It was 1:05pm, and I was already regretting my decision to attend Scott and Pamela's wedding. I had known the two for years--they were my best friends at Stuyvesant High, class of 1997--but I couldn't believe they had started dating after the fifteen-year reunion and were now getting married. I didn't think it would last.
I hated being in this old, stuffy chapel, with Scott and Pamela's other friends from Stuyvesant--many of whom I still didn't get along with all these years later--and Scott and Pamela's old and wrinkled family members. I hated how cold and isolated this place felt. I hated being literally the only black person in this place. I wanted to leave, to hide in the bathroom until it was all over. I made a mistake.
I checked my iPhone one last time and shut it off; couldn't have my phone go off during the wedding. When I looked up, I saw something that made me think I didn't make a mistake.
A petite, pale-skinned young woman in a black dress walked down the aisle and took a seat directly in front of me. She had very long, vibrant red hair--the reddest I had ever seen, apple-red and luxurious--and freckles all over her face and shoulders. She took out her iPhone and made a quick call, telling a friend that she had arrived: she spoke in a beautiful Australian accent that melted my heart.
After her call ended, she shut her phone off and shook her hair. The sight of red locks over pale skin was too intense: it was all I could do not to stroke her hair. Suddenly, she turned around and looked at me: her piercing green eyes and pierced nose almost made my cock pierce through my pants.
"Hi there," she whispered. "You wouldn't happen to have a tissue, would you, mate? Just in case I start tearing up..."
"Oh, sure," I responded, reaching into my suit pocket for a small travel-size Kleenex package. I pulled a few tissues out and handed them to her; as she reached for them, I was riveted by the beauty of her pale manicured hand, also covered in lovely freckles.
"Thanks, dear," she replied, winking. "With any luck, I shan't need them."
This lovely Aussie lady turned back around, and I looked down for a moment at my crotch; what I wouldn't give to run to the bathroom again, this time to beat off to the image of this cutie from Down Under.
The wedding began at 1:30pm, and finally concluded by 2:45pm. I fled the chapel as soon as I possibly could; I was afraid that this beauty would see how visibly aroused I was, and think that I was some sort of creep. I took the train to the Valmont Convention Hall downtown, where the reception would be held. I didn't know if that lovely Aussie girl would be there; it would be just as well if she didn't show up, because what if I became noticeably horny again?
I got to the Valmont at 3:30pm, and tried to find a table in the most remote location possible; I just wanted to eat, avoid talking to people I didn't really like, watch Scott and Pamela have their first dance as a married couple, then hit the road. Less than fifteen minutes later, the Aussie showed up. What do I do?
The redhead noticed me almost immediately and waved hi, but she didn't sit next to me. Rather, she found a table at the opposite end of the hall, and chatted on her iPhone until other reception attendees joined her table. My table filled up as well, and I had to spend three agonizing hours pretending to be nice to Stuyvesant classmates I still had bad blood with, as well as members of Scott and Pamela's extended family.
Finally, at around 7:00pm, I had had enough, and excused myself to go out to the balcony. The sun was beginning to set and the air was quite fresh; I was so happy to be away from the crowd. I looked down at the golf course next to the parking lot, and wondered once again why people found golf so appealing. I leaned on the balcony railing and counted the legions of cars; was I the only one who had taken the train?
"Hey, don't jump, mate! It's not worth it."
It was the redhead, walking towards me with a champagne glass in hand. I smiled and shook my head.
"How're you doin', mate? Thank you again for the tissues. Turns out I didn't need 'em."
"Thanks. I'm OK. Just needed to get some quiet for a while. Receptions are so noisy--the music and everything."
"I know," she cooed, her accent hardening my cock even more. "I just needed some fresh air and some quiet, too."
"I'm Ron, by the way."
"Thanks. I'm Jessica."
"Jessica? That's a beautiful name."
"Yes. And before you ask, my mum named me after Jessica Lange, not Jessica Rabbit."
I laughed loudly, and she joined in. Indeed, she did resemble that cartoon character.
"So, you went to school with Scott and Pamela?"
"Yeah, it's been so long now...so, if you don't mind my asking, how do you know 'em?"
"Pamela and I worked together at Threshold magazine--she was the managing editor, and I was a feature writer."
