I’ve been waiting in the queue for nearly half an hour now. The place is packed. In the not so distant background, I hear catcalls and cheers and loud pop music.
“What on earth is going on?”
“Oh, that,” the girl at the counter says. “That’s the fashion show. The tuxedo models are doing a Chippendales performance.” She looks at me significantly. Did the level of estrogen just go up a notch? “The next show will be at two thirty. Oh my God. They are so hot.”
Striptease, at a bridal exhibition. Right. And here I thought the women who attended the fashion shows were interested in looking at pretty gowns. I pay my ten dollars, receive a packet of freebies and a white ribbon that has “BRIDE” printed on it. Just in case nobody can figure out why I’m here? Well, I’m not wearing a big diamond or a dewy-eyed teenaged face, so I guess in my case the ribbon will be a significant help to the vendors who want to sell me stuff. I creep forward in the queue to get my ticket. Thank goodness I arrived early. It’s only noon. I can only imagine how much more packed the convention centre will be in another hour or so. In the exhibition hall next door is a motorcycle show. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a bridal show and a motorcycle show advertised in the same place, on the same date. I guess the grooms-to-be have to have something to do while their girlfriends look at flowers.
“Hey, there’s a thought,” I say.
The man in front of me, whose female counterpart has just picked up a big book advertising local vendors, turns around. “What’s that?”
“Combine the two shows. We could have the groomsmen lined up on matching motorbikes, and the bride could wear white leather and ride down the aisle on a Harley, with a bouquet of roses shoved into a sidecar.”
His face lights up. “Oh, yeah, I’d like to see that. White leather, eh? Honey, do you think - ”
“No,” she snaps, and drags him off into the convention hall.
I shrug, and ask the smiling ticket taker, who just appeared in front of me, “Is there anywhere that I can check my coat? I don’t want to carry it all day…”
“Sure. You need to go down the hall, turn right at the third entrance, then left at the second door.”
I fix the image in my mind, drawing a mental map. The convention centre was renovated a couple of years ago, and there have been some additions, which the city council says were necessary to generate visitors and extra commerce. It looks really cool, but I hope I don’t get lost. I wonder how we are going to generate commerce if visitors keep getting lost. Maybe the council members know something that I don’t.
Off I go.
I look in the mirror surreptitiously when I pass one. I just dyed my hair back to red; because my hair was a pale ash blonde and had no natural pigment, the dye was a little hyperactive, and I now look like I’m wearing a radioactive pumpkin on my head. There are some white streaks where the dye refused to take at all. On the whole, I look like Cyndi Lauper sans makeup. Oh well. It will grow out. Maybe if I get some semipermanent pigment to layer on top of the day-glo orange, it will tone down to a more calm shade of auburn.
I do find the coat check. It was hard, but I found it. The racks and racks of coats parked in the hallway clued me in a little.
The coat check is almost deserted. The only people here are a couple of teenaged boys, who are charging a dollar plus tips. I pay my dollar, then look up. One of them has put up a sign: Kissing booth. One dollar.
“Any takers?”
“Uh. Just one.” One of the boys speaks up. “A guy. He was a little scary.”
No doubt, he had been one of the motorcycle show attendees. I wonder if these young gentlemen have been kissed before. Probably. They look to be about sixteen or seventeen, old enough to have gone on dates and copped a few feels. What the hell. I’ll bite. “Do I get a choice of kissing partners?”
They goggle at me. It must be my hair.
“Sure,” one of them stammers out at last. He grins. “Er. What about your fiance?”
Oh yes. The big “bride” ribbon. “If he were here, he’d find it amusing. Want a kiss?”
He nods and grins wider.
“Then come closer and close your eyes.”
It’s been a long while since I’ve indulged like this. In the past few years, I got bored of sleeping around, and grew almost chaste so that I could focus on love rather than lust. Lust is nice, too, though. My fiance knows what a huge fetish I have for virgins, and I suspect he’ll understand. The boys, on the other hand, will probably lose an awful lot of purity today, if all goes well. Well, hey. If you’re going to fall off the wagon, do it in a big way. They are pretty cute, too - big eyes, slender, one of them has frizzy hair and the other has glasses. They look like knights of the dinner table, to coin an old gaming term. The one I’m about to kiss is the one with glasses.
His breath is sweet to the taste, and he kisses well. I feel myself growing warm. Sangfroid, alas, has never been one of my notable qualities. I decide to find out if he has braces, and open my mouth a little to explore his. Slide past the snaking tongue. Ah. Yes. He does. It’s so hard to tell today; braces are much more discreet than they were when I was growing up.
We break apart. Both of us have steamed glasses. “Is your friend as good a kisser as you are?” I whisper.
“Uh.”
“There’s only one way to find out. What’s his name?”
“Mark.”
“Mark. Okay. I forgot to ask - what’s yours?”
“Nathan…”
“Right. Pleased to meet you, Nathan. Mark, are you taking part in this kissing booth thing, too?”
“I - yeah. Sure. Why not.”
I’ve had more enthusiastic responses. Oh, well. This is something I can work on. Mark, the frizzy blonde, leans forward, and I do my best to forget for a few minutes that the bespectacled Nathan’s jaw is dropping. Mark has somewhat larger lips, and he kisses softly, yielding, cushioning my lips with his. Unlike Nathan, Mark actually touches me; he moves his hands down my shoulders, along my back, and finally rests them at the curve of my buttocks. I decide that he has had a bit more practice than his friend. I notice that he does not wear braces, either. He’s stroking the small of my back, now. I want to lean forward into his embrace, but the table gets in the way.
When I lean back, I smile. I love it when blonde people blush. It’s not just the face that turns red; it’s the whole neck and shoulder area. And the ears, the ears turn purple. It’s so sweet.
“This table is getting in the way,” I say. “Why don’t we lie on top of it instead of bumping around it?”
“But - are you sure - won’t you - I mean, aren’t you - ”
“There’s nobody coming. I don’t know how much time we have, so let’s make the most of it. If we have to, we can probably hide in a pile of coats, but I’d rather avoid that if I can. Something tells me that rumpling a customer’s coat wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do.”
After a few seconds, he decides that I really am serious, and it only takes him the same span of time to grin conspiratorially and pull me down with him onto the table. No, I think, this one is definitely not virginal. He does, however, have the libido typical of his age group. We lock together, lips, legs, pelvises. His hands trace my figure, running briefly over my breasts, my painfully hard nipples, teasing them to an even greater state of firey need. Then we’re pulling at clothes, fumbling at zippers and buttons and pantyhose and underwear - I want to feel his whole naked body against mine, the tingling electricity and energy and heat and soft skin, but I don’t know if anybody else will be coming down the hall anytime soon, and it would take too long to actually disrobe. Whereas one of the nice things about wearing a skirt is that I can just smooth it over my legs again and if anybody notices that I’m not wearing pantyhose, it will take a little while to register; and all he has to do is zip up again. He’s not only hard, but positively wet; we both groan a little as he falls into me, but we stifle our noises. His friend is hovering somewhere between looking away to give us privacy and watching every move we make. I tilt my head back and look up at him, then close my eyes as the blonde on top of me thrusts harder, faster, blocking out all outside distractions. He’s built so perfectly. I lift myself higher, arching, and then suddenly he explodes and it’s over. I’m not done, but that’s not the end of the world, now is it?
On the other hand, taking more time to actually enjoy this is risky. It’s time to take this elsewhere.
“Nathan, Mark,” I gasp, “do you think we could relocate to the corner back there? If we spread our coats, and stay in the shadows, nobody will even notice us.”
The one with glasses stammers, says something a little unintelligible.
I reach out my hand, stroke his wrist, reach for his hands, his hot dry fingers. “Relax,” I breathe, “I’m sure if my partner were here, he’d be quite copacetic. Actually, he’d probably go off to invite that cute ticket-taker from the bridal convention. He has a thing for petite brunettes. We have an unusual relationship. Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes…”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes,” he says quietly, although it comes out choked.
“One of these days you’ll be able to tell your girlfriend about this day, and she won’t believe her ears. She’ll think you’re making it up to tease her, because it sounds like a bad porn movie. Now why don’t we all go over into the corner, where there’s room enough for three?”
He nods, and we all sneak over to the far part of the little room. It’s very dark, and there are full coat racks all around. We pile dark coats on the floor and become part of the floor ourselves, and all around us are nothing but coats and shadows and echoes from the convention hall: a thumping bass beat from the music. Now, I think, it’s safe to lose the skirt and blouse. I disrobe. The air is suddenly cold against my skin. My skin needs warmth. I reach for it - for Nathan, feeling his pale body quiver in the shadows. This one I want to strip. I want to see his pale skin, his smooth hairless chest. I put my mouth to one of his nipples. He gasps and shakes, but holds my head tight against him, surrendering to my mouth. His nipple tastes slightly of sweat. I take it in my teeth and play - first gently, then with a little more pressure, until I am clamping it between my teeth, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to hurt a little. I suck. When he starts making noise, I move down and find his cock, which is as hard as his blonde friend’s was, but is short and very wide, not long and tapered like a rocket. I don’t think I’ll be going down on this one for very long, he’ll give me jaw-ache.
The one with glasses hisses, and angles up into my mouth. I run my teeth gently up and down the shaft, then my tongue, then pull back and work at his head. I can’t keep up the sucking. It hurts my jaws too much. Some men just aren’t easy subjects for this sort of thing. I break away, and before he can draw breath to protest the sudden lack of sensation, impale myself on him. Hard. We both moan.
Mark has been watching. “Come here,” I mutter, “come to me. I can make room.” I lean back into his arms and his mouth, opening readily. Two pairs of hands fondle my breasts. I want to wriggle and grind against Nathan’s cock, take my pleasure, which I feel begin to mount, but I don’t want us to come just yet, so I lean forward and stretch out against Nathan, opening my legs, finding his mouth again and taking it in mine. I’m wet, slippery as seaweed. When I feel the blonde touch me, plunging his fingers into me, first into my cunt and then into the smaller hole behind it, I groan and twitch. I can’t help it. It feels too good. Nathan opens his eyes wide, of course, it being rather startling to feel your friend’s fingers groping around and encountering your cock, but he seems to be taking it rather well. Mark slides in, slowly, carefully.
“Have you done this before?” I gasp.
“No.”
“You’re a natural.”
“Thanks. I think.”
It’s a little tricky getting the rhythm right, at first. It’s almost like trying to imitate a piston in a machine. I find that the easiest thing to do is to let Mark set the pace, and have his friend hold my hips still while he moves at his own rhythm in front. We can all feel each other; the walls here are very thin. Two pairs of mouths breathe hard against my neck, sucking and biting, losing themselves in me, leaving out any awkward possibility of meeting the mouth of another male by mistake. They are gentle, but eager, and it doesn’t take long for both of them to come.
I still haven’t reached orgasm. It keeps getting away from me. I groan.
“Do you want it?” Mark asks. He of all people would have felt it if I’d orgasmed - the spasm would have been like a vice around his member.
I nod frantically. He slides out gently; I turn over, burrowing into his friend’s arms, into his warmth, while Mark goes down on me. He’s a natural at this, too. Within what seems like mere seconds, I feel the pressure in me like a volcano, and I have to bite my hand to keep from screaming when I climax. He has his fingers in me, deep, doing something that drives me over the edge over and over until I no longer remember who or where I am or what day it is or anything like that, but that’s all useless stuff anyway really so I don’t mind, and I shudder in his hands and his friend’s hands, which are playing hesitantly with my nipples.
Eventually we all fall against each other.
Nobody has noticed, yet. We are as discreet as darkness in the corner of the coat room. From the hall, I hear the sound of bagpipes as the fashion show draws to a close.