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 twenties but is 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.