It was tradition in your family that all the men wrestled after a wedding to show the women they were strong. It was dumb and you hated it. The groom always won anyway, it seemed. It was just a big, backward, patriarchal pantomime. You tried to forbid it. But somehow your father overruled you. He kept warning you to train, but you were ignoring the whole thing.
So you were surprised when it felt all too real this time. They weren’t pulling punches. Your own father knocked the wind out of you. Your own best man, your brother, got you in a sleeper hold. You blacked out and knew no more.
Your wife had watched the whole thing with lurid fascination. She was scared when you went down but quickly came back around after her new brother in law verified you were fine, just unconscious and bruised. The women in the crowd began clinking glasses with silverware. You wife was confused but approached her fallen husband to give the kiss they seemed to be demanding. Your mother stopped her and whispered in her ear. It was proper, she told your wife, for the bride to kiss the victor. She blushed and turned toward your brother. She closed her eyes and leaned in for a kiss. He grabbed her and pulled her in close, kissing your wife deeply. Her eyes burst open and the crowd went wild with applause and clinking. She began kissing him back, running her hands through his hair. He dipped her, his tongue invading her mouth at the same time. That went on for a few magic second before he pulled your virginal wife back up and broke the kiss. They stayed in each other’s arms for a while, though, breathing heavily and staring deep into the other’s eyes.
Your brother helped carry you to the bridal suite. He laid you out. You’d be unconscious for a while yet.Then he went to go check on your bride.
ProblemCollectionLove 