Looking back the way I went about it was all wrong, so who knew it could turn out the way it

did? It should've been a disaster.

I had been dating the same woman since I was a teenager. Thirty years. She didn't want to marry,

didn't want to have kids, but she kept a hold on me even she turned me down time and time

again. Oh it's not like I didn't sleep with other women, she arranged for it in fact. Something I

didn't understand. But I thought I loved her and love is blind.

So here I was, 46, unmarried, and people beginning to think I was gay. Now I'm many things,

British, a writer, but I'm not gay. I wanted to get married, have kids, raise a family. So I came up

with a plot - I'd take her to that gaudy Las Vegas in America, get her drunk, and marry her. The

perfect plot. So I got her there.

If you could've seen her maybe you'd understand how she could hold me for 30 years. Tall,

supple, hair the color that thirsty earth gets during the first few seconds of a heavy rain. Maybe

her nose was a little too thin and a chin a little too sharp, but there was a grace there. From the

way she walked to the way she sucked on her cigarette. She was exactly what my mother always

wanted - a good, solid English girl, and a Catholic one at that.

I had chosen the Las Vegas Hilton not just because it was off the strip but, I admit it, I'm a

Trekkie and I couldn't resist going on Star Trek: The Experience. Marion had no interest of

course but she humored me. I took her to the bar by the ride and began to ply her with drink that

very first night. The sooner the better, right?

"Marion, darling," I said as soon as I sensed she was tipsy enough, "what do you say we get

married?"

She laughed. Even drunk her laughter was beautiful, low and deep, laughter the color of whiskey.

It what followed the laughter that was ugly. "William, darling," darling - what a horrid word, she

made me use it because she loved it so - "we've been together 30 years and you still haven't

figured it out?" A pause, a moment of eternity, "Darling, I'm a lesbian."

For once I understood that over used phrase "My world crashed down around me." Suddenly it

became so very clear. Especially as she went on.

"I can't believe you're such a bloody git! All those women I made you sleep with - they were my

lovers. It turned me on to see them fucking you." She took a long, last drag on her fag and I

wanted nothing more then but for her to get lung cancer and die. "Speaking of which, I met this

lovely redhead earlier...."

I got up and left her sitting there. I went to our room and removed all my stuff and arranged for

another room. I was like a robot. Moving and working but no emotion, no nothing. It took all of

three hours. I went on the ride three times in a row then sat back at the bar, she was long gone.

What does one lone Englishman in Vegas do when he's found out his girlfriend of 30 years is a

lesbian and he's wasted God knows how many years longing to get married and have a family? If

you're this Brit you sit at the bar, drinking yourself blind, smoking, and bitching to the barkeep.

"You know what I'm going to do?" I said after a half hour of whining, "I'm going to marry the

first woman who comes along who can say something that is totally asinine and still makes me

stop and think. Someone who isn't afraid to speak her mind. Someone who's a Trekkie."

"You don't wanna do that," the barkeep said, his first words the entire time I was moaning away,

"I've seen them, all female Trekkies are fat."

"I don't care if she's as big as a bloody house," I said, "If she likes Star Trek I'm marrying her."

Fate isn't a funny thing. Fate is a bloody bitch. Fate is that one teacher you remember for years

because they're so fucking mean. For at that moment a fat female sat next to me. In the

Renaissance she would've been a great beauty. Curly blond hair that just brushed her shoulders,

an open, honest face, almond shaped green eyes. Sure she had a gut on her and her butt

overflowed the stool. She must've been all over 200 pounds yet what amazed me was that little

cupid's bow mouth, all pretty and pink against her skin which was pale with a slightly greenish

cast.

"Ginger ale, please." She said politely to the barkeep and put a five dollar bill on the bar. He gave

her the bubbling golden drink and change, she tipped him a dollar. Seeing how the drink was $2

that wasn't bad, a 50% tip. She sipped the drink thru the black straw and a perverse part of me

grew hard at the thought of those soft looking lips wrapped around my penis like ribbon on a

Christmas gift. She must've been sick to her stomach for as she sipped the drink her flesh grew

less pale and more pink. She looked at me and offered a sheepish grin. "Um, I'm sorry to bug

you," her accent was Californian but she enunciated well unlike most people from that overly

sunny state, "but I'm rather sick to my stomach and your smoke isn't helping...." She nodded to

the burning cancer stick between my fingers.

At first I thought about telling her to go to hell or move. Then I realized the fag was almost gone

anyway. I took one last drag and blew the smoke away from her, stabbing it out, imagining it was

a knife plunging into Marion's bony chest. "Drink too much?"

"Nah," she said with a rather sweet smile, "It's the ride. It's worth it though. Even if they don't

have the sense to put Data in it somewhere."

A bell went off in my head. Data, the android from the first of the Trek spinoffs, Star Trek: The

Next Generation. Picard's answer to Spock. Alright, the woman at least knew one Trek

character....

I wondered what I looked like to her. I knew I wasn't a handsome man, my nose was too big, my

wrinkles were too deep even when I was in my mid-twenties, smoking does age one quickly, my

bottom teeth were crooked and a little grey, brown hair going to grey, brown eyes. I'm told my

eyes are my best feature.

"Trekkie?" I enquired after asking the barkeep for some water. Time to sober up some.

"Yes." She said simply between sips. "Did you go on the ride? It's great! Did you know that

NASA has to come out and certify it every year? It's made on the exact same hydriodic system

that NASA uses to train astronauts." Realizing she was rambling her face turned a pretty shade of

red, making her freckles show up. As a kid she must've been covered in the things but growing up

had faded them. "Sorry, I'm babbling."

"It's alright." I said, holding out my hand to her. "I'm William Upton."

"Stacy Meeks." She said, taking my hand in a firm grip. "Your name is familiar." She hadn't let

go of my hand when it hit her. "Oh, you're the writer! I had to read a bunch of your stories for

creative writing class."

Ug, a writing neonate. Just my ruddy luck. Next she'll be pumping me for writing tips. I prepared

for the onslaught of ass kissing, "And what did you think?"

"Honestly?" Here it came, the whole "you're a genius" spiel. "I found them whiny, predictable,

pretentious crap."

"Well th- wait a blooming minute what did you just say?" I was in shock. No one, not one person

had ever insulted my stories before.

"You heard me. It's the same old shit every story with the same old characters. He wants to

marry, she's a tall, thin brunette who refuses to. Blah blah blah. Tiresome. For one thing there are

other female shapes and colors out there. Why can't she be short and thin? Or tall and fat? Or

short and fat? Or perfectly per portioned for her height? Blond, redhead - dyed magenta or green.

Same plot every story, same ending. And the men are so weak. If they want a fucking

commitment so badly why don't they just dump her and find a woman who's willing to commit?"

I wanted to smack her. Then - I realized - she was right. All these years, all my stories were the

same. They were all my own frustrations. My own fears. I frowned at the bar. Then I motioned to

the barkeep, though maybe I should call him a bartender? I was still a little tipsy and a plan started

to form in my mind. "I'd like all the lady's drinks from here on out charged to my room." I said.

"Now, what would you like?"

"Oh I couldn't -" she started, "my parents are probably waiting for me anyway."

"Parents?" I took a long look at her, if not for the weight she'd pass for close to 16 truthfully.

Maybe I should abandon my plan.

"Yeah, I know, sounds pathetic, a 26 year old in Vegas with her folks but they are paying for

everything."

"One drink," I said, smiling my most charming smile. "Please, I feel I owe it to you having to

suffer thru my stories. What would you like?"

"I - I don't know - I'm a real lightweight so I don't drink much," Perfect. "Um - how about a -"

she looked at the menu - "Romulan Ale?" Well, it was a Star Trek themed bar.

She was halfway thru the second I had talked her into when her parents turned up. She forced

herself to try and act sober as she introduced me to her parents. Her father was a little mouse of a

man with rounded shoulders, grey hair, and thick glasses. Her mother despite being shorter then

her husband was formidable with her white blond hair and her overweight frame. The father had

acne pitted skin like the surface of some moon. The mother's skin was clear but there was a slight

rose coloration to the cheeks that spoke of mild discoloration. She tried to get her daughter to

leave but somehow I charmed her into believing I'd do their daughter no harm and since we were

in the same hotel they soon believed I would return her to their room, sober and unmolested.

As they left I worked on my evil plan. By the third "Romulan Ale" - which was really just blue

beer - she was rather smashed. I was finding her amusing though some of the things she said were

completely idiotic. So she wasn't always right, she still made me think. Of course it was probably

the booze I had consumed talking at the time.

"You know what we should do?" I said suddenly, taking her elbow to steady her. "We should get

married."

"Married?" She said, her green eyes fogged with drink, then she laughed. Her laughter was more

like piercing bells. "You're joking."

"No." I said, motioning to the barkeep to get her another beer with a whiskey chaser. He gave me

a dirty look like if he knew my plan but served the deadly combo anyway. "I'm serious. This is

Vegas, we only live once. You're cute, you make me think, you're a Trekkie. Marry me and I'll

take you to England."

I kept this up while getting her to guzzle the beer. Then practically poured the whiskey down her

throat. She hiccuped once and giggled. "Okay. But you better pay for everything cause I don't

make that much money."

"Of course." I said, taking her arm and making sure she had her purse. I put my arm around her

thick waist and began to guide her out. "Dar - dearest, you've made my dreams come true -

almost."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside we hailed a cab and I requested the nearest all night chapel. My fiancé of a few minutes

added, "One where we can get a licence as well."

Drunk people getting married are an old hat in Vegas. I think the biggest problem we had both

with the cabbie and while getting the licence was that people seemed to think I was marrying

Stacy to get my green card. She informed them that it was the other way around while laughing. I

think had I not been drunk as well they might've not have given us our licence or married us.

Stacy and I, I'm ashamed to say, giggled through out the entire ceremony. The man who married

us just took it all in the stride of the overly tired and bored. We collected our video and fell into a

cab again. On the way back Stacy fell asleep and I settled there, basking in the warm weight

pressed against my shoulder. She was hard to rouse but eventually we made it stumbling thru the

chaos of machines and tables to the elevator and then to our hotel room.

I tumbled Stacy into bed and put our wedding things on the table next to the bed. I then stripped

her off. Have you ever undressed someone who's fat and drunk? It's not easy. However I

managed without straining something in my back. I covered her up and stripped myself off. As I

did a box tumbled from my pocket and I picked it up. Maybe it was the alcohol but I looked at

that box and started to cry.

Marion. That bitch. She used me. For 30 years I had been led around by my too big nose. How

could I have been so fooled?

I took the ring over to the bed and tried to slip it on Stacy, Marion's bony fingers were much

smaller and I finally gave up. Tomorrow I'd exchange the ring for something that would fit. We

had bought some cheap gold bands at the chapel but I wanted something that wouldn't turn our

fingers green. Stripping off I tumbled into bed, snuggling into the soft warmth of my bride before

falling asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh no - no no no no no!" Stacy was groaning as I slowly woke up. "Oh God," she said, ripping

the blankets from me and covering herself up as she jumped out of bed. "What am I doing here?

How did I get here?"

"Calm down, Mrs. Upton," I said with a bit of a grin despite my pounding hangover.

That's when she saw it. I watched the look of shock on her face as she picked up the marriage

licence and then looked at her ring. A piercing wail arose from her and the next thing I knew she

was smacking me and yelling about trickery and rape.

I grabbed her hand and wrestled her down onto the bed, nose to nose we lay there, panting.

"Despite what you may think, my violent bride, we didn't have sex."

"We didn't?" She said, wrinkling her nose at my morning breath, not that her's was that great.

"Alright then, then it should be easy to get an annulment."

"Not without my agreement." I said, easing back though I still held her arms pinned above her

head and remaining sitting on her. "Look, it's very simple. I want to be married and now I am. I

plan on remaining so."

"This is insane!" She shouted, causing me to wince. "We don't know anything about one another

and I don't want to be married to a stranger!" She struggled against my grip, her breasts escaping

the confines of the blanket and I couldn't help staring at the heavy orbs of flesh. "Let me go you

creep!"

"I know you're 26, you were born and raised in California which you hate, you have a dog, you

want to live in England, your favorite singer is Michael Crawford and you also enjoy Weird Al

Yankovic." I said, realizing it was going to take a lot of charm and convincing on my part to get

her to stay married to me.

"Well I know nothing about you!" She said. "Get off of me and stop staring at my boobs!" She

struggled against me then suddenly her knee was in my crotch.

Gasping at the sudden pain shooting thru me I tumbled off the bed, rolling into a ball on the floor

while she started stalking around looking for her clothing. Of course I had sent them out to be

laundered, so she wouldn't find them. If I hadn't been in severe pain I'd have actually found her

stomping around in a hotel bedspread amusing.

"Where are my clothes you bastard?!" She finally yelled at me.

By now I had slowly unrolled myself but remained on the floor, cupping my hands around my

genitals incase she decided to kick me while I was down. "Being washed by now I would

assume."

"Oy vey." She whimpered before falling into a chair. "My parents must be freaking out. And now

I can't even see them because I have no clothes!"

Her parents. In my drunken stupor I had forgotten about them. Slowly I got up and wrapping a

sheet around myself I walked over to her. "What sizes are you?"

"What?" She looked kind of cute all distressed and confused, her blond curls all mussed from

sleep and wrestling around on the bed.

"Write down your sizes. I'll order you some clothes while you're in the shower. Come on, then

you can call your parents and we'll talk about what happened."

Maybe it was the way I said it or maybe the accent but she agreed. After getting her sizes I sent

her off to the shower. I called downstairs and got in touch with the various stores I needed from

there. I remembered her underwear, simple cotton - so I got her silk panties in red with a

matching bra. Then I ordered her a pair of black jeans and a conservative shirt in grey. The

thought of the red bra and panties under more stern looking clothing excited me, I admit.

When she came out I went in while she talked to her parents. I heard only the tones of her

hysterical end of the conversation. When I came out she was crying. I couldn't help going over to

her and pulling her into my arms. She leaned against my chest and cried. "They're so mad with me

and it's all your fault."

"I know. If you promise to listen I'll explain." I sat her down in the chair, realizing she was

wearing just a towel rather then a hotel robe. For the first time I took note of her whole body. She

had a couple of tattoos. A rose on her leg just a couple inches above the knee and some weird

symbol on her right arm a little below the shoulder. "I've been a damn fool." I began. "As

improbable as it seems, I've been dating the same woman since I was 16. For 30 years I was blind

to the truth." So the story came out. Every little thing including why I came here and why I had

tricked her into marrying me. "I'm getting old, Stacy. I want children already. I want a wife. And

you came along just in the nick of time."

"So I was just convenient." Stacy said. "Not special. Just easy."

"No," I said, "you were what fate decreed. What the doctor ordered." I knelt down in front of

her, taking her hand in mine. "Please, I don't have time for dating games anymore. Say you'll at

least try. If in six months you don't enjoy being married to me I'll give you a divorce and a sizable

amount of money."

"I'm not a whore!" She said, shocked.

"No! Of course not!" I protested. "I'm just saying I'll make sure that I make everything up to you

if you'll just give me this chance. We don't even have to sleep together until you're ready."

"I have to give two weeks notice at work and make arrangements for my dog and stuff." She said.

"And if we're going to stay married you're going to quit smoking."

"If you'll remove that tattoo." I said, nodding to the one on her arm, hoping she'd balk at that.

Give up smoking? Just because she said so?

"Done. But you're paying for the surgery."

"Oh keep the bloody tattoo." I grumbled. "I'll quit smoking." A knock came to the door. "That'll

be your new clothing. After we're dressed we'll go see your parents."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her parents were harder to deal with. Even though we were in public they insisted on making a

scene when they heard the story. Even more so when their daughter announced she not only

intended to stay married to me, but move to England. You'd think she had declared open war.

Eventually she left the table we had been sitting at. "I'm going to get my stuff from the room and

move to my husband's room for the rest of the weekend."

"You will NOT!" Her father roared. "You will stay with us while we seek an annulment."

"No, dad," she said coldly. "I've made my choice and for once in my life I'm going to stick with

it. I'm not a child you can push around anymore." With that she left.

I smiled as charmingly as I could manage under the circumstances.

"You're twice her age." Her mother protested for the last time. Though it wasn't true. If I was

twice Stacy's age I'd be 52. I was only 20 years older then her. Okay, not that big of a difference

but still.... "She's wrong - she's always gotten her own way. We're her puppets."

"That's not what I see," I said risking their wrath. "She's shy and insecure. She cringes in your

presence and kow tows to you until she can't stand it anymore. She probably eats a lot because

she feels it's the only thing in life to control."

You don't want to know what they said to that. I just threw money on the table and left. As I got

into the elevator I groaned. For there was Marion.

"William darling!" She said throwing her arms around me. "Why did you leave our room? I found

the most delightful redhead you would've loved her."

"Had to satisfy her yourself then, Marion?" I coldly asked as I removed her hands from my

person. "I left our room because you're a fucking lesbian who's been stringing me along for 30

years. I won't be your fool anymore. Go and live your life with your women. If you must see

them fucked by a man to get your jollies find someone else to play your game. I've found a wife."

There was an old couple in the elevator with us all this time. They both looked shocked at the

conversation. However as I got off on my floor I heard the old man saying, "My wife and I will let

you watch."

I chuckled softly at that. Marion hated old people. I thought of my mother, the tough old bird still

kicking around, Marion hated her simply because of her age. I kept this thought in mind as I came

to my room. Stacy sat outside it on her suitcase. I had forgotten to give her a key. She was staring

at the ring on her finger. When I came close she took my hand and examined my ring as well.

"They're already turning our fingers green." She said.

Indeed, I looked down and realized that a ring of green now covered my finger. "Well, then, let's

get your things inside and we'll go out and get good ones."

Honestly she was being and awful good sport about all this. I don't know many women who when

tricked into marrying a stranger would stay married to them for any length of time. I took her

things in and then looked at her. Making sure the door stayed propped open I took her out of the

room, then despite her protests that I would break my back, I picked her up and carried her into

the room. "There, we're married, it's time we start doing married people things." I grabbed up the

box that held the ring I would've given to Marion. "Come now, Mrs. Upton, it's time to get you a

real ring."

I asked downstairs and was sent by cab to the best jewelry store in Vegas. I was able to get a

hefty discount by exchanging Marion's ring for two simple wedding bands. Then I realized my

bride never had an engagement ring. I looked at the diamond rings but realized it would be a moot

point, really. She might even be a bit insulted.

She was playing with something in her earlobe and I realized for the first time she had pierced

ears. In her lobe was a simple ring of metal in rainbow colors. "I didn't know you had pierced

ears." I stated dumbly.

"Hm? Oh yeah. But I'm allergic to almost all metals, even pure gold, so I got these from the same

place I got my tattoos. You have to use a special pair of pliers to get them in and out." Well, then

earrings were out. However that did leave necklaces.

"Isn't this a lovely necklace?" I said, pointing to a diamond necklace.

"Too short." She said. "I like chains of 24 inches or longer. Or long ropes of pearls."

I looked to the salesperson and he seemed to know what I wanted. He asked Stacy what her

birthstone was and sent her off with an underling to look at the sapphire bracelets. Poor Stacy

looked fearful. I guess she wasn't use to dealing with salespeople.

"Now," he said, "I have the perfect thing for your bride." He said, moving down a bit and pulling

from the case a long strand of pearls. A strand of perfect little orbs with a slight greenish cast to

them. "They would go well with the green in her eyes." He said with a smile. "Though most

people prefer white pearls I have a feeling your bride would love these uniquely colored ones."

"It's perfect. Can you gift wrap it for me? Oh, and I'll take that bracelet she's wearing as well." I

suppose I better pause to explain that I may just be a writer, but I had quite a bit of money. A

long story for another time, one of my ancestors was a member of nobility and threw his title

away to marry someone of a lower rank but he kept his money and eventually it came down to

me. No money sticks around like old family money. Nor makes a greater impression.

"You spent way too much." Stacy said, looking at the diamond and sapphire bracelet circling her

wrist. "This thing costs as much as a house!"

"Not really." I said, "Dearest, you have to learn it sooner or later, I'm really rather rich. This is a

small trifle compared to what I can buy you." I smiled at her shocked look. "Why do you think I

have time to write pretentious, predictable crap?"

She turned scarlet with embarrassment. "I suppose I better not bad mouth your writing anymore

now that we're married."

"No, it's alright." I said putting my arm around her shoulders. "I appreciate the honesty. From

now on I'm going to strive to write something that will make my wife proud."

She leaned against me and I wondered what I ever saw in Marion's boney frame. This woman was

warm, soft, comfortable. Sure I'd encourage her to lose weight for her own health, but I would

always want her to keep that softness. I admit I found it arousing as well as comfortable. I

wondered how long before we could finally consummate our marriage. Using my hand I slowly

turned her head to face me and leaned down. Her lips were soft and warm. A whimpering moan

escaped her throat. I ran my tongue along those lips until she opened up for me. Our tongues

danced, not fenced as many did. This was so different from Marion's hard, mannish kisses. Stacy

was completely open and submissive towards me. For once I was in control and I loved it.

The cab pulled up to our hotel. I made sure we had everything as we got out. I still hadn't given

Stacy the pearls. I took her up to our room and kissed her again. "Stacy," I whispered, brushing

her breasts with my finger tips and feeling her jump. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to push you." I

pulled away.

"No, it's not that," she said, sensing that I was a bit hurt at her jumping. "I'm severely ticklish and

that tickled, especially thru that bra you bought me."

I looked at her for a minute then laughed. Ticklish, of course! Marion wasn't the least bit ticklish

though some of the women she had brought me had been. Feeling utterly wicked I reached out

and gave Stacy's ribs a good tweak. She squealed. That was it. Thirty years of a non-ticklish

woman brought out the devil in me. I began to tickle Stacy viciously, wrestling her down to the

bed as I attacked her from armpits to ribs. Her laughter wild and a bit shrill. Straddling her waist I

faced her feet and grabbed for them, ripping off her shoes and socks and tickling her feet with

wild abandon. She laughed hysterically as I got her soft soles and between her toes.

After a good while I stopped and turned around to face her, surprised as she pulled me down by

my coat and kissing me hard. I found myself practically ripping her clothing off and tickling her

breasts thru the bra, she laughed and squirmed beneath me. Then I worked on removing the rest

of her clothing and my own. Kissing and suckling at her flesh as I did so. The package fell out of

my coat. "I bought you a gift, my dear wife." I said, and made her open it and put it on. The

pearls pressing into our flesh as we made love for the first time. She was tighter then Marion and

hotter. Defiantly wetter. I'm ashamed to admit I came first, but using my fingers I made sure she

got off as well.

I reached for my fags, then remembered our deal. Groaning, I crushed the pack and threw it in the

wastebasket. Then I laid next to her and sucked on her fingers to try and get my mind off my

cigarettes. I noticed that we were both getting little bruises from the pearls. But they didn't

compare to the hickey on her neck. A story began to form in my mind. A vampire tale. "I have to

write!" I declared and jumped out of the bed, rushing to my laptop. As soon as I could I began to

type wildly. The story pouring from my brain like a great gush of water. It was all there - a

woman, redheaded, short, chunky without being fat, a vampire madly obsessed with her. Yes, this

was it! He'd stalk her, trick her, kill her lovers and friends. And a man, a hero who didn't seem to

be one. Not your stereotypical wimp either though.

When I was finally through I looked around for Stacy and realized she was gone. A note lay on

the rumpled bed. "Went downstairs to play the slots so I wouldn't disturb you. Love, Stacy."

"How sweet," I said to myself. Marion had never been like that. When I would write she would

do everything she could to distract me, driving me crazy. She had never understood how much it

bothered me when she'd try to break my concentration. I proof read my story and smiled. Fewer

mistakes the normal. Then I showered, dressed, and headed downstairs.

The chaos of the gambling floor was louder now and I realized it was night. I wandered for a

good long time before I finally found Stacy at the nickel slots, tears streaming down her face as

she played.

"Stacy?" I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She started sobbing then and I hugged her,

stroking her silky hair. "What's wrong?"

"M-mom found and s-saw the hickey - she said I'm a di-dirty w-whore!" Stacy managed to

stammer out. Anger filled me and I pushed her back so I could look into her tear stained face.

"Cash out. Go to our room and pack. I'll get plane tickets and start arrangements to move to

England as soon as you finish up at your job."

Within a few hours we were on our way to California.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hadn't expected nor wanted to live in the same house as Stacy's parents. However when we first

got there I was so exhausted that she had me sleep in her little bed as she typed up her resignation

from her work. Her dog, a black and white American cocker spaniel, took to me instantly and

slept curled at my feet. The bed was a daybed and a bit too small for my height so to sleep on it I

had to curl in the fetal position. She had told her parents we were leaving and by 2 pm the next

day they were in the house, I woke to yelling and crying.

"I have HAD it!" I shouted as I exited the room and came upon the screaming three. I was

grumpy from lack of nicotine and tired of all this fighting. What I wouldn't give for a smoke!

"Your daughter is my wife now, deal with it. We are moving to England, deal with it. And we

have slept together, deal with it! Stop making her cry, stop treating her like dirt, stop it stop it

stop it!"

Just like that it was over. Though things remained tense for the next two weeks we got along

pretty well. Stacy's parents, I guess, thought if I was willing to defend her then I must not be too

bad. Stacy's mother had a bad habit of walking into her room without knocking so I took to

locking the door. Our love making was quiet and furtive, done on the floor where I had to sleep

because there was no room in the bed. While Stacy was at work I began packing her things and

shipping them off to my place in Surrey. By the end of two weeks everything was ready.

You should've seen Stacy cry when we put her dog in quarantine. It was like a mother being

separated from her child and I smiled. She would make a wonderful mother, I decided. Despite

her short temper. I went by her work, a book shop, to take her to lunch. Her coworkers seemed

amused by me and teased me about stealing her away from them. Apparently she was the best

worker they ever had.

Finally we were on the plane home. "Only one more hurdle to get over." I said, taking her hand.

"Meeting my mother."

Stacy gave me a look. Oops, I had forgotten to mention my mother was still alive. Mother had

married at 15 and had me at 16. She had outlived my father and still going strong. Judging from

the look on Stacy's face I should've told her sooner. She couldn't enjoy flying first class until I

urged her to drink a little. She eyed me suspiciously but then took the drink and soon fell asleep

from it. She really was a lightweight.

That would be a problem, along with her making me quit smoking. Mother was a hard core

smoker and drinker.

There was one other problem. Mother was a staunch Catholic - and Stacy was a Protestant.

Suddenly, I needed a drink too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Martin's family had literally been with us for years. You would think that their children would

want to move on or something but obviously not. Some ancestors of his centuries ago when

England still dealt in slavery were taken from Africa. Don't get the wrong idea, we were equal

opportunity slavers. We had people of all colors. Eventually we made slavery illegal and yet

Martin's family stayed on as servants.

Martin was there, waiting for us. Well, really for me because I hadn't told anyone about Stacy yet.

Martin looked at her with his usual bland expression.

"Martin," I said with a bit of a grin, "I'd like you to meet my wife, Stacy Upton."

There was a slight raising of eyebrow and Martin did a half bow. "Madam. Shall we go retrieve

your bags?"

"Yes, please Martin." I said, taking Stacy's arm and following him. "I take it that mother wants

me to come see her first before I go to Surrey."

"Yes, sir." Martin said. "When Miss Sinclair returned without you your mother was quite anxious

as to know why."

"It's a long story, Martin." I said. "Let us just say that I've been a fool for many, many years."

We retrieved our bags. Stacy only had one suitcase as I had sent most of her clothing on ahead.

Martin took this one despite her protests and we went on to the Rolls. Stacy was shocked at it but

we went on. Pausing only long enough at a restroom at Hyde Park so Stacy could freshen up. She

came back smelling of mint toothpaste and I couldn't help but kiss her.

I had been wearing a nicotine patch and it itched like crazy. Stacy held my hands so I wouldn't

scratch. Martin looked at me in the rear view mirror as if to say that I had been in America too

long.

"I'm so nervous," Stacy said. "My own parents took this hard. How is your mother going to take

it? You marrying a stranger and an American at that."

"Don't worry, dearest." I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. "She won't mind that so

much. It's the fact you're a Protestant she'll mind."

"Oh lovely...." Stacy shook in fear. My wife was a bit of a coward, it seemed. For the millionth

time I compared her to Marion who would've handled this with aplomb, smoothly smoking a fag

and acting like this was nothing, even though she hates my mother. This woman sitting beside me

was shivering at the prospect of seeing my mother.

"Now you stop this." I said sternly, suddenly irritated with her. She flinched as if I had smacked

her. "I won't have a coward for a wife. You're married to me now and you'll behave as

expected."

"Why are you suddenly being so mean?" She said with a little quivering voice. Her eyes shone

with unshed tears.

"Because," I said feeling like a cad but not wanting to admit to being wrong, "you will be

expected to act a certain way and cowardly and shy is not one of them."

Stacy pulled away from me and sulked like a child. I found myself angry not just at her for the

sulking but at me for making her sulk. She still was sulking when we got out of the car. Martin

paused me by putting his hand on my arm even as Stacy headed for the door of the house. "Sir,

you should be ashamed of yourself." He said in a stern voice. "She is not Miss Sinclair and I, for

one, am glad for it. Thirty years of being a fool does not give you the right to treat that poor girl

like you did."

Feeling even more like a heel I went and joined Stacy and opened the door. Taking her by the

arm, gently, I lead her to the sitting room where mother would no doubt be waiting.

I was right. Mother was sitting there in her black suit, her iron grey hair pulled into a bun. She

was a tiny woman but there was a lot of power in her frame. "There you are. Well, don't just

stand there, get in here and explain yourself. Why did you abandon Marion in that horrid city and

who is this - creature - with you?"

"Mother," I said as I entered the room, bringing a reluctant Stacy along. "Marion has been playing

me for a fool for all these years." With that the story came out, from my plan to the revelation and

finally to, "And with that, I would like you to meet my wife, Stacy."

"It's - It's an honor to meet you, ma'am." Stacy said in a little mouse of a voice, holding out her

hand. Despite her obvious fear she gave mother a firm handshake.

"Well," mother said, standing, she barely came up to Stacy's chin, seeing how Stacy was only 5'

3" that says how short my mother is, "at least you got one with some meat on her bones. I never

thought that Marion would bear good children as thin as she is. Now, girl, who's your favorite

Saint?"

"Um.... I'm not Catholic...." Stacy said, seeing thru mother's game.

"NOT CATHOLIC?!" The damn had burst and before either of us could say anything mother had

launched into a huge speech I daren't reprint. And I thought Stacy's parents were mad.

"If it makes any difference," Stacy said softly during a moment when mother was drawing in a

breath, "my mother was raised Catholic, she just converted because she disliked how the nuns

treated her."

I was surprised to see my mother smile and sit back down, motioning for Stacy to take a seat.

"Well, that does make a difference. A child always takes the mother's religion and converted or

not, your mother was Catholic. We'll just have to set you back on the right track."

To my surprise Stacy only smiled and said, "I use to go to Catholic services with my grandmother

when she'd visit. It always filled me with a sense of wonder and awe, made me feel much closer to

God then Protestant services."

Mother offered me a cigarette. "I'm quitting." I said.

"Quitting? Now why would you go and do that?" Mother asked.

"Stacy asked me to." I said, wishing I had a cigarette to keep my mouth busy - ha, I almost said

fag and realized what that would sound like to an American. We call them fags here in England.

Gay people are just gay people. A fag is suppose to be a burning coal or piece of wood and since

cigarettes burn it makes sense to call them fags. It does not make sense to call gay people that.

Anyway I was looking at mother's shocked face.

"I have been smoking and drinking since I was 16 years old. I smoked when I was pregnant with

you. Didn't kill me."

"It did kill father." I said softly.

"Bah," mother said and puffed away.

"Well," Stacy said, "I find the habit disgusting. And your son wants children - if you want healthy

grandchildren he's not going to smoke." From the tone of Stacy's voice I could tell she expected

mother not to smoke around the so far non-existent children as well.

Mother stared long and hard at Stacy then stubbed out her cigarette. "I suppose it's never too late

to quit. Martin! Call the doctor! Tell him I'm ready for that bloody patch! William, you did well.

Now go and make me some grandchildren."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life was anything but peaceful. Stacy and I fought, a lot. I admit, I started most of them. She was

working to get her citizenship and I was pushing her to exercise and lose weight. She was always

saying she was too busy studying. The lack of cigarettes in the house got to me. Stacy made the

house a no smoking zone and threw away all my ashtrays. Including some very expensive crystal

ones. My friends complained about having to stand outside even in lousy weather to smoke and

even then they had to make sure they were 25 feet away from any doors or open windows.

Yet every night she was there in my bed, waiting and willing for me. She knew how much I

wanted a child. I realized one night while making love to her she had lost weight. She had been

eating better, taking lots of vitamins and the like. Books on how to improve one's chances of

getting pregnant started to show up in the house. It amazed me. Even though I had a feeling due

to our constant fighting she would leave me at the end of the six months, there she was, trying to

make my dreams come true.

Barely two months had past and there were already amazing changes in both of us. I wrote more

and more, stories she actually liked. My publisher couldn't believe the sudden change in my style

but ate it up. She had a fence installed in the backyard in preparation for her dog. She also picked

up on British slang and sometimes her accent mixed with a British one.

There was another fly in the ointment besides our daily spats. Marion. It seems she took exception

to me "outing" her. She had gone out of her way to avoid Stacy, admitted to it, but she called me

on my mobile daily.

"You just had to tell everyone I'm a lesbian! You bastard!" She yelled at me the first time she

called. "Don't you know why I kept you on for 30 years?! My father has disowned me, I'm broke,

William. He won't tolerate homosexuality. You owe me, William. I will make you pay."

Ah, so that was it. A homophobic father and the fear of losing her money. I worried what Marion

would do.

Now most of my fights with Stacy dealt with the fact I had servants. "I don't do anything but sit

around all day." She would whine. "I'm bored and feel useless. The least you could do is tell them

to let me cook once in awhile!"

"They're your servants too. You tell them!" I would yell back. Especially in the first few weeks of

our third month together. Stacy had started taking golf lessons from some handsome French

fellow who was a little too hands on. "Damn it, woman, I don't have time to do every little thing

you want."

"I'm not use to telling people what to do!" She would protest.

"How about telling your "golfing instructor" to keep his fucking hands off of your ass?!" I finally

yelled back one day.

Stacy looked hurt beyond belief. Tears sprung to her eyes. "I don't cheat, William. And the fact is

I dumped that creep yesterday. I told him I was paying him to teach me golf, not to grope me. But

you wouldn't know because the only time you pay attention to me is when we fight and when we

fuck!" With that she ran from the room and to our bedroom. I was left feeling like she smacked

me in the face.

After a half hour I headed up the stairs. Stacy was listening to some Webber musical, but more

then that she was singing along. I stopped in my tracks. Her voice was beautiful, well trained. It

was what I imagined angels to sound like. Passionate yet delicate. I opened the door and looked

at her, her back was to me as she sat at her own computer, singing and typing away.

I walked over and peeked over her shoulder. She was writing a short story. I forgotten she had

taken a creative writing class. Seeing my reflection in the computer screen, she stopped, saved it,

and turned off the music and the computer. She walked to the bed and threw herself on it like

some petulant child. I went and sat next to her.

"We're going to get divorced, aren't we?" She asked in a small, fragile voice.

I sighed, wishing I had a cigarette. "The deal was to try for six months. We fight all the time.

You're spoiled, you're bratty, yet you're loyal, you changed your religion for me, you know we

might not end up together yet are willing to give me a child, you never bother me while I'm

writing.... On the other hand you're immature."

"I want to stay married." She muttered into the pillow. I stared at her, shocked. "You might say

I've gotten use to your face." Finally she looked up at me, her beautiful eyes all red and puffy

from crying. Marion never cried, she just got pissed or drunk. Sniffling she continued. "We might

never have one of those big romantic, passionate marriages, but in the little time we've been

together I can't imagine life without you. I'm sorry I'm always starting fights with you. I guess

I'm just jealous of your writing."

I cupped her cheek in my hand and stared at her. Then I helped her up and kissed her tears away.

"Alright, alright we'll make a more serious go of this from here on out. We'll start over and this

time I'll try and get to know you." I teased her a bit. "How about letting me read your story you

were working on?"

She blushed. "I suck at writing more then I do at golf. You don't want to read my stuff, it's just

silly little super hero stories."

"Please?" I said, giving her a sad puppy dog eyes routine. Grinning devilishly I wiggled my fingers

at her. "Or do I have to tickle it out of you?"

She grinned back and laughed as I dug my fingers into her. From there it was me pulling her

clothing off and my own while trying to keep her laughing helplessly. Anything ticklish I could

tickle I did. From her neck to her toes, nothing was safe. Not her ticklish breasts or stomach or

even her vulva that she had shaved on my request. After I was through tickle torturing her we

made love like two wild animals. Clawing and humping each other. I actually broke the skin on

her back several places. Just minor scratches, mind you, but I did it. Afterwards I licked them. I'm

not a blood thirsty person but somehow I wanted that bit of her inside me. I had made myself part

of her by expending my semen inside of her - and not always inside her vagina, though she was

more of the spiting type then the swallowing. I wanted something of her inside me as well. Her

juices when I went down on her were a fine beginning, but somehow her blood was more her then

her sexual juices were.

We laid there in bed, separate. Stacy was not an after sex cuddler. Fine by me as I wasn't either.

She hated the feeling of hot and sweaty skin against her's. I decided to be a little jerk and tried to

cuddle with her and she pushed me away. "Go read the bloody stories." She said, disgusted with

my attempts to cuddle. "If you absolutely must snuggle with me wait until I cooled off so I can be

comfy!"

Like a child on Christmas I bounded from the bed and to her computer, turning it on and opening

her word program. I opened a file at random and began reading. Shocked to find that her "silly

little super hero stories" were - while not very professionally written, but very imaginative and

creative. "Can I have free hand to edit these?"

"Long as you don't change the characters' appearances or personalities." Stacy replied, laying

naked on top of the sheets so as to cool off faster.

I spent the next several months not working at my computer but Stacy's, editing her stories into

perfection. Our first six months passed this way and we made a deal for another six. I even forgot

smoking - something I hadn't been able to do since quitting. By the time I was finished and Stacy

had finished her latest story there was enough for her to have her own little book of stories.

Without telling her I printed them off and took them to my publisher. He loved them. Stacy

wasn't so happy when I told her.

"How dare you take them to a publisher without my permission?!" She shouted at me. Ignoring

the fact my publisher was in the room.

"Stacy, this is a good thing!" I was exasperated. Three months without a fight and now she was

mad at me for trying to get her published. "You have a talent for this. You're not professional,

sure, but you're good at this."

"But those stories - the people in them, they're people I know. Every parent in the story is like my

parents in some way. Some are like my friends. Didn't you notice how that last story had a hero

who was a lot like you? And his mother was your mother! If the people they're based on read

those stories they'll be so mad at me!" She ran her hands thru her hair. "I don't want them

published. And I don't want to fight about this. Tomorrow my dog comes out of quarantine."

Just like that the subject was closed. My publisher was pissed. He really wanted those stories. I

was mad too. That was a lot of work wasted. I could've been working on my novel during that

time. Then I thought about it.

"What if your name isn't on it?" I said.

"What?" She looked at me. I looked at my publisher.

"Yes!" He said. "A pseudonym. No one ever needs to know you wrote the stories."

Stacy looked at us and grinned. "Put Will's name on it. It'll sell better and anyway he pretty much

re-wrote them all anyway. They're half his."

It was her way to punish me, really, but I agreed and like that another dimension to my writing

began. Meanwhile Stacy was stuck re-housebreaking her dog.

And Marion was still following and calling me. Threatening to tell Stacy we were having an affair

if I didn't tell everyone I lied about her being a lesbian. "Don't see why you want to be with that

cow anyway, William!" she would snap into my ear. "We could go back to the way things were.

We had good times, William...."

"Not good enough." I would say and hang up. Damn that bitch anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I would be cursing her a lot in the coming days. It started with letters to Stacy, calling her horrible

names and saying I was cheating on her. The names made Stacy cried but she didn't believe the

accusations of an affair. However she spent more time taking comfort from her dog then she did

from me. She was also often in the bathroom throwing up. I thought it was the stress from the

letters so I went to the local pub I knew Marion liked.

She was there, looking like the woman I had loved. She wore a tight red dress, everything about

her was utter perfection, right down to how she sucked on her cigarette. For a second my anger

was replaced by raging lust, then I saw Stacy's tear filled eyes floating in front of me.

"Marion!" I snapped, turning her around to face me. "Leave off on the letters and stop bothering

her!"

"William!" She said with a beautiful smile. "Sit down, have a drink with me."

I should've known better. I really should've. But I never could resist Marion. I sat and began to

drink. Telling her what I thought of the letters and her. I drank more and went to the bathroom

briefly, leaving my drink alone with Marion. How stupid of me. Soon my head was spinning.

Marion was saying she'd take me home. Stacy would be out right now, walking the dog. Marion

had timed it perfectly.

Once inside the house she began to kiss me. I couldn't resist. My head was whirling and I had a

hard on like you couldn't believe. Soon Marion had me in the bedroom. She was undressing me.

Kissing me. I felt blind, it was hard to breath.

"Oh Stacy...." I moaned as Marion climbed on top of me, about to impale herself on my shaft.

"Stacy?" She hissed and smacked my face. "You're with me, Marion, and you still want that

cow?!" Through my blurry eyes I could see her face - all five of them - were a mask of rage.

"William!" Stacy shouted, her dog was on the bed, whining and licking my face. "Get off of him

you bitch!" She pushed Marion off of me and looked into my face. "William - William, answer

me.... You whore! You drugged him!"

I felt unable to breath. My heart was racing. Something was wrong. Things started to go black

and all I could hear was Stacy's frantic screaming into the phone and all I could feel was a wet

dog tongue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up in a hospital bed, my hand was laying in something. I realized it was another hand.

Even though my head weighed a ton I turned to look. Stacy sat sleeping in a chair, holding my

hand. She was a mess yet to me she never looked more beautiful. The sunlight hit her in a way

that I thought an angel sat next to me.

"Oh Mrs. Upton!" A nurse said, exasperated as she came over and woke my wife up. "In your

condition you shouldn't be here."

She ignored the nurse and looked at me. "William - Thank God." Clutching my hand between

both of her's she smiled, tears in her eyes. "Don't talk. I know your mouth tastes awful. Your

stomach had to be pumped, what you taste is charcoal. Marion used a combination of GHB and

Viagra on you. Between that and the alcohol it nearly killed you." She kissed my hand. "Get back

to sleep, you need your rest."

I wanted to ask questions, but I was too tired. Looking at my glowing wife, I fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was awhile before I finally left the hospital. By that time Marion had been put in and bailed out

of jail. I pressed charges of attempted rape and before long the entire story was in the news. Stacy

enjoyed brief fame as her part in the story came out. Including how she saved my life by

performing CPR on me even as Marion tried to pull her off to continue their cat fight.

Stacy gave birth to our first child several months later. At the same time she also got her

citizenship. Unlike some movie where people break up and then get back together Stacy stayed

with me. I was thrilled by the birth of our son, Jacob Upton. Even more so two years later when

our daughter, Lucy Upton, was born.

Yes, looking back I did it all wrong and it should've been a disaster, but it couldn't have turned

out any better. Not only did I get my wife and family, but my writing improved as well. So much

so that three were turned into movies. Of course, no one had to know that Stacy really wrote two

of them.

I just hope my children don't get married while drunk.

~~The End~~