The Ties That Bind 8

As she watched him say his vows, she was struck with the change in him. She flattered herself that she had been responsible for that change. He had been that diamond in the rough women often seek. She had cut him to her liking, and she would wear him proudly.

That he was marrying her, or anyone, was an indication of the transformation. But even the fact that he was wearing clean clothes and smelled of cologne rather than oil and sweat was a sign of the new, improved Timothy Sloane. The name itself was new to his adult life. Though he would probably never go by 'Timothy', at least now he went by 'Tim' instead of 'Stick'.

God, how she hated that nickname. It reminded her of his former friends. Crude and vulgar, but worse, they were cruel and violent. If they had been with him when she met him, she wouldn't have met him. If Daddy had ever seen them, she wouldn't have been marrying him today, or ever.

But here he was in St. Vincent's cathedral, wearing a tuxedo and saying things like, "With this ring, I thee wed." Here he was, clean and shaven promising to "take thee, Allison Pauley, to have and to hold, . . . for better and for worse until death do us part." Here he was, after years of sleeping with uncounted women he would never have married, marrying one women he had never slept with. Here he was, a new Timothy Sloane and she loved him with a special love-the love Pygmalion felt for Galatea. And she knew that he loved her, for she knew what she had made.

As she said her vows and looked at him, she couldn't remember what he had been before. 'Change' was too weak a word; he had undergone a metamorphosis-a butterfly from a grub. One might as well say that Tim had been born full-grown and his birth had been the death of Stick.

They walked down the aisle, him in his midnight blue tux and her in white satin, and dodged into a back room of the church. It was the first time they had been together alone this whole hectic day. They exchanged a second and more meaningful kiss in their privacy.

The reception was picture perfect for the guests and a blur for Tim and Allison. At random moments, they would spot one another across the room and the drone of voices would be shut out for a moment. But something would impinge on these moments and each would be forced back into the hubbub.

At a rare time when they were actually within touching distance of each other, they talked long enough to arrange an early get-away. So without changing, they made for the kitchen to get a couple bottles of champagne, and headed for the car.

The get-away was early but not secret. They had to run through the traditional hail of rice and confetti. And despite her griping about it being in her hair and down her dress, Allison would have been disappointed if they had escaped the assault. It didn't matter now anyway. They were on their way to the beach cabin they had rented for a week of blissful solitude.

* * *

It was a postcard setting: a small sandy beach sheltered in a crevice of rocky cliffs. The cabin was just where the beach yielded to the forest. They reached it as the sun was setting over the ocean. The sky was marbled orange and pink and purple, and two thin low-hanging clouds were almost fluorescent orange. Higher up, the darkness was approaching.

They unloaded the luggage and presents from the car and by the time darkness engulfed the cabin, they were nestled in front of the fire with champagne and a pile of presents waiting to be opened.

"So, what do you want to open first," she asked.

As he reached for the zipper of her dress, she slapped his hand lightly. "No, that's the last one you get to open. It won't hurt you to wait a few more minutes."

"Won't hurt me? It already does. I'm in agony," he said grabbing his chest in feigned pain. "I can't believe that I married such a heartless woman."

"Don't worry, you'll live. And in the meantime, just remember, the longer I make you wait, the better I'll have to make it just so the wait will be worthwhile." With mocked sympathy she gave him a motherly kiss and an unmotherly pat on the crotch.

"I'll wait. But remember, it can't be good enough to make the wait worthwhile if I die first."

"You won't die. Now pick a present to unwrap."

They opened up the usual mix of wedding presents: towels, two blenders, a bread maker, sheets, and sundry stuff. They opened a second bottle of champagne and watched the bubbles rise in their glasses as they listened to the sounds of the fire and the surf.

Those were peaceful and persistent sounds. But below them rose a grumble. The grumble grew to the unmistakable sound of motorcycles which, even unmistakable as it was, took a few seconds to register on the newlyweds.

"Oh, Jesus!" Tim yelled as he jumped up to the window.

Allison watched him and understood. "No. They can't be coming here. How could they have found out where we would be? You didn't talk to them did you?"

"I haven't even seen any of them in months. I don't know. It wasn't a secret where we were going, you know. Maybe they asked someone who knew us. Maybe they followed us. I don't know, but it is them and whether we like it or not, they're here."

"Well don't let them in. Lock the door."

"Come on. That's stupid. That's not going to keep them out.

"So what do we do?"

There was no time for an answer. The door opened without a knock. They could hear Cal bellow before they could see him.

"Hey, hey, hey, how are the newlyweds?"

He came in banging the door all the way open as he did. His mangy gang followed, complete with its current "girl friends". Cal was the biggest of the bunch, in every dimension. He had a gut, but he wasn't fat. He was just big. His biceps looked like Tim's thighs. He had curly black, thinning, hair and an untrimmed scraggly beard. He was, as he seemed always to be, sweaty and smelly.

He was followed by Starker holding a cheap beer with one hand and a cheap woman with the other. The beer wasn't ugly. Starker's most prominent feature was his acne potmarked face and his left eye which stared in the same direction no matter where his right eye was aimed. If you ignored that, which was almost impossible, he would look pretty normal.

The girl was trying to stuff a considerable amount of lard into tight black pants and a halter top. Her black jacket covered a lot but was unzipped enough to show the roll of flab that her enormous breasts rode on. Her face might have been passable if she weren't so heavy but her hair lay flat against her scalp and looked as if it hadn't been washed in months.

Allison couldn't remember her name but she knew her function. She was the Doofer. Whatever anyone else in the group wanted done, she'd do for them. Even though these guys were no prizes, they could attract better looking girls than this. But they couldn't get more compliant ones. They took pleasure in degrading her and making her degrade herself, and she did it willingly for the scraps of acceptance they showed her in their less cruel moments and perhaps for the vicarious feeling of power she felt at being a part (even the part she was) of that group.

Floyd would have been almost good looking if he had been clean and dressed neatly, which of course he never was. He was tall and thin with longish blond hair, a prominent chin and chiseled features. Not handsome really, but in this crowd, a knockout. 'Floyd' wasn't his real name. It was short for 'Pretty Boy Floyd', in honor of his relative attractiveness.

With him was a girl Allison had not seen before and would not have pictured with this gang. It wasn't that she was classy, and she wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty-and pretty sexy-and, most striking of all in this company, she looked clean. She had long blonde hair, a cute cleft chin Ali would have killed for and a little turned-up nose. And she would have been tall and long-legged even without her heels. She still looked cheap, but it was a higher class of cheap.

Gnat brought up the rear and brought in the beer-two cases of it. He was short and skinny and looked like a pathetic, pimply, pubescent punk-which he was, except for being too old.

The door slammed.

"Aren't you going to ask us to sit down?" Cal said as if he cared about an invitation. His voice was coarse and always loud. It made him sound dumb even when he managed to speak grammatically. But Allison knew that he wasn't dumb. Tim had told her stories of the people who had fucked themselves over by assuming that Cal was as stupid as he sounded. The air of stupidity was a mask that Cal used to great advantage.

"What are you guys here for anyway?" Tim asked.

"Stick, Stick . . . Oh, I'm sorry. It's 'Timothy' now, isn't it? We were hurt. We were crushed. Here we are, your best friends, and you didn't invite us to your wedding. I understand it; you're ashamed of your old friends. But Starker and Floyd took it hard. And ya know it ripped little Gnat to pieces. I mean, he's always loved you and looked up to you like a big brother. Anyway, we got to talking about it and we decided to let you know that we don't want to embarrass you, we just want what's best for you. We wanted to come here and drink a few toasts to you and your pretty bride and maybe reminisce about old times a little. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Allison softened slightly. Perhaps she had been too harsh on Tim's friends. To come by now, when they wanted more than anything to be alone, was rude and inconsiderate. But it was better than showing up at the wedding or the reception.

Tim looked at Ali quickly and then said, "Okay, but just for a bit. We are pretty tired."

"Of course. Of course. I know you want to be alone. We'll just stay for a little piece and then be on our way." He turned to his disciples. "Gnat, open those cases. Let's have a toast to Sti . . . uh . . . Timothy who made good and married this sweet little thing here." And as he finished, he threw his sweaty tattooed arm around Allison and pulled her to his side. She forced a smile.

Many toasts were proposed and many bottles emptied-some of the beer was even drunk though a good bit ended up on the floor or running down someone's chest. Allison had had the "pleasure" of being kissed by all of Tim's old friends. And Tim had gotten kissed by the Doofer and the new girl whose name, it turned out, was 'Cheryl'. Ali could see that Tim didn't appreciate the first kiss any more than she did her kisses. But he didn't mind kissing Cheryl. When he kissed her, he grabbed her ass and pushed her pelvis into his crotch. For a moment, Ali wasn't sure that the transformation she had worked was as complete as she had thought. But the moment passed and it looked like the party might actually be coming to a close. And, all in all, it hadn't been intolerable.

Finally, Cal stood up. "Let's clean up this mess and leave the newlyweds alone."

Ali was quick to insist that they didn't have to help clean up, that she and Tim would do it in the morning. And while she and Cal were arguing over this, Gnat piped up almost for the first time that night. "But what about the wedding present we were going to give 'em?"

"That's right!" Cal exaggerated as if he had completely forgotten. "We don't want to forget about that. Cheryl, you and Tim go out to the van for the present, and while you are getting it, we'll get to work in here."

The night was cloudy but the moon shone through the clouds from time to time. As Tim followed Cheryl out to her van, the moon was bright and he watched her walk in her high heels and her tight pants. Ali was certainly prettier and probably sexier, though he didn't know how to measure these things precisely. But Cheryl advertised a kind of availability that riveted a man's mind on sex. He wouldn't mind a fling with her sometime.

By the time they reached the van, the moon was obscured and it was hard to see. She got the side door open and climbed in. He tried to follow but, as no inside light went on, he had to feel his way.

"Where is it?" he asked. The only things he had felt so far were a few motorcycle parts.

"Right here."

Either the moon was coming out again or his eyes were adjusting. He could see Cheryl's outline. He moved toward her with a hand out. Before he reached her, she grabbed his hand and put it on her bare breast.

"Here," she repeated.

He had known that she had nice breasts. The little camisole top she had been wearing, like her pants, had not been designed to hide anything. It was now unlaced and thrown open. His hand hesitated on her breast and he felt her nipple rise. Her breast was warm and smooth. She pulled him nearer and felt his crotch. His underwear bound him in but did not conceal his desire.

She was lying on a mattress that smelled of engine oil. But when he was very close to her, that smell was overcome by her perfume. He stayed close to her for a while-long enough for her to unbutton his shirt, long enough for both of them to get their pants off, almost too long. But somehow, between the pants and the boxer shorts, he overcame the lust and the liquor enough to think better of what was happening.

He pushed her hand away. "I'm sorry. Some other time maybe," he said between deep breaths.

He couldn't see her face well enough to be sure of her reaction, but he thought she looked amused. He stumbled on. "I know it sounds silly but she's a virgin, and I promised that I wouldn't sleep with anyone else all the while we were engaged. And even if I were willing to break that promise, which it looks like I am, I can hardly do it now. I can hardly go into our room tonight smelling of sex with you and unable to have it with her. So, like I said, some other time maybe." He reached for his pants, but couldn't find them.

Cheryl was still silent. The reaction was unintelligible to Tim. He blathered on, "I don't want you to think that I don't want to sleep with you. I think you're very sexy." He was going to say more but she cut him off.

"You jerk! You asshole! You think she's going to be a virgin when you get back in that cabin? What d'ya think this was all about? You know Cal. You didn't think he came up here to give you his blessings, did'ya?"

She was still talking when he bolted out of the van and ran for the cabin. He threw open the door. There was no one in the front room. He ran for the bedroom door. It was locked. He kicked it. Over and over. Finally-it seemed like many minutes later-the door yeilded.

Ali was being held in a sitting position on the bed by Starker and Floyd. The top of her wedding dress was torn, exposing her breasts, and she was pleading with them to stop. She turned toward the doorway and Tim saw that the right side of her face was bruised and swollen. Cal was standing in front of her with his pants down to his knees.

Tim charged Cal in rage. But he never reached him. Before he got there, Starker got up and slugged him in the stomach and when he doubled over from that, something hit him hard on the head.

He wasn't knocked out cold. He was aware of being put in a cold wooden chair and having his hands cinched tight behind his back with some kind of plastic strap. Then his hands and ankles were fastened to the chair. For all he could do to resist, he might as well have been out cold. Gnat stood next to him with a knife in his hand. But the precaution seemed unnecessary.

"Well, Timothy, you didn't like the present we gave you? Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to refuse a present? You might have hurt Cheryl's feelings." Cal turned toward the bedroom door. "How about it, Cheryl? Did he hurt your feelings?"

Tim saw Cheryl in the doorway, wearing only her open camisole and lace bikinis. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ali twist loose enough to see Cheryl and then glare at him momentarily before looking away.

Cheryl didn't respond to Cal. No one who knew Cal answered his questions when he was acting like this. He had a game in mind and if you answered wrong, he could get nasty. If you didn't answer at all, he would answer for you.

"Well, don't take it personal now. I just think Timmy boy here is one of those who gets more kicks from watching than from doing. So we are going to let him watch." He stepped out of his pants, walked over to Tim and grabbed his hair to make him look up. "Don't worry, Timmy boy. You haven't missed anything interesting yet. I was just letting your pretty bride get a look at a man." He started to walk away, but turned back. "Well, I did take a little peek at her tits. They ain't bad, y'know? A little small for my taste, but not bad. But I guess you've seen them, right? She has let you see her tits, hasn't she?"

Tim's face was flushed red; his ears burned. He stared at Cal with hatred and anger, but he said nothing. He could do nothing to make things better and he was afraid anything he said would make things worse.

"Hold her up and turn her this way." As Starker and Floyd did this, Tim managed to look down. Cal jerked his head up again. "Well, come on. Show him her tits. A man's got a right to see his wife's tits, don't he." Ali seemed resigned to what was to come. She struggled-more for her own dignity than for any chance of escaping. Starker and Floyd ripped the top completely open until it hung down loosely over the skirt and Ali was bare to the waist.

For a moment, Tim and Ali's eyes met. But the pain was too much and they looked away.

"I've seen her. I've seen her," Tim cried out at last.

"Well, then, you know. She has pretty good tits." Cal let go of Tim's hair and walked over to the bed. He turned back to him and said, "Now don't you worry boy. We ain't gonna hurt her. We're just gonna sorta break her in for you. Women are like jeans: they ain't comfortable 'til they're broke in." And he turned to Ali.

"Lay her down on the bed." They did and Cal leaned over to throw up the skirt of her dress. She kicked at him and landed a glancing blow on his face. Cheryl and the Doofer went over to hold her legs but Cal waved them back.

"So, you are getting some fight back. I like a woman with fight. Makes it more of a contest." He told her restrainers to sit her up and went on talking to her. "I can fight too. You want to see me? Look!" And with the last word, he slapped her with the back of his hand. Her head flew back and her nose started to bleed slowly.

"I don't mind a little fight. But you be careful. You do something I really don't like and it ain't just you who'll get hurt. Little lover boy over there might not be doing too well either if I get really mad."

Cal walked back over to Tim. Taking Gnat's knife, he cut off Tim's shorts and then jabbed the knife into the seat of the chair between Tim's legs. "If she does anything real violent, cut a ball off," he said to Gnat, who didn't look displeased at the prospect.

Cal turned back to Ali. "Now, you lie down and let's be a little nicer now." He yanked the napkin he had stuffed in her mouth out. "Ya understand?"

Starker and Floyd pulled her down and pulled the front of her dress up around her waist. Ali was wearing stockings and a white lace garter belt her grandmother had worn on her wedding day.

"Well, lookee here," Cal said looking at the garter belt, "I haven't seen these things for a long time." He reached and pulled off the panties that partially covered the garter belt. He held them up to his nose and sniffed in deeply.

"Hey, she smells gooooood. Here, smell this." He threw the panties to Floyd and motioned him to pass them around. When everyone agreed that she smelled good, Cal held them up to Tim.

"Don't they smell good?"

Tim grunted noncommittally.

"Well, is that a 'yes' or a 'no'? A man ought to think that his wife smells good, don't you think."

"She smells good," Tim managed to spit out.

"Now that's good. Here." And Cal put the panties over Tim's head so that the crotch covered his nose and he could see-one eye through each leg hole.