In our matching gowns, the five of us were as good as interchangeable. Identities are stripped away and anyone in the crowd sees you as one. I am a bride's maid. I may befriend, cousin, sister, etc. of the bride. It is one of the rare occasions where several women are willing to submit themselves for a period of time to another woman for appropriate use. Your obligations carry from a few months prior until just after reception introductions. Then you are set free into the masses of the celebration.

Such is where I stand.

Our first course is served and my clones and I sit picking through the plate before me and chatting uneasily. Some of us have known each other for years, some have only ever spoken via email and brief wedding-related meetings.

I take notice of one of the maids, younger than I by about 6 years. She sits more uncomfortably in her skin than even I, despite I know those around her are a more familiar crowd to her. I offer her a sympathetic glance from across the table which she blinks away from with a slight flush of the cheek. My mind records a mental note of the reaction and I go back to fussing with my salad, pretending to be involved in the conversation at hand.

I interject a random comment here or there, in an effort to continue with my charade. My shy counterpart offers nothing but an occasional giggle or nod. We catch one another in occasional glances which appear to be of varying intent, although I think nothing of it. I am more than aware of a young girl's comfort toward another being misinterpreted.

The evening continues. Those having taken full advantage of the open bar are now gyrating in mixed rhythms on the dance floor. She and I sit silently at the table, watching the excitement around. I recognize a younger version of myself in her and I sympathize. I know her mind is whirring with what she thinks she ought to be doing but her muscles frozen unwilling to do them. So, she sits in defeat. I take a sip of my drink and cross my legs. In these years I've learned to be comfortable in my skin. I enjoy watching and can sit easily doing so, even alone. I am glad to have the company though, however silent. Or, perhaps I am more joyed to offer her the company as I know this is harder for her than for me.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I position myself that I may watch her out of the corner of my eye. I study her careful, hesitant, and almost anxious glances she throws in my direction. I wonder what she sees in me as she looks; does she herself? She takes occasional uneasy sips of her wine as she glances around the room. I begin to notice a pattern in her wandering glances. There are 3 people in the room that her eyes continuously follow.

One is a waitress who bustles through the crowd carting off drinks and used dishes. The combination of her haircut, glasses, and motion would tell even the most untrained eye that her sexual appetites lead toward less than the conventional fare.

The second is who I have learned is aunt to the groom and mother to the flower girl and ring bearer.

The third is said aunt's life partner and second mother to the two children.

I see now that perhaps the intent of previously caught glances was not in fact misinterpreted. I know what she sees in me now, the one detail I failed to see in her due to her great effort to keep it unknown. Thoughts are not confused, rather terribly resolute. Her eyes drift from the waitress and lock on mine as I sit studying her intently. Her mouth opens but the words retreat to the back of her throat. Her eyes bounce back and forth in a common gesture one surrenders while searching for an unspoken answer. At that moment I know, and she knows that I do. Her cheeks fill with blood until the redness is overwhelming. Our stare breaks as she forcefully commands herself to look away. Her eyes now downcast, she stares at her trembling right hand on the table cloth.

I turn away from her as I silently gasp. "Oh my God, no one else knows." A voice echoes within me. I am angered at myself for making such an intrusion into her unprepared mind like that. I shake my head at myself and turn gently wanting to offer an apologetic glance to conclude our silent conversation.

When I turn I find she is already up from the table. Drink in hand she crosses the dance floor. Midway through, she turns behind to stare directly at me. It is only the briefest moment I have to discern her intent; the difficulty is thrown as tinder to the fire with all the motion of the dance floor between her and me. There is fear in her eyes and anxiousness. There is something else, something I can't grasp as she turns to leave, something that begs me to follow and investigate.

I follow after her and reach the hall just in time to catch a glimpse of her shoe as she reaches the top step to the bridal suite. At the top of the stairs is a large room where the bridal party hides during the guest's cocktail hour. There are a few clothed tables with chairs, plenty of mirrors for fixing makeup, and an unmanned bar in the corner. I suspect the room is used for smaller occasions.

I reach the top of the stairs and she is leaning on the bar, staring blankly, and sipping her drink. I grasp the rail as I walk around it and toward the bar. She hears me enter, or perhaps just senses me, and turns instantly in my direction. I don't know why I have followed her, or what events my mind sees happening. I try not to focus on this. I move with instinct alone.

I walk toward her slowly. Her gaze is fearful yet it burns with a deeper flame, one that cannot be extinguished. She takes a step back only to push her back into the bar and makes no other movement. She holds her glass in one hand still, it trembles. The liquor travels in waves crashing on the shore of one side of the glass before returning to the other. I reach her, standing right before her. Without breaking our gaze I grasp her trembling hand with my own hand, then the glass with the other. I pull lightly and she releases her glass. I reach around her to set it down on the bar. I feel the heat radiating off of her in this closeness.

I deposit her glass but don't retreat. Our eyes meet and I can see she is terrified. I hesitate but remind myself that I am not going on thought, but instinct. My hand travels from the bar to her arm, shoulder, and finally rests at her neck. I pull her to me and she puts up little resistance. Our lips meet in a timid dance I know is mine to lead. She stands, pinned to the bar, unsure of what to do or how to move. I break our kiss for a moment and pull her hands to me, resting them on my waist as I press my lips back into hers.

She melts into me this time, surrendering to a secret desire she's carried with her a very long time. I know these desires she has kept hidden so long and I am merely a vehicle for their escape, still, I am happy to help. Her timid fingers dance up and down my sides and I can read her anxious wanting thoughts. I let my hands drift to her shoulders, her back. With careful fingers, I unlatch the top of the dress and slowly descend the zipper. She gasps into my lips as my instinct continues to lead me well.

I gently fold down the loosened portion of her dress top, exposing her, braless, to me. She crinkles her shoulders and I know the thoughts that run through her well. They are the same that followed me that first time. I touch her lightly, running the backs of my fingers over her soft flesh, and speak the first words since our seduction began at the table downstairs.

"You are so beautiful."

Her face explodes into an expression that is reserved for this moment shared between two people. If you've never witnessed the moment, I cannot describe for you what the expression entails. It would take volumes to adequately describe the pulses of emotion that flow at that moment.

I caress her exposed flesh, taking moments away from kissing her sweet lips so that they might brush against her neck, shoulder, collar bone, and more. Her hands glide anxiously over the satiny material, taking in what she can of me without risk. I stop, pulling away from her. I reach behind me to unfasten my dress to match hers. Her eyes fly open wide and she watches in near disbelief as I fold the top of my dress as well.

With unsteady fingers, she reaches to touch my flesh. She pauses and then her warm trembling fingers make contact. She eagerly and nervously lets her fingers dance over my flesh, feeling the softness of it. She smiles, well pleased.

I step down from leading and let her do what she desires to explore my flesh knowing that although I have driven, this was her voyage to make. She leaves a trail of kisses as she moves along, ending where she accepts the contrasting flesh into her warm mouth, suckling it gently. I can tell by her shifting her wait that there is a sense of urgency growing within her and from the music downstairs that our time alone is growing short.

When she stands again I kiss her before swirling her around to facing the bar. I kiss her neck and shoulders and back. She arches back against me as I do it. Then I bend down and catch the hem of her skirt and crinoline. My hand touches her bare leg and she shivers. I bring myself back to standing, running my hand along her leg as I do, her skirt gathering at her waist.

My hand reaches the soft material within and it is pushed aside so that I can feel her excitement. Her body shudders against mine as she leans on the bar to support herself. I hold her, one hand wrapped around her cupping her gently, the other immersed in her heat of lust. My fingers move in quick and skillful movements. I don't want to rush but I can hear those downstairs preparing to cut the cake and throw the bouquet. Soon we will be searched out. We had precious little time.

She bucks against me and it is apparent that she was more excited than I would have guessed. Within seconds I could feel her pleasure pulse through her, trembling and shaking she pushes back against me. My hand is drenched in her pleasure and I kiss her neck as I squeeze her tight, offering her a few final strokes.

I hear those downstairs asking around if anyone had seen the two of us. I replace the material set aside and lower and straighten her skirt. She still trembles as my fingers replace her top and slowly pull up the zipper. Then I turn to descend the stairs, zipping my own top as I go. She stands, shaken, and bewildered. I slip down a hallway at the base of the stairs before being seen. Another bridesmaid ascends to find her and calls her along to join the festivities.

The two descend the stairs as I watch and re-enter the hall. I follow not far behind as if I had never been missing. We stand watching the cake-cutting ceremony. One maid turns to me and asks "doesn't that look delicious?" I, looking at the cake simply nod. I glance at my new friend who stands watching me intently. I answered aloud, "It sure does!" I take one finger, still sticky with her desire, and insert it into my mouth, licking it clean. She cannot keep her expression from giving it away, although thankfully no one noticed.

As we all walk back to our seats at the table, she slips something into my hand, her fingers lingering softly before she continues to her seat. Once seated, I use my napkin to shield onlookers from when I open my hand to reveal her hotel room key.