by Rue Chapman
I have two sisters and three female cousins, all older than me. And all married. And I've carried a bouquet at all five weddings, so I know what I'm talking about: there's something about bridehood that turns a poised, sensible, capable woman into a shrieking, sobbing tyrant with all the self-control of a toddler on red cordial.
I was seven when I was flowergirl for my cousin. Sweet, gentle Maree, who taught Sunday School and sang in the church choir and screamed death threats at the dressmaker who put two buttons instead of three on the cuffs of her wedding dress.
By the time I was thirteen I'd recovered from that trauma, in time to be junior bridesmaid for my sister Cathy. I'd always been in awe of my big sister, who was assistant to a Managing Director, which sounded dreadfully important to me. She was always perfect, poised, never a hair out of place. And I watched her have a two-hour crying fit because the ribbons for the church pews were one inch wide instead of two.
At sixteen I watched my sister Toni break her engagement three times in one day, and then throw a vase of flowers over her fiancé the day before the wedding. At seventeen, my cousin Grace, who without any grace at all attacked a hairdresser with a curling wand because her hair was 'too ringletty'.
After that came a break of a few years. And then when I was twenty-two my cousin Louie got engaged, and asked me to be her chief bridesmaid. This is a responsible job. I realised how responsible when, in one memorable week, she changed the bridesmaids' dresses three times, commissioned wedding dresses from two different dressmakers because she couldn't make up her mind, stole flowers from a stranger's garden to show the florist what she wanted in her bouquet, tried to bribe one of the groomsmen to drop out of the wedding party because he was three inches taller than the groom and would make the wedding photos look wrong, and then threw a shelf-full of shoes at a hapless salesman because he brought her ivory instead of off-white to try on.
And a year later, it was my turn. Well, I'd seen it all, and I wasn't going to fall apart like that, or make such a display of myself. I was cool, calm and collected throughout. One bridesmaid's dress was three inches too short: I had them all cut up to cocktail length. The dressmaker put the wrong lace on my dress: I decided the new lace was fine anyway, and talked them into a discount as well. They double-booked the reception place: I organised a marquee in the grounds of my aunt's house, and told everyone that her award-winning garden was the perfect backdrop. The hairdresser cut my hair an inch too short a week before the wedding: I changed the style for the wedding, and decided it looked fine.
I was calm and serene as I dealt with feuding relatives, a drunken photographer, a feral pageboy, caterers who couldn't follow their own menus and the in-laws from hell. I was amazing. And on my wedding day, it was perfect. I was more than a happy bride, I was triumphant. Not for me the tantrums and bad temper that other brides had shown. And it was all perfect.
Finally it was time to change into our going-away clothes and leave for our honeymoon. And the rest of our lives. I kissed my new husband - husband, what a wonderful word - and then he helped me out of my dress. I kissed him again, to make sure he was still as wonderful as he'd been a minute ago, then put on my white silk blouse. It would go so beautifully with the slim blue skirt and the matching jacket - dignified and elegant, just like my wedding. And then -
DISASTER!
I stood in the middle of the room, shaking. This was terrible.
Alex looked up. "What's the matter, honey?"
"I forgot to pack them."
"Forgot what?"
"My thong panties. I forgot them."
"Well, wear the ones you've got on. They look fine to me."
I stood there in my lovely white shoes, my beautiful white lace-topped stay-up hose, my gorgeous white silk blouse and my cute white lace panties.
"I need the thong panties. The skirt is tight, these panties will show, there'll be a line!"
Alex patted me on the bottom. "Well, that'll prove you're wearing them, won't it? Besides, these are fine. Now get dressed, we need to get back out there."
I'd been so good, so calm through all the disasters. And now, when it was almost over, this had to happen. And he didn't even notice. He didn't care. Deep inside me, something snapped.
I picked up my bouquet and threw it at his head. "You insensitive clod!"
He ducked, dammit, and looked at me. "Sandy, what's the matter?"
"Matter? MATTER? I've been working my backside off to make this wedding a success, with no help from anyone, and you don’t even care." I grabbed a cushion from a nearby chair, and threw that. "I try and try to make it all perfect and you bastard – you don’t bloody care!" I found two ornaments, a small vase and a framed photo of my aunt's favourite cocker spaniel. They made good missiles, and several of them bounced off his chest.
"Sandy! What do you think you're doing!"
"You idiot! I can’t wear these panties under my skirt!"
"Fine." And the next thing I knew I was getting a close-up view of the carpet as I lay over his lap. "You don't want them? Don't wear them."
And I felt the panties sliding down over my hips.
"Alex! What are you doing?"
"Solving a problem for you, my sweet bride. Since, according to you, you had to do everything else on your own, I'll fix this one." The panties edged down my thighs. "After all, it's not fair that you have to solve every major problem." Down to my knees. "I can take care of this, just wait and see." The panties were past my knees, falling down to my ankles.
"Alex wait! No wait, you can't - you can't do this here. Don't you dare!"
"I promised to love, honour and cherish you. You're about to feel very cherished."
"Let me up you bastard!"
"Now now Sandy, where's my cool, calm and collected bride?"
She was staring at the floor with her bare bottom pointed at the ceiling.
I punched his leg. "NO! I won't let you do this!"
"Somehow I don't think you can stop me."
"I'm your bride dammit!"
"And a lovely one you are too. You look especially radiant from this angle. But let's see if I can bring a little more colour to those wonderful cheeks."
And then - then - there was a sound like a small thunderclap, and I felt a burning sting on my left cheek. Followed a second later by one on the right.
"No! You can’t do this to me!"
He didn't even answer me, just slapped my bottom twice more. And it hurt. And then again. I yelled, but he just slapped my bottom again. It was really stinging. And this was so undignified. And I was a bride, this was my day. How dare he?
He kept slapping. I kicked, he hooked one leg over mine to pin me down. And kept on slapping. I put an arm back to stop him, but he caught it and held it in the small of my back, and kept on slapping.
"Stop this NOW!"
He kept on slapping. It was past stinging now, really burning.
"Alex, NO!"
Alex thought yes. My bottom was covered with fire now, and he'd moved on to my thighs.
"Alex - OW!"
Very ow. And OW was all I could say for quite a while. He just kept on slapping, one side and then the other, covering my bottom and thighs with fire, then going over the ground again and again, making it so much worse.
He kept on for what seemed a very long time. I wriggled, I squirmed, I beat my free hand on the floor, anything to try to get away from that terrible sting
And then the tears started. I cried, I sobbed out all the tension. Sometime later he stopped, I didn't notice when. I cried all the tension away. After a while I realised his hand was gentle now, rubbing lightly over my throbbing rear, easing the sting a little.
Then he let me loose and turned me right way up. I tried to sit on his lap, but jumped up again with a yelp. After a few quick experiments we found that the only way I could be on his lap was to sit astride him, then I was able to snuggle into his arms.
My hair was a wreck, my makeup was a mess, I was wearing only a blouse, stockings and shoes, with a bottom redder than a stop light that throbbed with every heartbeat, I couldn't sit down comfortably, and I felt better than I had in months.
"Thank you." I kissed him.
"My pleasure." He kissed me.
"I didn't mean to be a shrew." I nibbled his ear.
"You just needed a chance to focus and find some perspective." His breath feathered across my throat.
We kissed for a while longer. I felt his hand sliding down my back. Around my rump. Very soothing. More kissing. His fingers really were doing the walking. Exploring. We'd been so busy before the wedding, some things had been neglected. He started to trail kisses down my throat, that always makes me melt. And his hands were finding some new ways to make me shiver.
A few more wriggles on his lap, and he was signalling his - er, interest - in continuing our reacquaintance session. It's amazing what you can do without leaving the chair. Zippers are no challenge at all. Somehow I didn't notice the protests from my well-spanked rear as I ground against him, feeling that sweet invasion.
I rode him until his hoarse shouts died away, then let go and joined him in that wonderful explosion of sensation. Afterwards we clung together, gasping.
"Happy wedding day, Mrs Bartolin."
"And a happy wedding day to you, Mr Bartolin."
Eventually we had to either decide to spend the night on the chair, or get dressed and go back to the reception. Reluctantly I stood up, wincing. I carefully rubbed my rear - I could still feel a powerful amount of heat there. I looked around and saw my panties on the floor.
As I bent to pick them up a powerful sting bit my sore cheeks. The sound of a slap rang in the air. "Alex! What was that for?"
"I told you I'd solve your panty problem."
"I don't care about that any more. It was silly to make such a fuss."
I bent to grab them, and jumped up as another slap rang out. "Alex!"
"I told you, I'll solve it. Leave them."
"But - they're the only ones I have. If I leave them, I won't... I won't have... Alex! I can't!"
"Put your skirt on Sandy."
"But... Alex! NO! OW!" Another smack landed. "Alex, that stings!"
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