The Humper Game Pt 07 Ch 11

Author's note:

This is, in all its seven parts and their many chapters, one very,

very

long story. If long stories bother you, I suggest you read something else.

No part of this story is written so as to stand on its own. I strongly suggest that you start with

the beginning of Part 1

and read sequentially—giving up at any point you choose, of course.

All sexual activity portrayed anywhere in this story involves only people at least eighteen years old.

This entire story is posted only on literotica.com. Any other public posting without my permission in writing is a violation of my copyright.

Sam and Samuel eventually got married, a big and very emotional event for us. It was kind of a shock for me to realize we had been married more than six and a half years! Sam asked Ellen to be her matron of honor. I got to be the Matron of Honor's Escort—before and after the ceremony, because during it Samuel's best man had the job—but putting it that way gives no suggestion at how much they both welcomed me. I was afraid at first that I was going to be mostly serving as Keeper of the Matron of Honor's Children, but my parents were glad to arrange to keep them for a few days instead. And actually, in the end I turned out to be one of the ushers. It was just that no one mentioned this to me until the rehearsal.

At the time of the wedding, little Bella was still really a toddler, with a somewhat precocious if idiosyncratic grasp of the English language—and not only in that she mixed English and Italian

ad libitum

. And in fact, Peter came along with us,

in utero

. We weren't really sure Ellen was pregnant yet, but we later found she was. So she was Keeper of her own third-born. Not my job, at that point, except at one remove.

Sam asked Ellen to provide a solo. They both understood this to mean playing piano and singing, though I knew that some other accompaniment would have been acceptable as well. Ellen found herself writing a song. She took the lyrics from a passage which, in context, has almost nothing to do with marriage, but which has been applied for many centuries to that—Ruth 1:16-17, which says, "Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried. May the Lord do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you." She paraphrased fairly freely, for rhythm and sound, but trying to keep very close to the meaning.

The song was strophic, beginning and ending with the refrain, which was from the middle of the text: "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, there I'll abide. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God." There were three stanzas, shorter in terms of text—two phrases each—but musically longer than their words would suggest.

But Ellen was growing very discouraged, trying to make the last stanza work. Finally, she said to me, "Phil, where it says, 'May the Lord do so to me and more also,' I just can't make it fit. I think part of it is that I really don't understand it. I mean, I see that she's calling on God to punish her in some way if she's unfaithful to her promise, and there are a lot of other places with the same wording, but what does it mean? Can you give me any help at all?" I had, of course, heard her trying lots of things, and I had to agree that none of them seemed to fit.

"How much detail is it OK to dump on you?" She glared at me—she really was about to cry from frustration—so I just went on. "As to what it means, I'm really speculating some, but I'll tell you what I think.

"You know how they made covenants? People sometimes translate that as 'contract,' and OK, that's the closest we come today, but it was a much bigger deal for them. A covenant could be made voluntarily between equals—or more-or-less-equals—or it could be imposed on a weaker party by a stronger one. That was how wars usually ended—kind of like the Treaty of Versailles. And like a contract, it gave each party both rights and obligations. But do you remember how they made it?"

She shook her head.

"For one thing, we say 'make a covenant,' but the verb they used means 'cut.' The one detailed example given in scripture is a really strange one, the Lord with Abram—Avram—in Genesis, chapter fifteen, but there are a couple more references elsewhere.

"But anyway, think of that one. Abram—at God's direction!—brought various animals and birds, and cut the animals in half, and God walked between the pieces! God himself wasn't visible, but a firepot and torch appeared in the dark, going back and forth as if someone were carrying them. And that's how people made a covenant. They cut an animal in half, apparently usually a calf, and the parties walked back and forth between the pieces—feet in the blood!—saying what they committed themselves to do. Figuratively, they were saying, 'May what was done to this animal be done to me if I don't do what I'm promising.' If they were pious at all, they were calling on God, or their gods, to witness their words and do this to them—and worse—if they were unfaithful.

"I think that the language they used in making a solemn vow came from this, even when they didn't go through the whole thing literally. As I say, that part is a little speculative, but it makes sense, and I can't see any other explanation that does. They were calling on God to see their unfaithfulness, to judge them, and to execute sentence. They were saying God was the witness to their promise and guarantor of its fulfillment. Today, some people say—way too lightly, usually—'As God is my witness . . . .' Those people were making him more than that. Not just corroboration, but judgment. 'You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.' That was serious business!

"Trying to fit something into your rhythm there, I'd suggest something like, 'May the Lord be witness against me.' I'm sure you can come up with other possibilities, though."

Ellen got up from her chair at the piano, and came and held me for a longish time, a minute or two at least. She didn't cry on my shoulder, but I thought she was very near it, so I didn't say one more word, but just held her.

Eventually, she said, "You know I'm doing this for Sam, for the two of them, and I need it to be good for them. But it's for you, just as much. Phil, thank you. What you suggested will work better than anything I was coming up with myself. It had this big, ugly hole in it, and you've put it together the way it should be." She stood holding me a little longer, then gave me a hug and went back to the piano and played the whole song. She experimented with slight variations in the wording and rhythm, in the part I'd suggested.

When she was satisfied, thinking of what Pastor Mac had said to Sam about her song, she asked Sam for an email address, and sent the words, along with a recording of her playing and singing, to the music director at Sam's church, explaining that she wanted to make sure it was acceptable. His name was Stuart Faithfull. It took several days before she got a reply back.

Stuart, who signed his email 'Stu,' thanked her for checking the words with him. Like Pastor Mac, he said he greatly appreciated the courtesy, since so many people apparently never thought about what they were singing and where. He said he hadn't had any reservations at all about the words, but that he had checked them with the pastor, who agreed that they were fine.

But Stu suggested some changes to the music. Specifically, he wanted to add a second vocal part, and sing it with Ellen. He said he had asked Sam about it—not giving away anything about the song, because he understood it was to be a surprise to her—and said her only concern was that Ellen might feel that somehow this made it less a gift from her. He wrote, "Please don't hesitate to say no if that's the case! I only suggest it because I found myself singing along as I listened, and because Sam is such a good friend of mine, too. I don't want to be presumptuous, at all."

He included a recording of his own, Ellen's recording with his singing along with it. And he had Ellen in tears almost from the start. She sent back, immediately, "Stu, please sing it with me. What you've added makes it complete. It's beautiful! Thank you!" She was in tears, but it was with happiness and with joy at how beautiful it was, this time.

Stu had a strong, clear tenor voice that went very well with Ellen's soprano. On the beginning of the refrain, "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, there I'll abide," Ellen had sung each phrase, following it with an interlude the same length on the piano. Stu had added an echo to her words and melody, to which her piano part now served as an accompaniment. "Where you go—where you go—I will go—I will go . . . ," and so on. On the rest of the refrain, and on the verses, he sang a simple harmony, a countermelody. Even I could hear how well it fit.

Ellen put the song into the music notation program she used. She printed copies for Sam and for Stu, which she gave them after the ceremony. She credited the words to the original passage, 'adapted by Ellen Morris with help from Phil Morris.' She took credit for the music, adding, 'Second vocal part by Stu Faithfull.' And she gave a dedication, "For Samantha Bruja and Samuel Brandeis at their wedding—and always for Phil." She initially had put "Sam" and "Sam," but she decided that if it were ever published that might be misunderstood.

The Sams' wedding was more traditional than ours had been, just to look at. White dress with train and veil and lots of lace, big organ processional as each of Sam's attendants inched up the aisle, and all those things. Samuel had small nieces and nephews, from among whom he—and their mothers, I thought—had selected a ring bearer and a flower girl. Sam and her attendants took over one of the women's rooms for three hours or more before the processional, and I gathered that somehow there were some tense moments in there. A little bird told me.

My only objection, which I kept to myself, was that this meant buying a fairly expensive dress for Ellen, which she wasn't likely to wear ever again. I felt Sam was worth pretty much any trouble and expense, though. And Sam and Ellen proved me wrong. The dress was not so obviously a bridesmaid's outfit that she couldn't wear it to fairly dressy events, and she got good use out of it.

Sam later said to me that Samuel had strongly urged her to wear white, against her instincts. She felt that in view of her past, it was inappropriate. "But he told me, 'You truly repented of your sins, and not just sexual ones. God has forgiven you, and sees you as pure. If anyone ever complains to you about wearing white, send her to me, and I'll set her straight, believe me. Or him.'" She still felt doubtful, so she asked Uncle John, who told her Samuel was perfectly right.

She told me it felt a lot like how I had treated her, after I forgave her. She had known I meant it, but it had been hard to believe—until I would stop to talk to her, treating her as a friend, and especially the time I had apologized for not hugging her and then done it, hard as it had been for me. Samuel had been right, in a way the dress made a big difference for Sam. I thought she had also worried that maybe he was trying to say to others that she was a virgin, but he got through to her that he was saying to her that he knew she had truly put her past behind her, resolving to live a very different life.

On Friday afternoon, well before the wedding rehearsal, Ellen and Stu had rehearsed the song, with only me and a sound tech to hear. Even to my ears, it was beautiful and powerful. Stu had proved to be a pretty short man, somewhat shorter than Ellen, but he had a huge voice when he sang. Beautiful tone, I could hear that much. He was very straightforward and nice, soft-spoken and friendly. At the rehearsal dinner, we were seated with him and his wife—who was almost as tall as I was—and I enjoyed their company throughout.

Just as a formal matter, the wedding went off beautifully. The flower girl's mother had to keep her from getting up and wandering off—but I thought that was anticipated. And there was one interruption reminiscent of Ellen's and my wedding.

Ellen went down to the piano, and she played, and she and Stu sang. And almost immediately, Sam had tears running down her cheeks. It was a good thing she used almost no makeup, and especially nothing for her eyes. Unlike me, though, she remained aware of where she was and what was happening. But when Ellen came back up to stand beside her, Sam stepped over and hugged her, and said, "Thank you, Ellen. That was perfect." She said it very quietly, but she was wearing a wireless mic, and so everyone heard. And Ellen told me later that, as they were getting into the receiving line, Sam said, "That was your revenge for making Phil fall apart at your wedding, right?"

There were fewer of our former classmates there than at Ellen's and my wedding. Well, after all, years had passed. But there were still several besides Jenny and Ellen and me, and Sam had gotten regrets from some who just couldn't make it. Sam had once told me, early in our senior year, that for three years she hadn't been very nice to people, and that she really didn't have any close friends. But she had been touched then by how people had responded to her, and many of those new friendships had lasted.

The best man presented a toast, by himself. The couple cut the first pieces of cake, and fed them to each other by hand—which may have helped explain Sam's near absence of makeup, or may have had no connection to that. The traditional opening of dancing was done, Uncle John and Aunt Sally filling the role Sam's parents. In all these things, everything went according to plan. The small nieces and nephews, and some children of guests, finished eating and escaped, to chase each other shrieking around the outskirts of the banquet room. No one would have planned that, but it seemed to me it should have been expected. But there was one unplanned interruption—or rather, planned, but not by Sam.

The music was provided by a small band, just a trio—piano, bass, and drums which were somehow pretty quiet, with vocals by the piano player on some numbers. At a certain point—early in the dinner, soon after all the guests had their food—the band was told off to go sit down and eat. A minute later, with no warning to anyone, Ellen went over to the piano and began playing, and then singing. She sang the song Sam had written for our wedding. I managed not to fall apart, but Sam almost didn't. Ellen came back to the table and sat back down, between Sam and me, and Sam said, "You're just determined to make everyone think I cry all the time, like Phil, aren't you?"

Ellen said, "You know, once we'd been married a year or two, Phil really started to settle down. He still is emotional and expressive, but he doesn't fall apart the same way any more. Well, hardly ever! But as long as you're crying because you're happy, you just go ahead and cry, Sam. I just thought that song was every bit as appropriate to you as to Phil and me."

Samuel hugged Sam, and said around her, "It was. I was kind of hoping that would be your solo in the ceremony, in fact. But I'm just as thankful for the one you wrote."

At that point, the crowd began making noise, demanding a kiss from the couple, and they complied. A stupid custom, I thought. It occurred to me that it likely dated back to the days of arranged marriages, when the couple came to the wedding not only inexperienced—at least the woman—but in some cases not even knowing each other. In which case she might have needed some contact to prepare, with a husband who probably would just bull his way in right off with no foreplay at all, half drunk to boot. Maybe. Pure speculation. Anyway, I was reasonably sure Samuel wasn't experienced—if he were, I was very sure he would have told Sam, but she wouldn't have told me. In any case, though, he knew she was experienced, and I was confident he would listen to her advice, and beyond that she knew what was coming and would be eager enough with no help at all. Although I was pretty sure that, like Ellen, what she would really want their first time wasn't mostly physical pleasure, but having the man she loved show her how much he loved and wanted her, by making love to her. And they'd had plenty of time together, getting to know each other. Desire would not be a problem. For our day, at least, a stupid custom.

Ellen told me later that she had checked with the sound guy when she and Stu had practiced. He wasn't the one handling sound for the reception, but he had confirmed that the band would get a break to eat while everyone else did, and he had agreed to tell the guy doing sound for the reception to expect her at the piano and to turn her mic on and watch the balance. Stu had been in on it, too. Ellen and I both owed Sam a huge amount, and it had obviously meant a lot to her.

As I said, we got to see and talk to only a few old friends at the wedding, in addition to Uncle John and Aunt Sally. One, an acquaintance rather than a friend of mine, really, surprised me, and shouldn't have. Linc Abrams was there, with a wife and young daughter along. As the reception was winding down, I spent quite a little while talking with Linc and Jeanine, and watching little Cindy—whom Linc mostly addressed and referred to as Swee' Pea, and occasionally as Cutie or Cutie Pie.

Jeanine was beautiful, and obviously bright, and she clearly adored Linc. Cindy, it seemed, had just mastered the art of walking—or rather, of running. She would get herself up to a slightly shaky standing position and look around, apparently picking out a target. Then she would lean forward and start to fall, thwarting gravity by taking a step and then another and yet another. The physics of this required that her steps take her at a headlong pace, to avoid toppling onto the ground.

She seemingly had not yet mastered stopping in a balanced way. Her strategy was to run headlong into any handy person or object, bouncing back with enough force to cause her to sit down fairly hard—which didn't hurt because of the padding provided by her diaper. All the while, she wore a big smile, and she laughed and cooed, sometimes clapping her hands together, as she sat down, every time. Then she got up again to begin the whole process. I knew firsthand about a young child's apparently boundless energy, and while she was something of a hazard to adults trying to move through the room, she dissipated energy, amused the onlookers, and left her parents mostly free to talk. Eventually, of course, the energy would be gone or she would fall on her face, and there would be a minor crisis, but I didn't see it.

I congratulated Linc and Jeanine on matrimony and parenthood. I said, "Early on, Sam told me what a help you were to her, in so many ways." Among other things, he had brought her to the church where the wedding was held. I went on, "I couldn't help wondering whether you two would wind up married, just because of that, and because you were almost the only person she knew here."

He said, "Well, you know an' anyone with eyes can see Sam's beautiful, an' she's smart an' talented. Sam's a good man, he'll treat her right, an' he's right for her. I don't mean I didn't like her, an' she was a great friend to have. But she was so far ahead most ev'ry way, that woulda been kinda scary to me, to try to romance her. Y'know, if anything I'da expected you to wind up with her, but she told me enough t'show me why that wouldn't happen. Nothin' 'gainst her at all in it, though, just she was made for someone different.