The False Bride She is all gussied up in her white dress. Her ample breasts pushed up. Make-up caked on. She never actually met the groom but the dating service assured her that he was all that, if not punctual. A lifetime of romanticized fantasies of marriage reached a state of feverish anticipation of satisfaction and escape. ”He will be here” They said. ”He is kind and handsome” They said. So the Bride, in full confidence made arrangements. Guests arrived. All the appearance of a wedding. Before the Groom arrived she started to party, drunk on her own delusions of worthiness. Hours went by and her would-be Groom had still not made his grand entrance. By this point it did not matter, she was dancing and celebrating - a real spectacle. In-fact The Groom had been there all along, among the guests, assessing his “Bride”. He did not want big tits, make-up, a pretty dress or a party. Seated next to him was a simple, quiet, shy girl with beautiful eyes. She seemed somber and reserved. He turned to her and asked, “What do you make of the bride?” “She never really wanted a husband, she just wants the ritual and to feel special.” “Yes, I think you are correct … You wanna get out of here, I do not think the groom is going to show.” ”Um, okay, where to?” ”There is a cafe on the top floor, can I buy you a coffee and snack?” ”Sounds lovely!” She smiled. They stealthily left the scene and entered an elevator. Opposite the elevator was a full-length mirror and the two caught a glimpse of themselves, each noting how similar they looked. He silently wrapped his arms around her from behind. “We look good together, don’t you think?” ”Yes.”

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