Short story about a wedding night dilemma.

Why Her?
    ”Baby, what are you doing?” Becky called from the bathroom. I could hear her hair dryer from the bedroom where I stood.  I was standing because I was terrified of sitting on Becky’s bed because I did not want to give the wrong impression.  
    Becky and I had decided to start a dating relationship after months and months of pleading with her to date me.  I loved Becky’s warm and slightly crooked smile.  I loved Becky’s nose. It was long and small.  My utmost favorite was Becky’s grey eyes like that of a pussy cat.
    ”What honey,” I called to her.
    ”What are you doing,” Becky replied as she lowered the volume of the hair dryer, which I guessed means she decreased the speed of the dryer.  I was tempted to pretend I did not hear her, but I did not do that; I replied. “I am just looking around Becky. What a nice place you have here.”
    Becky walked into the bedroom, her brownish dark hair glowed, her towel was no longer on her curvaceous body, and it laid there on the floor as her beautiful eyes seduced me to come closer.  I did.
    ”Rock-a- bye – baby on the tree top…lalalalalalala…,” Becky sang to me.  She was fond of singing nursery rhymes to me.  She enjoyed treating me like a baby.   Honestly, that was exactly why I loved Becky.
Becky and I enjoyed months of romantic, sometimes rocky times together.  I was fond of her as she was me.  We ran marathons together for Breast cancer awareness.  We sat by the lake once and we prayed together.  Sometimes she slapped me across the face for always putting my family before her, especially my mother.  I could have slapped Becky back, but I was used to getting that treatment from my strict but loving mother.
    Dark clouds filled the sky.  It was unusual for the weather channel to give a wrong forecast in New York.  Tomorrow was a special day; Becky was going to be my wife.  I felt okay.  I felt happy.  I felt worried, I felt loved.  I loved Becky and she loves me.  I slowly walked to my law briefcase and pulled out my journal.  I wrote in it.
    Dear Mama,
        I love you.  You are my wife (I erased it, I meant to say life.) You are my life.  I cannot do without you.   Please don’t leave me.  I love you. I know I will make you proud.
        With all my heart,
“John, John,” my brother called.
“Yes what’s up bro?” I replied
“Don’t mess this up okay.  You got a great woman who loves you.  So don’t do anything stupid. Okay!”
“What are you talking about,” I swallowed.
Nothing hurt me more than hurting Becky.
The wedding ceremony was good.  We had a well polished preacher at the church.  The reception was even better.  There were African music, American music (including Rock, Pop, and Slow Jamz), we even had jazz.  The food tasted simply yummy; nothing more, nothing less.  Around 8:00pm, after dancing the night away with my Becky we were ready to go back to our one night suite.  We thanked some friends and family members.  We entered the white decorated, quite expensive limo Becky had rode to the church.  Becky had held my hand as we walked to the vehicle.
“Baby….,” Becky whispered softly in my ear.
“Yes sexy woman…I mean sexy wife …” I whispered back
“Well I have a surprise for you…”
My ears pooped up.  I could feel their heat on the back of my neck.  She went into the bathroom with a Victoria secret bag in her hand.  My heart raced like a horse on the racetracks, it galloped. I had never been this excited to make love to Becky.  It was going to be a great night.  As soon as I took off my clothes, Becky walked into the bedroom.  I grabbed her by the waist, laid her on her back across the bed.  I took off her red satin panties…then I paused.
    I whispered in her ear gently in fear, “I need to call mama.”
    She cried, “Why John!”
    I knew Becky was hurt because she never called me John before especially during such an intense moment.
     I got off her and sat on the edge of the bed with my hands to my chin, she deserved an answer.  I mumbled,” I love mama and I do not want to love another woman more than her.”
    Becky cried. I held her in my arms.   I cradled her.  For the first time I sang to her, “Rock-a-bye. Baby-on- the – tree top ….” Also for the first time I said to my wife Becky Charles, “I love you baby!”

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