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I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…
Chapter 76—Happy Endings… er, Beginnings
“I can’t do this.”
The words ring out over the crowd as if he were speaking through a bullhorn, but Al’s voice is barely audible as he says the words. Christian and I make eye contact and we—along with everyone else in attendance—can barely believe our ears.
“What?” James says, in disbelief, his expression shattered, his voice even less audible than Al’s moments before. “Allie?” Al raises his eyes to his fiancé before he quickly grabs James’ hand, his eyes large with realization.
“Baby, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant!” Al says apologetically. He gently leads James aside, away from prying eyes and ears. I’m positioned in front of the Justice of the Peace in a beautiful creation that Al chose for me to wear to stand with him as his Matron of Honor. Christian stands directly across from me as James’ best man since his best friend Cedric is out of town this weekend and couldn’t make the ceremony.
Murmuring has begun among the partygoers as we all wait anxiously to see what’s going on with the grooms-to-be. Al has his back to us and I try to read James’ expression, but he gives nothing away as Al speaks to him. After several moments, James closes his eyes and nods, and I can’t tell if it’s reservation or relief on his face. Al turns around and gestures to Christian to join them. Christian looks at me and shrugs before walking over to Al and what looks like a forlorn James, whose gaze remains downcast.
I’m still getting nothing from the exchange from the three men, but after a minute or so, Christian comes over and says something to the Justice of the Peace. She nods and walks over and joins James and Al before following them back into the house. Christian has a brief conversation with Jason, who nods and gestures to other members of security. Before I can find out what was said and what’s going on, Christian takes me by the hand and hurriedly rushes me towards the house.
“Come on,” is all he says as he hurries me along.
“What? Where are we going?” I ask. My best friend is supposed to be getting married. What’s going on?
“I can’t tell you, but you better come on,” he says, dragging me behind him through the house, through the mudroom and into the garage. James’ Mercedes is already gone… oh, shit. What’s going on? Christian holds the door open for me so that I can get into the RS7. I hesitate, but he gives me a look that lets me know that there will be consequences if I don’t get my ass in the car. I roll my eyes and get into the car, more than a little perturbed that he won’t tell me what’s going on. We ride in silence for about ten minutes before his phone rings and he answers the line through the docking station.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Where are you?” Al’s voice bellows through the car speakers.
“About five minutes away,” Christian replies.
“Allen Michael Forsythe, what the hell is going on?” I demand. There’s silence for a minute.
“You didn’t tell her??” Al’s voice portrays utter horror.
“You told me not to!” Christian defends.
“I told you not to tell anybody. How could you not tell Jewel?”
“Jewel is somebody!” Christian retorts.
“She’s coming with you!! Why wouldn’t you tell her?” Al is getting more and more flustered.
“Well, we’re almost there, now, so she’ll know in a minute,” Christian says, shutting the conversation down. Al sighs.
“Chris, you’re an idiot.” And he ends the call. I just shake my head. Wherever we’re going, we’ll be there in a minute, so I’ll know what’s going on shortly. I’m quite surprised to find us pulling up at Seattle General.
Why the hell are we here?
We go inside and head to the elevators that lead to the private rooms on the cancer unit.
The cancer unit… of course.
“He couldn’t do it,” I say, finally realizing what’s going on. “After all the planning and all the preparation, he couldn’t say the vows without her.” I look at Christian and he nods.
“I misunderstood when he said don’t tell anybody. I guess that didn’t include you and I’m sorry, but of course you can’t tell a house full of guests that you’re blowing them all off for one person.” I nod.
“No, I suppose you can’t,” I say. “They’ll be fine until we get back. There’s plenty of food and booze to go around.”
Valerie has been moved to a much nicer, much larger room on the cancer unit of the hospital since she’s improved enough to leave ICU. She’s still not completely out of the woods and has begun radiation and chemotherapy, but she’s nowhere near well enough to leave the hospital yet. Al and I have spent every free waking moment here with her catching up and making up for lost time. We all planned the party of the century for Al and James’ wedding today with Val being her usual bossy self, throwing in fabulous ideas for themes and decorations. It turned out to be an unusually beautiful spring day in Washington, completely accommodating for my best friend’s wedding, and as much as we wanted everything to be perfect—knew everything would be perfect, it wasn’t perfect without Val.
“What… are you doing here?” she says softly when we enter her room. She looks at the clock and back at James and Al, complete in their Calvin Klein best and me and Christian not far behind. “It’s not even 3:30 yet… I know the ceremony can’t be finished that soon.” She’s a little tired and Elliot is in bed with her, cradling her close to him, her bald head resting on his chest. Al walks over to her and takes her hand, kissing it reverently.
“It hasn’t even started yet,” he tells her. Val’s eyes grow large as the Justice of the Peace walks into the room. “I had my Matron of Honor with me, but I didn’t have my Best Girl. I can’t get married without my Best Girl.”
I’m not sure from where she got it, but the Justice of the Peace produces a crown of daisies attached to a band of lace and Al places it gently on Val’s bald head. Of course, she smiles weakly and starts to cry, as do I.
“Now, we can get married,” Al says.
“Not without us!” Phil and Maxie breach the doorway with Gary and Marilyn close behind. I don’t ask where Mindy is because I know she wouldn’t be allowed on the cancer unit.
“I thought you said you didn’t tell anybody,” James jests.
“He didn’t,” Gary says. “You guys are predictable. Jason with that ‘nothing to worry about, folks—there’s been a slight delay’ bullshit and the entire wedding party disappears, including the officiant. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that shit out—just someone who knows you well enough. Now let’s get this show on the road before the entire reception shows up at the door.”
There really wasn’t anything else to say—or do—except to start the ceremony. Al and James face each other at Val’s bedside, with Christian and I standing close-by, and our friends huddled in corners wherever they can fit. There are way too many people in this room, so we just hope we can complete the ceremony before the doctor comes by and kicks us out. Bearing this fact in mind, the Justice of the Peace speaks softly.
“Well, this is certainly not the most unique ceremony I’ve performed, but it is one of the most touching,” she begins with a smile. “It always amazes me what people are willing to do to show how much they love one another and how important it is to share this moment with the special people in their lives, no matter the obstacles. Today, Allen and James have chosen to join together and share their lives, no longer choosing to live as two men, but as one being, one heart, one soul, in love and in life, in the eyes of the law and of family and friends. They have asked these people present to recognize and bless their union.
“I ask that you face one another and take the other’s hand.” Al and James face each other and join hands. “You are holding the hand of your best friend, your life mate, the one that will carry you and love you through the years when no one else will—through the storms of sickness and distress and through the fair weather of joy and happiness. These hands will bear your burdens, share your pain, build your life with you; support and uphold your dreams, defend you against all enemies, comfort you in times of sorrow and rejoice with you in times of celebration. Hold fast to these hands, for there will be none other like them from this day forward.”
James and Al both gaze into each other eyes, consciously stroking the other’s hands with their thumbs.
“And now, James and Allen would like to exchange their own vows.” James takes a deep breath and releases it before he begins to speak.
“Once upon a time, there was a man who traveled a very long way to find his fortune in life. He was heartbroken and downtrodden and only wanted to find happiness. He began to put the pieces of his rugged and ragged life together and thought he had found the happiness he was searching for only to have his heart ripped apart once more. He gave up, focused only on working and trying to be successful, making something of himself so that he would never have to return to his roots.
“One day, in a casual and chance encounter, he set eyes on a sandy-haired, brown-eyed boy who took his breath away. He was afraid to say anything to him, afraid to approach him and resolved himself to only admire the gorgeous creature from across the room in one of the worst cliché moments you can ever imagine.” Soft giggles rumble across the room. “Alas, the sandy-haired beauty put the man out of his misery and closed the distance between them that night. From that moment, the man knew that he could never be separated from him again.
“You took chunks of your beautiful heart, shoved them into the holes of my damaged one and made me whole again. Where I was bleeding… dying… you saved me. You are my life… my love. I breathe you, Allen. I’ll never be without you. I’ll always be with you. I’ll always love you. I’ll always belong to you, protect you, comfort you, cherish you—from now and forever, you are mine… and I am yours.”
There aren’t many dry eyes in the room. Even the men are a little misty, even if they won’t admit it. At the very least, they’re quite amorous, looking adoringly at their significant others, stroking their hands or kissing temples or foreheads. Allen is totally tearstained as he attempts to compose himself to recite his vows. By now, a small crowd of nurses and staff have gathered at the door, most likely originally intent on emptying the room of the too many occupants, but thinking better of it upon observing the ceremony inside.
“I…” Al begins with a shuddering breath. “I never thought in a million years that I would get married. I spent most of my life denying my sexuality… trying to be something that I wasn’t. When I finally accepted who I was, those around me couldn’t with the exception of a chosen few.” He throws an adoring gaze at me. “I struggled so hard just… to find myself… I never thought… never expected to find love. I was grasping…”
His voice breaks. He gets choked up and has a hard time getting his words out. James squeezes his hand and reaches to his face, gently stroking his tear-stained cheek—more for encouragement than to wipe away his tears.
“I was grasping at whatever happiness I could get, no matter how brief. Whatever ray of sunshine God would give me, I would accept, even if… if He chose to take it away…” Al’s voice cracks so hard that the last words are almost inaudible. Tears are flowing freely down James’ cheeks and one hand cups Al’s face, his eyes downcast as he can barely get his words out.
“Loss after loss after loss,” he chokes, “I couldn’t see how anything good would ever be for me, and then… He gave me you…” He’s weeping full-on now and the entire room is silent as Al pours his heart out to the man he loves.
“Allie…” James breathes, unable to bear his love’s pain anymore. Al shakes his head to silence him.
“I love you,” Al weeps. “I’ll strive every day to be worthy of you, to be worthy of the gift that God has given me… I’ll truly cherish every single moment that I have with you because you are so, so precious to me, more than you’ll ever know. You say that I saved you, but you saved me! You saved me, Jimmy, and I will love you for the rest of my life and when I’m gone, my soul will continue to love you for all eternity. I am bound to you until the universe ceases to exist, my love. Mere words are not enough… my life, my body, my soul… are yours.”
Audible weeping can be heard in the room and the hallway. There’s more love in this small space than I think this little room is able to hold. I’m delighted to see that Marilyn, Gary, Phil, and Maxie all had the wherewithal to pull out their cell phones and record as I was pulled from the house so quickly, I didn’t even have time to get my purse.
“Well,” the officiant says breathily. “Where are the rings?”
Al and James exchange wedding rings with traditional vows, as much as my best friend can choke them out over his emotional tears. I’m so glad there was no make-up involved in his wardrobe because he would be completely melted right now.
“In as much as Allen and James have pledged to spend their lives together by the exchanging of vows and the giving of rings, by the powers vested in me by the state of Washington, I now pronounce that they are married. Gentlemen, you may salute your groom.”
James cups Allen’s face and places a tender, yet passionate kiss on his lips. Allen melts into his husband, grasping his lapels and absorbing his love as a quiet applause sweeps through the room. Elliot gently wipes tears from Val’s eyes and kisses her head and she smiles, watching the happy couple share this tender moment. James breaks the kiss, smiling lovingly at his husband as he removes a handkerchief from his inside pocket.
“Don’t cry, my prince,” he says softly to Al, still cupping his face and drying his tears. “You’re my husband. There’s no getting rid of me now.” Al chokes a laughing sob and nods at his new husband.
“As if,” he says, his voice thick with his tears. Congratulations are given from the various members of the staff and, as expected, Dr. Hill comes in to tell us that we can only have a few more minutes, then we have to allow Valerie to get her rest. She had a rough bout of radiation today and although she took it like a trooper, she’s tired. We quickly take as many pictures with her as we can before leaving her to rest, promising to come by to check on her tomorrow, like we do every day… except maybe for Al as he and James will be leaving for their honeymoon in Bali.
Being the orator that he is, Al extends the apologies to the guests back at Grey Crossing when we arrive, explaining that he couldn’t enjoy the ceremony while his beloved friend was ill in the hospital completely unable to attend. The sentiment was generally well-received and for those who didn’t like it, fuck ‘em. The only guests that remained were some people from James’ job, some staff from GEH, some of the attorneys from Al’s old office, and the usual suspects—the Greys, Luma, Marlow’s family, Daddy, etc.
“Well, I would have liked to see the ceremony, but I’m glad you guys are happy,” Mia says, kissing Al on the cheek and giving James a hug. “Let me see the rings!”
I must admit that I did expect for Al to be a bit more extravagant when it came to this day, especially when we gave him carte blanche with the Crossing. Surprisingly, he, like James, is more conservative than I thought. Their wedding theme is black and white—opulent, but simple. He and James wore black shadow-striped Calvin Klein tuxes with white embroidered vests and matching ties. He dressed me in a simple white sheath mini-dress with a floral overlay and nude peep-toe sandals while Christian donned a simple three-piece white linen suit.
The rings are also a statement of opulence. Both on black gold, James’ ring is 8mm, milgrain hammered in the center with shiny edges while Al’s ring is all black gold with two white gold stripes through it—all shiny. Even Mia had to say that she had never seen black gold before… tungsten, yes, but not black gold.
The weather actually smiled on us this day, permitting us to use every outdoor area for the celebration—the patio that opens from the kitchen and family room; the jungle patio; the outdoor dining room; and the barbeque kitchen and dining area. It means that the forty or fifty people plus security that are meandering around the property aren’t all sitting on top of each other. Food and drink flow freely and everyone seems to be having a good time. Pops and Herman stick around for longer than they did at Christmas and Pops gets a chance to see Mackenzie and Michael. Oh, the look on his face when he saw his great-grandchildren! Mikey actually stares while Pops talks and talks and talks… mostly about Carrick. Luma and Herman just look on, watching attentively while Pops appears to shed years talking to his great-grandson.
Once Gail takes the children to put them down for their nap with Luma’s assistance, I take to opportunity to talk to Pops and Herman. I haven’t had the time to talk to them in a while since the birth of the children and I’m sad to discover that Pop’s health is deteriorating faster than we thought. I don’t think it comes as any surprise to Pops, but Herman is more than a bit out of sorts with the progression of his father’s illness. In fact, the moment Mikey is taken from his arms, he seems to deteriorate right there in front of my eyes. I tell Herman to take him to one of the guest rooms to rest for a while and instruct Ben to assist so as not to draw attention to him. The entire Grey family would revert from celebration to concern if we alert them of his exhaustion and quite frankly, this is just part of the territory.
Marlow is once again clustered with the girls keeping a close eye on all of them like the guardian he has come to be. He and Sophie talk for hours while Jason keeps giving him the side-eye, Sophie still rolling her eyes at her father in that scolding way much like she did on Thanksgiving, informing him that a high-school sophomore would have no interest in a seventh grader, though I get the feeling that she might hope it were different. I worry about Sophie sometimes. I think she knows too much to be so young, but I hope that her knowledge will serve her well one day.
My best friend has shed the melancholy that accompanied his vows and is having a wonderful time at the party celebrating his marriage. I’m glad that there seem to be no hiccups, no jealous ex-lovers, party crashers, attention hogs, Paparazzi, what have you… although that wasn’t the case earlier in the week. In fact, we almost didn’t have a wedding… or so I would have thought. Some small social column somewhere got wind that Al was getting married—Christian Grey’s and GEH’s attorney. Al made light of it.
“Good grief,” he had said, “Don’t these people have anything else to write about? Christian Grey got a haircut. Christian Grey’s maid got a hangnail. Christian Grey’s dog went to the groomers!” We had a good laugh at how ridiculous, but true, the whole thing really was. What color socks is Christian Grey wearing today? Boxers or briefs? Granola or oatmeal? Jogging or treadmill? Good grief! We had no idea what kind of shitstorm was on the way from this obscure little article.
On Tuesday evening, there was a visitor at Al’s apartment, an old flame named Patrick that he had a romp with in law school. Just a romp, as Al put it, but this was during Al’s confused years—that time that we don’t really talk about. Al had a span of several years where he was sexually confused. They were really bad years for him and during that time, he had some pretty seedy relationships—encounters would be better words for them. I always considered Patrick his Single White Female—somewhat of a Fatal Attraction, for lack of a better word. He didn’t really seem dangerous. He was just clingy as fuck and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Nonetheless, the guy hung around for about a year and once Al graduated and went to work for the first law firm he worked for out of law school, Patrick faded into obscurity.
Now, this article pops up and so does Patrick, out of thin air. Al calls me to tell me that Patrick had left a note with his number at his apartment, but that Al had no intention of using it. But the next course of events throw me completely for a loop.
The Prior Wednesday
“Hello?” I answer my phone without fully focusing on the name. I’m rubbing my eyes and I’m only vaguely awake, having recognized the ringtone as something familiar, but not fully coherent yet as to who is on the other line.
“Jewel?” Al’s tortured tone breaks through my sleep-induced haze and I now recognize the ringtone after the fact—“That’s What Friends Are For.”
“Al?” There’s a pause on the line and then he chokes out a sob. What? “Al?” I throw the covers off me in a fit, scrambling to sit up in bed. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Christian stirs in the bed next to me.
“Wha…?” he says, confused, his baritone voice three octaves lower than normal, as if that’s even possible. “What is it?” his gravelly voice squeezes out. I put my finger to my lips in a “ssh” motion.
“Al, talk to me. What’s going on?” I beseech him. Christian sits up slightly in bed at the mention of Al’s name.
“J… James,” he weeps, “he’s… he’s gone.” My hand flies to my chest. Gone? Gone where? Gone how? Is he… has something happened to him?
“What do you mean gone?” I ask cautiously. “What happened? Did he… is he alright?”
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Allen bites out sardonically. “He left. He’s been gone for hours. I don’t know where he is.” He sobs again. I swing my legs out of the bed.
“What happened, Al?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
“We had a fight,” he says. A fight? A fight about what?
“You guys never fight,” I say.
“Yes, we do, you just haven’t seen it,” he says, laughing tragically through his tears, “and never like this.”
“What was it about?”
“About the wedding,” he tells me. Oh, one of these.
“What about the wedding?” There’s a pause.
“Patrick came by here again,” he says. “I never called him, Jewel. Never encouraged him. Hell, it’s been—what—six years since I talked to that guy? Why the fuck would he just show up out of nowhere expecting something from me?”
“Well, what happened?” I press.
“I made the mistake of inviting him in. Whatever conversation we were going to have, I didn’t want to have it in the hallway. You know me—I can protect myself. I wasn’t worried about this guy or anything. We fucked. It was good, but it was six years ago. I’m getting married—I made that clear, but he kept talking about old times and bringing up the past and how good it was.”
Oh, shit, I can see where this is going.
“Well, you know what happened next,” he sobs. “The fucking fates fucked with me again, determined to dash my happiness against the stones the minute it’s within my grasp… three days before my goddamn wedding!”
“You fucked him, Al?” I ask horrified.
“No!” he screeches into the phone. “But the fucker timed a kiss right when my fiancé was walking in the goddamn door!”
“Oh, God, you gotta be kidding me!” I lament.
“What?” Christian asks.
“Wait!” I snap. I’m still getting details, dammit. “Al, what happened? What’s going on now?”
“I pushed the asshole off me, but of course it looked like I only did it because James walked into the room. I tried to explain everything, but I don’t think he believed me. Patrick didn’t help. He acted like we were lovers and we had just gotten busted. I called him a liar and told him to get the fuck out of my apartment and he was like, ‘Okay, call you later,’ and left. James was furious.”
“I can see how this could pose a problem,” I say.
“Ya think?” he weeps. “I tried to reason with him… tried to tell him that after we had been together for two years, why would I do something like this three days before our wedding? All those plans we made—all the promises, the time we’ve been together and he doesn’t trust me? I let him go out with Jose when I knew Jose wanted him back and I knew he didn’t know how he felt about it. He kissed Jose because he wanted to… he admitted that! And he doesn’t trust me?”
“Where is he now?” I ask.
“I don’t know. He looked at me like a pariah and then he walked out.”
“Well, maybe he just went out to walk it off,” I say, trying to ease his concerns.
“He would have been back by now…”
I spend several minutes on the phone with Al, trying to comfort him and talk him back from the cliff. I even ask if he wants to come over and spend the night here. He refuses, saying that he wants to be home in case James comes back. He put me on hold about forty-five minutes into the call to take a call on the other line. I sigh, hoping it’s James calling to tell him that he had come to his senses, or even to fight, but just put my friend out of his misery. I’ve never seen him like this—well, maybe once, not this bad, but close… it was James, then, too. It was the night he went to see Jose.
“I gotta go, Jewel,” Al comes back on the line in a huff.
“Why? What is it? Is it James?” I ask concerned.
“That was the bartender at the CherryPicker. He’s there. He’s had too much to drink. I need to go get him.” I frown deeply.
“The CherryPicker?” I say aghast. “What the hell is he doing in a place like that?” Christian gets out of bed and goes to his en suite. Al sighs.
“I used to slum there, I guess you could call it. We both did. It was… is… was an old haunt of mine. The bartender there knows me. James and I… we even did a role play there once… when we first started dabbling.” Oh, hell. That’s why the bartender called him. He knows Al. “Shit, I have to go, Jewel…”
“Not by yourself, you don’t!” I say, leaping out of bed and running to my dressing room. I put him on speaker and rummage through my drawer for a pair of jeans.
“I’ll be fine. I need to go get him, now,” Al says and I hear him scrambling. Shit! I need to move faster. I slide into my jeans and pull on a sweatshirt without even grabbing a bra.
“Goddammit, Allen Michael Forsythe, if you go to that bar alone, I’m going to show up with my Beretta and shoot you in the foot on sight!” I’m quickly pulling on my socks and reaching for a pair of sneakers.
“Well, you better start loading, because I’m out the door,” and he ends the call. He hung up on me. He fucking hung up on me.
“Goddammit!” I tie my shoes and grab a ponytail holder on my way out of the dressing room. I head for the door and Christian is standing there with his arms folded. He’s in black jeans, a black T-shirt and black Timberlands—looking flawless, dangerous, and totally fuckable.
“Goddammit, Allen,” I curse under my breath as I walk pass him and out of our bedroom.
Allen is talking to the doorman when we arrive at the club. There are several gay men lined up outside the meat market trying to get in and Al clearly just wants to get his man and go. The bouncer won’t let him in and Al is desperately trying to get in touch with the bartender who called him, but there’s no answer.
“Why would they call me to come and get James and then not let me in?” he huffs, now frustrated and angry. “Did you have to bring the whole crew, Ana?” Now, I know he’s upset. He never calls me Ana. He eyes Christian and Jason who have accompanied me to this little local establishment.
“You should have known that I wasn’t coming without back-up,” I say, unapologetic.
“Of course,” he huffs. “Did you bring the Beretta, too?” he says sarcastically.
“Didn’t I say that I would?” I reply, impassively. “It’s loaded, too, so hide your toes.” His smug expression falls.
“You can’t get in here with that thing,” he says calmly, but in a warning tone.
“I know that,” I reply. “It’s in the car.” I don’t think he heard my response as he immediately turns his attention to his phone, then puts it up to his ear.
“Hello… I’m outside trying to get past your human shield!… I have friends with me… Three…” He looks at Christian and Jason, similarly dressed like they’re on some covert mission. “Two of them look like bouncers… Okay.”
We wait for a moment before the doorman/bouncer is gesturing to us to come to the front of the line. There are many protests from the patrons standing in line as we enter the establishment.
“You lost, Sugar?” one of them calls to me as I wait to get in. I turn around looking for the male voice that greeted me only to find a queen standing there in a short white tutu-type dress with thigh-high stockings and white sky-high stilettos. Adorable outfit and I can’t help but think of Little Bo Peep. So, I respond,
“Well, I’m not, but if you hurry, you still might be able to find those sheep.”
There’s a thunder of laughter behind her… erm, him, and Christian grabs my hand.
“Come, my love,” he says, pulling me into the bar behind him and Jason with Al in the lead.
We find James immediately, seated at the bar with his head held down, only he’s not alone. There’s a guy next to him clearly putting the moves on him, but James is paying the guy no attention. When the companion hopeful next to James puts a hand on his back, I can literally see the hairs stand up on Al’s neck. He takes a deep breath and walks over to his fiancé. This can go either way.
“James,” he says, his voice controlled.
“Push off, sister, he’s got a date tonight!” the companion-hopeful declares, attempting to hook arms with James, who raises his head to see Al.
“Is that so, James?” Al says calmly. “Do you have a date?” I know Al’s demeanor enough to know that the outcome of his relationship hangs on James’ answer.
“Random Guy?” he begins. “This is my fiancé, Allie. Allie, this is some random guy that just sat next to me. No, he’s not a date.” James’ voice is dragging with inebriation, but he’s not slurring his speech.
“Alley?” the guy repeats. “Like Alley Cat?” He laughs heartily. “Fiancé… that’s means you’re not married, yet, so you’re still available, Boo.” No, he didn’t just use my word! I look at Christian who just shakes his head and walks over to Al and James.
“James,” Christian says, “don’t you wanna get outta here, man?” Christian and James have developed a relationship over the last year. He’s hoping to get James to listen to reason.
“I think that’s up to Allie,” he responds.
“How is that up to me?” Al asks, his demeanor still cool. “I’m not the one sitting drunk in a bar with Random Guys hitting on me.” Random Guy scoffs at Al’s statement in a high-pitched feminine voice and stands from his seat.
“I’ll be right back, Chocolate Goodness. You can…” He looks at Al, Christian, and me and gestures flippantly to all of us. “… Handle this while I’m gone.” Still listening to the conversation at the bar, I watch Random Guy walk with very exaggerated hip rolls over to a table of other men.
“Oh, really?” Al says, disgusted.
“You know why I’m here,” James replies, pushing away an empty glass in an attempt to get another drink… I think, I’m not sure. Nonetheless, the bartender cuts him off and tells him that he can have water if he wants. James is a sensible man, and nods at the bartender who reaches under the bar and gives James a cold bottle of ice water.
“You want a glass?” the bartender asks. James shakes his head, cracks open the bottle of water and drinks it half down.
“No, I don’t know why you’re here,” Al says, his voice losing a bit of its control. Uh oh… James, let’s get the hell out of here. “The last time I was here, I was trying to get laid, and so were you, and we did… with each other. The last time I was here, I was with the love of my life. Since then, I haven’t come back here. There was no need… until tonight. So, no, Mr. Fleming, unfortunately I don’t know why you’re here.”
Mr. Fleming. Shit, this is bad and it’s about to get worse. Random Guy, having said something to a table full of gentlemen, is now pointing in our direction. All the men look toward us while RG explains whatever he’s explaining and Al rips into James for coming to a gay meat market.
“Christian,” I say, garnering his attention. When he looks up at me, I gesture to the table of conspiring men in time to see one of them nod at RG.
“Oh, shit,” Christian says, catching my drift immediately. He looks over at Jason, who also assesses the situation in three seconds and rolls his eyes.
“Just fucking great,” he says, under his breath, just as RG begins his “You Better Work” diva stroll back in our direction. Is this Queen Night or something? Not all gay men act like this, but we seem to be surrounded by them tonight.
“James, this is a very worthy conversation, but I really think you two should have it back in your apartment,” Christian presses.
“How did you even know I was here?” James says, but almost before the words are out of his mouth, he looks up at the bartender. He leans down so James can hear him.
“I’ve got my wedding invitation, Jimmy,” he says quietly and James says nothing. “Finish your drink. You want one for the road?”
James eyes get a bit misty and he holds his head down—like it was when we got here—and nods.
“Let us help you, man,” Christian says, putting his hand on James’ shoulder. James nods, finishes his water, and takes the unopened bottle from the bar. As he stands, he wobbles a bit, and RG is there to catch him.
“Hey there, lover,” he says to James like there’s not four other people standing around him, one of which is his fiancé, “It looks like you’ve had one too many. We need to get you home.”
“We will,” Al says, now shooting daggers at the one-night-stand wannabe currently holding his man up. “Now, if you would kindly release my fiancé, we’ll be going now.” He’s talking through his teeth. Step back little man, you don’t want to release the Kraken!
“I think your fiancé can speak for himself!” RG says, glaring at Al. Before I can say anything to stop it, Al’s quick right hook meets its mark squarely in the jaw in seconds. Almost as if he anticipates it, Christian catches James before he hits the floor and RG is flying backwards from the force on the impact of a hard fist to the jaw.
“What the fuck!” Christian gasps and after quickly assessing the situation, hooks James’ arm over his shoulder and drags him from the bar yelling, “Go! Now!” as he leaves.
“Now, Allen! Now!” I demand before RG gets his bearings. The men from the other table start to rise as Al and I fall in line behind Christian and Jason in line behind us.
We parked next to Al’s Jag in the back parking lot and as he presses the key fob to unlock the doors, I have Jason unlock the SUV. As we’re trying to get James safely into the passenger seat of the Jag and I grab my Beretta from my purse, a gaggle of men come bursting from the back door of the club. Not knowing yet who’s foe and who’s just coming to see the show, I pull my gun into plain sight.
Don’t make me use this, fellas.
One guy catches a glimpse of “the shiny” and puts his arms out to stop the crowd. Three men, one of which is Random Guy, continue in our direction to face off against Al. I guess it’s clear now who’s foe and who’s just watching. Al locks his doors again—before we get the chance to get James into the car—and fearlessly walks toward the trio with long, controlled steps. Christian curses under his breath and gently sits a passed-out James on the ground against the car. Also sensing trouble, Jason retrieved his Glock from the glove box at the same time that I was getting my Beretta. He puts that holster on like a pro because I swear it only took him three seconds!
“Did you think you were going to sucker punch me and get away with it, you cock-blocking bitch?” RG says, putting his hands on his hips and taking a diva stance.
“It wasn’t a sucker punch,” Al bites. “I hit you straight on, you fucking flamer!”
That’s it. The Kraken has been released.
Al never uses derogatory gay terms or even terms that can be considered derogatory, not even when we’re joking around—except for calling me his fag hag, so shit just got very real.
“Don’t get mad because your man came looking for a good time you couldn’t give him!” RG taunts.
“Well, if I can’t, you certainly won…” Before the words are out of his mouth, Al takes a hard right cross to the eye, so hard that spit flies out of his mouth.
Now that was a sucker punch.
He’s momentarily knocked off balance, but recovers quickly and unleashes the ass whipping from hell! He comes back with a right cross, then a quick left, followed by a right hook that knocks RG back into his friends. The whole thing happens so quickly that no one knew exactly what was going on, not even RG’s friends… no one, that is, except me.
RG shakes off the attack and comes back at Al, hitting his center of gravity by grabbing him around the waist and pushing with his shoulder. If he can get Al on the ground, he might even the playing field or maybe even get the best of him. What he doesn’t know is that Al learned the hard way—from more than one hate attack—not to go down in a fight.
Al’s feet falter a bit, but he stands firm. Locking one hand over a closed fist, Al brings them down on RG’s back like a sledge hammer. I can feel the pain when the mallets come down on his back not once, not twice, but three times before he finally drops to the ground. This is the signal for the other two to get into the melee, but apparently, they can’t take a hit like RG can.
One attempts to grab Al’s arms from behind while the other one intends to attack from the front. Al shakes his restrainer off like a fly, causing the front attacker to run right into Al’s open hands. Al grabs his shirt and gives the guy two bitch slaps so hard that they echo off the buildings. One last good backhand and he’s on the ground, rolling away from Al’s feet. Al turns to face off with his would-be restrainer who now has fists up ready to take his swing. Christian and Jason are now ready to join in the melee—much like the fight in Anguilla when the guys in the bar accosted Gail at our table. I put my gun in my pocket and run up to stop Christian and Jason, stretching my arms out in front of them.
“Step back, gentlemen,” I tell them both. “He doesn’t need you.” They both frown at me.
“What do you mean?” Jason says. “It’s three on one!”
“No, it just looks like three-on-one,” I inform them. “Keep your eyes peeled, fellas. If he needs you, you’ll know.” I turn back around to face my friend and his fight. “But right now, you’re about to see Barroom Brawler Allen.”
“Oh, God, more nicknames?” Christian laments. I see Al has been telling him about my many personas. This will be the first time they’ll meet one of his. Prepare yourselves, boys.
The third guy takes a wild swing or two at Al, completely missing his mark. The third is a solid punch to the ribs, followed by one to the gut. I wince, now wishing I had let Jason and Christian intervene when I hear the wind release from Al’s lungs with the last hit, but he still doesn’t go down. I know that shit had to hurt, but in true scrapper fashion, he stands up—coughing and winded—snatches the guy’s shirt and pulls him down hard and fast just as he brings his knee up to meet the guy’s chin.
I think I heard something crack.
This guy also rolls away from Al’s stomping feet, once he shakes the stars from his head and remembers where he is. I’m watching RG and the first guy rally back to their feet when I hear male cooing from behind me.
“Oh, my, that man is sex dipped in chocolate, dripping in honey, with whipped cream and a cherry on top. I’d let him ride me to the moon!”
I turn around to see where the sex-drenched voice is coming from thinking that I may have to stand guard over James’ passed-out form to keep him from being taken advantage of. I’m surprised to see yet another queen looking in our direction and literally drooling. Wait a minute… are you looking at my husband? Is there going to be another fight tonight? Don’t you know I will whoop your ass?
He and his other skirt-clad… girlfriends? Boyfriends? Whatever they are, they come and stand behind us. I’m trying to watch the fight to make sure no one bests Al, but I’m also watching the sextrollers behind us and trying to keep an eye on James all at the same time. One of them laughs sardonically.
“Don’t worry, Sugar Plum, you’re safe,” one of them giggles at me. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Obviously,” I reply, looking distastefully at his mismatched outfit and wondering if he swapped shirts with someone inside as that ensemble definitely doesn’t go together. Christian glances over his shoulder and reaches down to take my hand, either to show that I’m not here alone, or to show that he’s not here alone, I’m not sure which.
I turn back around to see Al swiftly kick one of his assailants in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sailing back against the wall of the bar. Jason flinches uncomfortably and at first, I think it’s because of that impressive kick. I discover that I’m wrong when he turns around to the drag group and says in a menacing voice, “Whoever just touched me, if you want to keep that hand, you’ll keep it to yourself.”
I have to stifle a chuckle. They weren’t looking at my man. They were scoping Jason! Do you guys not see the harness with the firearm in it?
Immediately catching my drift, one of the queens from the group turns to me and says, “Oh, don’t worry, Lemon Drop,” she… or he… says, gesturing to Christian. “He’s gorgeous, but he’s got ‘henpecked’ written all over him. This one…” He gestures back to Jason, “he’s got some danger and fire left in him.”
“To the moon,” the other one says, and I recognize his voice as the first voice I heard.
“Touch me again and I’ll give you a one-way trip, and not in the way you’re thinking,” Jason warns. Christian squeezes my hand, bringing my attention back to Allen and three wobbling gay men.
“We’re going to have to get him out of there,” he says to me. I shake my head.
“Not until he drops, they drop, or the cops show up,” I tell him.
James’ voice rips through the crowd. He’s awakened from his brief drunken black-out and calls to his fiancé. Al doesn’t respond. I can tell from his slight reaction that he wants to, but he can’t. He’s the main event in a three-on-one brawl and he’s not taking his eye off any of these people, even though one is still standing against the wall still holding his stomach and gasping for air. Another is sitting on the ground, bleeding, and his eye is nearly swollen shut. The third has taken a bit of a beating as well, but is still on his feet, failing to engage the enemy.
“Have you bitches had enough?” Al barks. “I’ve got more left if you want it!” he threatens. The three previously pugnacious brawlers take a moment to examine their situation and the fact that their mark is not only not going down that easily, but also appears to have gotten his second wind. Apparently not wanting to pursue tonight’s conquest any further, they assist each other in getting back to the bar. Al stands there for a moment, watching them as they get to their feet and use each other to stumble to the door before disappearing inside. Al takes several deep breaths. Christian moves to encounter him, but I squeeze his hand and pull back on his arm. When he looks at me, I shake my head.
“Do not engage,” I warn him. “Wait until he comes to us.”
Christian looks at me warily, but heeds my words. Right now, I’m not sure who would win in a fight between him and my best friend. He wisely backs away. As if he were reading my mind, Jason leans in to Christian.
“I’m glad you didn’t piss him off too bad on your wedding day. I’m not so sure we could have taken him so easily.”
After a few tense moments, Al walks over to a stunned group of men. Me… well, I’m not so stunned.
“Allie…” James begins.
“Get. Your ass. In the goddamn car,” Al growls at him, unlocking his car with the key fob. Almost as if he were the submissive, James falls silent and turns away from the group, walking over to Al’s Jag and quietly climbing into the passenger seat before closing the door. Al turns his attention to us.
“Thank you… for coming,” he says sharply to Christian and Jason.
“We thought you might have needed backup,” Jason says. “How wrong we were.”
“Not always,” Al admits. “It’s a crap shoot. Win a few… wind up in the hospital a few,” he adds, throwing a knowing look at me before scrubbing his face with his hands. I move to hug him, but he puts his hand out to stop me.
“Not calm enough yet,” he warns. I look at him with sympathetic eyes and gently kiss him on his cheek.
“You’re going to have a shiner,” I say.
“I know,” he replies.
“I’ll make sure that you get some of Gail’s miracle tea.” He nods.
“Thank you.” I smile sadly.
“Eucalyptus bath,” I say softly.
“And plenty of Arnica cream,” he adds with a weak smile before turning away and walking to his Jag. The three of us stand there while they drive away and the crowd disburses before we head back to the Audi SUV. Once we’re inside and Jason is headed back to the Crossing, I take my gun from my pocket and put it back in my purse. I press the button that raises the smoked privacy class between the front and back seats.
“What are you doing?” Christian asks, puzzled. I release my seatbelt and climb feverishly onto his lap, straddling him. If Jason weren’t in the car. I’d fuck him right here.
“Goddammit, Ana! Seatbelts!” he groans before I slam my lips into his. He groans loudly, his hands immediately gripping my thighs. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on him ever since we left the house. I grind my hips against him and he’s hard immediately.
“Fuck Ana! No!” he protests, trying to still my hips, but I want him so badly that I can’t even see straight. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I need to fuck this man—hard!
His hands slide roughly to my ass, gripping hard. He liked my ass before, but he adores it now. His hands always gravitate there and he uses it to push me against him every chance he gets. My mind immediately wanders to him roughly taking me, holding just my ass and bouncing me hard on his dick. I’m immediately wet down there and hot all over.
“Ana, shit!” he growls as grips my ass, moving his hands in perfect rhythm with my grind. He tilts his head and plunges his tongue into my mouth, kissing me hungrily. I match his fervor, gobbling his kisses and grinding him in one of the sweetest dry fucks we’ve ever had. His hips momentarily match my grind, digging in through my jeans straight to my clit. Fucking hell!
“I won’t come like this,” he says after several minutes, his voice strained. “I won’t. I won’t come until I’m inside you.” He quickly undoes my jeans and I wonder if he’s going to try to do it as we cross the Morrow bridge! Instead, he thrusts his hand into my pants and panties and two fingers right into me! I cry out at the surprise and the pleasure. He circles and thrusts and I’m going fucking mad. I feel the car slow, then start moving again, then stop and cut off.
We’re home. Good.
I take a brief moment to take in our surroundings. We’re in one of the garages and Jason gets out of the front seat and leaves us there.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
I get off of Christian’s lap and quickly shimmy out of my jeans and underwear. Taking the cue, he removes his seatbelt, undoes his fly and drops his jeans and boxer briefs. He doesn’t get them off, just down to his ankles. I scramble back onto his lap and his impressively erect penis homes in to its counterpart without assistance. I drop down on it hard, without warning, taking him deep all the way to the hilt.
“Sssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiit!” he bites out, pressing hard back into me as much as my hips will give him purchase. We just sit there for a moment, clinging to each other with him buried so deep inside me, you would think we were actually attached. The move took so much wind out of me, tearing me open and assaulting my core with such sudden pain and pleasure that I could only squeeze my eyes shut and pant. I don’t want to move. I just want to stay here and feel him filling every crevice of my sex. It’s so fucking hot and I want him to feel exactly what I’m feeling, so I tighten my Kegels around him.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugggghhhh, baby…” he groans such a deep, seductive tone that causes the muscles to clench on their own. “That feels soooooo good.” The rumble in his voice stirs something deeper inside of me and I feel like… like an animal! I want to fuck him savagely, like a goddamn Klingon!
I roll my hips into his, hard and deep, and he groans again. He pushes his hands under my sweatshirt and his skin on my skin sends searing heat through me. I lean my head back and roll my hips again.
“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me!” he protests, feverishly gripping my skin and stroking my bare back, and it just spurns me on. Gasping the seat behind him, I really start to move—hard, painful grinds into his pelvis, circular strokes so that he hits all my walls, and viciously tightening Kegels that not only suck his dick into me, but also pulls all the pleasure to my center. I feel like I did the very first night that we fucked in my apartment, riding him hungrily and viciously against the dining room wall, in the dining room chair, grabbing and milking that delicious dick with my hot, pulsing core and wondering where this sex god had been all my life.
“Damn it, Ana! You’ve been without a bra all this time?” he groans as his hands work their way up my back. “Gimme those tits!”
He pushes my sweatshirt up and takes a hard, hot nipple in his mouth, groaning in ecstasy and sucking hard. I yelp from the sensation and start to move faster and harder on his lap—methodical, rhythmic, rolling strokes that drop so hard on him that I bounce back. His pull on my breast is electric and I can’t prevent the hungry sounds of satisfaction that escape from me as he sucks them. When he releases the nipple, but replaces his lips with his teeth and bites down just enough, I literally scream his name, the word bouncing off the walls of the small space in the back seat of the SUV. I grab a handful of his hair and pull hard, the other hand still on the back of the seat to stabilize me.
He growls when I pull his hair and his hips rise hard each time I drop to meet my thrusts. The sounds we are emitting sound painful now, as if someone was losing air with hard punches… much like the fight we witnessed a little while ago. His mouth is switching from breast to breast, nipple to nipple, biting, pinching, and sucking, and I know that he’s marking me. It feels so good and I love it! I hold his head against the spot he’s sucking—the mound of one breast and the skin there. I roll my hips again, deep and hard—and he groans and bites down into the meat. That spot is sure to be purple in morning.
When I feel his shaft getting thicker, harder inside of me, I really start to ride—hard and fast so that the friction now sparks a flame that’s ready to burn.
“Oh, yes, baby, drop that pussy on me!” he coaxes. “Ride this dick, baby! Ride it hard!”
And ride it, I do! Pretty soon the friction and heat are so much that they actually hurt and burn. I feel him inside me, reaching further and hitting spots so deep. God, I can’t stand it! Before long, we’re grunting like animals, clawing at each other and fighting for sexual dominance as we torture one another’s organs. Words are no longer appropriate as primal lust takes over and we lose ourselves, each attempting to subdue the other.
He has slid to the edge of the seat, giving him more purchase to move. He attempts to hold me down as he pumps up hard into me, clutching my ass and digging his fingers into the tender meat like he did those weeks ago in my dream. It’s deliciously pleasurable, but I won’t let him take over completely. The tiny bit of resistance makes it all that much yummier. I push off of him, but meet his angry, forceful thrusts with thrusts of my own. Now too far from the back of the seat to reach comfortably, I use his shoulder to stabilize me and help me push off of him before I drop back down on his expecting thrusts.
His body is hard and stiff like a statue—the bronze statues I compared him to when I watched him masturbate—and as I’m rising and falling on his hot, hard dick, challenging him and meeting him piston for piston, a small, logical part of me is wondering why every possible, dirty, hot, sexy thought and encounter that I’ve ever had with him is coming to me now. Oh God, what’s happening to me? I feel like a fucking sex fiend! Like I’ll never get enough.
“Goddammit, Ana, your pussy is starving for me!” Christian declares in a deep, sex-drenched voice as he quickly wraps my hair around his hand and pulls.
“Aaahhh!” I scream, but I won’t let my head lull back. I’m looking slightly down at him, now. We’re both pulling each other’s hair and glaring into each other’s eyes, each of us chasing the lust and hunger that we find there.
“You’re going to come!” he declares in a hot, breathy voice. “I want you to drench my dick, baby! I want to feel your juices slide all over me and drip down my motherfuckin’ thighs!”
Holy fuck. My hips take on mind and movement of their own and I’m pumping into this man with fury. At first, he’s giving it back to me, stroke for deep stroke, with all the force that my hot, angry pussy is giving him. But as the deep, throbbing pleasure in my muscles slowly starts to move from burn to ascent, my pace and rhythm slowly becomes too much for him. He tries to keep up, still glaring into my eyes as I feel my release slowly creeping up on me—teasing me and making me angry and impatient.
A growl escapes my chest, and his pupils dilate nearly to black at the sound. He releases my hair and grabs my ass again, not pushing, but feverishly squeezing with each stroke, only able to raise his hips to every second or third pounce of mine.
“Fuck me,” he pants, hot and nearly helpless, but still trying to maintain a semblance of control. “Yeesss, fuck me… fuck me baby.”
He’s pounding hard inside me now, throbbing viciously, and I know that his orgasm is not far away just like mine, and it will be explosive.
Feeling my climax teetering dangerously close, I take both hands and wrap them around his neck, the palm of my right hand right at his Adam’s apple. His eyes change slightly, constricting, then dilating again, and I squeeze, just as my orgasm starts to work up my legs and immobilize me.
So close… so, so close…
“Tighter,” he breathes, and I squeeze harder, pressing my palm against his throat. He’s clutching my ass and his hips only rise infinitesimally as he absorbs all the sensations I’m lavishing on him at this moment.
“Fuck me,” he whispers, his face starting to blush. “Harder!” he breathes. God this is so hot and I oblige, riding and bouncing mercilessly on the beautiful dick. “Tighter,” he gasps. “Squeeze… tighter…” I squeeze tighter around his neck, feeling him swallow against my hand. I still won’t give it all my force because I won’t know my own strength when I’m coming, which should be right about…
“Ye-es… y… yes… tha… that’s it… ri… right there… right there!” He can barely breathe. His head falls back on seat and he’s still gripping my ass. As long as he’s gripping, he’s still alive. “Squeeze it…” he chokes, his eyes closed. “Fuck me… fu… fuck me…”
This volcanic eruption that explodes through my body is enough to frighten demons and make angels weep. At first, I’m totally immobilized, my muscles all constricting like I’m being electrocuted—which is why I didn’t want to squeeze too hard on Christian’s neck because…
“Ye… yes… fuck… yes… G… God… Go…God… God…” he’s choking and I can’t let go. I’m trying, but I can’t let go. I’m struggling to get back to myself, to fight the crippling pleasure of this orgasm, and I can only imagine that my pussy must be tightening and sucking him in, giving him the best vaginal head job he’s ever had in his life.
But he’s still gripping that ass.
“Ye… ye…” he can’t get the whole word out as he’s gasping for air. He’s like a boiling turtle that doesn’t know he’s dying.
The orgasm finally begins to release me, but the pleasure still holds on as it continues, locking my hips against his. My loosened grip allows him to get air in and he gasps.
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop!” he begs as I stiffen again, and I have to ride out my orgasm bouncing on his dick. It’s mind-blowing and painful and deliciously searing. I’ve released my hold on his throat as I don’t have the strength to squeeze anymore. I’m lightheaded with pleasure and weakness trying to keep the rhythm going when he grabs me around the waist and slams me down hard on his erection, burying his face in my sweatshirt and bosom and groaning loud and hard, deep in his throat. Our bodies are so connected in that place that as he empties endlessly into me, I actually feel his orgasm. The pulsing in the muscles of his pelvis synchronize with the pulsing in mine and I’m dizzy as I feel his climax. His throbbing shaft and my simultaneously tightening walls—when a pained cry rips from his throat, I know exactly what he’s feeling. I squeal in my chest and he holds me tighter, still emptying into me. My legs start to tremble and I hold my head back for air. Oh, God, will this ever end? Will we live through it if it does?
I’m cradling his head, holding on tight, and the throbbing finally begins to cease. I dare not move. I’m fighting to breathe. Christian coughs into my chest, still holding me down on his pulsing member.
“My God,” he breathes, finally, “You’re incredible.”
Meanwhile, back at the wedding…
Of course, Gail’s tea took care of the shiner that barely surfaced on Al’s face. We were certain it would have scarred more with the hit he took that night, but as fate would have it, it was not to be. James’ heart—and ego—mended soon enough after watching Al brawl with three men that night at the Cherrypicker. He later admitted that his thoughts had wandered back to Jose for more reasons than one when he walked in and found his love with his lips on another man, the least of which was revenge for his prior transgression and former uncertainty about his feelings when Jose returned. Al spent the next night at the Crossing, not MIA, just—as he put it—some much-needed time away from the love of his life if there was ever a hope that they would still get married in two days. James’ response today to Al’s impromptu announcement with no initial explanation was a knee-jerk reaction to this argument. In James’ own words, “Allie scared the shit out of me.”
Christian sported high collared dress shirts and turtlenecks for the rest of the week as the result of our Klingon sex in the back seat that night. I was horrified when I originally saw the petechial hemorrhaging on his face that soon went away and the brutal choking bruises on his neck that didn’t fade as soon as I would have liked. I caught him admiring them more than once, fingering them fondly with the same explanation as I shook my head at him…
“Battle scars, baby… battle scars.”
A/N: Ana makes a reference to Patrick being Al’s Single White Female and Fatal Attraction. Both of these movies are cult classics from my time.
Single White Female was about a girl who got a roommate after she broke up with her boyfriend and the roommate turned out to be an obsessive psychopath that imitated the girl’s hair, clothes and long story short—it doesn’t end well. When the girl advertised for a roommate, she advertised as a “single white female,” hence, the title of the movie.
Fatal Attraction was about a man who has an affair on his wife with yet another obsessive psychopath who stalks him and follows him and eventually comes to his house with his wife and kid to kill him. You may have heard an old expression, saying, or reference to a woman who cooks or boils a bunny. That reference comes from this movie. The wife comes home to find something simmering in a pot on the stove while the daughter is looking around for her pet bunny. Psycholady somehow gets into the house, kills the bunny, and puts him in the pot. So, guess what wifey finds when she takes the top off the pot?
Seven more to go…
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Love and handcuffs