It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m adding the finishing touches to my suit. I finish tying up my laces before fastening the top button of my shirt and tying a deep blue tie around my neck. I throw my suit jacket on, and place a few sprays of cologne around my body before taking a look in the mirror. I stand tall in a sleek black suit, my hair tied back and beard well groomed. “Here’s hoping I haven’t outdone Declan” I say laughing as I head out to pick up my “date”.
I find myself on the same set of steps I nervously walked up just a few days ago to knock on her door, but the nerves feel more akin to butterflies this time. Why the fuck do I feel this way? I guess she was popular at school for a reason, but that doesn’t excuse her rotten attitude. I knock on the door again, 3 loud knocks just like before. However, as the door opens this time, I am hit with a scent that can only be described as the gardens of heaven. Every flower known to man, intricately intertwined in an intoxicating concoction of pure bliss. The only thing to drag me back down to earth was the sight of who would walk out of that door. It was Anastasia, but not in any way that I had seen her before. Her clear skin shining like the sun itself, with a hint of rose on her cheeks. Dark black locks flow effortlessly on either side as she steps out in a dark olive dress that can barely contain her curves. Thin straps give way to a bare chest, with large buxom breasts stretching the satin fabric. The dress doesn’t just curve around her figure, it ebbs and flows, dancing between her relatively thin waist and wide hips. She was by no means a thin woman, but the protrusion of her chest and hips left her waist looking like a corset had been used to squeeze her together. Her plump lips part, adorned in a deep red colour, to say nothing more than “it’s 6:05. You’re late.” And just like that, the illusion is broken. “After you.” I say, leading her over to my car. From behind, the dress does little to hide the recoil in her ass with every step. I open the passenger door for her and help her in, before closing it and walking around to the front of the car. All I can think about as I walk around is the goddess who opened the door mere seconds ago. I try to find the words to describe her in my mind without being disrespectful, but fuck. She’s a sexy bitch.
At the wedding, we exchange very few words. We eat in silence, and talk to no one as we sit there looking like 2 strangers. It doesn’t help that I know no one here, I can’t escape this bitch, or the thought of what that dress is hiding. The music comes on and pairs all around us get up to dance. I turn to her and say “we should join in. Emily wanted us paired for these photos.” She doesn’t even look at me, just picks her purse up off her lap and places it on the table, before standing up and saying “okay.” I take her hand and guide her to the dance floor, slow dancing with her as my hand grips her waist. We barely look at each other, but the few glances I shoot in her direction are spent mesmerising at her body. She breaks the silence crudely as she says “stop staring at my tits you fucking creep.” Taken aback, I respond in like with “not my fault you’re dressed like a porn star. Did you ever think you might want to stop being a slut even just for a day?” She hits back with “I may be a slut but you still can’t hit it.” I bite my tongue at her reply, and for the sake of my best friend, I opt against making a scene at his wedding. The rest of the night goes well, we sit next to each other but don’t utter a word to each other. The cake is cut and the room erupts in joy, apart from our table – which seems to be shrouded in misery. Everyone gets a slice of cake, except for us. I’m not in the mood for it, and Anastasia is trying to “watch her weight” – like her body needs to be any different to what it currently is. The night continues and I drop Anastasia off at home after a silent car ride. As she exits the car, she leaves with a “thanks for not being completely immature tonight. Apart from constantly staring at my tits.” I don’t look in her direction, just respond with a “hurry up and get out”. I drive off home trying to get her off my mind, but the scent of her perfume has permeated into every part of my car. I can still smell her as though my nose was tucked right into her neck.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12m30qv/the_unlikely_plus_one_part_2