"But only if you marry me."
"Okay. But only if you marry me."
"Okay." And then he leaned over and met my lips
with his, gently holding my face in his soft hands. "Do you
know what?"
"What?"
"I want to do some monkey business," he said.
"Does the monkey want a banana? Maybe a couple
of coconuts to go with it?" I asked, pointing at my crotch.
"You know what I really want to do? You'll
probably think I'm nuts, but I've got this horny urge to..."
"To...what?" I smiled.
"Could we play teenage sleepover?"
"Sure!" I replied with a great surge of hormonal
enthusiasm. In case you're wondering what teenage
sleepover is, it's a fun little game we play on occasion.
We strip down—all monkey business involves
stripping down—and then lie side by side in opposite
directions and jack each other off. Much as every straight,
gay, or otherwise teens have done with their best friends
for centuries.
We usually behave like jack rabbits in heat when it
comes to the bedroom, but every so often it's nice to just
play around in an innocent fashion and just concentrate on
making the other one feel good.
It's so much fun to just lie on your back, your eyes
closed, your thoughts and the images they create jumping
over every synapse in your brain, as you feel the buildup
of the cum you'll soon release all over your partner's hand.
To feel him tensing up to let his own cum loose...
It's awesome, and way more fun than you'd imagine. It's
actually become quite the little treat on our sexual menu.
And we both knew it was the perfect play to start the day.
"This feels really good," Sander sighed, as he
grasped my hard cock in his right hand. "I think you have
much experience at this," he chuckled.
"You're not newbie yourself, Sander Lars Hansen.
You jack more than a tow truck!" I told him. "And I'm not
complaining!"
"Shut up and keep beating! Beat my dick like a wife
in a trailer park!" he laughed. "Talk dirty to
me!"
"Stinky underwear. Muddy floors! Dishes in the
sink! Skid marks! Jannik's socks!" I joked, and he nearly
lost his breath from laughing so hard. "Republicans! Your
mind!"
"Stop it! I can't take any more!"
" Your mind!" I continued.
"I said dirty, not filthy!!!"
"I love you, Pokey!"
"I have your dick in my hand!" he said, giving it a
playful squeeze. "And I know what to do!"
"I know you do! So shut up and do it!"
We played this way for about an hour, and led
ourselves to a pair of extremely heightened orgasms.
Mine was four days in the making, and he
confessed to only a single session of self abuse while I was
away, so they produced quite the flow. After a leisurely
post-jack shower, we were ready to meet the day, and our
lovable wedding planner, Mama Hansen.
"POP SAID WE CAN HIRE a party tent for the back
garden and put it there, and the man said that they would
make a little tunnel to go from the big sliding doors to the
doors on the tent. And they bring heaters, too!" Magda
explained, nearly hyper-ventilating from all of the
excitement. "And we can set up the food in the back, so
after the ceremony the music plays and the people start to
eat!"
"Mama! You're crazy but we love you!" Sander
said, bursting with just as much happiness as his mother.
"Ingrid will do the door and show everyone where
to go, and Jannik will stand with both of you along with
me and Pop," she continued. "And Pokey, your friends will
get here the night before and stay at the Kro on
Middelfartvej. You'll see them on the day, and they'll be
here until after Christmas. And I think that's about
everything unless you can think of anything that I
haven't," she said. "Johnnie?"
"Uh, no. I think you've thought of all there is to
think about. Pokes?" I turned to Sander. "That about cover
it?" Sander just nodded, and then hugged his mom for the
longest time.
"I love you, Mama. I love you so much and we're so
thankful and happy. You didn't have to do all of this,"
Sander told her. She just blew raspberries at him and
landed a couple of kisses on his face, leaving splotches of
lipstick on his cheek and forehead.
"Mama! Stop!" Sander laughed. "You can't do that
anymore! Save it for Jannik!"
"You will always be my little Pokey, and my Pokey
needs kisses!" she said, planting a few more mom pecks on
his mug. "That goes for you as well, Mister America!"
"Oh, Pokey, your mommy loves her baby boy!" I
teased. "So you better get used to it!" The fun was
interrupted by the ABBA ringtone on my phone.
"Really? Gimme Gimme Gimme a Man After
Midnight? " Sander laughed. "You're pathetic!"
"Nope! Just a boy in love!" I replied, picking up the
call. "Hi, this is Johnnie," I said in my cool guy phone
voice. They saw my face drop. I knew they did because
first they exchanged worried glances, and Sander rapped
his knuckles on the table. That's something he does
whenever he's concerned about something.
"Oh, hi Mom...How are you?...Really?...Wow, that's
something," I spoke into the phone.
While I listened, I indicated to Magda that I needed
something to write with.
"Yeah...Sure...No, that's no problem at all.
(Apparently my demeanor changed, and my shoulders
drooped. This is what Pokey told me later.)
"...No, we'll definitely be there...See you!" And the
call ended. It took me more than a very long pause to both
recover from the shock, and work up the courage to tell
my soon-to-be husband and mother-in-law what had just
gone down.
"My mother's coming to visit," I told them. Again
with the glances, and then Sander commented first.
"That's great! (tick-tock-tick-tock...) Right?"
"I don't... know."
"No?" Magda asked.
"No! I mean, I don't know. I mean. Damn!" was all I
could come up with at the moment. "Pokes, would you
mind if we went—uh..."
"Mama, we're gonna go now, but thanks so, so
much!"
"Yeah, I love you for this, Mama. Thanks for—shit,
thanks for everything. Most of all, thanks for him!" I told
her.
"Well, he makes a good choice, I think! We're all
happy for you. What about your brother, Sander?" Mama
added.
"Fuck! I forgot!"
"Well, he didn't. And watch your words!" Magda
scolded him. "You don't kiss your mother with that mouth,
do you?"
"He kisses me with it!" I reported.
"Jan! Brother's leaving! Get it in gear, Spiderboy!"
she shouted toward the stairs. We Immediately heard and
felt the quake of excited feet scurrying about overhead.
Click! Clunk! Stomp-stomp-stomp, and the clatter of kid
,
shoes, and backpack stumbled down the stairs.
"I'm here! Don't leave home without me!" Jannik
hollered. "I just must feed the cats," he said, heading for
the mud room."
"It's okay, I'll do it. You men take off," Magda said.
"And behave yourself!"
"I will, Mama!" Jannik moaned.
"I'm not talking about you... Johnnie?" she said,
"remember, she's your mother, okay?"
I smiled, gave her a hug, and we were away. "She's
a hard woman to say no to," I mentioned to Sander as we
walked to the car.
"You're telling me! She makes you do things and
you don't even remember doing them. It's like she
hypnotizes you. Just ask our dad if you don't believe me!"
Sander said. "For real!"
"I meant my mom," I chuckled. "I guess you'll see
soon enough." Jannik tossed his pack into the trunk, and
we headed for home, a dark, gray sky appearing as if on
cue.
Chapter 28
riving to Copenhagen seemed doubly long the
morning that we went to meet my mom at the
D cruise dock. She was on a Baltic cruise with—you
guessed it—her church. I'll do my best to report the next
forty-eight hours objectively to you, but I'm warning you
now, it's gonna be a hard row to hoe.
"It can't be so bad as you say," Sander said, his
hand lying on my thigh. "Johnnie, she's your mom. Mom's
act dumb sometimes, but she has to love you. Besides, who
wouldn't love you?"
"She doesn't act like it. Unless I stand on a corner
thumping a Bible with her, she can't be bothered," I
replied.
"Have you done this? Thumping Bibles on the
street?"
"Fuck you, asshole!" I laughed.
Then he smiled what I like to call his devious grin.
"...Because if you do, I will be saved by you! I will be saved
by your cock!"
"Shut up already!"
"Because your rod and your staff... It comforts me!"
"Do you know how much I hate you right now?!
Can't you see that I wanna be in a bad mood, and instead
you're making me laugh? What kind of an asshole does
that to a dude?" I told him. And then he rolls on his hip,
points to his butt and says, "This kind! That's who!"
"You know, one of these days..." I teased.
"You'll what! Tie me up? Blindfold me? Bring out
the rubber toys? Candles? Ice cubes?"
"Good gravy! What the hell am I marrying?" I
laughed. "There's gotta be laws against you somewhere!
Even in Denmark!"
"I know! Chains! A swing perhaps?"
"You can stop right there, or I'm gonna pull this car
over and..."
"...SPANK ME! Yes! Okay!" And then he looked all
innocent, staring straight ahead at the road, doing
everything in his power not to burst out laughing.
"Did I tell you that I hate you?" I said.
"You're turning me on!" he replied.
THE GARGANTUAN CRUISE LINER had already cleared
customs and was tied up along the embarcadero, ready to
begin discharging her passengers for the various touristy
day trips around greater Copenhagen.
My mom was first off the boat; she'd probably been
pestering everyone in line—passengers and crew—about
the glories of their personal Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Which is what most of them likely whispered under their
breath about the crazy American zealot. As in: Jesus Christ!
Won't somebody see if she can walk on water! I'd be glad to give
her a little push!
"There you are! Johnnie! Come give your momma a
kiss!"
Beware the Great Satan! I thought, as I hesitantly
shuffled in her direction. Sander stayed with the car.
Sander is smart.
"Hey, Mom! That's quite a boat you got there," I
managed to say. "Enjoying the trip?"
"Well, I'm with Pastor and his wife, and some
people from the church. Everybody told me to say hello,
and that they miss you, and of course they're praying for
you," she said, emphasizing the praying part. "Do you live
close by?" she asked.
"No, we're a couple of hours away. But we thought
we'd take you to lunch first, and then take you to the
house so you can meet everybody, and stay the night. I'll
get you back in plenty of time before you sail tomorrow," I
explained.
As we approached the car, Sander opened the rear
hatch and walked towards us.
"Hi, Mrs. Allen. I'm Sander Lars Hansen, and
welcome to Denmark," Pokey said, extending his hand. My
mom just kind of stared at him for a moment.
"I haven't been Mrs. Allen for at least fifteen years,
I'll have you know," she declared with a huge helping of
snark in her voice.
"I'm sorry! Oh yes! it is right, I shall have
remember. Johnnie tell me before. May I calling you
Ruth?" Sander asked.
"Mrs. Cooper will do nicely. And I'm sorry, just
who are you?"
"Mom, this is Sander. And we're taking you to
lunch now, okay?" I said, the bile and ire growing in me by
the second. Sander opened the front door and invited her
to sit down. And then he loaded her overnight bag into the
trunk.
Before we leave the pier, I should tell you that
Pokey and I have never sat apart in a car, especially our
own. The comfort we both derive from holding hands,
crotches is a very important part of our daily lives. To
think that he willingly insisted that my mother take his
seat is akin to your dad letting you sit in his favorite
recliner during the Super Bowl or the World Cup.
"That's some kind of English," she said, indicating
Sander sitting in the back seat.
"It's better than your Danish. And he's here. In the
car. He can hear you," I told her, still doing my best to
keep my cool.
"So he speaks Dutch?"
"No, Mrs. Cooper. I speaking Danish, because we're
in Denmark. And I speaking English because of that you're
our guest," Sander said, with the diplomacy of Gandhi
conversing with Beelzebub.
"Then who speaks Dutch?" she asked.
"People who live in The Netherlands," I explained.
"It's also called Holland."
"It'd be a lot easier if everybody just learned
English. Then we could all understand each other."
"Yeah, but your invisible buddy-in-the-sky had
that Tower of Babel thing go down, and he kinda put a
stop to it," I pointed out to her, not that she would ever be
enamored by fact. Facts are kinda her enemy.
"Okay, smart guy. We'll see who laughs last on
Judgment Day." One of her Top Five comebacks of all time.
"Do you liking to eat the seafood, Mrs. Cooper?"
Sander asked her. "Because where we takes you to lunch
have the best anywhere. And they cooking other things,
too, but they make the best seafood."
"It is Friday, Mom. The Good Book says you have
to eat fish on Friday
," I joked. Which, with my mom,
usually backfires somehow.
"No, that's a Catholic thing. Christians don't have
to worry about any of that," she said, without irony.
"But Mrs. Cooper, are not the Catholics Christians I
believe?" Sander said, risking his life and all that is Holy.
"No. Catholics follow the Pope, and they believe in
ceremonies and their own catechisms that they made up.
Like the Mormons do. They don't believe in salvation; they
believe that you can only get to heaven through your good
works and a priest, but that's not what the Bible says," she
preached.
"But I was... I think that Peter, who was one of
Jesus's—er, I don't know what it called in English, but
there was twelve of those man..."
"His apostles."
"Yes! One is call Peter who is long ago making the
Catholic Church, yes?" Sander reasoned. Big mistake,
Pokey!
"I don't know about any of that. All I know is,
I don't care if it snows or freezes, I am safe in the arms of
Jesus!" she bellowed in her annoyinger-than-thou cadence
of crap.
"Are we there yet, Johnnie Bond?" Sander
pleaded into the rearview mirror.
"Soon and very soon..." I smiled, surreptitiously
raising a Praise Jesus hand while my mother gazed out the
window. Oh, if looks could have killed, this journal would
end right here.
A few painfully long minutes later and we arrived
at the restaurant. Our table was ready, and they were
pouring glasses of cool, arctic spring water and setting out
bread rolls and fresh, creamy Danish butter as we sat
down in the classically furnished eatery near the town
square.
"This place looks nice," Mrs. Cooper commented, as
the waiter's assistant—known as busboys in the States—lit
a candle bowl and presented menus to each of us. "What's
good here?"
"Uh... The seafood?" I reminded her.
"That's right!" she said. "Now if I could only read
the menu! Looks like Greek to me!" she laughed. "Help me
out, will you?"
"Yes of course!" Sander offered. "Have you feel like
some meats? Or maybe salads? Or they having here a
thing just for today, It calls Danish hash. In Denmark we
say biksemad," Sander told her.
"What do you usually get, Johnnie?"
"I do the smart thing and let the Dane order for me
in the Danish restaurant," I replied.