I do. As often as I possibly can.

After spending 3 days in the smack-dab middle of the country, I was ready to come back to New York. Goodbye wide open spaces and tall, long lanky corn-fed girls (side note, modeling scouts should go to Missouri because there seemed to be an unusually disproportionate number of very tall, very skinny girls there). After spending 3 days wallowing in bear hugs and tall family tales, it was time to come back to reality. There's only so much smiling you can do before your cheeks start to ache.

I have only been a bridesmaid once before (really more like a best woman), for my friend Katherine and her girlfriends commitment ceremony. This time it was for my favorite cousin. I stood there at the front of the church, perched on a step, stiff and proper as my feet slowly started to go numb in my new heels. I could feel the beads of sweat collect inside my invisible, adhesive bra purchased in haste at the Target next to the hotel. I forgot how low my dress came down in the back and had neglected to procure the correct undergarment. The dress also revealed a massive bite mark just below my right shoulder. I panicked for a moment, but decided that between explaining the mark and revealing my bra strap, the latter was the lesser of the two evils.

My mother, helping me into the silicone boob stickers said, "What's that mark on your back?" I sighed, "What does it look like, mom?" Feeling a sudden urge for transparency I said, "It's a bite mark, now how does this bra-thing work?"

She paused, "If anyone asks, we'll just say you had an accident."

So, I stood there with a frozen smile on my face, gripping the bouquet as song after song after song was sung (god, so many songs) and my mind drifted to an old boyfriend and his brother's wedding. I wore a sensible sleeveless black dress and little black heels. Underneath, I chose stockings in anticipation for some shenanegans. As as one of the best men, he looked dashing in his black suit and silk tie. We both cleaned up pretty nice. We had yet to realize that our relationship was held together only by sheer laziness and a mutual appreciation for his penis.

It was sometime after the food and before the cake that we sneaked off to the upstairs bathroom. He closed the door behind us, but I don't think he bothered to lock it. He pushed me over and I gripped the sink as he ran his hands up my thighs, lifting my dress, rubbing my ass framed by the garters. He gave my butt a few little slaps and reached in front to rub my pussy through my damp underwear, making them wetter than they already were, until he finally just pulled them down and off over my heels.

He pushed me down even further so my head was bumping into the tap. The sink was right underneath the window, overlooking the garden and I watched the guests chatting and finishing their meal under the tent while he fingered my cunt. He collected as much of my juice as he could and slipped his fingers into my ass using my lube as his lube. I heard him spit on his hand then felt the head of his dick at my asshole. I raised up on my toes and shoved my ass out waiting for the push, that first tiny bit of resistance, that little, "Oh yeah, this isn't a cunt" and then straight to the hilt, both of us groaning. I heard the tinkle of cutlery on glass from outside and watched one of his brothers stand up. With my head bumping against the tap in time with his thrusts I gasped, "Your brother's giving a toast." He just grunted, placed his hand on my lower back, pushed me down further so he could get a little deeper and fucked me harder.

My knees buckled, I ground my ass up to meet him and urgently fingered myself until I came, suppressing a long guttural moan. My ass clenched on to his cock and he came up my ass screaming into the fabric of my bunched up dress.

We straightened ourselves up. He wiped off any traces of fluid I might have left behind on his lovely trousers and I did the same. I was tempted to use the decorative monogramed towels to wipe myself off, but that would have just been rude. I checked my face in the mirror and we joined the rest of the guests just in time for the cutting of the cake. As we stood posing for the photographer, surrounded by his family, I could feel his come leaking out of my asshole.

This weekend, I was expecting a bombardment of, "So when are you getting married, your little cousin needs a playmate, when are you having kids, don't you want to get married and have kids?" Fortunately, there were only a few isolated incidents and no one mentioned the bite mark. My cousin and her new husband beamed and giggled all day like teenagers, speeches were made that brought tears to my eyes, my new family members were lovely and interesting and fun. My three year old little cousin, the flower girl, wrapped me firmly around her tiny little finger. 

Back at the hotel, I kicked off my shoes and peeled the bra off of my tits, relieved to have it over with. More than that, I was relieved that I was not left with an overwhelming need to be married or to have an adorable three year old of my own. I wasn't envious of my cousins handsome husbands and brilliant kids. At all.

I did, however, leave insanely horny, for what that's worth.