"Christ, BJ. You look so fucking sexy in that suit; that ass of yours drives me nuts. What about those boots?"
I'm wearing cowboy boots, black with light brown inlays, a gift from my husband-to-be. My Big Bear is smiling at me. He approaches and takes me into his arms. "Thank you for marrying me, my love. This has got to be the best Christmas gift of my entire life. Christ, I love you."
I can't help the tear that slowly comes out of my left eye. My heart hurts; it's beating so hard.
"Maurice, I'm..." Nothing more comes out. All I can manage in a barely audible whisper is, "I love you so much." Maurice holds me tight. For a couple of minutes, we're silent, choked by emotions. I feel his heart beating wildly and his deep breathing through his nose close to my ear. I'm holding on tightly to my dream man. Then reality checks in.
"Hey, boys," Mitch yells from the bottom of the stairs. "Time to go." He's waiting with his wife, Elena; Ben, her brother; Rick and Angèle; Steve; Bob and Cindy; Nozomi and Akari; and my two little hearts, Asami and Akio. We wanted them with us for our very special day.
As we come down the stairs, hand in hand, they all applaud. Neither one of us can talk. Thank the gods for the kids. They run towards us, yelling, "Daddy, daddy, bib pa, big pa." We grab one each, and the tears that are about to flow turn into big smiles. These two lively bundles of joy fill our hearts and, I confess, save us from an embarrassing emotional moment.
Rick shakes his dad's hand and whispers something to him, then hugs me and murmurs to me, "Thanks for making him so happy." He slaps me on the back and tells everyone that it's time to go.
Man, I am so bloody nervous; I forgot to say hi to these wonderful friends of ours. Maurice sticks to me, and, like me, he seems all bottled up. We are both weak at the knees, but one look at him—into his eyes, especially—calms me down. That's a lot of emotions for guys like us, who are not used to broadcasting them. We do it in private when we're alone, but never in public.
Mitch is my best man, and Rick is his father's. They are both dressed cowboy-like, cowboy hats included—gifts we bought them as a reminder of our wedding day. Mitch bought us the same black hat with a brown belt.
*
It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny, but a tad cold at -12° C. An hour later, after a quick and simple ceremony, we are husbands. It seems to me that the whole village is at City Hall to congratulate us—a big, unexpected surprise. Maurice is a very popular man in the village of St-Jean-Baptiste. He's always available to lend a hand when needed. The funniest thing about all of this is that every person attending our wedding is wearing a cowboy hat—men and women alike.
After shaking so many hands and being hugged by so many people, we finally make it home. Maurice and I sit with the kids in the back of the car driven by Rick, and Angèle is sitting next to him; she's a beautiful, smiling young lady. Nozomi and Akari, the kids' mothers, are following us with the rest of our guests in tow.
Elena and Angèle added Christmas decorations, which they brought with them, to the huge table and adjusted everything to add a place for Angèle and Cindy—a surprise to be sure—before they all left for City Hall. The whole house smells of that mouthwatering Irish stew. "A simple meal for simple folks," Maurice says. "Homey, tasty, and so filling." Angèle brought a carrot cake—my favourite cake. It thrones in the middle of the buffet, where all the sweet goodies are displayed. My kids are eyeing them already. Mitch casually steals a couple of chocolates and gives them to the kids. They kiss him and run, giggling, to the living room to hide behind the big couch.
I get all the side dishes from the cold pantry and puts them on the kitchen island. Then Elena and Angèle place them in their proper place on the table. What a wonderfully lively meal. Everyone gets into the conversations. Maurice's Irish stew is perfect. He and I sit side by side in the middle of the long table, with one kid sitting on our lap the whole time. Akio always sticks to Maurice like a magnet to metal. That's how it always is with him and Asami. They even stood with us during the whole ceremony at City Hall. We feed them and they feed us; they're having the time of their lives. After the meal, to my great sadness, there's no more carrot cake left when I ask for a second piece. It's one of the best carrot cakes I've ever had. Angèle promises to bake another one just for me. She also offers to give me her recipe; everyone bursts out laughing. Elena explains to Angèle and Cindy why everyone is laughing so heartily—BJ can't cook.
Maurice invites our guests to stay with us to welcome Christmas. We have a light supper because Maurice prepared a traditional réveillon Québécois: tourtière, meatball stew cooked in a homemade brown sauce, mashed potatoes and carrots, and a whole lot of other side dishes. The evening is like a dream: everyone enjoying themselves in Maurice's beautiful house. We sing and square dance, with Ben—Elena's brother—calling the latter. We line dance, making fools of ourselves. At some point, my son, Akio, falls asleep while sitting on my lap, and my daughter, Asami, cuddles Maurice, sound asleep, wrapped by bib pa's right arm. We bring them up and put them to bed. It's sometime around 10 p.m., which means they can sleep a little bit before Santa delivers the gifts.
At ten minutes to twelve, Sante—Ben—comes into the house loudly singing HO! HO! HO! and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Akio and Azami run downstairs, smiling with their big eyes wide open. Everyone is kissing and hugging, and Santa invites everyone to sit.
A couple of hours after Santa's distribution of the gifts, we say goodbye to all of them. Mitch drags Elena, Rick, Angèle, and Ben to the party held by the employees in their 'community barn'—an old barn they converted into a social gathering place. Steve, Bob, and Cindy return to Montreal, while the kids' mothers stay with us for the night. The house is big. We've got room for even more people.
Before going to bed, I make sure the kids are okay. Akio is sleeping completely uncovered, with a leg jutting out from the side of the bed. I delicately replace his leg on the bed, then put the comforter back over him and tuck it under the mattress. I look at my son for a long moment and then kiss him on the forehead. Asami is sleeping soundly on her side, covered to the neck. She prefers her room a little cooler—around 18°C. After a long moment of looking at her, too, I kiss her on the forehead. I'm a dad; it's an unbelievable feeling of pride, joy, and fear, all wrapped up so tight that it becomes a single, unnameable emotion. I love them more than anything in the world. I can't help thinking that if Maurice had shown dislike for the kids, I would have certainly chosen my children without the slightest hesitation and lived with a broken heart for the rest of my life. As it is, he loves them as much as I do.
As I come out of Asami's room, Nozomi, her mom, dressed in her fluffy pink house coat and wearing outrageous pink bunny slippers, is coming to check on her. She thanks me for the wonderful evening and for being such a good father to our daughter and Akio. "They both love you so much," she says. I blush, as usual, and wish her good night
I get back to our bedroom, and Maurice is standing by the bathroom door in all his natural glory, smiling. What a magnificent, virile man! I undress as fats as I can. My big, hairy bear of a man watches while his dick gets harder and longer with every piece I take off.
Under the hot shower, we kiss and rub every single square inch of our bodies. We let the hot water relax our muscles and our minds. We slowly come down from the high induced by the great wedding party and the amazing Christmas Eve we've just had. We kiss tenderly and hug for long minutes at a time. There's no rush. We have all night. I love touching his hairy, hard-muscled body. I hold his thick cock in my right hand, stroking slowly, while my left hand plays with his gorgeous balls. I'm standing behind him with my wet, naked body firmly pressed against his dream ass and solid back. That's heaven. His growl sounds like a long and low purr. He likes to be handled that way, and I love doing it. It's sensual and erotic, and it prepares us for the untold pleasures soon to come.
We dry each other with large, fluffy white towels and walk hand in hand to our wedding bed. Two beautiful red roses lay on the pillows. There's a note next to one of them. Maurice picks it up and reads it aloud. "I love you, Dad. I love you, BJ. I'm so proud to be your son. Love, Rick." Maurice, immobile, holds the card with a slightly trembling hand. After a moment, he takes the roses and puts them on the nightstand—a rare emotional moment for my grizzly lover. I remain silent, not wanting to ruin his moment. He gives me a soft, loving glimpse.
