Bridesmaid Bethany Chapter 2
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Bridesmaid Bethany--Chapter 4 free porn video
The hat was yellow with a floppy, wide brim and a purple ribbon. Lisa
gently adjusted it on my head. The poufy skirt of her bridesmaid dress
swished and rustled against mine as she did. "How does that look,
sweetie?" she asked.
Did she really want to know? The hat wasn't ugly by itself, but it
certainly didn't improve the rest of my outfit.
Several minutes earlier, I had gone behind a changing screen, removed my
slip, and carefully stepped into a bridesmaid dress that, frankly, I
thought had to be kind of a joke.
The dress was yellow. Well, "buttercup", to be precise. It had a
single, wide shoulder strap on the left hand side; my right shoulder was
naked except for my bra strap; the bodice of the dress safely covered my
breast forms, but the bodice was not flattering to my chest at all. And
the skirt! It was "poufy", with some type of tulle apparently sewn right
into the lining, stopping halfway down my thighs. Again, not a
flattering hem length, I felt, and sitting in such a short, poufy skirt
was likely to be a chore. Also, the dress with trimmed with purple bows.
Well, again, "lavender", to be precise. The bows were arranged in a row
on the skirt, and there was another bow on the shoulder strap.
"Try these", Carrie said, handing me a pair of white gloves. "I was
thinking about getting shoes with clear plastic heels to go with these,"
she said.
"That sounds wonderful!" Lisa exclaimed as I tentatively pulled on one of
the gloves. It went past my wrist, nearly all the way to my elbow, and
had a series of white satin flowers and beads sewn in a pattern that sort
of swirled around my forearm.
"I think we should wear white tights," Lisa said.
"I haven't made up my mind if I want you wearing white or nude tights,"
Carrie said as I pulled on the other white glove.
"I like white," Lisa said.
"Well, I haven't decided yet," Carrie shrugged.
I tried to adjust my fingers inside the gloves, but my protruding French
tips made them fit oddly. "Have you considered fingerless gloves?" I
asked, trying to keep my tone both even and feminine.
Carrie frowned. "You might have to get your tips removed."
I shot a look at Lisa, who said, "I'm not sure if anybody will notice
that," she said, but looking at myself in the mirror, it seemed as though
the ensemble consisted of nothing but flaws that everybody would notice.
What I disliked the most was how unflattering the dress was; my upper
torso and exposed right shoulder looked unmistakably masculine, even with
the bra strap and breast forms. I usually counted on well-cut blouses
and dresses to elegantly drape and conceal my unfeminine frame, but in
this short, almost comically poufy skirt with those garishly colored
bows, I looked more like a drag queen.
I looked over at Lisa. She looked better than me, of course, but even
she looked silly, a beautiful woman dressed as a caricature.
But I said nothing and just stood there and stared glumly at myself as
Joanne inspected the fit of the dress.
***
"Bethany," Lisa told me crossly as we drove home, "the idea is that we
not look prettier than the bride."
"Well," I said, "mission accomplished."
"And the dresses aren't that ugly."
"Mine looked ugly on me."
"No it didn't."
"It did too. I looked like a drag queen."
"You did not!"
"Lisa," I said, "haven't you told me a thousand times that if I felt as
though I looked nice, my confidence would carry me over when I was out in
public?"
"But you still looked pretty!"
"But I didn't feel pretty," I said.
Lisa sighed. "Let me tell you something, sweetie," she said. "Being
female isn't necessarily all about wearing skirts and heels and makeup
and wearing what we want to wear. As women, we can't always pick and
choose what outfits we are able to wear on a given day. Take our work
uniforms, for example. You might like wearing pantyhose every day, but
there are plenty of women who don't."
"My legs look better in pantyhose," I said.
"And now many pairs have you gone through in the past month?"
She was right; I'd learned early on the pitfalls of catching a calf on a
corner of a chair. And the trick of using nail polish on a run on my
thigh in order to prevent it from stretching down below my hem before
getting the opportunity to run by the drug store? Been there, done that.
"It's just that I'm going to be in front of strangers," I said.
"When we're in the club after it's all decorated," Lisa said gently, "we
won't look as out of place. And everybody will know that you didn't pick
out the dress."
"They'll be able to tell that I'm not a woman."
"So?" Lisa asked. "Do you think you pass as a woman 100% of the time?"
"I don't know." I'd often wondered that, of course, but I had no way of
knowing.
"Sweetie," Lisa said, "and I mean this in the nicest possible way..."
"What?"
Her tone was gentle. "You know you don't," she said quietly.
She had me there. Deep down inside, I had to know that people who saw
me, some people anyway, were seeing me for exactly what I was, and that
there was nothing I could do about it.
"Fine," I said. "I'll wear the dress."
"Good," Lisa said.
"I hope that's all I have to do."
Lisa didn't answer me right away. "Actually, there is," she said at last
***
I had no idea. First up was the bridal shower.
Lisa organized the bulk of the event; it was held in our home on Saturday
afternoon. I mostly followed Lisa's lead as we greeted a dozen or so of
Carrie's invited friends, each of whom brought a gift.
I wore a very pretty Laura Ashley flower print dress with a flowing
skirt, three-quarter sleeves and a lovely lace bib. Lisa had to help me
button it up the back. When Carrie arrived, she asked me if I was
wearing a full slip under it; I just winked at her.
These all-female settings were still somewhat alien to me, and sometimes
seemed kind of silly, but I seemed to be accepted by all who attended,
none of whom seemed to react to me as a male at all.
Carrie's mother, Ruth, whom I had never before met, seemed especially
intent on chatting with me; she must have told me six times how much she
liked my dress. I tried to smile and simply say "thank you", but she
insisted on asking me more about myself--was I married? Did I have a
boyfriend? I truthfully answered "no" to both questions, but
unfortunately, that only encouraged Ruth. I simply had to meet Carrie's
cousin Kyle, she told me. Did I wish to meet him? I just smiled and
shook my head, but that wasn't enough for Ruth; she was trying to get
Kyle to be at the wedding, even though apparently Kyle didn't get along
with Rick--men, you know, she confided. I just nodded and told Ruth that
I thought that the bacon-wrapped scallops were about ready to come out of
the oven...
When it came time for Carrie to open her gifts, I mostly stayed in the
kitchen and handled hors d'oeuvres, peeking occasionally around the
corner to see what Carrie was unwrapping. Our gift to Carrie was a set
of stemware that Lisa picked out; Carrie squealed in delight (as she did
at all of the shower gifts) and insisted I come out and hug her.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Lisa and I looked at each other, and then
she motioned for me to follow her to the front door.
A man in a delivery uniform was on our front doorstep, holding a
clipboard and standing next to a large box on a hand dolly. Lisa seemed
to know what this was all about. "Can you bring this in for us?" she
sweetly asked the delivery man, and of course he immediately grabbed the
dolly and maneuvered it over the threshold.
The feminine murmur inside the apartment swelled as Carrie stood and saw
the large box. "This is from your father and I," Ruth announced. "And
this is yours! Keep that remote control away from Rick!"
Carrie squealed as she realized what it was; a fifty-inch flat-screen
HDTV (according to the printing on the carton). "Thank you!" she
shrieked for the hundredth time that afternoon.
"Sweetie, could you sign for it?" Lisa whispered to me as she went over
to where Carrie and her mother were hugging.
I looked over at the delivery man and took a deep breath. He was leaning
against the handle of his dolly, amused at all the ruckus, when he
noticed me. I could tell by his eyes that he took a moment to inspect me
from the ground up; embarrassed, I glanced down at my white pumps before
taking the clipboard and pen. Lisa could handle these situations so much
more gracefully than I; after fumbling the pen with my long nails, I
scribbled the name "Bethany [Unintelligible]" in a sloppy, decidedly
unfeminine script.
"Thank you," he said, and I looked at him and tried to smile a genuine
smile, but he winked at me, which sort of made me freeze, still holding
the clipboard. What the hell did he mean by that wink? I thought.
After tugging the clipboard from my grasp, he turned and wheeled the
handcart back towards the front door. I was looking towards the kitchen,
signing, when I felt Carrie's mother tugging at my sleeve. "Ooh,
Bethany," she was giggling, "I didn't see a ring on his finger!"
As I usually did in awkward moments, I looked for Lisa, but she was still
by Carrie's side. "Oh dear," I said. "I need to check on those salmon
spinach pinwheels..."
***
Carrie's mother was present for my final embarrassment of the afternoon,
but fortunately, most of the guests had left. The problem, as it turned
out, was the television that had been delivered earlier. While Lisa had
been able to transport most of the gifts out to Carrie's mother's Toyota
Highlander without a problem, the television was still standing in its
container in the exact spot where the delivery man had deposited it from
his handcart.
I stayed in the kitchen and tried to ignore the problem, pretending to
focus on loading the dishwasher, but as I heard the discussion going on
in the other room, I was grudgingly speculating about the logistics of
carrying such a large item in a Laura Ashley dress and heels, and after I
started the dishwasher and began to wrap the leftovers, I then began to
wonder who would be picking up the other end of the box. Carrie seemed
the most likely candidate; she was taller than both her mother and Lisa,
but at the same time, I suspected that it was probably bad manners to ask
the bride to do any heavy lifting at her own shower. Such was the crash
course I was getting in bridemaidery--Lisa and I were apparently expected
to handle anything that might cause Carrie to chip a nail.
"Sweetie?" I heard Lisa ask.
I braced myself. "Yes?" I asked, feigning preoccupation with placing
tinfoil on a casserole plate.
"Could you please help Rick carry that big-screen TV out to Ruth's
truck?"
Rick was here? When did he get here?
I looked at Lisa then. She was holding her lower lip in her teeth and
batting her eyelashes.
"I don't want to mess up my dress," I said, which was a poor excuse, as
there was at least one guacamole stain on the lace bib of my dress.
"It's O.K., sweetie," Lisa whispered. "Please," she said.
I silently slid the casserole dish into the refrigerators and walked out
into the other room.
"Hi, Bethany," Rick said.
"Hello," I said as demurely as possible.
"I was telling Bethany that she needs to meet Kyle," Carrie's mother was
saying.
Rick caught my eye and made a face that Ruth couldn't see. "Are you
going to be able to lift with those nails?" he asked.
"I think so," I said.
"I'll hold the screen door," Lisa said. And Carrie will just stand there
and watch the whole thing, I thought.
I bent over. Luckily I was wearing a loose skirt, although I felt my
slip stretching a bit. "Ready?" Rick asked.
I inhaled, worked my fingertips under the corner of the carton, and
carefully lifted the box.
With Rick on the other end, it wasn't too heavy, just somewhat awkward.
He slowly started to back towards the front door and I followed, my heels
landing with a somewhat heavier sounding thud than usual.
"Be careful of the doorframe," Carrie called out, although I was unsure
if I there was anything I could do to avoid the doorframe, as I couldn't
really see in front of me.
I carefully followed Rick out the front door and past Lisa. At the edge
of the driveway, there were three steps, and as Rick backed down them, he
unconsciously picked up his pace to where he was almost pulling me with
him as he descended.
"Careful," I called out. I could feel my fingertips losing their grip
ever so slightly as the pressure on my acrylic tips increased.
My heels were only about two-and-a-half inches, but right about now, they
were too high for comfort. "Careful, Rick," Lisa called out. "Remember,
Bethany's wearing heels."
"Sorry," I heard Rick say. "Let me know when you're ready."
I took a moment to regain my grip, feeling like the biggest sissy in the
world. "O.K.," I said, and gingerly stepped down on the first step with
first my right foot, then my left, slowly repeating the process with the
second step, then the third step, and finally the street level.
"Are you O.K.?" Rick asked.
"Yeah," I said. I was beginning to breathe hard--I was wearing a waist
cincher, for crying out loud--and I began to feel my armpits get damp. I
looked for the SUV where we were headed, and stepped forward, hoping to
finish this job before my fingertips became moist.
It was a hot August afternoon, and while the breeze felt nice as it
gently blew my dress, the sun was still beating down from above.
"Can somebody please open the hatch?" Rick called out.
I heard a commotion behind me as Rick and I carried the box the final few
steps to the Toyota--apparently Carrie and her mother weren't sure which
one of them had the keys. Finally, I heard Carrie's mother come up
behind me as Rick and I stood there, still holding the television, next
to the back of the truck. I could feel my upper lip and forehead getting
all sweaty, and I was eager to get this over with.
"Excuse me," Ruth said as she squeezed around us and stuck a key in the
rear hatch lock. She turned it, and the hatch swung upwards in a manner
I wasn't expecting. I stood there stupidly as the corner of the door
brushed past my face and essentially knocked my wig completely off my
head.
"Bethany!" Lisa cried out, but all I could do was stand there stupidly,
holding my end of the TV set in my wig cap as Rick averted his eyes.
Carrie's mother gasped as she stepped away from the back of the
Highlander, and Rick and I carefully slid the carton into the back.
Well, sort of carefully. My hand became momentarily caught between the
cardboard and the floor mat and I felt a French tip on my right hand bend
and break off.
"OW!" I shouted in a voice that was in no way female.
"What is it?" Lisa asked.
Scowling, I yanked my hand out from under the box and inspected the
damage. The acrylic tip on my middle finger had snapped off completely,
leaving a very tender nail bed. I then blurted out an expletive that
made Carrie's mother wince as she held out my wig to me.
"Oh, Bethany," Carrie called as I ran back into the house, wigless and
angry, my stupid, sissy heels clicking all the way up the steps and back
across the porch. I stormed back into our bedroom, slammed the door, and
shouted a couple of more testosterone-fueled profanities.
Catching a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror on the closet
door, it seemed as though I had every right to feel foolish. Without my
wig, my pretty flowing Laura Ashley dress with the lace bib looked
ridiculous, and to make matters worse, I couldn't take it off until Lisa
came in and unbuttoned me.
If I was an actual girl, I probably would have flung myself on the bed
and started to cry. Instead, I only wanted to destroy something.
I was still staring at my ridiculous image in the mirror when I heard the
bedroom door open and quietly close again.
"Are you O.K.?" Lisa asked.
"Just mad," I said, petulantly.
I felt her come up behind me and put her arms around me. "If it's any
consolation," she said, "you performed flawlessly in front of all the
guests while they were still here."
"I feel like an idiot. Can you unbutton me?"
"Of course," she said, and I felt her small fingers start with my top
button and quickly work down my back. I pulled the bodice forward and
removed my arms from the sleeves, then let the dress fall and crumple in
a ring around my feet.
"Huh," Lisa said.
"What?" I asked, as I pulled off my wig cap, stepped out of my shoes and
pulled my slip over my head.
"I'm proud of you, sweetie," Lisa told me.
I turned to look at her. "Why?" I asked.
"You didn't run your hose!"
I wasn't amused. "Is this all we need to do for Carrie before the
wedding?" I asked.
"Well, there's the rehearsal dinner," Lisa said, slowly. And we needed
to go to the salon to get our hair and nails done.
"O.K.," I said. "And then the ceremony and that's it?"
"Well, no," Lisa said. "There was one other thing."
"What?"
She reached up and put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry," she said.
"I'll make sure and look out for you, O.K.?"
"Look out for me?" I asked.
"Well, yeah," she said.
I didn't like the sound of this. "Well, what is it?" she asked.
Lisa did that thing again where she bit her lip and I knew she was trying
to be delicate and ladylike for a reason. "Bethany," she said gently,
"Carrie wants to have a bachelorette party."
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