Oscar was the best man.

Take that any way you want.

He stood up there with the bride and groom, the bridesmaids, and the groomsman. He was the only one I had eyes for.

He was dressed the same way as the other guys, black tails and white shirts. Their bow ties were different bright colours. Oscar's was red. The womenfolk looked stunning in black skirts with white blouses, some sort of ties hanging from their necks, the colours matching those of the guys. The bride, lest I forget to mention it, was stunning. Her new husband was a dream. Now back to the best man.

Oscar, I found out, was a cousin of the groom. I was a cousin of the bride. No matter how you looked at it, by the end of the ceremony we were related by marriage.

I'm not usually so forward, but as soon as I got the chance, I cornered Oscar and explained this to him. He agreed that it was the perfect excuse to spend some time together, but not until he'd completed his duties.

When the speeches were over, and the groom suitably embarrassed, the obligatory formal dances started. Once he'd put in the required effort there, he came to find me.

"Your name," he said to me as he stood near the table, isn't Scarlett, is it?"

"No. It's Amy. Why Scarlett?"

"Well, it's red, you know? The colour? I'm wearing this silly neck strangler in red. You're wearing a stunning red dress. I just thought it would be the perfect name."

"Scarlett."

"Yeah."

"No. Amy."

"Yeah. You said. Amy. I like that too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Have you been drinking, Oscar?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Uh huh."

"Listen, no matter what your name is, you look stunning in that dress, and I need you to dance with me. Otherwise the bridesmaid is going to step on my feet again."

"So will I."

"You're smaller. And much more decorative."

"She's gorgeous."

"Says you. Yes or no?"

So we danced. Perhaps he was right. About the clothing, I mean. I didn't dress this formally very often, and I'd gone to a lot of trouble choosing the dress. It was slinky, and slim. I rather liked the way it clung to me. It was much shorter than anything I normally wore.

I didn't step on his feet, but I can't take the credit. He was very quick, and avoided me wherever necessary.

He'd shown another side, too. At a break in the music he'd gone back to the front table, rustled around under his chair, and pulled out a baseball cap. He'd put the cap backwards on his head, pulled it tight, and left it like that to dance with me some more.

The evening progressed, and I spent most of it with Oscar. We drank a little more, but mostly just danced. I got a bit of a buzz from the alcohol, and became horny as hell hanging out with the best man.

He was nice, too. I mean he looked nice, for a start. We both had dark hair, and he was quite a lot taller than me. He had a confidence about him that was contagious. I liked him immediately, and later in the evening when he danced me out onto the huge deck, I didn't argue a bit.

We stood and talked about nothing, both a little under the weather, but feeling great. The night was warm and still, and the garden was scattered with couples who had escaped the heat of the dance floor, the company, or the light.

We stood there for a while, our fingers casually linked, and then he turned me to him, and put his hands on my hips. He spoke, quietly.

"Are you ... seeing anyone, Amy?"

"Uh uh. Not just now."

"Me neither."

"Good."

"Yeah." His hands slid down then, off my hips and onto my ass. He pulled me a little closer before continuing. "I wonder then, well..."

"No," I answered politely, grinning at him. I took his hands, reluctantly, and put them up on my waist. "No, I couldn't."

"No?"

"Nope."

"Bummer."

"Yeah."

"Because I was also wondering..."

"Yes?"

"About..." He put his mouth close to my ear, despite there being no one else close enough to hear. "Your panties."

I must have blushed then, but I grinned as well. "What about them?"

"Well, are they red, too?"

I blushed again, but was more distracted by the surge of energy, the tingle between my thighs. Nonetheless I resisted. I'd had too much to drink to trust myself to be sensible if I started anything. "Oh. There's only one way you're going to find that out." I moved his hands off my ass again, more forcefully this time. "Do you wear that cap a lot?"

"All the time."

"Give it here?" He questioned me with his eyes, but handed over the cap. I put it and my little red handbag on the railing that ran around the deck, searched quickly in the bag to find my pen, and stopped with it poised in the air, above the cap. "May I?"

"On the inside, please."

"You don't want to deface it?"

"I don't want to share it."

"Fair enough. What are you doing?"

"Staring at your ass, trying to decide."

"Keep guessing."

"Oh, I will. That's your number?"

"That's it."

"I might need your name beside it."

"You're that drunk?"

"Just so many women."

I swung the hat at him, and he caught it. "Phone me."

"I will."

"No, really."

"Yes, really. I will."

"You promise?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Promise to tell me?"

I tingled again. I loved how focused he was. "Oh, yeah. You phone, I tell."

"Tomorrow."

"I hope so, Oscar."

That was when my sister arrived. She'd been looking for me inside for a while, and was relieved to have found me without having to venture down on the lawn. I introduced her to Oscar, who promptly insisted the whole family must be gorgeous. My sister was happily married, so she just kissed him on the cheek and told me she'd meet me out at the car when I was ready. She said I could bring him with me if I wanted. I wanted, but I wasn't going to.

I had already decided I had to leave, otherwise I was going to jump Oscar without giving him a fighting chance. I had a strict rule about first dates, and this wasn't really even one of those, so I had to go.

When my sister was out of sight, I turned back to Oscar, put the cap back on his head, and pulled him towards me, tipping his head down towards me slightly.

I kissed him as though we were in love, as though one of us was leaving the country for six months, and as though we'd been fucking on a more than daily basis since the moment we met. I could feel his cock harden as he pulled me closer, and I knew my panties were dripping with desire. I kissed him some more, and then pulled away. I made no secret of the fact that I was staring at the solid bulge in his nice trousers. Then I grinned at him, and left without a word.

I thought the ride home would be interminable. I sat in the back of the car as my sister drove with her inebriated husband beside her. The two of them chattered on and on about people they'd caught up with at the wedding. I zoned out, and pretended to be somewhere else.

After a while though, I realised I was thinking about Oscar, and how I'd have liked to see more than the bulge in his pants. I'd been with a few guys, and I knew what was inside there, but I didn't know specifically about him. I regretted leaving. I regretted my first date rule. I regretted having any rules.

Once I got thinking though, the trip was much more bearable. Every time the car went over a bump or turned a corner it was as though I'd pressed something against myself between my legs. A couple of times I did, but I had to stop. I was scared I would stain my dress - my panties were plainly unable to cope by then - or that if I started in earnest I'd be unable to quit before I came. And that simply wasn't going to happen in the car. So I just kept thinking. And dribbling.

Eventually we pulled up outside my apartment. In a way, I was disappointed that we'd arrived. I climbed carefully from the car. Each movement now was a delight. A small spasm ran through me with each step.

I quickly said goodbye to the two of them, urged my brother-in-law to take full advantage of the kids being elsewhere for the night, and stumbled away from the car towards the building. My sister called out to me, asking if I was alright. I smiled back and told her I certainly was.

I made it to the elevator before I touched myself. As the doors slid shut I lifted my dress and pressed my hand against my panty covered mound, unsure if I wanted to intensify the sensations or stop them so I could get home. Luckily no one else needed the services of the elevator at this late hour, and I made it to my door without anyone seeing me.

I stumbled through the door and slammed it shut. Able to take a breather I realised I wanted to hold off just a few minutes longer.

I dropped my bag on the floor, checked that the door was locked, and headed towards the bathroom. I grabbed a towel on the way, walked in and turned the shower on, before looking at myself in the mirror. My hair was mussed and my face was flushed. I knew I must have reeked of need, and that was confirmed when I reached back and unzipped my dress. It fell to the floor, and I was engulfed in a cloud of sweaty musk. I unclipped my bra and dropped it, leaving myself standing in just my panties.

I turned back to the mirror, looked at my almost nakedness, and smiled. I hoped he'd phone. I wanted to tell him. In any case, they had an obvious large wet patch on the front. I wiggled out of them, sighing with the movement, and climbed into the shower.

I guess I could have pretended to be in the shower for some other reason, but all I did was lean against the back wall of the cubicle and let the hot water run down the front of my body. My nipples were hard, and sensitive to the hot drops, but that was nothing to the feeling as the river ran down over my stomach to my thighs and caressed between my legs.

I squirmed, spread my knees, and invited the water to ravish me. Doubtless I could have stood there and orgasmed without doing anything else, but I couldn't wait that long, and attacked myself with my fingers as well, flicking and gently tweaking my clit desperately until I came, hard and suddenly, gasping with the shock of it.

I just stood there then, shaking and breathing hard, the water providing after-shocks and making my body jerk. It took some time to calm down, but eventually I forced myself to stand up, took a proper shower, and climbed out.

Even the towel was somehow intimate then. Every touch was personal. My whole body glowed. When I was dry, I threw the towel to the floor as well. All of that could wait. I stumbled from the bathroom and collapsed into bed.

I was so tired I wasn't sure I would actually hit the sheets before I was asleep ... but that didn't happen. I lay there, exhausted but not quite relaxed, and willed myself to sleep.

It didn't work.

Eventually I moved, pulled the covers up over myself, lay down on my stomach, and did what I knew I was going to do all along.

Lifting my butt a little from the sheet, I slid one hand beneath my body, under my hips, between my legs. I straightened three fingers on that hand, held them rigid, and slowly lowered my body over them, sliding the fingers deep inside myself, impaling myself on my own hand.

This was the first way I learned to come, the way I survived before I'd let a man touch me. Late at night, alone in bed, this was still my favourite way.

I lifted my hips again slowly, bending at the knees and sighing as my fingers slid from my depths.

I stopped, fingertips near my clit, fantasized for a while, remembered some things, dreamed of others.

I lowered myself over my slippery fingers.

I spread myself. I loved the feeling of my fingers down the sides of my vagina, and the slippery softness of my tender skin on my fingers.

I stopped again, visuals flashing through my mind.

I readied myself, if that makes sense, for what was to come.

Then I fucked myself. My fingers stayed as still as I could manage, and I thrust above them, sliding up and down quickly, without any thought of further delay. I pumped in and out, my ass flexing with each movement, my whole body dripping with anticipation.

I took myself, giving no quarter, asking for none.

When I came, it wasn't the desperate release it had been in the shower. It was a mind-blowing, body-fucking shudder of pleasure, of certainty, of familiarity, of completion.

I lay there, wet, exhausted, relieved, relaxed and calm.

My sore thighs still surrounded my tired sticky fingers.

Then I slept.

I walked in the door just before midnight, wondering how I would find Oscar. I needn't have worried. He was keeping an eye out for me, and as soon as he saw me he excused himself and walked over.

He looked delicious. Dark pants with a white shirt, a long black apron marking him as a waiter, his face lit up in a smile. I wanted him there and then, and wished I could tell him.

"Hey gorgeous," he grinned at me. "You're early."

"I know. I just ... didn't want to be late."

"I like that in a woman."

"You better like more than that. I'm not the most reliable."

"I like a lot more than just that. Look, I'm going to be about twenty minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Should I come back?"

"What, and take the chance that someone else will take you away? No way. Take a seat. I've just got a couple of tables to deal with. They're just waiting for desserts. No, this one. Somewhere I can see you."

"I don't want you to get in any trouble."

"They love me. Relax. Say, might I interest you in something to eat? Something sweet?"

"Oh, I'm not sure I could afford to eat here."

"It's on the house. We have some left over."

"Some?"

"Oh. Lemon meringue. I just assumed..."

"I love lemon meringue pie. How did you know?"

"It's my job, Amy. Sit there and look pretty. I'll be right back."

I sat. I watched. At some point Oscar walked over and served me a plate of pie, just as though I was a regular customer. I can't say I disliked the attention.

While I was eating, I was doing two things. I was watching Oscar working, and I was remembering how the day had gone.

Oscar had phoned about midday. I was lying in bed still, recovering from the night before, and even though I was hoping he'd call, the noise frightened me. I picked it up on about the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Uh ... is that Amy?"

"Sure is."

"Hi Amy. It's Oscar."

"I figured that out."

"Yeah." He paused, as though he wasn't sure, and then committed himself, with a brief question. "Well?"

"Tell me what you think, first."

"Tough question. I think not, though."

"You're right."

"Pity."

"Perhaps. You don't like black satin?"

"Oh. That depends. Do you?"

"I do."

"Then so do I."

"Good."

"Alright then. Thanks Amy. See ya."