The Wedding Party

"Yes, I'm sure you're right, the sneaky devils," I said with a grin. I moved as if I was going to leave and then turned back. She had already begun to move away.

"Excuse me," I said. She turned around to face me. I walked up to her pushing my trolley before me. "I'm so sorry to bother you again but for some reason I feel that I know you. It's daft I know because I'm not from around here but I'm sure I've seen you somewhere but I just can't seem to place you."

"Ohhh," she said as she pulled her head back and pursed her lips. "I'm not sure why you would know me. I'm not a famous film star or anything like that." She smiled. She had a lovely smile. Her eyes twinkled and her nose seemed to crinkle up. It was quite cute. This time she pulled her fingers through her hair.

I stood looking at her, tilting my head to one side as if appraising her. "I think I've got it," I exclaimed after waiting just the right amount of time. I didn't want her to think I was some kind of a stalker.

"Are you Miriam Reed?"

Her eyes went wide as I said her name. "Well yes I am but how did you know?" she asked incredulously.

"Ahhh," I said smiling broadly and nodding my head sagely, "that's because my ex girlfriend was an avid reader and follower of your fashion and lifestyle blog. She adored you and sadly for me that adoration cost me a fortune."

"Oh I'm so sorry," she laughed, "can I make it up to you?"

I hesitated briefly. "Well I suppose you could reimburse me ..." I paused as I saw the look on her face turn slightly sour, "... or maybe you could just buy me a coffee ... if that's okay?"

"Erm, I'm not sure ..." she hesitated, clearly thrown by my bold request, "I'm ... erm ..."

"I know we've only just met but now that we have I have something to ask you that's really important to me," I said, interrupting her. "And as for coffee, we can go to the cafè here, that way you can get help if you think I'm being too much of a pain."

She was clearly not sure. "It's only coffee," I smiled at her. Do you remember rule number three?

"Well okay, why not," she said with another smile after a slight pause, "although somehow I doubt you're going to be a pain."

We abandoned our shopping outside the coffee shop and entered. It was a large open plan room, very bright and airy. I grabbed a table whilst she went off to buy the coffee.

I watched her walk back towards me and she knew I was watching her. She smiled as she approached so I knew she liked me; looks wise at least.

She sat down and pushed my coffee towards me. "First things first," I said. "I already know you're Miriam Reed. My name is Harry Winchell." I stretched out my hand. She took it. Her touch was soft but cold.

"Pleased to meet you but it's not actually Miriam," she replied, "It's spelt M.A.R.Y.A.M and pronounced as Mah-ree-yam."

"You're kidding, right," I scoffed rather rudely. "You're not one of those kids from a hippy background are you? You know the ones I mean, the ones who got landed with names such as Fluffybelle Moonshadow or Autumn Suncloud?"

"No I'm not," she answered sharply, "if you must know the origin of the name is Eastern European, or so I've been told."

"Okay, sorry," I said, "but I'm still going to call you Miriam."

"If you must," she replied. She tossed back her hair and took a sip of her coffee. "So you said your girlfriend followed my blog?"

"Ex girlfriend ... and avidly," I answered, shaking my head sadly from side to side. "It's what split us up in the end. She wanted to be just like you and I couldn't afford it."

"But I don't understand," she said, "my blog is just a way of getting information out to the public in a way that the cosmetic and fashion companies can't or won't. It's more instantaneous and real."

"Well that's as maybe," I replied, "but my ex thought she had to buy everything you promoted. It became an obsession. And when I put my foot down and tried to at least limit her spending she went ballistic and left me. She said I was stifling her creative side, whatever that meant."

"Oh I'm so sorry," she said, "I had no idea that anyone would take it like that. Is there anything I can do to help you or is it too late?"

It was my turn to purse my lips. "I'm not sure. I was upset when we split. She called me insensitive to her needs. But I'm a man. What do we know what makes a woman tick? Maybe if I understood more about what you do then maybe I can smooth things over and get her back?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Well I suppose I could do that. But the problem is that I'm here, there and everywhere. Outdoor shoots, meetings to attend, it's pretty full on at times."

"It's not a problem, I'm presently on holiday," I said, "so I have lots of spare time. And I would like to get my girlfriend back."

There was a pregnant pause during which Maryam looked at me quizzically, her eyes boring into mine. "You know I'm married don't you?" she finally said.

I'd already seen the size of the rock on her left hand. "And I was engaged to be married," I countered. "Please, despite everything I do love my ex and I really would like to get her back."

I saw her visibly relax. "Okay then. If you're genuinely interested in learning about what I do I've got a fashion shoot at Victoria Gardens tomorrow at ten o'clock."

"Okay then, I will see you tomorrow." I stood up to leave. "And thank you for the coffee."

* * *

The next day dawned bright and clear. A perfect day for a photo shoot. I duly made it to Victoria Gardens as Maryam and her crew were setting up for the first shots of the day.

She was wearing a very fetching salmon coloured dress that flared out from her broad hips quite dramatically but the amount of her bare leg it exposed more than compensated for that fact. She looked fantastic especially as she had a fair bit of cleavage showing. The photographer had her parading up and down between the flower beds for ages. I began to realise that this must be quite tiring work. I was soon exhausted just watching.

Her next dress was similar to the first but without the cleavage reveal. It too was about the same length and showed the same amount of her superb legs. It looked so similar and I didn't see the point. But hey, what do I know!

The next outfit consisted of a tee shirt type top and a skirt that went down below her knee. But the fabric was so thin you could see her thighs and the boy shorts beneath it. Personally I didn't like it. Except for being able to see all of her legs to the top of her thighs.

The shoot paused for a coffee break. I looked at my mobile phone. Nearly two hours had flown by and she'd only modelled three outfits. I could see a couple of rails nearby loaded with dresses and skirts and tops. If they were going to shoot her in all those it was going to be a long, long day.

"So what do you think?" she asked as she came up alongside me at the mobile catering unit.

"I'm staggered," I admitted, "I had no idea it took so long to photograph a few dresses."

"You should be here on a slow day," she smiled, "the lights just right so today's going really well; for a change."

We chatted briefly before she was called back by the wardrobe department.

Her next outfit was a black shiny top and a short little multi coloured skirt. She looked really much younger when she modelled this and I got a good look at more of her legs when the wind whipped up briefly and lifted the skirt up.

And so it went, outfit after outfit until quite frankly, I'd had enough. During a lull in proceedings I went over to her. When she looked up and saw it was me she smiled. It was a genuine smile, full of warmth.

"I have to leave now," I said, "but I would like to see you in action again if that's possible? I've learned a lot today but I would be interested in seeing more of what you do ... if that's okay with you of course?"

"I don't see why not," she answered with another smile, "we're shooting down at the Prince Albert Embankment tomorrow if you want to come along."

"Okay that sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow then." I began to walk away but after a few paces turned. If she was watching me go then I knew she was interested in me, whether she realised it or not. She was looking. I gave her a cheery wave and left.

The following day found me at the Prince Albert Embankment bright and early. She'd still beaten me there but only just because she was still in her jeans and sweater. Even so she still looked sensational and her makeup was flawless.

It was pretty much a repeat of the day before. She modelled a variety of outfits each one stunning in it's own right although my favourite was a purple coloured leather effect skirt that had been matched with a black sleeveless top. The skirt came down just below her knees but it clung alluringly to her arse and just the sight of that got me hard. The top didn't show any flesh but it moulded itself to her impressive tits, showcasing them perfectly. That got me even harder. They took ages fussing over her hair and makeup but it was worth the wait. Her eyes smouldered, her lips were just a vivid red slash in her gorgeous face and her hair had been scraped back into a tight ponytail. The final look was sensational and it took all my willpower not to ravage her right there and then.

We were starting to get on well so I decided to take a break. I hoped she would be disappointed not to see me. So I gave it a couple of days before I met up with her on another photo shoot. Her blog gave me the location. Much to my delight she seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Things were going well so I asked her to lunch and she accepted without hesitation.

It went well, so we did it again a few days later. I'd been to another couple of photo shoots and was already getting known by all of her crew who now almost expected me to turn up and then take Maryam to lunch.

We adjourned to a small french bistro that was close by, where we both ordered a Salade Niçoise. I also got us a small bottle of rosé wine to go with it. When she queried the size of bottle I said I didn't want her to get too drunk, leaving my meaning perfectly clear. She giggled so I knew she wasn't offended. I also knew I was close to bedding her. Time to move it up a notch or two.

"Your husband must be proud of your success," I said.

"Yes you would think so wouldn't you," she answered. Her tone of voice told me a lot about their relationship.

"So I take it he's not?" I said acting dumb. She didn't answer. It was too obvious a question.

"I take it then that all is not well between you and your husband?"

You could say that," she answered tersely with just a trace of bitterness. "It's not just my business either. He's lost interest in me too."

"The man's a fool then," I snorted derisively. "I'm sorry, I know he's your husband but it has to be said. How can any red blooded male fail to be aroused by you. Forgive me for being blunt but you're sensationally beautiful and you've got a body to die for. Plus you're intelligent and funny and interesting ..."

She looked at me curiously, as if seeing me for the first time. I ploughed on, sensing that this was my chance. Time to be bold.

"So you're not ... erm ..."

"... intimate," she butted in, "Good God no, we haven't been for a long time. He's older then me. But it doesn't matter. I don't need that in my life now. I have my children and my work."

"Rubbish!" I responded, "everyone needs intimate and meaningful relationships in their life. It's good for the soul to love and to be loved in return. As well as the body."

"I'm saying too much," she said, "You don't want to hear about my woes." She gave me a weak smile.

It was time to be softer. I leaned over and took her hand in mine. She didn't pull away. "Don't I? You might find that unburdening yourself to a stranger can help clear your mind." She looked quizzically at me.

"A stranger's not so weighed down by familiarity or indeed bogged down with all the small details that can clog up your reasoning. Because they don't know about any of that they can be objective and perhaps offer you better and clearer advice," I added.

She looked lost in her thoughts for a moment or two. "So what about you?" she asked, changing the focus away from herself, "have you had intimate, meaningful relationships ... apart from your girlfriend?"

"Ex- girlfriend, and yes, of course I've had other intimate relationships. I've also had plenty of not so meaningful relationships ... if you know what I mean," I grinned at her.

It took her a few seconds to get the jist of that. "Ohh," she said looking away embarrassed. But I could see the slightly wistful look in her eyes.

"You should try it," I said boldly. "It might be just what you need."

She looked up into my face. I could tell she thought the same as me. We'd crossed that imaginary line and there was no going back. The pretence of me being with her so I could learn enough about what made a blogger tick to win back my ex girlfriend was over. Now she knew I wanted to fuck her. And all she had to do was come to terms with her infidelity because I knew she was close to letting me.

I squeezed her hand and then softly ran my fingers over hers. She was trembling.

"I know you can feel it Miriam, the same as I can. There's already a connection between us that we can't ignore. A bond that goes beyond acquaintanceship or friendship. We're not just casual friends. It's already deeper than that. I could easily say I love you but that would be trite. I know we've only known each other a matter of days but right now, right this minute, I feel closer to you than I have to anyone else in my entire life."

"I can't," she whispered, "I can't cheat on my marriage vows. It's not right."

"I understand that, really I do; but do you really want to go through the rest of your life as a lonely, bitter and unfulfilled woman? A woman who denied herself a chance of personal happiness for a sense of propriety?"

She stood up suddenly, which surprised me and made me jump. "I have to go now. I'm needed at L'Occitane. I have a meeting." She grabbed her bag and with that she was gone leaving me with just the memory of the swishing sound of her stockinged legs as she walked away.

* * *

I went to find her the next day but either the shoot had been cancelled or they'd gone elsewhere because when I turned up at the location it was deserted. It was a slight setback but not the end of the world.

She'd mentioned in passing a gala charity event being held at the Ritz. I checked her web page to find it was being sponsored by one of the companies she promoted in her blog. I was certain she would be there so I went and bought myself a ticket. It wasn't cheap and neither was the tuxedo I bought. The rented ones looked too tacky and I needed to look impressive.

When I got there I worked the room, chatting easily with the various guests as I searched for Miriam. I've never been shy at coming forward. Rule number eight. In situations like this, make people believe you belong there.

It was nearly an hour later that I finally saw her arrive. With her was a man I assumed was her agent. She was clinging onto his arm but it was for show only. You could see he was keeping her at arms length without it looking obvious.

He deposited her at the bar and then spotting someone in the crowd quickly wandered off leaving her standing there alone. God I felt sorry for her. She got a drink and then turned to scan the room.

Our eyes met and even from where I was stood I could see her jump. She began to walk across the room towards me and she didn't look best pleased to see me. For my part I stood with my mouth wide open in awe. She was superb as she shimmied across the floor, rapidly closing the gap between us.

She was wearing some designer's latest creation. It had to be unique. There was no way that it could have been mass produced. It was a halter neck, backless creation made from a bluey grey coloured, glittery fabric that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her breasts looked fantastic but it was her arse that drew my attention.

As she wound her way around people to get to me I realised just how big it was. Not as big as JLo's or KK's but big enough. But it didn't matter because it was perfect for her body. The material clung to her hips, her arse, her thighs and as the dress came just below her knee lengthwise, even to the top of her shapely calves. Below that I could see she was bare legged and was wearing matching high heels. I wasn't sure how she was managing to walk due to the tightness of the dress around her knees but she did have a lot of hip sway going on.

"Wow you look magnificent," I said before she could open her mouth.

I could see she was pleased by my comment but she covered it well. "What are you doing here," she hissed, "why have you come?"

I smiled back at her. "I like to support worthy causes," I replied, "so I bought a ticket and here I am."

"So you're not stalking me then?"

"Would you be disappointed if I said no?"

She didn't answer but she brushed her hair away from her eyes as she quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching us or listening in on our conversation. I took her arm and led her over to the bar to get us both a drink.

Drinks in hand we both turned and surveyed the room. I noticed the man she'd come with engrossed in a conversation with an effete looking man. "You're husband not accompanying you tonight?"

She didn't answer and I sensed her body stiffen. "I have to mingle," she eventually said, pulling away from me.

I watched her go, loving the sight of her delightful arse cheeks moving under her tight dress as she walked away.

For the next hour or so I mingled myself, chatting easily to people I didn't know. I was good a bull shitting though. I've had a lot of practice over the years.

As I roamed around the room I did from time to time catch sight of Maryam's escort for the evening still talking with that same effete looking man. They were obviously deeply engrossed in each other. I thought it looked odd until I saw him touch the other man's arm. It was the lightest, briefest of touches but it told me all I needed to know. Maryam's agent and escort for the evening was gay.

I left them to it and carried on circulating around the room. From time to time I saw Maryam looking over towards me as she chatted to various people. Each time I raised my glass to her and smiled. It took her a while before she reciprocated.

I decided to test her, to see if I could make her jealous. I found a spectacularly gorgeous looking woman and began a conversation with her. I think Maryam was by my side in less than two minutes.

I made my excuses to the woman and pulled Maryam to one side. "Missing me, were you," I quipped. She glared back. I noticed that in a side room there were people dancing. "Care to dance?"

"I ..."

"Surely you dance?" I interrupted her.

"Well yes, of course but ..."

"Well come on then." I took her arm and led her into the room and onto the dance floor. I was glad Auntie Viv had taught me to dance all those years ago. With Uncle Reg away a lot it was something she enjoyed and it eventually became part of my sexual enlightenment. She told me that the ability to dance would help me enormously with women in my later years. And she was right.

Now I know what you men are thinking. Dancing is for pansies and roughty-toughty lads like you wouldn't be seen dead on the dance floor. You'd rather stand on the edge, clutching your pint of lager and ogling up the talent. But before you dismiss it out of hand think about this. You see an attractive woman with a body that sends you wild with lust but she won't give you the time of day. And if you grabbed her and pressed yourself intimately against her body she would soon be calling the police to have you arrested for assault.