A Nude Day Wedding

"Paul showed me how to tuck my cock back between my legs so I could wear the lingerie. It started out fine. I was scared, and my cock stayed tiny and in place for my first catwalk. There were four more changes into progressively sexier and skimpier outfits. After my second catwalk, the other volunteer models graciously gave up since I was clearly the big hit. As the panties covered less and less, the ladies got rowdier, and I got excited.

"After the third outfit, I was fully hard and oozing pre-cum. It was supposed to be a comedy fashion show, not a sex show. Paul used double-sided body tape to anchor the topside of my dick to my stomach and the underside of my cock to the thin front of the panties. My last catwalk took the longest since I was felt up by fifteen or twenty ladies as I pranced among the rows of tables. Phyllis told Petie everything."

I was stunned. "Lake county? Victoria's Secret drag queen parties? Bullshit. I don't believe it."

Eric shrugged his shoulders. "Ask Petie. You brought it up, by the way. I'm trying to answer your questions honestly."

"Why are you studying geology? You might have a much more interesting vocation in other areas."

"I'm told it's the least mathematical of the sciences."

I couldn't stop laughing. I'd never had more fun on a date, except last Tuesday, which wasn't an actual date.

We were coming down the hill, five minutes from home. Eric asked, "We're modeling at Oakmont in five weeks, but would you consider modeling with me for other groups?"

"It was a fun way to hang out with you naked. Where are they?"

"I'm scheduled for a community college in Fairfield and a women's Catholic prep school in Marin. I think both would like to have a couple. I'll ask and get back to you."

"A Catholic school?"

"Yeah. It's a two-year community college for promising students who need remedial work before university. It's run by Catholic nuns and won't be like we did last Tuesday. You'll get a more realistic feel for nude art modeling."

"Okay. Go ahead and ask, and we can discuss the schedule next week. I have to see the prep school."

Eric stopped in front of my apartment and quickly ran around the car's front to open my door. "Great, and next Friday, dinner at Hemenway's?"

I raised a hand behind his neck and pulled him to me so I could plant an open-mouthed kiss over his luscious lips. I pulled back to reply, "I'd love to, Eric. Same time?"

"I hope we're not getting into a rut here, but yes, same time."

"I'm sure we'll see each other next week before dinner. Thanks for a wonderful night, Eric."

"Goodnight."

Another week passed without incident, and it turned out both schools wanted the two of us to model together. The times for both worked into my schedule perfectly. I'd stumbled into an exciting part-time job. Internally, I forced myself to focus on classwork, not the tumultuous conflicts brewing beneath the surface.

I eagerly anticipated dinner Friday night and relived many fantasies of our Tuesday modeling session. I heard the knock on my front door and saw Eric. "Ready for dinner?"

We walked down the stairs from my apartment and were surprised to see a Blue Moon Taxi waiting. "I'll explain on the way." Eric held the door open and dashed around the van to sit next to me.

"I started modeling in Stockton while I worked for a medical homecare company. Fast forward a few years, and I started a company in Point Richmond doing the same thing. We won a contract with the Veteran's Administration to maintain and deliver medical homecare equipment throughout Northern California. I'd drive up through Napa, Sonoma, and Mendocino counties a couple of times a month, providing VA equipment to veterans who lived there.

"I'd take time during my delivery runs to visit wineries in Napa Valley. I stopped by and bought regularly and wasn't treated like a tourist. Most grape growers consider themselves farmers, not vintners, and they appreciated I wasn't interested in the coolest cult cabernet.

"I started my collection with California wines, but several growers introduced me to French wines from Bordeaux and Burgundy. The French producers have a thousand-year head start over California. I began collecting a few French wines too. Unfortunately, they were more expensive.

"When my personal life collapsed, I had a few hundred bottle wine collection in need of a home. The owner of one of my favorite restaurants, Giselle Hemenway, said she'd be happy to store them for me. I've had dinner at her place once or twice a month for the past two years. I always take a taxi because I'll open a full bottle, and while I might not finish it, I don't want to risk driving afterward. Last week at Bosco's, we had a half bottle between us. Tonight, we'll have more."

"Eric, you realize you're not the average university student, don't you?"

"I seem average to me."

At Hemenway's, Eric dashed around the van to open the door.

"I don't drink much wine, Eric. You're wasting it on me."

"I'm wasting the wine on me, not you. I'll be pleased if you like it, but I'm not worried. You'll see. Wine is easy when you have good wine and good teachers."

A few years older than me, a young woman came out from the kitchen to greet us. "Hello, Eric. You're having the Mazis tonight. It's twenty-five years old and should be hitting its stride. I opened it before lunch, and I didn't smell any problems. We'll see. I'll open the Corton Charlemagne, and we'll get going. I'm Giselle, by the way." She extended her hand in my direction.

"Linda," I said as I shook her hand.

"Eric is very generous and shares his wine. He'd finished his first week of classes at Sonoma and said he'd met someone special and wanted to make it a night he'd always remember. We had that." Giselle pointed to an empty bottle on a shelf above our table. The label read 'Romanee-Conti' printed on the label and a tag above, 'Monopole 1962.' "I'd never experienced such a wine before or since. Seeing you in person, he made an appropriate selection." She dashed back to the kitchen.

We sat down and settled in. "I hope you don't mind; things are informal here. Giselle's been a good friend. She and Ruth, both personal and business partners, are welcome to sit at the table whenever they wish." Eric pointed to the empty chair to my left. "They sample whatever wine we have open. There are benefits. For example, we won't bother with a menu."

He looked up toward the kitchen, and someone else walked up, holding a curvy green bottle of something and four tulip-shaped glasses. Eric smiled. "It's not one of mine, Ruth. I don't think I can accept it."

"Eric, Giselle gave me clear instructions, a proper meal begins with Champagne. You have no say in the matter. Don't make me show you the door."

She carefully opened the bottle, filled two glasses, and set it on the table. I turned it to read the simple green label, trimmed with gold and a large S prominent in the middle. Salon, 1990, and a couple of other French words. I looked at the glass, and it hardly bubbled at all.

"Never heard of it. Must be cheap shit." I was so far out of my depth.

Eric reached across the table to cover my hand with his. "Take a sip and let it flow over your tongue and around your mouth. Small sip."

I raised the glass to my lips and took in some of the liquid. Tiny firecrackers burst on my tongue and cheeks. I moved my tongue up and down, letting the ambrosia flow over, under, and around my mouth. I tasted orchards of apples, pears and apricots, raspberries, blackberries, and strawberries, all coated with butterscotch and honey. The bubbles burst on every taste bud and amplified the already intense flavors, a different flavor with every explosion.

It was so startling my eyes must have opened into round, shocked disks. Eric smiled. "Yeah, the cheap stuff."

"I'm sorry, Eric. I told you it was wasted on me."

"Not at all. I can see you understand. It's like walking through an orchard in France in 1990. The full year of pruning, cultivating the soil, encouraging the vines to grow, praying against hail from summer thunderstorms, harvest, and fermentation. It's all there, in a bottle. I can see you understand. Have another sip or two."

We were still the only patrons, and Giselle came out to claim her chair. She filled one of the empty glasses, closed her eyes, and lifted it to her lips. "As good as you remember, Eric?"

"Better, Giselle, better."

Giselle finished her glass and returned to the kitchen.

"I had no idea something liquid could taste so good."

"Wait for the Mazis."

Ruth returned to pour Champagne into the remaining glass and have a taste. I asked, "Do you serve this here all the time?"

"No, it's from our personal collection. Most of our customers drink California wines exclusively, which is reasonable, given our location. We have no pretension of Michelin stars and limit our cellar to commercially viable selections. Eric and a couple of other regular customers explored French wines. When he needed to store his collection, it was a pleasure to accommodate him. We've shared some exquisite wine."

She refreshed Eric's and my glasses and departed. Other customers arrived, and several nodded casual greetings to Eric before they were seated. "You're well known here."

"I have dinner regularly and enjoy sharing my wine with other guests. I've been fortunate. My business was successful, and I was able to sell it. Include my share of the proceeds from the house, and I can return to university without financial worries. I don't have enough to retire but enough to indulge some of my acquired tastes."

I took another sip of Champagne, then tilted the glass towards Eric. "Thanks for inviting me to dinner and introducing me to modeling."

Ruth returned with another bottle of wine, some more glasses, and a starter. After she opened the bottle and filled our glasses, Eric held his glass to his nose, smiled, and nodded. Ruth picked up the Champagne glasses and empty bottle and left us alone.

"The starter is foie gras, and the wine is Corton Charlemagne, a chardonnay vineyard north of Beaune, France. The Champagne was chardonnay as well."

We talked about wine and France and geology. Ruth and Giselle came out to taste the wine and discuss the food. A while later, Ruth appeared with more glasses, a full decanter, and an empty bottle. "The Mazis Chambertin smelled wonderful when we opened it. I can't wait for a taste. Leroy did a wonderful job with the 1985 Hospices barrels."

She poured Eric a small sample, and he swirled it carefully, held the glass under his nose, and inhaled deeply. "It's perfect." He took a sip. I could see from his throat and cheeks he was vigorously coating the inside of his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, "Absolutely wonderful. Hopefully, you'll agree when you have a moment to come back and taste." Ruth poured my glass, filled Eric's, and set the decanter next to the bottle.

I held the glass to my nose and inhaled. "It smells organic, earthy, musky."

Eric reached out, guided my hand down to the table, and showed me how to swirl the glass while keeping it on the tabletop. "The wine's been in the bottle longer than you've been alive and needs to relax to be at its best. Swirling the glass this way is safer until you get more practice. Smell it again, then have a taste."

I lifted the glass and inhaled again. "The smell is more intense but still musky and organic." Then it hit me. "It smells like my pussy when we modeled."

"I hoped you'd notice. The best Burgundy has an organic, fecund, musky bouquet. It smells like sex on the forest floor."

I'd never experienced wine in this way. It was exciting, but not in a 'Let's get drunk and fuck,' way. The sensuous taste, the feeling inside my mouth, and how the flavors changed with the food were sexy and fun. Ruth brought out a duck breast in red wine reduction that was heavenly with the wine.

We ate and talked for what felt like only minutes. I soon noticed people leaving the restaurant. I quickly glanced at my phone and was shocked two and a half hours had passed, and many customers who'd arrived after us were already departing. Ruth and Giselle joined us.

Giselle said, "It's slowed enough for a break. Was everything okay?"

"Absolutely." We said in unison.

Eric poured equal portions of the remaining Mazis into their glasses and raised his toward Giselle. "Thank you for another fabulous dinner. It's always a joyous occasion, no matter what you serve."

We all returned the toast, tasted the remaining wine, and discussed its qualities. I mainly listened while being transported to the Cote d'Or in France. Most of the customers had left, and we were again alone in the restaurant. Ruth and Giselle got up and started clearing the dishes and empty glasses from the table. "You're not finished yet. We'll be right back with coffee and dessert."

"This has been the most incredible dinner I've ever had, Eric."

"Good food, good wine, good company. Nothing in the world compares."

Giselle and Ruth returned with two glasses, a small bottle of amber liquid, a plate of several different kinds of cheese, and coffee. When all was set and the glasses filled, Giselle said, "Take your time. We'll be in the back cleaning up if you need anything."

"This probably isn't the usual dessert you're used to, but it grows on you." Eric took a knife, cut the four cheese pieces in half, and carefully placed them on my plate and his. He lifted his glass and said, "Cheers."

I lifted my glass and took a sip. The thick liquid tasted of honey, butterscotch, peaches, and apricots. It coated my mouth, melted into every pore, and slid down my throat. I turned the bottle to read the label, "Chateaux d'Yquem, 1990," was all I understood. The rest was French.

"1990 was an excellent year in Bordeaux and Champagne, good in Burgundy but not consistently great. This is a Sauterne, a sweet wine from the Bordeaux region of France. It's currently out of favor. We're being opulent, possibly overindulgent. Someone may report us to the culture police, and we'll be in trouble. If I whip out cigars and a cutter, you have my permission to break this bottle over my head."

The sweetness of the wine balanced the various flavors of the cheeses in a way I didn't want to end. We'd finished the cheese and wine and were sipping coffee.

During all these incredible, new experiences, I realized I was falling in love with this man. I had to overcome my fear of trusting him and explain my hesitancy. "I had some traumatic experiences a few years ago. I've been through a lot since and had a difficult time overcoming the trauma. I thought I was through it and ready to move ahead with new relationships. Telling me your wife's problems triggered an unexpected response I couldn't handle."

He paused a long time before he spoke. "I've found you fascinating from the first time we met over a year ago. You had obvious trust issues, but I'm patient. Take all the time you need. I'll be here."

I laughed defensively and then stared at my coffee cup. "My mom couldn't think beyond her nose and only wanted to party; she's a hard-core alcoholic, but it took a long time to figure out. My dad left, married a Mormon, and had five other kids. Mom held me back a grade in middle school, so I was older than my high school classmates. I'd developed early tits, periods, hairy legs and pussy, and good god almighty, I was angry."

"You had every reason to be."

"Maybe. I was in my senior year but nineteen because of the repeat, and my mother's boyfriend kept coming on to me. He played up my anger with my mom and made it seem screwing him was somehow screwing with my mother. When it all exploded, my mom blamed me, the boyfriend beat me, and I ended up living on the street."

"How did you survive?"

"I didn't want to at the time. I lived in homeless camps and fucked anything that moved. The few old friends I stayed in touch with called me Linda Rip, Linda 'Rest in Peace.' They all assumed I wouldn't survive."

"What turned it around?"

"I got pregnant."

Eric lifted his coffee cup to his lips and took a sip. "Can you tell me what happened?"

I felt a hardening in my stomach but forced myself on. "When I showed up at the clinic pregnant, they said I'd be eligible for benefits. They helped me fill out the forms and make the applications. I got immediate aid, such as food stamps, or whatever the program's called, and medical exams. There was some rudimentary counseling: career paths, healthy living choices, those sorts of things." I couldn't continue.

I stared into my coffee cup for what felt like hours. "I miscarried the second trimester."

"You must have been devastated."

"I can't tell you how much. I vowed to change and provide for my baby. I studied for my GED and applied to the community college. The financial support depended on being a single mother. When I lost my baby, I felt I'd lost my future. I didn't think of life beyond the miscarriage." I couldn't form coherent thoughts. Tears welled up and flowed down my cheeks.

"Yet here you are, resilient beyond measure."

"My mother eventually saw the guy's violent nature and kicked him out of the house after a long legal battle. My lowest point was after the miscarriage, and I moved back in with her. We supported each other. She had a good job as a travel agent with flexible hours. I took all her spare time, and she cut back on drinking for a while. I got my GED and started community college. I could have gotten loans, but I wanted to work my way through. It took longer than I thought."

"Hence, junior class status in university at twenty-five."

"Yeah. Mom started drinking heavily again, and I wondered what to do. She solved the problem by accepting a manager's position at one of the company's LA offices. I've been in my apartment since she left last summer. I haven't told any classmates the full story."

Eric started to reach across the table. "May I?" I nodded, and he gently covered my hand with his. "I thought I had it bad. I only had someone reject me and had lots of emotional and financial support. I never had to worry about where the next meal came from. I feel honored you trust me enough to have dinner, let alone model like we did."

"Oh, Eric. I like dinner, and I like sex, too. I'm unsure of how I choose the objects of my desires. I want you, but I also need to be sure I'm not misleading myself."

"I think I understand. I'd worked through the divorce issues before I started back to school, but it took a year to invite you out. Well, inviting you to watch me model for the art group."

"Yeah, why so long?"

"At first, your body language and sarcastic tone indicated you weren't interested. You gradually softened but seemed drawn to the younger guys. I had to find some way to pique your interest without risking outright rejection. We worked well together in the chem lab, and I was ready to ask you out when the model session at the pond came up, and I thought I'd keep my thong in my backpack to see if you'd notice. The scheduling coincidence with the community center was accidental. Lucky for us, as it turned out."

"I'll say. It was the most fun I've had as far back as I can remember. I've never had an exhibitionistic streak, but I didn't want to stop once I overcame my Catholic schoolgirl guilt. Is modeling always so exciting?"

"There's usually some tension standing in the room and being the only person nude. It's supposed to be professional and objective, at least in theory. Since I'm an exhibitionist, I enjoy it and can make up stories to pass the time, but it sometimes gets me in trouble. I mentioned on Tuesday getting an erection is usually a bad thing. I've been yelled at and de-listed. It usually happens when the instructors and students are inexperienced and embarrassed by male nudity."