Chapter Eight
Love is like dew that falls on both nettles and lilies. – Swedish Proverb
Normally, I’d be all heels and elbows as I run from the embarrassing situation. However, the tequila has persuaded me to hoard my shits.
Fuck it. I’ll dance for the old woman.
Grandma does a double take, then she recognizes me. The other ladies in the bingo hall begin cheering. I glare at Eric, hop out of the box, and begin gyrating in front of Grandma.
“How did you know it was my birthday, Blobber?” Grandma asks.
“I’m a powerful man with many connections. You shall henceforth address me as Officer Blobber, or I’ll be forced to restrain the suspect.”
“Eat me,” Grandma defies as she gives me the finger and smirks.
“Fine, you asked for it.”
I remove the handcuffs from my belt and grab her wrist.
She’s enjoying this. Ugh. Maybe it’s genetic.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say won’t matter, as I’m going to grind my man banana into the birthday girl anyway,” I tease. Grandma giggles as the others in attendance roar. Eric is encouraging me as I notice his partner open the door to the hall. The parade of bachelorette party people stream in, led by my Lovergirl.
Once Grandma is cuffed, I hop in front of her, flip around, squat my hairy butt down onto her lap, and grind.
“Oh, my,” Grandma responds. “I hope you registered at Petco so I can buy you shears for your wedding gift.”
“Silence, woman, or I shall gag you!”
“You wouldn’t dare. And, what the hell
is
that thing in your pants? You must be dreaming.”
I stand in front or her, then turn and rip my shirt open, sending the buttons flying. I forgot I had my nipples clamped. Good thing I’m numb because I may have just dislocated a gland or two. The women cheer as I do my best impression of a pelvic thrust. By this point, Grandma is in tears laughing. Lovergirl inserts herself between us and begins undoing my belt.
“Oh, Jesus. I wouldn’t do that.”
“We have to set the beast free, Uncle M,” she insists.
She unbuttons, unzips, and yanks down my pants. Out flops the Cockasaurus Rex, which dangles and bops her on the noggin. The women (and gay men) all gasp at the sight of my girthy appendage. I chase the girls in Bea’s party around like a kid with a garden hose. Luckily, the song runs out before I get too crazy. I’m dizzy and drunk from all the tequila. Still, I’m confident I’ve won Grandma over in the process.
“Put that thing away and uncuff me, you maniac,” Grandma insists.
“Fuck, I don’t have any keys. Sorry, you’re stuck. Can you hold a bingo blotter in your mouth?”
“I have the keys, Mormon,” Eric offers.
I take a bow and dress myself. I attempt to give Grandma a hug.
“Happy birthday, my dear.”
“Thank you and, no, we don’t hug. You may fist-tap me.”
I oblige. As I turn to leave, Grandma smacks my ass and hugs Bea.
“Was this your doing?” Grandma asks Bea.
“No, it was a surprise to me as well. Eric is responsible.”
“Well, let’s hope I win a few million dollars tonight. You go have fun at your party.”
“I love you, Grandma.”
“Love you, too. Keep an eye on this one. He’s seems to be a toy short of a Happy Meal.”
“Ha! Will do.”
Bea leads me out to the limo.
“You’re coming with us.”
“Oh, hell no. Not like this,” I refuse.
“Please.”
“I need a fucking nap.”
“Just come with us to the bar and you can wait in the limo. I’ll sneak out and we’ll have a little fun.”
“Now
that
sounds tempting.”
“I have an idea for the next Olympic event.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.”
We pile into the limo. Once downtown, they go into the club as I lie across the seats, hoping to sleep off the tequila buzz. Bea is last to leave. She bends down and kisses me.
“I’ll be back in one hour, Uncle M. Make sure that strap-on is ready.”
Oh, my.
Chapter Nine
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. – Robert Brault
I enjoy a much-needed nap, while the limo driver sits in Starbucks reading the newspaper. I’m startled awake by knocking on the limo door.
Probably a homeless dude looking for spare change.
I peek and see that it is Bea, so I push the lever and open the doors. Bea enters with two of her friends.
“What’s this? Is the party over already?”
“No, it’s just beginning,” Bea insists. “These are my friends. I believe you already met Emily.”
“Yes, the bartender.”
“Indeed. She also happens to be from my home town in Canada.”
“Nice.”
“And, this is Luca.”
“Aw, what a nice name,” I compliment as I shake her hand. All three women are tipsy. Something strange is about to happen. I sense it.
“Luca is from Naples.”
“Ah, bella!” I respond as I turn her hand over and kiss her knuckles. “Wait a minute. Canadian, Italian: Does this have something to do with our Olympics?”
“Yes, it does. These fine ladies are occasional lovers ...”
“Yes! Oops. I mean, oh, how interesting.”
“... and they have agreed to participate in our next event. Uncle M, you will be coaching Luca and I will coach Emily.”
“All right. Is this the javelin toss?”
“Close. I’m going to need that strap on,” Bea informs as she begins undoing my pants again. “Here’s how this works: Each participant will take turns strapping on Rex here. The other will be on the receiving end. The one who takes in the most length wins.”
“Ha! Impossible!”
Bea removes Cockasaurus Rex from my waist and holds it out. It’s huge. No human could ever...
Luca takes Rex from Bea and sneers, “You’re going to need a bigger dildo.”
“That’s my girl.”
We turn on Timberlake, dim the lights, and ring the bell. First up is Emily. Luca straps the beast on while Emily lifts her skirt and removes her thong. She conveniently has a tube of Astroglide in her purse, which she applies liberally. Lovergirl sits next to me as we watch the first attempt. The women kneel. Luca holds steady while Emily backs into her.
“There’s just no way,” I insist.
“Come on, Emily. You can do it.”
Luca slides the tip up and down Emily’s hungry slit.
If she can take the head alone, I’ll be impressed.
Emily arches, lowers her shoulders, and pushes back into Luca. The entire head enters. Emily’s face shows pleasure, not pain, as does Luca’s. Luca pulls out a bit and pushes in farther. Emily cringes and gets another inch in, and another, and another.
What a trooper, eh?
“That’s it, Emily. Oh, Can-nuh-daaaah ...,” Bea sings.
Emily is able to stuff in another inch before she’s “full.” Luca smirks while Emily dismounts and unstraps. Bea takes Rex and surveys the damage.
“Fucking impressive,” I admit.
Bea marks the progress with her lip gloss. The thing is as big as my fist and she got a good six-plus inches in. Italy is doomed.
Emily straps on the beast and glazes some fresh lube on as Luca removes her jeans and panties. She has a quiet, confident look. Luca kneels in front of Emily, doggie-style as well. Emily presses the head against Luca’s glistening pussy. Her lips part and she takes the head.
“Yes! Do it,” I encourage.
Luca grimaces as she takes inch after inch, but she’s an inch shy of the mark, and Rex is bending.
“Hold Rex still, Emily. Come on, Luca.”
“No, I can’t. It’s ... just ... too ... big.”
“Are you giving up?” Bea asks, but I interrupt.
“Don’t you dare! You can do this, Luca,” I encourage as Luca gives me an exasperated glance. “Use the force, Luca.”
Luca lowers her chest to the floor, breathes quickly like a woman in labor, and pushes back, taking that final inch plus another for good measure.
Italy 2, Canada 1.
Chapter Ten
The human heart feels things the eyes cannot see, and knows what the mind cannot understand. – Robert Valett
I want to spend the night before the wedding with Bea, but she resists due to that crazy custom about seeing the bride on the day of the ceremony. I text to convince her otherwise.
Mormon Silver: I’m going to cook the love of my life dinner and cater to her needs, no matter what day or time it is.
Bea Plastique: You’re not seeing me after midnight until I walk the beach into your arms forever.
Mormon Silver: Wow!
Bea Plastique: Not a minute past midnight, Mister.
Mormon Silver: Seriously?
Bea Plastique: It’s bad luck.
Mormon Silver: It is not. Come on. I have a wonderful night planned.
Bea Plastique: You have me until 11:59.
Mormon Silver: OK, we’ll see. Come over at 7 for dinner. How does Chicken Saltimbocca sound?
Bea Plastique: Delish.
When she arrives, I have the table set, candles lit, dinner simmering, honey-butter rolls browning, and Sinatra singing. I also have one more handy ditty I picked up at Hustler: a blindfold. Bea greets me with a kiss and a bottle of my favorite wine: Silver Oak.
“Honey, you didn’t have to bring anything. Let’s save this until we can have it together.”
“Doctor says Gordie and I can have a glass of wine with dinner, no problem,” she insists while she pats her little belly.
“OK,
one
glass with Pippino. After dinner, I have a special dessert planned. It’s going to require that you wear this,” I instruct as I show her the argyle blindfold.
“Ooh, sexy! I can’t wait.”
While dining, we chat about tomorrow’s ceremony and timing. We agreed to have something intimate with immediate family and close friends only.
“Are you ready, Lovergirl?”
“You bet.”
“Give me ten minutes to get things ready upstairs. Be right back.”
I fill the tub in my master bath and light vanilla candles around it. I float rose petals and add scented bath salts. I have Bea’s favorite shampoo, body wash, and two loofah gloves ready. I undress, put on a robe, and return downstairs to Bea.
“OK, first you need to put this on,” I inform her as I place the blindfold over her eyes with the strap under her hair. “Come with me.” I lead her upstairs. Once in my bedroom, I continue, “Now, let’s get you out of these clothes.” I kiss her, neck to toes, while undressing her. “I don’t want you to have any stress about tomorrow. Everything will be perfect, my love.”
Once naked, I lead her to the tub. The water is trickling, and the scent is exotic. I guide her in slowly. I have a tray of chocolate-covered cake pops for snacking.
“Now, I’m going to wash your hair and give you a scalp massage.”
“Seems I picked the right man after all.”
“Yes, you have.”
I wash and rinse her hair, while feeding her bites of cake pops—red velvet, lemon, vanilla, and fudge.
“Ahh. I could take a nap now.”
“Not yet, Lovergirl. Scoot up and make room for Uncle M.”
I slide into the tub behind her, rub her neck and shoulders, and bathe her slowly with the loofah gloves. We top the session off with a water-sloshing lovemaking session. After soaking in our orgasmic bliss, I get out of the tub while asking her to stay. I retrieve two warm towels from my laundry room and use them to dry my love.
I honor her desires, and walk my wife-to-be out to her car with thirty minutes to spare. Taped to her driver’s side door is a gray tie, a calling card from Chris.
Too late, buddy. She’s all mine.
Chapter Eleven
No man is truly married until he understands every word his wife is NOT saying. – Anonymous
Wedding Day—the happiest day of a person’s life, right next to that first taste of Nutella. Eric picks me up, and we make our way downtown to the Hotel Del Coronado. Bea and I will exchange vows on the beach in front of the historic hotel where
Some Like it Hot
was filmed with Marilyn Monroe.
I’m wearing a black tux with the pants tied off at my knees. I have my signature silver argyle socks beneath them. Who knows what Bea will wear? She’s eccentric to say the least, and Eric won’t share, although I pry.
“Will you at least tell me the color?”
“Not telling you. Mormon, take my word for it. She’ll look fabulous.”
“Hey, do we have time for a quick Mojito to calm the nerves?”
“Now we’re talking.”
Eric detours off the highway and we stop at Poseidon in Del Mar—the masters of the Mojito. In a few sips, my nerves are calm.
Once we arrive at the Hotel Del, I check in at the front desk. They have our honeymoon suite ready. Bea is there having the final touches applied. Guests are gathering by the pool in the afternoon sun, sipping Prosecco. I see my mother chatting with Grandma. I approach them.
“Hello, Ms. A, I see you’ve met my mother.” I greet my mother with a kiss on the cheek. She looks elegant in her powder blue dress. “How was your flight?”
“It was quick, thanks to my Kindle. I finished two books.”
“Well done.”
“How’s your writing coming along?” Mother asks.
“You know,” Grandma interrupts, “you should be proud of your son. He’s quite a talented blogger.”
“Why, thank you, Ms. A. I wasn’t aware that you read my blog.”
“I enjoy it immensely.” Grandma grabs my mother’s arm. “He’s also an amazing dancer.”
Right. Maybe when I’m blotto on tequila and have a third leg strapped to me.
“Really?” my mother reacts.
“You’re too kind.”
The wedding coordinator directs us all out to the platform on the beach.
It’s time.
Other hotel guests come to the edge of the resort to watch.
I take my position next to the Justice. A guitar soloist begins the “Bridal March” song. The guests rise and turn to see the bride. iPhone pictures are snapping away. I see the doors open and catch my first glimpse of Lovergirl. She’s escorted by Eric. Her hair is shorter and she’s wearing the famous Marilyn Monroe dress worn over the air vent in
The Seven Year Itch
.