Marrying Angel-byMountain Rider|
This is follow-on story for the "Learning to Love Myself" series
Hi everyone, Elain here again. I know I owe everybody the stories that I hinted at when closing my "Learning to Love Myself" narrative, but recent events make this tale more immediate. You see, Angel has gotten married.
If you haven't read my "Learning to Love Myself" narrative and don't plan to, let me at least give you this primer. I am: early thirties, bisexual, redheaded, mechanical engineer, with natural 36E breasts, a longstanding addiction to masturbating, and a penchant for fitness swimming.
My best friend is Angel. She's two years older and four inches taller than I am, part Portuguese via Brazil, long dark hair, olive skin and even bigger natural breasts, which run in her family as you shall see. We met a million years ago in college and had a wonderful on again / off again sexual romance. It was Angel that helped me come to grips with my bisexuality, and even though we were sexually active with each other, she's straight otherwise. Angel is the chief financial officer for a large acquisitions firm a couple of states away from where I live.
Everyone else, you can meet as we go. So let's do just that.
I love the way the thing vibrates between my thighs. For a crotch rocket, it is truly a work of art. It's got so much power packed into three race tuned cylinders and a tiny little supermodel of a chassis – like a really loud two-wheeled sewing machine on steroids, especially since I put the after-market exhaust on it. Yes, my motorcycle, what were you thinking?
Of course, I know what you were thinking, but remember that I'm a mechanical engineer. This kind of thing gets me off too! Besides, it's red – the fastest color.
I was headed toward Angel's hometown at slightly more than legal speeds to help her get ready for and to be in her wedding in three days time. She hated it when I would tear-ass across multiple states on my bike. It was not meant to be a touring machine, but it does get you there quickly. Still, at the end of the day, I was going to be really stiff. She always worried about the wear and tear on me and the fact that she couldn't even call me on my cell phone to see if I was okay along the way. As promised though, I sent her a text message at each fuel stop so she'd be able to track my progress.
I geared down into the parking lot at the Thai restaurant where I was supposed to meet Angel and Eric, her intended, and spotted them at a table inside next to one of the large windows. I idled into a hash-marked parking place outside that window and killed the power. Swinging my leg off the beast, I shed the armored gloves and unzipped the top to my leathers. This, of course, unveiled (some would say "unleashed") the twins, proudly shoved up and together in a tight black halter top. Next, the helmet chin strap was unthreaded, the helmet lifted off, the ponytail sheath removed, and I shook my long mane of bright red hair loose like a shampoo commercial.
A high-school kid driving a pickup truck in the Burger King drive-thru next door ran over the curb; a guy crossing the parking lot with a takeout box dropped his food; and a Nissan rear-ended a panel truck on the road next to the restaurant. Oddly enough all eyes were fixed on me. Imagine that.
I popped out my ear plugs and dug my disc lock out of the tank bag; then bending over (at the waist, naturally) I put the lock on front brake disc, and the guy in the parking lot dropped his food again. I looked up to see Angel laughing and shaking her head inside and Eric wiping tears from his eyes, so I gave them a wink and headed for the front of the restaurant. It's hard to believe I used to be an introvert isn't it?
Moments later, I walked through the door, smiled my way past the hostess to their table, and plunked down my helmet in an unoccupied chair.
"It's amazing that you can move your hips that way when you walk in leathers," Eric said as he continued to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes.
"Hello big sister," I said and bent to kiss Angel.
"Hi baby," Angel replied after the kiss.
I turned to Eric and grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt in mock menace. "Hey sugar. Have you been behaving yourself?"
"Now why on earth should I start acting differently now?" he replied.
"By which he means to say, that he's as perfect as always," Angel interrupted.
"I hope so," I answered sweetly and blew him a kiss over my fist before letting him go. "Gotta pee, I'll be right back."
As Eric and Angel watched my rather saucy leather-wrapped rear end diminish toward the restroom, I overheard Angel remarking sideways to her fiancée, "She's always been really protective of me. You know she adores you, right?"
"I certainly hope so," Eric answered. "I think she's wonderful, and I know how important she is to you."
Angel was right. I do adore Eric. If I had to design a man from scratch to ideally suit Angel, he would have been Eric. So what do you suppose this ideal man does for a living to make him especially compatible with our girl? Financier? Accountant? Entrepreneur? Nope, it's even better. He's a chef!
Actually, more accurately, he's an executive chef. You'd think it would be better if he also owned his own restaurant, but he freely admits that end of the career is best left to others. "They can take all the business headaches; I just want to cook the food," he's fond of saying. Besides, if he owned his restaurant, he'd never be able to leave it. As it is, he makes plenty of money (according to Angel) and has a nice apartment, and he actually gets to spend time there.
He's also very good looking. Angel did well on that front. He's got that very clean, healthy, "I'm going to age disgustingly well", thing going on. He eats right, has no bad habits, is into Yoga, speaks well, laughs often, etc. etc. etc. If I didn't have my beloved Tess, I probably would have had to bonk Angel on the head and take Eric for myself. The way Angel sums him up is, "All this and he cooks too!" The girls in her office must loathe her.
The only thing I feel a tiny bit bad about is that Eric doesn't know the depth to which Angel and I shared ourselves when we were younger. I was her only girl, and she was my first girl. It's something that still warms me in the deepest parts of my heart to think about. I still love her more than I can easily describe, but it's not the kind of love that would ever have sustained as a romance. We're family and that's that. Fortunately Angel and I are completely on the same page with all this and figure it's best if it stays our secret forever.
That's not so say we're not intimate with each other any more. There's just no physical intimacy. We still share everything. I supported her through the bad time when her last boyfriend... well there's no need to go into that, but let's just say that it was an unexpectedly permanent breakup. She couldn't eat Thai food for a year afterward without crying. Anyway, she supported me through coming out to my parents about my bisexuality and the circus that ensued.
On that – things are fine now, but for about a year my Mom introduced me to every (and I mean every) eligible bachelor she could find. It took a while to get to the bottom of it, but what it boiled down to was that neither of my parents really cared that I was bisexual. Mom was just worked up because she felt that her chances of having grandchildren had dropped by half. Once she admitted that, it all became a non-issue.
But... I digress. Eric, he's great. Angel loves him and that's good enough. Like I said though, we share everything, so I have to let you know (as you knew I would) that she had also reported that he's awesome in bed. The word was that he actually put her pleasure first and was quite creative in his affections. In blunt terms, she claimed that he might even be as good as I was at eating her pussy. That made me jealous for all kinds of complicated reasons, but I had to remind her that I have gotten even better at eating pussy since those days. So there.
She never mentioned his cock, but perhaps she figured I wouldn't be interested in knowing. So, being me, I asked directly what it was like, and what he was like with it. All she would say is, "Better than any of them."
Shorter? Longer? Thicker? Heavier? Thinner? More skilled? More textured? More smooth? More staying power? What in particular? I asked all this and more.
She just shook her head, "Better than any of them. I'm not holding back on you, Elain; I wouldn't do that. I just can't explain it in any different words."
So that's when I cooked up my plan and we made our wager.
Angel and Eric had taken off on a short errand to solve some problem with the reception venue, an activity from which I was grateful to be absolved. I, on the other hand, had left my bike at Angel's house and was sitting in her SUV on the freeway with eight billion (at least) of my closest friends on my way to the airport to pick up her grandmother from Rio. I was terribly afraid that I was going to be late.
I had never met Grandmother Angelina, so Angel had equipped me with a sign stating "Avó Angelina" to hold up in the international concourse. I hoped that I'd recognize the lady from her photographs, or at least from her infamous description: Sweet, batty, little, old lady with breasts bigger than her head. I remember laughing to myself that Grandmother Angelina would be pleased to see that Angel had inherited more than her name.
I slung the Toyota into a short term parking place, grabbed my sign, and scrambled into the international concourse with no time to spare. The monitors showed that the proper flight had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, so with any luck Grandmother Angelina hadn't cleared customs and immigration yet.
Trying to look calm, I stood with all the other expectant families for a few minutes until I spotted a lady matching Grandmother Angelina's description, thwacking her way though the crowd with a cane and a bright orange rolling suitcase, and rattling a non-stop string of what I vaguely recognized as Portuguese expletive street talk. She spotted the sign and bushwacked her way over to glare up at me momentarily before allowing her wizened old face to erupt into a joyous smile. Apparently that smile runs in the family, as well.
"Tarde boa, Avó Angelina," I greeted her respectfully and offered to take her suitcase.
"Boa tarde, doce menina," she responded, put her suitcase down, and gave me a hug instead. "You must be Elain. It is good to finally meet my other grandchild."
We bounced slowly off each other's massive breasts and Avó continued, "M?e do Deus! I can see that you fit with the rest of the women in the family."
"Angelina!" Avó (as she insisted on being called) shouted at Angel when I delivered her to the house. You gotta love the way she says Ahn-zha-LEE-na.
"Avó!" Angel replied, running in, and gathered the old lady into a hug. "It's been so long. How was your flight?"
"M?e do Deus! Eu v que você herdou o tesouro da família," Avó exclaimed, holding Angel at arm's length and looking her up and down.
"Sim Avó. Obrigado para genes bons," Angel responded, also in Portuguese.
"Apreciar seu inheritance. Você olha bonito, meu querido," the old lady answered with a low whistle.
I had Angel translate this exchange later and help me record the Portuguese for this narrative. The rough version is that Avó was marveling the scale of Angel's front-end accessories and remarked that she could see that Angel had inherited the family treasure. Angel thanked here and attributed it to her good genes. Eric and I didn't really understand a word of it, and we stated as much when he entered the room.
About this time Eric walked in, and we both interrupted in stereo, "Eu n?o compreendo." It was funny enough to break everyone into laughter.
"I am sorry," Avó said and turned to us. "It has been a long time since seeing Angelina in person. She is so grown up now. I am just telling her she look beautiful."
Meanwhile Angel was behind her grandmother, pointing at her chest and mouthing the words, "She was commenting on my tits." I had to stifle more laughter as Avó moved over to embrace Eric.
"You are much taller than you seemed in your sweet letters you are sent to me. It is good to meet you in person too, doce menino. How do you like being surrounded by all these beautiful tetas?"
"Avó!" Angel chastened.
"I speak then like I see them, meu querido," the old lady laughed and bounced her own huge bosom in her hands. "Now where can I lie the old bones down for a time?"
Angel, scarlet with embarrassment, led her to the bedroom to rest. Eric and I just tried not to laugh.
"So when does Tess get here?" Eric asked.
"Not until tomorrow. She's flying in from a technology conference tonight and will drive my pickup truck here early tomorrow. When we head back, we'll put the bike in the back of the truck and ride together. I came early just to get some two-wheel time."
"How long have you two been dating now?" he asked delicately, clearly not sure about the right way to describe the relationship.
"Almost two years," I grinned. "She's amazing."
"I don't mean to pry, but I'm high on the marriage idea now. Do you think it will turn out to be a permanent relationship with Tess?"
"You're working way too hard to be politically correct, sugar... but yeah, I hope so. I really love her, and I'd like us to stay together."
"I can tell. You light up when you talk about her."
"She's the first person since Angel who has really brought out the best in me. I think that matters a lot," I explained. "She's easy on the eyes too."
"She certainly is," affirmed Angel as she came back into the room, "definitely one hot chick. A whole room full of people can lose its train of though when she walks in. When I first met her, I pulled Elain aside and told her to park herself on that woman's face and never get up."
"I look forward to meeting her," Eric stated, now finding his turn to blush.
Then he realized that probably didn't come out right and tried to fix it. Angel let him dig a hole for a minute before kissing him on the cheek and stage-whispering, "Baby, I'll be keeping your face warm. Don't you worry about that."
"How's Avó?" Eric asked once he pulled himself back together.
"Completely insane... ... oh, you meant physically? She's fine, just worn out from the trip. She's eighty-one now, so she's entitled to be tired."
Angel turned to me, "I showed her the dress and she loves it. Once Mom gets here from the hotel, the four us can finish making the veil together. Then Mom will take Avó back to the hotel with her, and you and Tess can have the spare room while you're in town."
Then turning back to Eric, Angel apologized, "You'll have to entertain yourself this evening while we do girly stuff. I'll call you when the dress and stuff are put away and the fuss has died down."
"No problem. The crew at the restaurant still wants me to come in some evening soon for a 'bachelor party' – by which they mean they'll cook me all my favorites at no charge and forbid me to come into the kitchen. I'll just call and tell them it will be tonight. I shouldn't be too late, so call when you're done."
With that we shooed him out the door.
So yeah, Tess... oh dear, where to start with Tess?
She is an irresistible mix of contradictions. We met at the development firm where I work, and I immediately figured she was some kind of receptionist or ornamental administrative assistant. She's gorgeous (more on that in a minute), with really large blue eyes, and kind of a permanent spacey expression. She also has a really odd accent. As she heard a lot when she was growing up in the Deep South, "She talk kinda funny".
Her parents are both Austrian mathematicians who worked in some kind of top secret facility in East Tennessee before their retirement. You know the one? It had a project many years ago named after an island in New York? Anyway, Tess was born in Tennessee and grew up speaking a weird combination of the local East Tennessee dialect, plus German and Hungarian at home. It's a completely charming and disarming kind of Dolly Parton meets Heidi Klum sound, if you can imagine. Unfortunately, most people assume she's an idiot the moment she opens her mouth, and I was also guilty of that blunder.
It doesn't help her first impression that she's blonde and nearly as big chested as I am. Even though she dresses fairly conservatively and wears glasses, the tilt of her head when she looks at you and the way she glazes over and chews the end of a pen when she thinks make her look three seconds away from tossing the glasses, shaking loose the hair bun, and sliding down a brass pole with a garter full of dollar bills.
All that said, I was stunned to find out that she is actually "Dr." W?rlein, or as the framed Ph.D. diploma in her office states it, "Astrid Tesseract W?rlein, Doctor of Physics". Yeah – tesseract – a little gift from her math geek parents. You can see why she goes by Tess. I'm a math geek myself, so I always thought her real name was kind of cool.
Speaking of cool (nice segue, eh?), Tess is the expert on thermodynamics where I work, which is why she's there. Or as she put it in her breathy exotic voice, the first time we shook hands, "I am in charge of how we move de heat around." God, I just wanted to lick her right then and there. About a year and a whole lot of job mileage later, I discovered that she wanted that too!
Our relationship is quiet but well known at the firm. We work in the same department but are not connected by a direct chain of command, so the firm has no problem with it. In fact, it actually helped ease tensions around the office when it slowly became public knowledge that we were a couple. Ninety percent of the employees are male, so to establish "officially" that neither of us is sexually available, helped a lot of engineers focus more on their jobs and a lot of engineers' wives let go of their anxieties about their husbands working late. It's one of those times that we ladies are on the nice side of a double-standard. Two men in a romantic relationship are "fags". Two women are "hot". I don't get it, but it's nice to not have to hide my love for Tess.
I'm sure there is a pervasive fantasy life about what we do in our private time, but we're both so focused and driven in our jobs that we don't put that vibe out when in the office at all. Okay maybe there's a little abject femininity displayed, but only a little. It helps to occasionally remind the rest of the staff that neither one of us is actually "one of the guys."
You know they say you can tell how a woman is going to age by looking at her mother. If that's really the case, Eric is set for life. Angel's mom, Vera, is somewhere in her mid fifties and is completely smoking hot. Every time I see her, I'm amazed at how effortlessly glamorous she is. She has the fabulous body, good hair, and smooth skin of a woman much younger and the grace and class that age endows to pull it all off without looking like she's trying to be any younger than she is. She's just that pretty – for real – which I suppose is why she had no reservations hopping nude into Angel's big Jacuzzi with us later that evening.
That tub is awesome. It's a standalone model that Angel had put in special along with tiled steps, recessed lighting, heated towel racks, framed mirrors, live ferns, etc. The room it's in was originally an exercise room or something, so the tub just fit with room for the towel racks, a small refrigerator, and access to the jack-n-jill bathroom adjoining the spare bedroom. You could probably fit six people in the tub if you were cozy, so we ladies had room to stretch. Of course Avó came in with us as well, but you probably get the idea that Avó does whatever Avó wants.