kentucky 2:2
Look at you both, I thought, getting just what you want. She waxes her nipples, shaves her pits. Her hair sparkles under that bridal coif. What if she let her legs go a day or three? Would you marry her then? What if she hadn't showered, hadn't combed, hadn't put on the pretty dress? What if she stood there stinking, unwashed, two days coital, pregnant and choking on a cocktail toothpick? Would you marry her then? And you, too, what if he made half as much money, drove a Dodge, wore polyester to the track? Would you marry him? Me neither, that ain't love. I ate another canape. Later, an opportunity came up to kiss the bride. She was radiant. A redeeming rumor whipped through the post-ceremonial crowd that the couple had consummated directly, in the men's room, before the cake cutting, even before the receiving line, and everyone ahead of us was laying thick wet ones on her while pumping his hand with congratulatory vigor. I wanted her so much I feared I was showing. This is funny, I thought, and when my turn came, I laughed, and the couple laughed and the rest of them laughed. Who is this man, they laughed, this man with a boner for the bride?
move on... 
other roads...
Back Up...
other roads:
