Page 41 of Forecasting the Forward

She watched me sleep.

It was so hard to keep my breathing even. As soon as she was under the covers, my body moved on its own accord, rolling toward her and yanking her into the middle of the bed. Becca fit perfectly into my arms, an exquisite little spoon to my big one.

And after her telling me sometimes it took her hours to fall asleep, Becca fell asleep before I did.

It was still a surprise to find her cuddled against me in the morning, with me on my back and her head on my shoulder. I manage to sneak a peek at my watch, seeing it’s just after seven, and I know I need to get up. But feeling Becca against me is like the first hit of a drug, and I can’t seem to force my body to move. And then I realize she’s cupping my morning wood.

It takes me a minute or two to realize the sensation I’m feeling, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning out loud. Her hand isn’t moving, but the pressure — and knowing it’sher fucking hand— is enough to get the endorphins going.

Okay. I have a bunch of options here.

I can gently lift her hand by her wrist, relocating it to anywhere less erogenous.

Or, I carefully slide out from under her and bolt to the bathroom.

I could lay here and visualize every coach I’ve ever had completely naked, hoping my hard on deflates.

There’s always thrashing around like I’m having a bad dream, thus dislodging Becca’s hand, then roll over to hide my erection.

What I should do is daydream about her touching me for real, then come in my boxer briefs.

Wait. That was very clearly a thought from my engorged and miserable cock, who hasn’t had any real action in quite some time. Since well before I even met Becca, but there wasn’t a chance since we met. My mind — and my dick — have been focused on her since that day.

Alright. The best option here is probably to escape to the bathroom. Inching my left foot closer to the edge of the bed, I slowly begin moving my right leg. Becca threatened to steal all the blankets, and she did do that, because all I have between her and my skin is one thin sheet and my boxers. Which is probably why the movement of my legs wakes her up. I figure she’ll freeze, feel mortification, remove her hand and run to the bathroom.

Instead, she lifts her head, looks at her hand, and fucking squeezes my length. Who is this vixen?

“Oh,” she whispers, as her pinkie finger hits the barbell frenum piercing on the underside of my cock. She curiously traces the metal for a moment before giggling to herself andclimbing out of bed. Once the bathroom door closes, I let out the deep exhale I didn’t know I was holding.

Holy shit.

This morning has not evolved how I thought it would.

An hour later,after getting our marriage license at the county courthouse, we arrive at Vegas Weddings, only because it’s a block away from the courthouse. As we look at all the options, I’m suddenly apprehensive. I don’t really know Becca that well. Will she be okay with this ceremony? Should I offer up anything different?

Fortunately, both of us have clothing that is appropriate for a wedding, but as I see a couple waltz out of the venue wearing a bikini and an adult Stitch onesie, I guess we can wear whatever. Becca could be dressed in a paper bag, and I’d still find her beautiful. I’d still want to marry her, regardless of the circumstances.

It just so happened that I packed my favorite purple plaid tie, and it perfectly matches Becca’s purple dress. Kismet? Serendipity? Meant to be? I sure as fuck hope so.

“Oh my God, they have one with an Elvis impersonator!” she shrieks, then slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was really loud. I’ve just always had a thing about Elvis. It would be cool to be married by him.”

“Seriously?” I ask, a smile spreading on my face. This woman keeps surprising me.

She gives me a coy look. “I like his music. And I find his life story to be incredibly fascinating.”

“So you’re really okay being married by an Elvis impersonator?”

Becca nods. “I think it’s a cool idea, and a great memory to share.”

As we’re waiting for the chapel to open up, Becca gasps. “What?”

“We don’t have rings!”

“Shit. We’ll stop at a jewelry store on the way to the airport.”

“Don’t we need them for the ceremony?” she asks.

“Uh, sir?” A voice calls out. “We sell rings here.”

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