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“Yes”, I said when Gaston asked if he could cum in my mouth. I found it sweet that he posed the question so politely, instead of just assuming I was up for it, like you usually do.

I call him Gaston because that’s the character from Beauty and the Beast he played on Disneyland. You had bought us tickets as a birthday surprise to me, after I mentioned I’d never been. If you would ask me things beforehand, I’d have told you I was on the verge of a therapeutic breakthrough and was finally coming to terms with my childhood frustrations. Walking around Disneyland as this tall, almost 29-year-old woman felt less like a magical experience and more like a reminder of unfulfilled promises from the past.

See that girl building happy memories with her family? The one that looks 12 but is probably 9-ish, because girls grow faster than boys at that age? Look at how she wears that 1st Visit button with a confidence I could never muster now – maybe not even when I was 9 myself. I thought if that could have been me years ago, if Mother had ever taken the time to take me Disneyland. I quietly wished that, 20 years from now, that tall happy little girl would grow into a self-assured adult woman, one that would have the guts to spit the cum at a man’s face if he ever finishes in her mouth unannounced.

The day Gaston asked if he could cum in my mouth was the date of my 29th birthday. You’d gotten food poisoning and spent the afternoon stuck to our room. You said you didn’t want me to miss my special day and that I should still go to the park. I could tell it was the sort of thing you’d say because it feels right, while wishing for the exact opposite. If I agreed to it, even if it was your suggestion, you’d blame me for not staying to nurse you back to health. Like Carl before you and Ethan before Carl, you looked for a mother in me, but my lack of a proper maternal reference didn’t equip me to meet your expectations. So, like Mother before me, I left you behind to deal with your own resentment.

I bumped into Gaston while looking for Splash Mountain. The impact of our bodies clashing made me drop my Mickey Mouse popsicle. He offered to buy me another one, even though us bumping was mostly my fault, because I was looking at the park map when it happened. He was done with his shift and didn’t have his Gaston wig, costume and muscle suit on. He also didn’t speak in the Gaston voice that we’d heard him use when taking pictures with other visitors the day before. You had asked me if I wanted one, but I used the long line as an excuse to keep us moving. Truth is I wasn’t sure how much of that trip I wanted to register for eternity.

I wouldn’t have recognized him as Gaston if he hadn’t volunteered the information while we were waiting in line to get a new popsicle. He asked me where I was headed. When I said Splash Mountain, he told me I was going in the opposite direction and asked me to open the map again. When I did, he got close to me and pointed to where we were, with his thick index finger. When he spoke, I could feel his breath on my neck. I asked how he knew so much about the park. And that’s when he told me he worked there – and then raised his left eyebrow and, said, in full Gaston voice: “Say you’ll marry me, Belle!”.

I could see it now. I was in the presence of a local celebrity, one who knew the ins and outs of our overly expensive fantasy island. I asked how long he was doing this job. He said he was promoted to Gaston six months ago but had been a cast member for over two years. He started at the bottom playing a lot of masked characters, but mostly Pluto and the Genie from Aladdin. I asked why Pluto and the Genie were at the “bottom”. He told me that full-costume characters don’t get to speak with the visitors, so the cast members beneath the mask weren’t paid as much. In the real world, Mickey wasn’t as high-profile as Cinderella’s stepmother.

By then, Gaston had gotten me another popsicle and we were walking side by side towards Splash Mountain. He said he would deliver me safely to my destination to prevent further accidents, for the sake of the popsicle. Also, the ride was on the way to the parking lot where he would get his car. While we were crossing the park, we saw another Gaston posing for pictures. My Gaston shook his head and said this other guy couldn’t get the voice right. He walked me through the vocal exercises he’d do before his shift. He told me he started taking acting classes to move up the Disneyland ladder and was now looking to take his career in another direction. He’d become a big fish in our fantasy island’s small pond.

Gaston said he and his friends were putting together a play, but it would only be performed once. Some Hollywood agents had been invited, which meant this could be his big break. Gaston said I should attend it. I asked when it would be, and he told me on the 23rd. That’s in two weeks from now and I’m going back home, I said. He seemed to have forgotten I was a tourist, like most people in the park. He asked where I was from. When people ask me this, I never know if they’re expecting to figure out where I was born, where I grew up, or where I live now. So I answered how I usually do: “from all over the place”. Gaston looked intrigued.

Thinking about it now, I can see how the vagueness of my reply made me seem like this mysterious, unrooted, adventurous woman, who was also as tall as he was and bad at reading maps. I had given Gaston a blank canvas to project whatever image he wished to make of me. Gaston probably thought what this fascinating woman from all the place was doing in Disneyland. I know because he asked what had brought me there. I said I was there for my birthday, but the person I came with wasn’t feeling so good.

“The person I came with”. My choice of words wasn’t conscious, and I didn’t think much about it until I heard me saying it out loud. Since we’d moved in together, it felt weird to speak of you as a boyfriend – once I described you as my partner when out with some coworkers, and it seemed to confirm their suspicions that I was a lesbian. Yet with Gaston, it felt different when I said it. In some level, I didn’t want him to know I was in a relationship. He didn’t ask more about it, though – he was too excited to figure out it was my birthday.

Gaston said I couldn’t wait in line on my birthday and, when we got to Splash Mountain, he directed me to the smaller line, for visitors that had paid extra for fast-pass tickets. I asked if he didn’t have to go home, but he said he had some time to spare – plus, the day was hot and he would enjoy getting wet. We were quickly boarded at the rear of a cart, because Gaston knew the person in charge of the ride and we weren’t asked to show our premium tickets. While we’re sitting side by side, sailing ahead, Gaston moved his hand a little closer to mine, just enough so our index fingers could touch. I knew he was opening a door to the possibility of something more, yet was considerate enough to allow me to make the next move. You know – the sort of consideration of someone who asks before shooting their load into someone’s mouth.

I can’t say I gave a wondered about you or our relationship before I fully grabbed Gaston’s hand – just like Ethan was far from my mind when I fucked you for the first time in the bathroom on John and Michelle’s wedding reception. I didn’t think of you when Gaston and I kissed just as our cart entered the dark cave, or when I rubbed my hand on his crotch and felt his dick getting hard under his jeans. Or when I unzipped his pants just enough to release his cock and went down to suck it, trusting the family with three kids sitting in front of us wouldn’t turn around during the ride – or, if they did, that the darkness would keep us safe.

I could sense Gaston shared the perils of our adventure. He was struggling not to moan and not to attract undesired attention to our transgression. When he asked if he could cum in my mouth, he leaned closer to me and whispered, so only I could hear. It was not only considerate to me, but also to the next riders who would board our seats. I released his cock briefly to whisper back “yes”, then kept sucking on it while jerking it to speed things along (since I’d never been to Disneyland, I didn’t know how long we had until being sprung into daylight again).

When he ejaculated, his semen covered up the lingering taste of the Mickey Mouse popsicle that was still in my mouth. I’d only committed to receiving his cum, but not to swallowing it, so I put my head out of the cart and spat it out into the waters of Splash Mountain. By then, I could see the light at the end of the cave, and the distant brightness gave me a glimpse of Gaston’s semi-hard dick, as he was putting it back in his pants. Moments later, we were free falling.

We left the ride, soaking wet. He said he had to be on his way – a play rehearsal, you know. I wished him good luck and, once he left, found my way back to our hotel, where you were so passive-aggressive about my previous “abandonment” as I’d predicted it you’d be. I never saw my Gaston again, because the next day, when we made it to the park, the other Gaston (the one who never figured out the character’s voice) was on it again.

It was only a few years later, by the time that we were already married and I think I was pregnant with Lucy, that I saw him again, on TV. He had a minor guest role on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I guess he’s truly advancing on his career, good for him! I was waiting for the credits to figure out his real name, but you changed channels when the episode ended. So he’s still Gaston to me. And maybe that’s for the best. If there’s something I’ve learned by now, it’s that’s all the time better to choose fantasy over reality.

NSFW: yes

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