Chapter 11
11
Leche & Herb
After calling my favorite desk clerk at the DNF bookshop, plans are set. Tonight, after the store closes, Story will officiate our marriage.
Kind of worked out perfectly that she’s already an ordained minister for a wedding she did last week between a couple who fell in love over the fisting trope right there in the store. They had the same idea— marrying where the spark first sparked.
Chip went home to shower and get his best outfit on, and when he comes back, we decided, he’s moving in. I told him to limit how many air guitars he brings over, because my apartment is small. He promised he’d only bring the ones that make him feel the raddest, but that his entire McDonalds Moon Man cup collection absolutely had to come with him. And because I cherish my colonial dolls, I totally get it.
I wrap a bow around Herb, because he’s a vacuum. How do you really dress that up, you know? And I get into a nice sundress, something much less formal than the dress I wore on our first official date. Glancing at the fancy dress laying discarded on my floor, I notice the tag. AISLE and beneath that, in fancy cursive, is the word brIDAL.
“Herb, I was wearing a wedding dress for our date— I think I manifested this marriage!” I tell him, laughing as I adjust his bow. I look down at the sundress I’m wearing and realize that I wore the wrong dress the wrong day— I should be wearing the bridal gown today. But I tell myself it’s okay, because everything else in my life makes perfect sense, so what’s one little illogical thing?
Thirty minutes later, Chip walks in wearing the most incredible suit. Maroon and gold, made of something softer than silk– maybe satin? I love that I can see the curls of his chest hair pressed taut to the fabric, and my pussy quivers beneath my cotton high waist full coverage briefs.
“You look fantastic,” I tell him, practically breathless.
His grin is white, toothy and wide, and I nearly melt. “And you know who else that I know that also happens to look fantastic?” He takes a second to catch his breath after the mouthful.
“Me?” I sigh, my body tingling after his cologne hits my nose. Original Musk, the first Axe made.
“I love you,” I remind him, drenching myself over my soon to be husband. It’s been a crazy two days!
“Love you too babes,” he winks, dipping down to kiss my forehead. Only, I go in for a full kiss so my nose crashes into his mouth. My nose tickles and boom— I sneeze.
He licks his lips. “I liked that.”
I look down at Herb then up at Chip. His eyes flit between us, excitement making them glisten. “Are we ready to get married? This isn’t crazy?” he offers, laughing playfully as he dips in for a kiss.
I laugh too. “No, this is how good love stories start. Trust me.” He doesn’t know that I’ve read Misery by Stephen King over seventeen times (almost eighteen). I know romance.
“I do trust you,” he sighs, blinking longingly at me, then Herb.
We opt not to have verbal vows, as that is some bullshit for Herb. He’s a vacuum, obviously he can’t talk.
Instead, we stare longingly while the harp is played, and we mind melt like in Star Trek. It feels right, and it gets my privates tingling, so I roll with it.
Then after a few minutes, we’re wearing rings and kissing, and Herb’s obviously still just sitting there. We pat him though and he will eat me out later.
I look around the bookstore, shelves upon shelves of stories, rejected by some, adored by others. Such a mix, and that’s how I’d define our relationship. It’s either weird or it’s pure, and is there anything wrong with doing what makes you feel good? We aren’t hurting anyone. Herb loves us back. What else would he do?
Sit in a fucking garage and get covered in spider sacks and deflated sports balls and random, half drank water bottles? Hmm?
I’m giving him my pussy and my milk, and if he has a soul, obviously its happier with me. If he has energy, a presence, a space in the universe as a manufactured item—I’d like to believe he’s better off sucking my husbands cock and licking up his cum than cleaning a shitty gutter and vacuuming vomit in a toddler’s room.
This is truly the perfect place for us to have met and marry.
“Did Story leave?” he whispers, ready to fuck. I want that too. I can’t wait. My breasts are swollen with the need to be drained. I’m at the point where I make milk on demand for his whimpers, so I overly produce.
“Yes,” I tell him. “The bookstore is all ours for tonight.” On the wall, I turn off the lights and step on a switch on the floor, turning on the Christmas lights strewn over the shelves. The room is glaringly bright but Amazon was out of twinkle lights.
“Get naked,” he says, already completely nude.