These stories can be read as stand alone, but form a series of my experiences as a Wedding Photographer. Enjoy.
==
All the brides that I have photographed over the years have all been stunning. Every single one of them. I get to see them at their absolute best, toned, buffed, and pampered to within an inch of their lives. I've loved every single bride that I've ever photographed.
The parents of the happy couple fall into one of two camps -- they either love the day and embrace that they are seeing their child off in the best possible way, or they begrudgingly take part but never seem to enjoy it. They moan about everything -- the cost, the in-laws, the weather, and so it goes on.
The wedding that I'm about to tell you about, the bride's mother fell into the latter category, even though she had absolutely no need to.
Debbie was a young bride. She was only in her early 20's and in the wedding industry that's quite young. We're used to seeing late 20's, or early 30's these days.
About a week before the wedding, I went along to Debbie's parent's house to go through the final running order for the day, and any specific photos that Debbie and her parents might want. It's always good to get the bride's parents on-side as they are usually paying in situations like this.
I'd noticed that Diane, the brides mother, was a bit on edge, and a little bit aggressive towards the whole process. Not towards me specifically, but to all of us there in the room that night.
She seemed to expect everything to go wrong on the day -- that I wouldn't turn up, that the weather would be bad, that the photographs would be rubbish, that the food at the reception would be bad, the disco would be too loud and too modern, and so it went on. I felt for Debbie to be honest, this was her day, and her mother seemed hell bent on finding reasons why it would go wrong. Her dad just sat in the corner like a statue -- I don't think he actually spoke at all during the meeting.
Diane was not an unattractive woman. She was in her early 40's, but looked mid to late 30's. She had a great figure, and if she stopped sucking that lemon would have a good looking face.
Debbie showed me out to the car, and as she did I could tell that she was exasperated with her mother.
"God, that bloody woman! She's done nothing but moan about everything."
I was sympathetic to Debbie's complaint.
"Yeah, it's a stressful time for the Bride's mum, she wants to send her daughter on her way the best way she can, and sometimes it gets a bit too much. She'll be fine on Saturday I'm sure."
Ever the diplomat!
Debbie wasn't so sure.
"The silly cow has complained about everything and she's really starting to piss me off now. I'm really sorry that she was so aggressive in there, and my dad just sits there and takes it all, never saying a sodding word. He doesn't seem to give a shit that she's ruining my wedding day."
I made the right noises, and made excuses to leave.
==
The wedding day dawned, a sunny day with a light breeze to stop people sweating through their finery, and knowing the venue very well, it would look great on the photos. I'd booked a room at the hotel for the wedding evening, because it was over 100 miles from home, and after a shoot I'm too tired to drive that far.
I checked in and joined Debbie and her parents in the bridal suite to take the usual pre-ceremony shots, and almost as soon as I arrived Diane started sniping.
"We thought that you were going to be here earlier, to take photos of Debbie having her make-up done."
It was a statement, not a question.
"No, Debbie specifically asked me to come at this time, when her hair and make-up had been done. I'll get all the shots that Debbie requested within 15 minutes and then be out of your hair."
I rattled through the shots needed, and Debbie was glowing, as she should be.
"Thanks Paul. Sorry about mum, she's got worse as the wedding got closer."
"She'll probably chill out a bit once the ceremony is over, and she sees that all the planning that's gone on was worth it. Also she'll have friends there, so she might be better. And when she's had a few champagnes!"
Diane came back into the room at this point.
"Are you finished? We can't spend all day doing photographs you know."
"I'm done now thanks Diane, I'll see you both at the ceremony."
Again, Debbie's dad sat in the corner of the room, reading his paper, never saying a word.
"Good luck everyone, see you down there."
==
Diane walked into the Church like she didn't have a care in the world, and certainly not like the aggressive woman that I'd experienced upstairs. She did look stunning in an off the shoulder lemon dress, emphasising her bare shoulders, and just a hint of cleavage.
I was taking lots of reportage style shots of guests as they arrived, sitting in the marriage room, meeting old friends, etc. Exactly what we'd agreed I would be doing during this phase of the wedding proceedings.
Diane called me over with a beckoning hand. She kept the smile on her face, but her voice was like ice.
"People don't want you snapping away whilst they are arriving, go & do something else."
"I beg your pardon Diane? This is exactly what we agreed I'd be doing at this point, and people are not even aware I'm taking their photo, as I'm using a long lens and no flash."
I'm not used to being spoken to like this on a wedding day. They are usually such happy occasions, but obviously not today. I was getting quite sick of this woman.
"Well be quick and then be gone. Nobody wants to have a photographer hanging around."
Who did this woman think she was? And why was she so bloody bitter?
Debbie arrived and was duly married to her perfectly pleasant (young) groom.
We went outside to do all the group shots, and everyone was drinking champagne and chatting. I noticed that Diane had got a glass in her hand, and seemed to be thawing out a little, chatting with the older people in the group.
Debbie seemed to be in her element, loving her day and her new husband.
"Paul, could you take one of me with my friend?"
"Paul could you take one of my bridesmaid and her husband?"
"Paul could you take one of little Jake, he looks so lovely."
I love it when Brides do this -- they feel comfortable enough to ask, and treat you like a friend rather than the hired help, unlike her mother!
"What are you doing?"
"Why have you taken that photograph?"
"Don't photograph me, I'm busy."
I managed to exhaust all the options before the wedding party started to go in to dinner, which gave me an hour or so to pop up to my room and grab a shower. I needed to chill out a bit before the speeches and before facing the wrath of Diane again.
As I stepped under the warm water in the shower, I started to go back over the day so far, and what I could have done differently to thaw out Diane. Could I have been more attentive? Could I have flirted with her a little? I had no idea. Maybe she just needed a good fucking. I reckon she'd probably be an animal in the right circumstances! My cock raised to a semi as I chuckled to myself.
Once I'd managed to wash away the stress of the day so far, I was just getting out of the shower, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it and the Wedding Co-ordinator, Carol stood at the threshold.
"Hey Paul, sorry to interrupt you, but the Bride's pain in the arse mother is moaning that you are not photographing people before they go in to dinner."
"Bloody hell, that woman never stops does she? I've got everything I need upto this point, so let them eat their dinner and I'll be down for the speeches. Sorry Carol, I know you are only passing on a message, just tell her I'll be down when I said I would be."
Diane had ruined my calming shower, and had now got me angry again. How did her husband put up with this? No wonder the poor old sod just sat in the corner keeping quiet.
Within a few minutes, the door went again. This time it was a rapping rather than a knock. I tucked the towel around me and went to the door, expecting Carol to be there with another message.
As I opened the door, I was immediately aware that it was Diane, and she wasn't happy.
"Why aren't you downstairs photographing the guests waiting to go in to dinner? I'm paying you for this, and I'm not getting the service that I want. Would you prefer it if I didn't pay? Would you?"
Something snapped inside. I've been photographing for over 10 years, and my reputation as a good friendly photographer has never waned.
Diane stepped into the room as I turned around, trying to compose myself. Nope -- that wasn't happening. Sorry Diane, but this isn't happening.
"Well? Is that what you want?" she spat behind me.
I swung around, eyes blazing. She was only a couple of feet away from me now.
"Just what is your fucking problem Diane? Its your daughter's wedding day, and all you've done is snipe at me. I'm doing MY JOB, and you are complaining about everything. What the fuck is going on?"
"How DARE you speak to me like that. You are the hired help today, and you'll do as you are told!"
"Don't speak to me like that. I'm a professional doing a job. We have a contract that I'm fulfilling and you'll pay if I have to take you through the courts to get it. Otherwise you won't see a single photograph from today. I won't be bullied by you or anyone else."
I stepped closer to Diane as I made my point, expecting her to back away from me. I can be quite imposing if I want to be, and I was a good 6 inches taller than her, even in her heels.
To my surprise, Diane didn't back away, she stood her ground. Feisty.
Something in Diane's eyes changed right then. We were almost nose to nose and our eyes staring at each other as I whispered.
"Now. Get out of my room."
Diane took a breath, and hissed back.
"You bastard!"
And that when it all changed.
With lightening reactions, Diane reached up and put a hand on my chest, and the other around my neck, pulling me towards her. Her lips and mine meeting as she snaked a tongue into my mouth. Diane pressed her body against mine, and I could feel her bullet hard nipples against my chest.
I kissed her back -- this was angry kissing. Passionate and hard.
She moved the hand that was on my chest and wrapped it around my back, moving down underneath the towel to my buttocks.
