Adam is trying hard to be excited for his dad’s second wedding, but he’s worried about what this means for the future. That all changes when he meets Rachel, his stepmother’s sister, a woman with a very friendly smile and a very unfulfilling marriage. The two hit it off, but can they take it anywhere past a forbidden kiss? Especially if Rachel is hiding a big secret under her dress?
Adam and Rachel might not be the ones tying the knot, but that won’t stop them from turning up the heat after the veil is raised. Desire is heavy in the air at this wedding that pulls out all the stops. This 5800 word, futa-on-male, cheating, oral, first time, taboo, romantic erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!
Outside the window, the hotel crew is busy arranging white, plastic chairs into precisely angled rows facing a wooden arch decorated with white roses and draped with gold and emerald streamers. Cards proudly stating whose butt is to go into which seat are lovingly laid upon plush cream pillows. The backdrop is just right for a wedding: a proper beach, punctuated by the sand, the horizon, and the carefree yelp of seagulls.
And that’s just the ceremony area.
I turn and watch Dad still meticulously running his fingers through his hair, using pomade like a sculptor uses a chisel. I’m still working on getting the front tail of my tie to be longer than the back tail.
“There’s a lot of sag in those shoulders, Adam. One could almost think you were forced to attend your own father’s wedding. Aren’t you excited? It’s a whole new adventure. For the both of us.”
“Of course I’m excited,” I lie, “but you’re going to spend your honeymoon moving into a new house together. Don’t you think everything’s moving a little too quickly?”
“When have I ever moved too quickly?” Dad replies with a mischievous grin.
It’s an inside joke between the two of us. In the last year alone, my father has started a new business, converted to Buddhism, bought a boat, and then bought nine books about living life minimally. It feels like he’s taken it upon himself to be the main character in the movie of his life, and even though I give him shit for it, I admire that about him. To put it into perspective, I’ve been a bartender for the last three years.
I sigh, but regardless I get up and open a drawer to pop open my pre-wedding surprise. Dad whirls around at the sound of whiskey pouring into the glasses–already monogrammed with his and my new stepmother’s initials. The liquor is as deep and brown as the earth, and smells like a firebrick oven.
I hand him a glass, and he’s beaming so much, you’d think it was my wedding.
“It’s a little smoky, because I know you like smoky, but it’s also got a real fiery kick to it.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, no backing out now?”
Our glasses clink, a tiny noise in the storm. We down our drinks in one mighty gulp, and it turns my taste buds into a music festival.
Dad whoops as the whiskey coats our insides in the only way good whiskey can. He looks at his glass in amazement, like he couldn’t believe anything like that could be served in mere glassware.
“That almost tasted like barbecue sauce.”
“Oh yeah.” I catch sight of the two of us in the mirror, a picture that has been constant since I was a kid. “You want another one?”
For a second, he doesn’t answer. I see his eyes water a little bit and I’m about to chastise him for crying (because if he starts, I’ll start), but then he places his hands on my shoulders.
“Whether as a son or my Best Man, I couldn’t ask for a better you, Adam. You’re probably more nervous than I am, but I just need you to promise me one thing.”
“It’s a wedding, bucko. Try to have a little fun?”
It is amazing how quickly the white seats fill up. Mostly with Karen’s brood. If there’s one thing I know about my stepmother’s family, it’s that they’re a very loud people who have a very high opinion of themselves and their interpersonal drama. It’s like watching three soap operas going on at once and they’re all competing with each other. Not that our family is perfect, but they only get like that when they’re drunk. Which should be roughly an hour after the lovely couple says, “I do.”
Still, Dad stands under the arch, oblivious to the madhouse he stands in the middle of. I take a deep breath.
The other groomsmen seem to have been paired up with their respective bridesmaid. I hear that some of them are planning to dance their way down the aisle, and I feel embarrassed for them already.
I’m going to be the last one to walk out, so all I have to do is not trip on the carpet and I’m set. I just have to find the Maid of Honor.
That’s when I find her.
She’s standing alone, an older woman with her hands crossed in front of her waist clutching some flowers. The emerald dress to my (adequately tied) green tie. She’s like the eye of the storm compared to the rest of the wedding party, and as I look at her, all of the other noise seems to be muted out. When she spots me looking at her, her brows furrow, and as realization sets in, a tentative smile grows into a wide, happy one. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but attraction at first sight definitely exists.
I figure she must be Karen’s best friend or something.
I offer her my hand at the same time that she spreads her arms out for a hug. I blush as I change my approach to a hug and she extends her own hand. She laughs, and it’s bright and non-abrasive and reminds me nothing of my future step-mother’s family. She takes my hand and shakes it, simultaneously pulling me in for a hug with her other arm.
“That was about as awkward as you could ask for,” she says. She fingers the chain necklace around her neck.
As quiet as she seemed to be, there is a confidence supporting her voice.
“Tell me about it.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “Maid of Honor, I presume?”
“That’s me. Nice to finally meet you, Best Man. Are you as excited for Bride and Groom as I am?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” It figures that I mean someone cute at the wedding and stick my foot into my mouth repeatedly.
The rest of the bridal party gets in line and Mendelssohn’s Wedding March starts to blare out over the speakers, which is our cue to get into serious mode. She hooks her arm around mine, as we join the queue. One by one, the pairs walk down the aisle, their previous plans to do something silly dashed by the heaviness of the moment.
“It’s okay, I was just giving you a hard time,” Maid of Honor says into my ear.
She pats my arm and gives me a reassuring look. I smile back.
“I’m Adam, anyway,” my whispers nearly drowned out by the March. “I’m Groom’s son.”
“I’m Rachel. Bride’s sister.”
I spend the entire time glancing over at Rachel, her silver chain necklace, and the bundle of summer flowers in her hand, paying only a token amount of attention to the actual ceremony. Sorry, Dad. I hope it doesn’t come across that way in the wedding photos.
The crazy thing is, I think Rachel does the same thing.
“I think all I have to say, the core idea I’m trying to get across, is that when I look at you, Eddie and Karen…”
Uncle Todd takes a deep breath and then coughs, which does nothing to steady his slur or his swaying in place but does accomplish him getting his germs all over the microphone. He takes another swig of his beer.
“When I look at the both of you, I can believe in love again. Just take it from me, a man who’s been married three times already.”
My look of wide-eyed shock makes Rachel laugh, another line in the quiet conversation she and I are having without saying any words. She and I are sitting across from each other at the head table, where the newlyweds are having to endure everything between touching well wishes to embarrassing, inappropriate stories. I love weddings with open bars.
The ballroom Dad reserved is as extravagant as the ceremony, if not more so. There is a handmade centerpiece on every table, bits of nature tastefully arranged by someone with a hell of a lot better aesthetic sense than I do. The flatware is flanked by utensils with emerald handles, and topped by gold napkins folded into cranes. Or triangles? Between this wedding and the new house I wonder if Dad and Karen have any money left.
I raise my glass of champagne to Rachel as the inebriated audience applauds Uncle Todd’s speech, or declaration about how the internet is ruining America, either description would be accurate. She raises hers back, and our gaze lingers on each other as we take sips of the bubbly drink. The smile never leaves her eyes. She sets her glass down, and sadness flashes across her face and she looks away from me, suddenly intent on listening to the next contestant on the microphone.
There’s a little nagging voice in the back of my mind. It tells me that Rachel is Karen’s sister, and that maybe I shouldn’t lock eyes with the bride’s sister. Especially if my father is the groom.
Rachel’s voice probably just told her the same thing.
The main course and the dessert seem to take forever. All I want to do is get through the whole cake thing, and then enjoy the rest of the night in a hotel room I couldn’t afford without strict budgeting. Maybe I’ll order a movie, order some room service beer, pass out, and by the time I wake up, I’ll officially have a new step-mom.
Eventually, Dad and Karen’s song starts playing, the lights dim, and the happy couple gets up and send shock-waves throughout the ballroom that sound strangely like people going, “Awww!” More applause and cheers close the first dance, and more and more couples start to fill the dance floor. I watch, helpless, as Rachel leaves the table. Her purposeful steps lead her to one of the other tables, where she’s grabbed an older man by the hand and cajoling him to go dance with her.
That’s when I notice the ring around Rachel’s finger. It turns out I’m the only one in this story who hasn’t said “I do” to someone. I feel like an idiot. I couldn’t plop myself down on my bed soon enough.
The man resists, and from here I can hear Rachel. She’s not exactly pleading with him. She’s trying to make it look like it isn’t a big deal. Even when the man, Rachel’s husband, flat out refuses, the humor gone in his face, the light-heartedness remains in hers. He turns away and resumes whatever idiotic conversation he was having with the table.
She glances at me at the end of it all, and feeling shame for the both of us, I look down. When I look up again, she’s walking to the other end of the ballroom, a table that everyone else has abandoned for the music. Her face drops, and I can’t see her anymore, hidden by the stupid–but extremely well-done–centerpiece. I’ve never hated foliage more.
I finger the room key in my front pocket.
The little voice asks, “Wait, what are you doing?” as I ask the bartender for two, strong cocktails.
It insists, “No, think about what you’re doing!” as I walk over and tap her on the shoulder with one of the drinks.
“Hey,” I say, offering her the second glass when she looks up, “you wanna go for a walk or something?
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