The Slowdance

I can’t help feeling increasingly aroused as I watch from the sidelines, as my father - the best man - dances with one of the bridesmaids, who he’s met for the first time just this weekend.

She’s in her late 20’s, but still probably another twenty years younger than him. There’s no denying she’s a good looking young woman, though her short, spikey blonde hair and the diamond stud in her nose hint at a rebellious streak. 

They’ve been chatting and joking together most of the evening on the open terrace of the beautiful country house at which the reception’s being held.

 I learn from one of the other bridesmaids that Kate, the girl in question, had an argument with her boyfriend for getting steaming drunk last night and told him not to bother showing up whilst still ‘half-cut’. So she’s come to the wedding alone, as has my father, who’s left my mother 400 miles up north, looking after the dogs for the weekend.

And as the daylight fades on this warm August evening, and the music slows, I watch the best man and the bridesmaid smooch together. Her hands encircle his neck, and as they move in slow clockwise circles, her fingers run gently, subtly, through the hairline on the nape of his neck.

Her slim, petite body is pressed against my father’s, and I note his hands are rested on the small of her back, moving ever so slightly, caressing the natural hollow in her spine and occasionally straying a little further south, to allow his finger-tips to briefly touch the top of her pert little bottom, under the little pink dress she’s wearing.

Between songs they briefly stop and chat to each other, faces barely inches apart, her arms draped over my father’s shoulders, seemingly looking longingly into one another’s eyes, both seemingly seeking comfort, companionship, before their slow shuffle begins again when the music resumes. 

It almost looks like they want to kiss at the end of the next song, but instead Kate just rests her head on my father’s left shoulder. Her head remains there as ‘Careless Whisper’ starts up, and they slowly shuffle around the dancefloor together again, oblivious to everyone else around them. I can’t help wondering if Dad’s now hard, with her slim body pressed so close against him, for a good half hour now - knowing him, he will be! And more’s the point, can she feel his willing cock, upright against her midriff?

Suddenly my observations are distracted by the bride, who’s noticed me sat alone and comes to keep me company. As we chat and George Michael ends, I watch my father and Kate finally separate and walk off the dancefloor. But as the bride witters on to me about her honeymoon destination, I note that rather than return to their tables, Dad and Kate head out into the grounds of the country house. 

I quickly make my excuses and skip round the terrace to see where they’re going. The light’s fading fast from my vantage point on the terrace, so I can’t say for certain, but it looks like once they’re far enough away from the celebrations, they go to hold hands as they head down towards the lake. 

I want to follow them and spy, but much to my disappointment it’s just not possible, there’s too much open land and they’d see me coming down. So instead I head back into the country house and my room. 

For I can’t deny my arousal at the thought of what may be going on right now. Lying on the bed I quickly open my flies and take my already hard cock in hand. 

Right now Dad’s young lover could be on her knees in front of him, devouring his cock, licking and nibbling, sucking and spitting on it, begging him for his cum. I’m wanking slowly as I imagine the scene…my Dad running his hands through her short, spikey blonde hair, or maybe his hand reaching down to cup and caress one of her pert little breasts. 

Or perhaps they’ve ventured beyond the lake and into the wood behind, where Dad has hoicked up her skirt, and, panties to one side, entered her from behind as she leans against a tree. 

This thought gets me even more excited and I decide to get into the role a little more. I wander into the bathroom to stand over the toilet for my own little knee trembler. As I do, I briefly catch my own eye in the mirror and oddly enough think of my mother back home, which brings me a brief moment of shame and guilt.

But I quickly push these emotions aside, as I think how my father clearly doesn’t give a shit about my mother right now. Oh no, he only has eyes for one woman this evening. And right now he’s probably got his cock buried deep inside her.

Their illicit fuck would be fast and frantic, I think, as I increase the pace of my stroking, in contrast to the lust that they’ve slowly nurtured for each other over the evening. Perhaps she’ll have her back against a tree instead, with her slender legs wrapped around Dad’s waist, her hands grabbing his ass cheeks, pulling him inside her as deep as possible.

I imagine Dad’s passion rising as she does this, his thrusts getting stronger and faster, as he gropes away at a breast, kissing and licking at her bare neck, his nostrils breathing in her perfume, her scent.

And the swirl of thoughts in my head is overwhelming - of my father taking this young woman, sticking his cock inside her while my mother sits at home oblivious. I’m wanking furiously now as I imagine Kate desperately grasping at Dad’s arse, biting at his shoulder, encouraging her married lover to empty his balls into her tight, young pussy.  Suddenly I feel a surging climactic rush rip through me and splatter several straw-coloured jets against the toilet basin as I gasp and buck uncontrollably for several seconds.

I clean myself up and head back down to join the celebrations, just in time to see Kate re-entering the throng, followed by my father a minute or so later. He heads to the bar and chats to the groom. The bridesmaid’s bloke also makes an appearance shortly after (half an hour earlier and that could’ve been awkward!), and it seems all is forgiven, as she now takes him on the dancefloor and makes quite a public display of kissing and canoodling with him.. 

As far as I’m aware, my father and Kate have no further interaction with each other the rest of the evening…

This is a true story, and one that even to this day, all these years later, I still play over in my mind. Did I get it all wrong and was it just an innocent dance? Was it just my father ‘being the gentleman’ to a woman who was a little upset and emotional? Two lonely people seeking comfort from each other, or did something really go on, that hot summer’s evening?  If you’ve got this far, I’d love to know what you think…