Monday, March 8, 2010

Blog: Inches from My Finger Tips

~ "Thank goodness, you're bare foot!"

~ Behind the hem of Mulan's pink dress the little white heals with their cross-crossing straps were gone. My mind had reeled with scenarios from the moment she caught the bouquet. My wit had gotten me here, in the midst of a social mine-field, right in the very position I wanted to be. By design my scenarios ended at her shoes lest the oxygen my brain needed headed south.

Catcher of bouquets and attentions.

~ "Of course, I've been dancing haven't I?" she jabbed.

~ Having found herself at the epicenter of a bazaar ritual, Mulan had put up her defenses. She was from a small family. She hadn't been to a wedding since she was four. She knew about the bouquet toss and not much else. I came from a very large Irish-Catholic family. My life had been filled with sacramental celebrations, most of all holy matrimony. I was too familiar with the depravities of wedding receptions. I've seen the first bite of cake smeared across a spouses face. I've dodged a projectile Champaign cork. I've paid to dance with the bride. I've kissed another man's wife. I, myself, have taught the Chicken Dance, the Electric Slide, and *gasp* the Macerana. Most importantly, I had known all about the foremost of reception debaucheries, the garter toss.

~ My extensive extended family is heavy on the girls. Among the hundred or so in my generation only 5 of us will carry on the family name. This meant it was more than half chance that in a given wedding the bride was a blood relative. Her new husband would reach up her dress, remove her garter, often with his teeth, and fling it into a crowd of single men. The receiver would be made to put the garter on the woman who caught the bouquet, most likely his first cousin. In the very rare occurrence that both receivers of projectiles were not related by blood, then again teeth were involved.

~ At today's wedding I was an interloper, the best man, the best friend of the groom. I wasn't related to anyone. Mulan was the brides little sister, a lesser maid, especially pretty today, and 11 years my junior. 20 minutes ago I told her the flirtation between us was getting out of hand and we had to cool it. 5 minutes ago she caught the bouquet. 4 minutes and 50 seconds ago her mother reminded me about the garter toss and I realized I had to catch it. 10 seconds later her father read my mind and started glaring. Instantly my palms felt soft and clammy, the way they always do right before sweating at the worst possible time.

The fabric that fazed me.

~ My best laid plans ran without a hitch. I casually caught the garter. I hammed it up and the crowd ate it up. Now, I was kneeling in front of her chair out in the middle of the dance floor. My hands were moist, bad. I had a plan, good. The plan was simple: Don't dawdle. Get in, get out, and don't get killed by her father. The only foreseeable obstacle on her slender athletic leg would be her shoe, but when I lifted the edge of her dress, 3 layers of tulle, and a slip I exposed a freshly pedicured bare foot.

~ "Of course." I responded, conceding her a victory in the verbal fight she threatened. I was about to manhandle her naked leg in full view of a crowd. She was blushing as hotly as I felt I was. I thought the victory would help ease her. I was glad my wits were still about me. I went for it and everything turned for the worse.

~ Mesh tulle! Being a guy I had no experience with this ultralight fabric. Mulan wore it in ruffled layers beneath the satin shell of her dress to appear as thought she floated when she walked and most likely would blow away in a gentle breeze. The only reason the tulle draped downward was because Mulan had carefully laid it that way when she dressed herself. As I began pushing the lacy garter up her smooth leg her under garments flew into chaos. They bunched and swirled. They pinched themselves in the garter's elastic. They piled on the ungainly circumference of my tuxedo sleeves. They snagged on the stem of my watch. Mostly, they threatened to float right up over her head showing her holiest of holies to the whole audience. I couldn't let that happen.

~ I imagined the theme from Jeopardy as I inched up her caffe. No wait, I actually heard the theme from Jeopardy. Damn DJs. I felt her father's hot stare. I was dawdling! But then, rounding her knee I found Mulan holding her dress and its many hidden layers in place. She was providing me an open road up her thigh. I made for a final push and stopped dead. Intense heat flooded over my hands. All her oxygen rich blood rushed to a place inches from my finger tips. Surprised, I jerked half way out of her dress. Despite extreme anxiety, Mulan had burst into a burning lust.

~ I looked into her woozy eyes. "Is that tight enough?"

~ "Mmm Hmm."