My Boyfriend Lasted 30 Seconds - How I Started Cheating - Part 1

My name is Ashley, and I am 25 years old now. This is the story of how my six-year relationship with the boy I thought I would marry slowly fell apart - and how I ended up in the arms of another man.

It all began when I was 18, in my senior year of high school in Austin, Texas. Orlang was a senior too, but one year ahead of me. He was the quiet, handsome guy who sat two rows behind me in English class. Tall, lean, with warm brown eyes and a shy smile that made my stomach flutter every time he looked at me. We started talking during group projects. At first it was just friendly banter, but soon we were texting late into the night, sharing songs, memes, and secrets.
He asked me out on our very first date after graduation - a simple picnic by the lake. That night, under the stars, he kissed me for the first time. It was soft, sweet, and perfect. I fell in love with him right there.
We made it official two weeks later. For the first year, everything was magical. We were young, crazy about each other, and the world felt like it belonged to us. Orlang was gentle, romantic, and always made me feel special. He would surprise me with flowers, write me little notes, and call me every night just to hear my voice.
Our physical relationship started slowly. We fooled around - heavy making out, touching over clothes, then under clothes. I was still a virgin, nervous but curious. Orlang was patient. He never pushed me. But after almost a year together, on the night of my 20th birthday, I finally decided I was ready.
We were alone in his parents’ house while they were out of town. He had decorated the room with fairy lights and rose petals. It was incredibly sweet. We kissed for a long time on his bed, slowly undressing each other. When I was completely naked for the first time in front of him, he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“You’re perfect, Ashley,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.
He took his time with me. He kissed every inch of my body - my neck, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. When he finally went down on me, I discovered what real pleasure felt like. His tongue was gentle but eager, and I came for the first time with someone else that night, shaking and moaning his name.
Then came the moment. He put on a condom, looked into my eyes, and asked one last time if I was sure. I nodded.
He entered me slowly, carefully. There was a sharp sting at first, but he stayed still, kissing me softly until the pain faded. When he started moving, it felt strange but good. He lasted maybe a minute before he came, groaning into my neck. I didn’t cum that time, but I didn’t mind. I was happy just to be close to him, to have given him something so intimate.
The next two years were the best of our relationship.
We had sex constantly - sometimes three or four times a day when we could. We tried everything. We made love in his car, in the woods during camping trips, in hotel rooms, even once in the bathroom at a friend’s party. Orlang was enthusiastic and creative. He bought toys, watched tutorials, and tried new positions. He would go down on me for a long time, fingering me until I came, and then we would have sex.
But there was one problem that never went away.
Orlang would cum very quickly - almost always within 20 to 40 seconds once he was inside me. At first, I didn’t mind because he would always make sure I came first with his mouth or fingers. But as time passed, that effort slowly disappeared. He would fuck me for less than a minute, cum, roll off, and fall asleep or go back to his phone. The foreplay became shorter. The aftercare disappeared.
By the time I turned 22, we were having sex only once a week, and it would be over in under a minute. I would lie there afterward, still aching and unsatisfied, pretending everything was fine while he kissed my forehead and told me he loved me.
I started feeling empty.
That’s when the fantasies began.
I started watching more porn - rougher, longer, more intense scenes. I discovered what it felt like to be truly fucked for a long time, to be edged, to be made to beg. I bought my first vibrator and started pleasuring myself when Orlang wasn’t around. I would cum hard thinking about being taken properly, being stretched, being used until I couldn’t walk.
Then Orlang got a job offer in Denver - a big promotion with better pay. He moved there when I was 23. We decided to try long-distance. At first, it was okay. We had video calls, dirty texts, and he would fly back once a month. But the sex when we met became even worse. He was tired from work, stressed, and would cum even faster.
I was 23, horny, and deeply unsatisfied.
That’s when I joined a few discreet chat apps and dating sites - just to talk, I told myself. I wasn’t looking for sex. I just wanted attention. Someone who would make me feel desired again.
That’s how I met Ben.
He was 26, worked as a software engineer in Austin, and had a profile picture that showed a tall, muscular guy with a confident smile. His first message was simple and polite. We started talking every day. He was funny, attentive, and asked me questions about my life, my dreams, my day. Unlike Orlang, who had started replying with one-word answers, Ben actually listened.
After two weeks of constant chatting, the conversations turned flirty. Then sexual.
He told me how beautiful he thought I was. How he would take his time with me if I were his. How he would make me cum over and over before he even thought about himself. The things he described made me wetter than I had been in years.
One night, when Orlang was busy with a late meeting in Denver and couldn’t call, I told Ben I was going to take a shower. Instead, I locked my bedroom door, got completely naked, and video-called him for the first time.
The moment he saw me naked on camera, his eyes darkened with lust.
“Fuck, Ashley… you’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”
That night I touched myself while he watched and stroked his thick cock for me. I came twice just from his voice telling me what he would do to me if he were there.
A month later, I made the decision that changed everything.
Orlang was still in Denver. I told him I was exhausted from work and was going to sleep early. I lied.
I drove to Ben’s apartment.
When he opened the door, the chemistry was instant. He pulled me inside, closed the door, and kissed me like he had been waiting for months. His hands were everywhere - strong, confident, and knowing exactly what they were doing. He picked me up and carried me to his bedroom without breaking the kiss.
We didn’t waste time on small talk.
He stripped me slowly, worshipping every inch of my body with his mouth. When he finally went down on me, I came within minutes, shaking and crying out his name. Then he fucked me - long, deep, and hard. He lasted. He actually lasted. He changed positions, teased me, edged me, and made me cum three times before he finally filled me with his cum.
That night I felt what I had been missing for years.
I lied to Orlang and told him I had fallen asleep early and missed his call.
That was the beginning of my secret life.
Ben and I didn’t just have sex. We started a friends-with-benefits relationship that quickly became something much more intense. His cock was thick and long, and he knew exactly how to use it. He could fuck me for 30–40 minutes without stopping. He loved making me cum with his mouth first, then fucking me until I was a trembling mess. He was dominant in bed in the best way - he would pin me down, choke me lightly, talk dirty, and make me beg.
For the first time in years, I was completely satisfied.
But I was still in a relationship with Orlang.
And the guilt was starting to eat me alive.