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Thanks to @THBGato for proofing and suggestions.
This is the first of a set of stories connected with the wedding of Kayla and Anita, and involves many of the supporting cast of Mentor and other tales. You shouldn’t need to be familiar with anything that’s gone before to appreciate this story.
tl;dr: Kayla and Anita are engaged. Tiff and Allison are the maids of honor. Heather is a friend of all parties.
Beyond that, I don’t think background is important, but if you want to catch up, head to my page when you’re done for the suggested reading order.
Though most recent stories of mine in this sequence have been relatively serious romances, this one is just a romp. I hope you enjoy it.
~~~~~
Spa Day
There’s something about eating breakfast outside that’s especially refreshing. When the air is cool but not chill, the sausage is spicy, the fruit plate includes pineapple so fresh and tart it leaves grooves on your tongue, the coffee is hot and plentiful, with rich cream and brown sugar, and you’re sitting outdoors with friends, it’s perfect. There’s an energy that infuses you, makes your arms want to swing, your legs to run – just as soon as you have another coffee, or sausage patty, or pineapple slice. After all, you are here to relax.
Unfortunately, it’s going to be a day relaxing on my own. That’s a problem with a lesbian wedding. There’s a single party for everyone. No bachelorette / stag. So most of the participants – at least those who are coupled up – remain coupled up. I’m sitting with my friends Nyssa and Hannah, but they’re a couple, like virtually everyone else, and I don’t want to spend the day invading their privacy. I’ve booked a spa package through Tiff, the maid of honor – well, one of them – and I’m sure they have similar plans.
Hannah currently has a very strange look in her eyes.
She’s not looking at me, she’s looking over to a pair of women at one of the farther tables.
“What’s going on?” I ask, glancing back at her.
This attracts Nyss’s attention, and she also follows Hannah’s gaze. “What the hell?” she asks.
“I know, right?” Hannah says. “My ex-girlfriend seems to have an older twin.”
“You can’t have an older twin,” I say.
They both look at me, and I realize Hannah was using irony. I’m not usually so bad at recognizing it, but Hannah’s sneaky, and sometimes I have a little trouble with nuance. “Sorry,” I say. “That’s Heather, right?”
I see what she means about an older twin. The other woman looks to be in her mid-thirties, but from here she looks like Heather drawn to a larger scale. Her hair may be a squidge closer to ginger than Heather’s auburn, but very close. The shape of her face is the same. Her features look like Heather’s, at least from this distance. She has to be six foot tall, with broader shoulders and wider hips, but if she isn’t Heather’s older sister, I’ll eat my… well, no, I’ll need my hat when the sun gets a little higher in the sky, and I’m not giving up any other item of clothing, as cool as the air currently is. Anyway, that’s her older sister, I’ll swear to it.
“Heather doesn’t have family,” Hannah says. Do vet studies include mind-reading? “At least, she’s no-contact with them. They excommunicated her from their church.”
“She sure looks like family,” says Nyss, voicing my thought.
What she is, sister or not, is oh my fucking God hot. Jesus Crust on a bagel I’d like to get my hands on… uh, I mean, I’d like to get to know her. I dig into my purse to find my prescription sunglasses. I should already be wearing them; I’m already squinting against the light just to see the Heather twins, but trading my regular glasses for them now will help prevent Nyss or Hannah from seeing my eyes bugging out of my head like Wile E. Coyote finding a new Acme delivery. I have to assume she’s with the bachelorette, since she’s clearly connected to Heather somehow, and Heather’s a bridesmaid.
The three of us aren’t bridesmaids. We’re here because the happy couple opened the party up to friends, and because the deal Tiff negotiated for this weekend was surprisingly good. The mystery goddess with Heather isn’t a bridesmaid either. I don’t know any of the bridesmaids well, but I do know who they are, and why are they looking at us?
Why are they looking at me? Thank Loki I already put my sunglasses on, so they can’t see my reaction to their gazes. And now Heather’s leading the super-Heather toward our table.
“Hey, Hannah,” says Heather. She always has a soft smile for Hannah. They didn’t work out as a couple, but they each seem to have a lot of love for the other. “Hi Nyss. Hi Diana. I’d like to introduce my aunt, Monica. Monica, Hannah’s going to be my bridesmaid next year. Nyss is her girlfriend, and Diana works with both brides. For this wedding, I mean, not ours.”
Monica shakes my friends’ hands. When she takes mine, her hand lingers bayburt escort a little longer, and her eyes take more time skimming over me than they did with the other two. Or maybe time just slows when she looks at me. I couldn’t say either way. I’m lost in her eyes. Closer in, I see that they’re more green than her niece’s.
“So,” Heather says, looking at me, allowing me to break away from the hypnotic green eyes. “You booked the luxury spa package, Diana?”
“I did,” I agree.
“So did Monica. And Tiff decided that since most of the packages were couples, she’d put you and Monica down as a couple, then failed to tell anyone.”
“Oh, God, that’s Tiff,” I say. “She didn’t add the extra for the romantic package with rose petals, did she?”
“Even Tiff has limits,” Heather says. Her aunt is giving her a hard stare. “You’ll understand when you meet her, Monica,” Heather adds. “I’m sure she didn’t want either of you getting bored. The couples package does include champagne, though.”
“I’m okay with that,” I say. I’m okay with being partnered with the divine Monica, too.
“Yeah,” agrees Monica. “I’m okay with a couples package, too. I read the menu before I chose. They recommend the couples packages for mother and daughter or friends, it isn’t solely a partner package.”
Her voice is bronze, deep and musical. She does sound like her niece, but in a range half an octave lower and more resonant.
Not that I’d complain if it was a partner package. Damn.
Of course, she’s probably straight.
“Yours starts at ten,” Heather says. “Margot and I have a massage booked at ten thirty. We’re going to swim first, if you’d like to join us.”
It’s still a little cool for swimming, but it won’t be soon, and using the pool sounds good.
“We’re going to take a ride into the mountains,” says Nyss, “and then we’re going to play a round of golf. Our appointment is tomorrow, so we won’t see you until the evening.”
Hannah leans toward me and whispers, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Mini golf.”
“Hey, it’s a full eighteen holes,” says Nyss.
“I’ll see you in the pool,” Heather says, then heads back to where she had been, leaving her aunt with us. A waiter approaches to ask Monica if she wants coffee. She accepts. He gives her a cup, fills it, then tops up mine.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Monica says. “You know, I don’t want to hold you all back.’
“I’ll come with you to the buffet,” I say. “I want more of this pineapple. If Nyss and Hannah want to get started they don’t need to wait for us.”
“Soon,” Hannah says. “We’re not quite done yet.”
“She doesn’t call you aunt,” I observe, as we walk through the open glass doors to the buffet.
“Heather? She was a stranger to me until last year. We decided it was easier to try being friends than relatives. We never met when she was a child, and I’m only thirteen years older than her, so we’re both adults together. She doesn’t need an aunt.”
“I think you just gave your age away,” I say.
“I don’t care. I’m thirty-eight.”
“I’m thirty-two,” I say. “I thought I was going to be the oldest here.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Monica says, loading up her plate with sausage and bacon. I just pick up two pineapple slices, but I’ve already made one trip. “At least this Tiff didn’t pair me with one of the teenagers.” Her lips quirk. She knows they’re well out of their teens, but thirteen to fifteen years is a gap.
We’re halfway back to the table now. I see the friendly waiter has topped up my coffee. “I hate to disappoint you, but I think I’m as childish as they are. At least that’s what everyone at work thinks if they overhear me talking about computer games with Anita or Kayla.”
A light mountain breeze is tugging at the napkins. The air seems to have warmed some. “Is that how you got invited?” she asks.
“It’s how I come to know them, so yes,” I say. “Nyss here is one of our group, too,” I said as we return to our places. Then I switch to the same kind of stage whisper that Hannah used earlier. “But we’re not allowed to talk about that while Hannah is around.”
“And don’t forget it,” Hannah says. She doesn’t really care, but we do have a tendency to get carried away. “We should be going now. We need to get changed.”
She and Nyss push back their chairs. “Nyss said you were riding into the mountains?” Monica says. “Can you rent horses here?”
Hannah snorts a laugh. “I don’t know, but my bike is here. We’re heading up to the falls. I don’t think you’d want to take a horse that far in a day.” She tucks her hand into Nyss’s.
“Ride carefully,” wishes Monica.
“See you at dinner,” says Nyss.
~~~~~
“So, are you with the bride or groom?” I ask.
Monica seems genuinely confused. “Which is which?”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just me failing at humor. I mean, which of the brides are you friends with?”
“Oh. bilecik escort Neither. I’m not going to the wedding. I came for Heather. She cleared it with the brides, of course, and I’m paying my own way, but she figured it was a chance to connect.”
“And then she dumped you with me?”
“I guess my choices did that,” she says, “and the MOH. Tiff. And I’ll get to see her plenty.” Her eyebrows twitch slightly, but I’m not sure what it implies, when she says, “And I’m not at all disappointed.”
“I know Anita and Kayla from work and games, but I only know their friends in passing,” I say. “I see Heather at my favorite coffee shop, but other than that I really don’t know her.”
Monica turns to glance at Heather’s table for a moment. Her fiancée is with her now. Blonde hair. Sharp cheekbones. Always seems to be sizing you up, though to be fair I’ve only met her twice. Maybe she’s just suspicious until she gets to know you. “Heather is not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I ask.
She turns back. Her eyes meet mine again. “My brother,” she says, “is a grade-A asshole. I cut contact with him when he refused to stop preaching at me. He brought his kids up in his hard-line religion, and I expected them to be the same. I knew he and Heather had had a falling out, but I had no reason to get involved. My big sis, Jo, died of breast cancer a couple of years back, and after that Heather contacted me and my other brother. Heather seemed very friendly in email, and we met last year. The apple fell a long way from the tree. I think.”
“I’m sorry about your sister,” I say.
“Yeah, I miss her.” Monica’s face is wistful. “We were close and she was too young. I think Roy, my asshole brother, put both of us off having kids, and now she’s gone it feels sad that she left no one behind.”
“So, are you rethinking kids?” I ask.
Monica smirks. “I’m thirty-eight. I think I’ll just adopt my niece. I can dote on her kids when she has them.” She glances back at Heather’s table. “I really can’t believe my asshole brother could father someone as gorgeous as her.”
“You look a lot like her,” I say. “Guess the genes survived in him.”
She raises an eyebrow, possibly at the implied compliment, then nods once. “I guess she does look a lot like my mom in her younger days. I should find the photos I have and share them with her.”
“Have you done these spa treatments before?” I ask.
“Yeah, you?”
I shrug. “I’ve had massages,” I say. “And facials, occasionally, but they don’t take anything near the times quoted on the menu. And what really is a ‘body polish’?”
Monica seems amused by my status as a spa newbie. “Exfoliating scrub, basically, but it feels a lot better than it sounds. Think of it like a full body facial.”
“Hmm, okay,” I say, distracted by the idea of Monica having her entire body cleansed. Jesus. I hope the swimming pool is cold. I desperately need my libido quenched.
“I’m ready to go change for the pool,” Monica said. “I’ll see you there… Diana, wasn’t it? Not Diane? Like Diana Prince?”
I grin. “Mmm, yeah, though I’m not the one who could be mistaken for an amazon.” And I’m not the goddess, either, though usually I like that connection.
Monica just raises an eyebrow.
“Ah, sorry, sometimes my inside thoughts become outside words. Bad habit.”
She grins at my embarrassment. “That’s okay. I’m flattered. See you in fifteen?”
~~~~~
My swimsuit is fairly modest. If my bikini is too revealing my boobs tend to look like they’re slapping around in their pens. I can totally rock a tank top or a V-neck dress, but for active wear I need a heavy duty sports bra. Since that’s not an option, the twisted bandeau top of this purple bikini gives a good amount of hold and lift, with just a little bit of skin shown at the top and bottom, not enough to quake badly in the tight hold. The bottoms are full coverage, consistent with the top not being overly revealing.
I wonder how the others see me. Especially, I wonder how Monica must see me. My belly’s flat, though my waist is maybe a little thicker than I’d like. My hair is a darker brown than my eyes, in loose curls to my shoulders, but at its best it’s untidy, not a neat perm. At work I pull it back with a clip, but here it’s falling where it wants. I think I look okay for not leading an active lifestyle, but I’m no model.
If I were to work out more, not only would my waist be more trim, but I’d probably be able to wear a sports bra that doesn’t look like it was designed for the military. Which would make working out easier. I’ll get to doing that, one day.
I’m wearing my sunglasses. My regular rimless glasses are in my purse for later.
I drop my keycard into my purse, and step into my flip-flops. A sign in the room says towels are provided at all facilities, so I don’t take one, but I do slip on a thin knitted wrap for warmth. I have bingöl escort no idea what to expect once I leave the pool area. I jog to the elevator, but once downstairs I walk sedately out to the pool.
Anita and Kayla are at a table, sharing a carafe of ice water with Margot and Heather. Tiff, Kayla’s MOH, and her girlfriend Emma are already being scraped or pummeled or steamed or washed or whatever their spa appointment is for. Allison, who’s Anita’s MOH, is doing her own thing somewhere. I find a towel, drape it over another chair, and drop my purse onto it as I greet everyone. Then I step out of my flip flops, jog over to the pool, and dive in without checking the temperature.
The water is perfect, which means it initially feels cold, but after I swim as far as I can underwater, that perception changes to refreshing. I pop out of the water, breathing rapidly, wishing as I always do that I spent more time in water.
I swim several laps before climbing out, pleasantly winded. There’s another towel on a chair beside mine now. “Auntie Monica?” I ask Heather.
“Auntie Monica,” she agrees, with a grin. “I hope you don’t mind that Tiff tossed the two of you together.”
“It’s fine,” I say, privately deciding that Tiff is my Person of the Year. “It should definitely be more interesting than solo. She’s told me a little of what to expect, since I’m a spa virgin.” Damn. That concept should have stayed on the inside, too. The words make Heather’s cheeks color, though she smiles in understanding.
I pour myself a glass of water and down it quickly, then lean back and close my eyes to rest.
A few minutes later, a new voice breaks the comfortable silence. “Hey.”
I recognize Margot’s voice responding to the newcomer. “Hey. Diana was just telling us you’re helping her with her virginity issues.”
My eyes fly open. So does my mouth, to object, but I catch sight of Monica, and something within me glitches, so she gets to answer uninterrupted. “Someone should have taken care of that years ago.”
“I mean I’ve never been to a real spa!” I splutter.
And… hot damn. She doesn’t need to wear a conservative swimsuit, and she doesn’t. The red triangle top leaves little to the imagination. Rivulets of water still run down her belly and thighs. She doesn’t dry off, just sinks down into the chair beside me. “So,” she says, “twenty minutes until you lose your virginity.”
“I can’t wait,” I say. I pour her a glass of water. She thanks me as I hand it to her. Then I refill my own glass and swallow it in one gulp.
~~~~~
The room is opulent. As we enter, one of the hotel staff – not a spa worker, I’m guessing, in her white jacket and tie – presents us each with a glass of champagne, then wheels a chilled bottle into the room, before leaving us.
I’ve switched out my sunglasses for my normal ones.
“If I’m about to lose my virginity,” I murmur to Monica, “this is exactly where I want it to happen.” And who I want it to happen with. Thank Sagan that one stays on the inside.
“Mmm, I almost wish I still had mine to lose,” she replies.
We’re directed to changing rooms, where disposable underwear and towels await us. Wrapped in a towel, I return to the room, take a large sip of my champagne, then lie face down on the spa bed, adjusting the towel to cover my back. Monica does the same. I get a close up glimpse of her toned body as she arranges her towel.
The body polish is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. One therapist works on each of us. First, she uses a machine to heat every exposed surface with steam, carefully adjusting the towel to uncover only what she needs. Then she works in aromatic oils. The scents of lavender and sage are heavy. Again, uncovering only what’s needed, and turning me over when she finishes with my back. She’s so careful that I don’t think I really need the disposable bra and panties.
After the oil there’s another cream rub. This feels thick, maybe a little abrasive. She works it in with a heavy touch. Everywhere her fingers have been feels deeply relaxed.
When we’ve both had this paste ground into us, we’re separated into rooms with a shower over a table. I’m not allowed my champagne during the transition. They probably don’t want me drinking the substance on my body. There’s no towel here, as the therapist uses warm high pressure water to cleanse the paste, the water not only leaving my skin clean, but massaging it until it feels fresh and tingling. The disposable underwear makes sense now.
The therapist soaps me all over one last time, rinsing me again with the warm water, then leaving me with my refilled champagne glass to dry myself and change into my bikini. The next stop is a hot tub room with a small whirlpool for two. There’s a carafe of ice water. Monica is there ahead of me, in her red bikini, her firm breasts tightly gripped by the narrow triangles. She’s already poured me a glass of ice water.
“How did your deflowering feel?” Monica asks, with a wicked smirk.
I breathe in the steamy air for a moment before replying. “I didn’t realize how accurate the virgin label was,” I say. “I’ve had sex that didn’t feel as good as that. Also, I think you’re glowing. Your skin has a rosy hue.”
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