With This Ring, I Thee Bed. Alison Tyler
“So you noticed?” I said. “I thought you averted your eyes.”
Seeing his mistake, he flushed and said nothing, but unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down. As he straightened, I couldn’t stop my mouth from falling open. There he stood, proud and tall, wearing no shorts whatsoever, his cock long and perfect, his buttocks bronzed and tight. Oh, what I wouldn’t have done to feel him inside me, to have him thrust like crazy as I fondled that ass! When he pulled up his trousers, a smile on his lips, I began to wonder who was really winning here. He sent me a sly grin as he fastened his belt. It was I who was blushing now.
My home life was nothing like the play. Keith slaved away until two in the morning, scribbling notes at the desk in our room, scratching his head so his hair was messed up, groaning, “Anatomy’s hell.” I’d bring him mugs of coffee, massage his shoulders, tell him he was going to be a wonderful doctor; but he hardly said a thing, just sighed and carried on as if I wasn’t there. My own course was in French lit, and I’d sit in the kitchen, reading alone, turned on by the sensual language. Je t’adore. Mon plaisir. Oh, je t’aime, je t’aime. And I’d dream of Jake—his hands, his mouth, his body firm on mine. At other times, I’d reach for my script, testing myself on the lines: Of course I’ll marry you. I feel you in my bones.
When at last Keith and I would get to bed, I’d want to make love, but he’d turn away. I’d ask if he was sleeping with Ella. After all, he came home stinking of the pub. If his nights out were innocent, why wasn’t I invited?
“Look, I love you,” he’d moan, pulling the pillow over his head.
“Then why don’t we kiss?” I’d ask, but he’d already be snoring.
He’s coming to the play, I’d tell myself. That’s the important thing. And when he reminded me to get him a ticket, I booked a front-row seat.
The final dress rehearsal was the toughest yet. Dan had decided our kisses were too quick. He made us practice the wedding scene over and over: Jake pushing back my veil, kissing me fiercely, his scent in my head, his hands sinking…. Then later, while the others performed their fight, we had to mimic sex. Jake smelled better than ever, was fiery when he held me, slamming me hard against the stage wall. The background music built in a rapid crescendo as I ran my hands across his chest. Just before he kissed me, with his fingers on my waist, he whispered, “See how well we’d work?”
And as he leaned in close, I said, “Oh, yes.”
I was so wet I kept forgetting my lines. When we were meant to be romancing or arguing on stage, I was just dreaming of Jake’s firm thighs, and the way I felt him harden as our bodies pressed together. Dan kept getting snippy. “Terri, act for heaven’s sake! We’ve been through this often enough.” And I’d try to focus, not only to save the play, but also to make Keith proud.
On opening night, we were nervous as hell. According to Dan, all tickets had sold. “Full house, darlings,” he said as we waited on the stage. “Now come on, hold hands and gather in a circle.” Dan told us to close our eyes, then guided us through deep breathing. “Let yourselves relax,” he chanted. “We’re all in this together.”
Jake leaned in close and breathed at my ear, “I want your answer tonight. Are you my girl or not?”
“I wish I was,” I whispered, my insides twisting up, “but Keith …”
“Fine,” Jake muttered, letting go of my hand. His rage flared and he was beautiful; with his jaw raised and the pain in his eyes, I longed to be close to him again. But when I curled my fingers around his, he quickly shook me off.
I tried to tell myself this was for the best. Keith would be watching and I shouldn’t get aroused. But in truth, I knew I longed for Jake and loathed that I’d hurt him.
An hour later, I was in the wings with Jake, who was straightening the cuffs of his dress shirt. Our first scene was a dinner party, and standing tall in a paisley bow tie, he was every inch the gent. Nervy, I asked for a hug, but he sighed and shook his head. “It’s hard enough we have to fake sex when you’ve just turned me down.”
Heart thumping, I glanced beyond the stage to the noisy audience. The seats were filled with students chattering and laughing, but where was Keith? When I’d bought him his ticket, I’d checked where he’d be sitting—front row, next to the aisle—and though we were late starting, the seat was still empty. “Where is he?” I said.
“Who?” asked Jake.
I bit my lip.
But Jake grabbed my elbow, twisting me toward him. “See?” he said. “He isn’t gonna come. Terri, he’s not worth it.”
“He’ll be here,” I said, turning back toward the audience. “He knows it’s important.” But no—the lights were dimming and still no Keith.
Throughout the opening scene, I kept checking the empty seat. I even lost a line and had to be prompted. There was a moment between scenes three and four where I needed to rush backstage and change into my dress for my next grand entrance. Pausing by the mirror, I saw myself in white: pearls gleaming on my satin bodice, my skirts shimmering, my veil floaty … If Keith asked me to marry him, I knew I’d never say yes. Snapping from the dream, I grabbed my phone and quickly checked the messages. Keith had texted: Sorry, something came up.
Something came up?
Livid, I ran to position and entered the stage in my wedding dress, approaching gorgeous Jake with the carnation in his buttonhole. This was our marriage scene and I was the blushing bride, but my cheeks were flushed out of rage, not modesty. Dan, who was playing the vicar—his one and only role—gave me a warning look when Jake slid the ring on my finger. Dan was trying to remind me that our kiss was meant to be subtle, but when he said, “You may kiss the bride,” and Jake pushed back my veil, it was I who dived in to kiss my groom. What was meant to be a gentle peck became a fiery clasp, and the audience whooped as Jake kissed me back. Our tongues slid together and he clutched my waist, as I ran my hands down his chest. He pulled away, eyes wide, and whispered, “Had a change of heart?”
Knowing that I had, I gave a nod.
In that moment, I’d worked it all out. Tonight I would pack my things and run to Jake. I had a vision of riding him in this white dress, our hips thudding as the netting crinkled around us. His smooth body arching, our rhythm growing quicker, the bedsprings squeaking in a building crescendo … He would rip off my veil, grab my breasts through the bodice, and I’d tear his shirt open, run my hands down his chest. All that muscle, just waiting to be felt! This dream made me so wet that I started rushing my lines. See, I needed our sex scene.
Now.
By the time Jake was pushing me up against the wall, and Lee and Tina were acting downstage, and the music was starting to build, I’d stopped feeling nervous and was enjoying Jake’s touch. His mouth on mine was violent, his kiss wet and deep. He raised my thigh and I hooked my leg around him, pulling him onto me like never before. He groaned loudly and I felt him growing hard—a fact that made me gasp. As he rubbed himself against me, I reached between us and unzipped. I saw his eyes jerk open, saw him catch his breath; felt my sex burning, so thirsty for his. Then he leaned into my ear, breathy and wet, and whispered, “God, let’s do it.”
I glanced toward the audience, and though I couldn’t see them—just a hundred silhouettes in a long, dark hall—I could feel their stares, could sense their growing pleasure, as we moved against each other. It was as if the whole room was holding its breath, swallowing, readying, leaning forward.
“Screw her!” someone murmured from a seat near the front.
“Is it real?” hissed someone else.
“Jesus,” said a female voice from just below the stage. “This is really hot.”
The music grew louder and faster. Jake grabbed my breast through the tight, boned bodice, and I reached down below again, guiding him inside me. He shuddered