Back in the days when we actually had winters, weather was responsible for an experiece that I will never forget. I fucked a rugby team. Out of the blue, I had received an invitation to a wedding in the town of my birth, I am a Geordie. I had moved away six years previously and was at that time, a resident of Northamptonshire. The invitation was from my one-time best friend, Sally. We had kept in touch to begin with, but lapsed. The invitation was very formal, but there was a letter with it. A six-year catch up. I had never known her parents, she had been raised by grandparents. They were now gone. Would I act as her family? Not to give her away, but to take the place of a mother long gone. I was both flattered and annoyed. Flattered that she thought of me as family, annoyed to be thought of as maternal. But there was another problem. I was broke. I was behind with my rent, my credit card had been cancelled and I was living hand to mouth on my meagre salary. Most of that was spent on clothes, makeup and cocktails. I was a party girl. But a wedding is a party. Free food and drinks. Sally said that I could stay at her flat, all it would cost me was petrol for my clapped out car. I replied yes. I couldn't resist buing new underwear for the occasion though, even if nodody saw it. But you never know. The trip north was uneventful. It was November, bright but cold. Who chooses to get married in November? The reunion was quite tearful but soon forgotten after a bottle of wine. I had missed the hen-party, so had some catching up to do. We had known each other since school. We had both had our first fuck with the same man/boy and on the same day. He had done us both, one after the other, in a barn close to home. I also knew her intended. Very well. Back then, the group we hung with shared everything, including boyfriends. Adam had been my steady until he did time for car theft. He was now, Sally asured me, a reformed character and had inherited the family car-breakers. The wedding was at two o'clock and the bride wore white. Off-white. Virginal was not accurate, Sally had been worse than me in the area of promiscuity, our idea of Friday night out was to get pissed, then get fucked, preferably by an untried cock. If we were capable, Saturday was a repeat. Sally scored more often than me. The wedding went without incident. The ceremony and reception were in a big hotel on the edge of town, specialising in such events. I knew several of the guests. Carnally. The food was at best, average. The drink was the same, but plentiful. By the time the disco started, I was in no state to drive back to Sally's flat. The newlyweds planned to stay at the hotel overnight before flying off on honeymoon, so I had the flat to myself that night. How to get back there was something for later. I was enjoying myself. Everybody wanted to dance with the bride and the groom was also in demand. When he got round to me, the D.J. was playing a slow, smoochy number. He pulled me close against his erection, hands on my arse. "What about a quicky for old times sake?" He whispered. "You're a married man." I replied. "Unless you've changed a lot," he said softly. "I don't imagine that's ever stopped you. Who's to know." I was certainly feeling horny, but my friend's new husband? Lust won. It would be payback for Sally treating me like I was her mother. "How and where?" I said. There was a ladies loo on the next floor, I was to go there and wait for him. In the confined space of a cubicle, I sat on the seat and sucked his offered cock, then he sat as I lowered myself onto his condomed wedding tackle. Soon afterwards, I noticed that he and Sally had quietly disappeared. The party was still going strong. When people began to drift away, a man whom I didn't know joined me. He had been eyeing me all evening. After some small talk, he asked how was I getting home. I said that my car was outside, but that I was in no state to drive. He asked where I was staying, he had booked a mini-cab. He paid the cab and escorted me to my, or rather Sally's, door. We fucked and sucked until dawn. I woke up in Sally's bed alone, lying on her spunk-wet sheets, with a prize winning hangover and a tender cunt. It was midday. I toyed with the idea of staying another night, but I was on my final warning from my boss, my absence would mean the sack. By the time I had had a bowl of cornflakes, stripped the bed and tidied up, it was early afternoon. I took the bus to where I left my car, but it was getting dark by the time I hit the road. I had been driving for about an hour and the weather was deteriorating. Drizzle at first, quickly turning to snow, then a raging blizzard. Nothing like this had been forecast. Then the engine spluttered. I managed to pull off into a field entrance, but the car was going no further. I turned on the hazard lights, they still worked. I was scared, there was no sign of life either on the road or alongside it. This was before the days of the mobile phone. They existed, but in the form of a landline phone mounted on a huge, heavy battery. And very expensive. I wrapped my coat around me and hoped for rescue. My Knight in shining armour arrived in the form of a mini-bus containing nine rugby players on their way home from an away match. I gratefully climbed aboard. They would take me somewhere with a phone. One of them retreived my shoulder bag containing everthing including my finery from the wedding, makeup, toothbrush etc. And what little cash I had left. It was a struggle with the weather. We gave up when we reached a roadside motel. It's gone now, swallowed up by the new A1(M). It was warm and welcoming. And crowded with other strandees. I called a local garage but was told that there was no chance of immediate rescue, but the storm was going to peter out in a few hours. Even then there was already a backlog, they would call the hotel when they were available. But the bar was open. I spent a pleasant evening with my rugby team, or rather half of one, the back seven, the coach and the non-playing manager. The forwards were in another min-bus, they had been unable to hire one big enough for the whole team. The front eight had not been seen since leaving the opposing team's ground. At least they had won the match, so spirits were high. The garage rang. No hope of rescue before morning, the storm would blow itself out overnight. Max, by far the leader of my team, asked the receptionist if they had any rooms. They had one. The most expensive in the place, a luxury suite. Could they share it, sleep on the floor? The receptionist said he would ask the duty manager. After a conflab, the manager came over. Yes, under the circumstances, he would allow it. He would even provide extra blankets and pillows. But at a cost. I was still broke, I had no idea how I was going to pay for the breakdown, let alone my share of the room. I said that I would sleep on the floor downstairs. People were already claiming their spots. I claimed mine, said goodnight, then went to the ladies. They were still sat in the bar when I returned. Max had a proposition. They had taken the room. They would pay my share. They would also pay for my car repair, but there was a condition. I would be expected to pay in kind. They did not need to explain. Nine pairs of eyes bored into me. To be continued...