Meet the family, maybe baby, and some skeletons come out to dance.
That morning after our night of lovemaking, Davey first told me he had something he needed to do, and something he wanted to give me; I was a little puzzled when he took me to Kane’s Jewellery after lunch. When we went into the store, the owner came bustling up, obviously expecting us, and with no more than a nod and a quick word from Davey, brought out a tray of the most exquisite diamond rings I could ever expect to see; the store lit up as millions of points of light flashed and sparkled on the ceiling, the walls, and on Mrs. Kane’s smiling face.
I was completely caught off guard when Davey smiled and said “Darling, please pick out the ring you want, the sky’s the limit, so don’t be bashful.”
I really didn’t think I needed a ring, especially not one of those pieces; Davey had asked me to marry him, I’d said yes, we were already sealed together, I didn’t need a diamond to prove it, I already knew he loved me, and to be honest, I was a little daunted by the king’s ransom sparkling and glittering in front of me.
“Davey,” I whispered, “why am I looking at these rings?”
“Because I can hardly marry you without getting formally engaged first, you silly arse,” he smiled, “I’m old-fashioned that way…”
I picked the simplest, most unassuming ring I could find in that wealth of empires spread before me, but it was still a stunner, the kind of ring movies stars would have had orgasms over; two-and-a-half carats of solid light, a Princess-cut Solitaire diamond in a simple, elegant, platinum setting, refined and understated, but so, so beautiful.
To be truthful, I was kind of hesitant about accepting a ring like that; after all, I didn’t really need one, Davey was the prize, not a rock, no matter how desirable, but when he got down on one knee and pledged his undying love, I knew the ring per se meant nothing to him either; it was just a symbol, another way he wanted to me to know what I meant to him.
Besides, walking around with a rock the size of Delaware on her finger does wonders for a girl’s ego…
The rest of the day and most of the night is a bit of a blur; what I do remember is Davey ramming his cock into every hole far into the night; when he fucked me like I’d seen Daddy doing Mom, with that wonderfully rigid cock of his jammed all the way up inside my ass, I came like never before, like hot ice and cold fire were burning their way through me, imprinting him on my very soul. My world dissolved as he fired what felt like an endless stream of his spunk deep inside me, sealing him ever closer to me, making us what time and distance had spent a lifetime forging, and love and need had finally brought about.
In the morning, my first thought was that I was now, officially, really, truly Davey’s intended; he’d proposed on bended knee, right there and then in Kane’s, not because it was expected of him, but because he wanted to; he’d put that wonderful ring on my finger as his promise to me that we were bound together now, and he’d spent the night with me in what had become our marriage bed, no matter that there was no piece of paper to say it was so. Now all that was needed was for us to go to Boston, get my paperwork sorted out, and Davey and I would be away to live our new life, as husband and wife, in England or wherever our life took us.
*
Travelling to Boston with Davey was an exciting, benchmark moment for me. When he’d first told me he loved me, asked me to marry him, even put that fabulous, elegant ring on my finger, it had all seemed like a play, a story we were acting out: handsome prince woos and wins simple country girl with spontaneous declarations of undying love and romantic proposals in the heat of the moment and all that. Travelling to Boston to make it happen made it perfectly real, in a way I hadn’t felt yet; it underlined what was happening in my life, and told me everything I needed to know about his sincerity and intentions, not that I’d doubted him for one teeny little second, but now, now it was becoming real in a much more tangible way.
For the first time, what we were doing, all we were planning, seemed real, and imminent; it wasn’t just talk and excitement and dreams and fairytale wishes, it had become a real thing, the next step in our life as a married couple. We’d decided to get married in Maine, in Bar Harbor, because Davey thought that would remove most of the problems of me going back to England with him if I arrived as his legally married wife, so a quickie courthouse wedding in Maine, then a more formal family wedding in England once the dust had settled. It made sense to me, so that’s how we played it.
For some reason the one-hour flight from Ellsworth to Logan made Davey very nervous; he spent the entire flight cooped-up in that creaking, rickety relic of the Lindbergh days mumbling to himself with his eyes tight shut; it was only when I literally had to prise his hands off his seat buckle once we were down again that I realized how panicked he was; still, at least we were on the ground, and in one piece, not that I’d had any doubts about the outcome, even if the ‘plane was a little long in the tooth.
Helping Davey out of his fetal crouch and dusting him off while pretending not to notice what a wuss he’d been was a good time to ponder what Daddy had always said about planes; any landing you walked away from was a good one. Somehow, I didn’t think it would help if I shared that with him, he was spooked enough and almost catatonic as it was.
It was his own fault anyway; it’s a four-hour drive from Bar Harbor to Boston and we could have done it quite easily that way, but no, moneybags was all fired-up to get the paperwork and visa sorted ASAP, so ‘suffer, buddy, on thine own head be it’ was my considered reaction; as for me, I loved the flight.
The hotel room Davey had arranged was the biggest room I’d ever seen; I think the school auditorium might have had it beat, but not by much, and that room was supposed to accommodate several hundred people at once; this place was max occupancy two people. I was tempted to ask for a radio, a team of runners, or, failing that, at least a megaphone, or maybe a set of semaphore flags; the Wilderness Girls taught me how to use them, but I didn’t know where I’d get some around here, so maybe I could improvise with a couple pairs of panties, but that would just give Captain Horny ideas, not that I’m complaining…
Davey seemed perfectly at ease, so I followed his lead and made-out like I was used to hotel rooms the size of ballrooms and beds bigger than the Great Outdoors; from the look in Davey’s eye I had no doubt we’d be testing the mattress pretty much immediately the Bell-Hop did a flit, and I was right… sort of; Davey, defaulting to his usual state, which is ‘Horndog with a Hard-on’ tried to make a grab for me but I wanted to eat; we had as long as we wanted to make dents in that huge bed, but first I wanted to make a dent in my appetite, because I was starving. Davey finally gave in (although I had a bit of a struggle myself; he’s awful cute).
After dinner, Davey pretty much dragged me back to our room with unseemly haste, and I’ll admit to only token resistance from me; a whole afternoon and evening without his brand of merrymaking was starting to tell on me, and I wanted get him naked and maybe see the elephant. Davey wasted no time peeling me out of my clothes, while I tugged and unzipped and unbuttoned him.
I’m glad to report I did indeed see the elephant, in many different and varied ways, the way only Davey can show me; he kept me mindful most of the night of the most obvious reason I was in love with him, not that I didn’t have many, many other reasons why I loved him. I slept the sleep of the truly well-fucked that night, to be shocked awake when something icy-cold slid into my ass; I’d been dreaming about Davey (of course!) and I swimming in a tropical lagoon, and suddenly an icy-cold, slimy eel swam into my ass!
I came awake with a shriek and there was that English clown standing there, ice-cube in hand, grinning like a fucking baboon; my first instinct was to punch him in the throat for scaring me like that, but he’d ordered breakfast, so I let him live until I’d fortified the inner woman and calmed down a little; at least one thing about him had remained true to the boy who’d left: his rude, vulgar, low-brow, low-class sense of humor; he’d be trying the stinky-finger or the ‘pull my finger’ stunt next…
I ate and plotted, pondering the fact that maybe I didn’t love him so much after all, not after that nasty-ass prank. But there was this lovely ring, and he was very pretty, so maybe I’d let him live a little longer. Maybe he was too busy congratulating himself to remember that I could do ice-cubes too; revenge, after all, is a dish either served red-hot and personal, or ice-cold and enjoyable…
While we ate, Davey went over the itinerary for that morning, and boy, was I impressed; he’d got us done and ready to move on before lunch, which was pretty slick, and a bit of an eye-opener; my mind went back to the boy who used to hang his clothes on the floor and spend panicked nights trying to find his baseball jersey for batting practice, then moaning to Mom because it was filthy, to which Mom always replied that she had neither the nerve nor the inclination to go delving around in that Hell-pit he called his room, mining for his filthy sportswear and crispy socks; if it looked like a floor-cloth he had no-one to blame but himself, he knew where the laundry basket was.