Friday, August 06, 2004

"You may DISS the bride"

It's Saturday, August 1, a little after 11.

Lila and I get back on the road from the Riverdale train station and drive another hour to the wedding. It's 20 of 1. We missed the ceremony. Boo hoo.

Actually, we are 10 minutes late for the reception, and this is fine by me. I always try to be at least 20 minutes late for all social functions; the only thing I will be on time (or early) for is a funeral. Strutting up to a freshly-dug grave where praying mourners are in mid-"Our Father" is not a look you're going for, trust me.

Why Jeff-Gordon your way through traffic at 90 MPH just to get to a 12:30 reception at 12:28, then absently chew ice as the DJ does a sound check and the waiters fill water glasses? The way I figure it, if anything interesting is going to happen at a wedding, and nothing usually does, it's going to be after alcohol starts flowing. Plus, I'll admit it, I like the aloof image I project by walking into places late.

Lila and I enter the reception hall. I am immediately taken with the 30-foot spiral staircase and stratospheric cathedral ceiling, complete with impossibly huge chandelier directly above our heads.

We climb the stairs. There are about 80 people milling about in the common area outside the reception room, the doors to which are still closed.

The bar line is moving quickly. That usually means it's an open bar. I get in line, and sure enough, I was right. And you know what "open bar" means: "Try to drink enough booze to pay for the overpriced gravy boat and salt shaker you bought the bride and groom from Kitchen Etc."

I order a vodka-tonic and a Sprite with a twist. "Make it nice and strong, huh guy?" I say to the bartender, handing him a five. I don't want to have to make 6 trips to the bar just to get a little tipsy.

As soon as I turn around, I remove the little straw that identifes my drink as an alcoholic beverage. I'm not sure "straw" is the right word, since if you actually tried to drink out of this puny little thing, you'd probably pop a blood vessel. Point is, now the two drinks look more or less exactly alike, so if Lila wants to booze it up a little, we can switch glasses, and no one would be the wiser. See? Your old pal Steve is not as dumb as he looks...

The bridal party arrives and we are herded into the reception room. The party is announced, and Mike and Carole come out to a thunderous standing ovation. I've met Carole once or twice. She's nice enough, and kinda cute. A bit controlling though. As soon as Mike met her, I didn't hear from him much anymore. My friends' girlfriends don't tend to like me much. I wonder why?

Before dinner (or is it luncheon? I'll ask Emily Post), the DJ cranks up the music. He plays "Yeah!" by Usher, and a wave of people, including Lila and me, mob the dance floor.

Right away, every guy starts gawking at Lila. She has this move she does when we're dancing: She turns her back to me, flips her hair over one shoulder, then holds it against the side of her neck with one hand while gyrating her hips. It's seductive as hell...

There really ought to be two dance floors at these functions: "RHYTHM", and "NO RHYTHM". Because, you know, these "white man's overbite" dudes could really hurt someone. They don't even pretend to hear the beat: They just flail their arms wildly as they bounce around, like drowning men without the water.

This one dude next to me doesn't even bother pretending to dance. He just kind of shifts his girth from one foot to the other, his sagging, elephantine abdomen struggling to keep up with the rest of his body. He is wearing a white button-down oxford shirt, with no undershirt. How do I know? Because I can clearly see a thick coating of black fur through the translucent fabric. Charming. The shirt puckers as the poor little buttons try with all their might to prevent an avalanche of blubber.

And this guy is not even trying to hide his staring. He's just standing there, swaying to and fro, mouth ajar, as he stares dreamily at Lila's undulating ass. Gross!

Now I feel someone else staring at us. I look to my right, past walrus boy, and there is Carole, resplendent in her veil and pristine white gown, glaring at Lila, her mouth twisted into a Billy Idol-like snarl.

I forgot: It's bad form to be hotter than the bride on her wedding day.

Speaking of which, these bridesmaids' dresses are hideous: Loud, hot pink, and sheer. The bottoms of the dresses jut out, then curve downward; actually, they look like they could cover a bird cage quite nicely, so maybe there is a use for these things after all.

Toward the end of the reception, Mike and Carole are making the rounds to the tables. Mike comes up behind me and hugs me tightly, grinding his knuckle into my scalp.

"Steverinooooo!!!" He says. "I'm so glad you made it, buddy!"

"I wouldn't miss it," I say. "You two make a great couple. I admire you guys very much."

Total bullshit. Sounds sincere, though, and it always goes over well.

"Awww, thanks, man!" then, bending over and whispering in my ear: "WHO is the little lady?"

"Lila, this is Mike, Mike, Lila." They shake hands. Carole introduces herself to Lila, and they make small talk. Don't think I'm scoring any points with Carole today.

He whispers in my ear again. "Where the FUCK did you find her?!"

"Met her at the mall."

He shakes his head from side to side. "You fucker. Only you. So, does she fool around?"

I wink and nod. "Ooooooooo," he says, closing his eyes. "Carole's pissed, too. She said, 'Who's the little BITCH?!' "

We laugh out loud.

I promise to call Mike sometime soon. Forget it. This guy's gonna be in lockdown for the next year, at least. Poor bastard.

It was a fun wedding, but thank God Lila was there. I didn't know anyone else except Mike and Carole.

Back at the hotel, Lila kicks her shoes off and grabs me by the tie. "You are [kiss] soo fucking awesome, lover."

"You too. I'm so happy you could come. Happy birthday again!"

"I had a great birthday. Thank you for my presents," she says.

"You're welcome, baby. Thank YOU."

I watch her fingers as she works my belt buckle and reaches inside my boxers, pulling my cock out. She lowers the top part of her dress down and removes her white satin bra, exposing her supple, pale-white breasts. Her nipples are standing at firm attention.

She gently slides her lips over me. It's just what I need: After yesterday, my dick feels like it's been assaulted with a cheese grater.

I look down at her as her cheeks hollow out, gently sliding my member back and forth between her thick, moist lips. Her tongue is caressing me, slowly, gently. My pulse quickens.

She stretches her hand out, resting her fingertips on the middle of my abdomen, gently, so we are barely touching. Her fingernails are bright red, contrasting sharply with her stark white skin. She is wearing a chunky ring on her right middle finger.

She flickers her big eyes and looks up at me. She sticks her toungue out and runs it slowly up my pulsating shaft, with me staring intently back at her. She removes me from her mouth with an audible POP!, then slides it back in. I can feel my forehead starting to sweat as my cock disappears into her mouth again.

I am beat. I haven't slept properly in weeks. I have zero energy. But I am totally fucking insane with desire.

I pull away from her and stand up, undressing with feverish urgency. I watch as she slides her dress and white thong panties down her curvy hips and onto the floor.

I lay down on my back, and she climbs on top of me. "I want you so bad, lover," she says, as I watch my cock slide into her. "Ooooooo," she whispers, "I was thinking about this all day long."

She is bouncing vigorously up and down, riding me hard. Her soft, wet pussy is sheer heaven.

"You know how horny you got me when you were dancing with me," I whisper.

"No. Tell me."

"....wanted to fuck you soo bad, baby..."

"...saw you looking at me...." she says, panting.

"You are gonna make me fucking explode Lila," I say.

"You gonna come in my mouth? Hmm?"

Uh, ok! I don't get THIS every day!

She pulls me out of her and kneels in front of me, sliding my slippery, glistening cock into her warm mouth. She tightens her lips as I blast her, again and again. When I am done, she slides me out, and stares up at me as she oozes the cum out of her mouth and all over my throbbing cock.

That's my girl, all right....

Lila calls her dad from the train station, and asks him to pick her up. We kiss goodbye.

"Call me to say goodnight? Please?"

"I promise."


Lila's dad drops her off at the train station at 9:00 the next morning. She calls me at the hotel, and I check out and meet her there. Now, all we have to do is get her back to the train station at home, and we will have successfully fooled both of Lila's parents, along with the rest of the world...

We are walking across the parking lot to my car. "LILA! LILA!" Says a voice from behind us. We turn around.

No way anyone could be calling MY Lila. Not here, I think. Could there be another girl named Lila around?

There is a man running towards us. He's in his mid 40's, about 5'6", and wearing cowboy boots, dark blue Levi's with a big, round silver belt buckle, and a Harley t-shirt. He's got shoulder-length brown hair and a goatee. A guy you'd expect to see at a biker bar somewhere.

"Hi, dad," Lila says.