The Night Before the Wedding

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2002 by the author.

Let me get one thing straight. I didn't go to my niece's wedding to ruin it. That's what my sister and brother-in-law are saying, and it's not true. Why would anyone intentionally do a thing like that--cause the biggest family scandal in half a century and end up a total pariah?

I admit if I had kept my pants zipped none of this would have happened. But it takes two, and no matter what anyone says, I'm not the one who made the first move.

I wasn't even sure I would be invited to Kris's wedding. That's my niece, the youngest daughter of my only sister Katherine. Funny how the children in a family can turn out so different. Kath was such a carefree teenager, downright wild at times. I would never have expected her to marry a rich, conservative lawyer and become so straitlaced. Meanwhile, I came out of the closet after twenty-five years of marriage and two children. When word got around about my "conversion," which was the word my family settled upon, for a while there was no relationship between my sister and me. So it doesn't bother me too much that there isn't one now--we've just come full circle.

My older brother Art is something else. Katherine grudgingly sent me an invitation only after Art threatened to boycott the event himself if I was excluded. I heard later that she had asked him in the heat of their argument, "Are you absolutely sure he won't try anything funny in the bathroom during the reception?" which I thought was a ridiculous and insulting thing to say. Now, I have to admit, she might have had a point.

I'd give anything if my brother and I could go back to the way things were. Art feels that I slapped him in the face after he went to bat for me. I've apologized to him until my knees are black and blue, but it's still going to take time, lots of time, and we may never be the same.

This is what happened. I landed at LaGuardia the day before the wedding, having had a smooth flight from Dallas, where I live with my longtime partner Charlie. Katherine had absolutely refused to relent on that issue--Charlie was not welcome at the festivities. If I were there I would have to pretend to be the bachelor uncle. My decision to go anyway did not make Charlie happy, to say the least. When I'm in a mean mood I think my sister's karma simply caught up with her. If Charlie and I had been at the wedding as a happy couple none of this would have happened. But there's no use thinking about that now.

I rented a car and drove to New Haven, where Katherine, her pompous husband and her family lived, and where the wedding was going to be. Being a last-minute addition to the guest list, I had no role in the actual event, so I wasn't in any hurry. I took the Merritt Parkway and enjoyed the drive. The Holiday Inn where the wedding party and guests were staying was downtown and I got checked in without any problem.

The first thing I wanted to do was to see Art, and thank him for his support. When I called the front desk and had them ring his room, though, he was out.

"If you're with the Fontaineau-Woodson wedding, sir," the helpful clerk volunteered, "I believe I heard some people talking about a rehearsal dinner at the New Haven Golf Club tonight."

It occurred to me that almost all of the relatives were probably there, at the dinner to which I had not received an invitation. It's true that I didn't know the groom or his family, but I suspected Kath was still finding ways to make me feel like a second-class citizen. I felt a slow burn starting inside me, but knew I didn't have the nerve to crash the event. I was stuck in a dull hotel in a strange city where I didn't know anyone.

Just in case I had any time to explore, I'd glanced at and xeroxed the New Haven pages in a gay travel guide that covered the Northeast. Compared to the dozens of pages on New York City, of course, the section on this town was sparse. Nevertheless, there were a few bars listed in the downtown area. I picked out one whose description said it was "low-key and friendly," which I hoped meant it wouldn't be deafeningly loud and overrun with young muscle queens. Sure, it can be fun watching the scene in that kind of a place, but I get tired of the smoke and getting attitude from guys half my age, just because I'm not blond, buff and twenty.

I looked at a map on one of the pages I had brought and discovered that the bar I had in mind was only a few blocks from the hotel. That decided me. It beat watching TV in my room, or calling Charlie and listening to him rant about how I'd put my family ahead of him.

It was a pleasant spring evening. I walked past the stately buildings of Yale University and found a quick bite to eat near campus. When I finished my meal I looked at my watch. It was nine o'clock, still early.

I left the restaurant and walked toward where I thought the bar would be, feeling a familiar nervousness rise in me. I hadn't even started going to such places until I was well past forty and I still didn't feel comfortable doing it. At last I saw a modest neon sign in a darkened glass window: "Partners."

It was now or never. I walked around the block before I pushed the door open and walked in.

The place looked like it had been a bar of a more conventional type once, with lots of battered wood furniture and booths against the wall. Disco music was playing in some room further inside, but out where I was it wasn't too bad. Video screens hung in various locations near the ceiling, showing clips from what seemed to be old movie musicals. There was something sweet about that and I smiled. If nothing else, I could watch TV here instead in my hotel room.

Partners seemed to be a popular weekend hangout, judging from the number of people in it even this early. I worked my way to the bar and got myself a beer. At least I wasn't the only guy my age in the place, judging from the faces and bodies sitting here.

I jumped as a hand grabbed my butt. I turned and found myself looking into a ruddy face beneath a shock of silver hair. The cloudy eyes and slack jaw told me all I needed to know.

"You're cute," the man said. "New around here, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah." He also had quite a beer belly going. Definitely not my type. Not that I was available anyway. Once in a great while I'd mess around in the steam room of the gym I went to at home, when the occasion presented itself and I got carried away. Chatting up someone here would be planned infidelity, though. I wasn't going to cross that line.

"Excuse me." I moved away across the room. He didn't try and follow me, thank God.

I settled into a spot against the wall and started watching videos. The minutes ticked by and the bar got more and more crowded, but no one else spoke to me. I saw a number of attractive older guys come in, but they were either in pairs or definitely not interested.

Despite myself my ego felt bruised. I wasn't that bad looking for a fortysomething (well, fifty-two, actually). I worked out regularly and still had most of my hair, even if it was graying. I was wearing a decently tight pair of jeans and my good leather jacket. So far the drunk at the bar was the only one who'd noticed any of this. I thought about why I was here in the first place and self-pity enveloped me.

I heaved a sigh and glanced at my watch again. Eleven-thirty. I was finishing my third beer. The video clips were repeating--I'd seen Ann Miller kick up her heels on the soup can once already this evening. Maybe it was time to pack it in before I gave myself lung cancer from the secondhand smoke. It wasn't too late to call home, either.

I looked around the bar for what I thought was the last time. Then I noticed the newcomer standing against the wall some distance away, near the entrance.

He was young, little more than a boy. His slender body was clad in a suit and tie, more formal than most of the clientele. He had dark straight hair above a face that was smooth and unlined, the cheeks even a bit pudgy, what we used to call a baby face. His square, determined chin and thick, bushy eyebrows, though, gave him character. I had a feeling he had a nice smile, though at the moment he wasn't smiling.

He was, however, looking at me with a pair of dark eyes.

I glanced around quickly, pretending I hadn't noticed, then looked in his direction again. There was no possible doubt--he was staring at me.

Normally I never would have done what I did. It was late, though, and I was tired, lonely, and more than a little drunk.

I looked straight at him, pointed at my chest and raised my eyebrows as high as I could, as if to say: "You're looking at ME?"

I had been right about the smile--it was radiant. I drew in my breath, and my heartbeat quickened its pace. If I'd only had the strength to resist right then I would have saved myself a lot of grief. But I didn't.

I smiled back and shrugged my shoulders. He left his place against the wall and came over to where I was standing. Up close my first impressions were confirmed. He was young enough to be my son, and as pretty as anything I'd seen in a long time.

I was terrified of saying the wrong thing, but even more scared he'd leave if I didn't say anything. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.

"You're not drinking anything."

He shook his head, and smiled again. "I just got here." His voice was surprisingly deep and resonant.

"Can I buy you something?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

Unbelievably, he was still standing, waiting for me when I got back with his drink. He toasted me before he took his first sip. I reciprocated with my almost empty beer, dazed at my luck.

We must have chatted while he drank, but I have no idea about what. I did learn his name--Jason, and told him mine. I said something about how he looked too spiffy for the dive we were in.

"I've come from another party. More formal than this one." He was having to lean close to me to make himself heard and his alcohol-scented breath tickled my ear most delightfully.

"Really? You're having quite a night."

He poked me gently in the stomach. "It just got better." A pause. "I guess you can tell I've already had a couple."

His smooth cheeks were flushed. Did he even shave yet? "You going to be all right?"

"Sure, as long as someone takes me home. You are going to take me home, right?" He hooked an arm over my shoulder.

I was vaguely aware of some nearby loner shooting an envious glance at me. I felt like turning and shrugging at him. It certainly hadn't been anything I'd done.

I looked into Jason's hypnotic, slightly glassy eyes and said the words that sealed my fate. "Sure. Where's home?"

I did a double take at his answer. "Really, I'm staying there too." That should have been a warning, but by then I was too drunk and horny myself to pick up on it. "We can walk back together."

"Great. You ready?" Just like that, I'd scored.

We left the bar and started down the street. Jason walked with his hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead. He'd had quite a bit to drink but was holding it well--there was a dignity to his stride that belied his youthful looks. I was oddly touched by this almost-boy, as well as charmed. I wanted to find out more about him, get to know him, ask him why he had chosen me of all people. I was afraid, though, that if I did, he might change his mind. My responsible self might return, demanding to know why I was cheating on my partner with someone half my age.

I don't know what thoughts were going through Jason's mind, but he didn't attempt to break the silence between us until we reached the street where the Holiday Inn was. Then he turned to me.

"Is it okay if we go in one of the side doors? I kind of need to be discreet."

I nodded. I didn't particularly want to chance the lobby myself, even at this hour.

We got inside. Jason gestured with his head. "Let's take the stairs."

My room was only on the third floor, but in our inebriated state this route proved to be heavy going. Jason, walking ahead of me, tripped and fell to his knees on a landing just past the second floor. I bent beside him to make sure he was okay and he sagged against me. His laugh echoed up and down the stairwell.

"Shhh," I hissed, though I was laughing myself, made giddy by this crazy adventure.

All of a sudden his hand was on my head, drawing my mouth to his. His lips were soft, his tongue eager. My cock leaped inside my jeans.

I broke away. "You've got to cut it out, or I'll jump your bones right here."

He leaned back against the cinder block wall, his dark eyes smoldering with challenge. "Who's stopping you?"

Some last bit of sanity prevented me from unzipping him right there on the concrete steps. I held out my hand. "Come on. My bed's softer."

He took it. We staggered up one last flight of steps and down the hall to my room.

I'd barely gotten my jacket off before Jason was all over me, frantic with lust in the way only the young can be. First he kissed me as if trying to suck my tongue out of my mouth, then he was on his knees, pulling open the buttons on my 501s and engulfing my cock to the root. I had to stop him after only a few moments.

"Slow down, or I'll cum right now," I said, grasping his head.

He let me go and looked up. "So? You can do it again, right?"

I had to laugh at that one. "We slow down as we get older, hon. I'm a one-shot deal."

"When I was in high school, I could cum three or four times a day."

"I believe it," I said, pulling him to his feet. I relieved him of his suit jacket and started working on the knot in his tie. "Let's see what's underneath these clothes."

When I got him naked I stopped, gazing silently at his body.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing. Nothing at all." I was embarrassed to find my eyes watering. "You're perfect."

And he was, at least to me. His body was taut and compact, with just enough muscle in the right places. I'd forgotten that men in their twenties can naturally have visible abs without having to work at it. I traced the cleft in the middle of his torso from his belly button up to his chest, circling one large, pink nipple. With my other hand I took the long, straight, cut cock that stood out almost vertically from the sparse tuft of hair between his legs, feeling his precum wet my palm. He shivered, and his eyelids fluttered.

"Nice." He kissed me again. His hands unbuttoned my shirt and slid inside.

I had one bad moment when we were on the bed and he had stripped the last piece of clothing from me. He gazed down at my middle-aged body and I held my breath. Warmth flooded into me when he smiled and began nuzzling at my chest hair.

"I love hair," he said.

"I'm glad," I said, putting my arms around him.

"You remind me of my high school gym teacher."

"That's good, right?"

"Oh, yeah. He was the first man I had sex with. It was senior year. One day I hung around late after gym class and saw Mr. Suraci coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist. I waited until he'd walked into his office, then I barged in just as he dropped his towel, pretending I needed a hall pass. It didn't take long for him to figure out what I really wanted."

Jason's hands and mouth never stopped roving over my body while he talked. I was only half listening to his tale.

"Ever since, I've had a thing for older men. Guess it's imprinting, or something."

He had kissed his way down my abdomen, and now grasped my leaking cock. "Mr. Suraci didn't have a dick like yours, though." He took it in his mouth again.

I lay back and groaned as he worked on me. All too soon I had to stop him again. Jason sighed in mock exasperation.

"I know, I know, you have to save it. I know where I want it anyway--up my ass."

I shook my head. "We can't. I don't have any rubbers."

His face fell. "Aw, shit. Really? Damn."

He wheedled a bit, but I was adamant. As a consolation prize I sucked him off with one of my fingers thrust up his tight hole, working his firm, small prostate. He moaned and thrashed and shot a most satisfactory load, every drop of which I swallowed, safety be damned.

He lay back on the bed with a tremendous sigh, his needs momentarily taken care of. After a bit he stirred and smiled drowsily into my eyes.

"Give me a moment and I'll get you off."

I shook my head. "No hurry."

"But I owe you one."

I took him in my arms and put my lips to his soft, thick hair. "Who's keeping score? Besides, it's been an honor just having you here. A wonderful present for an old man like me."

For the first time that night a shadow passed over Jason's face. "An honor, huh? Maybe not." He stared at the ceiling. "I still wish you could have fucked me."

I felt the same. "Well, what are you doing tomorrow night?"

He rolled his eyes and snorted, startling me. "What? What did I say?"

Jason shook his head. "Nothing, Lloyd." He sighed again. "Guess it's confession time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, my name's not Jason. What I mean is, people don't call me that. That's my middle name. My first name's Ben. Ben Woodson."

A faint alarm sounded in my mind. "Wait a minute--"

"You've probably seen it plastered up all over this hotel. The entire second floor's reserved tomorrow for the Fontaineau-Woodson wedding reception."

The realization struck me like a blow. "You're Ben Woodson. Oh my god."

Of course, Ben had no idea who I was. He didn't notice my sudden discomfiture, but continued talking, more to himself than to me.

"Yep, as of tomorrow I'll be a happily married man. So tonight I was sowing my wild oats, I guess. That's why I wanted to get fucked so bad. It was my last chance."

I was still stunned, but also starting to be curious. "Have you always swung both ways?"

"Actually, no. Hopefully Kris will set me on the straight and narrow. She's the first girl I've ever met that I've felt this way about."

"Ben." I was growing alarmed. "You don't strike me as someone who's confused about himself."

A trace of bravado reappeared. "I've always known pretty much what I want."

"Well, what makes you think you can just give up--men?"

Ben fidgeted. "I just will. I want other things more. A wife, kids, a normal life."

"Oh Jesus." I clapped my hand to my forehead.

"What the fuck do you know about it?" Ben glared at me. "Easy for you to say, going to bars, tricking with whoever, never settling down. Tough life."

I glared back. "I was married for twenty-five years. I have two children." And a partner who was waiting for me back home, I might have said, but didn't.

Uncertainty flickered in his face. Then his chin rose again.

"You'll be miserable. Your wife will be miserable too. Do you really want to put her through that?"

He looked away.

"I tried not to be gay too, Ben. Take it from me, it won't work."

"I love Kris. I know I do. And she loves me."

"You haven't told her everything, have you?"

He tried, but couldn't meet my eyes.

"I loved my ex-wife, too. Still do. I loved her all the time I was tricking with men on the side."

"Damn it, why are you saying this shit?" He was still defiant, but I heard the desperation in his voice.

"I don't know. I like you. You're a sweet man. I've got to believe you care enough about your fianc^Îe not to do this to her."

Another silence. Abruptly Ben sat up, hugging his knees tightly. His back was a pale, perfect curve, corded with muscle, studded with bone.

"What the hell am I going to do?"

I embraced him from behind, talking into his ear. "Call off the wedding. First thing in the morning. It's not too late."

He shook his head, his jaw trembling. "I can't. They're all here to see it. Kris is so happy. I can't call it off. I'm trapped..."

His voice broke. I hugged him tightly to me.

"Aww, don't..." Ben resisted, trying to pull away, then gave in and turned to me, wetting my shoulder as he cried. I stroked his hair and his heaving back, making ineffectual noises of sympathy.

The young man who had cruised me with such confidence in the bar was gone. I held a hurt little boy in my arms, the same way I had held my son many years ago when he fell off his bike and skinned his knee. If only Ben's problems could be fixed so easily.

After a while his weeping began to subside. I reached for a Kleenex from the box at the side of the bed. He took it, wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

"Guess I better go," he said, looking sideways at me and trying to smile. "Sort of spoiled the mood there, didn't I?"

I shook my head. "Please stay."

"You sure?"

"I want you to." I deeply regretted what I'd done. Ben was right--it was too late to stop the wedding. What had been gained by my forcing him to face his self-deception? Nothing.

Ben's sobs had stopped. He wiped the last tears from his eyes. "God, I'm tired."

I tried to smile. "Better get some rest. You have a big day coming up."

I flipped the light off, covered us and cuddled him one last time. After a few moments Ben kissed me and turned away to sleep.

"Good night, Lloyd."

"Good night." A few minutes later I heard his even breathing. I stayed wide awake, staring into the dark. Eventually I must have gone to sleep, for the next thing I knew, my eyes were opening to the gray light of dawn filtering into the small room. My mouth tasted stale and I could already feel a whopping hangover. I reached out to my side.

Ben was gone.

A wave of sadness washed over me. He hadn't even said goodbye.

The Presbyterian church where the wedding was to be held was some distance from the center of town. My heart was heavy as I drove down Whitney Avenue in the bright sunshine of a beautiful Saturday morning.

I could take the easy way out, and play my assigned part as one of the happy relatives. Ben and Kris were adults. They were capable of living their lives and dealing with their problems without my interference.

Try as I might, though, I couldn't erase the memory of Ben crying in my arms. He was incapable of saving himself. I could--if I had the courage.

The church loomed into view, a huge modern construction that looked for all the world like an oversize ski lodge. I swung into the parking lot behind it, got out, and walked into the building.

"Lloyd! Glad you made it. How was your trip?"

It was Art, with his wife Barbara. He embraced me. "So good to see you here."

"I have you to thank for that," I said into his ear. "Too bad you couldn't swing the rehearsal dinner."

He released me but kept hold of my arms, looking into my face. "I'm sorry. I did my best."

"I know. She had to find some way to exclude me, didn't she?"

Art shook his head. "Let's put all that aside for Kris's sake, okay? I saw her this morning. She looked absolutely radiant."

"There's nothing as sweet as a young woman in love, is there?" Barbara said.

I forced a smile. "Where's Katherine?"

"Downstairs somewhere, no doubt telling the wedding planner exactly what to do," Art said. "Lloyd, be nice to her, will you? This is her day, after all."

"Really? I thought it was Kris's day."

Art wasn't going to get into it with me. "She's a beautiful bride. See you afterward. We'll talk." He and Barbara moved away up the aisle of the sanctuary.

I saw a flight of stairs leading down at the back of the foyer and took them. I'd decided to try and talk to Katherine. It didn't take long for me to locate her. Her voice carried from some distance away, loud and clear.

"I thought I told you not to put the corsages on the pews until an hour before the ceremony. Now they're wilted. They look terrible."

I rounded a corner and there Katherine stood, impeccably dressed and coifed, upbraiding another woman whom I took to be the unfortunate wedding planner.

She turned. Her expression did not change. "Lloyd. You made it."

Don't faint from ecstasy, I wanted to say, but restrained myself. If I had any chance of convincing her I had to keep my cool.

"Hello, Kath. Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you."

"Lloyd, this is really not a good time."

"Kath, it's important. It's about Ben."

"Ben?" Her eyebrows rose. "What about him?"

"He--" I was losing my nerve. "It's not right. He shouldn't marry Kris."

"Really." Katherine's voice was flat, filled with a deadly calm. "And what do you know about Ben that makes you say such a thing?"

I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped. Was I going to explain to my sister exactly what had transpired between her daughter's fianc^Î and me last night? Suppose Katherine didn't think I was a pathological liar. She'd conclude that I was a seducer, if not a pedophile, instead. She might say I'd deliberately done it to get back at her somehow. She might--

I turned and walked away. Her voice resumed behind me.

"As if I needed one more crisis. Now we're late. Line up the bridesmaids, hurry..."

I went back to the sanctuary and took a seat at the end of a pew halfway up the aisle. I stared ahead of me in a miserable fog, cursing my cowardice.

Organ music began to play. People kept entering and soon the sanctuary was filled. Occasionally someone I half-remembered stopped to greet me, but I didn't do more than smile and say hello. I didn't feel like talking to anyone.

Soon the music changed, became more festive as the wedding party began to assemble. The minister entered and took his place at the altar. A group of young men filed in at the front of the sanctuary. My heart leaped as I saw Ben among his groomsmen, in his tuxedo. He looked so fine wearing formal clothes--almost as fine as he looked wearing nothing.

The mothers of the couple came up the aisle next to the strains of Pachelbel, escorted by ushers. I looked away as Katherine passed me. Then the bridesmaids filed in. Their slow and stately gait did nothing to calm my racing nerves. I felt as if I were in an out-of-control vehicle hurtling toward disaster. There was only one way left to stop it.

There was an expectant pause, then the organist struck up the Bridal March from Lohengrin. My thoughts were in such turmoil that it took me a moment to realize that everyone in the church was standing. I hastily rose to my feet, just as my niece entered the room on the arm of her father, the rich lawyer.

Even in my distraught state I noted that Kris looked beautiful in her white gown and veil, holding her bouquet close to her bosom and keeping her eyes demurely cast downward. Her face was the picture of happiness--happiness I had in my power to shatter into tiny, irreparable pieces.

As if in a dream I watched her pass by and proceed up the aisle toward her waiting groom and the minister who would, in a very few minutes, join them in holy matrimony.

Ben's eyes were full on his bride-to-be as she released her father's arm and joined him at the altar. There was love there, whatever his inner struggles. The two of them faced the minister, who announced to the assembly, "We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Kristine Fontaineau and Benjamin Woodson."

The clergyman said how solemn an occasion this was, and how matrimony was not a state to be entered into lightly, words I had heard before at weddings but that I had never comprehended the meaning of as clearly as I did today. My pulse pounded in my ears so loudly I was sure people near me could hear it. I rubbed sweaty palms against my pant legs.

Then I heard the words I had anticipated and dreaded.

"If there be anyone who knows of a reason why this couple should not be married, let him--or her--speak now or forever hold their peace."

I'm sure in the dozens, perhaps hundreds of marriage ceremonies he had performed this amiable-looking man had never had anyone respond to the question. He paused but a second after he said it, then launched into the familiar refrain: "Benjamin, do you take Kristine to be your lawful wedded wife..."

"Wait." It was my voice that said the word, loudly enough so that the minister broke off, startled. Ben and Kris turned. The bride flung her veil aside. Her face emerged, eyes and mouth round with surprise. Ben's eyes met mine at that moment and grew a little bit wider.

I looked down, then around, and found that I had somehow risen to my feet in the midst of the seated guests. My hand was raised, like an overachieving pupil in an elementary school classroom.

I heard a low murmur of voices ripple around the room. Heads swiveled around in front of me to see who was causing the ruckus.

My face felt hot and I knew it was scarlet with embarrassment. I wanted to shrink back down into my seat, deny having spoken. Yet somehow my legs would not bend, and I remained standing.

The minister's face was now darkening with annoyance. "What do you mean by this, sir?" he asked.

I tried to speak. "You said--" but my words were drowned out by the buzz of voices now rising from the entire church. Desperation gave me strength. "I know a reason why this couple should not be married," This time my voice carried strong and clear.

Absolute, shocked silence fell for just a moment, then the hubbub resumed twice as loudly. Individual voices reached my ear.

"Uncle Lloyd!" Kris wailed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jerry Fontaineau was rising to his feet.

"Lloyd!" Katherine was next to him, her face twisted with anger. "Why are you doing this?"

I glanced at them briefly, and at my brother Art seated near them, silent, shaking his head. Then I turned to one person at the altar who had not yet spoken. I raised my hand again and turned slowly, with as much dignity as I could muster. I heard people shushing each other so they could hear what I had to say.

"May I have your name, please," the minister said, striving to keep his authority.

"Kothman. Lloyd Kothman. I'm the bride's uncle."

I looked at Ben, who stared back unflinching at me. His eyes sparkled, and the fair skin on his cheeks I had so admired last night was tinged with a rosy flush. He looked handsomer than ever.

"And your reason, Mr. Kothman?"

"I believe the groom can tell you better than I can," I said. I gestured to him. The ball was in his court. Ben could deny me and that would be the end of it. The wedding would go on and I would no doubt be escorted out of the church, in handcuffs if Kath and Jerry had anything to say about it.

The minister turned to Ben. "Mr. Woodson?"

I saw Ben close his eyes. His chest heaved once or twice as he struggled within himself. There was no sound in the church as the entire assembly waited to hear what he would say. I realized that I was holding my breath.

The groom's eyes opened. When he spoke his voice did not falter.

"He's right."

I expelled my breath in a long sigh. Gasps and exclamations rose from around the room. Ben extended his hand toward Kris, appeal in his face, but she shrank away, shaking her head. She bit her lip and looked close to tears. He then strode several steps down the aisle until he was only a few feet away from me.

"I want to apologize to everybody here. My family, Kris's family, and most of all, Kris, my fiancee. I'm so sorry. Sorrier than you can know."

He looked down for a moment, then raised his head again, determination in the set of his jaw.

"You see, I do love Kristine. But, if I married her, I wouldn't be able to love her as a husband should. I've known this for a long time even though I've tried to hide it and deny it."

"Ben, please! Not now."

An attractive older woman in the front pew was now standing, reaching out toward Ben. She had the same dark eyes and strong face. Ben turned toward her, his expression softening.

"Mother, you've always known, haven't you? Even though we've never talked about it. You've always known that I'm gay."

The last word in his sentence sent a fresh ripple through nearby listeners. Ben's mother crumpled slowly back into the pew, burying her head in the shoulder of the man sitting by her, presumably Ben's father, who stared silently at his son, his face ashen.

Ben turned one last time toward Kristine. The bride had turned away into the arms of her maid of honor. Her shoulders shook with silent weeping.

"Kris, I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe someday you'll forgive me."

He began to walk down the aisle toward the back of the church. Ben reached me and stopped, looking me full in the face. I looked back, not knowing what to say.

"Why didn't you tell me who you were, Lloyd?"

I hung my head in shame.

"Ben, I'm sorry--"

"It's okay." I looked up. He was smiling slightly. "You were right, anyway. Thanks."

He kissed me quickly on the lips and hugged me, hard. The murmur of voices around us turned into a roar, distinctly menacing in tone. My astonished happiness at having his arms around me once more was mixed with dismay. I had no one but myself to blame, though. I had, in effect, outed Ben. Why shouldn't he out me?

Ben released me, and without a word, continued down the aisle and out the back of the church. I watched him go, wondering if I would ever see him again. My thoughts were abruptly shattered by a shrill female voice in my ear.

"Lloyd Kothman, how could you do this to us?" I turned. Katherine and Jerry were standing there, fury in their faces. Behind them were Art and Barbara. My heart ached at their obvious dismay.

"You planned this, didn't you? You did this on purpose. Seduced Ben and ruined Kris's life."

"We'll have you arrested," Jerry said, his face brick red. "Corrupting the morals of a minor."

I didn't reply to any of their tirade, which went on for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a minute. At last they momentarily ran out of invective and I thought of something to say.

"I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen." Not great but the best I could do. At least I didn't hurry as I began to walk away from them, down the aisle. At that moment, the organist, apparently with some confused thought of saving the situation, launched into the recessional, a jaunty classical tune. So it was that the Fontaineau-Woodson wedding crashed and burned to the strains of the theme from "Masterpiece Theater," and I got some exit music.

As I pushed open one of the heavy front doors of the church the organ was still playing, and I heard the minister frantically shouting for people to calm down. I stepped outside and the door swung shut behind me. I was alone outside in the sudden calm of a bright sunny afternoon, cars rushing by on Whitney Avenue, a child riding a bicycle down the sidewalk. There was no sign of Ben.

The mood inside had definitely turned ugly. A lynch mob could pour out the doors at any moment, intent on my blood. I ran to the parking lot in back of the church, got in my car, and got the hell out of there.

I don't remember much about the rest of that day. I drove out of town without any idea where I was going, into the Connecticut countryside. I looked at scenery and stopped at roadside stores on winding state routes to get gas and something to drink. Despite my efforts not to think about the ruined wedding, the events of the morning replayed themselves over and over in my mind.

My clumsy attempt to stop Ben from marrying Kris had caused a disaster of epic proportions. Even though it hadn't been my intention, I had cornered him into outing himself, in front of his family, friends and God. Once Ben had time to think it over he would hate me.

The more I thought about what had happened the more depressed I became. I had done it because, deep down, I wanted Ben for myself. As if I had any real chance. As if I didn't have a life and a devoted partner already. How deluded could a person be?

It was well after dark when I returned to the city and the Holiday Inn. I avoided the lobby, just as Ben and I had the night before. I had no idea where any of the wedding party was, or what they were doing, but I didn't want to run into any of them, especially not my sister or my brother-in-law.

When I got to my room, the message light was blinking on the room phone. Art had called. I dialed his room at once before I lost my nerve. He answered right away. When he heard who it was he sighed heavily.

"What the hell happened this morning, Lloyd?"

I told him an edited version of how I had met Kris's intended, heard his story and decided to act. When I finished there was a silence before my brother spoke. When he did, he sounded sad rather than angry, which made me feel worse.

"I'm not saying you weren't right. But couldn't you have found some other way to do it? Talked to Kath?"

I snorted. "I tried. As if she would have believed anything I said. Kath barely speaks to me."

"Well, she's sure as hell not speaking to you now. I can't believe I'm saying this about my own family, but I'd steer clear of her. She and Jerry are out for blood."

"They won't have me to kick around for long. I'm checking out first thing in the morning, Art. I'm sorry we didn't get to visit more. Thanks again for getting me invited to the wedding. Guess you're sorry now, huh?"

I kept my tone light, but inside I was shaking.

"You said it, I didn't."

"I guess I deserved that," I said as calmly as I could, though I felt as though he had just driven a stake through my heart.

"I don't understand, Lloyd. What were you doing picking up someone in a gay bar, anyway? I thought you were happy with Charlie."

He had me there. Suddenly I felt very tired and sad. I blinked back the tears that suddenly had risen to my eyes. "Good night, Art. Sorry I'm such a screw-up."

I hung up the phone, lay back on my bed and cried a little. The brother I had always looked up to was ashamed of me and I felt utterly alone in the world. He had also reminded me that I would have to tell Charlie what I had done--there was no way I could hide something like this from him.

Gradually I calmed down, and began to feel sleepy. I was just about to go get ready for bed when someone knocked on my door.

I went to it and peered through the peephole. The next instant I flung the door open. I was just about to throw my arms around Ben Woodson when I remembered that he had every reason to hate me. So instead I stood and said, "Hello, Ben," in my most casual tone. It was hell.

He looked puzzled. "Can I come in?"

I nodded. I shut the door behind him and we stood facing each other.

"So," I said, "How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Considering the kind of day it's been." He was wearing jeans, a rugby shirt and sneakers. It was the first time I'd seen him in casual clothes. They made him look younger than ever. My arms ached to hold him but still I dared not make a move.

"I guess it has been kind of strange, hasn't it?"

He gave a faint, derisive snort. "Kind of." He fidgeted, then burst out, "The hell with it," and embraced me. I hugged him back, weak with relief and joy.

"Why're you acting so weird, Lloyd?" he said against my chest.

"I thought you hated me. You'd have every right to."

His smile flashed as he drew back and punched me, gently, on the chin. "There, you're punished. You know how I feel? Relieved. Like a great big fucking weight is off my shoulders."

He sat on the bed. I sat next to him and draped an arm over his shoulder. "I spent a lot of the day walking on Whitney Avenue. I must have walked to Cheshire and back. Wore out those dress shoes, I can tell you that. My feet are killing me."

His face grew serious. "I stopped and called Kris's room from a pay phone somewhere. She was crying, of course. By the end we were both crying. She didn't hang up on me, though. She still wants to work it out."

He shook his head. "She's a wonderful girl, Lloyd. I never really knew it until today. Know what I mean?"

I nodded. "Whenever I'm tempted to kill my sister, I remind myself she raised Kris."

Ben made a wry face. "With all due respect, I'm not sorry Mrs. Fontaineau's not going to be my mother-in-law."

"You'll get no argument from me there."

Ben's hand caressed my knee. "She sure doesn't deserve such a nice brother either."

A pang of guilt struck me at his words. I placed a hand over his. "Not so nice. I haven't been honest with you."

"About being Kris's uncle? It doesn't matter now."

I had to come clean. "There's more. Ben--remember I told you I was married? Well--I'm married now."

His eyes widened. "You have a wife?"

"No, no," I said as I saw the misunderstanding. "To another man. I have a partner. Have had one, for seven years."

"Oh." Ben considered this. He raised his eyebrows. "You haven't told him everything, have you?"

He was throwing the words I had used the previous evening back at me. I hung my head. "No. But I will."

Silence hung in the air. Then I felt the cool touch of his hand on my cheek.

"Tell him I seduced you. Tell him you couldn't resist my charms, no matter how hard you tried."

I raised my head and looked into his eyes, saw his gentle, ambiguous smile. "It's only the truth." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Agreed." His hand moved lower and began to pull up the hem of my T-shirt. "Let's see if I can do it again."

My hands began to unbutton the fly of his jeans, but my brain felt compelled to make a last feeble protest. "Ben, this is wrong."

"Lloyd, we'll both have the rest of our lives to repent this weekend. Let's make it one worth repenting." Ben kissed me then and silenced my misgivings.

He fumbled with the pocket of his jeans and drew an object out, a brightly colored foil packet. I groaned and he laughed. "No excuses now."

Was it worth it, that last night with Ben? I don't know. All I know is that I remember.

I remember the cool pale smoothness of his skin, so different from mine. I remember the velvet of his mouth, the deep pools of his eyes, his clutching, caressing hands. The firm smooth crown of his cock bumping the back of my throat as I knelt before him, worshipping his young manhood.

I remember the darts of pleasure that shot through my body as his tongue tickled my nipple. I remember getting him on his back, lifting his legs and working my way into the dark, secret spot between his cheeks with my own tongue. How he groaned as I tasted his asshole.

He cried out when I first entered him with my sheathed cock, making me think I had hurt him. I stopped moving, but he grabbed my butt and pushed me further into him.

We switched positions and did it for a while with him on his hands and knees, me behind him, watching my rod disappear between his buttocks, feeling his inner muscles squeezing and working my flesh.

I never took my eyes off his face the whole time I fucked him on his back, watching his eyes dance, a smile play across his lips, hearing him whisper obscenities that drove me to frenzy.

Finally we couldn't wait any longer. I hooked his calves over my shoulders, pressed his knees to his chest and begin to drill into him. Ben's hand moved rapidly on his cock. He expelled his cum in long spurts across his heaving stomach, white on white, just before my own orgasm shook me. I closed my eyes then, grunting wordlessly, every muscle in my body tensed as I delivered my load into the rubber buried inside him.

I fell forward onto his body, his seed gluing us together. After a while we untangled ourselves and got cleaned up. I took him in my arms and we lay together, not saying much. I ran my hands through his hair, and asked him to stay the night again. He shook his head.

"I moved to another hotel. In the morning I've got to go to the airport and see if I can change my travel plans. Kris and I won't be flying out together now, of course..."

Neither would we. "Will I see you again, Ben?" I had to work to keep my voice steady.

"I don't know, Lloyd. Doesn't seem likely somehow, does it? But who knows."

He hugged me. "I won't forget you."

It was time for him to go. He got dressed and I walked out with him, no longer caring who saw us. Outside in the parking lot I faced him. I looked at him in silence, trying to memorize every detail of his face. Then we embraced for the last time, long and hard.

"Goodbye, Lloyd."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and squeezed his hand. He stepped into his car. I waved as it left the parking lot. Ben was gone.

I turned and walked back into the lobby, wiping my eyes with my hand, then stopped short.

A hulking figure blocked my path. It was Jerry, my brother-in-law. From his expression it was obvious that he had followed Ben and me, and seen our tender farewell in the parking lot.

"Well, well, well," he said. A blast of stale alcohol hit my nostrils. "Don't you have some nerve, carrying on with that pansy right in this hotel."

He took a step toward me. I had never realized what a big man he was. I was in good shape but he had at least three inches of height and forty pounds of weight on me. Sweat began to trickle down my brow.

"Jerry, take it easy."

"No, you take it easy." I backpedaled as he continued to advance on me. "Who the hell do you think you are, wrecking my daughter's life? She's been crying in her room all day because of you and your fucking gay lifestyle. Why couldn't you have just kept it zipped up?"

He had a point, but I wasn't about to concede it. "Jerry, Kris is better off without him. She-"

"Shut up!" he roared, shoving me hard. I barely managed to keep my balance. Pure, shocking rage flared in me. My hands clenched into fists.

"Fucking faggot," Jerry said. He shoved me again. For the first and so far only time in my life I hit a man. I drew back and socked him a hard right to the jaw. The blow connected perfectly. His face a comical mask of surprise, my brother-in-law staggered backward into an armchair and fell to the floor with a crash. The chair and a nearby potted plant went with him.

"All hell broke loose, of course. The hotel manager came running up. He somehow talked Jerry out of pressing assault charges," I said to Charlie a few days later. We were sitting in the kitchen of our house back in Dallas. I was deep into my confession. As I told him about my peccadillo that had turned into a catastrophe, Charlie had fallen completely silent, not responding to anything I said. With a sinking heart I kept talking, adding more and more detail to fill the leaden emptiness between us.

"He led Jerry off, then came back and told me to pack up and get out immediately. I found a room at a Howard Johnson's a couple of miles out of town. No refund, of course."

There was no more to tell. Charlie sat, still as a stone. Finally, he looked up. He was trembling. His eyes were bright with tears.

"Get the fuck out of here."

"Charlie--"

"Get out." He stood up abruptly, knocking the chair to the kitchen floor with a loud clatter. I heard the door to the den slam a moment later.

I went to the den and tried the door. He had locked it. I pounded on the wood.

"Charlie, please. I'm sorry. What else can I say?"

No response.

"You can't kick me out. I own this house too, you know."

A muffled voice from within. "Then stay the hell out of my way."

My partner gave me the cold shoulder for weeks after that. I deserved every minute of it. Still, it's not easy when the person you're living with won't look you in the eye, talks to you in monosyllables, and pointedly reads the paper when you're eating together. I was relegated to the sofa bed in the den for a week. Even after that he refused to cuddle with me before we went to sleep, as we had always done.

I took everything he dished out without a murmur. Charlie must have decided after a while that we could go on like this for years, and maybe he was right.

One night we turned out the lights to go to sleep, lying stiffly apart as we had been doing for many nights. I lay awake, staring up into the darkness, waiting to hear my partner's even, quiet breathing that indicated he was asleep. Time passed, though, and I could tell Charlie was still awake too.

"So he was really cute, huh?"

It was the first time since the night I told him what had happened that Charlie had addressed the subject. I waited a long time before I answered, truthfully.

"Yes, he was. And nice."

Another long pause, then he spoke again.

"Must have been fun, a young guy coming on to you like that." He waited, and when I didn't say anything, added, "If something like that happened to me, I'd probably go with the flow too."

I snapped on the bedside lamp. He wasn't smiling, but I thought I could detect a slight thawing in his expression.

"Charlie, if you did, I would understand. You know that, don't you?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess I do." He shifted. "I know I've been a shit these past weeks, Lloyd. You've got to understand, I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

For the first time in a long time he smiled at me. "For an old guy you're pretty hot. Shut up," he said, when I tried to demur. "I'm not allowed to tell my other half he's good-looking? You know you are. What if someday you decide to just go with one of these young studs--for good?"

I took his arm. He didn't pull away. "Charles Robbins, I love you. I will never leave you."

His eyes brightened. He bit his lip and nodded.

"And I promise, it will never happen again."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to hold you to that. Just bring him home and introduce him to me the next time, would you?"

I raised my brow. "A three-way with you and a horny youngster, now that would be hot."

"Yeah, it would." Another silence, then a chuckle. "This is bad, but I'm glad you ruined the wedding. Your sister not inviting us together. She deserved it."

"She did."

"What happened to the guy, anyway? The groom?"

I shook my head slowly. "I don't know."

I never heard a word from Ben. That hurt for a while, but I understood. He needed to find his own way. I wish him well.

What did make me feel a little better was a note I got from Kris, of all people, about six months after the almost-wedding. "Uncle Lloyd, I wanted to let you know I don't blame you for what happened. What Ben said is true, our marriage would have been a disaster. It took a while for me to see that but I'm glad now we didn't go through with it. We're still friends, believe it or not, even though my parents won't let him in the house, or have his name mentioned in their presence. I'm afraid the same is true for you too..."

She's a sweet girl, and she's forgiven me. At least I have that. That makes up for some of what I've lost: the good will of most of my family, especially my brother, my reputation in Connecticut society, and Charlie's unquestioning, trusting devotion.

Still, they say that a crisis in a relationship can strengthen it, and I think that's true with me and Charlie. After we started speaking to one another again it took a while, but we're as close now as we ever were. We can talk for hours about everything. We spend every night together, go out to eat, go to the movies, the theater, the bar. He's my companion for life, no doubt about that.

But here's my secret: I lie awake once in a while, after Charlie has gone to sleep. I stare at the ceiling and think.

I think about Benjamin, his smooth unlined face with its determined chin, his luxuriant dark hair, riveting eyes and flashing grin. I hear his deep, resonant laugh. I think about holding his young body and possessing it ever so briefly. I think about embracing him, trying to comfort him as he cried in my arms, reduced to helpless despair by the conflicts raging within him.

I know I'd do it all again. I also know I'll never get the chance.

What I don't know is whether I'm glad or sorry.

END