Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michael
While Trace got dressed, Cap, Peter, Sal, and I stood in the adjoining furnished waiting room. I felt like the weight of the world was crashing down on top of me, and had no idea of what I could do to stop it.
“You look like shit, brother.” Cap stood, pressed his hands to his hips, and looked me over. “You’re sweatin’ like a whore in church.”
“He’s got the wedding-day jitters,” Sal said. “Look at him.”
I wiped my forehead. “I feel like shit.”
Cap looked at Sal. “I’ve seen this motherfucker in a world of shit. He’s got nerves of steel. He never gets nervous.” He chuckled and then looked at me. “Look at him now.”
“Fuck you, Cap.”
“Look in the mirror,” he said. “You’re pale, and you’re sweatin’ bullets.”
I was standing in front of a wall-mounted mirror, dressed in my pants, and an untucked—and unbuttoned—shirt. I glanced at the mirror. Despite the cool temperature of the room, beads of sweat rolled down my face.
“I think it’s something I ate.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Cap said with a laugh.
He was right. I hadn’t eaten since the previous night’s rehearsal dinner. “Maybe I need something to eat.”
“I know what you need,” Cap said.
“What?”
His eyebrows rose. “Relief.”
I looked in the mirror, and then at him. “How am I going to get that?”
“Wedding-day jack. Works like a combat jack. You’ll feel better, believe me.”
“You’re nuts.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sal asked.
Cap, dressed in his tuxedo, looked like a bodyguard who was prepared to attend the Academy Awards ceremony with a Hollywood movie star.
He spread his feet shoulder-width apart and acted as if he spat into the palm of his right hand. After unzipping his zipper, he began acting as if he were masturbating.
“In combat, when we’d get the jitters, some of the fellas would just stop right there. With bullets whizzing by their heads, and bodies droppin’ left and right, they’d whoop their cocks and jack off. Called it a ‘combat jack.’ That little bit of relief would calm ’em right down, and let them get their head in the right place. I’m tellin’ ya, Tripp needs a wedding-day jack.”
Sal looked at me and shrugged. “Might work.”
“I’m not jacking off.”
He looked me up and down. “You need to do something.”
Anthony had left to meet with Terra and her mother, hoping to practice his procedure on walking her down the aisle. He seemed almost as nervous as me.
Almost.
I glanced in the mirror.
I looked like hell. My pale skin was drenched in sweat. I lifted my hand and tried to hold it steady.
“Look at his fuckin’ hand,” Cap said. “He’s shakin’ like a dog shittin’ peach pits.”
“Fuck you, Cap.”
“Maybe you ought to try that combat thing,” Sal said.
“I masturbate at least once a day,” Peter said. “If I don’t, I’m a wreck.”
Sal shrugged. “See?”
“We just need to get this show on the road. I’ll be fine when it’s over.”
“If you make it that far,” Cap said.
“I’d do it,” Peter said. “It can’t hurt.”
“Makes sense,” Sal said. “Give it a try.”
“We’ve got thirty minutes.” I wiped my forehead again. “I haven’t got time to—”
“How long’s it take you to jack off?” Cap asked. “I can get there in about a minute.”
“Are we really having this discussion right now?”
“Depends on whether or not I got good material in front of me,” Sal said with a shrug of his shoulder. “If I got something to look at, I’m about sixty seconds.”
“I can come on command,” Peter said. “Maybe thirty seconds. Maybe less. Depends.”
I flopped down into one of the chairs, but felt just as bad as if I were still standing.
“You got thirty minutes,” Cap said. “Get Trace out of the dressing room and go whack off.”
I stood. Or, I at least tried to. Halfway through my effort, I went light-headed and fell back into the chair.
Cap burst into laughter. “Jesus. He can’t even stand. Unzip his pants and grab his meat, Peter.”
“Seriously?” Peter snapped back. “You think because I’m—”
“Don’t even start that shit,” Cap said with a wave. “You’re the closest. That’s all I’m saying.”
He shot Peter a playful glare, and then coughed out a laugh. “Just give him a handy. He’ll thank you later.”
“Nobody’s touching my cock,” I said.
“Fifteen minutes!” the wedding planner shouted into the room.
“Somebody do something.” Cap chuckled. “Or we’ll have to call this thing off.”
“I ain’t touching it,” Sal said with a laugh.
Peter’s hands shot into the air. “Me neither.”
Trace walked into the room. “I’m ready.”
He looked at me, searched the other men, and then looked at me again. “What’s wrong with Tripp?”
“Nervous as fuck,” Cap said. “Fucker can’t even stand.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“Told him to jack off, but he won’t do it. Asked Peter to do it for him, but he said no. Sal ain’t touchin’ it, and I’ve got carpal tunnel, so I’m out.”
Trace shrugged. “I’ll do it.”
I stood up. “You cock suckers are disgusting. I’m going to wash my face.”
I stumbled into the dressing room, looked in the mirror, and came to the conclusion I needed to do something.
I walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and let out a sigh. Masturbating was something I associated with being weak and needy.
Nonetheless, I unzipped my pants, grabbed my cock in my fist, and began to stroke it. It was immediately apparent that my nerves were going to prevent me from reaching any degree of arousal.
I closed my eyes, thought of the day I met Terra, and how simply seeing her affected me. Her undeniable beauty was enough to make me search blindly at the same coffee shop for her in hope of catching just one more glimpse.
I thought of our first night together, and how nervous she seemed around me.
And then, I recalled the speech I gave her about how I wanted to earn the right to watch her get undressed.
My cock went stiff.
In a matter of a few minutes, I came so hard that it made me dizzy.
I walked to the sink, washed my hands, and looked in the mirror. I didn’t look much better, but I felt great.
I opened the door, walked into the room, and met Cap’s gaze. “Hand me my jacket, I’m good to go.”
He grinned. “Worked, didn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sal said. “I haven’t been to one of these things in years, and I haven’t ever been a groomsman. I’m nervous, too.”
“Hurry up,” Peter said. “I’m next.”
I looked at Cap, and then at Trace.
“What do you think took me so long?” Trace asked.
I shook my head and laughed.
“I’m good,” Cap said. “Michelle sucked me off in the truck on the way here.”
I adjusted my tie, slipped on my coat, and let out a laugh. “Men and women are totally different. I bet not one of those women are in there fingering themselves.”
“Bet not,” Cap said. “They’re probably pukin’.”