The Wedding Story

I leaned against the cold tile wall as hot water sluiced off of me, running warmth down my shoulders and back. My head was throbbing, pounding my skull in time with my heartbeat.

Three hours. Three hours we'd been at the police station, just to report some missing luggage, and in the end, all they'd told us was

We'll do what we can.

I was of the impression that my stolen luggage (

fucking Raoul,

I thought, recalling bitterly his unphotogenic cab license) was not their highest priority.

I'd borrowed some of Jason's clothing, and Marci some of Stephanie's, and today after breakfast we'd go shopping. After three hours I'd come home and crashed (despite what I'd told my mother, I'd been quite tired), and given that I'd purposely stayed awake for nearly thirty-six hours to sleep away the time zone confusion, I hit the mattress around six-thirty and slept like a rock until three in the morning.

Now, I was washing away a day and one-half of sweat and soreness, relishing how the hot water loosened tight muscles..

The door opened, and soft footsteps made their way into the bathroom. I felt a brief start as my heart jumped into my throat; after five years on my own, and seven years with Marci, I'd come into the habit of leaving the bathroom door unlocked. Now, with a full house, it occurred to me that such should no longer be common practice.

"There's someone in here," I said, keeping my voice down; it was still quite early. I had a moment to feel like an idiot—of

course

they could tell someone was in here; the

shower

was running, after all, and was by no means whisper-quiet—before I heard a comforting voice.

"I know, love," said Marci. She drew aside the curtain and stood before me utterly naked. Delicately stepping into the tub, she closed the curtain behind her and hugged me from behind, her breasts and distended tummy squeezed between us. "Hi."

For one brief, terrifying moment, I thought it'd been . . . someone else.

My heart pounded in my chest.

"Marci, we're in a house full of people,

chock

full of people," I said, but the protest was half-hearted, at best. "You really want to—?"

"I need you," she said, her hands on my stomach. "If right now's the only time we can be alone together, then I'll take it. Like you said, love, we're in a house full of people. Can't really go at it in the living room in the middle of the day, can we?"

I grinned, remembering our loft in London, and turned around, pulling her into a hug. The top of her head came just under my chin. "I love you," I said, feeling a desperate need to be close to someone in a house full of distance. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," she said. Then she looked up at me and grinned. "Babe, now ain't the time to get sappy, is it?"

"Ah, if not now, when?" said I; my hands began moving up and down her back.

She put her arms around my neck and pulled me into a warm kiss. My tongue darted between her lips, tasting her as my hands slid onto her hips and around to her buttocks. I squeezed them, and pulled her in closer.

I slipped a finger between her buttocks, and alit upon her anus. I slipped the tip of it into her; she moaned softly against my mouth.

Breaking away, I nuzzled my way down her neck; my hands ran up her sides, along her arms, and clasped her own. I pushed her against the wall as I worked down to her breasts and slid my mouth over a nipple as it hardened against my tongue.

God, I loved her breasts. Even before she was pregnant, when they could have, without embellishment, been referred to as

petite

, I couldn't stay away from them. Now they were plumping, and more enticing than ever.

I gave her nipple a final suck and moved rather hurriedly downwards until her cunt lay like an open flower before me. Its scent was no less intoxicating, nor its petals less divine.

Normally, I'm not such an A-to-B-to-Cunt man, but it wasn't foreplay Marci wanted in times like this, it was intercourse. Hot, fast fucking, with as many orgasms as she could cram into each session; it made her feel closer to me, she said, and to the baby, somehow. Maybe because it had been in acts like this that it had been conceived, and not in the touching-petting-stroking that could go on for an eternity before getting to what was essentially the

point

of these endeavors.

My tongue ran from the bottom, along its petals and folds—digging once into the deepness contained within—and reach the firm nub at the top. I gave it a gentle flick of the tongue before put my mouth on it and began sucking it like I'd done her nipple.

I snaked one hand from her foot, up her calf, her thigh, and her buttock, and again stopped at her anus, wherein I slipped one wet finger to the middle knuckle.

She loved anal play; I have no idea why. Women, as far as I knew, received no sexual gratification from it, and although Marci claimed otherwise, I think she was just trying to please me, trying to share in something I sometimes got a kick out of—not all our dildos were for her, after all, just most of them.

She gasped, then put her hands on my shoulders. "David," she panted. "Can we—can we stop?"

I looked up at her, puzzled. "What?"

"I want to—I need to feel close to you," she said. "I want . . . I want . . . fuck, I don't know

what

I want."

I got to my feet and looked her in the eye. "Marci, are you okay?"

"I don't know," she said. I thought I saw tears in her eyes, but that could have been water. "I just . . . here."

She turned off the shower, turned on the faucet, and plugged the drain. We lowered to the ground, and I leaned against the cold porcelain while the tub filled with warm water. Marci nestled in my lap and lay against my chest; my penis pressed against the small of her back, and jumped hopefully at her warmth.

I don't know, little dude

, I thought, never one with enough ego to name my member.

I have no idea what she's doing; this is quite new.

"I'm sorry," said Marci. "This whole thing was my idea and I . . . I can't, right now. I don't know why, I just can't."

"Don't apologize," I said. "Never apologize."

She leaned her head against my shoulder. "It seemed like such a bloody good idea at the time.

Fucking

hormones."

I chuckled and took her hands, wrapped her hands and my own around her.

The water level steadily rose; it now reached my hip.

"Tell me about Jessica," Marci said.

My heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"In the cab, you said there was something else," said Marci. "Another reason you so dreaded returning home, and in the house, I saw how you looked at her. I saw how she looked at you, too. There was something there. Something old."

"Is that what this is about?" I said.

"No," she said. "But we're here, and we have time. Why not now?"

"Marci. . . ." I said, then stalled.

What? What could I possibly say? That she was wrong?

"Sometimes," I said instead. "Your perception astonishes, love."

"I'm right?"

"Always."

"Then?"

I took a deep breath. "We used to . . . we had a . . . I, um. . . ."

"You fucked her," she inferred, candid as I could never be.

My face burned. "Yeah."

"I figured."

"I . . . it was idiotic," I said. "I was eighteen, gawky, self-conscious, and she was married to my brother. They hadn't been married more than a couple of months when he had that accident, and by the time this came around, they'd been going through a lot of hardships. He was so fucking distant then.

"We talked a lot, Jessie and I. I've . . . always had trouble talking to people, but she made it easy, somehow. I opened up to her like I never had anyone else"—I felt her stiffen, and gear up for an objection—"except you, of course," I added, cutting her off.

"Bloody right, except me," she said. She unwound our arms, and put my hands on her stomach. "Go on, then."

"I have no idea how it happened," I said. "I guess—no, that's wrong. I do know, but I remember it quite strangely, like I'm outside myself looking in, you know? I remember deeds, but not doing them. Kinda like watching a movie."

"What happened?"

"I was at their house," I said. "Tyler was . . . I didn't know where. Out, I guess, enjoying the latest in a long line of new hobbies he could enjoy from his wheelchair. I'd been doing some work around the house for them -- yard work, mostly, the stuff neither one of them could do -- and when I finished, we got to talking." I found my voice softening as I remembered, and my stomach churned horrendously.

Some liken reliving bad a experience to tearing open old wounds; this was like slicing open a wound so old, its scars had faded from memory. New wounds on top of old, more like.

"We were having champagne," I said. "She'd just had a miscarriage—her second, I think—and drank a lot, in those days. I didn't like the stuff, but I didn't want to admit to it. Besides, there was a kind of thrill at drinking alcohol when I knew I shouldn't.

"We put away the entire bottle," I said. "She'd drank most of it; I mostly sipped and nursed. I had a buzz, but not nearly enough of one to impair judgment."

Marci rose from my lap to turn off the water, which had reached a comfortable level, then settled back into my lap. Positioned as I was, sitting up against the wall of the tub, the water barely reached mid chest; for Marci, who was lying back against me, it rose to her collarbone.

"How did it happen?" she said, putting my hands back on her stomach.

"I—is this weird for you?" I said. "Hearing this?"

I was quieter now that the rushing water no longer hid our voices. I had no idea how early it was—still quite early, I imagined, but recognized that my often incorrect sense of time was made worse by the change in time zones—and didn't want to risk being overheard.

"I always knew you'd dated before I came along, David," she said. "You must know I did the same."

"You weren't exactly virginal," I agreed, grinning

"Taught

you

a few things," she said.

I brought her hand up and kissed her fingers. "You taught me everything I know, love," I said. "Everything that matters."

"Continue the story," she said.

I leaned back again, looked at the ceiling, and saw again a naïve teen, just out of high school, with no idea what he was getting into. "Normally, Jessica is a very controlled woman," I said. "I mean, you have no idea. She's so disciplined. But after putting away almost an entire bottle of some pretty hard stuff, her walls had been utterly demolished, and I saw every emotion soon as she had it.

"We got to talking about the baby. I don't remember how or why; I like to think she brought it up, that I wouldn't be so thoughtless, but then, as now, I had a great potential for blind insensitivity. Part of the Welcher legacy, I guess.

"David—"

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

She hated it when I was self-deprecating like that. Said I was insulting her man, which I thought was funny.

"She was crying on my shoulder. Normally we sat on opposite couches, but I moved when she offered me a drink, and she moved closer as we spoke. It was so gradual, I hadn't even noticed it; then she her head was on my shoulder, and her tears on my shirt, and my hand was rubbing her back as I ineptly tried by best to comfort her.

"She cried for a long time, and when she was done, there was a silence that grew and grew more awkward. I had no idea what to say or do. I remember wanting to move my arm because it was falling asleep."

"Who kissed first?" said Marci. "You or her?"

"She did," said I. "I didn't have it in me to make the first move. Not for a long time."

"How did she do it?"

"She just did," I said. "After the silence had stretched and stretched, after her tears had dried, she just turned her head towards me and put her lips on mine.

"To say I was stunned would be a monumental understatement. I was utterly frozen. My heart pounded so loud in my ears, I heard nothing else. I hardly felt it when her lips left mine and she pulled away. I jumped from the couch in near panic, feeling like I'd betrayed my brother—and I had, I suppose—and that he was waiting in any number of secret places to spring forth and see us. Every shadow, every room looked suspicious. We were in their living room, which connected to the dining room, den, and hallway, and I felt like he was hiding in any one of these places. It was his house; who'd know it better than he?

"I was whirling about the living room, trying to make sense of what had happened and how it had happened, formulating with increasing panic excuses should Tyler appear just then, and didn't notice her approach me.

"She put her hands on my shoulders to stop me, and she told me that he wouldn't be home for hours.

"I didn't believe her. I mean, I

did

, but it felt like she was trying to trap me, like she was setting me up, for some reason. It was ridiculous; I had no reason to suspect such deceit.

"She put her arms around my neck, like you did when you got here, and told me that I'd done nothing wrong, that there was no fault to be had here. Then she pulled me in for another kiss. I resisted, tried to pull away, but not that much, because behind the subsiding panic—logic and reason was winning out over paranoia and blind fear—there was excitement, and eagerness for something new.

"No,

over

eagerness, more like," I said. "I let myself be pulled back to the couch, and we did that for a while, and then we did something else. It . . . it happened so fast, it felt almost like a dream. Even lying there, under a blanket, my naked warmth against hers, it felt like a dream. I was

sure

it was a dream."

"But it wasn't," she said.

"No," I said. "It wasn't. God, I so wished it to be a dream."

"Why?"

"Tyler found out," I said.

She tensed. "Oh?"

"Mm. Not right away, I mean, but eventually. We had our little affair for a time—six months, I think—and grew careless. One day, he came home and saw on the couch. We were just watching the telly, and we happened to doze off, but we looked, I imagine, a bit more comfortable than we should have."

"What happened?" she said.

"He

flipped

," I said. "I mean, I'd fallen asleep, but suddenly I was awake and there was screaming and I was confused and getting assaulted. It was chaos."

"Jesus, Davey," she said.

"Yeah."

"So what happened?"

"What else?" I said. "We had a row. Lots of screaming. Some hitting—mostly one-sided, 'cause I could never bring myself to hit a man in crutches."

"What'd Jessie do?" she said.

"Tried to stop him. Calm him. Didn't much succeed, I think."

"What did you do?"

"What

could

I do?" I said. "I left. I got into my car and I drove straight home at what felt like the speed of sound in nothing but me knickers. When I got home, I found out Tyler had already called ahead, and the entire house was awake and waiting for me."

"Jesus," said Marci. "I can imagine."

No, love

, I thought.

You quite can't.

"So what happened?"

"I more or less pushed my way to my room," I said. "Jesus, it felt like a fucking obstacle course, what with their disapproving faces and admonishments blocking my way. I made it to my room if only because I couldn't face them in just me boxer shorts. Then, because I realized I couldn't face them

at all

, I packed some clothes into a backpack I hadn't used in the year since high school, and I made my way back out through the obstacle course and into the open night. I got into my car and hit a motel."

"And you never turned back?"

"Never," I said. "But more by incident than design. The next morning, I got in the car and just drove, with no destination in mind other than

away

. I drove until I hit Los Angeles and happened upon a construction job with a crew who worked all over the country. I bounced to three big cities before he told me about a job in Tokyo, then England. At this point, it'd been nearly a year since I'd so much as e-mailed a relative, so the decision kinda made itself."

"After a year, they'd likely have forgotten, if not moved on," said Marci. "But you do like to let things build, don't you?"

"I was never confrontational," I said.

"Bullshit. You confront me all the time."

I chuckled, and kissed the top of her head. "You're different. You make me better."

"Aw, stuff it, you wanker," she said, and broke the tension of my telling the tale. I laughed as I hugged her close, and wrapped my legs around hers. She loved it when I held her like that. Said she felt cocooned.

I felt a bit like I'd betrayed her trust, because what I'd told her wasn't the truth; at least, not the gospel truth. While it was true I hadn't contacted my family, I

had

been contacted by them, brothers and sisters all, each sending e-mails to the address I'd had since the eight grade. They knew I would never change it.

Initially, their messages were scornful, and told me of how ashamed they were. Then, they were understanding. Then, as time passed, and I did not respond, they grew concerned.

Tyler's last message, the last message I got from the lot of them, was simply:

I forgive you

.

Come home. Please.

I had nothing to say to that, and so I said nothing.

That was ten years ago.

There was more to the affair than just that, of course; more to Jessie's part in it, and more to mine, but it was something I couldn't bring myself to tell her. Not just yet.

"Tell me about the sex," said Marci. Her voice, the way it—even whispered—rang out in the tiled bathroom, pulled me from my memories and into the present; the water had chilled considerably.

"What?" I said, as I pulled the stopper with my toe and reached my foot up to turn on the hot water. Just a little, at first, but I'd turn it up as the tub drained.

The water around my feet was infused with new warmth.

"Tell me," she insisted.

"You mean, like, details?"

"Mm," said she, her hands on my arms.

"Well, like I said, it all happened rather fast," I said. "So details are rather sket—sketchy."

Her hands were rubbing my forearms. One moved from my arm to my inner thigh. Taking my cue from her—

story time over

? my penis seemed to ask, giving a hopeful hop; I had no idea what to tell it (she'd already stopped me once, after all, who's to say she wouldn't again?)—I followed suit and took hold of her breasts.

"Try," she said.

"O—okay. I . . . I, uh. . . ."

How

had

it happened?

I tried to recall.

We were kissing, then—?

I couldn't remember, precisely. Just kissing. Tiny pecks, then more. Open mouths. Tongues, and heavy breathing.

Mostly I remembered the adrenaline and anticipation.

Just start with the kissing

.

"We were kissing," I said, and Marci turned, laying her body on mine. My penis immediately sprang to full attention between her legs.

She nuzzled my neck as I spoke.

Oh, I see what we're doing

.

"We did that for I don't know how long. It felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a minute or two. Then she put her tongue in my mouth."

Marci began licking my neck and shoulder; I was really glad I'd been rinsing when she came into the shower, else the stench and grime might have driven her away.

"And we . . . we did that for a while"—her mouth closed on my nipple—"when she pulled off my shirt. I was a little pudgier then (baby fat, you understand), but damned if her hands didn't try to cover every inch of me."

Her hands began to move up and down my body; her mouth was still on my nipple.

Wonder what a nipple hickey looks like

, I thought inanely, suppressing a groan.