When they told me they’d made a mistake, I was furious. Yes fine, I told them, send her anyway. After all, what’s a hen night without a stripper, even if you have accidentally booked a woman. It turned out the marriage was the mistake, not the dark-haired beauty who arrived five minutes early in a policewoman’s costume; she’s something I’ll never regret.
She had the most beautiful legs I’d ever seen. The skin-tight costume clung to her curves, shimmering slightly in the bar light. She pointed her toes, arching her body backwards in a cat-like curve. Her stockings glistened on her thighs as if her legs were slightly moist. She licked her lips.
“Where’s the lucky girl?” She purred.
Handcuffs from nowhere clicked around my wrists as she leaned over me and winked. My mouth was dry as she peeled off her layers, her hands moving across her body. The music seemed to finish far too soon.
“I’ll see you later.” She whispered as she finished. Gathering her clothes, she headed into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I followed her.
She had pulled on a short, black dress by the time I arrived, the gaudy make-up washed off her face to reveal perfect, glowing skin. She smiled.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” She said.
My hands shook as I undressed her; my first time. I kissed her chest, leaving a lipstick smudge behind, a painted love bite to be washed away in the morning. She groaned gently, easing my hands down the insides of her thighs. I stroked her gently as she pressed herself into me waiting for my turn. When it came, it was worth the wait. She knelt down, slipping my underwear to one side and pleasured me with expert fingers and a greedy tongue. My legs buckled as I finished and I slid down the cubicle wall, hoping nobody had heard us.
I married him anyway, although I’m not sure why. When the hen night is the most memorable part of your marriage, you know something was wrong. Only six months later, I was calling to arrange a stripper for my divorce party. No mistakes, this time I know exactly what I want.
Rebecca L. Brown is a British writer. She specialises in horror, SF, humour, surreal and experimental fiction, although her writing often wanders off into other genres and gets horribly lost. For updates and examples of Rebecca’s work, visit her Twitter page @rlbrownwriter or her blog Bewildering Circumstances: http://bewilderingcircumstances.blogspot.com/