Maid of Honour

"Oh my God, you look so beautiful" Banke exclaimed. She did it in her familiar high pitched British accent influenced English. There were tears in her eyes. I guess the sight of me was indeed that beautiful that she was moved to tears. From somewhere in the depths of my soul, I found a smile and made an extreme effort to project it onto my face. It worked.

"Awwwww", she cooed, "you are blushing". I looked away. I could not hold her happy gaze any longer. I reached for my earring and manouvered the stud between my fake french manicures and proceeded to put them on. Banke rushed to take them from me and help me put them on. It was my day, someone was bound to sneeze for me, if I asked them to. I had done nothing for myself in three days except pee. It would have been alarming had I cared.

The sounds in the room masked my tumultuous mind. My silence had already been interpreted as cold feet. Of course, I was wondering if I was making the right choice, they joked, but did I not see that he and I were destined to be together? I mean, any one of them would say, he comes from a great home, he loves me and above all, I was going to be living in the lap of luxury. My engagement ring alone, if sold could buy me an island in Dubai's Palm Jameirah. I looked at it. I wondered why even though its shine looked so cold, it was burning itself into my skin. I wanted to yank it off and ram it down Banke's throat and end her incessant chatter. There was an increase in the volume of chattering females that made up my carefully selected bridal train- I mean, the wedding was being covered by every network and magazine, reputable and aspiring-and I looked up. My mother had come in.

She looked lovely. She always said that she was suited for wealth and that is why she had been born into the family that she was. Her chocolate skin shone like polished wood and her makeup was flawless, a feat she had mastered years ago and never lost. I was content to let the sweating make up artist paint my face up. I did not care. I just wanted this to be over with.

"Eeeh, adumaadan, iyawo ologe " she greeted me in Yoruba. I had moved to greet her when she entered but she had halted me. "This dress is gorgeous. It fits you like a glove. Hmnnn, when he ses you, I am sure he will just faint with ecstasy."

I really wished that he would. I did not tell her so.

"But I cannot imagine why Romoke could not be here today. I mean, what happened? you still have not said..."

Banke looked away little bit uncomfortable. I did not blame her. She had not been my maid of honour until the week before. She had tried to find out why I had removed Romoke and when I had refused to respond to her, she had instead immersed herself in the glory of her position. Everyone withe eyes knew she had her sights on the best man. Romoke was out and Banke was in and she was going to ride her position well. This was the wedding of the decade and who knew whom she would meet? She did not intend to enter the new year unmarried. I knew it and as a friend acknowledging but not understanding her quiet desperation, I was in some way giving her an eight month start. After all, how long do you really need to know when you want to or not get married. I knew I did not want to be Bashir's wife from the first day I met him.

I did not answer my mother. I coughed and Banke produced a glass of water from somewhere. My mother was looking at me. I wondered if she could tell what I was thinking and feeling.

"The limo is here." a young female voice carried over the din bringing shrieks. My mother abandoned her questioning as the finishing touches began to be made. I rose to my feet, clad in ivory silk that cascaded in volumes about me. The hairdresser, hindered by my meddling mother shoved my veil through my curls into my head.

It was time
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His thrusts were not non-pleasurable. I resolved that I could possibly grow accustomed to him as I deftly and skillfully raised my hips to meet his, punctuating his groans with artfully delivered moans. He would reach his peak in a few minutes and I knew that I would have to "arrive" at mine before that, helping him in his lovemaking to me. I clenched my muscles and felt his shuddering begin.

I increased my pace, digging my nails as hard as I could into the skin of his back. If I tore through flesh, hey. As his uninhibited moans escaped his lips and his movements became jerky and sharp as his body convulsed to an orgasm, I relaxed my limbs and belted out the most guttural and incoherent sounds that I could. I added a few shivers to bring home the message and we both "danced" to the music of our "orgasms".

He held me afterwards. I let him, I mean, he was my husband and if he wanted to cuddle from then till January, I had to let him. I did not even mind his sweat. It smelled clean. It was okay.

"Dolapo." His voice was hoarse and a little bit shaky. His descent was much slower than I thought.

"Hmnnn" If I spoke and he heard the strength in voice, he would know that I had not received the same results as he. I matched my breathing to his...just slightly.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I actually smiled because I could hear the hesitation in his voice. He reminded me of the boy I had met when I was six and he, ten years of age. I nodded into the crook of his arm. My back was to him and he had spooned his length around me. I could feel his member, not quite limp against my back and I sensed it would not be that long before he was good to go again. I had heard of his "abilities".

"It get's even better." He whispered into my hair. My bun was nearly undone and my braids had spilled some.

I nodded.

"It will get better and you will begin to recognise my heartbeat as your own."

I rolled my eyes in the darkness. Boy, please.

He pulled me tighter so suddenly that a gasp betrayed my surprise. "I can make you happy if you just let me."

I had no room to squirm and he was holding me so tight that I could not breathe. I was suddenly scared. "Bashir..." I whispered in a choked gasp.

"Dolapo, I can make you happy if you just let me love you and you give us a chance."

"Bashir, what on earth are you saying? It is our wedding night." I began, moving my head to try and look at him.

"Is it?" he asked as he let me go. The rush of air made me a bit weak and I quickly sat up and whipped around to look at him. He was lying there, naked in all his male glory and looking at me with eyes so sad that I began to panic. He knew, I thought, he knew.

I laid a hand on his chest, "Bashir, " I began in a voice most demure, "what is the matter? why are you talking like this?"

"You are my wife. " he said simply

"I would imagine so, or both our families have just spent alot of money for nothing and the past forty-eight hours have been just for show." i joked.

"You are my wife, Dolapo." he said again. he was not joking

"Yes" I agreed.

"Then forget her."