Nathan. Oh my Nathan. With his pierced tongue and purple hair he still looks absolutely at home in formal wear.
Nathan is the Orgymaker. We started calling him that when his going away party became an orgy and then, on the other side of the country, his housewarming party became an orgy.
He has a charm that seems to touch everyone in the room, soon to be followed by the rest of him. Nathan would be invited to my wedding. Writers call this Foreshadowing.
Booze would flow freely at my wedding reception. Dinner would be fantastic. Several kinds of meat would be served and a rainbow of ice cream flavors served in martini glasses. There would be music and dancing and a chocolate fountain. Flowers and candles would be ubiquitous, along with a feeling of love and goodwill. My best friend would recite the speech from Frida about how marriage is a bourgeois sham but that to know this and get married anyway, with eyes wide open, is revolutionary and romantic. My reception would be romantic. My family would be so proud and my friends would be so happy that love would burst forth uncontrollably from every corner of the room strengthening bonds between old lovers and forming new alliances between shared glances over champagne toasts.
And the whole night, through dinner and speeches and dancing Nathan would work the room. He would flirt with every eligible and amenable female, along with several males and couples as well. Nathan flirts like breathing. Without moving he charms half the room. My best friend would flirt with all the available straight males. And I would dance with all my old flames. The ones I didn’t hate. The ones I still sleep with on occasion. You know, those ones.
The night would wear on and the relations would filter out till we found our group to be solely comprised of open minded attractive people. No drunk uncles, no stuffy grand aunts or prudish siblings.
Truly it would be a magical evening.
I’d be dancing with Will, a habit I was never really able to kick (the boy, not the dancing.) I would press my body against his tall, solid frame and feel the desire in his body. He would want me desperately but never tell me so. He always was such a southern gentleman. I would smile at my husband, dancing with my best friend.
“Darlin,” Will would say “I must say you look damn fine.”
“Thank you Paul,” I’d say. “Would you like to kiss the bride?” He would and he would try to keep it chaste. Not that I’d let him.
“Darlin!” He’d exclaim. “It’s your…” And I would jerk my head in the direction of my husband, now making out with my best friend.
“Oh hell” Would escape Will’s lips before I pulled them back to my own. I would revel in the warmth of his mouth, the dexterity of his tongue, till I felt the familiar hand of my husband in the small of my back. I would pull back slowly and in a smooth motion switch to kissing my husband, while my best friend took over with Will, neither of them really minding.
From the corner of my eye I would see Nathan beginning to draw a crowd.
And so would begin an orgy of epic proportions.
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