Warning: this story has some slightly racy content. I actually rewrote a lot of it, which was originally extremely racy.

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There he was; hung over, naked, spooning a woman and palming her very large breast. Given the size of the cupping, he was immediately aware that it was not Hayley he was pressed up against.  They were lying on the floor of a Las Vegas Penthouse suite and the events that led to here were a blur.  Oh, and he had on his wedding ring.  He removed his hand from her boob and found her hand.  That’s where he found Hayley’s ring.  And suddenly he knew with whom he was in flagrante delicto.  “Oh shit.”  He felt her wake. And when she turned around, they were both thinking the exact same thing.

"WHAT THE HELL DID I DO?"

38 hours earlier…

He stood there for three hours.   Long after the guests and her family passed on solemn consolations. Long after the bridesmaids from hell left, chuckling openly at his pain.  Long after his own family and friends left, each with some empty remarks.  Things like "It just wasn't meant to be."  and "Things always turn out for the best."  and worst of all "It just wasn't in God's plan."  Ryan hated this worse than Hayley’s bitch friends. At least they were being honest. No one means it when they offer these platitudes. How was this God’s plan? Is God a dick?

The truth is that no one wants to look a crying man in the eyes and say “she just didn’t love you.”

He wanted to scream and thrash and break things. He wanted to fight someone. 

But there was no one to fight; so he just stood there. He stood and waited, just in case.  Maybe it wasn’t real; maybe any minute she would come storming through that door and into his arms, begging his forgiveness and throwing some ridiculous story his way about traffic and an overturned fire truck; mayhem and destruction. At that very moment, she could have been fighting through hell and back just to stand at his side and say "I do"...

Three hours from when he stood at that altar, he fell to the ground.  He sat flat on his ass and wept with his head in his hands.   And then he heard a voice.  "I don't know what to say."  Startled, he looked up at the steeple.   "God?"

"What? Are you kidding me? NO!  Ryan, I'm over here."   He followed the voice to the right and found her 5 rows back into the pews.  Mary.  She'd waited all that time with him.  And still in that ugly purple bridesmaid dress.  She stood from the pew and walked over to him, taking a spot beside him and putting her arm around his shoulder. She didn’t say a word as he sobbed like a child. She just sat there and offered her shoulder and comfort.  Mary was always good for that.   She was the only one of Hayley's friends that didn't hate Ryan.  The rest of them were the most cliche bunch of harpies ever assembled; always in Hayley’s ear, bitching about his job or his friends and going on about how she could do so much better. It didn’t matter if Ryan was right next to her; they never held back. Mary never criticized him. She was the only bridesmaid that Hayley didn’t grow up with. Mary was her college roommate and never quite fit in with Hayley’s crew. It was pretty clear she disliked Hayley’s old friends at least as much they disliked her.  Mary had no chill and even less patience for bitchy ex-cheerleaders.  She was always the one to stand up for Ryan. "Oh shut the fuck up.  You're all just pissed because the best you’ll ever do is your loser ex-boyfriends who still brag about playing high school football."  And every last one of them would shut their hooker mouths, because they knew Mary would beat their asses one at a time or all at once.

In short, Mary was fucking great.   But it wasn't until just then that he realized how great she was. "I thought she would come too.” she said, soothingly.  “I was so sure.  So I stuck around.  I figured if she made it, you would need a witness for the wedding. Or at least someone to help you hide the body." Ryan lifted his head off of her shoulder and looked her curiously in the eye.

"Ha.  Haha.  hahaahahahh HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!”

And then they were both laughing.  And suddenly it wasn't so sad anymore.  It seemed to them that it should have been, but it just wasn't.  And then there was silence. It could have been five seconds. But in that empty church, it felt like forever.

"Sooooooo. What are you going to do now?" Mary asked.

Ryan thought for a moment.  "No idea.  All I know is I have two tickets to Vegas, a room at the Bellagio, two wedding rings and no wife."  Mary let out a devilish giggle, sweeping her long brown hair away from those big brown eyes.  "You thinking what I'm thinking?"  Ryan nodded.  "Yeah, but I don't think they make the McRib anymore."  Effeminate but effective knuckles struck his arm.  "Oww!"  And it hurt.

“I’d say we should be grateful you still have a sense of humor, but based on that, I’m not sure you ever had one.”

Three hours later they were on a plane getting harassed by the Stewardess.  

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t make the rules. ONE drink per flight. You have already had one.”

“Oh... uh, alright then…” Ryan really could have used that drink. He agreed to go on the trip with Mary because, frankly, he didn’t know what else to do. It was that or hang himself in Hayley’s garage. But just because he agreed to the trip didn’t mean he had totally made peace with the idea. He just wanted a little more whiskey. The woman was being a bit of an ass, but Ryan recognized that she was just doing her job.

“Will there be anything else, sir? Or can I return to my duties?”, she huffed.  Now the woman was just being a dick. 

Mary wasn’t putting up with her shit.

“I'm sorry, Stewardess?  That actually won't be alright.  The gentleman would like another whiskey.”

“What are you doing?” Ryan whispered to her and then felt kind of stupid because the stewardess was definitely in earshot.

Mary patted him on the shoulder. “Just let me handle it.”

It was pretty obvious to Ryan that the stewardess didn’t take kindly to Mary’s tone. He was sure he was about to watch a tigress fight a mountain lion.

“First of all”, the woman threateningly intoned, “I am a FLIGHT ATTENDANT.”

Mary nodded, patronizingly. “Yes, you certainly are.”

If life were a cartoon, the old bat would have steam coming out of her ears.  “MA’AM... I have already explaine…

Mary didn’t budge. “I'm sure you can make an exception. It's a special occasion.”

“I don’t…”

Ryan backed Mary’s play.  “Today... today was my wedding day.” It hurt, deep in his chest as he said the words.  He hadn’t said them out loud since that morning, back when he thought he was going to be married.

An old, gray-haired woman in the next row turned around. You could see the excitement in her eyes, the look that old women get when they have something juicy to talk about. “Oh my! So you two are newlyweds?!”

Ryan really didn’t want to deal with this. It was just a damn drink. “Oh, ma’am I wasn’t…”

“Why yes!” Mary cut him off.  “Yes we are! Just this morning, in fact!”

Mary slipped her hand into Ryan's coat pocket, where she knew he'd kept the rings.  Finding one, she slipped it on her finger and pulled out her hand to show the old woman.  "Yes we are.  Mr. and Mrs. Richard and Ophelia... Butterscotch."  To complete the illusion, Mary pulled her "husband" close and locked her soft, thick lips on his.  And there may have been a little bit of tongue.  The Attendant's stare lingered a second too long, and gave off the slightest hint of perversion. 

The crowd around them clapped, but Ryan could barely hear them.  The kiss left him more than a little confused. Was that her tongue?  

“Oh that’s so sweet! …oh, Stewardess?”

“I am NOT a… oh, nevermind. Yes, what do you want?”

“Just let me buy him his drink. It will be a wedding gift. And then you won’t be breaking any rules.”

”Err… fine.” She grunted. “Congratulations.” The way the Steward... err, Flight Attendant said “congratulations”, you would have thought she was telling them where to stick it.  

When the flight attendant was safely out of range, Ryan asked. “Ophelia Butterscotch?”

“Hmm?” Mary looked at him and laughed.  “Oh, just popped into my head  Butters is my favorite character on South Park. And I feel like I could pass for an Ophelia.”

“Well you look crazy to me, so. Sure.”

Her hand  brushed his cheek and she gave him a mocking look of love. “Oh honey, you remembered your wedding vows!”  And yes, she kissed him again.  Ryan blushed.

The alcohol didn't stop flowing when the plane landed.  They found an airport bar as soon as it touched down, though Mary insisted he switch drinks.  “Whiskey is for fist fights and old men. This is a celebration. You just lost 120 pounds of trifling bitch.  We need champagne!" After an hour, they had convinced half of the airport that this was the honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Richard and Ophelia Butterscotch. One of the well-wishers had won big at the casino and insisted on buying them a couple bottles of champagne.

By this time, they both had wedding rings on, and were strictly referring to each other as Richard and Ophelia. That's also how they introduced themselves around the Bellagio.  Ryan's credit card got them a wedding suite upgrade. The room had a complimentary bottle of wine, because in Vegas there is no such thing as too inebriated. When the wine was empty they thought it would be a good idea to stumble around outside. Richard and Ophelia drew a lot of attention. The people they passed were quite taken with the blitzed Butterscotches. One woman was so amused, she didn’t even flinch when “Richard” slapped her on the ass.

Not quite satisfied with harassing bystanders, they decided to take it on the road.  A limo came for them.   At first they were content to abuse the minibar and sing and dance to old Madonna songs from the 80s.  But once they’d had a few beers, they were riding down the strip with their heads out the sunroof, behaving like the movie version of a High School Prom. After a while they started screaming bizarre obscenities. Things like "Hayley is a whore with an unusually puffy vagina!" and “Lick me, ball-stick!” 

They made out a little.  There may have been tongue. 

When it looked like Mary was going to take her top off, the limo driver decided he had enough. Sadly, had he come to that conclusion 30 seconds sooner, Mary would have missed the carpet and hurled in the street.

Mary and Ryan found themselves back in front of the Bellagio fountain, dancing to the tune of Sinatra's "The Best is Yet to Come."  the dancing gave way to vicious groping of one another, which only ended when they stumbled and fell into the fountain.  And so they took it up to their suite.   Clothes were torn off of wet, hungry skin.  Turns out Richard had a predilection for deep sea diving.  There was DEFINITELY tongue.  George Clinton must have been playing somewhere in the city, because there was definite funk’in.  In the shower.  On the end table.  Against the couch.   Outside on the balcony.   Occasionally on the bed.  Decency was violated, among other things. Mary discovered she was good at hand stands.  Also, Ryan tried on her thong and bra. Mary texted photographic evidence of the latter act to all of Ryan’s friends. It was funny at the time.

For two people with a collective blood alcohol level higher than the the city of Denver, they managed to go for a long time. Two hours later they collapsed in a tangled mess, contented. They slept the slightly gassy sleep of drunks.

It was 2 in the afternoon when Ryan’s iPhone rang.  The sounds of Buck Cherry’s Crazy Bitch woke him, but he was too hung over to remember he had changed Hayley’s ringtone.

As Ryan and Mary removed themselves, there was an odd attempt by both to cover up body parts that had recently been not only seen, but touched, licked and probed like an alien space ship. They would have sat in uncomfortable silence forever if Mary hadn’t admitted she was starving.  

They ordered room service and both agreed they needed to shower. “Separately!” Mary nervously insisted. Ryan nodded and looked away.

The food arrived 30 minutes later and they sat across from each other in their Bellagio robes.

“Sooo…” Ryan searched for words as they started in on their mid-afternoon breakfast. “Pretty good eggs, huh?” He felt like an idiot. Pretty good eggs? Who says that? Mary nodded. “Great eggs. I just hope mine aren’t fertilized.”

Ryan blushed.

Richard and Ophelia may have done it a few more times.  There may have been tongue.

———-

Originally written in April of 2012. As I said, the original version was far more graphic. I was tempted to cut away once it was clear they’d had sex. But I couldn’t resist having some fun with it. And honestly? I kind of like this story in a way that I didn’t enjoy the previous stories. Maybe because it is meant to be fun. And clearly my sense of humor is at play here. It is cool to go back and look at these old stories and see where I had made mistakes or didn’t take enough time to flesh things out (no pun intended). They’re short stories, but that doesn’t mean I should rush through them. A lot of these also had awful titles. One was actually called “Within… Without”. Seriously. This one was called “When I Get to Drinkin”. Which is sort of on the nose. And boring. Oh! And the last fun fact— Richard’s name was originally Reagan. Which was just ridiculous. And of course, the point was for the names to be silly, but Reagan was just distracting.