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At Play in the Garden

By: hardhearted



About a year ago, my wife Rosemary and I went out with two of our friends to see a stand up comedian, an awesome local guy named Dick Edmonds. He's crude and sexist as hell, each joke topping the last, and during the show I looked over to Rosemary expecting her to give me the signal to leave, but she was actually laughing.

I should say now that Rosemary is not uptight, in fact she's a Goth chick, or sort of, but she has let me know on a few occasions that she's not a fan of porn or raunchy talk and shutters at the word 'cunt'. She's a bit shy, however, and would be the last person in the world to make a scene over something she found offensive. Actually she's a sub, as in submissive, and I like that, at least while we're in the bedroom. Out of the bedroom, however, it's hard to ever know if she's having fun or letting herself be pushed around. It's a little frustrating, and so even though she was laughing, I had no idea if she'd liked the guy or was just trying to make the best of our night out.

After watching Dick Edmonds do his stand up thing, the four of us stopped at a bar for a drink, and our friend Stanz was trying to pick up where the comedian left off, spewing out one bad joke after another. He was no Dick Edmonds, but it was enough to keep us laughing. Laughter is sort of like cocaine in that way, when you start coming down you'll pretty much snort a line of anything to bring yourself back to full speed. I guess you could say we we're snorting Stanz's punch lines, yuk, yuk! 

Stanz's girlfriend had a shrieking laugh that I found embarrassing, especially in the tiny bar. Rosemary complained that her cheeks were killing her and begged him to stop. I bought three rum and cokes for us, because Penny, Stanz's girlfriend, had switched to water, and when I returned with them Stanz was reiterating on something ole Dick had said, which was that a tattoo on a woman is a sure fire sign she's easy. As Dick put it, "Of course she'd fuck anyone; she even fucked both her parents getting the damn thing." Stanz was adding to it now, saying, "It's totally true, tattoos on girls all say the same thing, they're all code for 'Wanna fuck?' That's why everyone's into those Suicide Girls, cuz they fuck and fuck and fuck, and it's spelled out all over there hot little bods." 

This got a few more chuckles out us, and since candle in the red jar on our table had burned out, and the next nearest light happened to be a blue neon sign, we became a table of toothy blue smiles. The blue neon also popped out or eyes and the clips in Penny's hair, and given that I was pretty drunk I was completely tripping out on it.

I asked what the fuck a Suicide Girl was, because I was clueless about them at the time, and the fact that they'd fuck and fuck and fuck prompted my interest in a bad way.

"Tattooed pin-up chicks who will fuck anybody, especially if the chick has one of those low back tattoos," Stanz answered, "All low back tattoos should be required to say, 'I'm a dirty bitch, so if you're reading this then you're probably banging my ass so hard scientists are picking up an eight on the Richter scale."

I was worried he'd finally crossed a line with Rosemary when he said that, but she surprised me by adding, "It's ten dollars a letter, do you know how much that would cost?"

"How do you know that?" Stanz asked, incriminatingly.

"She has one," I answered, "and it's on her low back."

Everyone laughed––my god did they laugh––except for me. I was pissed, because this should've bothered her and didn't.

"Rosemary, you're full of shit," he said, "I've seen most of you and there ain't no tattoo."

She wiped the tears from her big reddish-brown eyes, rubbed her sore cheeks, hooked her black hair behind her ear, and then, fully recomposed, said, "I got it last year, I wanted to do something special for my twenty-fourth birfday."

"Bullshit, let's see it?"

"No, it's too low."

"Too low?"

"So my skirts can hide it."

"It's on your ass?"

"Just the top part."

"Well that's nothing. We can see that, come on."

"Jeeze Louise, fine."

At this point I'd grown too pissed to stop her, and so I just let her hike a knee up onto the 'U' shaped seat we were sitting on, unclasped her black slacks, and then lower the zipper enough to loosen them down and reveal the top of her white ass. When I said Rosemary was sort of a Goth girl, I meant that she is Goth but keeps it relatively conservative. She doesn't have any crazy corsets, fishnets, or laminated, black hot pants. Instead she has an affinity for black slacks and long, wine colored skirts topped with either a patent leather jacket or her favorite fifties, short-waisted, mint-green sweater, complete with a black, zig-zaggy trim up the front and around the collar. That evening she'd worn the sweater and slacks. Her makeup and hair made the strongest Goth statement, with heavily applied eye shadow and liner like the early silent film stars, and she kept her straight, black hair in a bob cut. She appeared like something out of the past, but with strong suggestive undertones.

She attempted to show everyone her tattoo, but didn't loosen her slacks enough at first, and the tight hem pinched into the cheek area, accentuating its softness. She unzipped them all the way after that, so the waist was completely baggy, then lowered them to expose the tops of either cheek and just below the V divot where it turns into genuine ass crack. 

She was between us, facing me, so Stanz had a clear view of her partially exposed ass. Penny sat on his other side, leaning over the table to see, and like me, I could tell her laughter was quickly fading.

Rosemary's tattoo read, 'At Play in the Garden'. On the left cheek, underling that section of letters, was also a neatly detailed sprig of rosemary, and on the right cheek, underling that portion, was a sprig of leafy sage. The letters were in a fancy, swirling script, and hard to read in the dark bar. Stanz leaned in a little closer, trying his best to make out the words.

"What's it say?" Penny asked.

"I can't tell," Stanz said, then to Rosemary, who was turned around and looking at her own ass, "What's it say?"

"You really can't read it?"

"Hold on." Stanz pulled out his keys, which had a small pen light attached to them, and the blurry black lines suddenly turned into delicate writing. "At play in the garden," he read. "What's it mean?" he asked, putting his keys away.

She began to pull up her pants and say that it's personal, but not before Stanz said, "Wait! Wait, I got one," and stopped her. To everyone's surprise, he touched her left cheek, just under the words, then quickly ran his finger underneath them as it pushed into the soft flesh, dipped into the start of her ass crack, and then into the soft flesh of her right check. He immediately returned his finger to start position, and zipped it along a second time, and on this pass his finger went lower, and when it bumped into her crack it bent down and spread her cheeks a bit when dragged out. "I'm speed reading! Get it?"

Before he could make a third pass, Rosemary pulled up her pants, which knocked his finger away. She then sat back down and leaned against me, mainly to get away from him. I'd grown furious, although I was still trying to smile and not be a dick about it, but I wouldn't put my arm around her, and just sort of let her lean uncomfortably. She was drunk, Stanz was drunk, and I was drunk––possibly so drunk that it might have been the drink encouraging my anger. So was it just me? I looked to the most sober person in the group, trying to read how Penny felt about it. She didn't seem upset, although she wasn't laughing anymore. She'd maintained a polite smile, but her eyes had wandered upwards and appeared very uncomfortable. So, no, it wasn't just me.

Stanz keeled over as far as the table allowed him to, laughing his ass off, and Rosemary was only giggling now.

"So every time you two go doggy, Less reads that? How many times have you had to read that thing, Less? Fifty? A hundred?"

"Something like that."

"Man, Rosemary, I wish I'd known you in high school. I would have wrote my homework up and down your back, then popped some Viagra and studied like a mother fucker. People would be like, 'Hey, Rosemary, why are you walking funny?' And you'd be like, 'Owww ahhh owww, Stanz got another 'A''. Then they'd be like, 'Hey Rosemary, why do you have an ice pack on your crotch?' 'Ouchie owww ouchie, Stanz has his, ouch ouch, SAT Saturday.'" He drummed on the table and said, "Oh man that is funny shit. Then they'd be all, 'Rosemary, how'd you lose your voice?' 'Uh, Stanz put the extra credit questions on my forehead"

I'd had it. I whispered to Rosemary to follow me to the bathrooms.

"We'll be right back."

"Cool. Going to catch up on some reading?" He drummed the table again.

I walked Rosemary to the little alcove that lead to the restrooms, looked sharply into her eyes, and said, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. What do you mean?"

"Stanz just felt your ass."

"He's only goofing around, Less. He's just trying to be funny. You didn't think it was funny?"

"No."

"Touching my butt was a little unexpected, I admit that."

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"He's your friend, and I didn't want to shake things up and get you mad."

"I'm already mad.

"Don't be, please. I had no idea you were getting jealous or I would have moved to the other side of you."

"It has nothing to do with whether I'm jealous or not. He's in there treating you like dirt and you don't even pick up on it. I'm at a fucking loss here."

"Don't say that, please. If there's something you want me to do, just tell me what it is? Anything you want me to say or do, I will."

"But you don't see how he's disrespecting you––how he's disrespecting me?"

"Yeah, but they were only jokes, and nobody else seemed to mind."

I didn't know how to get through to her, and her public submissiveness was really starting to get to me. I always thought that if I treated her special she'd demand the same from everyone else, but I guess it's stupid to assume you can change anyone, because you can't, and that's why I was at a loss. 

Several years before this, Stanz and I were getting breakfast at a restaurant on the street leading up to the Manhattan Beach Pier, when he thumps me in the chest and says, "Shit, the waitress, she's the chick Kyle put the slammy on."

I'd already noticed the waitress, not because I'd recognized her but because I found her remarkably cute––pale skin, jet black hair with straight bangs, angular cheeks, reddish brown eyes, and a dainty pouting mouth. She also wore her eyeliner and shadow in a heavy way that caused me to immediately think Goth chick. I could easily picture her hanging out at some club after work wearing something far more moody and dark than the yellow dress she hosted in. Her expression and the way she held herself made her seem unapproachable, perhaps even on the cold side, or maybe just shy. 

'She's absolutely stunning,' I thought, and when Stanz had pointed out whom she was, that she was the girl Kyle did 'that' to; I almost pulled a double take.

Of course our hostess had been Rosemary.

I'll be honest, if Rosemary weren't so stinking beautiful I probably would've never ended up asking her out that day. I know it sounds shallow, and it is, but her looks made me lose my mind and get into a relationship that had more giant warning signs than a nuclear power plant run by nearsighted preschoolers.

As we walked up to podium where she stood, she looked suddenly nervous, like Stanz was a cop about to accuse her of a horrible crime, but Stanz thankfully kept quiet, a first for him. 

We sat and ordered, and about half way through the meal I left the table to go to the bathroom. I'm a sucker for a girl in distress, and I think Stanz presence caused her plenty. Instead of going to the bathroom I found myself writing my number on a food-to-go menu and returned to the podium were she greeted people. Then I confessed, "Listen, my friend Stanz is a bit of a dick, and that guy Kyle is a total a Dick."

"Okay? Why are you telling me your friends are dicks?"

"Because I'm not! Seriously, I'm not a dick. Not like them."

"Okay, your friend is a dick and your not. Is that what you wanted me to know?"

"Yeah. Here!" I handed her the menu with my phone number on it. "I've never given my number to a girl before, and you are fucking beautiful, and I am terrified right now."

She took it, looked at it, and laughed, "Your name's 'Not a dick'?"

"Actually it's Less, but I got you to smile with that, and the phone number is real."

"I don't know."

"That's fine. Just––don't throw it away, Okay. At least not until I leave."

She was blushing at this point, and still smiling. I made some crazy nervous gesture with my hands and then went back to breakfast.

She was truly tragic, and I couldn't stand it. For some reason I felt I had to right a wrong, prove to her that a guy could be someone nice, and nothing like Kyle. I hadn't known the whole story with her and Kyle, but I'd heard enough from him one night over beers. She seemed shy, not easy or loose or at all how I'd imagined her, and I just couldn't believe she was 'that' girl. Once I had a face to put with his story, all I could think was how fucking dare he mistreat a creature as pretty as our hostess. 

But it wasn't just Kyle, and that's where it gets really sickening.

Kyle and Stanz had a band with this dude we called Pleats, but that's all they had in common with him. In fact, I remember back in high school, Pleats was kind of this boring kid who dressed just like his yuppie old man and didn't have any friends. Kyle on the other hand, was always a bastard, but he was also funny as fuck and totally fearless, so he could pretty much get away with anything and still have more friends than a whore on a battleship.

Kyle picked on Pleats a lot, and I'm pretty sure Pleats hated him. The school used to give us apples with our lunch that no one ate, and Kyle saw him opening his locker across the hall from us and said to me, "An apple a day keeps the Dockers away." He then threw the apple and it exploded on the neighboring locker, showering Pleats in applesauce.

But none of that mattered when Stanz decided he needed a trumpet player for his band, which Pleats happened to be. Their band sucked, but apparently girls don't know shitty music when they hear it, and they booked real gigs at real clubs and conjured up a bit of a groupie following. I know it was mostly just Kyle drawing them in, he was still funny as fuck and had a certain fifties greaser's charm about him. Once I saw the girls coming to their shows, I was so pissed at myself for not picking up an instrument and participating that I couldn't stand going to see them play.

Then, after a two year lapse in our friendship, his band happened to be the first of several opening acts for Save Ferris, so I showed up early for old time's sake. I was surprised to see that Pleats had been replaced with a new horn player, whom I thought better suited the band. In fact, the whole band had grown in size and Kyle stopped singing juvenile frat boy songs to deliver real material. I actually enjoyed their show. 

When their set ended, Kyle loaded up his equipment, and then we headed across the street and started catching up over beers at a bowling alley bar. Save Farris didn't come on until ten-thirty, so I still had a few hours to kill.

We were the only ones in the bar area and so we sat in a booth by the jukebox, loaded it with quarters, and talked as loud as we damned well pleased. He was going on about the band as if they were big time, and he already had a ton of 'band stories'.

His Rosemary story happened to be right at the top of the list. He took a swig. "Remember Pleats? Pleats can tell you what a dog I really am. We were playing a show, and this chick I'd went to elementary and junior high with showed up. She was with her sister and her sister's friends, bar hoping for someone's birthday. So this chick wanted my dick back in school real bad. Hold on, I gotta piss, and I wanna give you the long version of this story."

He got up and went to the head.

I recently learned from Rosemary that it was true; she did have a crush on Kyle. Apparently back in fifth grade some stuck-up bitch was showing off to her friends by harassing Rosemary, telling her that Rosemary's sister is a slut because her dad had killed himself. She asked Rosemary some really nasty things, like, "Have you sucked a guy's dick yet? I heard your sister sucked black, scummy, bum dick so the bum would by her beer, is that true? I heard it was true. I bet you're going to do the same. Or have you already sucked a guy's dick?"

Rosemary was crying at this point but the stuck up girl wouldn't let up. "Don't cry. We're sorry. What if we find you some dicks to suck, will that help?" She saw Kyle at that point, and said, "Kyle, can you come visit with us. Rosemary needs your help. She won't stop crying unless she can suck a guy's dick. Can she suck your dick, Kyle?"

He apologized to Rosemary for not being interested in a blowjob at the moment, and then said to the stuck up girl, "How about you, Kelly, you wanna make out?"

All the girl's had always liked Kyle, and stuck-up Kelly was no exception. He caught her completely off guard, however, and she bashfully stammered, "Okay."

"Well, have fun making out. Tell me how it goes."

Kelly's friends burst out laughing, and Kelly couldn't stand it. The tears came so quick that she started crying before she could do anything to stop it, while her friends practically laughed right in her face. Then, in front of crying Kelly and all the other envious girls, Kyle took hold of Rosemary's books, and walked her home. By the time they reached her house, Rosemary felt completely better, and had a total crush on Kyle ever since.

Of course I hadn't known Rosemary or any of this while talking with Kyle at the bowling alley bar, and now it rips at my heart strings whenever I think of this otherwise charming childhood tale.

When Kyle returned from the head, he tore right back into his story. "So I see this chick who's wanted me to fuck her brains out since elementary school. But she was a beanpole and a total basket-case back then. Her dad killed himself and shit. The whole family was loony. But dude, she is all grown up, and fuck, she's completely filled out––looks fucking awesome! Still a basket-case, though. I'd fuck her, but no way would I ever date a basket-case like that."

"So, as I'm walking over to talk to her, I realize Pleats is tailing me, like right on my heels. So I ask him what's up, and he tells me he's had a thing for this Rosemary chick since like forever. And so now I start thinking, what the hell, I'll make it happen for Pleats. So I introduce him and get them both close in on each other, and it seems like it's going perfect, but then a week later he tells me that ain't shit happened yet. I mean, this girl's older sister is a huge whore, it's a known fact, so I know this Rosemary chick's got it in her, and I tell Pleats, 'If you really wanna nail this chick, bring her to my apartment.' And he did."

"So we're at my place, all kicking it and eating pizza out on my small balcony, and they are like two fucking mutes, like I don't remember them saying anything the whole time. It was pretty obvious why no fucking was happening––they couldn't even talk! So I start playing like a couple's counselor, kind of asking Pleats what he thinks about her hair and shit. And he even blows my point blank question, telling her he liked how she wore it back in school. So I just decide I'm going to show him how it's done, and I start telling her she looks like Cleopatra. I fucking start telling her that Cleopatra was awesome, because while every male emperor was making giant, vertical, stone cocks, she was putting tit pyramids out in the desert. Then I tell her that Cleopatra goes and lets an asp bite her tit, that's how she went out––crazy fucking poetic suicide, that's how it's done––like she induced death by sex––the poisonous bite of a patriarchal society, because she was too fucking awesome and they couldn't stand it. I had Pleat's chick blushing with that, dude. Her ghost ass was blushing!"


At Play in the Garden



"Then I see she's rubbing her hand, I remember her doing that in the club, too, and I take it and start massaging her straight fingers with black nails, and tell Pleats to do the other one."

"I could see my work was done, man, so I get up to use the bathroom and leave them there on the balcony, with Pleats massaging up her arm. I just kicked it inside after that, thinking I ought to get my own radio show for this counseling shit. But like five minutes later the glass door opens and she comes inside with Pleats behind and she sits next to me and says she wants to learn how to massage a hand the way I just did, and held out her palm for me to demonstrate on. And that was fucking it."

"Next thing I know my tongue's down her throat and Pleats is rubbing her feet. Then my tongue came out and my dick went in, and she sucked my cock without even acknowledging Pleats was in the room. I could tell he wasn't cool with it, and went over and sat in the chair by the kitchen. 'Fuck it,' I thought, and reached over and unsnapped her long skirt, and started to slip it down, and then I seen her fine ass reveal itself, and I saw black frilly underwear with a spider web lace on the hipbones, and that luckily reminded me what a basket-case she was or else I would've covered her back up until I'd smacked Pleats right out of my apartment and horded this fine-ass chick all to myself, but fuck, I was seriously afraid to be alone with this nut. I don't have the patience or energy for moody freak-out's, you know."

"And I'm telling you, this chick was pretty fine. She had skinny arms, a healthy chest, narrow waist, some generous thighs, and a dick hungry ass. I finally start fucking her, and Pleat's never leaves his chair. I was tapping the love of his life right in front of the loser. I then decided to flat out ruin her for him, and I hammered that pussy like I'd never hammered a pussy before. I kept expecting her to pull away, but she took it. She took it as hard as I could give it, dude. She was one sassy fuck bunny––the sassiest––and I rode her relentlessly. I packed her full of so much cock I thought she'd bust at the seams. That girl was taking a licking and kept on trickin'"

I laughed, and that egged Kyle on. 

"I fucking totaled her, dude, I drove her blue book value straight into the ground. I fucking brought this vampire back from the dead––had her blood-sucking-ass sucking on cum."

"When I was done I threw them out, and let Pleats drive her home. I was a dog man. Pleats quit the band over it, but I was going to replace him anyway. She was the best fuck I've ever had, just took it all, and I already wanted to fuck her again, but I wasn't going to do the relationship thing. I still fucked her a bunch after that, until she finally got a clue and realized all she was going to get off me was thorough pounding, because that's what a dog I am, dude!"

And that was Kyle's story about 'that' girl, which the big-mouth, degrading bastard just loved to share. And I'll admit that at the time, having never met the slutty piece of meat he triumphantly nailed in front of Pleats, I really didn't think too much of her.

But as I said, when I finally did meet her out at breakfast, hosting at the restaurant, my opinion of 'that' girl in Kyle's story changed. I instantly understood that the shallowness was completely one sided. She was a victim, a dreamy demure victim. If Kyle had never carried her books that day and just left her to be berated by those stuck-up girls, she probably would've been better off just hating him.

When she called me a few days after I'd left my number on a to go menu, she was still very unsure about me, understandable given my acquaintances. I tried my best to be charming on the phone, however, and after laughing together for a half hour or so, she agreed to meet me for a date.

We met for lunch, then afterwards went for a walk along the beach, and as our feet sunk into the cold wet sand by the water, she asked, "What do you really want?"

I wanted to give her an honest answer, and as I thought about it the heaviness of the ocean winds and all the salt and smells of seaweed stimulated my courage to go with my heart, and I quickly answered, "Just someone to appreciates kindness and enjoys being treated like the most special prize in the world, because that's all I really have to offer." It would have been corny, except it was the truth, and she knew it. 

Two weeks later I waited for her to get dressed in her apartment, and I unconsciously loosened the burnt wick on one of her dozens of candles while staring at myself in an old, black, iron, framed mirror. I could hardly believe I was in her room, and then her beautiful face emerged behind me, and I noticed her shirt was gone, showing off her black frilly bra. I turned around to face her, and saw the spooky looking cross she wore between her tits.

"What should I wear? Are we doing fancy?" she asked, and only then did I see the two blouses she held in either hand. Ignoring her question, I just made a move to kiss her. It heated up quick, and we kissed our way into her messy bedroom. She put on some music, something called Emilie Autumn, and it was filled with violins and a moody sensual female voice––and not the noisy metallic Goth I'd expected to be her 'thing'. The apartment was cheap, modern, stucco, drywall, and grey paint, but all that disappeared behind the bits and pieces of second hand antiques she'd collected. Above her lacy white bed was a black sheet of paper tacked to the wall, with the large blood red inscription, 'A HEART ON FIRE'.

I removed her bra, and for the first time I saw those fat tits, nipples and all. And with the setting sun spilling in from between the blinds, turning her pale flesh a vibrant red, I nibbled and dined on those perfect tits, and traced her pink nipple over and over with my tongue, until I knew I had to move on, there was so much more of her, and I couldn't wait to know every inch.

I lovingly fucked her for a half-hour, outlasting the sun light, and climaxing in a pitch black room. When I flipped on the lights, she looked a little uncomfortable to be fully exposed in front of someone she'd only known a few weeks. I felt exactly the opposite; and hugged her up in my arms.

"We'd better get ready or we're never going to get in."

"Wait," I said, stopping her from rushing to her closet. "Can I just look at you for a minute?" She smiled, a little kinkiness in it, and then did a sweet, stylish twirl for me. When my minute was up, she stood there in open posture and with eyes that were full reddish-brown moons, awaiting my request next. She then eagerly asked, "What now? Dress?"

Something told me even then that I could've asked her to come back into bed and fuck me all over again, and she would've. Or I could have asked her to make us some macaroni with only an apron on, or pretty much anything I could imagine, and she would've obeyed without a single word of defiance. That obedient stare of hers was amazingly empowering. I actually grew a little bit scared, because that kind of power trip will test what kind of man you really are.

I managed to keep my requests respectful that evening. I wanted to be the gentleman I'd promised to be, and make her forget about ever having a past with anyone else.

She showed me some dresses she made by removing sections of old clothes and assembling parts from various dresses. She'd stolen the idea from watching Pretty in Pink, and I said, "Didn't those dresses look shitty? These are pretty awesome. I'd hardly say you stole the idea if this is what you're coming up with." And what she had come up with were some amazing combinations, although, she'd never wear them. Maybe on a special occasion, but that was it. I loved this aspect of her life, and with tons of encouragement, she began wearing them every so often.

I also loved the way hickeys looked on her pale flesh. I'd leave little marks all over her body, and if she had on a dress, I would pull the collar an inch to the side, suck lightly until a red little almond appeared, and then cover it back up, leaving the precariously positioned hickey to be revealed if her dress should shift ever so slightly, or buckle just a tiny bit in the right spot. 

In no time at all, I began to not only love the hickeys and clothes, but everything about her. The thing is, I went into the relationship feeling absolutely non-judgmental, and that in itself is a liberating, wonderful experience, and allowed me to examine her deeper and accept everything I found. It was an amazingly exciting way to approach someone, and we had a euphoric first six months.

Eventually my friends began to wonder where I'd gone to, and it wasn't long before word got around I was seeing Rosemary. Kyle was one of the first to call and complain. It was a Sunday, and Rosemary coming over. While I waited, I drank a beer and lay back on my couch, and then the phone rang, and he launched right into it.

"Dude, Tell me you are not dating that chick!"

"What's up, Kyle?"

"Do not get serious with her! I'm telling you, Less!"

I just laughed.

"You don't date a girl like that, you get your dick wet and then move on––lose her number."

Without directly telling him he was an asshole, I tried to explain that she'd just fucked up, and she really wasn't 'that' girl.

"Wasn't 'that' girl? Then who the hell did I plug my dick into? Because it sure as fuck looked like her."

"She thought you were someone else." 

"Who the fuck she think I was, the Federal Bureau of Pussy Inspection? I was fucking her, dude, and not just once, so how can she say she didn't know who I was? Doesn't it bother you?"

"Nope, doesn't bother me, and you'll get over it."

"I ain't getting over it. I can't just pretend nothing ever happened. Fuck, dude, I shoved Stanz's drumsticks in her snatch and had her fuck herself with them. And I can't just wipe that sight out of my head, dude."

"Listen, Kyle, shut the fuck up, you're crossing a line."

"See! This is exactly what I mean. Already you're getting pissed off at me. It's my fucking fault, that's what you're thinking, and it's not, dude. You knew who this chick was, and you went for it anyway. I didn't do that, you did! And don't say nothing to Stanz about the drumsticks, he'll freak out if he knew he'd played with snatch sticks."

"Then just forget about her." 

"Forget about her? I can't just block that shit out of my mind, can't you hear what I'm saying? I ain't never tore a pussy up like that before. I don't want to get over it. I don't want to forget about it. I like it just the way it is. I don't want to have to respect this chick, and I don't think I ever can. I mean, what are you thinking, dude?"

"What happened between you two was all you, man, not her. You acted like a damn asshole. Am I wrong?"

"If that were the case, then she had plenty of time to figure it out. I mean, how many times do you think a chick needs to fuck a guy to realize he's a dog?" 

"Kyle, you're now talking about my girlfriend. She's my girlfriend, that's how it is, and so watch it!" 

"Let me tell you something, I know how it is, dude, because I had my dick up inside her, just like you do now. Trust me, I could have spent the rest of my life fucking that fine ass snatch, but at some point, after reaming her hollow, you're gonna have to pull out your dick, turn her around, and look her in the eye. Can you look your girlfriend in the eye, man? Can you honestly tell me you can look her in the eye and 'get over it'? Because I know I'll never be able to."

"For fuck's sake, I told you, there's nothing for me to get over."

"Well fuck, I proud of you, you're a real big man! What the fuck, dude? I mean, even if it doesn't bug the shit out of you now, it's gonna. Once that pussy loses its shiny newness, you're gonna hate her. You're gonna hate her so fucking bad, and you are gonna replace me as being A-number-one-biggest-asshole in her life, hands down."

"You didn't have shit with her, and I do, and that's the difference, fucker!"

I was sounding pretty upset at this point, I know it, so he paused, and took a deep frustrated breathe before continuing in a much calmer tone, "OK, that's exactly what I'm saying; I didn't have shit with her. And see, I'd understand if we did have a relationship. If we gave it a shot and failed, and then you two hit it off, then fine, dude, I'd be totally fine with that. But look at it from my point of view, I just exploited that pussy, dude, I tore it apart for my pleasure, and now that I'm done, I don't want that shit around. And now you're telling me you think you're in love or some shit, and you're gonna be clinging to this chick who I can't even look in the eye. You're asking me to respect someone I can't possibly respect, not in the way you want me to."

"I don't care, Kyle. Whatever happened between you two is dead, understand, so I don't even want to hear about it, anymore. And if you can't look her in the eye, then you'd better not ever look me in the eye!"

"Fuck it, dude, live in your little fantasy world for as long as you can. Nice knowing you."

He hung up and I slammed the phone down right afterwards.

When Rosemary arrived she presented me with a present, and I bit down on all the anger Kyle had stirred up in me, and tried to return to the moment and be happy again. The present was a box wrapped in black tissue paper, which I took to the couch while she grabbed herself a beer. I tore it open and found a shirt inside. I held it up and saw that it was one of her creations. She found an old black and blue bowling shirt, and replaced the back section with material she'd salvaged from a dress featuring a huge embroidered dragon. The dragon stretched from the collar to the hem, covering the entire backside of the shirt. It was awesome! I put it on over my T-shirt, and it fit perfect, almost as if it was tailored.

I looked at it in the mirror, and it was too much, I had this huge wave of emotion sweep over me, and I didn't know how to control it. I was happy and in-fucking-love, and I knew it, but I was extremely pissed off at Kyle and the rest of the world at the same time, for not leaving our happiness and us alone.

"You no like?"

"Oh man, I love it!"

"You sure, you don't look like you love it?"

"Yeah, I really do."

"I tried to keep it masculine. And I just knew I had to make something for you when I saw the dragon."

"It's cool. It really is."

"Okay." She then moved in between me and the mirror and slipped her arms around my waist. "Then what's wrong?"

I wanted to tell her nothing, but the whole accepting her as she is and being totally non judgmental was a double edged sword, in that I had to be completely honest about myself in return, so I tried to think of a way to sum up my feelings without the details, and said "Kyle called and was just his usual asshole self."

"I thought you two weren't very good friends."

"He still thinks we are. Or he thought we were."

"You seem pretty upset. Are you sure you weren't better friends than you thought?"

"That's not it. He just really gets to me." The anger in me seethed as I said that, and she'd heard it.

Letting go of me she moved towards the couch, but didn't sit down. Staring at the old metal off ramp sign I'd hung on my wall, announcing that Sepulveda was two miles ahead, she said, "Well, maybe it's my fault."

Her silly suggestion almost made me laugh, and I assured her, "It's not your fault."

She turned halfway around with her arms crossed in front of her, and looked at me. "Are you sure? I mean, I know this has always been a little awkward for you."

"It might be awkward for Kyle, but not me."

She unlocked her arms, turned to face me, and said, "Hmm, well, maybe it could still be my fault?"

Her reddish-brown eyes had grown intriguingly wide and her nostrils flared, looking like she was suddenly afraid to move without my approval. I immediately knew what her game was, and said, "Maybe. Maybe you can be blamed for some of this."

A smile momentarily appeared before she successful fought it off and her face returned to total submission. What ever anger I felt towards Kyle instantly transformed into an animal like lust for Rosemary. It made me realize how anger and lust are in dangerous proximity of each other, and once again, I found myself feeling this game was almost too dangerous to play. I was afraid to continue, but also compelled to. "What should I do with you?" 

"I don't know. I didn't mean to do anything wrong."

I walked to her, "But you did do something wrong, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, but you soon will be."

I took her arm as I sat on the couch, and then pulled her towards me, positioning her with my other hand, and then laid her face down on the couch, with her pelvis on my lap. I lifted her skirt to reveal her black panty clad ass. God it was beautiful, and I was insane. Her face had disappeared into the cushions, this was between me and her ass, or more specifically, my hand and her ass. All my feelings had now drained into this disciplinary act, and as I raised my hand, I said, "You are wicked, and you know it. And I have no choice, I'm sorry." Then I spanked her hard. HARD!

"Uh," she squeaked into the couch cushion, and I spanked her again and again. Each one had to be harder than the last, and then I delivered a series of quick bursts that made her raise her head up and sequel. I pulled her panties free, because I was insane with desire and had to see the skin, the cheeks, the fat perfect shapes that couldn't possibly be anymore beautiful. I clawed the black panties down to her knees, and then struck her bare bottom with my palm. The noise was sharp and the meat tightly reverberated against my hand. Two more slaps and her pale cheeks turned scarlet.

I thought about Kyle telling me he'd shoved drumsticks into her, and I felt something leap up my spine and into my shoulders, then into my arm as it tensed and raised up. I looked at her ass, holding my hand over my head, and felt a connection between her breathtaking feminine shrine and that jack-off I was so pissed at. Possibly because he'd fucked it at one time, but it didn't really matter why, I just knew that as cute as it was, I had to hurt it to gain any relief at all. And I did, I slapped it hard and she curled her legs, shifting her ass sideways. I grabbed it and put it right back into place, then I slipped a hand in between her legs, and forced them apart as far as the underwear at her knees would allow. I then slid my finger along her pussy, feeling how wet she'd grown, and stuck it inside.

"You are fucking wicked," I said, and she surrendered with a loud sigh, as I worked my finger deeper into her sacred world. In no time I was digging in fast and furious and she made a safe place by cupping her palms together and hid within it her disgraceful face. Soon my finger was not enough. I had to get the real flesh of desire in there, and I had to do it now. With dire urgency I yanked my pants down as I ran to the bedroom and dug into our nightstand drawer for a few items.

Gone only a few seconds, I returned and positioned her knees on the couch to elevate her ass and open it up. The slight angle of her legs made it appear that her ass was moving away from me, and this would not do, so I grabbed her hips and pulled her back. Rosemary is pretty tight, but she doesn't have any problem getting wet, and there's never been a real use for lubricant, but then there's something sinfully cheap and exciting about lube. I snapped on the yellow, rubber gloves I'd brought with me and then uncapped a tube of Astro Glide. I was up close to her snatch, pulling one cheek to the side with my gloved hand, and watched closely the almost clinical act of inserting the small coned tip inside her, and then I squeezed until the entire tube was empty. I grabbed a second little tube, but this time I slipped the whole thing inside her plus my finger tips before squeezing it empty. The third one I pushed even deeper inside, clear up to my second gloved knuckle. Watching this sleazy procedure got me so totally fired up that I almost shot off early. Then I had this weird sensation, like I was readying her pussy for an execution. I bumped my hips into hers, and it was so slippery I could barely land on target. But once I did, look out! My cock was extremely hard, and lube was dripping through my pubs and hers. Her dress was still flipped up over her back, and I pulled it down enough to grab her belt and get a good tight grip on it, since my gloves were glistening with lube. Using the leather belt to yank her against me, I fucked her for all she was worth. If you actually could execute a pussy by fucking it, the fucking I gave this one should've done just that.




At Play in the Garden



"Is this lesson getting thorough to you, my dear?" I said, as the insanity set in stronger and stronger. Let everything Kyle said be true, I didn't care; anything that granted me an excuse to attack her ass was welcomed at that point. Everything shitty I'd felt before, was now just a turn on, and I couldn't hold out for more than five minutes before I felt the need to lose the seed. I pulled out and lifted her up by her shoulder, then pushed her head towards my cock. She knew exactly what I asking, even though it was all new to me and I didn't have a clue, and she took my cock into her mouth and arched her neck to move down over it, expertly so. Really, what monstrous fucking thing was I doing to my girlfriend? I was completely insane. I pushed into her throat and she kept her lips around my shaft tight, and then it happened, my balls snuggled together as I fired off into her hot watery mouth, and she softly hummed, her gift well received. 

I was dizzy by the time the last drip met her tongue and I sat down on the floor, and then fell back, laying there. She crawled up next to me, pulling up my shirt and commenced with tiny kisses. She had a strange glow about her, like her world was perfectly settled, and I couldn't help but wonder if my little sub felt it her duty to take my pain onto herself, and in her own subservient way, she'd taken care of me. I was breathless, confused, staring intensely at the ceiling. She softly stroked my chest with her hand as her little kisses found their way to my cheeks and forehead, and my insanity subsided as she smothered me in her gentle lips. I turned so that our mouths met, and we kissed each other deep and hard, and I suddenly felt better about everything. I knew a strange shift had happened between us, a shift towards something a little dark and foreboding, yet somehow warmer and more wonderful than anything.

My eyes had been opened.

Things continued to go well between us, I'd met her mom and sister, and they were wild fun people. Her mom was a bit of a hippy, and her sister Sage was not at all how I'd imagined her to be. The only word I'd heard to describe her before was 'slut', and while technically she might have been a slut in her quantity of lovers, she wasn't the type to look for any validation from a man or in any way 'easy'.

It was a vegetarian meal, but it was excellent, everything coming from their mom's garden. While we ate, Sage did most of the talking, asking me and her new boyfriend all kinds of hard questions, and sharing stories about Rosemary that caused Rosemary to blush. She controlled the room, being extremely charismatic, and capped off every joke with the greatest laugh I've ever heard. Her boyfriend was cool, but I don't remember his name, just that he seemed like a pretty easy going surfer in pursuit of laughs and waves. Although he did have eye liner on, so he was most likely a bit of a Goth freak himself. I admit, by the end of dinner I was a bit smitten with Sage, and already looking forward to doing this again.

After dinner, the sisters gave us a tour of their old rooms and their yard where they would play after school. Their mom's garden took up most of it, but she left wide aisles between the vegetables and flowers that the girls would run along as kids. In the middle, in a spot that was not very visible form the house, there was an old 'T' shaped pole that had been part of a clothesline, and Sage ran to it, followed by Rosemary. The sun was setting, and shadows from corn stalks fell across their faces. Sage appeared to be a slightly more masculine version of Rosemary, but it didn't make her any less beautiful. She stood two inches taller than Rosemary, and was two years older, and so pretty much over shadowed her in everyway. 

Sage then announced that the clothesline pole was part of their favorite game, which entailed tying Rosemary up and making her some tea. The way she'd described it, Rosemary would stand straight against the pole, and she'd wrap this really, really long rope around Rosemary, forming so many loops that she was pretty much entirely covered by rope from just below her shoulders to just above her knees. Sage would then run into the house, put on a kettle, take a TV tray out to the garden, and set it up right in front of Rosemary. She'd then carry out a smaller fancy tray holding their mother's china teapot with mint tea brewing inside, and two, tiny, matching, china cups. She poured the tea and sat at her end of the table. Occasionally she'd stand up and put Rosemary's cup to her lips, so Rosemary could take a sip.

As if reading my mind, her boyfriend said, "That is the kinkiest, hottest thing I've ever heard."

Instantly Sage joked back at him, "Shut up, Mr. Please-handcuff-me-to-the-bed." Then she explained that it didn't really get kinky until they entered their teens. By then she'd undress Rosemary before tying her up, and the process of tying usually took about ten minutes to completely wrap her to the pole. Rosemary blushed as Sage spoke, and I could tell she was mildly excited, looking at Sage with the wide compliant gaze that gets me going every time. When complete, the tight loops kept Rosemary's body from being completely exposed, but if anyone were to see her like that, her bare shoulders and slivers of skin peeking between the ropes would reveal her predicament. And there she'd stay, helpless, a naked twelve-year-old girl, tied up with no chance of getting away, while her sister made tea in the house.

"She used to put bugs in the tea." Rosemary added.

Sage's surfer boyfriend and I both gave Sage a nasty look and groaned in disgust.

"What?" she asked, feeling cornered, "I didn't make her eat the bugs. It was just those little pill bugs, and they'd sit at the bottom of the cup like a sugar cube, and she'd sip the tea."

"And she made me smoke a joint. And she had her boyfriend come over and they kissed all over my face and felt me up."

We again looked at Sage in astonishment.

"We were older. You were what, thirteen? I was fifteen. It was my first real boyfriend. I was fifteen and I'm tying my naked, little sister up in the backyard, it just seemed like something I should share with my boyfriend. And shut up, Rosemary, your little submissive ass loved it. Don't play innocent."

Rosemary only smiled back, a bit wicked, a bit seductive, and far from innocent.

Once again, the more I learned about Rosemary, the more I loved her.

Not long after that, I was invited to a bachelor party for my friend Emory. Stanz was hosting it, because his parents were out of town and they had pretty nice digs, nice for Torrance, anyway. A stripper had been hired but we were all hanging out by the pool trying to float a keg before her magic hour came. There were about fifteen of us, and someone had brought some coke and someone else some weed. Kyle was there, and I'd only spoken to him once since we'd had it out on the phone. We weren't the best of friends before, and now we were maybe acquaintances. 

One of the guys jumped in the Jacuzzi and water came splashing out, running into the small flower garden next to the house, and Stanz yelled, "Cool it with the water, retard, your gonna kill my mom's geraniums."

Kyle was pretty coked up and drunk, and said, "Goddamn, still going on about the fucking geraniums!"

"Yeah, I'm still going on about the geraniums. You fucking killed them last time, and my mom was totally pissed. Fucking Kyle brings..." He paused for a second, and glanced quickly at me, and then immediately looked away before continuing, "...this chick, and he fucks her in the Jacuzzi."

In that brief moment, where he caught eyes with me, I knew it meant the chick had to be Rosemary.

"You're just pissed because the two girls from the club didn't show," Kyle clarified, "And I was able to call up my most reliable piece of ass and got some and you didn't."

"Fuck you, Kyle, I was pissed because I came out of the door, and I fucking see Kyle and this chick in the Jacuzzi––wait, they weren't really in the Jacuzzi, they were standing on the steps, and she was bent over with her hands on the concrete, and Kyle is just railing her from behind. And her ass is just about at water level, so he's making this huge wave of hot Jacuzzi water every time he bangs her ass. And by the time I came out, the fucking Jacuzzi is down a quarter, and there's mud and flowers washing down the side of our house. Really, what the fuck were you thinking, Kyle?" 

"I was tsunami fucking her, dude, it was totally awesome. I was fucking drunk and then Stanz is all drunk and belligerent so I ease up on fucking some to let the mighty sea settle down again. Then he goes and gets a big wide broom, and goes to the river of water and mud, and I swear, I couldn't help myself, I just yelled surf's up, and slammed my dick in this bitch hard, and it sent the mother of all waves splashing over Stanz's feet. So he starts coming at me with the broom and we jumped out of the fucking Jacuzzi and ran. And then I start fucking her on the chaise lounge right over there, while Stanz is sweeping the mud back into the little garden. I was driving more meat into her than a delivery truck headed for Outback, and slapping her ass and just getting brutal on her, and fucking Stanz is right over there trying to pick the flowers out of the mud and plant them back in the garden. It was the funniest fucking thing I've ever seen, dude."

Kyle was laughing hysterically, most everyone was, and I just didn't know what to think. I honestly couldn't be certain if they were talking about Rosemary or not, and I was already doubting that the quick glance Stanz gave me meant anything at all. So while it was possible that it could have been Rosemary, I was more than likely just being paranoid and getting unusually jealous for nothing. I soon found myself laughing about it with everyone else, and realized that it didn't really matter one way or the other, because I'd soon be getting relief from all these feelings as I spanked her naughty ass silly.

The stripper showed up several hours later, and I was so drunk by then I couldn't get out of my chair. The rest of the room was out of control, and when she stepped into the center of everyone, it was as if a piece of raw meat had been hurled into the lions' cage. She did all the nasty things strippers do, and all the guys did all the nasty things guys at a bachelor party do. I had trouble seeing past everyone, but it actually looked to me like Emory, the bachelor, had gotten his dick wet. Even as drunk as I was, though, I found her to be far, far less than stunning, so the whole thing just kind of disturbed me.

Then, as things were settling down and she went around the room in an overcoat, collecting her clothes, I felt a hand sweep through my hair. I looked up, and there was Rosemary, my ride home. "You ready, sweets?" she asked.

Then I heard one of the guys, still fired up on stripper love, yell out, "Whoa, look! Round two! The show ain't over yet, boys!"

"Rosemary, yeah! Go Rosemary!"

"Take it off!"

"We want more tits!"

She smiled for all of them, and I thought, 'Fuck, my subs at a bachelor party, this could be bad,' and so I made myself sober up real quick. I got a glass of water and when I came back Stanz was talking to Rosemary, and Kyle and this other guy named Jordan were next to him. For some reason my jealousy was churning up in my stomach at the mere sight of Kyle and Rosemary standing so close.

Turns out the guys were too drunk to even consider driving themselves, and Stanz was trying to hook them up with a ride home, which Rosemary had already agreed to. I fell asleep in the front seat of the car, occasionally waking up when they screamed out laughing in the back. Kyle was still a bit amped up on coke and Jeremy probably was too. I could see Rosemary's face through barely open eyes, and she was laughing, even speaking occasionally, and it burned me up.

She should have been pissed. Only a few hours ago, that asshole might have told a whole group of guys how he'd fucked her in front of Stanz. And even if it wasn't her they were talking about, I knew of several other instances that were about her, and she should've had enough self respect to hate that fucker, not drive him around while they yapped and laughed. All this was spinning through my mind as I passed out.

When I woke up again, Rosemary was shaking me, we were parked next to a McDonalds, and she had a coke in her hand. I heard them eating in the back seat, and jerked my head around until I was fully awake. She offered me the coke, saying, "It's Sprite. You should have some. It'll help. You should have some French fries, too." She turned around, and asked the guys, "Can I have a few more fries." Soon I was being handed some greasy, droopy fries, and I ate them as best I could. "The guys weren't doing too well, so I thought I should get everybody a little food."

I remembered Kyle's phone call a few months back, and him telling me he ain't never tore up a pussy like he had Rosemary's, and how he would never be able to look her in the eye without thinking about that shit. So that's who he saw sitting in the front seat, the pussy he'd brutally bopped. Meanwhile, she was playing the fool and buying him food and making sure he felt all goodie, goodie, good. The nonjudgmental guy I'd so proudly been apparently couldn't survive all the alcohol I drank, and the anger I was feeling couldn't be cured by spanking her silly later that night, not this time. In fact, it was specifically because she was being such a sub in this situation that I was getting so pissed off.

I didn't feel any different about things the next day, or the day after that, and soon realized I had a big problem. It was one thing to have a submissive partner all to yourself, but something else to watch her get fucked over by the whole world.

I'd started to wonder what life would be like if I broke it off with Rosemary. I could stop hating my friends, for one thing, and I could find a nice girl who had no history and wasn't a basket-case. It sounded like such an easy life, free of the emotional rollercoaster ride I'd been living. I loved Rosemary, but wouldn't if I continued to lose respect for her. As I broke the crust on a microwaved, Marie Calendar's chicken pot pie with a spoon, pushing the flaky chunks into the vegetables, yellow gravy, and cubes of meat, and stirring it into an lumpy mess, I realized I'd already made up my mind, and was just thinking of a way to go through with it. Then the phone rang, and on the other end Rosemary cried, and I laid down my spoon and took the phone into the bedroom as I put on my shoes and shirt, and rushed to the front door.

It was Sage, she'd been in a car wreck, and after picking up Rosemary we headed for the hospital. Her mother was already there, a complete mess. They'd pronounced Sage dead on arrival.

The week that followed was tough, we spent a lot of time with Rosemary's mom, as Rosemary and I helped around the house, cooking and cleaning, while her mom arranged the funeral and notified the family. Rosemary also made a dress for her sister to be buried in, and while it was a beautiful idea, it was also really hard on Rosemary. She'd used a very conservative full length black dress, but added a velvet strip that wrapped around her chest and a second one around her waist. When Rosemary wasn't comforting her mom, I was at her place comforting her. She took a new liking to snuggling up close to me as we slept, and I stayed with her every night.

The first week turned into two, and then a month had past, and her mourning seemed to give her mildly Goth appearance real weight, and she embodied a sorrow that went clear to the bone. 

The reasons I'd had for breaking it off with her didn't make sense to me anymore, and one night while having dinner at Kai Sushi on Sepulveda, she told me she had a dream where Sage had thanked her for the dress, and then held up a section of rope that was old, frayed, and about a foot long, and told Rosemary, "Sorry Rosie Poise, but I'm all out of rope."

Neither one of us really knew what to make of the dream, but she was happier than I'd seen her in a long time. She finished her whole meal, about seven pieces of a cream cheese veggie roll and a plate of vegetable tempura, also something I hadn't seen happen in awhile. Two days later, the owner of one of the second hand stores where Rosemary bought supplies called and asked if she'd be interested in supplying one-of-a-kind dresses for her new shop in West Hollywood. Rosemary grew ecstatic. A week later we found ourselves engaged.

I had a monumental surge of pride every time I'd introduce Rosemary to people as my fiancé. Our games in the bedroom had also resumed. In fact, we expanded our kinky horizon with a riding crop and a blindfold. I got promoted from a junior to a senior draftsperson in the architectural firm where I'd been working, which made me the youngest senior there. And then came our wedding, and while I hadn't intended on inviting Kyle, Stanz suggested I hire their band, or begged, actually. I told him I'd have to see how Rosemary felt about handing Kyle a microphone on our wedding day.

They were no longer the ska/rockabilly outfit they used to be. They'd pretty much given up the dream of being rock stars, and just played covers for the occasional party or bar booking, so we could actually request the songs they were going to play, and this wouldn't be the first wedding gig they'd had.

When I talked it over with Rosemary she didn't have much to say. "This is Kyle's band," I explained, "I wasn't even going to invite him, and now he's going to be there in a big way, are you sure this is okay?" But I couldn't get her to say no, the look of obedience was in her reddish-brown eyes, and she was relying on me to turn the question into a demand, but I couldn't do that, not regarding her wedding, not for the biggest day of her life, but she wouldn't say no, and so, a little angry, I finally declared, "Fine. It's not like it's going to hurt anything. We'll have him play." She was happy I'd made a decision, and was apologetic for being weak, and I ended up spanking her with the riding crop for it, and fucked her in a way that caused our headboard to drum the wall.

Our wedding took place in November, and held in a humble little dance hall out in Ontario. Everything went smooth as clockwork. Rosemary and I danced to Kyle and Stanz's band, and we exchanged glances that were all our own, just pure love, and I felt that even Kyle was happy for us, smiling on stage, singing with sensitive, shut eyes, and his head hunched towards the mic, like he was kissing a young girl. It wasn't until after they'd finished the first set and a DJ took over, and I spied Kyle and Rosemary talking, that I felt a weird array of emotions at my very own wedding.

She'd kissed him, just a peck on the cheek in what I could only assume was a thank you, and then he hugged her back, and kept one arm around her afterwards. He whispered something into her ear, and I excused myself from talking with Rosemary's uncle, and went over to where they were. When I got there, Kyle pulled me to him with his other arm, so he was between us, and said, "Dude, congratulations, man. You did it, that's fucking awesome." Then he got excited and said, "Hey, I want you to meet someone. He dragged us both to one of the tables, where Stanz was sitting there with two girls, and Kyle said, "This is Jamie, my fiancé." I saw the same pride welling up in him that I'd felt over the past year introducing Rosemary as mine. "I'm doing it too, man. Can you believe that shit?" His fiancé looked like a sweet girl, very pretty, and far, far away from being a basket-case.

He was still between Rosemary and me, with an arm around us both, and we shook hands with Jamie and said hello. Then Jamie said, as she fumbled though her purse, "We're sending out invitations in a couple of months, so let me get your address, because Kyle and Stanz are both too stupid to know anyone's address."