“Just do it!”
Your skin glows when you’re irritated. It’s cute. I struggle not to smile, but you sigh with exasperation and put your hand down, the eyeliner cocked like a pen.
“Lauren, will you quit it?”
“Haley, how can I? You’re cute when you’re mad!” I know you hate it when I say that, but I can’t resist tweaking you.
You frown at me, but I can see your eyes are twinkling. The little radiations of yellow through the hazel and green are bright today. You have small crow’s feet starting in the corners of your eyes but I think they make you look happy, not old.
“Lauren, if I screw this up…”
“Can’t have that, can we?” I close my eyes obediently.
I can’t look at you anymore, but I can see you in my mind’s eye. Your brown hair is all up in hot rollers. Your skin, the color of clover honey, is soft and radiant, ready for your own makeup. You’ll do it with quick, efficient strokes after you finish mine. Your bra and panties match, a lovely sage green with a whisper of lace. I found them after hours of searching the mall and you wear them today especially for me. You’ve put on your stockings and I grow aroused just thinking about it.
“There,” you say, unaware of my thoughts. I open my eyes to see you studying your handiwork. “Tilt your head.”
You rearrange this or that on my eyelids with feather-light brushes of the eyeliner and shadow sponge. Then you start on my eyebrows. Overcome, I lean forward to catch your bottom lip in my teeth. You squeak, startled. It’s a noise I love to hear from you, though I’m never sure when you’ll make it. I could spend the rest of my life figuring out. You taste like cherry pie and lemon crisp, and your tongue is tantalizing. You finally pull back, laughing.
“We have to get ready, Lauren.”
“Haley, I’d rather stay here and make love.”
You smile. “We have to get ready. The Pastor is going to be here in less than a half hour.”
“Yes, dear. That soon.”
You kiss my nose and attack my other eyebrow. Then it’s on to the cheeks and then my lips. Then comes the gloss. It’s like lubricant, I think, growing more aroused. You smile slightly, now aware of how much I want you. Instead of commenting, you stand up and pause, giving me time to focus on the mounds of your backside right in front of me, and then you stalk away on your high heels. I hadn’t seen you put them on, but you look hot in your underwear and stockings.
“Get dressed, Lauren, please. I don’t want to be late.”
I sigh, but do as you ask. My dress hangs, fluffed and ready. It’s an Easter egg yellow that you picked because you like how it looks with my black hair. My skin, a ‘medium-toned mocha’ you say, looks good next to the paleness of the yellow. I unzip the back and hear you walk up behind me.
“Let me help you,” you whisper.
Your hands on my hips hold me steady. You lean into my back and reach for the dress, your skin warm and silky. You press yourself against me and bend forward, forcing me to lean over. Your hand strokes up my thigh and I start to breathe faster. You slide right past my innermost spots that are aching for you and keep going, around my side and down the front of the leg.
“Lift your leg.”
I do so, and you slip the skirt around my foot. Then your hands slip down my other leg and stop at my knee. I moan but you are relentless, slipping the dress onto my other leg.
“Stand up, honey.” You slip the dress up over the rest of my body, making sure to cup my breasts. You zip the dress closed and then turn me around with your hands on my hips again. You stand there, dressed in your panties, bra, stockings and heels, with nothing else on. I can’t bear it.
“Lauren, we have to go.”
I step forward, bringing our bodies together, and possess your mouth. You groan, inflaming me. Your taste is like ambrosia and I close my eyes, lost in it.
You finally pull away and look at my lips. Then you push me backwards onto the chair. You straddle me, bringing our eyes to the same level. “Now I have to fix your lipstick.”
You ignore any other movements I make until I’m nearly crying with need. Then you kiss my nose. “After we’re married, darling.”
That gets a laugh out of me. You slip off me and dress, your movements sure and authoritative. God, I love the way you move. You apply your own makeup in a fraction of the time you took to do mine and it looks as lovely.
“You guys ready?” Lou calls from the door, not quite opening it.
“Yes,” Haley calls. “Is the pastor here?”
“Just walked in. You guys are on in five. Better hurry, it’s a madhouse.”
We meet each other’s gaze, nervous for the first time all morning.
“You ready?” I ask.
You nod, your hair bouncing. The curls are fat and all over your head like a halo.
We head outside.
“There they are!” The cry comes from a knot of reporters standing to one side.
“Lauren!” one calls. “How does it feel to be the first lesbian married in the City of Chicago?”
I look at you, standing next to me in a confection of a dress, and feel myself grin. You echo me. I look back at the reporter. “Fantastic!”
We head into the chapel together, at the head of a crowd of well-wishers.