The wedding had been nice, but the reception was a real blast. Drink flowed freely, and a large number of the attendees were a little over the top before the night ended. You could spot the designated drivers by their sour looks, but most people had arranged for taxis or were staying overnight at the hotel. I was overnighting myself.
I was the best man. I suppose I could have joined in and got plastered with the rest, but I'd promised to keep an eye on things and make sure that everyone got away safely. Not drinking didn't worry me. For some reason I can't stand the taste of beer, and as far as I'm concerned, wine is just a drink you have with your dinner. I have been known to overdo the whiskey, but only rarely.
With all the people there I'd figured that the ones I'd have least concern for were the bride and groom. They had a suite booked in the hotel and were leaving bright and early for their honeymoon. I was actually a little surprised as the night wore on to see that Mike and Cecelia were still at the reception.
It seemed to me that Cecelia had a rather frozen look on her face, but Mike was still knocking them back and being the life of the party. We'd promised the hotel that we'd all be gone by eleven, so shortly before that I started chasing out the stragglers. With them gone I found I was left with two late stayers – the bride and groom.
I moved over to give them some final congratulations. Cecelia just gave me a helpless look and Mike was just lolling in his chair, a big smirk on his face. He was plastered. If we could get him to stand I'd have laid odds that he'd just fall flat on his face.
I felt tempted to let him, but an unspoken plea from Cecelia had me behaving and offering some proper help. I levered Mike to his feet and guided his staggering way towards the elevators. Once in one, I propped him against a wall and we sailed up to the bridal suite. By the time we reached it, Mike was out cold.
I'm quite a hefty lad, so when the lift reached the right floor I just bent down and lifted Mike in a fireman's carry, following Cecelia down the hall to their suite. Entering the suite, I dumped Mike on the couch. Damned if I was carrying him to the bedroom. I helped Cecelia take off his shoes and outer clothes and we just left him there, snoring as though he invented it. He was out of action until the morning.
I said goodnight to Cecelia and was about to depart when I noticed she was biting her lip. Something was troubling her besides Mike getting blotto, and she didn't know how to mention it. I've always had a very soft spot for Cecelia. If Mike hadn't come along with his flamboyant style there was a good chance I might have made a determined play for her myself.
Anyway, considering her carefully as I prepared to depart, it suddenly dawned on me what her problem was. She was still in her wedding dress, and it was big and heavy and Cecelia had had two bridesmaids to help her put it on. It had been assumed by everyone that the groom would help her remove it, but the groom was out cold on the couch.
"You can't take your dress off by yourself," I guessed. "Do you want me to ring up Shirley and Kit to come and help? They're overnighting in the hotel."
Cecelia bit her lip and shook her head.
"They left earlier and they're probably both in bed. I don't want to drag them out just because Mike had a couple too many."
"A couple?" I thought. I mean, the man was plastered.
Still chewing on her lip Cecelia finally said what she wanted.
"Um, I know it's a lot to ask, Frank, but could you come in, unzip me and help me place the dress on its stand. It'll only take a minute."
What could I say? I didn't really have a choice. I gestured for her to lead the way.
"Why does it need to be on a stand?" I asked.
"We're leaving it here when we go in the morning," Cecelia informed me. "The hotel are going to pack it properly and send it to mum's place. That means that when we get up we can just dress, grab out bags and jump in the taxi and it's Hamilton Island, here we come."
Standing next to the bed Cecelia turned her back to me. She'd chosen to wear a family dress, handed down through several generations. Quite a lovely gown, but a trifle old fashioned in the making of it. That was the problem. No zip. Just a long row of little cunningly positioned hooks and eyes, each one having to be undone separately.
Starting at the top I went slowly down that long row, undoing every hook and eye I encountered. Every bloody one of them. What happened after that was not my fault.
Cecelia had been holding the dress to her so it wouldn't sag and it turned out that the idea was that as soon as all the hooks were unhooked I had to lift the dress up and over her head and drop it on the stand. That was no problem, lift dress, turn and lower dress onto stand, turn back to Cecelia to see her bra falling away, exposing a lovely pair of white breasts, tipped with an exquisite pink bud, leaving Cecelia standing there in a pair of white satin panties, panties that were supposed to stimulate the groom into action.
It seems that a pair of the hooks I'd unhooked were the hooks on the bra, and I deny that I undid them deliberately.
Cecelia promptly slapped her hands over her breasts, blushing. Too late, as I had already seen and admired, and an error of strategy as that wasn't what she should have been defending.
It wasn't premeditated. I just seemed to go on auto-pilot, kneeling in front of her, taking the wisp of white she still had on and removing it, even lightly slapping Cecelia's ankle to get her to lift it so I could peel it right off.
Then I rose to my feet, gently pulled Cecelia's hands away from her breasts and admired her nudity.
