The Good Deed Ch. 03

Author's Note: I would first like to say thank you for all the support I've been receiving for this series, you guys rock!

Secondly, I've been working on a first person writing style with more emotional storytelling, so please provide feedback or comments if you like the changes on this third chapter. Also, I would love to work with other authors working on similar stories or projects or a collections of work, so feel free to reach out to me.

Lastly, if this story touched you, please pass it on or recommend it to others, so it can be a blessing to someone else.

Thanks everyone!!

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It being a humid summer night, walking into the reception hallway at the Greek Center with air conditioning blasting cool air is a blessing. The old fashion Italian music playing in the background takes a minute to get use to as I walk into the Grand Ballroom.

I'm taken back by the elegance of the whole room. The rose covered draperies, dark red silk table covers, and the red vases of red roses on top of the tables are a perfect matching theme. I except people will be trying to leave with the vases when they leave for the night, so I make a mental note to do the same. As I take a closer look at the tables, there are white candles in the shape of rose petals floating in black dishes filled with water. I have one word it, fancy.

There are enough dishes of pasta with tiny meatballs in tomato sauce and bowls bread to feed a small army, with enough bottles of wine to knock them out. And yet somehow the guests have yet to stain their formal dresses and three piece suits. I suddenly recall Megan's only instruction to wear something nice with anxiety. I briefly look over my strapless, sleeveless black dress and five inch Stiletto heels, and my thin purse with a long thin chain that's handing on my shoulder. I feel like a stripper walking into a Church by accident.

Thankfully, I see that several of the guests are too busy dancing on the dance floor clapping and dancing in circles or eating their meals. And the groomsmen and bridesmaids at the bridal party head table looks tired and involved in personal conversations. I look at the wedding cake. It's been cut into but it's still mostly one solid white piece, with the frosting base partially picked off at the sides; a testimony of having children at this party I'm sure.

Not ready to look lost and pathetic, I get Megan's attention at the bridal table with a wave and she looks at me with a disbelieving glance. I thought she, being recently titled my girlfriend after my twentieth birthday party, would come to the rescue. But instead she sits there judging me with her eyes. If she wants me to dress up like a pretty doll at parties, then she should have paid for an outfit.

Not wanting to stand there like an idiot, I point to the tables and shrug my shoulders. After getting the attention of most of the bridal party directed at her, Megan points to the table back at the end of the room and she goes back to talking to a groomsmen. Since we haven't talked or seen each other since yesterday afternoon, I assume she's in wedding mode. But as soon she reverts to back to Earth mode, we're going to get into it.

I look behind me and see table twenty with my name tag in front of a vacant chair. I wonder if it's by design or family politics that my table is occupied by women as old as grandmothers and dressed in black like widows. During my walk to my table, I look away from the lustful eyes from married and the judging eyes of their wives.

Miraculously, I make it to my table without getting into a catfight. I exchange glances with Megan, she smiles at me but I turn my back to her; a little bitchy, but necessary. I sit down at the table and I'm ready to play the cards fate is about to deal me.

"Hi, I'm Courtney." I comment with a smile.

The ladies make brief introductions, but as they look over my dress as I cross and expose my bare legs they make private comments to themselves. But their tone, my outfit choice isn't to their liking. Great, I'm too vulnerable to be left alone with men, I might influence young women, but these ladies were the best I could be matched with.

I decide own up to the moment. "I'm the girlfriend of one of the bridesmaids."

The information couldn't be translated in Italian and Greek fast enough across the table.

One of them asks, "Who?"

Despite how I feel about Megan right now, we're still unofficial to the public. But we have our moments. The love notes that she leaves me are beautiful and makes up for not being able to hold hands in the hallways.

"The cute one," I reply back with a grin. As they grumble amongst themselves, I reach for and grab the open bottle champagne in front of me and pour myself a full glass; it's going to be a long night.

After several glasses, the grannies start talking in broken English about the wedding and the happy couple. By the end of it, I now know that the theme of the wedding is red because the happy couple once made a joke while dating that red should be their neutral color and it stuck. Frankly it explains why all the bridesmaids look like Christmas gifts in their light red dresses and white bows around their waist.

I also know that the choir sung both Italian and Greek traditional music. I smile while looking away at the DJ in opposite corner. I wonder when he's going to play some traditional American music, like Skrillex. I look across at the kid's table as I hear them laughing and I have a response ready if those little punks are laughing at my expense. But I relax when I see that the kids are looking at something funny on their cell phones. I probably have more in common with them than I do with the grannies.

I hear a loud, playful laugh behind me. I turn around and I see the bride making her way towards my table, talking to a few people as she does. From what Megan briefly told me, the bride is a language professor with five degrees. But she said nothing about her being 5.6, slim, beautiful, and having nearly flawless tan skin. Where this pool of women that Megan hangs out at and when can I take a swim?

The bride makes her way to our table. I uncross my legs and prepare to stand up to greet her but she bends down and gives me a solid hug, stopping me from standing to my feet or moving.

"Hey you," the bride says nicely.

"Hey," I reply back with a slight chuckle, taken back by her friendliness.

I hug her back, soaking in her sweet smelling perfume; she smells like how angels should smell like. As she stands up straight, I stop myself from staring at her legs that are showing through the slit of her modern wedding dress.

As I look up at her, the job done to style her black hair and her gleaming makeup is amazing. Not to scare her off for looking at her like a stalker, I immediate say, "Congratulations on your marriage."

She gleams with a happy smile. "Aww, thank you sweetie! I'm so glad you came!"

As she rubs my shoulder, I can smell alcohol on her breathe, a lot of it. And her voice, sadly, is like listening to a bad actress with a high pitched voice in some low budget nineties movies. But as she bends downs to help herself to some of the champagne at my table, my eyes are drawn to her cleavage; 38C's at the very least.

After she drinks a glass full, I quickly think of something to say that's respectful. "I want to have an affair with you." I cover my mouth in shock as she looks at me with a double take. I move my hand away. "I mean...ah...shit, sorry. I was suppose to say that this party is a nice affair, but my hormones has done made me stupid."

She laughs and kisses both my cheeks, with her lips slightly pressing against the sides of my lips. "I like you! I got to go, but help yourself to whatever you want, even the drinks, no one is going to rat you out here." She gives me a wink.

"Way ahead of you."

She laughs loudly, giving me another pinch on my cheek. I watch her turn around and walk away; the bride just oozes sex appeal with her hips. As I wipe her cherry lipstick off my face with a napkin, I imagine her singing a blues song with Salma Hayek's sultry voice, resting on top of piano with a tight evening dress on. I cross my legs.

I watch the bride walk to other table, brightening moods with hugs, kisses, and taking pictures. I smile as she either lightly slaps people's hands, their faces, pinches their chins, or all the above. She also takes their drinks away and downs it one gulp; this is a woman I want to hang out with at a club next year.

Greek music starts to play in the background, not that I was sure or cared; I'm still looking at the bride, imagining what heaven takes like. Realizing what I'm thinking, I make mental notes to go to confession next Sunday. In my moment of moral crisis, the best man walks to me and introduces himself. Then he asks me to the dance floor.

Before I can think of a way to politely say no, he whispers, "Megan told me to give you company to ensure you stop hitting on the bride."

I smile while slowly eyeing the bridal table. Megan is taking a slow drink from her glass, watching me, waiting for my response; her masquerade is crumbling. I accept his offer, only because I feel the stares from the grannies are burning a hole in my head after my shameful interaction with the bride. Otherwise I would make Megan stew. I take my purse and put it over my shoulder.

As we dance, I admire his black suit and white tie. He looks very handsome for a middle-aged man, but he looks uncomforting dancing with me, looking away from me as often as possible. And when he shares stories about his wife and children, I think he's making mental reminders that he's married. But I take no offense and I feel comfortable to outwardly laugh at his last joke, until his wife scoops him away with a smile at me but shoot him a look that could kill an adult elephant.

As she leads him to their table, isolation hits me. I have no choice but to rejoin the grannies. I turn around with a sigh.

"Hey wait," the bride calls out.

I turn and see the bride shambling to my rescue as she joins me on the dance floor, disappointing many hopefuls I imagine. She nearly trips on her own feet, but I catch her and keep her steady; it's a miracle, considering we're both in heels.

"I'm ok everyone!" The bride yells.

I watch as she waves off the men that stood up to their feet. She looks at me and says, "Ok...you take the lead." She laughs loudly and I only smile while I steady her stance. Then I take her hand and hold her by the hip and take the lead. "And by the way, my name is Isabelle. I don't think Megan gave you any more details other than the address, knowing her."

Despite her mental state, I like Isabelle. "My name is Courtney."

"I know silly." She leans in close briefly and whispers in my ear, "And I saw you looking at my Janet Jackson and Beyonce a few minutes ago, bad girl." She laughs playfully as she leans back. "I'm just teasing!"

I laugh guiltily. "Sorry about that."

"Um hmm...ok, so anyways, don't be mad at her."

"Who?" I ask.

"Who? Miss Congeniality over there dancing with dolcezza mio!" She laughs loudly.

"What?" I look at the direction she gestures with her head and I see Megan dancing with the groom, both eyeing Isabelle for her safety. "Oh."

Isabelle laughs again. "My sweetie, that's what I call my husband."

"Aww, what does he call you?" I ask, turning my attention back to Isabelle.

She scuffs. "He says I'm reliable like an old truck."

We share a brief laugh. I'm tempted enough to ask, "So Megan has been talking about me?"

"Are you kidding me? She has been talking about you since yesterday...yak, yak, yak..." She leans in close to me and whispers in my ear, "Don't be mad at Megan because of your table, we did it because some people here are idiots about lesbians. But you know what I think now?"

"What?" I can tell her answer is going to be good, she drank too much to be politically correct.

She leans back and says, "I say fuck them, only God judges! Kiss and make up with her now please."

I smile. "I'm not mad at Megan." She looks at me with a raised eyebrow and I can tell she's looking through my cheap tactics at lying. "Yeah...yeah..."

"Yeah, yeah...no cold shoulders at my wedding reception. Kiss and make up. Anyone gives you any shit, send to me."

"Um...will you marry me?" I'm only half kidding.

Isabelle laughs loudly and gives me a kiss on the lips as she presses her hands on my face. Then she gives me a long hug, but I jump in place when she slaps my ass like a drum. "Oh, that's nice," she comments.

I feel her being pulled away and I see her husband holding her gently but securely by the arm with a defeated look on his face. He says simply, "Switch partners."

He takes the drunken angel away from me, but she forces him to stay on the dance floor with her with a wink, a smile, and a long kiss.

"There she is," Megan says to me.

I turn to Megan as she finally approaches me, apparently it is ok now after the ordeal I just went through with Isabelle. Megan rubs the lipstick off my lips with her thumb and leans in for a kiss, I give her my cheek; I'm still a little bitchy at her.

"I am a little sore at you."

She takes the lead and we dance. "I should have done this from the start, I'm sorry."

"Umm hmm."

"You look beautiful and I love what you've done with your hair." Megan moves her hand from my hip and touches my blonde curly hair.

"Umm hmm," I reply again, although I do like getting recognition for the few minutes of preparation I took with my hair.

"I'm sorry baby," Megan whispers, leaning in close.

I look away for a moment, Isabelle looks happy with her husband. Their attention is completely with each other as they exchange smiles, short kisses, and private whispers. I think about what Isabelle told me.

"How sorry are you?" I ask Megan when I look back at her.

"So sorry that I'd like to make it up to you," Megan answers as she jokingly tugs with the ends of my hair.

"How," I ask when she stops playing with my hair, finally.

"I've bribed the DJ to play loud music at my signal to cover my...apologizing," Megan replies as she holds the inside of my hands and softly rubs down with her thumbs. She's up to no good, but I like that.

"Where," I ask, raising an eyebrow. Ideas are forming in my head.

Megan grins. "Not right here, somewhere private."

I like how she's touches my arms with the tips of her fingers. I now realize that we're not really dancing anymore, just moving side to side, and she's touching what she can in public. "You expect me to forgive you just like that," I protest, but I make the mistake in smiling too much before I remind to make Megan work for it.

"No, I want to earn your forgiveness," she replies touching my face so softly, it goads me into another smile; she's making me want her so much right now.

"What happens if someone walks in on us or hears us?"

"You'll have to be quiet then."

"I'm never quiet," I reply quickly. I laugh briefly.

"Please," Megan begs before she kisses at my neck.

"You're being bad." I look around and see at least three guys taking mental pictures.

"Ok, let's do it here then." The fingers of her left hand slowly gloss over my lips. "Look how soft those lips are." She kisses me as she gently holds my left cheek.

I fight her right hand from creeping up the center of my dress. "Ok...ok, where," I whisper.

I watch her make a head gesture to the DJ as she holds my hands. Then she leads me away from the dance floor as loud, Latin music starts playing on cue. I watch as the generational shift on the dance floor is immediate, it's hilarious to me.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Relax, you're going to love this, I promise."

I trust what she says until we walk into the kitchen, with much of the staff still inside. The staff is busy wrapping up left over dinner and dessert plates. I watch as Megan grabs a few cloth napkins on a nearby table and she smiles at me; I wonder what she has cooking in her head.

She leads me past the employee bathrooms, thank goodness, and out the kitchen. We walk into the storage room and several shelves of food are stacked and racked.

"Umm, Megan..."

Megan laughs. "Not here babe." She leads me into the stairway the leads to the basement I assume, but she turns around and stops me on the stairway.

Megan says, "Here we are."

The stairway's crimson lighting is enough to see our steps but dark enough for atmosphere. I would complain about the dampness but I'm damp myself at this moment. She drops the clothes by our feet, takes my purse, and drops it with little concern for it as it rolls down a few steps and stops at the bottom.

"Excuse me, that's a ten dollar purse," I reply with a smile.

She looks me up and down with a craving in her eyes that I haven't seen in awhile. She undoes her dress bow and puts it aside. She leans in close and kisses me softly as she presses her body against mine, holding my hips firmly.

"This is nice," I whisper, wrapping my arms around her neck.

"I like kissing you," she whispers softly.

I can smell her cucumber scented body spray as she kisses my lips and neck. Our hot breathes and subtle moans make me hot for her. She lowers my dress and smiles happily at the sight of my breasts before gently fondling them as we continue to kiss. I'm more than aroused when my erect nipples press against her hands, but I take a quick look to see if we're attracting any looks. No one peepers so far.

"You smell so good baby," Megan tells me.

I feel Megan's warm mouth suck on my left nipple and makes me giggles, it also sends a pleasurable tingle down my spine. Megan rubs my other breast in a slow but firm, circular motion. I cling to her side and go pull her dress off, but she stops me.

She kisses me on the lips and smiles. "My only concern is taking care of you." She kisses me again.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup," she replies before French kissing me, giving me ideas of what she has in mind. "Excuse me, I need a taste."

She helps me take my dress off and hangs by the railing. She drops to her knees, directly on top of the napkins, and kisses my belly the way I like it; all belly, no navel. I lightly rub her black hair with a nice, subtle downward push. Megan dots my waist with kisses before she starts pulling my panties downward with her teeth, slightly tracing the back of my legs with her fingernails. I rest against the railing and adjust my legs to help Megan as she growls playfully and pulls my panties off and drops them between her legs.

I laugh lightly as she then puts my left leg over her shoulder and kisses my inner thighs as she supports my hips with her hands. "Ok, you mean business."

"I've been waiting for this," Megan says as she rubs her lips against my pussy like sampling a treat before eating it.

She kisses my pussy lips and lightly licks my pussy lips with the tip of her tongue and I moan lightly, touching my right breast. "Oh, that feels nice."

"Somebody's already wet," Megan teases.

Hearing Megan breathing through her nose as she licks and then sucks on my clit is making my hot, especially when she starts licking all my other very sensitive and erotic spots with an equal amount of loving thoroughness.

"Oh yeah baby, I like that," I reply arching my back.

My clit is so sensitive and that's the time she uses her whole tongue to excite my entire clit. Damn she's good.

"Yes, yes," I mutter.

"Oh yeah," Megan replies before locking her lips with my pussy again.

I press her head in place for a moment and she responds by working harder without any further suggestion; it feels nice to be taken care of. The music playing at the reception is thankfully still loud enough to cover my moans, but I stopped caring about getting caught at this point.