“Beautiful,” the celebrant says softly, her own voice slightly choked with emotion. “Absolutely beautiful. Carlo, would you like to share your vows?”
I reach behind Carlo’s head again and guide him through another nod, then answer for him with the words I know he would say if he could find them. “He told me earlier that his feelings are so deep, words can’t express them. He prefers to show his love through actions rather than speeches. He’s never been one for grand gestures with words.”
“How wonderfully romantic,” she sighs, pressing her hand to her heart. “Sometimes the deepest emotions transcend language. Very well then. By the power vested in me by the state and by the universe itself, I now pronounce you husband and husband.”
“Husband and wife,” I correct.
The celebrant pales. She picks up papers from her desk and starts furiously flicking through them.
“Oh my!” she gasps. “Have I been using the wrong pronouns? I can’t apologise enough!”
“No, not at all,” I reassure her warmly. “I am a boy, my pronouns are he him. But I prefer wife. It embodies our dynamic, as well as allowing me to express my feminine side.”
She sags in relief and then smiles brightly. “How lovely.”
Then she straightens up. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss!”
My heart stops. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreaming of for years, the culmination of everything I’ve worked toward, the beginning of our real life together.
I lean in slowly, savoring every second of this perfect moment, and press my lips gently to Carlo’s. The ball gag is between us, but it doesn’t diminish the magic of the moment. Nothing could diminish this. It’s perfect. We’re married. He’s mine forever.
I kiss him deeply. Thoroughly. Utterly. I kiss him until he makes a quiet sound that goes straight to my impatient cock.
“Congratulations!” the celebrant beams, clapping her hands together with genuine joy. “I’ll get that certificate in the mail to you right away. May you have many years of happiness together.”
“Thank you so much,” I manage through my tears of pure joy, my voice thick with emotion. “This has been absolutely perfect. Everything I ever dreamed of.”
I close the laptop and set it aside carefully, my hands shaking with happiness and the overwhelming realization that it’s done. We did it. We’re actually married. Legally, officially, forever and always.
“Let me get that off you, my darling husband,” I say, reaching behind Carlo’s head to unbuckle the gag with gentle, reverent fingers.
He spits it out the moment he’s free, working his jaw and running his tongue over his lips. “Ginni, this is insane. You can’t just...”
“Shhh,” I interrupt, pressing a finger to his lips with infinite tenderness. “No negativity on our wedding day. I have cake!”
He stares at me with a utterly dumbfounded expression. It makes him look younger. Even more handsome.
I quickly grab my phone from the bedside cabinet. “Sadly, there wasn’t a way to hire a professional photographer. Theycan’t do it via a laptop camera, and I didn’t want strangers in our love nest.
I hold the phone up and angle my head next to Carlo’s, making sure to capture the bouquet. I smile and take several photos in quick succession. Only stopping when Carlo’s daze ends and he starts scowling. But that’s fine. I have enough photos for now, and everything else is stored safely away in my memory.
“Cake time!” I smile brightly.
I retrieve the small wedding cake from the kitchen, carrying it like the precious treasure it is. Two perfect tiers of vanilla sponge with buttercream roses, absolutely perfect for an intimate celebration. I cut us each a piece with ceremonial precision, and when Carlo opens his mouth to say something, I feed him a large mouthful with a silver fork, the way newlyweds are supposed to do at every wedding since the beginning of time.
“Isn’t this delicious?” I ask, taking my own bite and savoring the sweet vanilla flavor. “I specifically requested extra vanilla because I know how much you love it. I remember you always taking seconds of vanilla cake at family birthdays.”
Carlo chews mechanically, his eyes distant and unfocused. He’s probably just overwhelmed by how perfect everything is, how seamlessly all the pieces have come together. Sometimes happiness can be just as shocking as sadness.
“And now,” I announce, setting the plates aside and standing up with renewed energy, “it’s time for our first dance!”
I consider untying Carlo for a moment, imagining how romantic it would be to dance with him properly, to feel his arms around me as we sway together as newlyweds. The image is so beautiful it makes my chest ache with longing.
But then he speaks, hope creeping into his voice in a way that’s almost heartbreaking.
“I’d love that,” he says quickly, too quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I want our first dance to be special. Really special. Just the two of us.”
I pause, studying his face with the kind of careful attention I’ve learned to pay to his expressions over the years. My poor Carlo. He’s such a terrible liar, it’s absolutely endearing. The hope in his eyes, the way he’s trying so hard to sound sincere when what he really wants is freedom… it all just makes me love him even more.
