134 - Fun, Fun, Fun

[9:30 AM]PT: Hey. Wanna have a bachelorette party tonight?

Petey was stretched out on Jon’s – their – bed, resting for a  moment after her two mile jaunt on the treadmill.  Jon was in the shower and, rather than walk downstairs, she waited for him to finish so that she could take one, too.  Not that he would mind sharing…

I can be strong for one blasted day.  The sex isn’t that good.

Okay, it was, but it was only one day.  It shouldn’t be so hard, considering that they would be with family and then completely apart for the rest of the night.  There was the bachelor party, and she’d just about decided to stay at the hotel with her parents.  Sleeping in the same bed as Jon the night before their wedding was just morally reprehensible.

And I have so many morals when it comes to pleasures of the flesh and him.

Shaking her head, Petey returned to the task at hand, awaiting Gavin’s response.  She may not know him as well as some people, but she would guess he was always up for a party.

It was a good guess.

[9:31 AM]GAVIN: Hell yes!  Skinny Girl margaritas and strippers??

Not exactly.  Her entire guest list was comprised of her mother, Dorothea and Stephanie.  That was her big bachelorette bash.  Her mother, almost-step-daughter and almost-husband’s ex-wife. 

Welcome to the functionally dysfunctional family of the new millennium.

[9:32 AM]PT: Um. Any ideas for something more family oriented? 

The chime of a text message reply never came.  Instead it was the “Born This Way” ringtone she’d set up for Gavin.  Turned out he was a huge Lady Gaga fan. 

“Hello?”

“Family oriented bachelorette party?”  He skipped over the pleasantries and right to the heart of the problem.  “Dollface, don’t you know the meaning of the word bachelorette party?  In my Webster’s dictionary ‘bachelorette party’ is immediately followed by the entry for ‘Chippendale dancer’.”

Nothing was more entertaining than a gay man in a snit.  Petey would rather that snit wasn’t pointed in her direction, but it was still pretty damned amusing. 

“Technically it’s two words, and I’m aware of the traditional meaning, but my mother and future step-daughter are going to be there.  I was thinking more along the lines of a spa party?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you can do the spa thing anytime!  Your last evening as a single woman has to be commemorated better than that!  Boyfriend has cash that I’m sure he’s willing to spend on you.  Take advantage of it!”

Crap.

Gavin still didn’t know who Petey ‘was’.  If he was going to meet her family this weekend, she should probably drop that bomb now.  It wasn’t likely to be a big deal, but on the off-chance that it was…?   Allowing him extra time to acclimate to the idea would be for the best.

“I’m not spending his money, I’m spending mine.  I haven’t really had reason to mention it before now, but I’m kind of….an heiress.”

“Uh.  Hello?  What the hell did you just say?”

Crossing her fingers, Petey hoped this wouldn’t change anything between her and Gavin.  She tittered out a light and briefly filled him in on her family.

“Well take all my fashion sense and call me a straight man,” he mused after a moment of silence.  “No wonder you didn’t blink at the price of that wedding dress.  That must be like buying a box of Cracker Jack for the great Heinz Heiress.”

“No, it wasn’t.”  It had been really strange paying that much money for a single garment.  As long as she’d been doing her own shopping, she’d never resorted to purchasing anything as exorbitant as that dress.  But how could she resist?  It was absolutely, positively perfect.  “I prefer to live on my actual paycheck.  That was a special occasion.”  There was no need to try and define it any further.  He either got it, or he didn’t.

Thank God, he did.

“And so is your bachelorette party.  Fortunately for you, Petey Pursestrings, I’ve come up with the most FAB-ulous idea.”

“And?  What is it?”

“Well….”  Gavin was just a wee bit dramatic, and he was exercising that trait to the hilt right now.  Hopefully his suggestion would be worth the wait.  “There is this cabaret club-slash-restaurant in the city called Lips.  The performers are in drag, which is always a party in and of itself.”

“Wait.  Drag?  Like men dressing up as women?”

What the hell was he thinking? 

“Oh lighten up.  You’re marrying a rock star.  This shit is tame by comparison.”

But her mother!

“Dollface, I’m tellin’ ya, straight women appreciate a good drag show almost as much as a gay man. They’re fascinated with the hair and makeup and smooth skin.  Trust me.  The talent at this place is astounding, and tonight is going to be extra special because….”

Dramatic pause.  Huh.  Imagine that.

“It’s Lady Gaga night!!”

Petey rolled her eyes to the heavens and mimed stabbing herself in the chest with a knife.  Jon had finished his shower and sauntered, bare-chested, into the bedroom, giving Petey a curious look when she intoned sarcastically, “Gee, Gavin, I’m sure my mother will be thrilled….”

“Hey.  Listen here, Sarcastabitch.”  She couldn’t help but smirk at his crabbiness.  “There are plenty of old school performers – Liza, Diana Ross, and Cher to name a few.  Mommy Dearest will feel as though she’s at a Tupperware party with her besties, and the super-secret-surprise of the night will send the rock star daughter to the moon.”

“Oh?  And what’s that?”  She tried valiantly to remain focused on Gavin’s excitement, while her own brand of excitement was pulling a t-shirt over his rippling back muscles.  There wasn’t a Chippendale dancer who could hold a candle to him, as far as she was concerned.

“The Lady Gaga performer is…”  Petey mentally checked back into the conversation in time to hear, “Lady Gaga!!  Live and in person!  She sneaks in at clubs like these once in a while just for kicks.”

Now she understood why Gavin was in such a tizzy.  He was gravitating toward the mother ship.

“She’s not going to wear that dress made of meat, is she?”  The memory of that still churned her stomach, and the way Jon’s nose wrinkled she could see he felt the same way.

“That’s the beauty of it!” her friend sing-songed, and she could just see him bouncing with delight.  “You have no idea what she will do!”

God help to me pray. 

But, really, it was one of those once-in-a-lifetime things.  Shouldn’t her bachelorette party be memorable?  Stephanie would probably enjoy it.  Heck, her mom would likely get a good kick out of it, too.  But what about Dorothea?  Would she go for it? Or, better yet, would she let Stephanie go?

“I’m going to say okay for now, but think of a backup plan in case this doesn’t fly with Dorothea.  And why don’t you come to dinner with us before?  Can you get away from the shop to be in Staten Island by five?”

She’d already decided that everyone going to the bachelor/bachelorette parties may as well join in the dinner.  They would be at the wedding together the next day, and it wasn’t like Jon didn’t already know her parents.  They could call it a rehearsal dinner if that was more socially acceptable.

“Staten Island?  Why Staten Island?”

“It’s halfway between Manhattan and Asbury Park.  More or less, anyway.  Jon’s friend David recommended Angelina’s Ristorante to him a while back, so that’s where we’re having dinner.”

“Italian.  How cliché.”

“Shut up.  Do you want to come to dinner, or not?”

After only one more smart remark, he agreed to meet them there at five and rang off.  Thank God there was a screaming harpy customer demanding his attention, or who knew how long that would’ve gone on?

“Ugh.”  She tossed the phone on the bed and smiled up at Jon, who was standing with arms crossed, regarding her with amusement.  “What?” she demanded, jackknifing into a sitting position.  “You’re amused for some reason?”

“Me?  Nope, not at all.  It’s just nice to see that Gavin can overwhelm you, too.”

A rueful smile seeped into the dimples of her right cheek.  “Yeah.  How do you think Dorothea will feel about going to a drag show with her daughter?  The real Lady Gaga is supposed to be there, pretending to be herself.”

Jon nearly choked on his laughter and rubbed a thoughtful palm over his still-stubbly jaw.  “Well that explains the meat dress comment, but I…  I dunno, Sugar.  It’s best if you’re the one asking that question.  She’s just gonna assume I’m a fucking idiot and laugh in my face.  At least if it comes from you, she’ll pretend to consider it.”

“Great,” she sighed, shoulders slumping forward.  “That’s about what I thought, not that I can blame her.”

There was a vibration on the mattress, and Petey glanced over to see a text message lighting the screen.

[9:56 AM]DAVE: At least I can tell everybody I married u even if I don’t get the benefit of a wedding nite

“Oh, Godddd.”  Petey frowned, turning the screen so Jon could see and pretended to carefully inspect him from head to toe.  “Are you really worth the trouble of your friends?”

Jon, of course, merely laughed like a school boy.  Snatching the phone, he tossed it to the side and cradled her face with both hands.  “You fuckin’ love having men falling at your feet with their dicks in their hands.  Admit it. Men with actual personalities, no less.”

“Dicks in their hands, huh?”  She loved it when he was playful like this.  His eyes were sparkling with a gleeful merriment, and the stubble made her think of the rough edges that he usually kept reserved for the bedroom.  Looping a finger in the chain laden with the charms bearing his kids’ names, she tugged lightly.  “I’ve never seen you at my feet with your dick in your hands.  I think I might like that very much.”

One blonde brow lifted in warning.  “Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish.  If my dick is in my hand it’s gonna be because I’m guiding it into your sweet pussy.”

Her face puckered unhappily for an instant, before inspiration lifted her back up.  “I’m reserving the right to resume this conversation tomorrow night, because that’s what I want for a wedding gift.  You.  At my feet, dick in hand.  Think you can do that?”

He lifted a shoulder, looking disappointed.  “That’s all you want?  You mean I can send back the bedroom suite I ordered?  You don’t want to turn this room into the Goth cave with a big-ass black bed and matching furniture?  Or the spider-webby curtains? Or the other thing I got?”

She perked up.  Had she just thought she liked his playfulness?  No.  He was being a pain in the ass with it now.  “You did that?  Really?  Why? And what other thing?”

“Yes, my incredulous imp, I did that.”  He pushed his hands into her hair and the playfulness melted away to be replaced a thoughtful sincerity.  “I know you like your girly pink bedroom, but I just can’t sleep in a boudoir.  This compromise is my wedding gift to you.  The bedroom will be completely redecorated when we get back from our honeymoon.”

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she grinned with delight.  “That sounds amazing.  Thank you.  But you mentioned another thing?”

He gently unwound her fingers from his necklace and took a step back.  “Turn me loose and I’ll show you.  It came yesterday and, while I said it’s part of your wedding gift, it’s really more for me than you.”

Nodding, the necklace reminded Petey something that had been bothering her, and, as he backtracked into the closet, she spoke loudly enough for him to hear in there.  “You don’t wear your wedding ring on stage?”

“No.”  He must be all the way in the back of the closet from the sounds of it.  “Obie bitches that it sounds like a gong hitting on the mic.  Besides that…”  The voice was getting louder.   He was on his way back to her.  “…I lost a couple to fans.  My hands get sweaty and rings slide off easy.”  Appearing in the doorway, he held a plain white box on his hip.  It was a perfect cube, less than a foot long at each edge.  “Does it bother you that I won’t be wearing my ring on stage?”

Eyes transfixed on the box, she distractedly voiced her personal solution.  “Not if you’ll let me buy you a necklace to wear.”

“You have good taste in jewelry, so as long as it’s not pink, I’m good.  I’d actually like it.”  He sank next to her on the mattress, dipping to brush his lips over hers.  “Something short that doesn’t dangle when I lean over.”

“Mm,” she agreed, attention riveted on the white cardboard container now seated on his lap.  She was a sucker for surprises.  It was one of the few childlike qualities she still harbored.  “What’s in the box?”

He grinned cheekily, clearly seeing how the curiosity was affecting her as he pulled the lid away.  “King of Bling.”  The rhinestone skull materialized from its nest of styrofoam peanuts.  It was a little bigger than a softball and sparkled in the winter sunlight. 

“Pretty,” she admired as he passed it into her hands.  Petey felt her magpie tendencies take over, completely enamored with the tacky glitz.  It was a funny bauble for a man like Jon to have, but it suited her just fine.

“I told you he goes in the dressing room every show?”  She nodded, and his hand disappeared back into the static laden packing material.  This time the skull he lifted out was crusted with pink rhinestones.  “Now he has company.  Meet the Queen of Bling.”

“Ohhhhh!  Now that’s pretty!”

“Yeah?”  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he set loose one of his full-voltage grins, making him almost as dazzling as the skull.  “I thought you might like that.  If you’re working, you won’t be hanging out in the dressing room with me and, to be perfectly honest, I demand solitude before a show.  This way you’ll be there even when you’re not there.”

It was one of the sweetest, thoughtful, romantic gestures ever.  For an unromantic guy, he’d done some good work lately, and she was starting to think this un-romantic advertising campaign was a load of crap.

“I adore them!  When you’re not touring they can come home to our nightstands or the dresser.”

“If that’s what you want, Baby.”  He put the box aside, and stood, holding his empty hand out for King.  Queen was safely nestled into his other hand, and when Petey transferred custody, Jon took them both to the dresser.  Positioning them in the center, he turned for her approval.  “Okay?”

Better than okay.  Absolutely perfect.  When had her life become a freaking fairy tale?  

“Yeah, it looks good.”

Returning to her, he locked his hands into Petey’s and pulled her up into the circle of his arms.  “So do you,” he murmured, nuzzling the curve of her neck.  “After tomorrow, you don’t get to deny me sex, Petey.  Ever.  Anytime, anyplace I want it, you’ll suck me or fuck me until I’m too old to get it up anymore.”

His commandeering asshole routine was just for show, she’d come to learn.  By now, he knew what pushed her buttons, and being under his authority was one of the biggest buttons on the board.  Who was she to complain if he pushed it often and well?

“Yes, Sir,” she demurred meekly, not taking offense at the offensiveness of his decree.

Confident hands gripped her backside, propelling her against the erection straining behind his zipper.  Petey mewled softly, instantly aching to have him. 

“When do I get my wedding gift?”

Wedding gift?  The sensual fog had rolled in, clouding her brain and rendering her temporarily stupid.  Oh.  Wedding gift.

“It’s supposed to be here this afternoon.  You can have it before we go to dinner.”

He growled lightly in the back of his throat.  “I’d rather have you before dinner, especially since it sounds like our little dinner has grown into a full-fledged party.”

“Mm.  Is that okay?” The hard heat of his flesh molded to her palms as she caressed his back.  “It just seemed easier since everybody would need to eat before the bachelor and bachelorette partying started.”

Jon grumbled, physically separating himself from her and not happy that he had to.  “Yeah, but I guess that means I need to make some calls and get extra security at Angelina’s.  After I go jack off,” he muttered.

Petey’s fingers dug into his forearm and her eyes danced with mischievousness.  “Don’t you dare waste an orgasm that way.  You’ll wait until tomorrow night to get off, just like I am.”

“You don’t control my orgasms.”

She smirked at his haughtiness.  He could pretend to be pissed all he wanted, but half the sparks they struck off of one another were from the undercurrent of their contrived power struggle.  He got off on it just as much as she did.

Petey cupped him through the worn denim of his jeans, with a wicked, “Wanna bet?”