Such a Gentleman!

He looked at me, proud; men love themselves after they make a woman cum. "Small price to pay, Ash." I agreed.

* * *

The evening, again, was a lot less awkward than it should have been. The resort catered the dinner, complete with five kinds of bad wine and a plate of rubbery chicken. There were toasts and laughs and tears, and it was a nice enough time; I sat and made nice conversation with Blonde Peter, wondering the entire time what he'd say if he knew I'd been up Aaron's asshole with the very fingers that now held my wineglass.

That made me smile.

I slept like a fucking log, too; no more tension for this gal. Just the soft, blissful, muscle-relaxant lassitude of a sexually satisfied girl, calm and cool and collected after a two-month backlog. I had to figure Aaron was sleeping just as well.

* * *

The wedding would be every bit as nifty as the rehearsal, but with nicer clothes. Clothes I'd had difficulty getting into: we bridesmaids were in bright green strapless, for some reason, with turquoise belts. I felt kind of bad, since I was the only one with the coloring and body to pull that off; I looked goddamn hot. But they'd been Tanya's choice, so I mostly just felt bad for Karen.

The issue had been the zippers and hooks in the back. Those are always trouble for me; I know there are chicks out there who can do them up themselves, but I've always been a sundress kind of girl and I haven't had practice.

Predictably, as I thought about my choices of who I should ask to help get me into the dress, there were really only three options. Lindsay was a close friend, and would have done it, but she was the bride. No way could I impose. It was technically Blonde Peter's job, since he was my date and that's what dates do, but I didn't know him well. Which left Aaron, a bad idea after what had happened in the shower yesterday, but maybe this was a good way to dispel any lingering awkwardness. Besides, he was qualified: he'd taken me to two proms, meaning he'd zipped me up before, so I knew he should be able to handle it.

I texted him; we'd traded numbers on the beach the day before, and he seemed happy to hear from me. Get over here, my text ordered. I need you in my room.

He spent some time composing a reply, and must have gone through several drafts. I laughed at what he'd chosen. Should I bring champagne and candles?

LOL. Just get here. I laid on my bed, pondering the two of us, feeling just slightly guilty about the shower. I wondered, in fact, why I didn't feel worse. The gown lay spread across the comforter beside me, with me in my nicest black underwear and a rib-knit v-neck I'd stolen from Chad, for sleeping. I lay on my tummy, propped on my elbows with my cleavage aimed at the door like a sawn-off shotgun. I didn't mean to look sexy, but then as my Aunt Gina says I never really do. It's just what happens.

His knock on my door was expected, but I still jumped. "Come in!" I sang. I'd had almost no opportunity to see him that morning, a boys-only golf outing apparently being preferable. I'd spent the entire time on the beach, predictably bored out of my skull. Fucking summer.

I saw Aaron's eyes go straight to my tits as soon as he came through the door. He shut it and leaned casually back, smiling pleasantly. "I took the liberty of making sure nobody saw me come in, madame."

"Why, that's so thoughtful of you," I purred. "It wouldn't do to start rumors." He'd be able to look past my shoulder and see my ass, bursting from the black thong, with my shaven legs swinging gaily above. But I watched his eyes, and he didn't. Such a gentleman. "How was your morning?"

"I dug many balls out of many holes," he chuckled. He was, though, ogling my chest quite openly, and if I'd ever minded, we were certainly past that now. Besides, I was in a good mood; if he was going to flirt, why, I was game. It's not like things could go any further than they had already, though in fairness I'd made up my mind to give him one kiss before his flight left in the morning. He'd earned it, and so had I.

"Shithead," I explained, "balls aren't supposed to go into holes. If they do," I winked, "you're doing it wrong." I feigned sudden realization. "Oh! You were talking about golf. And here, I thought you men all went out and got hookers after breakfast. I hear it's legal on this island."

He arched a knowing eyebrow. "I think you know quite well, Ashley Gallo, that I would be particularly useless for a hooker today." He came over, unasked, and sat facing me on the little dressing chair by the desk. "I seem to have had a, well, an emission yesterday."

"Ah." I was grinning broadly. I liked games like this. "Planned, or unplanned?"

"Unplanned." He was shaking his head, his expression mournful. "I found myself particularly relaxed in the shower and, well..." He shrugged.

"Nice to hear." I rolled playfully over, hanging my head off the edge of the bed and looking at him upside down. My boobs rose high above; he'd remember this, I suddenly realized. He'd fucked my mouth in this position the week after I'd graduated. A tiny corner of my brain set off its alarm; why the fuck was I doing this?

I hit snooze on that alarm.

"I took a very nice shower yesterday too," I said airily. "A particularly nice one, in fact. Very thorough; hit all the nooks and crannies."

He laughed. "God, I missed you Ashley," he admitted.

"Missed you too." I lolled a moment more, and then sat straight up. The effort just about ruptured my abs. "I need you to help me get into my dress."

"Absolutely," he replied, no hesitation. Such a sweetie. He took off his golf cap and flung it over onto the desk. "Where do I begin?"

"You begin," I told him over my shoulder, "by watching me put the dress on. Then, you zip it up. Then, you help with any adjustments I might need." I batted my eyelashes, still feeling playful. "If you like, I can help you get dressed afterward."

"No you can't." He checked his watch. "Lindsay wants all you chicks downstairs for pictures. Ten minutes, Ash."

I knew that quite well. "Aww," I drawled. "And it would have been so much fun. Oh well." I swung my legs around and faced him. "Now, you just sit there until I tell you to get up." I wasn't thinking to give him a lapdance; that was far, far too much. And I was down to just nine minutes. But I wouldn't mind showing off a tad anyway; I had a wonderful body, and I knew he liked it. A lot. I got to my feet, struck a pose, and threw the v-neck clean off my body, sending it sailing toward his face.

And there I stood in front of my ex-boyfriend of many years ago, clad in nothing but a top-quality black lace bra and panty set, $69.99 (on sale) at Secret Whispers. It really hid nothing, but of course that was hardly the point: a woman wears that kind of thing in order to make the dress look great, not to give decent coverage to her naughty bits. It didn't matter anyway, under the circumstances; he'd seen me stark naked, on average, once a day all weekend. I giggled at his face. "You should take a picture. It'll last longer."

He shook his head. "I don't mean to sound offensive," he began carefully, "but here's the thing. You're an incredibly beautiful woman, and you've always looked amazing naked, but there's just something about a woman in lingerie..."

"Why, I think I'll take that as a compliment." I spun to fiddle with the dress, giving him a nice long look at my ass, and then the dress was whispering over my head and down my body. "Here's the sequence," I briefed him. "You come up to me, you get my hair out of the way, you zip me up, you fasten the belt, and then we adjust. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." He got up and adjusted himself. I smiled and looked back away from him.

"Seven minutes, Aaron. Go to work."

"Aye aye, captain." I heard him come to me and sighed happily. I'd given up on thinking too much about any of this. It had felt so good, being desired by Aaron Lewis after so many years; the skinny-dipping had been a thrill. The shower had been a turning point.

I knew now that I wanted more.

He stepped up to me, his body pressed lightly to mine. Already I felt his breath across my neck, and I had to restrain myself from shivering. I'm not sure why I bothered; he could tell what he was doing to me. I knew, because I could tell what I was doing to him.

Warm, dry hands trailed across the top of my spine, collecting my massive heap of hair; I was wearing it down for this. He swept it over my shoulder and let himself graze my neck again, so this time I went ahead and shivered. What the hell. "That tickles," I murmured.

"No it doesn't." His voice came from very, very close to me. Christ, his confidence! "That's not why you're trembling, Ash."

I thought about it, decided no answer was needed, and leaned forward a bit; maybe, just possibly, I accidentally pushed my ass back toward his crotch. "Mmm," he chuckled, his voice low and deep. His hands worked down my back, skipping over the lace bra strap with a light pluck, like a bass string. "You're in a rare mood today."

"Weddings always put me in a good mood." The zipper began to crawl up.

"Last time I did this," he pointed out, "before your prom, when I was in college, I was still too bashful to play with you while zipping."

I giggled. His fingers were sure, precise. "I remember." I wondered whether I should bring it up, then decided I might as well. "I don't think we'd done it in the ass yet," I mused. "We got a lot more playful after that, just in general."

"For awhile," he agreed. He was working at the two hooks now, the dress fitting me neatly. I was going to look fucking awesome. "I think I broke up with you, what, a month or so later?"

"It was a goddamn bitchin' month, though," I said fiercely. It had been, too. Anal wasn't my favorite, but I did it sometimes with guys I really, really liked. I found it helped out with intimacy and equality in the relationship. I'd let Chad fuck me back there in May, just before he went home. "I don't think I want to spend another summer alone, Aaron," I told him quietly. He was leaning past me, reaching for the turquoise belt. "I get myself in trouble, being alone. I want to be half of a couple, like for real. Like, year-round." I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Know what I mean?"

"I do," he said at once, working the hooks on the belt. He did, too; I could tell. Such an honest guy.

"I think I want to marry Chad," I confessed, not a bit sure why I was saying it. Not to him. But it felt right.

He reflected, straightening the belt. "I already bought a ring for Makayla."

I nodded; it was not a surprise. I turned to make eye contact again. "You going to tell her? About the shower?"

"If she asks." Ah. Not so honest, then. "She won't ask."

I sighed. "I hate cheaters, Aaron," I said thickly, "but that didn't feel like cheating. Weird, huh?"

"Yup." He took my bare shoulders and pulled me gently upright. "But I know exactly what you mean. Need me to adjust anything?"

I shut my eyes and leaned back against him. "My boobs." He sighed in my ear. "Just, you know, jiggle 'em. So they get all nice and settled."

"Motherfucker," he swore under his breath, but he gave my chest a nice reach-around anyway, his hands greedy over my breasts, weighing them. "You're bad news, Ash."

"So are you, Aaron." I let him play a few more moments, then head-butted him lightly. "That'll do. Catch you later?"

"Only if you're lucky." I laughed and wondered whether I should give him his kiss then, or wait.

I decided to wait. I had a golf cart to catch, after all.

* * *

"Sweet! Open bar!" Blonde Peter turned toward me. "Can I get you something, Ashley?"

"Why thank you, Petey," I gushed. I refrained from reminding him this was an all-inclusive resort; it was always an open bar. Why crush the lad? It had been a predictably nice ceremony, highlighted by Karen getting absolutely pasted by an errant blast from the blowhole. "I'll take a Scotch, neat."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well well! The lady's a badass!"

"She is," I beamed. I love weddings, even in the fucking summer. I laid a finger on his arm as he whirled away. "Make sure it's a single malt, dear."

"Yes ma'am." I laughed after him; he was a nice boy, really. Not even remotely fuckable, even if I'd been single, but a fun flirt.

The golf carts had just disgorged us into the Surf Ballroom, a smallish space with sand swept hastily into the corners and a dance floor in need of a refinish. But the décor was very nice, and once the lights went dim, it no longer mattered.

All around us were the thirty-odd people who thought they knew the Coopers well enough to pay for an all-inclusive Caribbean weekend at the height of the season, just for Lindsay's wedding. The round banquet tables glimmered with heavy silver and thick linen, the DJ already spinning some of the light jazz specified by Mr Cooper. I caught sight of Aaron, working hard and gallantly to try to salvage the evening for the waterlogged Karen, and decided against giving him a wink or a nod or a subtle middle finger. He had enough to worry about, making sure his date had an adequate supply of towels.

Which was fine. I am perfectly capable of enjoying myself at a wedding, with or without a fun companion. And Blonde Peter was fun enough. He had me out on the dance floor early and often, plainly awestruck that he'd lucked into me. I had no idea what his relationship status was, but he made his admiration for me plain from the start. I hoped he wouldn't try to kiss me; it would be a shame to have to smack him down. He was a fairly decent dancer, too, once he reached his third drink.

Alas, though, that sort of thing could only continue so long. He began looking a little bit washed-out at 9:30, as the humid air was ruining yet another set of my frilly underthings. Not that I cared; just two Scotches in, and I was loving life. It was an evening of pretty decent food, loud music, and line dances with the six women at the wedding under 35.

At some point later in the evening I became aware that Karen was nowhere to be seen, which then triggered in my cottony mind the urge to scan the room for Aaron Lewis. I caught him at last, telling a joke to Korean Peter, all of them in sweat-dampened Hawaiian shirts and chinos. Not for the first time, I was struck by American life's curious insistence that its women be immaculately dressed and coiffed, while its men were allowed to look like they were out bowling.

Distracted, I soon became aware that poor Blonde Peter was slumped against my bare shoulder, giving off that not-so-fresh feeling. "Petey, honey, what's up? Are you okay?" The boy was drooling on my skin.

His response? An autopilot smile and a brief, sagging nod. I patted him on his sweat-damp back, then arranged him as comfortably as I could slumped over on the table. I'm an excellent and experienced club wingman, but most of the drunks I'd had to haul home hadn't been men.

The answer, of course, was obvious. I got to my feet, grateful I'd swapped my heels for flip-flops, and glided across the scuffed dance floor, headed right for Aaron and Korean Peter. I wasn't sure where Lindsay had disappeared to, but there were rumors she'd turned to cocaine at some point last year; well, she was Peter Lee's problem now. The boys grinned as I approached, my heavy dress drooping lower than designed over my sweaty boobs.

"Hi Ashley!" I bent low to give the groom a wet kiss on the cheek and a complimentary view down my dress; he'd always been a nice guy. "Looks like your date is a little the worse for wear."

"Better than y'all's," I said loudly, making a big show of looking around.

"I think Linds is in the bathroom," Peter said vacantly. Aaron and I exchanged a hooded glance.

"And Aaron, where did the lovely Karen go off to?"

He shrugged and took on a sad expression. I couldn't tell, but he didn't seem to have been drinking. "She just couldn't deal, poor thing. I mean, after the blowhole..."

"Yeah," I grimaced, my hand moist on Korean Peter's neck.

"So I walked her back to the condo and left her there." He sipped at something clear and cold. "At her request," he hastened to add. The fucking Boy Scout.

"Huh," I put in, not really interested. "Well, see, I hate to break up your little guy bonding session here, but I need Aaron's help with my Petey over there. He gave a noble effort, but I'm afraid he's a little... overwhelmed?"

"He looks drunk as shit," Aaron agreed, glancing over there. He shifted his eyes back to me, twinkling. "Sure. I'll give you a hand."

"Yeah, bitch!" Korean Peter cried, apropos of not much. I arched an eyebrow at Aaron.

"Well then. Excuse us, Pete," I sang, giving the groom another smooch. We left him in a state of happy inebriation and probable arousal, Aaron offering me his arm with a secret smile.

* * *

"His feet fucking stink," I complained, pulling gingerly at Blonde Peter's black dress socks. "For the life of me, I don't get why Korean Peter didn't just let you guys wear sandals."

"Don't blame me." Aaron was peeling off Blonde Peter's shirt. With a certain detachment, I took in a pale carpet of blonde hair scattered with abandon across his chest.

"He could work on his manscaping," I observed. Aaron chuckled.

"Guy's married with two small kids. I don't think he's got that kind of time."

"Really!" I peered up at Blonde Peter's face with renewed interest. "Who'd have thought it? He's so young."

"Yeah, well, some guys get started early." He hesitated over the pants. "I don't really know him that well. Should we just go ahead and tuck him in now? Like this?"

"Fine by me." He'd been a good date, and I gave him a pat on his hairy chest. "Farewell, my Petey," I murmured into his ear. "You treated me well. You're a credit to your wife." He was safely asleep, so I figured I was safe to favor him with a light kiss on the mouth. He stank of tequila. "Aaron, get the trash can. He'll probably barf in the night."

"Fuck." Aaron was freeing the blankets. "I'm his roommate."

"No shit." I didn't bother restraining a short laugh. "Irony."

"Yeah." He nodded glumly. "Who's yours?"

"My what? My roommate?" I sat down, sprawling. The chair was identical to the one by the desk in my room. I smiled what I thought of as a crafty grin. "I'm a single, Aaron."

He blinked. "How the hell did you swing that?"

I shrugged, buffing my nails theatrically against my dress. "First one here. What, you didn't notice when you came in to zip me up? Just one bed in there."

"Well, people share sometimes," he protested, and then he flushed a bit. "I wasn't paying any attention to the furniture, Ashley."

"Huh." My grin grew craftier. "If only there was someplace you could spend the night, away from Mr Pukey here."

His look was becoming confident, even possessive. I liked it. "If only."

I examined my nails again and spoke with exaggerated carelessness. "I might be persuaded to let you crash on my floor," I told him.

"That would absolutely kill my back," he protested at once. He was leaning against the doorway. "Old water polo injury."

"Oh, well, I couldn't do that, then." I winked. "You could take Peter's room, or Lindsay's. Wherever they're not. They just got married; they'll be together in one room or the other."

"Too risky." Aaron shook his head, his eyes shining. "I'd be mortified if I walked into the wrong room. Can you imagine?"

"Imagine? Walking in on a pair of newlyweds, fucking?" Actually, I didn't tell him that the thought alone had me damp. I could imagine Lindsay, riding Peter in a cocaine-fueled frenzy. I shook my head to clear it, then leaned forward in the chair. "Well. I guess we'll have to come up with something else, then." I got slowly to my feet, grateful once more for the sandals, and swept my hand toward the door. "Shall we?"