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PART 1

(Journal Entry 1 - July 2021)

My name is Jamie Arden-Archer. I’m 35. I can’t believe I’m actually alive.

I’ve been told to write this by my doctors. To make sense of how I ended up here. For no one else’s eyes (thank god), but mine. I just need to evidence I’ve kept the journal going.

From what I can gather I’m on medication for extreme anxiety, medication to make sure all possible narcotics are being vigorously  flushed from my system. My memories are hazy of what’s happened for me to end up here, but I know they are more of a nightmare than simple recollections. My body aches, I’m looking at my legs and arms. I’m hugely into my fitness, almost obsessive and I can see my once proud muscles on my slight frame are deflating. I look like a little bird. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. This was all my fault. As much as it pains me to write, I ache for one man. My husband. Dean. He’s everything to me.

Dean, if we don’t meet again, I’ll make peace with that, eventually. Until then, please know I am sorry for everything. If there is a chance you’ll have me back, know that nothing will ever compare to you and what we had. I don’t want to do this without you. You’re my anchor, my sun, my stars, my everything. Everything else is just irrelevant.

I have work to do. I know that. I’ve hurt people, let them down, I know people have manipulated me. I’m beginning to understand that as I get more and more well in my mind.

What I write here will be everything. My life as I loved it until now. For everyone that was hurt directly or as a by product, I hope one day this will explain me, my decisions, weaknesses and help you understand that the perfect Jamie you all felt so much comfort in, was not so perfect. He didn’t really ever exist.

I’m ok with that now. I’m not performing for anyone anymore.

Dean, I love you.

December 1st 2020

I remember sitting at my laptop in the kitchen. Our perfect country kitchen. Cream cabinets, lumpy sandstone tiles, walls lovingly cluttered with our families and friends invites, photos, postcards, extended nieces and nephews cute artworks- dedicated to us. A room overflowing with our lives.

I worked in there for that fact. As a freelance marketing consultant from home, it was always hard to establish friendships, people to count on, provide an ear for life’s trivialities. The room filled me with calm, perspective and a silent hug when things got intense.

6PM the front door went. I always gave out a satisfied exhale. The other  part of my pack was home.

“Babe?” You called. The way you said it made me warm inside. Every time. I heard you drop your keys in the dish in the hall way, the one we bought in Paris in that cheesy tourist shop. The house is dripping in muted tones, Instagram ready if we ever cared, but us- our fun, chaotic life was what made the house a home. Clean lines, expansive rooms, but we cluttered the corners as best we could. That was our life. You slumped your suitcase to the floor and huffed. I know the tube and final car ride always kills you. Your beautiful muscles need to be free.

There you were. In the door way of our kitchen. If I could paint you, I’d paint you in that pose. Capturing you finally home. The single most important image of my life. I love you.

“Fuck what a day.” You said through a sigh. Loose collar, tie gone. Rubbing a hand through the waves of thick black hair I would love to grab in my hands right now. Your stubble, always sexy. The feel of it against any part of me would sting but I would never give up the feeling. Your skin on mine. Everywhere.

I always remember I was a sucker for your eyes. So big and blue. I was always braced for you, bursting into tears (you hardly ever do) or burst into laughter (you always do, my joker). Or full of feeling. Your heart is big. Your shirt, always pressed against your magnificent chest. I admired your dedication to the rugby boys and the local league. It was beautiful to watch you get so passionate about furthering sponsorship and rallying the team in times of low morale. A captain at home and on the pitch.

“I’ll be with you in a moment. What’s happened? Is it bad bad, bad or busy or busy busy?” We had our summing a up of work down to a few minutes. Nothing disturbed home. It was us, always us. That was our eco system. Not even a nuclear disaster would disturb it. Or so we thought.

“Busy, busy. God I’m wrecked. I need a beer and a shower. I stink.” You never did. If soap, cologne and a hint of leather stink, bottle it up and spray me with it every morning.

You moved to me. You were always hot for me when you came home. Assuming a proud stance above me, knowing I’d willingly give in.

“First, suck my cock.” You pushed yourself against me. I felt your weight on me. I never tired of you. You gave me everything and left me wanting more, for ten plus years, no one matched.

“Oh baby let me just finish these emails off. You’re all worked up are you?” I kept my eye on my screen, knowing you were throbbing on my bicep.

“Babe, please. I’ve thought about it all day. Your beautiful face down there.” You cockily pointed to your tenting crotch and ran a hand through my hair. You knew I momentarily hated it, I was obsessive about my hair. Side parting with a little falling forward. My blonde hair always acting like beacon. You’d find me anywhere. Your hand moved down my neck - large and heavy to my more slight frame.

“Now babe.” You pulled my head to your mound. It was warm and musty from a day of frustrations. The scent that always made me bend to your persuasion.

“I’ll do these later. Fuck it.” You pulled me to my knees. You were dominant but respectful. Only we could understand our dynamics and intricacies. I unbuckled your suit trousers. Your hardness pulsing. I unzipped you. Your black briefs framing your perfect cock, I pulled it free.

Your foreskin slick from your day. Perfect. So thick and malleable with my tongue. You knew my limits were non existent when it came to you and pushed yourself into my throat. Your cock was everything to me. Wide, pink head, curly hair that caught in my teeth and teased my nose. I love your hair. My beast.

You put a palm to the back of my head and thrust into me, your warm sack hitting my clean shaven chin, the heat and rhythm making me huff with greed. I reached for your cheeks. Pulling them free of the briefs. Tracing a finger to your entrance. You’ve been a total top to everyone except me. I had agency over this hole. I could do as I please. I slipped a finger in and brought you to your climax.

You filled my mouth. I swallowed without hesitation as you grabbed my shoulders. I love your solid weight on me. The pressure was immense in the moment but I’d gladly take it again. You came to.

My own blue eyes, teary at your cock’s thickness in my throat.

“Yes babe. That’s a welcome home. Fuck.” You withdrew delicately. I sat on the floor and looked on at you. “What’s for dinner?” One of your favourite questions.

“Marinated chicken with grilled veg. Get up stairs, shower big boy, it’ll be ready in about thirty minutes.” I was still sat on the floor. You grinned at me sexily with your crotch still tenting and went up the stairs. I wiped my mouth with a lustful grin.

I peeled myself off the floor, looked at the laptop, chuckled and slammed it shut. We ate well. But we exercised incessantly too. I love running. I’m proud of my smooth, olive skinned body. I’m toned, muscle everywhere on my 5’9 frame always slightly dwarfed by your 6’2, Dean.

You returned to the kitchen. Fresh and curly. I always knew you’d showered just by looking at your hair. I’d know you were lying when I asked if you had before we had an event or family gathering, and always have to chastise you to ‘get back up the those stairs and shower you dirty boy.’ You’re my beast, like I said. My successful IT Director of almost 40 years old in the city, you’re just a horny teenager who hates rules at home. I think you’d live in a tent with me and be just as happy. Your love for me and us, one of my greatest treasures, it still is babe.

You wore a navy vest and navy running shorts. I looked at you and ached. Your solid arms, thick legs, powerful chest, wisps of black hair neatly dappled over your skin. Whenever you sat next to me with your thighs out like that, it was always hard to concentrate. Family holidays were always a nightmare. You’d wear them and I’d have to have you in me within minutes. Late for everything.

“Sit please.” I brought dinner to the table. I sat opposite. I was still in my t shirt and shorts from work. No point getting dressed up to work at home. Your hand went up the back of my thigh. “You’re good to me baby.” I kissed you in acknowledgement.

“You’re an animal who needs his feed.” I teased. We sat and ate. “How was work then? Everything ok apart from busy?” I took a genuine interest in your job as an IT Director for a finance firm. You have a brilliant mind. I love exploring it.

“Yeah. We’re just upgrading our central system, globally, so lots of chasing people who have been assigned to jobs they really have no qualifications for. Time would be cut down if people just got us the right people in the first place. Fuck’s sake.” You slammed your cutlery down and put your hands to your face in exacerbation.

I remember going to you and sitting in your lap. “Baby, calm down. I know these things are tough but you’ve done it before. I know you can do it again.” I ran my hand through your hair. Your spade of a hand clasped my behind and squeezed.

“Thank you. You always know what to say, I know if no one else gets me, at least you do. My wild boy.” We kissed.  You grabbed my hips and pushed my left thigh against your mound. “Fuck babe, can we?” You were always so ready for it.

“Uh not right now. Food please. I’m not getting up at midnight to make you snacks again. That has to stop. Well it doesn’t really, but it’s mildly annoying.” I tapped your nose with my finger and grinned.

“Yeah but you like to feed me and I snuggle and make it worth your while when you’re back in bed with me.” You slapped my behind hard. “Every fucking time.” You did that thing where you shove your crotch forward at ‘fucking.’

“Very true. Now, let me go so we can finish our dinner like adults.” I got up, your hardon was now ridiculously obvious.

We finished up. Loading the dishwasher between us. You kept looking at me from the corner of your eye and smiling. Like you were calculating something.

“What is it? What’s that look for?” I asked. Stopping dish clearing.

“I uh wanted to ask you something about my 40th. But I don’t know if you’ll be offended in me asking or I’ll be offended with one of your possible answers.” You went sheepish.

“Well that sounds bloody complicated already. What do you mean?” I asked as I went to you and put my arms around your neck.

“You’re a fucking knock out Arden. I love you. Everyone knows I worship you. Our sex is almost pornographic it’s so intense.” You pulled me to you, rubbing yourself against my lower belly.

“What the hell is this going to be about?” I asked intrigued and unnerved.

“Well I’ve always had a fantasy of watching you with other men. Knowing that they will never ever have what I have. You to myself at home in our life, here. It turns me on so much. Watching you take dick after dick in some hotel in London for my birthday weekend would just be the hottest thing to see.” You pulled me even closer. I think you were worried you’d insulted me. You hadn’t. I had questions though.

“I’ll do whatever to make you happy babe. When do you want to do this? Your birthday is news years eve. It’ll cost a fortune. Also, and I do love this side of you, you can get a bit much when you’re jealous. Will you want to do it? I won’t even entertain the idea without you being comfortable.” I asked, playing figure of 8 on your chest.

“I know, I know. I was chasing you. I wanted you to be mine. Never make me go crazy like that again. Well, keep driving me crazy, you’re good at that, but not in that way anymore. I was ready to smash up buildings to get to you. Now here you are.” You dropped a hand and squeezed my behind.

“Ok, I have no idea how to do this in an orderly way though? It’s not going to be some random thing, I’m not sure I’d be happy with that.” I wanted to make my lines clear. I know you would never put me in harms way anyway.

“Oh fuck no. There’s like planners who can sort all that and don’t worry about money, it’ll be worth it. We bring in way more than we know what to do with anyway.” You said proudly.

“Ok, I have one ask. I want a dry run at home first. You work in finance, I’ve had a fantasy of being with a group of suits. Arrange for a few to join us for dinner here and I can have my fun with you all here.” I looked down for a moment then back into his eyes. Had I just insulted you? It was the first time we felt a little awkward in years with each other.

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do. When you wanna suck suit dick then babe?” You teased. A little of the rugby lad always crept in. It was sexy. We both laughed a little sheepishly, I remember thinking were we actually talking about this, let alone going through with it.

I turned around and pulled the back of my shorts down and pulled your cock free of yours. “Next Friday. Make it happen next Friday.”

I pushed onto you. You gasped and snapped my head forward and slammed your thighs against me. The feeling of fullness was and has always been completely addictive. Your cock was the perfect size for bringing me to the edge.

Your huffs and clasps of our flesh made me back myself up against you harder.

“Yeah babe, keep going, I’ll cum for you now.” You grabbed my throat, without instruction, you know I love the extreme in the moment. I felt the warmth fill me as you grabbed your forearm round my chest.

Not letting me go untouched you lifted my left leg and stood it on the counter. You grabbed my cock and pulled me frantically to my finish. I emptied all over the floor. “Fuck your cock is so big and thick. That was intense.” You whispered through steadying breaths. We came to a gentle stop in huffs and stickiness.

I turned. Slapped your face lightly but firmly. “Make it happen for next Friday. Go. Chill out in the living room, I’m sure there’s some murderer you’ve yet to introduce me to on Netflix. I’ll clean up, literally, in here, and I’ll be in. Beer yes?”

“You’re the boss.” You said with the smile that always came after we’d fucked.

“I am indeed.” I teased, busying myself with the last of the dinner clearing up.

I remember a mixture of excitement and nervousness about what we’d just unleashed into the atmosphere of our relationship.