by Alex Miska
“Maybe if we keep calling you that, you’ll have a good excuse for that tantrum?” I suggested.
“Don’t. You. Dare. Now, I’m going to get something to drink and you two are coming with me because there is no way that I’m going to leave you alone to have sex in a coat check,” she demanded, taking my hand in hers and dragging me forward. I grabbed at Hunter’s hand and he laughingly followed along.
“Are you disappointed?” I asked him quietly.
“Not really. Seeing her again, talking to her like this… I’d kind of forgotten all the reasons we’d been together… I’m glad we didn’t hurt her too badly,” he admitted. “How about you?”
“I don’t think I am. I didn’t expect to come here and find out I didn’t lose my whole family, but… well, so far, so good.”
“Well, you may not have needed me here, but-”
“No, I did. I still do – the night isn’t over yet, and then there’s brunch tomorrow. I don’t know how I’d have handled coming here alone. I’d been freaking out enough about this as it was, and you’ve made this so much easier to face,” I told him. Oh lord, if he only knew how much I needed him by my side! But I wasn’t ready to pour my heart out to him even more, so I stopped my babbling with a simple, “Thank you.”
“Ugh. Do you guys have to be adorable too?” Tonya whined. “Now get in there and nibble on something quick before cocktail hour ends. You know Hunter’s insufferable when he’s hungry…”
“You stole your sister’s Ken dolls?” I asked David once we’d each gotten a cocktail.
“Hey, she only had one and she never played with him!” he said defensively, cheeks coloring. “He wanted to hang out with all those G.I. Joes our father kept buying me.”
“You mean, he wanted to join the Joe Orgies,” Tonya corrected, grinning.
“How many times do I have to tell you? They weren’t orgies. They were only kissing.”
“They were naked!”
“Not completely!”
“Davey, it’s not like they were shirtless showing those delicious Joe abs. Some of them weren’t wearing pants!” Tonya and David looked like they were about to stick their tongues out at each other, and I could only imagine tiny versions of them having this same argument. Tonya’s date (boyfriend?) found us then and put his arm around Tonya’s shoulder. He was a big, beefy jock with a wide smile. She lit up at the sight of him and… I could only feel happy for her. She introduced us to him and, when they began talking quietly to each other, I squeezed David’s hand.
“You doing okay? I asked.
“Yeah! Yeah. I mean, I am. How about you?” he asked, looking concerned.
“I’m fine. She looks happy and it’s nice to be on friendly terms, you know? But… you’re starting to look uncomfortable again,” I pointed out. He shrugged, so I took charge, procuring small plates and weaving him through the guests so we could get a full sampling of hors d’oeuvres.
Before the reception, I gave him another dose of the ‘herbal anxiety remedy,’ hoping he wouldn’t notice it was just a placebo I gave him when he started to panic before the reception. We wound up being seated with a bunch of Brooke’s friends, none of whom David knew. They didn’t really know each other either, so we chatted about this and that. It was the usual small-talk mixed in with silly anecdotes of Brooke over the years. David did most of the talking, but I loved listening to him tell these stories. There was a bit of a charged silence when we were asked how we’d met, but I jumped in with a skewed version of our tale: I had dated his sister, we hadn’t seen each other for months after the breakup, but then he came into my bakery. He took up the reins and mentioned that Brooke insisted that he get up the courage to talk to me and ask me out and… we’ve been happy ever since. Awwws went all around. Apparently Brooke had a habit of setting people up and her married college friends were quick to regale us with tales of her hits and misses. It hadn’t been choreographed ahead of time, but David and I wound up sharing bits of our salads –I hated cucumbers but loved tomatoes, and vice versa– and gave each other bites of our dinner before trading plates and digging in.
When the music started, it occurred to me that I’d completely forgotten a major wedding activity. David turned to me with anxiety and asked, “Do you want to dance?” At my silence, he quickly added, “I’m really bad, though. Well, not horrible but… maybe we could wait until a slow song? Or you can dance without me…”
“Are you worried about what people will say, or do you just not want to dance?” I hedged.
“At this point, I don’t care what people will say,” he said. “We’re here, together. Tonya saw us and didn’t explode. My parents or aunt might, but they’ll probably wait until brunch tomorrow –if you want to go to that– or corner us again before we leave or call me just to tell me how angry they are. If they know my phone number.”
“So you might want to slow-dance but otherwise are content to sit around?” I clarified. He just nodded. “Oh thank god! I dance like Elaine from that 90s show Seinfeld, only I’m aware I can’t dance. I can sway to music though. I’m not completely hopeless.”
He leaned forward and kissed me, a swift, hard press of lips. “See? We’re perfect together.”
“So… just to be clear… We sit here, enjoy the company, hope your family leaves us alone, and eventually eat some cake?” I asked. “Or is there anything else you’d like to do?” Perhaps we needed to be caught fooling around by someone like his parents, to prove I wasn’t just Tonya’s ex? I wouldn’t mind another trip to the coat closet or another dark corner.
“I know Brooke or Grandpa or both are going to insist we dance at least once,” David reminded me. His hand found and stroked my thigh and he added, “Then we drive back to the hotel and go to bed.”
“That sounds like a perfect plan,” I said, a little breathless at the thought of having him alone, sharing a bed, all night long. “Oh, and you mentioned a brunch?”
“Tomorrow will be a family brunch. Brooke wants us to go, so we can spend some time together, but it’s completely optional.”
“Your grandfather and sister are both warm and welcoming, and I’m sure you and Brooke would love to have more time together. It’s really up to you. You can even wait and decide in the morning. I’m in no hurry,” I told him. He’d spent years not talking to his parents. Perhaps a full confrontation, while he had support, would be a healthy thing to do. But that was his decision. I had nothing pressing tomorrow – Sean was taking care of Frodo and the bakery closed early on Sundays.
“Let’s decide how we feel in the morning,” he told me, and I spent the next hour trying to decide what he was thinking and how we’d be in the morning. What if the sex was horrible and awkward? What if it was the greatest sex of my life? What if I suggested we fool around, and he turned me down brutally? What if we argued about whether or not anything would come of this? And I was usually so easy-going, so why was this such a big deal?
“Come on, you two are adorable, but you need to get on the dance floor at least once,” Brooke said from behind us. We both turned and told her how beautiful she looked and how sweet the ceremony was and how much fun we were having and David even said she was right ‘about everything’ (which I assumed encompassed coming to the wedding and bringing me along and getting along with Tonya). But she just grinned and waved off our comments. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Today everyone wants a piece of me and I have to keep making the rounds. And don’t think I forgot what I was saying when I came over here. A couple of slow songs are coming up next. This is a Bridal Decree: you will dance!”
Brooke grabbed our hands and dragged us behind her to the central edge of the dance floor. The women in David’s family were remarkably pushy. Or, rather, pull-y. But sure enough, a slow song played next. I kissed her cheek and turned to stare at David. I felt like I was thirteen years old, at my first school dance – I had no idea where to put my hands or how to start.
David took control, smiling softly as he put
one hand on my waist and took my hand in the other. As soon as I put my free hand on his shoulder, he pulled me closer, resting his hand on the small of my back. As in a middle school dance, there was a polite inch or two between our bodies as we swayed side to side. It took an effort to meet his eyes. I wasn’t sure what he would see. But he just smiled at me and asked, “So you’ve never danced with a man before?”
“There are a lot of things I’ve never done with a man before,” I blurted before my frontal lobe could choose my words more carefully. He raised one eyebrow. “I just mean, I’ve never had a relationship with a man. Being bi can be… weird… and guys I’ve met haven’t exactly been interested in anything long-term in general. I have…”
David leaned forward and whispered in my ear, his hot breath causing my gut to clench, “But you have… been… with a man?”
I looked around. We were surrounded by his relatives, some of whom were less than a foot away. This was not exactly the best place to have a frank sexual discussion. I sighed and turned my head slightly and murmured, “Mostly? But… I’ve read about the rest…”
That sounded so lame, but I couldn’t bring myself to be more specific. David just hummed and didn’t ask anything more, but he also didn’t pull away. So we danced cheek to cheek until a voice hissed, “This is just inappropriate. Control yourselves.”
“I’m pretty sure we were allowed to dance this close in middle school, but I could be wrong,” I muttered, barely loud enough for David to hear.
“Be good,” he murmured.
David’s parents had danced away, but David’s hand was crushing mine, and I didn’t doubt that every poisonous word from this woman broke his heart a little more. My parents wouldn’t have as strong a reaction if I had a relationship with a man, but they would have trouble accepting that I’d chosen a life path that was ‘unnecessarily difficult and dangerous.’ My mother and father had been very clear in stating that only relationships with women had a future. But that was an argument to set aside for the future, if David and I even had a relationship beyond this weekend. Right now, David’s family and their reactions were of primary importance.
“Let’s wait to go until shortly after they cut the cake. Then we can leave with the herd,” I suggested and he relaxed into me. The music transitioned into yet another ballad and I asked, “One more song?”
We danced closer this time, chests brushing against each other, knees no longer bumping, middle school rules discarded. We didn’t talk, didn’t tease… I gave him what comfort a near-stranger could, but he remained tense and coiled for battle. Like magic, as soon as the next song ended, they rolled out the beautiful cake, decorated with a pattern that matched the lace on Brooke’s gown and topped with flowers. They cut the cake to much applause, dabbed icing on each other’s faces like war paint, and the cake was wheeled away to be sliced for the crowd. We sat at our table and made an occasional comment to contribute to the conversation. When the cake was served, I used a fork with my left hand so I could keep hold of David’s hand, and nibbled away while David made designs in the icing on his plate.
“You need to try this so you can better appreciate Logan Moore’s brilliance,” I told him and held a bite within a few inches of his mouth, while my hand abandoned his to trail up his inseam. It was easier to act eager to jump into bed if you actually were eager to get into bed… and we both knew getting into that mindset wouldn’t take much effort.
“I need to taste bad cake so I know how much I like yours?” he asked, rolling his eyes even as he ate the cake off my fork. He made a face as he considered, and said, “It’s goooood…”
“…but Moore Delicious has ruined you for all other baked goods,” I finished for him and heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I know. It means I can never move without forever being dissatisfied with dessert.”
“People are leaving,” he murmured. “Let’s see about ending the night less dissatisfied?”
I had to laugh at that lofty goal. “Less dissatisfied? Why, Mr. Kimball, you do set the bar high for yourself!”
“How about this: ‘Blah blah blah metaphor-for-orgasm blah blahhh.’” he asked in a seductive voice laden with promises of non-metaphorical orgasms.
“Yes. That. A whole lot of that,” I said and jumped to my feet. “Goodnight everyone. It was a pleasure to meet you!”
We got out of there with alacrity, made out in the car for a bit until a leaving guest’s headlights flooded us for at least a full minute, and waited impatiently in the elevator. The door had such a high shine that I didn’t even dare grope him surreptitiously. The people in the elevator with us even got off at our floor and I just prayed they weren’t sleeping next door. They weren’t. As soon as our door was open, David pulled me inside and his mouth crashed onto mine.
I wanted David. If he’d just wanted to cuddle all night, I would have been up for that. But if the tongue in my mouth and erection grinding against mine were any indication, he was more interested in fucking me up against this door and I would figure out how to do that as I went. Sure, I understood the theory, but the internet was full of so much information that I decided to ask Julian. Julian, in turn, suggested we ask his brother Logan, who was a recently-debauched virgin (Julian’s description, not mine). But Logan had come close to tears when explaining to me that he wouldn’t be helpful because he’d spent years learning on his own how to play with his ass before Chance came along. So Julian aborted that conversation and instead dished up a huge pack of lies before laughing and telling me what to do. All the information got jumbled up in my head and now David was going to fuck me against the door and I didn’t even know if I was a bottom or a top and I wasn’t even sure I could satisfy him because I still couldn’t find my own prostate and what I really needed was to take a shower…
I tore my mouth away to tell David I needed a shower (and maybe even suggest he join me). But instead, I shouted in his face, “You can’t take my precious flower yet!” Then I ran into the bathroom. Like a total spaz. I hadn’t even managed to close the door all the way, so David peeked inside and found me sitting on the edge of the tub, my face in my hands.
“Can we pretend that didn’t just happen?” I asked.
“The kissing or your freakout?” Before I could respond, he said, “Doesn’t matter. We can’t forget either. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I meant to suggest a shower but…”
“Well, at least it rhymed,” he said and sat down next to me. “Do you want to tell me about…”
“My precious flower?” I groaned. “All I did was ask Julian a question and that became his favorite phrase for two days straight.”
“If you can’t discuss your precious flower, then you’re not ready to give it away,” he told me in the most serious tone that could possibly be used by a grown man talking to another man about his precious flower. “But seriously, we’re not going to do anything you don’t want to do or aren’t ready to do. Now, instead of deciding now what you want to do, how about if you explain what you’ve tried before.”
“Just… hand jobs and blow jobs and the usual teenage groping-and-grinding-and-coming-in-my-pants, but I’ve never done any…” He may have known, but he didn’t supply a more adult term than I could dream up. Despite stereotypes about engineers, I had never been this awkward before. Ever. “You know… butt stuff.”
“Alright. So, do you want to shower still?” he asked. When I looked up at him, he kissed me tenderly and added, “You don’t have to, and whether you do or don’t is no indication of what you plan to do…”
“Do you want to join me?” I asked and kissed him again, this time with clear intent. When we were both breathless and I was a step away from straddling his lap and begging him to fuck me, I gave him a chance to respond to my invitation.
“Yes,” he breathed, standing to remove his suit, piece by piece and I did the same. In silent agreement, we didn’t lay hand or mouth on each other until our task was complete. David’s body was
nearly as perfect as I’d remembered, only now I could follow his treasure trail all the way down to his generous endowments (and there was something seriously wrong with me if I was continuing to think about precious flowers and generous endowments). He kissed me once, running his hand over my chest, and then brought our clothing into the other room while I started the shower.
“You know,” he said from the doorway, and I looked over my shoulder to catch him staring at my ass so hard I could already imagine his hands on me. “We’ve spent the past week checking to make sure we’re both sure whatever we’re doing is what we want to be doing… How about, tonight, we only do what we want to do? If you want to stop or change what we’re doing, I won’t be hurt or upset, and if I’m not into something I’ll feel free to say the same.”
“Are you sure?” I teased and slowly stood to take David’s hand and lead him into the shower. “Yes, that’s a very good idea.”
We kissed and let our hands roam, first washing our hair before slowly sudsing each other in a southerly direction, our mouths roaming freely. His soap-slickened body felt so perfect against mine, the light hair on his chest rubbing against my nipples… When I wrapped my fingers around his cock and stroked him firmly but lazily, my other hand travelling lower to fondle his balls, he growled my name and reached down. He washed me with a teasing, feather-light touch and chuckled when I groaned and arched into him. Two could play at that game. I released my hold on him and, instead of complaining, David fell to his knees in front of me, his blue eyes dark with lust and silent question.
“Please…” I moaned, and squeezed his shoulder. He licked a stripe up my cock, tickling the frenulum before swirling his mouth around the head, his eyes never leaving mine. One hand traveled backward slowly and I breathed, “Yes.”
David wrapped his lips around my cock, sucking lightly and bobbing his head, as his soapy finger swirled around my hole. I relaxed under his touch, but he continued to tease around the area, his questing finger never venturing inside. Then he released me with a pop, and I whimpered, hips questing forward shamelessly.
