Saturday, April 30, 2011
A bit of my story Racing To The Altar from the fabulous Ms. Tyler's new book With This Ring, I Thee Bed. This was one of those stories that was equally thrilling and terrifying. Because I really, really, REALLY wanted to get what was in my head on paper correctly. Because if I did it correctly, it would be great! And it took much stroking from my lovely editor to assure me that I had in fact pulled it off. The Raunch Dilettante even agreed in her nifty review.
So, Alison had to stroke and stroke and stroke my ego to assure me. Okay, so she only had to stroke me two times to assure me. After that, I was just milking it because I like it when she um...strokes me.
See you Monday!
Racing to the Altar
I eyed the billboard as my foot mashed on the gas. The thought flittered through my head, cops hide behind big billboard signs like that... But I mashed it anyway. My speed crept from 68 to 74. I was late. I was so fucking late it wasn’t funny. I was racing to the altar. Hell bent for matrimony.
Kelly and Tina and Tracy all awaited me at the church. No doubt pacing the small bridal room where they were to do my makeup and my hair. I could picture Kelly fretting as she ticked off the time in her head. How much time we had and what that time would allow. Up do with accent braids? Chignon? Traditional bun? She would kill me!
I shot past the sign advertising Rock Hard Gym and my stomach bottomed out when I saw the lights, my body tingling the way it does when I ride a roller coaster. The cherry lights atop the cruiser came on in a flash of crimson, and I gnawed my bottom lip.
I pulled to the side of the road.
I didn’t have time for a ticket. There was hair to be done, makeup to be applied, panic to be embraced. I had to go over my vows and make sure the seating arrangements were perfect and check the church to ensure that Uncle Sal was not next to Great Aunt Dot (or they would kill each other). I had too much to do. And at the end of it all, hopefully I would be lawfully married and not insane. Then Jackson and I would run off to Nova Scotia never to return!
Okay, so we were returning. The point was that we had to make it through this stressful, heart pounding wedding and reception before we could escape. And all I really wanted was to be with him. Somewhere quiet. Just me and him and our lips pressed together, making out like horny teenagers the way we did when we weren’t tasting butter cream frosting or picking out dye to make shoes match dresses. I sighed, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. In my head, I was already pleading my case. Figuring out what I would say to Officer Friendly to get off with only a warning.
“Do you know how fast you were going, Miss?” he asked into my semi-open window. My heart shot up into my throat and my stomach dropped to my feet. I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “I asked you a question, Miss. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Too fast?” It was all could think to say.
The good officer laughed. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here would I?”
His eyes studied me and I studied him. He’d pulled his aviator sunglasses down to peer at me, his mouth twisted in a wry grin. Bright blue eyes like an autumn sky, lush lips, peppering of dark stubble along his jaw. I thought it would be fairly easy to cut paper with his cheekbones, and I was struck, sitting out here in the bright October sunshine, by how utterly gorgeous he was. Nearly beautiful, to be honest.
“This section of road is zoned for 55 miles per hour, ma’am. You were going over 70. Were you aware?”
“No,” I lied. He put his hand on the door and I rolled my window all the way down. My eyes went to his thickly muscled forearms, and my head felt swimmy. I’m a sucker for thick forearms. But I had a wedding to get to.
“I think you knew, and you were speeding anyway.” He leaned into the window, crowding my space. He had a teardrop shaped birthmark above his left thumb. I inhaled deeply and tried to think.
“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”
This officer, this man, this amazing specimen was nearly leaning headfirst into my window. So close to me and my jangling nerves I swore I could feel the invisible particles of his energy mixing with mine. It was downright dirty was what it was, because my pussy was responding to the heady mixture of fear and excitement and attraction. “Yes, I am absolutely sure that I am sorry,” I said and any idiot could tell I was lying.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. He put his pad in his pocket and ran his finger along the seam of rubber that protected my lowered window. I watched that finger trace and fought the urge to cross my legs. This was crazy. This was silly. I should ask for my ticket and leave. I should make him let me go right this instant. My bridesmaids and others would be foaming at the mouth by now. I. Did. Not. Have. Time. I didn’t have time for this insanity!
“I assure you, sir.”
I felt blush crowd my cheeks. I blew out a sigh, trying not to think about church parking, place settings, snippy caterers and my betrothed’s mother’s insistence that we had some ridiculous disgusting red velvet groom’s cake.
“I don’t lie,” I lied.