A Big Gay Wedding

So, you have to pretend this is still last week, cause I wrote this and then completely forgot to publish it. Dumb ass.

Well, what a riot our first gay wedding was.

We arrived unfashionably punctual on the dot of 6pm for the champagne reception, with the ceremony due to start at 7. Rather obviously, the place steadily filled up with people The Boyf had had sex with at some time or other. It was held in a Canal Museum (oh, the hilarity of covering up the "C"), and hence was dotted with boating paraphenalia, including a whole barge (which we tried to turn into a dark room). The champagne flowed, my Giggle-Sister (as The Boyf called him) arrived, and by the time the reception started (late) I was already three sheets to the wind and unable to control myself.

The priest was a bit of a shock. It turned out to be the larger half of a couple we've seen at various gay pride events. The pair are always dressed in full Scottish ceremonial garb, and the smaller is usually being led round on a leash by the former. Someone made the mistake of saying "Oh my God, it's priest on a leash!", eliciting another outbreak of uncontrollable giggling among the throng as word spread.

The ceremony was lovely I have to say, although it was packed with innuendo. I mean "I bless this ring" (snigger)? Also, a well-known rent boy read out a poem, which surely could only happen at a gay wedding. By the end we'd all stopped giggling and everyone seemed genuinely moved by what we were witnessing. Even The Boyf managed to stop making eyes at a rather lovely Italian who noone seemed to know and pay the proper attention.

After the ceremony everyone was led upstairs to the reception, where more champagne and wine was forced upon us. The reception was very amusing, purely from a anthropomorphic point of view. The grooms' families were sitting down, in very regular wedding attire (women in big hats and floral dresses, men in either dark suits or chinos and untucked shirts), the friends (apparently all bears) were more eclectically dressed. Some (such as myself) went for very nice suits (I made the mistake of very pale beige, which is now ruined cause I spent the evening spilling red wine all over myself), whilst others opted for more casual attire (half the bears appeared to have been sicked over by an Abercrombie & Fitch shop before arriving). The bears were resolutely standing between bar and buffet, and more than one squeal of "I'm not doing carbs, darling" was heard during the night as huge plates of meat were devoured.

The gorgeous Italian was ahead of me in the queue for the buffet, and I was drunk enough to be incredibly bold, so whispered "Get me some cake" in his ear, whilst gesticulating towards the wedding cake, which was yet to be cut. He smiled and whispered back that he'd love to give me anything I wanted but that I might have to wait. Cue more uncontrollable giggling.

Later in the evening the Italian pulled me to one side, "You wanted the chocolate cake?".

OMO: "Do you have some?"

Italian: "No, but I've just eaten some".

He then pulled me to him and stuck his tongue down my throat. We snogged for a bit.

Italian: "Can you taste it?"

OMO: "Nope. I'm going to need another go".

And that's how the evening progressed. Needless to say The Boyf got wind of it and we were soon taking turns.

We left at about 10pm with most of the rest of the bears, and headed home to change ready for the second leg of the evening - XXL.

XXL was a blast. Nearly everyone from the wedding was there, and were obviously already drunk by the time they'd arrived, meaning that there wasn't the usual quiet hour or two until everyone relaxed and got into the evening.

We quickly bumped into the Italian and his English boyfriend (boooo!), who promptly stuffed his hand down the back of my jeans to cop a feel. And that was pretty much the blueprint for the rest of the evening.

Most of the rest of the night is a little foggy in my memory, and I woke up sometime the next afternoon with a hideous hang-over, which is very unusual for me. And then we had to get ready for the final part of the celebrations, at the RVT.

Urgh! I was shaking all over come Monday I can tell you. Worth it though.