With This Ring, I Thee Bed

by Alison Tyler

  He looked stunned. More than stunned, he looked hurt.

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing. Maybe I don’t care about you and Jessica.”

  “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re surprised, Trev. I’m tired of being second best. Something you do when no one’s looking.”

  “I can’t help how I feel, Greg.”

  “About her or me?”

  We stood looking at each other, both of us with our arms folded.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, Greg, but I can’t keep doing this.”

  “This? Tell me, Trevor, what is ‘this’ to you? Because, to me, this is love.”

  “I’m not sure anymore.”

  He looked down, and his silence said it all. I looked at the futon, and all the visions of Trevor and me hit like a tornado. My heart broke, the bed catching me before my legs could give out.

  “I’m sorry, Greg. It’s time for me to move on. You’ll always be my friend. But I can’t give you any more than that.”

  He seemed to wait for me to say something, to do something. But I couldn’t. I didn’t. There was nothing to do. I could still picture his face as he climbed out the window. That was the last time I saw him.

  My eyes finally refocused on the road. Miles had flown by without my even noticing. Familiar surroundings were closing in, and so was my regret at saying yes to this wedding. The wheel almost turned itself as my old house came into view.

  The room was still and dark, but I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t used to all the peace and quiet. Living in the city had changed my brain somehow. I needed the noise, the ever-present sirens and voices and squealing car brakes. I could barely make out the tree outside my window, the close branches blocking out what little moonlight there was. Lying in the inky black, with no streetlights to cast any shadows, all I could do was think. And all I could think about was Trevor.

  After years of me avoiding birthdays, christenings and family reunions, Trevor had managed to bring me back to the old house. But nothing was the same. My old room had been totally redone. His wedding invitation was sitting on the brand-new dresser, my pressed suit hanging in plastic in the new cedar closet. My old trophies and posters were long gone. A blue-and-white floral pattern covered every surface, every detail a perfect fit. I hardly recognized the place. When I tossed and turned, the brand-new bed didn’t even give a squeak. Every spring on my old bed had creaked, registering the slightest movement. I missed that noise, too. Anything to break the overwhelming silence.

  As I was drifting off, I heard it. The light tapping against the old glass panes was as familiar as ever. I nearly jumped out of my skin. My first thought was that I’d imagined it, until it happened again. Easing out of bed, I crept over to the window and saw him. Hesitating just a moment, I pulled the window open, my hands suddenly trembling in the dark. Damn him and that smile.

  “Hey, Greg. Can I come in?”

  “Trevor, what are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer me, just put his leg over the windowsill and stepped inside. I could barely see him, but I knew every inch of his face. He produced a flashlight, pointing it straight up under his chin and grinning like a fool. Before I could say a word, he turned the light on the walls, taking in the tiny blue-and-white flowers.

  “Nice wallpaper.”

  “My mom finally redecorated.”

  “I can see that. It doesn’t really work for me. I miss the old green walls and those bad posters you had.”

  “I’ll let her know you disapprove.”

  He smirked, setting the flashlight on the dresser. The circle of light gave the room an eerie glow. He ran his hand over the back of his neck, his unease obvious. I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him pace around the room.

  “So, what are you doing here, Trevor? Don’t tell me it’s cold feet?”

  “I had to see for myself. That you were really here.”

  “You knew I was coming. I sent in my little card.”

  “I guess I just thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

  He picked up the invitation, looking at it as if he’d never seen it before. I watched his eyes moving over each word in silence. Tapping it against his hand, he looked at me. Even in the dim light, I could still see the apprehension all over his face.

  “It’s been too long, Greg.”

  “Well, you know. Life has gotten a little complicated.”

  “Tell me about it. I understand now why people elope. It is amazing that people get married at all.”

  He walked toward me, sitting down gently on the brand-new double bed. I could smell the alcohol on him, but he didn’t seem drunk. I decided to placate him, despite my churning stomach.

  “I know you and Jessica will be happy together.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I looked at his face for the joke, but I found his expression serious and stern. He looked scared. I didn’t know what to say to him.

  “I just assumed you were sure before you asked her.”

  I tried to laugh, but it died when his arm draped over my shoulder, our hips touching as we sat on the fluffy duvet. Trevor turned and looked at me, but I didn’t return his gaze. I couldn’t. I didn’t trust myself to see his eyes in that moment. He leaned closer to me, his lips right by my ear.

  “Can I tell you a secret, Greg? Right now, I’m not sure at all.”

  His breath was hot, but not as hot as his tongue, which swept across my earlobe, shocking my mouth right open. Trevor, always one to take advantage, pulled my open mouth to his, kissing me deeply. I knew I should stop him, push him away, but I just let myself be kissed, let my tongue swirl around with his. Finally, reason took over and I managed to get free from Trevor’s strong grip. Standing up, I tried to quell the panic rising in my throat.

  “Don’t, Trevor. Don’t.”

  He followed me, not letting me go easily. His hands pulled at my waist, trying to get me back in his arms. I resisted, edged away. But I only ended up against the wall, Trevor pinning me to the freshly changed wallpaper. It smelled of plastic and I willed my mind to focus on that—anything but the feel of Trevor’s hands.

  “Greg. Greg, look at me.”

  I gave in, gazing into his eyes, and I saw it. The same look I’d seen the day we met, all those years ago.

  “Come on, Greg. Don’t be mad at me.”

  “You said this was over. That we were over. You’re about to be a married man. Don’t fuck with me, Trevor.”

  “You could always do that. Make it all sound so easy. It’s not, you know.”

  “It may not be easy, but it is simple. You love her, don’t you?”

  “She has nothing to do with us.”

  “She has everything to do with us.”

  “I know what I said to you, but it’s not over. At least, it’s not for me. You left, but I could never get you out of my head. Or my heart. Tell me it’s over for you, Greg. Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

  “I can’t do that, Trevor.”

  “So ask me to stay.” He smiled at me, his face softening at my encouraging words. But I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

  “I can’t.”

  He straightened up a little, bracing before he spoke again. “Then tell me to leave.”

  “You know I can’t do that, either.”

  His fingers traced down my cheek, his thumb pressing my bottom lip. My mind was being torn apart. The man I loved wanted me again, but I knew that come morning he’d be gone, standing in a tuxedo at the front of the Lutheran church. While my brain screamed for reason, my heart leaped in my chest.

  “What do you want me to do, Trevor? Tell me what to do.”

  “Kiss me, Greg.”

  It wasn’t easy or simple. I knew it. But I shut it all out as I leaned forward, our mouths meeting in a fury of emotion, making up for every missed opportunity. Clothing started dropping and flying, our mouths staying firmly attache
d. My hands reached for his zipper, my fingers fumbling with the easy task. He rescued me, easing his jeans down the rest of the way before making quick work of my flannel pajama pants. He led me by the hand to the bed, finally big enough for both of us. Our hands kept moving, but our eyes stayed locked.

  “Trevor.”

  There were a million things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t express any of them. Only his name came to my lips in a choked whisper. At that moment, it seemed like enough. He took my hand and slid it down his chest, his own nerves evident as his stomach twitched under my fingers. I hesitated before wrapping my fist around his cock, the feeling so familiar even after so long. Our feet fought with the blankets, trying to make room for our twining legs. I took a nipping bite of Trevor’s neck, his tendons standing up as he arched toward me.

  Letting my tongue follow a crooked path down his body, I paused to reexamine the landmarks I’d traced so many times. The scar that lived a few inches above his navel, the trio of moles that formed a perfect triangle on his left pectoral muscle. I tweaked his nipples until they were hard, his moans stifled by the corner of an overstuffed pillow. When I reached his thick, hard cock, I drew in a deep breath. I admired the full length of it, from the long, slightly curved shaft to the thick, flared head.

  My hands eased his thighs apart, my tongue slowly tracing the ridge of the glans, taking my time to explore every inch. I teased his slit, tasting his salty flavor for the first time in ages, and forcing a delicate cry out of his mouth.

  He twitched and jerked as I slowly swept my tongue over the sensitive ridge. I closed my mouth around the velvet-smooth head and slid my way down. I could feel the blood racing under the skin, his veins pulsing as I sucked him off.

  “Greg, oh God.”

  He put his own hand over his mouth, keeping himself quiet. I pushed and pulled him in and out of my mouth, years of want swelling within me. The way he said my name always shot a bullet right through my heart. Pulling me up, Trevor brought our mouths back together. I slid up the bed next to him.

  “I want to fuck you, Greg. I need you. Please.”

  I didn’t need to answer. I just kissed him hard, one last time before I rolled away, so my back was facing him. I heard him fumbling with something on the floor, his hands digging in the pockets of his discarded jeans. When he produced a condom and lube, my smile was impossible to hide.

  “Pretty confident, weren’t you?”

  His laughter vibrated against me, then his tongue was lightly licking my shoulder and his fingers wandering over my hip. By the time his big hand wrapped around my dick, I was hard. I felt his other hand move down my rear, gently easing my cheeks apart. Suddenly, the cool wetness of his lubed finger pressed against the tight pucker of my hole. His teeth gently rasped over my earlobe, pulling and sucking it into his mouth. At that moment, I let him inside, his finger gently pushing into my ass.

  One finger became two, and slowly I relaxed against his thrusting fingers. I heard Trevor tear the condom open and for a moment his hands left me. I looked at him over my shoulder, and his eyes met mine. His lips curled into a smile before kissing me deeply. I felt the head of his cock pushing me open, his hand back on my shaft. I moaned as he eased in, just the tip of his dick filling me, stretching me. I pushed back against him, letting myself relax as he inched inside a little farther. I gasped as the pressure gave way and he slid deeper and deeper.

  Before he started moving again, I felt him pulse and grow inside me. Not wanting to wait another second, I eased away from him, feeling the pull of his thick cock. He fucked me slow and hard, his tongue flicking gently over the back of my neck. It was nearly impossible to keep silent, and our labored breathing sounded like shouting in the quiet room. His hand slid back up to the head of my cock, his fist twisting around me. I looked back at him through fuzzy eyes, my ass pushing hard against his bucking hips. I was lost, completely.

  “Greg, oh Jesus, Greg.”

  His voice ringing in my ears shattered the last of my control. Trevor fucked me faster as my come shot into his waiting hand, the hot, sticky liquid rubbing all over me as he continued to stroke.

  With a fierce series of thrusts, I felt him come, his twitching cock squirming inside me as he bit my shoulder. When he withdrew, our kisses kept us together, and we devoured each other until our fatigue slowed us down. We separated, our heavy breathing still punctuating the deep silence.

  “God, I’m going to miss you, Greg.”

  It was meant as a compliment, but all I could hear was the meaning behind it. My wounded heart knew this was the last time we would be together. Once he was out that window, he would be gone for good.

  He dressed, his tousled hair making him look just like he had on that first night. That night on the futon, a million years ago. If only we could go back and stay there in that warm, hazy moment of perfection. I stood near the edge of the bed, watching him. His eyes breezed over the invitation one last time as he picked up his flashlight and turned it off. In the dark, our words felt different.

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Sure, wouldn’t miss it. And I promise to forever hold my peace.”

  His smile was resigned, his hands around my back holding tighter than before. Our lips met, both of us aware of what came next.

  “I better go. I have to be up in a few hours.”

  “Be careful getting down that tree. The branch is looking a little weak.”

  “I always am.”

  His body was almost all the way out the window when he turned to me, pulling me into one last kiss.

  “Greg, I…”

  “I know, Trevor. I know.”

  I wasn’t in the church the next morning. My mother bought my flu excuse and left for the wedding without me. As soon as she was gone, I loaded up the car and took off. As I made the familiar left turn onto Landow Street, I heard the bells clanging in the calm air. I pulled over, stopping just long enough to watch a billowy white dress emerge from the stretch limo. Reality smacked me hard in the face. I stepped on the gas, flying toward the interstate faster than the speed limit suggested.

  The next week, my mother called. Along with all the details about the fairy-tale wedding, she casually mentioned that a branch had fallen off the old oak tree. I knew without asking which one it was.

  Wedding Crasher

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  To put it bluntly, weddings make me horny. Not the idea of a wedding, me in a frilly gown and veil, walking down the aisle with the mythical man of my dreams. I leave that stuff for other girls, ones far more traditional than me. I can get through all the schmaltz, the bad dresses, worse food and even dismal music, as long as I can find someone to make my night a little more interesting. It can be a man or a woman—or both at once. I’ve had some of the best sex of my life at weddings, and I think the reason is because even the cynics among us can’t help but get lulled into the sense of love and companionship in the air at a wedding. We want someone to celebrate with, even if we’re not breaking in the honeymoon suite.

  My friends know I can be counted on to make a scene, at least, if anyone catches me in the act. That’s happened once or twice, when the groom has gone looking for his best friend and found him receiving a blow job from yours truly. These days, I try to keep my comings and goings a little more discreet, but really, everyone’s entitled to a little fun, and the bride and groom shouldn’t hog all of it. Actually, I think I often get more action than they do, because I haven’t been through the ringer. All I have to do is show up and look pretty…and suggestive. It’s a fine line, because you don’t want somebody’s grandmother to come up to you and tell you you’re a floozy.

  My most recent wedding adventure was perhaps the hottest of all. Instead of just one guy, I scored a sexy couple. They were also newlyweds, but what I liked about them was that they weren’t dressed like everyone else. The reason I knew they were newlyweds was by the discreet rings they wore, their lovey-dovey looks and little kisses, and by asking. I
was curious about them, since Mara was dressed in a low-cut fuschia top and long black skirt with a slit up the side, plus patterned fishnet stockings and sexy black boots, her short black curls swinging around her head. Tom looked hot, but not too formal, in fitted dark jeans and a white-and-blue checked shirt.

  Mara and Tom, I knew before they even told me, were the type to have an alternative marriage. The three of us wound up chatting away and pretty much excluding everyone else at the table, all of whom could probably tell where our night was headed by our increasingly risqué conversation. When Larissa, the bride, came over, she had a knowing look in her eye. “Jackie, what are you up to?” she asked me, seemingly amused by my antics. I know she counts on me to liven up any party I attend, and her wedding would be no exception.

  “Nothing, just some innocent conversation,” I said, winking at her. She just laughed and gave me a huge hug. “Have fun…and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

  Well, those were fighting words, because before Jackie up and decided to get married, she was as much of a wild wedding-goer as I was. In fact, she and I had once ended up in a threesome with the best man.

  I stood near Mara and Tom as the toasts were made, but as we consumed several more glasses of the sweet champagne, something changed between us. Her laugh was a little louder, and they were becoming a little more touchy-feely. You’d have to be watching closely to notice—and I was. At one point, during a lull in the conversation, she just looked at me. The question was plainly in her eyes: was I in or was I out? I was in, for sure. I’d already scoped out the eligible men and there was nobody I wanted to bed more than these two.

  We made our way back to their room, and I could tell we were drawing stares. As drunk as wedding guests tend to get, at this soiree at least, we were the only trio making a hasty exit; it’s hard to do that invisibly, but what did I care? Their room was close by, which was a good thing, because all the champagne had made me even more horny. I’d forgotten how hot the energy a couple radiated during a threesome could be. I’m mostly a guy’s girl, and I love to bend over and have a man take me from behind, love running my hands along his chest, love the carnality of a man in the throes of lust. Still, there’s a magical sensuality for me when I meet the right woman, one who’s as daring and horny as I am. Mara was just such a woman, I could already tell, and I was eager—eager to see what she’d do away from prying eyes, eager to watch her fuck her husband, and eager to share some of their powerful sexual energy.