"Do you, Joseph Scott, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"
"And do you, Andrea Miller, take this man to be your lawful weeded husband, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"
"I do," said my soon-to-be wife.
The preacher beamed at us both. "If there is anyone who believes there is a reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold your peace."
After a moment of silence, the church door opened with a bang, and a shirtless man in tight black pants and suspenders stood in the doorway with a saxophone. And then he started to play
It took the minister and the best man together to keep me from killing him on the spot.
"Dearly beloved, we are here to honor the memory of Lucas Twain, who died peacefully in his sleep on June tenth of this year. He was a great man, who shed light on the lives of all who had the privilege of knowing him."
My heart was a stone, but only because I dared not speak for fear of bawling. I wasn't one of his family, but this was the guy who'd helped my claw my way out of heroin addiction. There was a lot of screaming and vomiting involved, but he stuck with me, and made me stick with it. We'd been close ever since.
How many other people at this memorial had he helped like that? Most of them, I'm willing to bet.
Wait, am I hearing sax music? I'm not having a flashback, am I?
I looked around. The good news was that it wasn't a flashback. Everyone else was seeing the same thing I was: a beanpole with a saxophone barging in on our funeral. The bad news is they were starting to riot. The priest was at least calling the police, which may have been the thing that saved that jerk's life.
Jake and I have been cellmates for three months. Three months is a long time to have to go without getting laid, and while we're both straight, we're both horny, too. Two weeks ago, we finally decided we had to do something before we started going crazy. We've been taking turns on the top and bottom ever since. Tonight, it's Jake's turn on top.
"Okay, here's one finger," Jake said, teasing me.
"Are you going to do something back there, or just think it to death?" I growled.
"Come on, haven't you heard of foreplay?"
"Dude, just stick it in before I break it off."
"Okay, okay," he groaned, pulling down his pants. Before he had a chance to do anything beyond that, we heard a sax line from the cell next to ours.
Jake exploded. "If you don't stop playing that fucking thing, I'm gonna shove it so far up your ass you'll be shitting brass for a year!"