Adam Lambert Spam


Tyler Labine Spam + Milkshake

Part Seven of Your Story

It was a black day, the kind of day that starts most tragic stories, but this isn’t a sob story. This is a love story.

It’s a curious thing, for any man, really, to get married. It’s always the thoughts of forever, infinity, and entrapment and what if I get bored? What if I fuck it up, what if he fucks it up? And what if things just slowly fall apart, fizzle out, neither of us at fault?

So I woke up at nine and put on whatever I was wearing the night before (turned out to be those shorts Mike loves and the sunrise jacket and my plain black Converse) because I’d get dressed for real at the hotel. Those little flutters were going on in my stomach, convincing me I was going to throw up at any given moment, but I managed to eat a frozen waffle Joe had in his freezer. He looked kind of funny at me; I think it was because he knew what it was like to get married. I guess I did too, but this was different, somehow. This was honest.

Naturally I drove myself to the church, because I had to get there early to set up flowers or some shit. Mike would be there too, and so would Rob, because he has this strange infatuation for weddings–something I only learned when he started helping Mike with ours.

As I walked in the door, I could already see the chairs and the makeshift altar, and if Mike hadn’t stood up after fixing one of those bouquets and smiled at me, just smiled at me, I would’ve ran out the door. But instead I put my bag down and stood awkwardly as he came over to see me.

We agreed not to kiss that day until it was our first kiss as husbands, and surprisingly we did manage that. Once he got close to me, once I could feel his body heat and smell him, my nerves instantly disappeared and I realized how fucking lucky I am.

I wrapped my arms around him tight, pressing my face in his neck, closing my eyes and inhaling his scent. His hands ran down my back and he sighed, and we stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other, until a delivery guy came in asking us to sign something.

I helped Mike set everything up, making sure everything was just so, just the way he wanted it, so he wouldn’t have to stress about it. Before long, the guys came to take over helping, and we were free to get dressed and get ready to get married.

Chester came in just as I was finishing putting on my tux. He shut the door quietly and stared at me until I said something.

“Are you just going to stand there?” I grumbled.

He grinned. “So you’re getting married.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Just as I finished all the buttons and fixing my tie, I reached for my shoes and realized I can’t bend over without ripping the thousand-dollar suit.

“Problems?” he said with a laugh in his voice and I nodded, handing him my Converse. (I agreed, for Mike, that I would shave my beard for a “clean, unscratchy” kiss, but if and only if I could wear my Converse.) I stood there awkwardly as he slipped them on my socks and tied my shoes.

“How do you do it Chester?” I said softly when he was finished tying my shoes.

“Do what?” He leaned back against the door and I looked sideways into the mirror and fixed my vest.

“Get married. Three times, how do you do that?”

“It was twice.” He rolled his eyes and helped me with my vest.

“Well still, that’s a lot.”

“Isn’t this your second time?”

I closed my mouth and looked at my shoes. He sighed.

“You just have to love the person. Take it one day at a time. Do you love Mike?”

“Of course,” I said a little too quickly. “More than anything.”

“And does he love you?”

“Yes…I think so.”

“I know he does,” he said and I blushed. “Do you want him to be with someone else?”

“Fuck no!”

He grinned. “Do you want to be with someone else?”

“Fuck no. Never.”

“He’s yours, you’re his. That’s how you do it.”

I looked at him like he was a genius. “One day at a time.”

“Have faith in each other,” he said, nodding.

I stood awkwardly with my hands at my sides. My tux was all fixed, just waiting for me to rip it or fuck it up somehow on the five-yard journey to the altar. “Thanks, Chester,” I mumbled, feeling hot with nerves.

“No problem. Now go out there and get married,” he said nonchalantly and shoved me out the door.

Mike made me sit down and write my vows, even disconnecting the internet and breathing over my shoulder so he knew I wouldn’t get them off the internet. I wasn’t going to anyway. I’d never even think of such a thing.

I’m fairly okay with words, nothing like Mike is of course, but I tried and I put my heart in it and according to the way his lip quivered into a smile and his cheeks turned a dark red as I recited the vows, I did well.

He said his and it was beautiful…or, I’m sure it was, because at that point in the ceremony I was getting bored and was just staring at his lips, watching his mouth move to form his words. I wanted to fucking kiss him, the first kiss as husbands.

I came back to Earth when we put the rings on and said “I do”, and finally, finally, the preacher or whatever he was called told us we could kiss, and I pulled Mike to me by the neck instantly, sucking his lower lip into my mouth. He melted against me and I held his body against mine and let the kiss linger before Dave cleared his throat. When we finally came up for air, the look in his eyes was too much for me–too much love, too much wanting, and I had to have him now, right here, first time as a married couple.

He looked away, though, and then our bandmates were hugging us and I had to swallow my erection because we still had a reception to go to.

We walked out, hugging our parents, and the limo Joe ordered us was waiting outside and as soon as we could, we got into it to go to the reception.

Once the door closed, I was on him like white on rice, my hands trying to remove his jacket so I could at least get access to his neck. He moaned as I grinded down into him, his hands falling on my ass and squeezing hard.

“Want you so bad,” I mumbled through gritted teeth and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, finally releasing his growing erection. He rolled the black divider up so the driver couldn’t see and by then I was between his legs, my mouth around his aching cock.

“Fuck, Brad, fuck.” I moaned and took his hand, tangling our fingers before putting it on the back of my head. He got the hint and clutched me, thrusted into my mouth, rocking deep inside so the tip hit the hilt of my throat each time. I ran my hand into my own pants but stopped so I wouldn’t cum just yet. I ran my free hand up his chest and twisted what I think was his nipple, and that was it because he moaned my name long and loud and came. I swallowed and once I pulled off he pushed me to the seat next to him, straddling me and kissing me hard.

I panted against his mouth and bucked my hips up, and he grabbed my hips and pulled my pants down. He licked all around the base of my cock before rolling my hips up so my legs were over his shoulders, and his tongue found its way to my hole and fuck, I saw stars and blacked out. All I could feel was his hand stroking my dick and his tongue so deep in me, so filthy, and within a minute of him squeezing and licking me I came hard. He caught most of it in his mouth and licked up the rest around me, even some that got on the inside of my thighs. I moaned, breathless and tired, my stomach fluttering, and he sat beside me, his head on my shoulder. I put myself back in my pants then pressed my lips against his.

“I love you, husband,” he muttered into my mouth and I nodded, cupping his cheek and opening his mouth more. Fuck, I could never get enough of his tongue.

“I love you too,” I said and kissed down to his neck, blushing as his hands found my way into my hair. We were both breathing hard, and I could imagine our friends and family would be able to tell what we just did in a fucking limousine, but not one bit of me cared, because I had him and he had me, forever.

Ray William Johnson Spam + Friend Quote

“She’s awesome and honest person . And someone I can totally talk about LP and anything else in between ! Honestly if we live in the same ..Country … We prolly b best friends .. Haha :)” –@_Alayna

Anderson Cooper Spam + I Touch Myself

I Touch Myself – Blondie

Part Six of Your Story

It was a black day, the kind of day that starts most tragic stories, but this isn’t a sob story. This is a love story.

Mike was dead set on making sure I was key in the process of planning our wedding. I tried to tell him, you know, I’m not good with colors or making things look good. But he made sure I was with him for every color, every flower, every utensil. Every fucking little thing, I was there.

When he convinced me to go pick out cake with him, he presented it as an opportunity to eat as much cake as I wanted. This was false. They gave us a forkful of each cake, and after one bite Mike and Rob talked about it and how it would fit in with everything else–for about an hour. Honestly, it’s a cake. It takes a lot to fuck a cake up.

We finally left the cakery (or whatever it’s called) some four hours later; for all my troubles, Mike blew me and fingered me that night, after I rimmed him. It was completely worth it after that.

Next to the cake, apparently, the colors are the most important factor in a wedding–at least according to Mike, who is an avid color freak (being the artist that he is). We discussed many different color combinations: the blue he used with Glorious Excess and maybe an army green; an off white and an off-er navy blue; the red from the Hybrid Theory disc and the orange from the Reanimation disc. Finally, after an hour of sitting at our table with about ten thousand different color books and paint swatches, I just told him we should keep it simple.

“Brad a wedding isn’t just simple. It’s beautiful, and elegant,” he replied, and I thought about my answer.

I picked up one of the deep violets and grabbed a random ivory, or antique white, or whatever the fuck it is. “Purple for passion and this white color whatever for elegance,” I said, watching his reaction to see how much I insulted him.

He sat there for about a minute, staring at the colors in my hand, before pushing all the other shit off the table. “That’s actually really pretty,” he said finally.

“Thank you.”

“You of all people picked that. I mean, I’m the painter–”

“Me of all people?”

“–And you wear orange pants, I mean…wow.” He smiled at me and I smiled back, not sure if I was insulted or flattered.

He took the swatches out of my hand and held each up to my face, seemingly judging the color with my face. I blushed at his stare and he grinned. “Beautiful,” he said simply, and kissed me.

The ceremony wasn’t going to be all that special. We’d never been to a gay wedding before, and I guess we could’ve researched it more but Mike wanted to do what felt right. So I let him.

The wedding itself only cost about twenty grand. I don’t know if that’s normal or not but I do know it hurt my bank account a bit, especially buying his ring and our tuxes. Mike knew how cheap I was (possibly a result of being Jewish, he told me) and reassured me many times–as well as made it worth my while–that this was a once in a lifetime event and it was worth it. I trusted him.

One thing we both agreed on was remaining celibate once we got engaged. That lasted about a week. By the tenth day of just action from our hands, I locked him in our bedroom and for that whole Saturday we just fucked, probably twenty times. We couldn’t go anywhere Sunday because both of us were dehydrated and Mike was limping.

A few nights before the date, Mike decided to have a bachelor party for the two of us–we invited all the guys but they backed out, not surprisingly. So again we spent the night fucking; I even let him fuck me a few times, and I fucked him in the shower when he was convinced he had to because he stunk (in fact he smells–and tastes–delicious when he’s sweaty), against the counter when he was trying to get some food, on the living room floor after we tried to watch tv, on our back porch when I was trying to get some air, against the bedroom wall when he thought he could get dressed, and so on and so forth.

So the day before, we had to rest up and drink lots of fluids if we wanted to be prepared for the honeymoon. That day he went to Rob’s to stay and I went to Joe’s. I don’t know what he did that night, but I played ping pong with Joe and passed out on the couch at about nine o’clock. The alarm on my phone woke me up at nine, and then I was getting ready to marry the love of my life.

Zach Galifianakis Spam

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