I started this story a long time ago, hitting a block and not knowing which way to go, changing directions a few times before going back to my original idea. I think it works and I hope you agree.
And having said all that, I have published a revised version. Thank you to Anonymous for investing himself/herself enough in my work to point out a few flaws in the story as I first published it. To me, that is the ultimate compliment. I hope I addressed them appropriately.
Please don't take this as an essay on the values of marriage or the lack thereof, it's simply a vehicle I used to create the story, and remember, this is a work of fiction.
Also, there is a reference to another of my works in here, who knows, maybe Chris and Ray will go for a ride with Vicki and Vick one day
Oh yeah, standard disclaimer, all people having sex are over eighteen, yada, yada, yada...
Enjoy the story and please leave me a comment when you're done, hearing what you think of my creations is what keeps me going.
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I hated weddings, renting a tux, all the standing around, the rehearsals, then the reception where a bunch of people that didn't honestly even like each other pretend to be excited about becoming a 'big happy family', it was just all so fake. Not to mention the fawning over someone you barely knew, pretending to be excited as two people sold their souls to each other for something that was in all probability going to crash and burn in the not-too-distant future. Yeah, I'm a cynic and a bit of a jerk, so sue me.
But Ashley was a bridesmaid, as her loyal boyfriend I did my duty tagging along, mostly because she was beautiful not to mention a beast in the sack. I knew she would make it up to me, letting me explore the glorious curves and valleys of her amazing body, doing anything I wanted because she wanted it more.
To be fair, I had earned my cynicism the hard way, watching as my parents' marriage dissolved into a bitter divorce only to be followed by a series of stepmothers and stepfathers, then watching my older brother follow right along with what our parents had taught us; he was on wife number four. I promised myself I would never fall into that trap, never, so far, I had been true to that pledge.
Ashley was my latest in a long string of girlfriends, most of whom had lasted less than a year, she was on year two, but I had been up front about the lack of any chance at marriage. She seemed ok with that, if I bought her nice things, took her to nice restaurants, on expensive vacations. In return, she fucked my brains out, it worked for us.
Ray and I sat toward the back of the church as the wedding party worked through the instructions the pastor was giving, who stood where and when, all the standard stuff, he looked as bored by the whole thing as I was. His date was also a bridesmaid, we were quietly commiserating the price we were paying for sex; "A hooker would have been a lot cheaper," he quipped.
"And a lot less trouble," we both laughed a little too loud which got us unwanted attention from the bride and her mother.
Throughout the rest of the weekend, we continued our ongoing joke about how expensive the sex was, never really talking about much else. When Ashley and I got home, he faded into a long list of other people I had met and never thought of again.
The ultimate cost of the wedding was what it did to Ashley and her proverbial 'clock', now she wanted something I wasn't going to give her, we lasted about three months before I caught her screwing a guy she worked with, we broke up, they got married, eight months later, she popped out number one. She hadn't waisted any time. Good for her, I hoped she was one of the lucky ones, but I doubted they even existed.
Sara was next, followed by Rebecca, then Sammy, Sarah with an 'h', and Julie, Julie had unique talent that almost got me to reconsider my stance on marriage, what she could do with her mouth, the way she craved it was almost too much. I was sitting at the cabana bar waiting for her to get back from the ladies' room, watching a young couple proclaim their never-ending love for one another on a beach in Fiji. After they said their I Do's one of the groomsmen headed straight for the bar, it was Ray.
"You know there are a lot cheaper ways to get laid, or are you just a masochist?"
"What the hell, Chris, right?" I nodded and shook his hand, "No 'tang' for this one," he laughed, "the bride is my little sister."
We chatted while the bartender got him his drinks, he loaded up a tray about the time Julie got back, he nodded at Julie, we said our cordial goodbyes; he disappeared once again.
Ray and I ran into each other every now and then in the strangest places, the airport in San Francisco, skiing in Aspen, in line for concessions at Fenway Park, we even shared a train ride from Chicago to Milwaukee, he was on his way to a business meeting, I was headed to the Harley Davidson factory to check a dream off my bucket list. It got to be that I was looking for him whenever I went anywhere. It always made me smile when I ran into him, our running joke never seemed to get old.
"Damn, too bad he's not a girl," I thought to myself as we got off the train, we got along so well. He was just easy to talk to, no drama at all; with the bonus of there being no chance of him wanting to get married. I caught myself watching him walk away, "Shit, he even has a nice butt," I laughed to myself.
Two weeks later, I was sitting on the Pier at Santa Monica celebrating, enjoying the sunset when I heard his now familiar voice behind me," Shit Chris, are you following me or what?" his laugh was infectious.
"I could ask you the same thing," I smiled, tipping my beer at him, "just bought my dream bike," I mused, "what better way to break it in than Route 66, and that ends right here," I pointed to the marker, "So, what's your excuse?"
"Me, I live in L.A., I come out here every now and then to watch the sunset," he sat down next to me; we did just that. The sunset over the ocean was hard to beat. How comfortable I felt sitting next to Ray made me a little nervous as I found myself wanting to put my arm around his shoulder and pull him closer. Memories of the train ride to Milwaukee and watching him walk away as I admired his butt flooded my thoughts. I turned to look at him just in time to catch him bite his lower lip as he delicately drew his shoulder length hair back behind his ear with his middle finger, absolutely one of the sexiest things a woman can do.
"What the fuck?" I muttered to myself as I got up and walked to the railing.
"Chris, you alright?" Ray had followed me.
"Um yeah, just a long ride, that's all," Why did he have to put his hand on my shoulder when he walked up behind me?
"Well, dinners on me," he stepped up next to me, "everybody needs to go to Bubba Gump's at least once," there was that laugh again.
Dinner was nice, we spent most of it talking about my new bike and the ride from Chicago to Santa Monica, it had been a great trip. I told him I had done the whole thing by the seat of my pants, no plan, just going with the flow and stopping wherever I found something interesting.
Ray kept smiling like he had a secret, with all the women I had been with, I had never had one pay such close attention to what I was saying, Ray listened intently, waiting until I was finished with a thought before he asked a question, never trying to one up me or dominate the conversation; he was so easy to talk to, to be with, and the way he smiled at me and played with his hair.
Of course, I had to show off my bike, Ray was impressed and seemed to know as much about it as I did. He finally couldn't hold it any longer," I know exactly how you feel," he grabbed the helmet off the identical Road King next to mine and threw his leg over the bike.
"You shit, why didn't you tell me you rode?"
"What, and ruin your moment, never," the son of a bitch blew me a kiss, "just try to keep up," he put on his helmet, turned the key, hit start, and pulled away from the curb. I fell in behind him. Ten minutes later, I parked next to him in front of a small craftsman style house on a very nice lot.
"This is yours; you live here?" the house and yard were immaculate, "None of my business but it had to cost a fortune, "I let out a nervous laugh.
"Good genes, my great grandfather built it, I inherited it," he grinned at me, "and based on our conversation earlier, you probably need someplace to stay, so my guest room is yours, come on, let's get you settled," he turned heading up onto the porch. I smiled, shook my head, grabbed my travel bag, and followed him.
The house was full of antiques, from what I could tell, most of the furniture had belonged to at least his grandparents and was possibly original to the house, the kitchen and the bathrooms had been updated and a huge spa type hot tub had been added off the back porch. The pinnacle of the tour was the sunroom, Ray had transformed it into his studio, his art was amazing, oils, watercolors, charcoal, and pencil art. His day job as a graphic designer kept him busy, his art was his passion.