The Snowblower Bandit And Other Stories

The Wedding

The Background:

I grew up in a small town with almost no LGBTQ community. Well, there were three ladies that lived together and everyone sort of knew, but other than that, anyone that came out only did so after they left for college. I was the exception. I came out very young. As a result, my love life was non-existent in high school.

When I got to college, the first friends I made were a group of guys who worked in the tutoring center. I was hired to work in the center, too, and had a little orientation the weekend before school started. There was an immediate, assumed camaraderie, and before I knew it, I was invited to tour a small vineyard/winery with them the next day. One of them had just been to a relative's wedding there, and had been telling the other guys about it.

When we arrived at the vineyard the next day, I fell in love with the place at first sight. It was tiny as far as vineyards go, but they had a large, landscaped lawn with a pavilion and picturesque barns. The fields of grapevines served as a backdrop.

I can still remember perfectly the scene that played out while we were walking towards the cute little shop that doubled as a welcome center. I was admiring the well kept flower bed that surrounded the shop when I noticed the girl tending to the plants. To say I thought she was beautiful wouldn't capture the experience at all.

She stood and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, sparing a glance at us before turning to a wheelbarrow with what looked like compost in it. During those few seconds, I don't think I breathed. She seemed to be lit by a soft-white light bulb even though it was a sunny, hot day. Her skin practically glowed. The light brown hair held back in a ponytail looked softer and more inviting than hair should look after working in a garden.

She was wearing form fitting jeans and a tight, but modest, tank top. I felt sure (though I would later find out I was wrong) that she was a dancer. Her body was smooth and powerful looking. She had enough smooth curves to look womanly but not a bit extra. Maybe it was the setting, maybe it was the vision of youthful femininity, but for some reason I distinctly remember feeling like I had just stepped into a painting of the french countryside, complete with a breathtaking farm girl.

We made our way inside, and I chatted with the woman behind the counter while the two older boys sampled the wine. The girl must have finished her gardening, because she moved on to carrying boxes up from a cellar. She would carefully stick labels on bottles of wine, then slip a plastic tube on the end of each one and shrink it using heat from a small hair dryer like device. The shop was small, and I was terribly nervous being in such close proximity to a girl so beautiful. I kept analyzing everything I said and did, trying to will myself not to be awkward. She was focused on her tasks, and not talking to us, but she was only a few feet away, so I knew she could hear everything we said.

The woman behind the counter was happily chatting about her family, who owned the winery. Papi, her grandfather, had immigrated from Italy and founded it himself. She pointed out the window, and I saw the old man whose likeness was stenciled on one of the chardonnays mowing the lawn with a small tractor. He looked to be in his seventies or eighties.

After the samples were drunk and the boys I was with had purchased a bottle of their favorites, the woman asked if we would like a tour of the vineyard. I didn't give the boys a chance to refuse! I almost choked, though, when she turned to the celestial being expertly handling the bottles of wine and said, "CeeCee, why don't you take them? I'll finish that for you."

Pretty girls used to make me quite nervous, and I was practically crying on the inside as I found myself walking next to CeeCee through rows of grapevines. The boys kept trailing farther and farther behind. I don't know how, but she put me at ease, and we ended up having a lot of fun chatting as we wandered all over their farm. We met one of their dogs who looked just like Falkor from The Neverending Story, saw the fountain they had installed as a backdrop for wedding photos, every outbuilding, and many other things that I'm sure weren't on the regularly scheduled tour.

When it was over, we all said goodbye, thanking her for her time. As we went back to the car, the guys kept encouraging me to ask her for her number. Nay, they were daring me to ask her for her number.

Somehow they found the right combination of cajoling and encouraging to make me walk back towards CeeCee and stammer out some more or less coherent syllables that meant I desired to communicate with her after that day. I felt light headed as I made my way back to my friend's car with her number, written down on the winery's stationary, clutched to my chest like I was afraid someone would try to steal it. I had just asked for a girl's number for the very first time.

After a couple group dates, during which I felt like I was being interviewed by her friends, we started hanging out alone. We progressed very slowly. Having no experience whatsoever with dating, I was starting to wonder if she just saw me as a friend. Then, she asked me to be her date to a family friend's wedding.

The following is the story I posted on Twitter.

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We ran out of the wedding reception barefoot, our shoes cast aside hours ago. Sweaty and rosy cheeked from dancing in the increasingly hot room, the cool rain was refreshing. We ran into the vineyard and a game quickly developed. She was the hunter, and I was the prey.

I ducked behind rows of grapevines, listening for her splashing feet, mud staining the hem of my dress. She knew the territory better, and had several inches on me, so I knew my time was limited, but I was looking forward to being caught.

We started the night with a sort of second coming out for her. I think maybe every coming out isn't really complete, isn't official, until the family meets someone you're dating. She had dated a boy for three years, trying to be happy, but couldn't. She broke it off, then came out to her family as gay. They didn't receive the information well. For the next three years she hadn't seen anyone. I had the onus, and privilege, of being the first girl she found worth the discomfort.

Her family had been cool towards me at first, but I laughed at every joke, listened to every story with rapt attention, and smiled until my cheeks hurt. Eventually, her family loosened up around me, so she relaxed. By the end of the night, we were holding hands, dancing close whether fast or slow, and running outside into the rain.

Without warning, she ambushed me and grabbed me around the waist before I could run. Our dresses were soaked and clinging to our bodies. When I spun around and put my hands on her hips, I could feel her muscles shifting under my hands. She was smiling and panting, just like I was, but as we looked into each other's eyes, our smiles fell.

I raised myself on the balls of my feet, bringing my face closer to hers. She moved, too, and we made contact. When her mouth opened and our tongues connected I got dizzy. By the gods of failed opportunities, why did no YA lesbian romance novel ever prepare me for how smooth and soft a tongue feels when it comes into contact with yours? When I felt the warmth and silkiness, I moaned into her open mouth. She responded by grabbing my waist harder and pulling me into her. Every part of my body was responding.

I put my hands on her face and devoured her mouth with the force of eighteen years of hunger. She started making needy, whining noises just before the door of the reception hall opened, letting music blast out into the night, reminding us that people would be wondering where we were.

With a final look into each other's eyes, and two giddy smiles, we ran hand in hand back through the grapevines towards the buildings.

The next morning, I lay in bed wondering if there were two pairs of footprints, facing each other, drying in the sun.

Just to be clear, your girl got her first kiss, in the rain, in a vineyard, at a wedding reception, with a beautiful girl, and we were both wearing beautiful dresses. I have ascended. I have become a living Taylor Swift song.