Wedding Bell Blues

   As I sit here in the back row in the chapel, it occurs to me
that I'm a fool for having agreed to attend. Hearing the organist
play the hundredth refrain of "Here Comes the Bride" is working
every gay nerve in my body, causing my lower lip to tremble and
tears to well in my eyes. Then I look up and see my ex walking
down the aisle.

   He's looking so good. All decked out in a white tuxedo and a
frilly powder-blue shirt, Allen gives a nervous shake to his head
of loose, dark ringlets. Then, as he passes my pew, he turns and
tosses me a sheepish little smile.

   Lips tightening to a line, I stare straight ahead. My eyes fix
on the blushing bride, standing there trying to appear so sweet
and pure in her fluffy white gown. But I inwardly wonder if she
knows that it should have been me getting ready to say, ``I do.''

   The preacher--a frail, wrinkled little man wearing bifocals--
asks that there be silence, please. The organist winds up the
last notes of the wedding march. Then my mind drifts back to the
night Allen and I first met and I struggle to reconstruct every
detail of that fateful encounter ...

   I'm at a loud, crowded party and I see him, one elbow propped
on a baby grand and nursing a cocktail. Our eyes collide and
sparks start to fly. But he looks around the room and calmly
lights a cigarette, too cool to make the first move.

   When the tender pain in my heart grows too great to bear, I
thread a path toward the tall dark stranger. We exchange
handshakes and introduce ourselves. Then I notice the fat lump
coiled alongside the left pant leg of Allen's Brooks Brothers
slacks.

   He lets go a peal of nervous laughter and uses one hand to
adjust his swollen meat. Our conversation soon veers toward
observations on how the room is too noisy, too smoky, to suit
either of our tastes. But when I suggest we split and head to my
place for a nightcap, Allen shuffles his feet and takes another
nervous look around the room.

   Figuring he's too young to have had much experience at these
sort of quick pick-ups, I back off and grab the waiter's
attention. He brings us another round of drinks. Then, to my
great surprise, Allen downs his cocktail in one gulp and asks if
I'm ready to leave ...

   My thoughts scatter when an off-key vocalist screeches the
first notes of ``O! Promise Me.'' Glancing toward the altar, I
see Allen gaze longingly into his bride's beady blue eyes and I
know I should be happy for him. Yet an angry knot tightens in my
stomach and I can't help but think that it should have been me
Allen's looking at so sweet and tenderly ...

   My mind returns to the enchanted evening we met. Nestled on
the living room sofa, Allen cradles one arm around my shoulder
and his sinfully long eyelashes flutter in Morse. Our lips meet.
Then his tongue gingerly explores my mouth a few moments before
he begins to plant a row of delicate kisses along my neck.

   When an inexperienced hand fumbles with my zipper, I give the
dream stud some assistance. His strong, thick fingers probe into
my briefs, eventually wrapping themselves around my throbbing
manhood. But before I can do the same to him, Allen gathers me
into his arms and sweeps me into the bedroom.

   The way he rips away my clothes and urgently undresses himself
reminds me that he's a man with a man's needs. His heavenly body
pressing atop mine, Allen thrusts his hips and something long and
hard and sticky grinds into my thigh. His sultry kisses muffle my
happy sighs. Then he's tweaking one stiff nipple and, at the same
time, gouging a finger into my steamy asscrack.

   The next thing I know, Allen pins my ankles to my ears. My
buns split wide apart, allowing him plenty of room to crouch down
there and flicker his tongue across my quivering pucker. But as I
moan with pleasure--writhing around to trap his juicy cockhead
between my lips--he pushes me onto my back and says, ``Relax and
enjoy.''

   Stropping his mouth back and forth across the petals of my
trembling bud, Allen somehow works a finger in there alongside
his tongue. The thought crosses my mind that he's probably going
to want to stick something else up there, too. Then all of a
sudden he surfaces for air--thrusting his big dick in my face.

   His beefy shaft throbs a fiery shade of pink and a rivulet of
pre-cum seeps from its enormous dome of a head. Unable to resist
any longer, I stick out my tongue and sample its salty
sweetness. The smell of Allen's big bloated balls wafts under my
nose, encouraging me to swallow every inch of his hefty lovetool
down my throat. But as soon as I take a couple of slides on his
meat and get it good and wet, he yanks his cock out of my mouth
and immediately rams it up my butt.

   It's plain that Allen's had plenty of experience plowing a hot
hole. The way he pistons into my chute, delivering a flurry of
clean, swift strokes, makes me pant and beg for more. He honors
my request, burying every inch of his steely organ to the
bristles of my wanton arse. Then, to show that he's a considerate
lover, Allen takes hold of my fierce erection and begins giving
it a brisk massage.

   As he lunges into my rear end, a gasp spills from my lips. I
dig my hands into his strong, broad shoulders and try to keep
from cumming. But it's no use.

   Plowing into me at a fast and furious pace, Allen strikes a
sensitive place deep inside me that triggers a jet of milky
lovejuice to erupt from my aching nuts. Then a low growl escapes
from the back of his throat and a colossal spurt of warm wetness
drenches my bowels ...

   It takes a shake of the head to clear my mind. When I look up,
the blushing bride is staring lovingly into Allen's face and
promising to love, honor and obey him from this day forward. My
lips fold into a surly frown and I secretly speculate whether or
not Allen will be sticking it to her later that night as good as
he used to stick it to me. Then an image of the bride--legs
spread in a terribly unladylike sort of way--zips across my head
and my heart tells me that it should have been me preparing to
race off on a romantic honeymoon with the handsome groom.

   I ask myself what went wrong, what happened to all those long,
hot nights when we shared a love so sweet? I remember Allen
promising that we'd never be apart. Then came the night he
stopped by to tell me that the gay life was not for him, that
he'd started seeing a woman, that we could only be friends.

   Friends!?!?!? I bite my lip, as though that's going to keep my
heart from breaking. Blinking back tears, I watch as Allen
repeats, ``To have and to hold, to love and to cherish.'' Then
the preacher looks up over his spectacles and takes quick stock
of the congregation.

   ``If there are any objections to this wedding,'' he announces,
``speak now or forever hold your peace.''

   I don't know what comes over me. A storm of anger rages in my
gut. Then I jump to my feet and shout, ``It should've been me!''

   A murmur of hushed gasps and alarmed whispers ripples across
the chapel. Several of the people attending the ceremony turn and
shoot frosty stares toward me. But I'm hysterical, sobbing over
and over again, ``It should've been me! Oh, it should've been
me!''

   The crowd practically buzzes with speculation, more loudly
now, and the preacher nervously fidgets behind the altar. Through
a veil of bitter tears, I catch Allen's eye. Then, sobbing, I
ask, ``Baby, how can you do this to me?''

   He stares at me blankly and I notice a look of shock register
on the bride's painted face. From the din of murmurs and
whispers, I hear a man's voice say, ``That feller must be out of
his everlov'n' mind!''

   ``Who invited that homo here in the first place?'' another
grouses.

   Then a blue-haired old biddy seated in front of me leans
toward her husband. ``Floyd and Mildred's boy couldn't possibly
be like that,'' she exclaims. ``What's that lunatic mean by
calling him `baby'?''

   The next thing I know, two police officers storm into the
chapel. When one of them asks the preacher what's the matter, he
points at me and tells the cop that he'd better ask me that
question. The policemen rush toward me, one grabbing hold of my
shoulder and the other demanding to know what the problem is.
Then I gather my composure, steady my voice and point an accusing
finger at the bewildered bride.

   ``Arrest that woman,'' I cry. ``She's a common thief!''