

She accepts every last drop without resistance, swallowing carefully. It feels like more than usual.

My face is soaked with sweat, and hers is smeared with my cum and perspiration.

Suddenly, I feel a chill.

I crank the car heater to maximum, lean back, and light a cigarette.

Even now, she's still diligently sucking my scrotum and shaft.

It feels like she thinks this might be our last time together…

On the drive back to her place, she doesn't say a word.

She leans against the seat like someone exhausted from a long journey, eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

I decline her quiet offer to come in for a cup of tea and head straight home.

Contrary to my earlier thought—let's part gracefully—I'm suddenly afraid.

What if I start clinging to her? A pathetic thought creeps in.

For a day or two, life returns to normal. I joke with coworkers, do my job, go home to my family waiting for me.

About three days after we parted, I start feeling off.

My groin itches, and I feel a stinging sensation every time I pee.

Swallowing my pride, I visit a urologist near my office, far enough from work that no one should recognize me.

After a urine test, the doctor doesn't say much.

Just the usual advice: don't mess around physically for a while, you've got signs of urethritis—get a shot, take the meds, and abstain from sex for a few days.

I sit blankly in the injection room, staring out the narrow window, waiting for my turn.

A nurse walks in and pulls out a syringe.

And then I see her.

I'm stunned. The awkwardness is unbearable. What are the odds that she—of all people—works here as a nurse?

She approaches me naturally, telling me to get ready for the shot.

I hesitate, half-pulling down my pants, when she boldly yanks them down herself.

Injections for urological issues are brutally painful and the ache lingers.

She expertly inserts the needle into my body, then starts gently rubbing the spot with a cotton swab.

Then—slowly, deliberately—her other hand begins stroking my groin. I feel like I came to remove a thorn and ended up with another stuck in deeper.

She wipes my anus and glans thoroughly with a swab soaked in antiseptic. I can't exactly protest.

Lying on the clinic bed, receiving oral from an older nurse—there's something undeniably lurid and thrilling about it.

That day, we parted without further arrangement, restrained by the public setting.

After that, she didn't call me.

Three days later, I returned to the clinic to finish my medication and take another urine test.

The bacteria were gone. I was clean again—back to my old, "pure" self. I felt refreshed.

That evening, I got a call from her.

Hearing her voice, lively and carefree, I answered with a surge of illicit excitement—she said her test results were clear too.

She mentioned I'd left my medical card behind and offered to return it. Cleaner than I expected—this woman.

With her personality, I found myself hoping we could keep this going… indefinitely.

Why not? I was even in the mood to take her out for a nice dinner.

We agreed on dinner, drinks, and then—locked in passionate eye contact—headed to a karaoke room.

We played an upbeat disco medley, and I attempted the wall press move I'd always fantasized about.

And tonight—just for me—she pulled out her secret weapon: the glow-in-the-dark condom.

Since then, four months have passed. I saw her two more times.

And then—nothing. No more contact.

Sometimes, I still wonder.
"So this happens too..."