When I acquired my first home I thought I was the cream of the crop. I had been living in an inexpensive apartment up to that point and saving like crazy. With a bit of help from my dad, however, I was able to afford the deposit required and enter the house market. It was a modest suburb, but I didn’t mind. The relief of finally being a house owner was all that I cared about.
On the day I moved in I met my neighbours to my left. Harold and Clair were the two biggest nerds I had ever met and I could not help thinking that they had been very lucky finding one another. They were rather sweet, nevertheless, and her cappuccino muffins were absolutely delicious.
I did not meet my neighbours to the right till Saturday morning. My jaw almost hit the ground when I saw my hunky neighbour mowing his lawn, topless. Observing me, he walked over to the fence and introduced himself as Tristan, before welcoming me to the neighbourhood. Tristan ticked every one of my boxes. He was big, broad, butch, and beautiful, the personification of what a man should look like. No sooner had we begun chatting before his wife, Debbie, who was the poster girl for petite pretty blonds, joined us. I was summarily invited over to them drinks at five p.m. that afternoon.
After arriving at the appointed time, we sat around in their lounge chatting. After ascertaining that I was single, Debbie immediately started searching her mind for possible ladies that they could introduce me to. I had one of those "what the fuck" moments, figuring that the strain of Debbie’s matchmaking skills would be more than I could bear, and told them outright that I was gay. Tristan did not seem particularly perplexed by my revelation. After a pleasant visit, I returned home an hour later.
Twice during the following week I heard arguing from next door. Our bedrooms faced one another’s and it was clear that Tristan and Debbie were at loggerheads about some or other issue. These spats became the norm after that and on one or two occasions, I even had to make use of earplugs. My relationship, however, remained cordial with them and we always indulged in the odd friendly chat.
Two months after I moved in, I stopped seeing Debbie and simply presumed that she was away on a holiday of sorts. A week later on Saturday, I struck up a conversation with Tristan as we both tended our gardens. Presumptuously, I asked when Debbie would be back from holiday. I was then told that she had packed her bags and moved out. When I asked if he was okay, he replied that he was doing fine, before adding that the bust-up had been a long time coming.
“Well, if you need to unload, I’m a good listener,” I retorted, in a neighbourly fashion.
“Does that mean you’re inviting me to dinner?” Tristan joked.
“Sure, why don’t you come around at six,” I replied, having been put on the spot.
After he arrived we sat in the lounge talking. “Please don’t think I’ve been spying on you, but you seem to be getting as little action in the bedroom as I am,” Tristan said.
I went on to tell him about my previous liaison, which had ended a few months before I moved into the house. I further informed him that I had decided to take a break from relationships, for the time being.
Tristan then revealed that the reason for their bust-up was that Debbie had become completely frigid. They had only been married for a year and sex had always been a problem in their relationship. Debbie had ‘saved’ herself for marriage and this, according to Tristan, was the worst mistake he had ever made, because their honeymoon had been a complete disaster. Debbie found sex with him extremely uncomfortable and constantly accused him of being a bully.
Observing the perplexed look on my face he went on to explain, “I am over-endowed Sandy. Debbie simply found my dick much too large for her.”
“Did you ever seek medical advice on the matter?” I asked.
“Sure, but it didn’t help. Debbie was given tablets to help her relax, but they weren’t very effective. Then, the following day she would moan and groan like a stuffed pig, accusing me of causing her pain,” he replied, before concluding, “I was sure that most of her antics were simply in the mind and if I read the doctor correctly, he thought so too.”
After a lengthy pause he ruefully added, “I never thought I would have to continue being a wanker after marriage, but that’s the only action I ever get nowadays.”
Dinner was soon ready and after dishing up we sat at the dining table. Thankfully, the conversation turned to gardening as we ate. After dinner, we once more moved to the lounge and continued talking. When we began consuming our fifth beer, Tristan stunned me by asking, “Do you like giving or receiving in bed?”
Almost spluttering, I awkwardly answered, “Both.”
“I think that being gay must be the answer,” he stated, before continuing, “The best fuck I ever had was with a girl at school. She was a real hoe and liked being fucked by two guys at one time. She particularly loved anal and even let me have a go with my thick knob, from time to time. Don’t get me wrong… pussy is great, but having your dick strangled by a tight butt-hole definitely takes first prize,” he emphatically concluded. I just smiled, uncomfortably.
“Have you ever had a really thick cock up your arse?” Tristan then asked.
“Yeah, once,” I replied, gingerly.
“How big was the dick?” he inquired.
“Well… I didn’t measure it, but it was quite impressive,” I replied.
After a brief silence, Tristan said, “I’m nine by nine.”
“Excuse me?” I queried, somewhat bewildered.
“Nine inches long and nine inches round,” was his reply.
“Fuck, that’s big, bro.