Donna and the Wedding

Nellie left us alone and after a brief but satisfying diversion I said to Donna that I thought she should get back home to dress. She agreed and reached for her coat.

‘Donna. You cannot walk across Bath in broad daylight with nothing on under your coat!’

‘I was thinking I might pop into the Frump Room and cause a couple of heart attacks.’

‘And no doubt you would! Look here, wear my dress – I’ve got to get into the Matron of Honour uniform and you can bring it back for me to wear home tomorrow.’ We were staying the night at the Majestic after the reception ended. She agreed with, I thought, some reluctance but then, she does like to live a little dangerously sometimes. She left after a delicious prolonged kiss and I busied myself getting showered, washing and drying my hair and doing my makeup. Nellie and the two bridesmaids, Chelsea and Kate, had gone to the hairdresser so I waited in my room until about one, then started to dress.

I’m not going to tell you precisely what happened at this point, well, not all of it just yet anyway. Suffice for now to reveal that Donna returned looking utterly stunning in the soft blue frock we’d bought for her. I think I told you that it was shaped at the hips and with her svelte body and the simplicity of the dress she could not have looked lovelier. ‘I feel a proper tart in this,’ she said. ‘And especially this.’ She had brought my hat and put it on. Do you remember the ‘fuck-in hat?’ That’s the one. I smiled, she knows I have a thing about girls in hats. ‘I tried stockings. To be honest I thought you might have liked them.’

‘But?’

‘It all got a bit complicated. I’m afraid I may have ruined a pair of yours. God knows how you make it look so easy. Practice I suppose. I gave up.’ Shame. ‘I’m wearing your knickers though,’ she added with her lustful grin.

She watched me dress. I had decided a bra wasn’t necessary and since I detest them that was good. I had a lovely pair of knickers Donna had chosen, made of diaphanous (word of the week) silk which made my trimmed hair a shadow. Donna always called it my vicar since her joke about the Rev Dr Furbelow. She did a sort of growl as the stockings went on but I gave her a warning look and she calmed down. She helped with my dress and lingered over zipping me up as her hand passed over my arse. ‘Behave!’

We went together to join the others and there was a lot of hugging and kissing. Donna left to make her own way to the church and I confess that I was sad to see her go. I don’t feel quite whole without her which may seem daft to some of you but it’s a fact. Nellie, who looked absolutely stunning in an artfully cut dress that did its best to contain and conceal her wealth of tit, was in a state of high excitement but my nerves were starting to turn my bowels to water, so anxious was I about my speech. Chelsea and Kate, both pretty girls and looking gorgeous in cream satin were ensuring Nellie was in good order but Dolly was in a terrible state, so bad in fact that I went to the bar and got her a huge brandy which seemed to do the trick. She kept muttering, ‘My little girl,’ and had to redo her eyes every five minutes. Of all of us, Chelsea was the calmest and it was she who kept an eye on the time. At last we left Nellie’s room and made our way down to the waiting Rolls bedecked with white ribbon that was designated for me and Nellie. The bridesmaids arranged her dress and I sat beside her feeling, frankly, daft. I have never been to a lesbian wedding but I can rather imagine how incongruous the ‘father of the bride’ looks in a silk, grey dress as I was.

The Arse’s appearance had obviously leaked and when we arrived at the church there were a few press photographers waiting. They snapped us in a rather disappointed manner but Dolly was absolutely delighted that the papers wanted her Nellie’s picture. I didn’t disabuse her of this idea. Nellie posed happily and even, I thought, puffed her chest out. Not always the best of ideas for her but it was her day and I was not going to spoil it.

The bridesmaids fussed around Nellie’s dress at the church door, we composed ourselves and waited until we heard the opening chords of the Wedding March and processed, me with Nellie on my arm, to the end of the aisle where the groom stood looking more nervous than he might at a world cup final. I left Nellie’s side and stood with Dolly as the Reverend Doctor Furbelow started the proceedings. I said, ‘I do,’ at the right moment and so did everyone else. The hymns were sung with gusto. There was a brief panic when Nell got her heel caught and the bridesmaids dived into action to free her.

Dr Furbelow gave a delightfully witty and suitable address. Dolly kept dabbing her eyes with her hankie and I swear if I hear anyone say, ‘My little girl,’ again I shall trepan them. I wasn’t sitting entirely comfortably but I shall explain that later.

We witnessed the signing of the register and processed, this time with Dolly on my arm and following the bride and groom, out with the organ playing a triumphal piece to accompany us. Dolly was in tears of course. Donna grinned at me lasciviously as I walked past her pew and I knew she was thinking of the secret I have yet to share with you.

It was a bright, cold but sunny day and the photos were taken in the churchyard. The blonde photographer was from Yorkshire but none the less pleasant for that but she got a bit miffed when the press snappers tried to muscle in. The delectable Miss Middleton did nothing to steal Nellie’s thunder. She kept discretely in the background, protected by about six huge rugby players wh seemed to be enjoying the event enormously. Did I see her take a nip from a hip flask? Surely not.

It was the press who were making a nuisance of themselves. The blonde was becoming increasingly and utterly correctly angry as she was jostled by the ignorant paparazzi. The near-altercation was resolved by Dr Furbelow telling the press to piss off which didn’t sound entirely ecclesiastical to me but it seemed to work. My heart always goes out to wedding photographers. It must be like herding cats and with the additional burden of having to work under the press annoyance would have been enough to make a saint snarl. Dolly said to me, ‘They do have some colourful phrases up north, don’t they!’ I was freezing. It was no weather to be wearing just a long, pale grey silk dress no matter was might lie beneath which in my case was the aforementioned knickers, a suspender belt and stockings. Hardly arctic wear. I was, for reasons I shall reveal later, acutely aware of Donna despite her being a goodway away from me most of the time. Eventually she was able to join me. She kissed me and said the cold was good for my nipples. Sometimes I wish she had a quieter voice!

(We shall proceed to the Reception shortly)