[FM] Fucked my [21F] ex’s [22F] uncle [40s M] at her engagement party

This is not my usual, intimate kind of story.

People from my hometown tend to get married young. It has always baffled me, but maybe that’s because I just never really thought of myself as somebody who would get married. From the time of my high school graduation to my college graduation, over half of the girls from my high school had new last names and gilded left hands. One of them was my ex, Jillian.

Jillian got married at 22 to her college sweetheart, Mike. And although I didn’t admit it at the time, I was absolutely in love with her. We had started seeing each other during high school, our parents blissfully unaware of went on behind closed doors during sleepovers. What had originated as two girls having fun and exploring with each other turned into an addiction; we were absolutely obsessed with each other. From the ages of 14 to 18, I rarely went to bed without having spoken to her or held her at least once that day. We were each other’s first everything: our first kiss, our first love. But the small town atmosphere didn’t exactly lend itself to sexual orientations outside of one end of the Kinsey scale, so it was our little secret.

Whenever one of us didn’t have a boyfriend, we were together. And, although I don’t like to admit it, occasionally even when we did. That ended when Jillian met Mike at college. It was subtle at first; the spring break hangouts would conveniently only take place in public or with other high school friends, and she never seemed to be free to see me one-on-one. By the time our third year of college rolled around, I realized I hadn’t been alone in a room with her since the summer after we graduated high school. I was convinced we had just drifted apart the way high school friends often do. I was sad, but I understood. It wasn’t until her engagement party that I found out what really happened.

She held the party over winter break of our final year of college, and she invited the whole town. It was held in some fancy hotel in a city about an hour away because no building in our little village was big enough to hold everybody. Mike came from wealth – his dad was some kind of business tycoon – and Jillian’s parents pulled out all the stops to impress his family and prove that their little princess was worthy of the crown prince of whatever oil or chemical kingdom she was marrying into.

My parents, siblings, and I were some of the first to arrive, and Jillian’s family greeted the rest of my family warmly. When I went in for a hug, like the rest of my family had received, I was instead given a handshake. My parents didn’t seem to notice, having already moved on to introduce themselves to Mike’s family. I looked over at Jillian, confused, but she refused to make eye contact with me. Had she told them about our history? Did they feel weird about her ex being in attendance at her engagement party? By the time I reached Jillian at the end of her family’s receiving line, I knew better than to even try for familiarity. “Congratulations, Jillian,” I said formally, holding out my hand.

She took it, finally making eye contact. “Thank you, Lily. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Are you? It feels like I’m kind of being iced out here.”

Her mom looked over at me coldly, but I didn’t care that she had heard. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jillian replied cooly.

I scoffed under my breath and walked away, skipping Mike’s family and going straight for the open bar.

Slowly, the reception hall began to fill with more friendly faces. The combination of old friends and champagne calmed me down, but I couldn’t get rid of a nagging feeling that I needed to talk to Jillian and see what the fuck was going on. My opportunity arose when I saw her kiss Mike on the cheek, hand him her champagne flute, and head to the bathroom. I followed at a safe distance, glancing around to make sure nobody noticed me slip into the bathroom behind her.

Jillian was fixing her make up in the mirror when I entered, and she tensed when she saw me behind her in the reflection. “Oh. Hi, Lily.”

“What the fuck is going on, Jill? Why were your parents assholes to me earlier?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I slept over at your house every weekend for almost four years, and they treated me like another daughter, don’t pull that shit with me.”

She sighed and turned around, crossing her arms and playing with her necklace. She looked essentially the same as when I knew her. She had grown into her nose and lost the braces, but I would know that jawline anywhere. I had spent hours memorizing it with my lips. “I don’t know what to tell you, Lily, maybe they just don’t find you charming anymore.”

“Bullshit. I’m a ray of fucking sunshine. What happened?”

She looked away, clenching her jaw. “They don’t want me to be associated with sinners.”

I scoffed loudly. “You knew I was Jewish since the moment you met me. Your whole family was at my Bat Mitzvah.”

“I don’t mean Jewish. I mean a lesbian.”

I was stunned. “I’m not a lesbian. I date men too.” The vocabulary was somehow the only thing I could focus on.

“Bisexual, then, whatever. They don’t want me hanging out with whatever the heck you are.”

“So they know about us?”

She laughed humorlessly and met my gaze head-on. “What do you mean ‘us’? There was never an ‘us’ as far as I’m concerned.”

I felt like she had slapped me across the face. My stomach tightened, and I willed myself not to cry. “Why are you acting like it meant nothing? You used to not let me hang up the phone until I had said ‘I love you’ at least twice.”

She looked away from me. “I was a kid.”

“So was I!”

“Yeah? Well? I grew up! I grew out of it!”

“You don’t just ‘grow out of’ same sex attraction, Jill,” I snapped.

“That’s exactly what you do! It took me months, but I grew out of it,” she hissed, locking eyes with me.

“How?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you grow out of it? Did you just stop giving a shit about me one day?”

“I got help,” she sniffed.

“From who?”

She stopped playing with her necklace, showing me the small, silver cross laying on her chest. I scoffed. “From Jesus, I take it?”

“From a pastor,” she sneered, enunciating each syllable, “He ran a camp for kids like us. Kids who were… confused.”

“You mean a fucking gay conversion camp.”

“That’s not what it was!”

“What was it then?”

“They gave us therapy and talked us through our homosexual thoughts. They encouraged us to interact with people of the opposite sex. They gave us the love and support that we needed so that we didn’t feel like we had to keep running back to sin.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Her eyes flashed at my word choice. I stood firm. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said finally, “but I expect you to respect the fact that you don’t mean anything to me. You might think that you loved me, or I loved you, or whatever, but you were just a placeholder for the real thing.”

The tears that had welled up in my eyes earlier threatened to spill over. “You can’t possibly mean that. Even if that’s what you’re supposed to say now, you can’t believe that what we had was nothing.”

There was a glimmer of something in her eye. But it was gone a moment later. “I think you should leave,” she said softly.

Tears began running down my cheeks. “And go where? My ride is out there talking to your MALE fiancé.”

“Then don’t! I don’t care! Just leave me alone.”

She pushed past me and left, going back to the reception hall and her new life. I stomped over to a toilet stall and slammed the door, barely locking it before I devolved into sobs. I took a wad of toilet paper in my fist and held it against my mouth to quiet the sound, my shoulders shaking as almost four years’ worth of mourning our time together finally came spilling out of me. Eventually I pulled myself together, wiping under my eyes to clean up any smudged makeup and massaging my cheeks to get rid of the red splotches I knew had to have appeared on my face. By the time I exited the stall to wash my hands and check my appearance, I looked practically normal.

I marched back to the reception hall with my head held high, determined not to make a scene and confirm any dramatic “lesbian” stereotypes her parents might have about me. I walked flagged down a waiter, knocking back one champagne flute and taking another in my hand. A low whistle behind me made me pause. “That was impressive,” a mystery man said.

I turned around and found myself face-to-face with one of Jillian’s relatives. They had the same regal bone structure, hinting at a noble history that went back centuries. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” I shrugged.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, clinking glasses with me and knocking back his drink, “This is my first family gathering since my divorce. What’s your excuse for drinking like a fish?”

“I’m the last of my high school friends to get married,” I lied, wiggling my bare left ring finger, “and these parties just love to remind me of that fact.”

“Marriage is overrated,” he scoffed, “You’re not missing anything.”

He paused a moment, and then held out his hand. “I’m Jillian’s Uncle Jonathan,” he said, shaking my hand firmly, “but you can just call me Jon.”

“Lily,” I said, smiling, “I’m one of Jillian’s childhood friends. Did you come from out of town? I recognize you from some birthday or graduation, but you aren’t from here, right?”

“Yeah, I’m just here for the week supporting my big sister and her kid as they go through this dowry-esque song and dance. Got a room right upstairs.”

Interesting. He hadn’t necessarily said it as an invitation, but no unmarried man says that to a woman in her twenties unless he wants her to think about joining him. I looked him up and down. He wasn’t at all my usual type, his slightly more salt than pepper hair slicked back in a style that was probably popular in the 80s, and his chest hair poking out over the top of his too-tight button-down when every other man in the room was wearing a tie. But he was handsome enough, with kind eyes, and I needed something to get Jillian out of my mind. “I’d love to see it,” I whispered coyly.

His eyes met mine, and he smiled slowly. He reached into his pocket and subtly pulled out a room key, slipping it gently into my hand. “Room 824,” he murmured, “Meet there in ten?”

I nodded, looking away from him as I slipped it into my purse and took a swig of champagne. “You leave first. I’ll wait to make sure nobody notices.”

He did as I suggested, glancing back over his shoulder to check out my ass as he walked out of the reception hall. I flagged down a waiter and knocked back another two flutes of champagne before I followed him.

The elevator up to Jon’s room was quiet, the light, tinny sound of elevator music doing nothing to drown out the sound of my thumping heartbeat and my loud thoughts. Was this the best coping mechanism? Absolutely not. But was I still doing it? Yes.

The elevator dinged on the eighth floor, and I followed the signs to room 824. The key opened the door to a gorgeous suite with a view of the city skyline. “Would you like something to drink?” Jon asked politely from next to the mini fridge.

“No.”

I strode across the room and crashed my lips against his, pressing my body against him as I frantically unbuttoned his shirt. He was surprised at first but quickly responded, his lips moving urgently against mine and both his hands reaching down to grab my ass. I unbuckled his belt and undid the button on his slacks, sticking my hand down the front of his pants and stroking his hardening cock until it was firm in my hand. “Wow, you’re not wasting any time!” he remarked excitedly as my mouth moved down his neck.

“Stop talking and unzip my dress.”

I turned around so he could unzip it, letting it slide down my shoulders and pool on the floor. I slipped my heels and panties off next, keeping my bra on. Recapturing his lips, I slid his stupid, too-tight button-down off his shoulders and pulled down his pants and boxers roughly, bringing my hand back up to resume stroking his cock. “Do you have a condom?”

“No, but I got a vasectomy a couple years ago,” he panted.

It was risky, but in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to care. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

We stumbled over to the bed as we kissed, our tongues fighting for dominance. He reached for my pussy, but I brushed his hand away. “I’m wet enough,” I murmured, breaking the kiss to bend over the edge of the bed.

Jon lined his cock against the entrance to my pussy from behind. “Are you ready?”

“Just do it.”

He pushed inside of me with one thrust, his cock stretching the walls of my cunt. I moaned and crossed my arms behind my back. He took the hint, holding onto them tightly as he began fucking me. “Harder,” I whispered.

He obliged, his balls slapping against my clit as I spread my legs to take him in deeper. It felt good, but it wasn’t what I needed. I felt tears leak onto the bedspread as I pushed my ass against him rhythmically, needing him to fill me deeper and faster. “Harder!” I commanded.

He slammed into me over and over again, groaning loudly and releasing my arms to hold my hips and grip my ass in turn. I reached an arm under myself and began rubbing my clit, an orgasm blissfully approaching and signifying that I could finally stop whatever this was soon. I moaned out his name, knowing he would like that, and powered through until I came, my fingers rubbing my clit and Jillian’s face appearing behind my closed eyelids. Jon moaned, his thrusts faltering. “Can I cum inside you?”

“I don’t care.”

He did, his cum shooting up my cunt and marking the finale of this mistake. He kept his cock inside me for a moment as it pulsed, his low moans filling the silence. After a moment, he pulled out of me, kissing my back. I stood up straight and started to walk over to my pile of clothes, but Jon grabbed my hand, pulling me towards him for a kiss. I placed my other hand over his lips gently. “That isn’t what this is,” I murmured.

He let go of my hand. I kissed him on the cheek instead. I slipped on my panties and zipped up my dress myself, pulling on my heels and pausing when I reached the door. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Jon standing there, still naked, looking like he had no idea what had just happened. “Thank you,” I said softly.

The door closed behind me with a click. Jon’s cum dripped out of my cunt and pooled in my panties before I even got in the elevator. Stupid. I exited the elevator on the first floor and quickly marched over to the bathroom outside the reception hall to clean myself up. Stupid. Only one of the other stalls was occupied when I slipped inside, quietly locking the stall door and using the toilet while barely breathing. Stupid. I was at the sink washing my hands when the other stall door opened. Jillian’s mother stepped out. She paused when she saw me. I smiled at her in the mirror. She glided over to the sink with her head held high. She had all of Jillian’s beauty, but years of child-rearing had sapped her of any youthful glow. “Are you enjoying the party, Lily?”

“Oh yes,” I said happily, locking eyes with her in the mirror, “I especially enjoyed your brother, Jon.”

Her eyes widened with surprise as she picked up on the implication. Loving her shocked silence, I continued talking, drying my hands on a paper towel. “He was nothing compared to your daughter, of course. But, then again, you never forget your first.”

I turned on my heel and left the bathroom. I may not have felt happy about my decisions that evening, but damn if that didn’t feel good.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/h02q7i/fm_fucked_my_21f_exs_22f_uncle_40s_m_at_her