This is a work of fiction, loosely based on the character
Jeff Mitchell, from the film "The Sum of Us",
which starred Russell Crowe.
I do not own the copyright on that character, but only
on the premise of this story.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

©2001 by WILDBEARIES

The Plumber - Chapter Ten

Thank God, the elephant didn’t come to the wedding.

The elephant handler did come, as did the horseback ballerina, a magician, a distant cousin who was a trapeze artist, and some family friends from New Zealand who - as far as I could ascertain - ran a kind of trailer park for retired circus folks. Jeff’s third cousin was totally covered in colorful tattoos, which he wasn’t at all shy of showing off to anybody at the party who expressed the slightest curiosity. The third cousin’s wife had a beard and moustache. I hoped that didn’t bode ill for any daughter Jeff and I might someday have.

Then there were Jeff’s friends.

There was the bartender from the Prinny - his name was Billy Bollocks, although Jeff told me privately he wasn’t sure what the guy’s real last name was, he’d always gone by the somewhat off color surname. Billy came in white jeans, with white fringed leather chaps (in honor of it’s being a wedding, he said), a white leather biker jacket and a jaunty red neckerchief (no shirt). His white lizard cowboy boots had 3 inch heels on them. I thought he was lovely, but I noticed some of the more conservative-minded guests eyeing him askance when he pranced by with a plateful of food or a glass of punch. Jeff told me he often wore the chaps without the jeans under them for special occasions at the pub. “With a studded codpiece,” he explained. When I said I’d like to see the guy in that outfit, Jeff blushed. I didn’t mention that I’d rather see Jeff in it, after that.

Another colorful character was a ravishing red-haired dancer from a Las Vegas style review at one of the casinos in Sydney. She was in a slinky emerald green silk gown, glittering combs holding back her mass of tumbling curls from a face that rivaled a 50’s Hollywood movie siren. I’d never seen eyelashes so long (false, of course), breasts so large, pointed and high (like bazooka shells, I heard one man comment wonderingly), a waist so tiny, or satin pumps with heels so high (they had to be at least five inches tall). I took her at face value, only to be shocked later to see her stride confidently into the men’s room, skirts rustling. One of Jeff’s cousins came out a few moments later, red-faced and laughing, and I heard him remark to another cousin that he ought to go see the cinema queen using the urinal in the men’s bathroom. I was more cautious about gender after that. “Her” stage name was Desiree Prance, though Jeff confided to me later that this person’s real name was George Smith and he had worked for the company at one time as a plumber. “She wanted to be a dancer, though,” he explained, which, I supposed, really did clarify things if your imagination could take the necessary leaps such an explanation made necessary.

In contrast, Greg and his significant other, the gorgeous doctor from Brisbane, seemed quite ordinary, if a bit better dressed than anyone else. Greg, of course, was in a suit befitting his status as Jeff’s best man. With his dark good looks and slim, lithe body, I’m sure Greg would look good in a potato sack, but in a dress suit he was very handsome. When I commented on that to Jeff, however, he blinked and said, “Oh, is he, I hadn’t noticed,” and swiveled his head around to look. I felt ridiculously pleased at that because it meant Jeff was concentrating on me and not his former lover.

Our wedding ceremony was private - just Jeff and I, Sarah and Greg, and the minister’s husband, who played the harp. We stood at a flower-drenched altar that looked out over the gardens. I’ll always recall the sound of wind chimes tinkling softly and the scent of roses wafting into the chapel through the open windows. We exchanged very traditional vows, considering that we were a rather unconventional couple by a lot of people’s standards, but it was what Jeff and I wanted. When he slipped the beautiful gold wedding band on my ring finger, I fought the urge to laugh and sob at the same time. When, in turn, I slid the matching band onto Jeff’s hand, I was surprised to see tears beading his eyelashes, although he was smiling his sweet smile at the time. I squeezed his hand reassuringly and he returned the favor. This, of course, brought tears to my eyes, so we finished the ceremony weeping like two idiots. All that was needed was for Sarah and Greg to join in, which, thankfully, they didn’t.

I tossed the bouquet after we’d all bellied up to the huge buffet of barbecued ribs, chicken and beef with every kind of conceivable side dish anyone could think of, and then we had cut the wedding cake - a four tier high confectioner’s dream in fondant and sugar icing violets. It tickled me when Desiree Prance caught the flowers - and immediately turned and simpered at a friend of Greg’s and Jeff’s, who smiled happily back. Romance, ain’t it grand?

We danced one last dance to a Crowded House tune - “You Better be Home Soon” - and set off in Jeff’s car for our honeymoon trip to a resort a few hours north up the coast. Jeff carried me over the threshold of our private beach shack (if you can call a luxurious accommodation like that a shack), and we sat on the lanai, listening to the Tasman Sea as the waves frothed onto the shore a few yards away.

Jeff had his arm around me and I leaned into him, enjoying his solid warmth beside me. The moon made silvery tracks along with water and up the beach to our doorstep, and except for the sounds of water and the night birds, everything was silent. “That was a really great wedding,” he finally remarked. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I have so far,” I teased him, tickling his ribcage with light fingers. “I thought Desiree Prance was fun, and the bearded lady.”

He snorted, “I walked into the men’s room just before we left. Desiree was in there using the urinal. Gave me quite a turn to see a ‘lady’ standing there in high heels with her skirts hiked up, taking a piss.”

I laughed with him. “One of your cousins had the same experience earlier, I think.”

He shook his head, “God, I’ll never hear the end of that one, but at least our party wasn’t one of those dull wedding receptions you just wish would be over so you could go drink and have a good time.”

“I’ve been to a lot of those,” I commented. “This one was fun, though.” I turned to study him in the moonlight. “Do you think we can always have fun?”

He grinned at me, “Oh, I’m counting on it - I’ve had the most fun in my life the past few months, Amber, I don’t see why our getting married should change that.”

“Everyone warns you that marriage takes all the fun out of a relationship, but my parents always had a lot of laughter in their lives, and I want that for us.”

“Then I don’t see why we won’t,” he pronounced, sounding very wise. He picked up a small seashell off the step and ran his thumb along the curly edge of it before tossing it down by the walkway to the beach, which was littered with hundreds of them. “Come on, let’s go for a moonlight walk by the water.” He held his hand out to me and we made our way down to the shore together.

We kicked our shoes off high up on the beach and padded down the wet sand, the cool wavelets frothing around our toes. I bent and rolled up my pants legs, then helped Jeff do his, and we took each other’s hands again, walking along just where the waves tickled our feet then receded. It was a beautiful night, the promise of summer in the air, and the stars seemingly so close we could touch them.

I held tight to Jeff’s hand - I thought if I didn’t, I would just fly up into the air in this state of giddy delight I’d been in the whole day. “I want to skip,” I confessed.

“Hard to do in the sand, luv,” Jeff answered with a laugh, “but I feel the same way.”

We stopped. We looked at each other, grinning in the moonlight - then skipped a little ways, until the sand dragged at our feet and sent us sprawling into the incoming surf. Jeff grabbed me and lifted me to my feet, brushing at the wet and the sand, although that was a futile effort. “Best go back in,” he finally said, admitting defeat. “Race ya to the steps.”

“You run, I’ll cheer you on,” I said, finally feeling a bit tired. Instead, we walked back with arms draped around one another, giggling at nothing, stopping to kiss several times. Back at the pretty beach shack, Jeff swooped me off my feet and carried me inside, depositing me in the center of the big bed. “Hmm,” I purred to him, “looks like you have something in mind.”

Jeff looked up from unfastening my slacks, “In mind and in body,” he said with a grin, and yanked my pants down and off me, followed shortly by my lacy panties. “God, those are nice,” he commented, touching the silky fabric to his cheek for a moment.

“An underwear perve, eh?” I shrugged off my own tee shirt and unhooked my bra, flinging both onto the floor. “Okay, that’s me - now what about you?” I leaned back, supported on bent elbows.

“You’re gonna watch me?” he asked in mock dismay, “I dunno as I can take of my clothes with you watching.”

“Try,” I suggested. “Shall I turn the lamp on?”

“No, no, that’s okay,” he muttered, fumbling with the buttons at the neck of his footie shirt. He yanked it off over his head and flung it next to my clothes, then undid the buttons of his jeans, casting me flirtatious looks as he unfastened each one.

“Do you want music?” I teased, appreciating his movements as he slowly lowered the jeans, down, down, down over his hips and thighs - laughing aloud as he revealed his lack of underwear. “You are a beauty, Jeff,” I said, applauding.

He stepped out of the jeans, kicked them to one side and dove onto the bed with me. “There, gotcha.” He proceeded to kiss me until we were both dizzy and laughing. The laughter faded gradually into moans and gasps, the sibilant whisper of skin on skin, and, after a time, the more urgent sounds of our coupling. After his deep, pleasure-filled groan as he climaxed, Jeff sank down against me. “I don’t know why they say sex after marriage is dull,” he panted.

“Me either,” I croaked, just as out of breath as Jeff.

He rolled to one side, taking me with him to snuggle against him. “So I guess that’s another lousy myth, thank God.”

I giggled, playing with his chest hairs and stroking his flat tummy. “I can hardly wait to find out what other myths we’re going to explode.”

“Speaking of exploding,” he murmured, yawning, “I plan on doing just that a couple of more times tonight, so you probably ought to get some rest.”

I play-swatted his bottom, “Piggy.” Nevertheless, I shut my eyes and dozed off rather quickly. Jeff kept his promise - he woke me twice during the night for a repeat session of lovemaking. Finally, just after sunrise, I turned the tables on him so to speak and woke him up by climbing on him. Seated across his thighs, I tickled him awake, then stroked his cock until it was stiff and throbbing before impaling myself on it. I rode him slowly, taking a lot of time, until he finally begged me to finish.

“Amber - Amber - today!” he choked out.

I laughed, but sped up my movements and brought both of us off loudly and thoroughly. I collapsed against him, limp and spent, but grinning from ear to ear.

“Bloody torturer,” he teased me. “Promise me you’ll do that a lot.”

“I promise,” I said.