I always wanted to have sex on my wedding night. I also knew the odds of making it back to our bed instead of going out with friends post-reception were pretty slim. That's how my husband and I came up with The Plan. We decided we were going to sneak off during the reception to get the job done. Being the type-A planner I am, I put two of my bridesmaids in charge of ensuring it happened. What I didn’t expect, however, was my mother-in-law almost catching us having sex at our wedding.
In the middle of the reception, as some well-wishers walked away, my bridesmaid Veronica asked, "Are you ready?"
“Ready for what?” I yelled over the music.
“To have sex, of course,” she rolled her eyes. “You put us in charge and by God, you’re going to get laid.”
I laughed as one of my other bridesmaids, Cristina, grabbed my new husband, Jon. Together, the pair marched us out of the ballroom and down the grand staircase to the three-stall women’s restroom on the deserted floor below.
“We’ll guard the door,” Cristina said as she unzipped my dress and pushed us inside. “But be quick, I’m sure people will be looking for you.”
Veronica slammed the door shut as Jon pulled me close, muttering, “You look so beautiful,” into my hair.
“What a day,” I murmured, nuzzling into his chest and relishing the brief moment of calm.
“You guys better be having sex!” Veronica shouted from the other side of the door.
We both giggled and I shimmied out of my snug gown, leaving it in a heap on the floor. I raced back to the handicapped stall. Jon following followed and locked the door behind us. “Let’s hurry,” I said, planting a kiss on his lips, my tongue lightly grazing his. His hands grabbed my hips, and I felt the cold metal of his wedding ring on my warm, tingling skin.
He pulled my white, lacy thong down my hips with one hand and untucked his shirt with the other. I spun around to lean over the sink, grabbing both sides for support. A groan escaped my lips and his breathing sped up in response. I pushed back against him, feeling his warm mouth on my back as he lightly trailed kisses across my shoulder.
Suddenly, Cristina's voice rang right outside the main door, straining to be heard over the bass blasting above.
“They're not in there…" she shouted, interrupting the blissful moment.
My head snapped up and I locked eyes with my husband in the stall mirror, both of us frozen. It was then I noticed he was still wearing a turkey hat from the photo booth (which is not exactly how I pictured our consummation), but at that moment, it didn’t even matter. What mattered was we were both panting, naked, and bent over the sink at our wedding while someone was about to bust us. Not just any someone, however. The blood drained from my face as I heard my mother-in-law's voice.
“I’m not feeling well and wanted to say goodnight,” Jon’s mother said from just outside the bathroom. That’s when I remembered: We didn’t lock the main door. Between my bridesmaids guarding it and the exhilaration of the moment, it had slipped my mind. Which means if she walked in, she would see my wedding dress on the ground and our feet, with our underwear at our ankles, from the other side of the locked stall.
“What do we do?” I whispered to Jon, still paralyzed with fear as I heard their voices argue mere feet away.
“I don’t know,” he hissed back, slowly pulling up his pants.
We could hear his mother suspiciously question Veronica and Cristina. She asked, "Why are you in front of the door?”
“I think we need to go,” Jon muttered, zipping his fly and gazing at me. “Like, now.”
I yanked up my panties. My fingers shook with adrenaline. The blood pounding in my ears kept me from hearing what the three women were saying. Jon glanced back at me, his fingers on the lock of the stall, his eyes questioning. I took a deep breath, bit my lip, and nodded.
The next 15 seconds were easily the most stressful of my life. I raced down the short hallway where my dress laid discarded in front of the main door. I heard Jon running behind me, his belt still undone and jangling with each pace he took. Just as I reached the pile of lace, the door banged open.
There I was, crouched over my wedding gown in nothing but my underwear and my shoes. I looked up, a mix of shame and relief washing over my face as I saw my bridesmaids standing there, hands on their hips.
“I told you to hurry up,” Cristina said, a smug smile on her face.
“You owe us,” Veronica added, finally snatching the turkey hat off of my husband’s head. “Big time.”
It turns out, my mother-in-law went looking for us just as we were sneaking off to have our private moment. When she finally caught up with us, she was shocked to find two very short, very bossy bridesmaids tell her they had no idea where the newlyweds went. It was after they pretended they saw us walk down the stairs to the first floor and insisted another guest was sick in the restroom that she eased up and made her way to the ground level. Whether she got the hint or she fell for the lie, I'll never know. To be honest, I have no intention of finding out.
“Should we go say bye?” I asked Jon, as Cristina touched up my lipstick and he tucked in his shirt.
“Yeah,” agreed Jon, running his hand through his thick hair and smiling at my friends. “But first, I think we owe you two a drink.”
While it wasn’t the romantic, candle-lit evening I had once envisioned for my wedding night, looking back, it was better. It was us — full of blunders and laughs, heart-stopping moments, and friends who were there to help us navigate the ups and downs. We have the rest of our lives for love-filled nights in warm, fluffy beds, but we only had one chance for a memorable wedding night and for that reason, I wouldn't change a damn thing. Well, except for locking the main door.