I feel a hand on my shoulder during the mid-service Sharing of the Peace one Sunday morning.

“Peace be with you, Joe,” says Jerry as he shakes my hand, a kindly look in his eyes. “I’m really sorry to hear how the job search is going. But if you find yourself with extra time on your hands while you're looking, the Facilities Committee has lost a couple of members recently, and we sure could use some help.”

“Oh, that’s an excellent idea,” interjects Jen, my wife. “I heard Pastor Heidi say you're short-staffed. Joe’s very good with his hands. And he needs to find something else to do with them.”

I'm sixty-two, about the shittiest age to get laid off, and I haven’t had so much as an interview in three months. Fortunately, Jen still works and we live modestly, so we can scrape by on her salary without tapping into our retirement funds early. But having already plowed through much of the honey-do list at home, I’ve been feeling not just aimless but useless.

So Jen's not wrong that I need more to do. Nor is she wrong about the other meaning of “something else with my hands." Perhaps seeking more validation in my forced retirement, I have been pestering her more for sex, not something we have been doing a lot of in recent years.

Monday morning, I show up at the church and become the newest member of the Facilities Committee, led by Jerry. Sixty-eight and a retired HVAC contractor, he has a rugged but kindly way about him. A lot of little things in this sprawling building need attention: a flaky light fixture or leaky faucet, regular mowing and weeding of the extensive grounds, polishing and vacuuming the floors, and keeping those stained-glass windows looking glorious.

Being useful again immediately helps me feel better about myself, and by extension grateful to easygoing, capable Jerry, with whom I get along so well that Jen jokingly calls him my “work wife.” Yet another deceptively insightful observation from her.

The building has long needed a major energy upgrade, which Jerry has the ability to do without hiring contractors. The Finance Committee has already funded the materials, and my help around the building finally frees him up to get going. It's a big job, requiring him to tear open walls to add insulation and seal ducts, as well as replace dozens of outdated windows. But it’s easy-breezy work for Jerry, which he infuses with a lighthearted can-do attitude.

By September, having already prepped for many of the window replacements, he needs my help removing and installing the heavy assemblies. One afternoon, as I hold a window steady while he levels and shims it, I notice a bulge in his shorts. Actually, it’s not the first time I’ve noticed; it’s just the first time he’s noticed me noticing. That I’ve noticed.

“Sorry, Joe, this used to be my life's work." Slyly he adds, “I guess it still gives me a hard-on.”

“Just don’t let the little old ladies see."

“Oh, I think there are a couple of them wouldn't mind seeing it. Just imagine if they saw us working with boners on.”

Somehow, this banter has given me an erection. “You know, Joe," Jerry says conspiratorially, "I give you a bad time about having a desk job your whole life," grinning as he pounds in a couple of set nails to hold the window in its final position, "but now I see that you’re still a real man.”

Well, he's flat wrong if he thinks it’s church ladies making me hard. Because with the rim of his glans faintly visible through his sweatshorts, I have the startling vision of my wetted lips enveloping that succulent cap, his hardened shaft following close behind.

We continue working as if that exchange meant nothing, but powerful sexual images start washing over me. As soon as I get home, Jen still at work, I drop to my knees and jerk myself in the entryway, gasping lines like, "Feed me your cock, Jerry!" and "Pump my mouth full of your cum," until I spew across the floor. Some of the goo sticks to my hand and I lick it off, savoring the taste. "Wish it was yours, Jer," I murmur.

Well, that was wild. Caught me off guard. Probably won't happen again.

But that night, I dream of Jerry swallowing my spooge and declaring, "Now that's a real man." As soon as Jen leaves for work, I can't resist jacking myself into my hand, slurping up the goo, and swirling it around in my mouth to savor before swallowing it down. Huh. I guess it did happen again.

Over the next couple of weeks, I find myself fantasizing about my “work wife” more than my actual, albeit sexually distant, wife. My strong feelings of amity with Jerry, which initially weren’t sexual at all, have been transformed by that view of his dick outline. These persistent thoughts have become almost like a drug, enticing me to regularly seek a new hit. Now I masturbate over him as soon as Jen leaves for work every morning.

We continue installing windows, thankfully talking about everything but installing our cocks in each other's mouths. But I still see that sometimes he is at least semi-hard. And sometimes I am. Once, observing my state, he mouths the words, “Real man.”

The next time Jen and I have our occasional, routine sex, in which we kiss and cuddle and touch for a little while, and then she lies back waiting for me to climax inside her … well, this time I imagine it’s Jerry’s mouth I’m pumping into. I feel bad afterward. Not so much about imagining Jerry while poking Jen, because everybody pictures someone else during sex sometimes. No, what I feel bad about is knowing that I just might cave in to these urges if Jerry gives me the chance.

What is happening to me? I'm fucking married! I have never strayed from Jen before, and believe me, I have faced some temptations over the decades. But now, I seem to have lost all control of myself. So many feelings have conspired to set my compass spinning: my roller-coaster sense of self-esteem, the weight of gentle (but repeated) rejections from Jen, my closeness to Jerry, an invigorating sense of sexual renewal, and the sheer relentlessness of my new erotic fantasies. Sexual thoughts about him become constant for me, almost compulsive. When I'm not thinking of his fleshy stick gliding across the back of my tongue, or of licking his slick cum off his satisfied, softening shaft, I'm imagining my own dong squeezed between his grinning lips and making him gulp down my essence.

Electrified but terrified by where this could lead, I’ve avoided socializing with Jerry away from the church. Then one Friday, as we're installing the last of the windows before the cold weather sets in, I agree to have a beer with him afterward. “I’m buying tonight, Joe,” he says as we grab a table. “Tonight is about thanking you for all that you do, making it possible for me to tackle this energy project." He nudges my elbow. "You've seen the kind of energy it gives me."

Holy shit, I realize, his work erections are because of me. It's all I can do to suppress the image of his prick sproinging to life under the table, as my own is doing. "Jeez, Jerry, I should be thanking you. I've gotta admit, being unemployed really clobbered my sense of self-worth. Having all this useful work to do makes me feel like a million bucks. Even if it pays zero bucks."

"Well, then,” he declares, raising his glass, “here’s to a couple of guys in their sixties making each other feel so good they get hard without boner pills. For free, no less. Hell, Joe, you’re a regular medical miracle!" My unit stiffens again in response to this praise.

Thankfully, my hormones settle down over bar food and a couple of beers. We discover some common interests, including that we're both really into board gaming. In fact, he's part of an active club that meets at his house a couple of times a month, and he invites me to join. The next game night will be a week from Monday.

As we're finishing our last drink, Jerry mentions Diane, a lovely widowed woman who leads the Sunday school program. "Did you see what she was wearing last Sunday?" he asks.

"The flower-print dress that made her boobs look the size of grapefruits, squeezing them tight enough to juice them?"

"Yeah, that. For an old lady, she sure looks good."

"Gotta admit, I'd love to find out," I blurt, quickly following up with, "If I wasn't so loyal to Jen, of course.” Oh God, the struggle between the devil and the angel on my shoulders has spilled out of my mouth, the former pouring fuel on a sexual conversation while the latter pours cold water on it.

"I have the same dilemma, Joe. Between you and me, Beth seems to have lost all interest. I mean, it's been years. I try to be a good man, but ugh ... sometimes I think the only thing keeping me in line is knowing how bad hitting on a woman looks these days. Imagine the scandal if I made a move on someone like Diane."

The devil on my shoulder takes one more shot as we get up to leave. "Hell, in this day and age, it would probably look less bad if you made a move on me."

For a second, I feel him appraising me. "You reckon?"

Say anything, Joe, anything at all, and you can go home with Jerry right fucking now. But my angel smacks my devil in the jaw, forcing me to hesitate and say nothing.

The angel's win is short-lived, as evidenced by tonight’s dream. Now I'm cheating with a woman, white-haired Diane grinding her full body against mine with the kind of raw, lustful passion that’s been lacking between me and Jen, my cock buried in her well-seasoned cunt. It’s kinda fun to have a straight dream after all these thoughts of Jerry.

Or not. Suddenly, dream-Jerry is there, kneeling next to us on the bed, his erection near our heads. And dream-Diane provokes, "Go ahead. You know you want both of us."

Good thing Jen is busy with her garden and bridge clubs on Saturdays, leaving me alone with my constant naughty thoughts. Three times that day I beat my meat, no mean feat at my age.

Last night's chat has erased what little doubt I still had that Jerry might be interested. It doesn't erase the inner conflict, though. How can I live with myself if I do this to Jen?

I’m pretty sure I’m going to find out.

< = = = = = = = = >

I spend most of Monday morning doing the final lawnmowing and leaf pickup before winter. Working the push mower under a shrub where the leaves are deep, I hear a loud CRACK as I hit a hidden stick, which rockets out from under the mower and clobbers me in the shin, leaving me dripping blood.

I run into the building, calling out to Jerry for assistance as I grab the first-aid kit mounted next to the sanctuary.

"Whoa, that's a lot of blood! Here, let's get you into the family restroom to take care of it." I sit on the bench while he runs warm water over some paper towels, helping me clean up and assess the wound.

"I don't see bone, so maybe it's not too deep, but a shin cut sure bleeds like a motherfucker, doesn't it?"

After another minute or two, the blood is still running. "Listen, Joe, we both know the best way to slow down the bleeding is to suck on the wound. Hey, as long as you don't say I never did anything for you, I'll do that."

It feels remarkably intimate having Jerry's mouth on my leg. To the point that I find myself semi-erect.

"What, didja cut your third leg too? Looks like it wants in on this.”

"Oh, I don’t think it even remembers what that's like."

His eyes bore into mine. "I told you we have similar dilemmas."

I swallow the lump in my throat. This is the moment. "Well, solving them together would be less scandalous than hitting up Diane, wouldn't it?"

He chuckles nervously, applying gauze and wrapping a stretch bandage around my leg, then moving his hands up towards my shorts and pulling them down. He grasps my majesty, licking around the head before taking me into his mouth.

I was right; my dick had forgotten how good this feels.

"You gonna cum in my mouth?" he asks, looking up towards my face, as I climb towards climax.

"Can I? I've never done that before."

"You’ve never cum in anyone’s mouth? For Heaven's sake, Joe, you might be more deprived than me. I want to give you what you've been missing, man.” Jerking me while keeping me half in his mouth, he implores, “Cum in my mouth. Cum for your pal Jerry." And do I ever.

He wears a jizz-smeared grin as I kneel between his legs and take my turn sucking first cock. He places his hands lovingly on my head, running them through my hair and moaning, "Oh yeah, suck me, Joe. It feels so good to get it on with somebody again. Please, please, please suck me until I cum. I want to fill your mouth with it." I’m finding this more enjoyable than I've imagined, especially the response that my oration provokes in him. I speed up my eager bobs, and when the time cums, I gulp down every shot.

"Thanks, man, I haven’t cum anywhere but my hand in forever. I'm really grateful.” His face grows more serious. “But this had better not happen again." My heart plummets. "In the church, that is," he concludes with a grin.

"You’re right, Jerry. We need to atone for doing it here."

In the church's soundproof Quiet Room, Jerry and I kneel and bow our heads, holding hands as he begins the Sacrament of Confession and Absolution. “Most merciful God, we confess that we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves. Today we have desecrated your House with our sexual activity."

I add, "We have violated our sacred marriage oaths that we made before you."

“In addition to your boundless forgiveness," Jerry prays, "we seek your infinite wisdom and guidance in how to reconcile our increasing feelings for each other with our vows of fidelity to our wives." As our belief system allows, we declare to each other the forgiveness of our sins and the cleansing of all our unrighteousness.

"Amen."

We do not further discuss the encounter over the next week. With various church committees, neighborhood nonprofits, AA groups and others regularly using the space, our church is a beehive of activity anytime except Monday morning, and the walls surely have ears.

Breaking the sexual tension and satisfying my curiosity by having that one encounter has not opened up a pathway to quitting, as I had halfheartedly intended during my confession. In fact, learning what Jerry's dick looks like, what it feels like against my lips, and what it's like to see him writhing in pleasure as he injects his delectable cream into my mouth has proven to be a powerful dose escalating my addiction. Having acted on my cheating thoughts has strengthened my craving for him, and my guilt, in equal measure.

I know that there are plenty of people today with open marriages who wouldn't think of this as infidelity. And as an Affirming church with several gay and lesbian couples in our midst, we do not condemn same-sex relations. What is damnable, however, is to betray and deceive Jen, as I have done. And seem compelled to do again next Monday.

Monday turns out to be not only gaming night at Jerry's house, but also his birthday. With Beth out of town on business, his friends show up with a cake. We all have a great time, although it proves to be a fairly tame group, with not a single joke about this being Jerry's sixty-ninth birthday. C'mon, people.

I fix that as soon as everyone else leaves. "Guess what you're getting for your sixty-ninth birthday, Jerry."

He grins, licking his lips. "Finally, what I really want?"

He leads me up to the bedroom. I’ve previously told Jen that I might have a bit to drink and end up spending the night - another deception, premeditated this time. Tonight we can take things slowly. I kneel between his legs and gaze at his cock, this time taking more care to examine the soft, flaring cap, the thin membrane of the frenulum, the veins running its length, and the trimmed hairs at its base.

"You aren't scared of it, are you?" he teases.

"No, more like awed. I haven't really had the chance to tell you how I can't stop thinking of pleasuring it. Of pleasuring you."

He gasps with pleasure as I start exploring with my tongue, then flips around so he can do me simultaneously. "Oh wow, Joe, I haven't done sixty-nine in about thirty-nine years," he gushes as he immerses my prick in his mouth. "And never with a guy.” He hums “Happy Birthday to Me” around my prick for a moment while he starts sucking.

I moan with pleasure. "I've never sixty-nined with anyone, ever," I admit, reveling in the incredible mutuality of feeling someone doing the same thing to my dick that I'm doing to him. Well, except that I’m not humming.

We delight each other multiple times that evening, mostly orally. Our most intimate moment, however, is when I lie behind Jerry, my cock between his legs, reaching around to stroke him to orgasm while kissing the back of his neck.

Jerry is as troubled as I am by our wanton floutation of our wedding vows. We pray together for forgiveness and guidance in how to resolve this moral conflict. I can stop anytime, I promise myself as I fall asleep next to him.

But I can’t, and I don't. Having still not received the divine reply we seek, by mid-November Jerry and I have suck-cummed to temptation on four Monday game nights, plus one other evening that Beth is away. Our tolerance for marital subterfuge perhaps growing, our intimacy has continued to escalate too. On our last get-together before Thanksgiving, he asks me to penetrate his rectum with my finger while I blow him, to a particularly convulsive and explosive result. Boy, we are really deep in this now.

One day, while we're working on the interior trim for one of the classroom windows, I have a weak moment and blurt out that my guilt is tearing me up.

"Yeah, me too," he grumbles tersely. "Wanna stop?"

"Heck no."

"Same."

That's the extent of it, but then we hear a sound from the next office, reminding us that Diane has been in there working on Advent lesson plans. Has she heard us? We don't know. But this incident definitely puts the fear of God (and perhaps worse, of gossip) in us.

The following day, Pastor Heidi calls me into her office.

"Joe, we all really appreciate the wonderful work for the church these past six months. You seem to treat it like a job, even though we don't pay you. I hope you find it fulfilling."

"I do. I really do."

"Everyone - even a volunteer - needs a vacation from work once in a while. I'd like you to take next week off so you can enjoy the holiday with your family and some quality time with Jen. I've also asked Jerry to do only what's needed for the actual worship services, and otherwise take the week off too. The building will be fine.”

Is this merely what she says it is, or have we been caught? Did Diane hear us and rat us out? Or did our pastor figure it out on her own? During the time off, I'm wracked with worry that our indiscretions are about to blow up on us and hurt the wives we love so much.

Yet it doesn't stop me jerking off daily to thoughts of Jerry. I still walk around with a half-chub half the time, imagining rubbing our fleshy poles together. I can't hold my mind back, and I don't think I can hold my body back either. Nor, however, can I hold back my increasing regret, which is eating me up. How can I keep doing this to Jen? The dissonance in my head has grown deafening, and absent some sign from God, I cannot figure out how to quiet it.

< = = = = = = = = >

On Thanksgiving night, Jen initiates sex for once, and it is remarkably satisfying. She even takes my organ in her mouth briefly, something she hasn't done in years, and instead of finishing with intercourse, she lets me eat her fully to orgasm, something I haven’t done in years.

After we've cleaned up and gone back to bed, Jen shares, "I haven't been saying this enough, Joe. Seeing how happy you've become the last few months makes me realize how much your last job was sucking out your soul. This new 'job,' and your relationship with Jerry, have brought back the Joe I haven't seen in a long time. It's so wonderful to see. However you and Jerry are spending your time, I don't think it can be wrong."

I don't know if this is a hint, but I take it as the sign I've been praying for. The inner torment now intolerable, especially lying next to my beloved, the sole path to resolution suddenly shines before me. Duh. It's so obvious. No matter how much I like Jerry, I love Jen more. I cannot keep betraying her. This affair has been incredible - life-affirming, even - but I must come clean about what I have done, even if it means having to end things with Jerry. If I must choose, this is the choice I must make.

I confess to Jen that I have feelings for Jerry and that we've gotten together a few times. She is hurt by my deception, but also moved by my honesty. "Joe, what really matters here is, do you love Jerry more than you love me?"

"Oh no, not even close. You are still my main companion in life, my everything. I don’t want that to stop, but I understand that you might decide to leave me over this.”

"My dearest Joe, I will not leave you over this. I didn't know that you and Jerry were getting together, but sometimes I selfishly wished you would, so I wouldn't have to keep turning you down so much for sex." Then she puts her arms around me and pecks me on the lips. "Well! I got what I wished for, didn't I? But we've talked before about how faithfulness in marriage is defined by putting each other first, above all others. That is what matters. If you can do that, who's to say it goes against God's plan for you to enjoy a lovely person like Jerry?"

We continue talking about this for a long time, feeling so reconnected that we surprise ourselves by making love a second time.

I am energized with both excitement and dread when Jerry calls me over to his place on Sunday night. Now that I actually have permission from my wife, the ultimate arbiter of what is and is not cheating, will he shatter my renewed hopes and end things? Will I remain stuck in my cycle of compulsive thoughts, the accompanying guilt now replaced by longing?

"Something big happened last week, Joe."

Uh-oh.

"Beth turned me down cold for sex one night, and confessed to being unfaithful."

"What?! She has been having an affair too?"

"Not as such. She admitted to being dishonest, not telling me she has been fully asexual since Menopause. I've suspected this, but didn't know for sure. Beth has been seeking advice from Pastor Heidi, and also attending an 'Ace' support group for several months.

"She surprised me even more by saying, 'Jerry, I will let you seek gratification outside our marriage on two conditions. One, I don't want to know anything about it. Keep it to yourself. Two - and this is on penalty of divorce, Jerry - do not embarrass me. I don't want it getting back around to any of our friends, neighbors or church members. I love you, Jerry, and I will grant you your peccadilloes - as long as I don't end up publicly humiliated."

In turn, I tell Jerry about my discussion with Jen.

We head up to his bedroom, licking and sucking each other for a few minutes to warm up. “Jerry, I know that you haven't had real intercourse in years. I want you to feel what it's like again to hold someone in your arms while you plunge inside them and fill them. How would you like to do it?"

"Wow, Joe, that will be incredible. I think I'd like to take you from behind. It seems like a lot of guys like doing that."

This talented man, who manages to insert jagged pieces of reluctant ductwork into each other with ease, has no difficulty working his penis into me. There is no pain at all, just mind-bending pleasure inside and an astonishing sense of fullness. "Oh my God, Jerry, I've never felt anything like this."

"I can't quite say that, but it's been a lot of fucking years since I have. I mean non-fucking years. It feels so good to be inside someone again." He breathes in my ear, "I'm so glad it's you," proceeding to suck and kiss my neck.

I turn my head back to meet his, and we start making out for the first time. As he cums inside me, his hand moves down to my cock, which has already leaked out some semen due to inner contact with my prostate. He strokes me to heaven, making a messy spot on the bedsheet, and wraps his arm around me, snuggling me.

"What an incredible coincidence,” I murmur. “Both our wives decide we can do this without calling it cheating, at the same time. What are the odds?"

"They're out of this world, Joe.”

“Well said, Jer. Maybe it's the hand of God at work."

< = = = = = = = = >

That same evening, Pastor Heidi receives two separate messages thanking her for her excellent marital advice. One from each of our wives.