Thank you for reading!
This is a slow burn, in multiple parts. Nothing but kissing and suggestiveness in this first part.
Comments mean a lot
.
The Wedding of the Fashion Dolls
© 2021
CeVin_ChienElle
―――――――――――――――
Elody Conners was bored out of her skull. She was only at the dinner because the Conners contingent was so shy of relatives. It wasn't like she'd had anything to rehearse.
She felt a perverse desire for a cigarette, though her last smoke had been ground out between a deck shoe and a dock more than two decades previously. That was back when Obelia was still charming and fascinating. "Beelee" had been able to coax her into anything.
Judith had charmed her into sucking on (among other things) the end of a burning paper tube stuffed with shredded leaves a bit over a decade and a half before Beelee had charmed her into stopping. Well, stopping the burning tubes. She owed Beelee that, at least. Maybe it was worth the heartbreak.
Judith had flitted away, and Beelee had sneaked away, and now here she was after a lifetime of acquaintances, sitting near the end of the table in a posh Italian restaurant in Grosse Pointe Woods, trying to stay awake for her niece's—and soon to be niece in law's—rehearsal dinner. The niece who'd been in kindergarten when Elody had quit smoking was now going to marry the love of her life. They were absolutely soul mates, you could see it when they looked at each other. Whatever might come later, right now all they wanted was to share their lives. Share their
life
. Live and grow old together.
Tomorrow they'd make it official. Lucky little twerps.
She really was happy for them when the green-eyed monster was being kept at bay, but it just wasn't fair, dammit! Apart from the facts that they could even
get
married and had found each other, they were both stunning. Like, "model turned movie star" stunning.
In El's opinion Bandia, her niece, and Anilaja, Bandi's fiancee—collectively known as "BandAnja"—were only allowed to get married because the goddesses were amused by the fact that they would frustrate the het males. That and they couldn't reproduce directly with each other. Combining
those
genes would produce women too beautiful to be allowed. The goddesses would wipe them out with no better excuse than preemptive jealousy.
"Bandia" and "Anilaja," for mercy's sake. Irish for "goddess" and Hindi for "perfect." El remembered when she had been that slim, that smooth, that... taut. Never quite that good looking, of course, but BandAnja were so good looking they weren't as good looking as they were,
since
nobody
could possibly be that goddamn
'
good looking
!
Not that El thought her own looks would turn anyone to stone. Her twenties through mid thirties had had a few downsides, but those had little to do with her appearance. Really she couldn't bring to mind any but her brother Willy and her truly stellar record at failed relationships. That last was a considerable downside, but otherwise the span had been pretty good, even if it had started badly.
Poor Mama.
Those relationships, though. If you could call anything as one-sided as both of them had been "a relationship." Fifteen years wasted on two women, both of whom were "The One," even though neither of them ever told her
she
was. Plenty of people had told her neither of
them
were, but what did "plenty of people" know?
She put a hard stop on that train of thought and re-boarded the "hot-ass twenty-something nieces" line. Better to be envious than bitter.
Not that she ever wanted to be that young again, of course, or even have that body again. Well, maybe the skin. Lines were fine (if they were
fine
) but when the skin under her jaw started to sag a little it was a tad alarming, although she found it kind of sexy on other women, and yes she knew
you
didn't think it was sagging, but that was not the point. Her twenty-six year old self would have balked hard at the idea of taking someone who looked her
current
age to bed, and yes, she
also knew
that
you
didn't think that, but who the hell cared what you thought anyway? She knew she wasn't that attractive to young women, because kids were so shallow, so shut up, oh nameless critic.
She sighed and picked at her ravioli. She was seated between "Mr. Sorry I didn't catch your name okay fine then just totally ignore me you rude old bastard," and "Marge, Anilaja's Lesbian Aunt." She'd heard the capital letters when Marge was introduced by one of the Matrons of Honor—maybe Ani's MoH? Whatever. She and Marge had chatted for a minute, and then some family member up the table had grabbed Marge's attention and kept it. Tenaciously. Marge had actually attempted to turn back to her right-hand table mate multiple times, but with zero success.
The over-explicitness of the introduction hadn't been necessary. El had known for some time that Bandia's girl had an aunt who wasn't straight, but this was the first time they'd met. Not surprising, really, since she'd only met Ani a handful of times previous to the dinner. Very brief meetings, all of them. "Ani, this is my Aunt El. She's 'Fam,'" was the first meeting, and "you remember my Aunt Elody" were most of the rest. The longest conversation she'd had with Ani lasted less than fifteen minutes, although it was long enough to tell her that the girl was absolutely delightful.
Oh, well.
Anyway, it was nice that The Other Lesbian Aunt was not just "not straight," but also very good looking. Maybe forty-five or so, so old enough to converse with without having to explain most of the references. Deliciously curvy everywhere she should be. Toned but not a hardbody. Dark brown, almost black hair pulled into a loose braid, with the occasional meteoric streak in the midst of that warm dark night. Deep brown eyes. A very nice neck. Kissable ear lobes. Full-but-not-pouty lips. Really
interesting
from the waist all the way down to the feet—she'd caught that much as the woman was being seated. Just all-over attractive.
Very
attractive. Subtly visible "points of interest" if you looked very carefully. She could imagine...
"
Turn off the video, Elody
," said her shoulder angel, "
and eat your expensive Ravioli dinner, you wanton
!" Her shoulder angel was an uptight little snot. "
Are you seriously considering propositioning your niece's aunt? Honestly, Elody! You're a bit too grown-up for this sort of nonsense
."
Her shoulder devil wasn't saying much. She was just dragging her pitchfork's tines across the tips of Elody's nipples, which would be very
un
subtly visible if they weren't suitably restrained and camouflaged. The little demon sent the occasional tentative
zing
into El's "area of yearning," which was when the slutty little bitch repeated the only thing she
was
saying: "
Been a while, hasn't it Honey
?"
Really
deep brown eyes, with a dusting of gold. Mesmerizing irises that dilated until they almost disappeared when their eyes had met.
Marge was saying "okay, okay, I'll call you and we can talk about," and Elody had just stuffed half of a very tasty cheese-filled pasta pillow into her mouth, when the server who was refilling the tea of the old bastard next to her overbalanced their tray. A carafe of ice water fell onto her shoulder, and her spastic reaction bounced it onto Marge's chest. They shrieked in succession at the onslaught of the frigid liquid, El twice as the carafe was flung back when Marge jerked her hand up. It dumped crushed ice down El's bodice and into her lap.
Both women jumped up and grabbed their napkins, intent on wiping away the water. They began apologizing to each other, competing with the Server's apologies and, when he got there, the Headwaiter's blithering. The Headwaiter was so obsequious it took less than fifteen seconds before El wanted to smack him one.
"Alright," said El, taking another swipe at her chest, "why don't you stop apologizing and just get our places cleaned up and our food replaced? Flapping your hands and saying how sorry you are isn't fixing anything. The restroom has air dryers, yes? Good. C'mon Margery. Let's get dried off while the table gets fixed." She grabbed her purse and put a guiding hand on Margery's back.
As they headed toward the restrooms, her fellow dousing victim said "I go by 'Marj,' or 'Marji.' Actually, it's 'Marjani,' with a 'J' and ending with an 'I.' It's kind of desi, although it's pretty much usually a surname, I think. Mama didn't really know what she was doing, because my great grandfather effectively put the kibosh on anything Indian when he got here. He figured out fairly quickly that being a brown person with an Indian accent was not such a good thing in the early 1900's if you were 'just an immigrant.'"
"I'm sorry to hear that," said El. "It wasn't just race, for what it's worth. My great grandfather's family came from Quebec, and the American schoolteachers paddled him whenever he spoke French. He never taught his kids anything but English."
"'Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,'" Marj wryly quoted, and shrugged.
―――――
The restroom was big enough to have two stalls, two sinks, a towel dispenser, and an air dryer. The restroom was also the location of a primary vent for the air-conditioning, apparently. "Must want people to get in and get out before they freeze to death," Marj observed.
"Well, it would keep people from hogging the stalls, I guess. Why have a lock on the door if there are two stalls?"
Marj raised her eyebrows, shook her head and shrugged. El waved a hand under the dryer, crouched down, and thrust her bust under the vent. She held out her arms and moved her torso back and forth. She couldn't see the woman behind her, but she thought she heard giggling.
She craned her head back over her shoulder. "What?"
