Chapter 12 #2
We make our way downstairs to meet the guys. They’re all dressed stylishly except you know who. Daylen Humblecut. He’s wearing cargo shorts, sandals with socks, and a black T-shirt that reads Walking Red Flag. He’s capped it off with a giant—and I mean giant—gold necklace.
The girls all break into hysterics when they see him. His eyes move up and down my body. I think he’s about to say something complimentary, but instead he says, “Is that dress short enough, Peppermint Patty? I guess we’re about to find out if the curtains match the drapes.”
I cross my arms and happily reply, “There is no carpet. Only floor tiling.”
His lips twitch with amusement while the other guys all laugh. I roll my eyes. “Your outfit is ridiculous. Are you going to change? You’re not seriously wearing that all night, are you?”
He shrugs. “I wore it just for you. And I will never change.”
For the first time in months, I’m finally letting loose.
It feels good. I still won’t accept drinks from strange men, but I’ve been getting them from the bartender and knocking them back all night.
We’re on the dance floor at a club, dancing and singing.
Sulley and Palmer have let loose in a way I’m unaccustomed to from them.
Sulley and Vance keep exchanging longing glances, though they keep their distance. I lean over and whisper-yell, “Are you fucking him?”
Her eyes widen. “What? No. Of course not.”
Hmm. I’m not sure I believe her. The iciness between them from last summer has thawed significantly since her return to Philly from the holidays. I know he was in their hometown at the same time. Something definitely happened between them.
Even Palmer is shaking her ass tonight. Beau is standing at a nearby high-top table, homed in on her, taking it all in.
He hasn’t moved his eyes from her body since we met up hours ago.
His gaze is intense and obvious. I don’t think he bothers to acknowledge the hordes of women who try to talk to him.
Women are also all over both Vance and Daylen, but while Vance pushes them away, Daylen basks in the adoration. What’s wrong with these women? Don’t they see what he’s wearing? Why is it annoying me so much?
A few more hours and several drinks later, we’re all wasted. I’ve never seen Daylen this drunk. He’s talking to the bartender while a skanky woman is trying to stick her hands down his pants. I think he’s too drunk to notice.
In my own inebriated state, I decide I should rescue him from unwanted advances like he rescued me. In a bit of a stumbling, zigzag pattern, I make my way toward them and grab the girl’s arm. “Hands off, hooker.”
She snarls, “Fuck off, bitch. I’m taking him home tonight.”
I shove her and stand in front of him to protect him from this overly aggressive, vicious woman. Before I realize it, I cross my arms and yell out, “He’s my husband. Stay away.”
The woman’s chin drops before she scurries away.
Daylen bursts out laughing. “Hooker?” He cackles like it’s the funniest word he’s ever heard.
“What do a hooker and Walmart have in common?” He pauses for a few seconds of silence because I have no idea what they have in common.
He continues, “Everyone makes fun of them, but when you’re in one at four in the morning, everyone loves them. ”
He then bends over while his louder-than-reasonable laugh intensifies. For some bizarre reason, I decide it’s the funniest thing he’s ever said and join in on the laughter.
He throws his arms around me. “Well, wifey, what can I get you to drink?” He runs his nose through my hair. “Fuck, the smell of my wife makes me hard. I’d know that scent anywhere.”
I reach over to feel the truth of his statement. His dick is hardening. And I decide that it’s a good idea to keep rubbing and rubbing and rubbing.
He moans. “God damn, that feels good, wifey. Did I tell you how hot you look tonight? I’m gonna fuck those tits later.”
My panties flood at the thought. Suddenly I can’t manage to remove my hands from his hard body as I move them over every inch of him, wanting to explore his masculine, defined body.
He’s so sexy. Was he always this sexy? It must have just started tonight.
Yep, that’s it. Just started. Like spontaneous hotness.
He grabs my ass and pulls me flush with him before his lips crash to mine.
He tastes like the lame-ass fruity drinks he’s been downing all night, but it’s kind of nice.
Usually men taste like whiskey or scotch after a night out, but Daylen tastes like…
strawberries. Yummy. Why have I been against this for so long?
Wait, his tongue is in my mouth. Oh my god, my tongue is in his mouth. Before I know it, we’re swallowing each other whole as we make out at the bar. My body ignites in a way it hasn’t in several months.
I don’t recognize my own voice when I mumble into his mouth, “Bend me over and fuck me on this bar, Neanderthal.”
A throat clearing ends our make-out session.
We both turn to the bartender, who says, “You two can’t have sex in here.
Why don’t you head out for the night and find a more private place to have a good time?
” He hands us each the same drinks we’ve been drinking all night, Daylen’s girlie one, complete with fruit and an umbrella, and my espresso martini.
“These are on the house, kids. Just leave before the bouncers get involved.”
Daylen smiles. “Free drinks. Wow, you’re the bestest, man.” He looks down at his drink, blanketed with an umbrella and fruit, and slurs, “Can I have two more umbrellas? Don’t open them though.”
The bartender sighs. “Sure thing. After that, you need to leave.”
He retrieves the two closed umbrellas and then hands them to Daylen.
Daylen removes the small rubber bands keeping the umbrellas closed.
Taking my left hand, he slides one of the rubber bands onto my ring finger.
“My wife needs a ring.” He slides the other rubber band onto his ring finger.
“I need one too. Now it’s official,” he smiles widely.
For some reason, I decide this is a brilliant idea and hold it up into the light as if the light will shine off it like a diamond. I’m mesmerized by its elastic-y beauty.
We each grab our free drink, link arms, and happily stumble our way to the exit door of the club, full of laughs and good cheer.
The club is a few blocks from our hotel. We took a party bus here, but it seems to be gone, so we decide to walk. As we do so, we’re both wildly amused by me leaving red lipstick kiss marks all over his neck. I inhale him while doing so. Ooh, he smells good. Has he always smelled this yummy?
About a block from the club, we pass a small wedding chapel with Elvis sitting out front, belting a few tunes. In his best Elvis impression, he looks at us and sings, “You two can’t help falling in love. How about a little jailhouse rock?” He shakes his hips and does a little hip twist.
Daylen and I think it’s the funniest thing that has ever been said or seen. We’re practically on the ground laughing.
I ask, “Is your real name Elvis?” He doesn’t look like the real Elvis. I think he’s Indian, but maybe Elvis was Indian and I didn’t realize it.
Without breaking his Elvis character, he answers, “That’s my stage name, sugar pie. My real name is Pinky Punnathanathukunnele.”
Daylen and I really lose it this time. We fall onto the sidewalk in a fit of hysterics. It’s the funniest name we’ve ever heard in our lives. We keep trying to repeat it over and over without any success.
Elvis/Pinky starts singing the words to “All Shook Up” followed by “Love Me Tender.” He’s even got a microphone, though I don’t think it’s connected to a speaker. None that I can hear.
As if it’s just occurring to Daylen where we are, he gasps. “Oh my god, this is a sign. Let’s make it official, wifey.” He proudly shows Elvis/Pinky his ring finger. “This rubber band ring is getting tight. We need real ones. Do you have those?”
Elivis/Pinky nods. “Sure do, my hunk of burning love. We’ve got all kinds of wedding packages. Come inside, love birds. We’ll get you two married in no time.”
My face falls. “I can’t get married without a veil.” I go on and on about not being able to properly get married without a veil. I make no mention of a dress, friends, or family, just the veil. I don’t know why I’m fixated on it, but I am.
I’m now standing again on the sidewalk, but Daylen is still on the ground.
He gets on his knees in front of me and runs his hands up my bare thighs.
I shiver at his touch and the erotic movement.
“Your hands are so big, hubby.” They’re huge.
I never realized how big Daylen’s hands are, and the thought is making my nipples harden.
He nods as they move up and then under my dress. I stand there and let it happen because nothing has ever felt better in my entire life.
His fingers brush over my long-neglected pussy, and I gulp.
I don’t care where we are, I just want those thick fingers inside me as soon as possible.
Please let him pull my panties to the side and push a finger into me.
I’ve had dicks in me smaller than those fingers.
I know I could orgasm from it, and I desperately need a non-self-induced orgasm. It’s been far too long.
Before I realize what’s happening, he’s pulling my red lace thong down my legs. I watch, transfixed by the move, wondering what he intends to do next. His dick inside me is what I’m hoping for.
“Lift your feet, wifey,” he breathes as if he’s as turned on as I am.
I lift one at a time until my thong is in his hand. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. It’s so hot. If I were still wearing the panties, they’d be flooded. There’s now a waterfall of slickness between my thighs.
After a few more inhales, he hands them back to me. “You can use this as your veil.”
Why didn’t I think of that? It’s genius. It matches my dress perfectly. I find myself wondering if other brides use their panties as veils too. It makes sense that they would, right?
After placing it in my hair, we walk inside the chapel. It’s got a disco ball hanging that is hypnotizing me. There are several rows of wooden pews with pretty flowers. They might be plastic, but they look beautiful.
We learn you get a free pizza when you buy a wedding, which we’re extremely excited about because it’s been seven hours since dinner and we’re famished. After paying for the upgraded package—my husband-to-be is very good to me—we make our way to the altar.
With our drinks still in hand, Elvis/Pinky begins the service.
Daylen stares at me the whole time. When it’s his turn to repeat after Elvis/Pinky, he goes off script.
“You have the prettiest eyes. They’re the first thing I noticed about you.
I was lost in them until you opened your mouth and ruined it.
But your eyes never fail to stir something in me. ”
“If you think they’re pretty now, wait until you see them while I’m on my knees looking up at you with my ponytail wrapped around your hand.”
“Fuuuck,” he moans as he adjusts himself.
His eyes widen as if something has just occurred to him.
“Did you know that a blowjob is the only job in the world you can’t use on your resume despite years of experience and number of references?
But don’t worry,” he slurs, “I’m like Maxwell House. Good to the last drop.”
I giggle at my hysterical husband before responding, “Good to know. You should know that Yelp just rated me the best place to eat out.”
He pumps his fist. “Yay. Can’t wait to taste your rainbow.”
The rest of the ceremony goes off in a bit of a blur, but I do manage to finish my drink, as does Daylen.
We leave the chapel with a few mementos stuffed into my purse and a delicious pizza pie. We’re attacking that pizza like we haven’t eaten in months when we bump into a large man. Looking him over, I see he’s in head-to-toe leather and covered in tattoos.
He gives us a warm smile. “You two having fun tonight?”
I nod. “The best time ever ever ever. We got married,” I screech.
He lets out a laugh. Not sure why getting married is funny. “Congratulations.”
“Are you the welcoming committee?” I absurdly ask.
He smirks as he shakes his head. “Nope, I own this tattoo parlor.” He points to the sign above our heads that I hadn’t noticed before. “Why don’t you two come inside and have a look around?”
I examine the green, well-lit sign. Sure enough, it’s a tattoo parlor named Inkognito. What a brilliant name, I think.
We follow him in and look at all the photos of intricate tattoos on the wall. I’ve never been a tattoo person, but I’m finding it particularly fascinating tonight.
The man asks me if I want one. I shrug. “I wouldn’t know what to get, but my husband had another woman’s name tattooed on his abdominium…
abdomino…abdicate…” Crap, why can’t I think of the word?
“Abdomen!” I eventually shout. “Yes, he has another woman’s name on there, and I’m jealous.
He should get my name too, don’t you think? ”
The man looks at Daylen, who nods. “She makes a good point. Where should I get her name?” he asks the man.
He motions toward our newly ringed fingers. “Lots of married couples get each other’s names on their ring fingers.”
Daylen’s face lights up. “That’s a great idea, leather man.
Then I can show the world I’m married when I play ball.
My wife can show them when she plays ball too.
” He straightens his shoulders and wraps his arm around me proudly.
“She’s a stud athlete. The best basketball player in the world.
I’m so proud of her. I love watching her play.
I wish their uniforms were tighter though, because she’s got a bangin’ body, doesn’t she? ”
The man runs his eyes up and down my body while he licks his lips. “She sure does.”
Normally that would bother me, but not tonight. Tonight I’m loved up by my new husband’s words. Warmth floods my body for him, and while I do want us to get the tattoos, I want to get him naked even more.
I look at the guy. “How long will it take? I have a date to ride my husband’s dick.” I then grab his dick through his shorts again.
The guy chuckles. “It won’t take long at all.”