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A Bachelor Party to Remember

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“Why did I get engaged in the first place?” I asked myself on the morning of my bachelor party. Was it peer pressure, parental meddling, lust?

I clearly remember thinking “Hell, I’m too young, I just graduated from Ohio State and now I’m marrying a southern bell of a classmate in The Big Easy.” The wedding was two days away, my tuxedo had been rented, all the invited guests had made their travel plans, my fiancé Sybil was fluttering about dealing with last minute details, and here I was, virtually morose.

Though I didn’t feel much like it, my groomsmen and some fraternity brothers using the wedding as an excuse to get drunk in New Orleans, had insisted on a bachelor party. My best man had arranged a night at a unique New Orleans style event, in a mega party center where a number of activities would be going on at the same time, and we would be in a dance hall with a number of other fun seekers.

When we got to the mega party center, we found a wedding reception going on in one hall, a corporate event in another, and a truly wild gala with rotating bands and free flowing liquor in the “Shindig Hall” that we had reserved two tables in. There were events of all types going on simultaneously in the Shindig Hall including several graduation parties, a Tulane frat party, and a bachelorette party.

I really wish that I had been in the mood because I never had seen such a collection of people reveling so joyously. I pretended to have a good time, but my conflicted heart seriously wasn’t in it.

I also was making sure not to drink. While many people can temporarily put their cares behind them by getting drunk, I know from experience it just makes me depressed. The first few times I switched tea for the scotch and sodas my groomsmen delivered to me it was a little tricky. After they were well on their way to getting drunk themselves it was easy.

After about an hour of revelry I went to the washroom and on the way back stopped in at the wedding reception. The bride and groom looked like they were thoroughly enjoying each other’s company, constantly laughing, touching and hugging each other, and dancing up a storm. It made me wistful.

As I was leaving the wedding reception a woman about my age was leaving too and we bumped into each other at the door. I profusely apologized and when she looked up at me I saw that she was crying.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, I always cry at weddings.”

“Yeah, but that’s only a reception. Are you attending it?”

“No, I’m at a party in Shindig Hall.”

“Me too. I’m headed back there. You can’t go in with tears in your eyes you know.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Here, take this,” I continued, handing her my handkerchief.

By then I was starting to notice what a beautiful woman I was interacting with. She had long brown hair with red highlights, big alluring green eyes, a perfect button nose, and a sleek tight figure with a bubble butt. She also had a mystical quality about her, something I don’t ever remember seeing before.

As she wiped away her tears we chatted some more, just small talk. Finally she had composed herself, flashed a coy smile and said “I’m sorry, I seem to have soaked your hanky,” as she handed it back to me. I squeezed her hand around it and said “Why don’t you keep it just in case you see another wedding,” smiling as broadly as I could. She laughed, said “Thanks,” and we walked back into Shindig Hall.

I would have liked to continue our conversation, but as soon as we got back into the party place two women ran up to her and pulled her away virtually screaming “There you are, come on, we’ve arranged a treat.”

I hadn’t gone another three steps when I got virtually the same treatment from two of my groomsmen. As I was being led away by my now officially drunk buddies, I knew this wasn’t good. I tried to run when the lead singer of the band on stage at the time said “We’ve got a special konak escort bayan treat for y’all tonight. We’re gonna have us a wedding rehearsal. Beau and Ida Mae are getting married — though not to each other — in a few days and we wanna make sure they got their moves down.”

“Shit, this is going to be real bad!” I said to myself as my best man and all my groomsmen pushed me up near the stage where one of the frat boys was standing with some paper towels strung around his neck as a poor imitation of a preacher’s stole, and holding some papers in his hands. Was I ever right!

It seemed like the whole crowd parted on cue, forming an aisle, and as the band played some gibberish four half-wasted bridesmaids from the bachelorette part came dancing up the aisle one at a time, several flashing their undies and one flashing her tits as the crowd hooted and hollered. Then the band started playing an awful rendition of “Here Comes The Bride” as a totally embarrassed looking woman, obviously Ida Mae, holding two ugly plastic flowers, was being walked up the aisle by another frat boy with a ridiculous gray wig.

After a few steps I realized who Ida Mae was — the hanky girl! She did a double take when she saw I was the groom.

The “preacher” made some half-intelligible, mostly lewd, comments that were barely audible over the crowd’s whooping and hollering, my best man handed me a piece of aluminum foil formed as a ring which I was essentially forced to put on Ida Mae’s finger, and the “preacher” yelled “Now French Kiss The Bride” resulting in absolute pandemonium in the hall.

With Ida Mae’s bridesmaids pushing her toward me, and my groomsmen pushing me toward her, it was clear that we were not going to escape this. So as we were pushed together I whispered — actually it was probably a yell to be heard over the din — “There is no getting out of this. We might as well give them a show.”

A devilish smile came over her face as she whispered/yelled back “Okay — a real show it is!”

If it was pandemonium before, then I guess you’d call it “over the top” when we started kissing. We both put everything we had into it and stayed clinched for a good 30-45 seconds. When we finally broke we both smiled and waved to the crowd, and I picked her up and carried her down the aisle while the band played the worst rendition of “It Had To Be You” I’ve ever heard.

By the time we got out of Shindig Hall we both were laughing almost uncontrollably. After one last cheer from the crowd, we heard the band start playing “Shout,” and no one bothered to follow us out, as virtually everyone in the hall was gyrating and singing along. I plopped Ida Mae down on a couch in the general reception area for all of the party rooms. Even many years later I remember our initial conversation almost exactly:

“I see we both have truly demented friends Ida Mae.”

“My friends are wacky even when not drinking. You put a few ounces of booze in them and that is what you get.”

“Well I was as embarrassed as hell and not liking it — until the kiss that is. We really put on a show, didn’t we?”

“Hell yes we did. Course it helped that I’m a great kisser.”

“Hey! I’m supposed to be the one saying that, not you. ‘It helped that you’re a great kisser.'” [We both laughed again.]

“Thanks.”

“So listen Ida Mae, I don’t want to get personal, but since you’re wearing my priceless ring, I will. I now understand why you were crying at the wedding reception — it’s the same reason I was almost crying there.”

“You got it figured out, do you Beau?”

“Yeah. You’re afraid — just like I am — that you’re not making the right decision. You’re definitely not ready to get married at all, let alone to the guy you’re committed to marry because you don’t see yourself being as happy with him as the bride and groom at the reception obviously were with each other.”

After that exchange, konak escort while occasionally throwing good natured barbs at one another, we did have a frank discussion about our mutual apprehension. I never warmed up to anyone faster in my entire life, and I don’t ever remember baring my soul to anyone else the way I did to Ida Mae. And she was as shockingly candid with me as I was with her, at one point saying:

“My fiancé can’t fuck worth a damn; he can barely fit a condom on that limp dick. And he won’t ever eat me out — he thinks it’s dirty and he might get some disease or something.”

“You’re kidding! I love, absolutely love, to eat pussy. And in my case it’s the female who doesn’t like it. I tried to just lick Sybil a few times and she got upset and cold: ‘Na-ice Sothen Laddess donn do that.'”

“She’s crazy Beau. I’m a nice southern girl and I’d give anything to get a tongue up my slit.”

After a pregnant pause I got as bold as I ever have in my life.

“Listen — I know you’re going to slap me silly for this but I’m going to ask it anyway Ida Mae. How about we go somewhere and I eat you through three orgasms.”

I likely flinched after I said that. But I needn’t have because without even so much as a raised eyebrow, let alone hand, Ida Mae immediately shot back “So you think you can give me three oral orgasms huh, Hot Shit? You won’t, but let’s try.”

There was a hotel a few notches above a flop house just down the street. I was as excited as a kid trick-or-treating on his first Halloween as we literally skipped and giggled our way to our room, having paid cash in advance. We didn’t waste any time. We Frenched even more passionately than when we were putting on the show in Shindig Hall as we clawed each other’s clothes off.

Once we were both naked I lay Ida Mae down on the bed, and with one bedside light on to help show the way, went after her lunch box. Her kitty had sparse reddish-brown hair, a shade lighter than on her head. Her pussy was a long prominent slit with puffy well-defined lips, and a pronounced clitoris jutting out from near the top of the slit.

I was like a man dying of hunger as I dove into that glorious gash. I parted her lips like the Red Sea, then drove my tongue up her slit as far as it would go and flicked, wiggled, and twisted it with as much intensity as I could muster. It must have been enough, because virtually without even touching her clit I drove her to her first orgasm within two minutes flat!

As I gently massaged her pussy lips with my fingers, I allowed Ida Mae to come down from her high before I pounced on her clitoris. I sucked that engorged prominence into my mouth then released it, dozens of times while simultaneously finger fucking her with two fingers from one hand and massaging and lightly twisting a nipple with the other. Again her climax came quickly, more powerful than the first one, as she screamed, writhed, and bucked virtually uncontrollably.

The best was yet to come. After I again gave her time to recover as I sucked one tit, felt up the other, and kneaded her ass, I went all out in my assault. While flicking the tip of her now seemingly inch long clit with my tongue, I massaged its base with fingers of my left hand, and with the fingers of my right hand went in search of a G-spot. I was sure she had one when I encountered a rough patch about a finger’s length into her snatch and she let out a long pleasure moan when I started stroking it with two fingers.

I vigorously continued all three actions until she started begging me to stop as she squirmed and thrashed about the bed. That only spurred me on to greater activity and soon she had her third orgasm, so intense that I think every muscle in her body went rigid, including her pussy clamping on my fingers so tightly I thought she might crush them.

Ida Mae was almost incoherent for the ten minutes following her third massive climax. She escort konak kept repeating words to the effect of “Oh God what a feeling,” “I never want this to pass,” “Shit I never thought it could be this good,” etc.

Of course by this time my dick was rock hard and my balls aching. I never needed a fuck worse in my life. Once Ida Mae rallied from her sex-induced stupor she recognized this.

“Do you have a condom Beau?”

“Shit. No. Sybil is on the pill.”

“Beau, I’d like nothing better than to fuck you, but I’m not on birth control. I don’t think my limp-dicked husband-to-be could impregnate me, but just in case he’s always used a condom, and I’ve been fitted for an IUD. But it doesn’t get inserted until tomorrow.”

“A day before your wedding?”

“No my wedding is in five days, this was just the right night for my party.”

“Oh damn, I have the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had. And you are so fucking hot. I want to fuck you more than anyone I’ve ever met, or even dreamt about.”

“Maybe a blow job will do the trick, Beau.”

With that she rolled me onto my back, straddled me with her pussy over my legs, and proceeded to suck and stroke me. While it felt really great, I was sincere in what I told her. I wanted to fuck her blind. So sexually charged I wasn’t clearly thinking of the consequences, I thought maybe I could accomplish that if I stimulated her more. So I grabbed her ass and started moving her pussy over my face, which she was more than willing to assist.

Once I had her pussy over me, I started teasing the shit out of it. I would insert my tongue or a finger part way in, then pull it out and just lick her for a while, before another insertion. It had the desired effect. After a short period of time she stopped sucking, was only perfunctorily stroking, and then suddenly turned around and literally skewered herself on my flagpole. I grabbed her tightly and held her chest against mine as I proceeded to pump with all I had as she pulsated her tight pussy on my reciprocating cock.

My pumping stopped only after we had essentially simultaneous banshee screams, I had deposited a humungous wad of cum in her gash, and she had gone completely limp, her only sounds of life being intermittent contented sighs.

I fucked Ida Mae again, doggy style, about an hour later, and in the missionary position in the middle of the night, even though cum was still leaking out of her from the previous two fucks. She ended up the night with six orgasms, and I ended up with the three best fucks of my life, before or since.

When I awoke the next morning, Ida Mae was gone. There was a note on top of my pile of clothes: “I guess we’re even. I soaked your hanky and you soaked my panties. With sex like that, I almost wish the Shindig Hall ceremony had been real! Have a great life, Ida Mae.”

I went through with the nuptials, but of course it didn’t last. I was divorced in less than three years. I married again — my second wife Karen was much better suited to me than Sybil– and moved to the Washington, D. C. area.

About fifteen years after my first marriage, Karen and I were at a party hosted by one of the guys she worked with. As my wife and I were talking to the host, the hostess came up to us with two other people and said “Beau and Karen, I’d like you to meet one of my co-workers Jerry, and his wife Ida Mae.”

I dropped my glass — fortunately it was empty — as I was met by a deer-in-the-headlights look by Ida Mae. The same Ida Mae! Except for a few lines in her face she was as gorgeous as she was when I fucked her fifteen years ago.

I remember little of the rest of the evening because all I could think about was that night in The Big Easy when I had the best sex of my life. About all I did get was that Jerry was her second husband — she wasn’t married the first time even as long as I was.

As my wife and I were getting ready to leave I went up to Ida Mae and asked for her phone number “to catch up since we really didn’t have a chance to tonight.”

“I’d like that,” she said as she handed me her business card. Then just before she turned and walked away into the kitchen she whispered “I’d like you to meet your teenage daughter too.”

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