3.02 The Bachelorette Party pt. 2: “Lady Luck is Clearly Smiling on My Gamblings”

First and foremost, thanks to Lani’s creator! Not only does DJ get to corrupt Lani in this and the next 2 installments, but we have Neteya (Lani’s older sister), Amber & Anita (sisters), and Jennifer aka “Barbie” who are ALL her sims. So thank you, J. 

Link to her account:  www.sweetdreams25.wordpress.com

WARNING: contains sexual content, highly blurred/censored images of naughty bits, drunken shenanigans, and minor profanity.

Spice level: 2 outta 5

Saturday, April 16, 2022: 

Jewel Nightclub at Aria – Las Vegas, NV.

“Place looks dead.” Anita observes, surveying the the various lackluster crowds of men in cheap, lazily-buttoned suits and strewn-about women dressed in sex. 

“That’s because it’s only 9:30, and things don’t start poppin’ until after 10. C’mon, sis, everybody knows that,” Amber states. 

Anita scowls at her younger sister’s chide. 

“Well thank you for humoring this new mom’s request to start things early,” Neteya says, adjusting the top of her dress. “I know I ain’t gonna be able to hang with y’all partying late. Not with little man refusing to sleep these days.”

“We got you, Net,” everyone but Barbie says.

Barbie awkwardly bops around as she surveys the crowd.  “I ain’t ever been up in the club sober,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes and sulking.

“Well I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Lani says, also taking in the lights, music, and people. Lani hasn’t stopped smiling since we met up a few hours ago. It probably doesn’t hurt to have a penthouse suite all to ourselves.

“Speaking of first times…” I say balancing six, sweating glasses, “Virgin Mojitos for all! You don’t have to drink if you don’t wanna, but you will pose with it in your hand, and pretend you’re having a good time.” I say as I pass out the drinks.

“We are having a good time.” Anita says, taking a sip.

“Your idea of a good time is different from mine,” I say, positioning my phone for a selfie. “Okay, ladies! I want to see smiles! I want to see teeth! I want to see titties!”

Neteya, and Anita turn to look at me with their what-the-fuck expressions. I press my phone’s screen, taking a photo.

“Joking,” I say, smiling the cheesiest smile I can manage. I look at my drink as the other ladies take dainty sips. I toss the straw behind me, “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a virgin in me,” I smile.

Lani chokes on her drink, “You better quit. DeShawn gonna come for you if I die tonight.”

“You’re in good hands,” I say as I plant my free hand on her boob. “If DeShawn is gonna kick my ass then this should be the reason.”

The others don’t so much as bat an eye at my boob-grab. When it comes to my friendship… Let’s just say I take the term “bosom buddies” litteral. I remove my hand from Lani’s chest. “Okay ladies, sound off. Name the celebrity you want to fuck most. Lani, you’re the bride, so you get to go first.”

Lani shakes her head, “What is this?”

“A party game! Aren’t there supposed to be party games? I specifically Googled Bachelorette Party Games and this was one of the better ones.”

“Good heavens, fine!” Lani blushes, mumbling, “Jensen Ackles.”

Who?” Amber asks

“Jensen Ackles!” Lani shouts over the music.

“But who is he?” 

“The other hot brother from Supernatural.” I blurt as I turn to look at Lani. “I never wanted to bed two brothers at the same time until I saw that show.” I turn to Barbie, “What about you? Which celebrity do you wanna get freaky-deeky with?”

Barbie shrugs, “It’s a toss up between Idris Elba and Michael B. Jordan.”

“Hmmm.” I tilt my head in thought. “Idris is older than Michael B. Jordan, so I’d definitely let Idris be in control…while Michael B. Jordan watches…”

“Have you thought about this before?” Barbie asks.

“Maaaaaybe,” I say, feeling my face flush. “Did you know,” I gush, “that Idris used to DJ and was known as DJ Big Driss!”

“I had no idea,” Barbie says.

“You know he’s gotta be good with his hands,” I whisper into Barbie’s ears.

“I imagine so….Okay, I’m gonna need a refill.” Barbie turns to Lani, “I’ll be right back. I’m feeling thirsty.”

“Remember you’re married.” Lani warns

“What does that gotta do with being married? You think you don’t have thirst once you get married? What ‘bout you, DJ? You ain’t ever get parched?”

“Uhhh. This looks like an A-and-B-conversation, so I’m gonna C my way outta it.” I turn to Amber. “So which celeb got you thirsty?”

“Henry Cavil. I love me a white boy with dark-ass hair.”

“Ew!” I say, playfully hip-checking her. “You like ass-hair?”

Amber laughs, “You know what I mean!” Her face grows serious, she pulls me close, and whispers, “I’d floss with Henry Cavil’s ass-hair.”

I cup my hand to my mouth and we giggle like silly teenagers. 

Once I compose myself I make my way over to Neteya and Anita who have distanced themselves from the rest of us. They tend to think that because they’re older than all of us, it somehow makes them more mature.

“How are you ladies enjoying the night?”

“I’m struggling to stay awake,” Neteya says, yawning. Her eyes are heavy, and she forces a smile, “I just want to lie down. It’s taking all I have not to crawl up into a ball and fall asleep on one of the couches.”

I shoot Neteya a sympathetic smile, “Newborn keeping you up?”

“Every two hours to feed. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hang with y’all tonight. I’m gonna need to pump again soon. Otherwise I’ll leak.”

I stand there, an absolute socially-awkward-mess, with no idea how to steer this conversation away from Neteya’s milky-boobs, so I exclaim, “And which celebrity would you like to breastfeed, if ya know what I mean?” I somehow manage to wag my eyebrows and wink an eye simultaneously.

“Uhhhh?” Neteya looks startled. She looks from me to Anita. 

Anita turns to look at me with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen on her face. “Ask me,” she states.

“Huh?” I say dumbfounded.

“Ask me,” she says again, this time her voice is filled with annoyance.

 “Um, okay,” I say catching onto what she’s asking, “What about you, which–”

“Leonardo DiCaprio.”

I sneer, “Ew! He’s old.”

Anita places her hands on her hips, “He’s younger than Idris.”

“Oof, did he age poorly then.”

“Excuse you.”

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to burn your celeb crush.” I can feel my sneer starting to return when thinking of current-Leo, “I’m just not into old, white dudes, but cool…we all have our kinks. Now young Leo I can get behind. Like literally. I’d be Jack and he can be Rose and we can roleplay Titanic if that’s what he wanted. My God, young Leo could sink me. BE THE ICEBERG, LEO!” I scream. Thankfully, the music is too loud for anyone other than Lani’s bridal party to hear.

“What was the point of this game?” Anita asks, rolling her eyes as she places the now-empty glass on the bar.

Shit, I think, I’m really fucking this night up. “Uhh, thank you for asking, Anita! Okay, Ladies, gather around Lani!” They get close to Lani. I hold out my phone, moving the angle this-way-and-that until we’re all in the frame. “Imagine your celeb crushes…” smiles begin to form, but they’re minimal and not good enough, so I begin to describe a certain sex act…which involves melted candle wax and clothespins… and their smiles slowly lessen until they’re completely gone and replaced by revulsion and horror. Ah, I think. Wrong direction.

“I wanna dance. C’mon y’all, let’s hit the floor.” Anita commands, as she places her arm in the crook of Lani’s and leads her to the dance floor with Amber and Neteya trailing behind. I stand there sulking as I watch Lani and her bridesmaids hit the dance floor.

“I thought Lani’d never leave,” Barbie announces, pulling me to the bar. “Just cuz she don’t drink doesn’t mean it gotta be that way for us all.” 

Barbie eyes me critically, “You stressed? You look stressed.”

“Uhhhh. Didn’t you just come from the bar?”

Barbie doesn’t look at me as she says, “What can I say, Vegas got me thirsty. Must be the dessert.”

“You mean desert.”

Barbie smiles mischievously, “Ain’t that what I said?” She pushes her way to the bar, and barks at some guy to move so I can squeeze in. He unhappily obliges. “Bartender!” Barbie pounds the bar with her open palm. One of the bartenders immediately looks in our direction with annoyance. She finishes serving a client and heads over to us with a neutral expression that suggests that she would be stellar at poker. 

“What’ll ya have?”

“Two shots of tequila, por fa-vor,” Barbie exaggerates in what I call broken, white-girl Spanish.

 I rub my temples. 

“Am I embarrassing you so soon?” she chides, keeping her eyes planted on our bartender.

“You know it takes a lot to embarrass me.”

Barbie smiles slowly. “Well, it’s Lani’s bachelorette party, and a lot can happen!”

I arch an eyebrow, but before I can think of a response, our drinks are placed in front of us.

“Can we get some lime wedges and a saltshaker?”

The bartender doesn’t say anything. She reaches for a small, plastic container, and uses a pair of tongs to fish out a few lime wedges from a shiny, metal condiment tray. She transfers the lime wedges into the plastic container, and places them and the saltshaker between our drinks. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

“That’ll be fifteen-even.”

Barbie hands her a twenty-dollar-bill.

“Thanks, Doll,” the bartender winks.

“It’s been some time since we’ve done this,” Barbie says, eyeing the amber liquid.

I smile, “You wanna do it like old times?”

“Is there a better way?” Barbie pushes the saltshaker towards me with enough force that I have to scramble to reach for it before it slams into the hand of the guy next to me. 

I sprinkle salt over Barbie’s décolleté. The salt gravitates towards her cleavage.

“Tits out!” She loudly remarks as she thrusts her chest at me. A few heads turn our way, which incentivizes us to put on a performance. 

“Bottoms up!” I say, equally as loud.

We look intently at each other as we shout, sing-songy, in unison, “THAT’S THE WAY WE LIKE TO…” I tilt forward, and tug her shirt down so low that the tips of her areolas show. I stick my tongue out, carefully, as my tongue is small and pierced, and slurp salt from Barbie’s cleavage. We “WOOOOOO!” in unison, as I let go of her shirt and she adjusts it to cover herself, but not before winking at a few very appreciative hotties. I grab the tequila shot and down it with professional ease. The onlookers attention shifts from Barbie to me as I slam the shot glass against the bar, grab a lime wedge, and suck it dry. I remove the lime wedge and lick the flaccid lime pulp slowly, allowing my tongue ring to slide against the entire piece.  I put down the lime wedge, grab the saltshaker, and hand it to Barbie. “Your turn,” I croon. 

Barbie plucks the saltshaker from my fingers, unscrews the cap and pours salt over my chest. “This is new” I observe, but not really caring as I feel my inhibitions melt.

“Go hard or go home!” She slams the uncapped saltshaker onto the bar. The cap rolls off the bar and is lost in a crowd of feet. 

“Tit’s out!” I say, presenting.


“THAT’S THE WAY WE LIKE TO…” Barbie ravages my cleavage in what one could only call a motorboating accident. Barbie then looks behind her right and left shoulders, bestowing the onlookers a wolfish grin. She pulls the top of my dress down with such excitable-force that the right side of my chest is completely exposed. One of the guys closest to us whips out his phone and takes a selfie with Barbie, me, and my exposed-tata. I shrug internally. Not the first time I’ve been naked in a club, and it probably won’t be the last. She gives the mightiest slurp, complete with sound effects, that leaves a slobber trail.

“WOOO!” Barbie, and the crowd we have drawn, shout together.

I am feeling very good, and just stand around with a dopey grin. 

“Nice tits, er, tit, but I’m sure the other one looks equally nice,” Mr. Selfie says to me.

“Thanks,” I blush.

“I’d love to see both–”

“Nope,” I say, fixing my dress. I look over at Barbie, who is twerking against a group of guys, and I stumble away from Mr. Selfie and try to locate Lani in the crowd on the dance floor. It shouldn’t be that hard finding a woman in an all-white dress with a tiara, but, given that it’s Las Vegas, Lani isn’t the only bride-to-be dressed in all-white. I sigh, debating calling it a night, and possibly being ousted from my role as Maid of Honor for lacking in duty.

“Oof, there you are!” 

I feel my body suddenly grow tense as Barbie grabs hold of my arms, trying to right herself from face-planting onto the floor. 

“You looked cozy back there,” I tease.

“Girl, my ass just got invited to a 3-some!”

“Just like old times,” I wink. 

“Bitch, I still got it!” Barbie does an exaggerated celebratory-twerk against my side.

I laugh and join in, our butts bump to the beat of the song currently playing. Moments later, Barbie drags me over to an empty table and we plop into the seats. 

“Soooooo,” Barbie purrs, sliding next to me. “You and Darius had a baby, hmmm?”

“Yeah, I’m still wrapping my head around Hera and how–”

“Okay, lemme rephrase.” Barbie clears her throat dramatically, “You fuuuuuuuucked Darius!”

I blink at her a few times wordlessly. 

“Girl! Spill!”

I giggle nervously, “What is there to spill? We fuuuuuuuucked,” I say, mimicking her exaggeration of the word.

Barbie rolls her eyes. “Gimme your phone.”

“My phone?” I ask, flabbergasted. 

“Yes. Gimme.”

“No!” I say, swatting her hands away. “What do you want with my phone?”

“Dick pics,” she says, wiping drool from the corner of her lips.

“Didn’t I show you Cato’s dick when he and I began dating? You don’t get second-glances!”

Barbie’s nose curls, “I don’t wanna see your man and his monster-dick! Girl, it’s a wonder you don’t walk bowlegged!”

I gasp, trying to contain laughter. “Well whose dick pics do you–” I gasp, “Oh! Darius.”

“B-I-N-G-O was his name-o!” Barbie sings. 

“I don’t have pictures of Darius like that on my phone.”

“I don’t believe you! Hand it over then. Hand over your phone and prove you ain’t got his dick stored on your phone.”

I laugh, “You’re married! Calm your tits.”

“My tits can’t be tamed! I want photos! I want details.”

“There are no pics. For reals. But…I’ll give you one question. What do you wanna know?”

“Was he…good?”

I smile wistfully, “He made certain I was satisfied. There was only one time when he came prematurely. He planned to make it up to me, but…”

“But what?”

My smile fades. “He broke up with me.”

“Dang. You should text his ass and tell him he needs to make it up to you.”

I cackle like a madwoman, “Barbie, you’re too much! Could you imagine?”

“Why imagine? Just do it,” she winks.

I eye her suspiciously. “You’re just hoping he’ll send me a dick pic. I’m onto you. Okay, enough of Darius, let’s go find Lani and the rest of the bridal party.”

“I’ll find y’all. I need another drink,” Barbie says as she slides out of the booth and heads to the bar.

I shake my head as she fades out of sight. I reach for my clutch, open it, retrieve my phone, and send Darius a text. 

“I thought that was you, Tits.”

I look up and see Mr. Selfie sliding into the seat across from me. My smile instantly fades. 

“That’s not my name.”

“What’s your name?”

I want to be rude to him. Almost every part of me screams to tell him to fuck off and walk away, but the sensible part of me insists that if I strategize correctly I’ll be able to get that semi-naked pic he took of me deleted. What’s the saying? You can kill more flies with honey than oil, or something like that, I think to myself.

“DJ,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

“Do you DJ? DJ DJ!” He laughs at his own joke.

“No,” I say, fake-smiling like a Stepford Wife, “I’m not that cool.”

Mr. Selfie leans back with both hands behind his head. His eyes stare so hard at my chest he looks nearly cross-eyed. “You warm? You look warm.”

Oh, for-fuck-sake, I think, he’s about to make some lude comment. “Sooooo…what brings you to Vegas?” 


“Do you live here or did you come to party?”

“Oh. I came to party, babe,” he winks. 

I shudder internally. This is gonna get icky quickly. “Riiiiiiight?” I giggle, twisting a strand of hair. “I just love to party. Love-love-love it!” I giggle obnoxiously. “Wow!” I say hoisting myself onto the table and crawling towards him. I see a spark of admiration dance across his eyes. Got him, I think. “You’re so swole!” I rub my hands exaggeratingly over his biceps. I slide down next to him, and then smile up at him, “Close your eyes.”


“Shh,” I place my index finger against his lips, but don’t remove it. “Close. Your. Eyes,” I say sternly while pressing my finger against his lips with a no-nonsense look in my eyes. 

He complies. “I like where this is going, Tits.”

My name is DJ! I scream inside my head. “You’re going to really like where this is going,” I run my hands down the side of him, praying that Lani or anyone from the bridal party doesn’t see this, because even I don’t know how I’d supply a believable explanation. 

He sits back and moans. I try not to gag. 

I say a silent prayer that Mr. Selfie’s phone unlocks by fingerprint. I press my body against him as I headily whisper things I plan to do to him. 

I reach into his pocket and slip out his phone. I look down, see the Touch ID button on the bottom middle of the phone, and wonder momentarily if I should hit the blackjack tables after this, as Lady Luck is clearly smiling on my gamblings thus far. I casually slip his finger against the Touch ID button and unlock his phone. I elaborate more sex talk, and am unnerved how well he receives the clothespins and hot candle wax scenario I told Lani and her bridesmaids earlier. I scroll through his phone, find his photos app, and scroll through today’s photos. I find the selfie he took with me, hit delete, empty the digital trashcan of recently deleted photos, and do a quick sweep to erase any copies that were uploaded to the Apple iCloud storage or any other online photo storage application. Once satisfied, I slip the phone back into his pocket and squeeze his leg a few times. I crawl back to the side I was sitting at previously, grab my clutch and say, “Meet me outside in two minutes.” 

I turn and head where I last saw Lani and her bridesmaids. 

Thankfully, I spot the ladies dancing together. I stand back and stare appreciatively at the scene. It’s easy to see how much Lani is enjoying herself, as she laughs heartily at Amber’s inflated dance moves, and mimics them in her own dorkiness. I push my way through the crowd until I’m dancing next to Lani.

“And where have you been?” Lani asks, eyeing me skeptically.

“Taking care of a problem,” I smile devilishly.

“Does that problem have a name?” Lani arches an eyebrow.

I shrug, “Probably, but it wasn’t worth discovering.”

As the song nears its end I notice Amber and Barbie stealing off and heading towards the bar. I shake my head in amazement as a smile creeps upon my face. This might not be Barbie’s night, but it certainly has been her night to relive the past. 

“Let’s turn this night around!” I say, beaming at Lani.

Uncertainty plagues Lani’s face, “What do you have in mind?”

“Come with me if you want to live!” I say in a pathetic impersonation of Arnold Shwartzenegar, as I grab Lani’s hand and drag her with determination towards the DJ booth. A few overly-muscled guys in black, tight shirts with giant white letters that spell out STAFF stand near the DJ, and I begin to lose my nerve. DJs are much more accessible at clubs in SoCal. I roll my eyes.

“Excuse me,” I say, willing my eyes big like an adorable anime character. “We’d like to request a song with the DJ.”

His eyes graze past us, stopping abruptly at times, and then continuing their scan.

I purse my lips in frustration. “Hey!” I say, jumping up and down in his field-of-vision, which is quite difficult to do in heels without breaking an ankle, FYI. 

With great annoyance, his eyes look into mine.

“We’d really like to request a song,” I say, batting my eyelashes, while holding my hands together against my tilted-cheek.

His expression turns stony and he sticks out his hand, palm side facing up, as though expecting payment. 

I stare at the upturned hand for a moment and then shrug. I plop my boob (clothed) onto his hand and smile the ditziest smile I can muster.

His expression immediately grows perplexed, and his eyes dart wildly between me, Lani, the other security guard, and then behind him at the DJ. I stifle a giggle at his apparent confusion. The DJ leans over and asks, “Everything good?”

I boob-check Security and draw myself closer to the DJ, dragging Lani behind. “Hiii-eeeeeee,” I say, in my unrivaled Alaska Thunderfuck imitation, as I thrust Lani in front of me. “We have a Bride-to-be that would LOVE to hear some Beyoncé! Can we request Single Ladies, pleeeeeeease?”

The DJ fakes a smile, “What an original song choice. Yeah, I’ll take care of it.” He heads back to his soundboard, but the moment he turns away from us I see him roll his eyes. What is up with Vegas DJs being so douchey? Maybe they’ve always been this way, and I’ve always been too wasted to notice…or care. 

I shake it off, grab Lani, turn around and nearly crash into Neteya who is standing in front of us.

“You okay, Net?” Lani asks.

“I am beat, and need to get back to my baby and feed him or pump, because I’m about to burst.”

The clap-clap-clap intro of “Single Ladies,” begins to play and I shout, “IT’S OUR SONG!” while standing in a superhero pose, complete with both hands planted firmly against my hips and my chest extended. 

Lani and Neteya turn, look at me, and take a moment to burst into hysterics as I gather them and place them side-by-side, arranging their arms. I take my position, and now Neteya and I are flanking Lani, looking like backup dancers with our personal Beyoncé. 

We bust out in perfect sync to the song, as though we spent hours dancing to the music video. Intensively studying the trio’s dance moves and perfecting them. Because we had when this song debuted. Halfway through the song Anita runs up to us fuming.

“Have you seen Amber?”

Our smiles fade and all I can manage to think is, way to ruin my plans again, Anita.

“I thought she was dancing with y’all? Did you see her before you came and found us, Net?” Lani asks her sister.

Neteya shakes her head, “I haven’t.”

All of a sudden Barbie stumbles through the crowd, propping Amber, who looks like The Grim Reaper’s puke. I tap Anita’s shoulder and point in the direction of Barbie and Amber. Anita turns, gasps, and runs to them. Lani, Neteya, and I follow. 

“Amber?! You okay?” she asks. Amber doesn’t say anything but looks up sheepishly and in pain at her older sister. “What did you do to my baby sister?” She yells at Barbie, who looks like she’s nearly as bad off as Amber.

“Get outta my face with yo stank-breath,” Barbie sneers at Anita and then suddenly starts cackling. “I didn’t do nothing. This Heffa thought she could handle shots of Goldschläger.”

I instantly cringe. You don’t do shots of Goldschläger unless you want to spend your night blessing the porcelain god. 

“Don’tchu worry, Ambie, Big Sis gotchu,” Anita says matter-of-factly to Amber, as she elbows Barbie out of the way. Barbie tilts her head as her lips curl back ready to spring into expletives. Neteya grabs ahold of Barbie as Barbie drunk-shadowboxes the air. 

Lani rolls her eyes as she pulls out her phone. “I’mma grab us an Uber.”

I wrap my arms around Lani’s shoulders, “Sorry that your night was a turd.”

A smile crawls onto Lani’s face while her eyes remain planted on her phone screen, “Don’t be hating on my Maid of Honor. I had fun. We all had fun.” Her smile grows. “Amber had too much fun, and then Barbie…she hasn’t loosened up this much in years.”

I laugh, “Yeah, you’re right. I mean, Neteya was practically beaming when we were dancing to Single Ladies. All those hours of her making us practice that fucking song!” I sigh. “I don’t think Anita enjoyed herself,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Lani whispers into my ear, “Don’t tell Anita I told you this, but that Heffa ain’t wearing panties.”

My face contorts and I sputter out a poorly-contained laugh, and nearly choke on my saliva. I whisper into Lani’s ear, “I thought I was the only one who noticed! I swear to God that she unknowingly cooch-flashed me at least 10 times since getting to the club.”

We grab our sides, laughing.

“Shoot! Our ride’s outside!” Lani announces, wiping a laugh-induced tear from her eye. “Y’all, git!” she instructs, pointing to the club’s main doors. Anita and Neteya help Amber outside while Barbie simultaneously trips and twerks her way to the exit. Lani shakes her head, smiling in disapproval. 

I trail behind, shimmying as I make my way towards the doors, as the song currently playing is one of my jams. I feel a hand touch mine and slowly encase it. I turn and look into the eyes of the person who has captured my hand. My eyes flash with panic.

“Where were you, Tits? I went outside and you weren’t there.”

“Take the clue, already!” I seethe, as I break his hold from my hand and run with all the mighty-speed my heels will allow. I fly through the doors. Lani’s sitting in the front seat arguing with the Uber driver. Barbie is standing next to Lani, the front door propped open. Neteya and Anita carefully place Amber inside the backseat. Anita yells at Barbie to get her own Uber, as she’s not welcome to share a ride with the rest of them, which causes Barbie to scream, “Suck my dick!” as she grabs her crotch with one hand and flips Anita off with the other hand. 

“No drunk chicks!” The Uber driver says firmly, his voice rising slightly as though speaking to a petulant child. “Get her out!” he says, turning around to stare daggers at Amber.

Neteya and Amber sit down next to Amber and plead nicely to the Uber driver that Amber won’t vomit in his car, and that she already got it out of her system. 

Barbie starts twerking against Lani’s side, which causes Lani to direct her irritation from the Uber driver to Barbie.

I feel my hand being grabbed again and placed upon bulging polyester. I cringe as I turn to see my palm against Mr. Selfie’s crotch.

“Someone wants to come out and play with you, Tits,” he whispers huskily, winking. 

I tear my hand away from his crotch and yell, “HE’S GOT A GUN!” Lani and Barbie turn, stare at me, and scream. In a state of panic, Barbie scrambles into the front seat, squishing Lani. I run and dive into the backseat of the car.

“FUCKING DRIVE!” Anita screams at the driver, while pounding against his headrest. Thankfully, his brain catches up, and he peels away from the curb in seconds. The car zigzags as he drives, and the backseat passenger door swings around. 

“CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!” The Uber driver screams at us. I right myself up, hold onto one of Neteya’s boob’s for support, reach for the handle and close the door.

“Shit!” I say as I feel wetness against my palm. I remove it and there’s a growing wet spot on Neteya’s dress where my hand was moments ago.

I look at my palm and then at Neteya who sighs in exasperation, “Great! I’m leaking.”

And then the leak turns into a gusher, and a geyser of milk shoots me in the eye. “I’VE BEEN SHOT!” I scream, which causes Barbie, Lani, and the Uber driver to scream in turn. The car lurches as the Uber driver speeds up, weaving through traffic with the grace and speed of an Olympic sprinter. 

“Oh, please,” Neteya rolls her eyes, “Don’t act like you never got someone else’s body fluid in your eyes before,” as she takes the complimentary box of Kleenex, and starts stuffing tissue into the top portion of her dress.

I slouch against the seat, rubbing my violated eye, “Only Darius’s,” I huff.

Barbie squishes her face between the tight opening between the headrest she shares with Lani and the front-passenger-side window, and says, rather obnoxiously loudly, “Did Darius give you a facial?”

“Barbie, what the fuck?!” Lani yells, smacking Barbie over the head a few times. “Your ass better sober up fast!”

Barbie cackles maniacally as she tries to block Lani’s swats. 

“I don’t feel so–” Amber announces, but is unable to finish her sentence because vomit suddenly, and in large quantities, shoots from her mouth. Anita’s hair gets the majority of the assault. The vomit is mostly clear, but there are several chunks of broccoli and tomatoes, and surprisingly, very well intact chunks.

Neteya gags, covers her mouth, and turns away, “Roll down the window,” she gasps towards me.

I comply and press a button that I assume controls the window, but the window isn’t budging, so I mash my finger against the button again. Still nothing, so I panic, because Neteya is pleading, rather insistently, that I please open the fucking window, so I press-press-press the button so many times that it snaps off. I look up towards the Uber driver who isn’t paying attention to me destroying his car, but rather is more focused on yelling at Amber who just destroyed the interior of his car. 

“Sir!” I yell, trying to yell over him, but not grabbing his attention, so I try again, “SIR!” Still nothing. “OPEN THE WINDOW BACK HERE!” I yell, but he just doesn’t seem to notice or care, or perhaps a combination of the two.

Neteya gags some more as Amber continues to unload her breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the entirety of her stomach’s contents. Poor Neteya can take it no longer, and throws up in her hands, which barely act as a container, and some of the vomit spills over and seeps through the crack her hands make as they’re pressed together. 

“OPEN THE WINDOWS! OPEN THE WINDOWS!” I shriek, knowing for certain he’s heard me now, except I guess not, because the windows remain up, so in my overly-agitated-state I feel around, underneath the seats, searching out a heavy object. My hand grazes against something hard and metal-feeling, so I retrieve it. A sawed-off-crowbar. Thafuk, I think, are the Mobsters in town this weekend for a Mob Boss Convention? I shake my head, and order in my loudest voice, “COVER YOUR EYES!” I then cover my eyes and face as much as I can with my left hand as I go to town smashing the window next to me, as though it’s a piñata. 

“Thank you,” Neteya looks to me gratefully for a moment, but then the moment is over, because the sudden rush of air into the car starts blowing Amber’s ongoing vomit around, propelling more onto Anita, but, now, onto the Uber driver, who pulls over, pulls out a handgun, and yells at us to get out of his fucking car. We quickly comply, and within seconds the car speeds off, leaving us on The Vegas Strip, with some onlookers gawking. 

One of the onlookers is a very muscled man with ebony skin that looks remarkably like Idris Elba. 

“Heeeey, baby!” Barbie yells, and twerks her way over to him. She starts sliding her body up and down his as though he’s a stripper pole, “Ohhh, you look like you workout. You think you could give me some pointers?” she giggles flirtatiously.

Vomit-soaked Anita and Amber slosh away from us and make their way to the casino’s entrance. Fun fact, if you are in a bad state, the hotel/casino will drive you around in something that resembles a golf cart. Thankfully, one came and collected Amber, Anita, and Neteya.

Lani shakes her head at Barbie, turns to me briefly and states, “Well, at least that fool dropped us off at the right hotel. Help me wrangle this Heffa,” she sighs. Lani and I stride up to Barbie. The Idris Elba look-alike she’s assaulting looks at us as though he’s seen things he’ll never unsee. I give him a sympathetic smile. Lani and I each clasp Barbie’s wrists, and we drag Barbie off him. She kicks and screams like a toddler being denied a lollipop, and as though she’s reading my mind….

“I-I-I just wanna lick you like a lollipop…” she sings as she makes obnoxious slurps. Her tongue flops all around her face as though she’s trying to lick her lips sexily.

The Idris Elba look-alike shudders, turns away, and walks as fast as his strong calves will take him. 

We finally get inside Barbie’s room. She collapses onto the bed and begins to snore.

Lani and I rush out of Barbie’s room and burst out laughing. I make obnoxious snoring sounds, trying to imitate Barbie. Lani laughs harder, yelling at me to stop. It hurts so much laughing. 

“Should we check on Amber and Anita?” I ask.

“I can do that,” Lani says. She pulls out her phone and sends a group text to her bridesmaids, asking them to report.

“We’re good. Showered and ready for bed.” Anita replies. She and Amber share a room.

“Feeding baby,” Neteya responds. She sends the sweetest photo of her nursing her newborn.

“A shower right about now sounds good,” Lani sighs.

“Agreed,” I say, leaning my head against her shoulder as we walk towards the elevator that will lead us to the penthouse suite where we’re staying.

My cell beeps, notifying me that I just received a text.

“Cato keeping tabs?” Lani smiles ruefully.

“Nah,” I say, smiling, knowing I shouldn’t, but blurt, “Darius said he’d send me an updated dick pic.”

Lani taps the back of my head, “Better be glad you’re family or that’d hurt.”

I pull out my phone and check my message. I come to a complete stop, gasping. I can feel the color drain from my face. 

Lani turns and looks at me in concern, “You okay?”

I look up at her as water pools my eyes. I hand my phone to her and she reads the text message I was sent by Jason, the waiter we met at Descanso Gardens, who is clearly more-than-a-friend of Hera’s.

The Bachelorette Party pt. 1: “It’s About to Take a Turn”

WARNING: contains sexual content, fetish, highly blurred/censored images of naughty bits, full in-your-face images of posteriors (so definitely don’t view this at your workplace, kiddies, unless you work from home), violence against non-living objects, drunken shenanigans, and minor profanity.

Spice level: 2 outta 5

Wednesday, April 13, 2022: Seattle, WA.

“How’re things?”

“Things are boring. It’s so time-consuming trying to manage one’s household-staff. I have a massage appointment in…about 30 minutes to de-stress.”

“Oh! Should I let you go so you can leave?”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary. The masseuse is coming to me.”

I laugh. “Well that’s convenient. If only Tech Geniuses grew on trees,” I sigh. “You lucked out.”

Gen chuckles, “Luck had nothing to do with it. I know how to market a product, and in that case, I was the product. Once you know what your buyer wants, it isn’t difficult procuring a product that will please…and clearly I know how to please.”

I giggle, “Wasn’t that the caption under your senior high school photo?”

“Hush, you!” Gen laughs. “So what do I owe this pleasure? It isn’t often you phone me. Usually we play catch-up via text, and that’s as far as the conversation goes…”

I bite my bottom lip, “I know. I’m…not the best friend that I once was.”

“Well I’m not the size 0 I once was, so…you’re forgiven.”

“But, yes, you’re right. I have a hidden agenda for phoning you.”

“Well, spill!”

“Lani asked me to be her Maid of Honor.”

“Wow! Congrats to her…and you…but what does that have to do with me?”

“Well…I haven’t planned a Bachelorette Party since…”

Gen laughs, “Ah, right…since you planned mine.”

“Yes…and you know how that went…”

Gen feigns surprise, “What? I had a great time. Didn’t you? Wasn’t that the whole point? Fun?”

“Gen. You and I both know that the request was…odd.”  

Me? Make an odd request?” Gen scoffs dismissively, “Such nonsense.”

“You asked for a stripper…”

“How is that an odd request? Strippers and Bachelorette Parties go together like Jimmy Choo pumps and Prada handbags.”

“Well…yes, you’re right…but you wanted a certain…uhhh…type.”

“I usually have a type. This is nothing strange.”

“You wanted a Furry!”

Gen giggles. “Oh, right. I almost forgot.”

I can feel my face flush, “Well I’m glad you were able to forget! I can’t forget, and trust me, I try!”


UTC Mall – San Diego, CA  Spring 2012:

“You want a what-now?”

Gen rolls her eyes, clearly exasperated, “Robin Hood. Not a guy dressed up in a green tunic or what-have-you, but he needs to be in a fox costume, complete with removable head, dressed as Disney’s Robin Hood.” Gen waves her hand dismissively, “Look, it’s all written down on the back of this card,” she says as she passes me a business card.”

“Fun Times Party Rentals?” I question as I read the front side.

Gen smirks, “Not the choicest of business names, but it’s a legit business, highly rated with the Better Business Bureau, and they have the Robin Hood costume.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” I blurt out, trying to wrap my head around what she’s saying, “So, you don’t care what the stripper looks like, right? Or is Robin’s head coming off…?”

“Oh, no, as long as he has the correct man-parts, I don’t care what he looks like.” A devilish gleam sparkles in Gens’ eyes. “The head is definitely staying on.”

I stare at this girl who has been one of my best friends for years, and wonder if I actually know her. “Uhhhh…if this is what you want, Gen. I mean, it is your last night of freedom, and uhhh… yeah. I’m down to throw a most epic party…” I flip the card around to the handwritten instructions Gen had left “…no matter how batshit crazy,” I mumble.


Whaaaat?” Gen says defensively. “It was just a little…fetish…a last night of pure-kink for a woman who was about to tie herself to a man…until death do us part.”

“I think you’re forgetting how things went down that night…”

Gen giggles, “Well, possibly. The alcohol was flowing. We danced until midnight at Moose’s. Some sappy Marines bought us a bottle of champagne, and tried to convince me to call off the wedding.”

I laugh, “Yes, and we couldn’t shake them! We had to pretend that we needed to go to the bathroom, and ran out of the club, nearly in tears from laughing so hard, and climbed into the first Taxi we saw. That Taxi driver did not like us!”

Gen laughs hysterically, “He-He refused to drive us!. He didn’t want…a bunch of drunk chicks who could barely fit in his car, throwing up all over the inside.”

“But th-then you pulled out two-hundred-dollar-bills from your…boobs…and that made him quite agreeable.”

By this point we are both laughing hysterically.

“Oh, goodness,” I say, wiping away a stray tear. “We should have called it a night.”

“From what I recall,” Gen states slyly, “It was you who didn’t want the party to die.”

I laugh nervously, “Well that was because it was my responsibility, you know, as the Maid of Honor, to keep the party festivities in full swing.”


“Okay, BITCHES!” I yell, at full-volume, opening the front door, “Who’s ready to get FUCKED UPPPPP?!?” 

“Shhhh! You’ll wake your neighbors!” Gen giggles, stumbling this-way-and-that, but ultimately being propped up by Chelsea.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I think Gen needs to go to bed,” Chelsea says concerned. 

Gen frees herself from Chelsea’s assistance, “I-I don’t shrink you know what I need,” Gen slurs.

I fall over the arm of the couch, face-planting into a giant cushion. My body shakes with laughter. I turn my head, freeing my cackling face, “Gen! You shrink?” I can’t contain my laughter, and neither can Gen, who has to dash to the restroom and relieve herself before she has an accident on the living room carpet. 

“DJ, I really think we should call it a night. I think she’s done.” Chelsea states as she knocks on the bathroom door. “Gen? Are you okay in there? Do you need help?”

I turn my face towards Chelsea. “We can’t end now! There’s still the–”


Chelsea looks at me. Alarm is clearly written on her face, “Who is that?!”

I pull myself up off the couch. “That would be the entertainment,” I say, winking at Chelsea.

Chelsea stares at the front door in fright, knocking frantically on the bathroom door. “GEN!

The bathroom door swings open, and there, standing seductively against the doorframe, is Gen.

“Send in my fanclub,” she says huskily, batting her eyelashes.

Chelsea stares in horror at Gen, and then towards the front door. 

I give Chelsea a playful shrug before opening the door. “You might need to take a seat, Chelsea. It’s about to take a turn.”

Chelsea cautiously takes a seat, and I open the front door. In struts a large brown bear in a green-single-feathered-bycocket and undersized green t-shirt holding a portable boombox.

Chelsea’s eyes go wide with a combination of dread, disgust, and uncertainty. 

Gen immediately stops posing against the doorframe, and looks at me with confusion.

I simultaneously sigh and shake my head in defeat. “Uhhh, you’re not Robin Hood!” I say, following him.

He turns, faces me, and offers me a bow, “I am Robin Hood’s sidekick. They call me Little John.” He then pulls me close and whispers, “I’m not little where it counts, if you catch my meaning.” He unhands me and now the look of terror on Chelsea’s and Gen’s face is mirrored on my own.

Little John sets down the boombox on a nearby table, and pushes a button (which must have taken a lot of practice, because furry, sausage fingers cannot be easy to navigate). The floor reverberates from the (surprisingly) loud speakers, playing 2 Unlimited’s, “Get Ready for This.” In, playfully runs Robin Hood in-step to the beat of the song. He fist-bumps the air, looking like a mascot at a Basketball game. Chelsea’s jaw drops to her knees. Gen re-plants herself against the bathroom doorframe, sexier than previously. And, strange thoughts of having a threesome with Robin Hood and Little John float through my head, as the fox and bear gyrate and pelvic-thrust throughout the living room. Little John pelvic-thrusts his way over towards Chelsea, who is half-turned, gripping the couch’s crest rail with both hands. She turns to look at me, “DJ!” Chelsea screams in a panic, “What is going on!”

I stifle a laugh as Little John’s furry, nether-region swings inches towards Chelsea’s cheek. Chelsea turns to face Little John, and her eye gets assaulted by fur. Temporarily blind, Chelsea screams, as she attempts to climb over the crest rail. Unfortunately, she fails completely, and her cheek collides with the ground. I laugh so hard that I pee myself a teeny bit, and dash, in-between laugh-fits, to the bathroom. 

Robin Hood is grinding Gen against the bathroom door frame. I pull on his green tunic, in an attempt to move him away from the bathroom, but all it does is direct his thrusting-fur-pelvis to me. I can’t stop laughing, and the more I laugh, the more pee I can feel leak into my underwear. I slightly panic, realizing that I drank more than what my panties will be able to contain if I don’t make it to the toilet in the next couple seconds. I quickly debate which scenario is the lesser of the two embarrassments, and decide that public urination wins, so I push aside Robin Hood, squeeze against a very horny Gen, hike up my skirt, pull down my panties, and plop my butt onto the toilet and use it. 

Robin Hood and Gen turn towards my musical-water-show. Gen gasps, and I can only imagine what must be going on in Robin Hood’s head, as I sit in half-relief and half-worry. Will he expect extra pay for witnessing this lude act? Will he sue for sexual harrassment from my indecent exposure? Can strippers sue for sexual harrassment, and if so, and he does because I open-door-peed in front of him, will I be on a sexual predator’s list? 

Finally, I stop peeing, after what felt (and sounded) like all of Niagara Falls exiting my body. Gen and Robin Hood still stare at me, so I wiggle any leftover pee off, instead of using the preferred toilet paper-method. I pull down my skirt as I stand up, and maneuver my underwear back on, without flashing. Acting as if everything is normal, I head out of the bathroom, make my way to the kitchen, wash my hands at the sink, and then shake them partially dry. I grab a ⅓-full bottle of Svedka vodka and chug it. After I finish it I toss it into the recycle bin, and rummage through the fridge for Smirnoff Ice. I spot two that are Green Apple flavor, pull them out, and head back into the living room. 

The moment I step back into the living room, both bottles loosen from my hands and thud against the carpeted-floor. My jaw drops as I witness Chelsea propped up against the wall, tongue-kissing Little John. Little John’s bear-head has been removed, but his tubby, furry belly is thrusting quite seductively. 

I scan the room for Gen and Robin Hood, and begin to panic when I don’t see them. I run over to Chelsea, “Where’s Gen?! Have you seen her?”

“Uhhup-up-stairs,” she says, eyes-closed, in rhythm with Little John’s thrusts.

I hike the stairs, two-steps-at-a-time, in a mad-dash to save my best friend from Pedo-Hood. Once I get to the top landing I sprint through the hallway, and throw open the door to the master bedroom. There, on my bed, is Gen, completely naked, stradling Robin Hood. Except, Robin Hood is no longer wearing his fox-body; he is bare-ass naked. 

Robin Hood is still wearing the fox head, so the sight, taken fully in, looks like what I imagine Anubis would look like in the process of deflowering a sacrificial Egyptian maiden, if he were that type of god. Gen, on the other hand, is riding Robin’s …Oo-De-Lally…like a pogostick. I freak, and lunge at her, knocking Gen off of Robin and onto the floor. In the process, I make eye-contact with Robin’s…Hood-ed Bandit

Gen is screaming because I “ruined her fun,” and I’m screaming because my eye is covered in goo. Both of our screams cause Chelsea to run upstairs. Robin Hood uses MY pillow to cover his nakedness, which causes me to go ballistic. I yank the pillow out of his hands, pull it back with such force I nearly fall backwards, and swing it as if I were Babe Ruth about to knock a homerun out of Wrigley Field. The force knocks Robin Hood’s head straight off his head and it falls onto Gen, which causes her to shriek in sheer panic. Once she realizes that I only decapitated a fox-face, she quiets quickly. 

Chelsea and I both gasp in unisom as we realize who is behind the costume. We look from him to Gen, who wears a guilty smile on her face.

“Did you know?” I ask her.

“Of course I did. I orchestrated the whole thing. I told you who to order and from where, afterall.”

My jaw falls to the ground, “Oh my God! You psycho-horny-bitch! I-I don’t even know what to say, but mad props, Gen!”

She smirks, “Thanks. Do you think you could…leave us?”

“Why?” Chelsea asks, her tone serious.

“Simply put,” Gen says with an air of superiority, that I imagine is hard for many to manage after falling off of a bed fully naked, “a lady always finishes what she begins.”

I cup my hand around my mouth, stifling a laugh.

Chelsea shoots me a look suggesting that I’m a traitor. She doesn’t say anything else, just turns around and heads out of the room, and down the stairs. 

Gen looks over at me, her eyebrow arches, as though she’s waiting for me to either say something clever or leave, so I turn to the guy, give his genitals the once-over, and say matter-of-factly, “I see you still have that Prince Albert piercing.” He cracks a smile at me and I wink before turning around and heading in the same direction Chelsea had a minute ago.

Once I make it downstairs, I see Little John’s bear-butt leave through the front door. His tail droops in a rather sad, flaccid state, and I’d bet money that the frontside was no different. Chelsea shuts the front door. Her back rests against the door momentarily as she sighs the heaviest sigh I think I’ve ever heard leave her lips. 

“Did you get his number?” I ask, jokingly.

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles lopsided at me, “I did…a long time ago.”

“Well that’s cryptic.” I huff. “So you know him…knew him? Do I know him?”

Chelsea sits down on the couch, and I join her at the opposite end. She holds onto a small, decorative Sailor Moon pillow, as though if she were to let it go she’d break into a thousand pieces. She stares in silence at the wall she had been propped up against earlier by Little John. She half-smiles as the word floats in the air, “Dylan.”

I gasp and my hand shoots over my mouth, “No way!” I say as my hand falls back down to my lap. “Are you two together again?”

“No,” she says smiling in sadness, “we were just having fun…like old times, you know?”

I shoot her a sympathetic smile, but the moment is over quite abruptly, as we hear rigorous thrusts pound above us. “Speaking of old times,” I say as I look at the ceiling. 

A deafening crescendo of Gen-moans echo throughout the house, and Chelsea and I exchange worried and slightly amused glances. “I can’t believe those two,” Chelsea shakes her head in disbelief. “Still going at it even though she’s going to marry another man next weekend. Do you think he’ll stop the wedding?”

“I have no idea. I still can’t believe she orchestrated this whole sex-reunion. Her fiance is a bit of a psycho, and keeps tabs on her. He knows their history – knows it because he has a private investigator on retainer. He’s…possessive.”

Gen’s moans quicken until it sounds as though an aria is being played on surround sound throughout the house. Chelsea and I cringe.

“Well…I think that’s over and they’ll call it a night.” 

“Oh, good. I’m exhausted. I just want to climb into bed and–”

The moaning sound from a masculine voice keeps Chelsea from finishing her sentence. She turns to look at me in panic.

I can feel my face morph into something that mirrors fear and disgust. “Oh my God! Are they finishing or are they…”

Chelsea looks as though she’s about to cry, “Round Two! I think they just started Round Two!”


“You know Chelsea and I didn’t sleep that night. We tried sleeping on opposite ends of the couch, but you two were just too loud!”

“Well we didn’t sleep either, but that just proves how successful the Bachelorette Party was that you threw!”

“How’s that?” I ask.

Gen snickers, “Silly. If you’re well-rested after a party, you simply did it wrong.”

“Somehow I think you were well-rested, despite not getting any sleep.”

Gen is quiet momentarily, as though in a dreamy-haze, “It was a special night….So! Are you ready to plan Lani’s Bachelorette Party?”

“I think so, but I was wondering if you would help me.”

“Of course! What do you need? I have connections in Vegas! I could set you ladies up a The Four Seasons, if you’d like. Penthouse, naturally…”

“Well, actually…”I say, nervously, “I was hoping I could have you. You know…by my side. Like…old times.”

“But I’m not one of her Bridesmaids, and I don’t want to crash the party…”

“But you wouldn’t be party-crashing! Not really anyways. Sure, it’s Lani’s party, but I’m the one setting it up…which means I am technically doing the invites…”

“Gotcha. Okay. Text me the deets. I hear the doorbell, so I assume my masseuse has arrived.”

I laugh mischievously, “2022, the year of the comeback! Vegas, watch out, because DJ and Gen are gonna be all up in you, and we’re bringing our girl Lani!”

We hang up, and I reminisce about the morning after….


Daylight blares through the windows, causing my sleepless-hangover-headache to throb. I look down towards my feet at bits of Chelsea’s face that peek through one of the throw pillows. I can’t help but focus on the humming from her soft snores. I lift my phone to check the time: 8:04 a.m. I roll my eyes in agitation, and grumble knowing that I won’t be able to fall back to sleep.

The soft padding of bare feet against the carpeted stairwell causes me to turn my head. I arch an eyebrow as he makes his way down the stairs.

“Nice speedos,” I say as he draws nearer.

“Not speedos,” he says, heading to the front door.

I watch him look out the front door’s glass panel. His backside in full view. “Ah!” I exclaim, as though I just discovered electricity, “I stand corrected! Thong.”

His head turns around momentarily, “Should I send a package to Cato?” He returns his gaze to the glass panel.

“A package for his package,” I snort-laugh, which hurts like a bitch. “Duck-fuckery,” I grumble as I wince in pain. 

“Hangover?” he asks, leaning against the front door, assessing me momentarily. His attention goes to the cellphone he grips. 

I sigh. “I think so.”

He arches an eyebrow, “You don’t know?”

I shrug. “From symptoms alone, I’d say yes, but I’ve never had one before.”

Never?” He looks at me bewildered. “I thought you were a party girl.”

I rub my head, finding it painful to talk, “Yeah, I’m notoriously poor at keeping down alcohol, or, more accurately, knowing my limit. Usually I end up throwing up before I get home. Somehow, not last night.” I manage a smile. “Is Dylan picking you up?”

“Huh?” He says, looking up from his phone, confused.

I smirk, “Little John. Is he coming to collect you? You keep looking out the glass panel.”

“Oh,” he laughs, shaking his head no. “Nah. I was checking to see if the van was still parked out front.”

“Van? What are you talking about?” I say getting up from the couch a bit too fast. The room spins momentarily and I stumble.

“Hey, careful,” he says, his voice turning serious, as he rushes to my side. He stuffs his cellphone into the elastic band of his thong, and his arms grip the upper part of my arms, where my shoulders meet. “You okay?” He asks with fatherly concern. 

“Yeah,” I blink a few times. “Hangovers suck,” I smirk.

“You need to eat. Also, water. Lots of water. C’mon,” he says as he guides me to the kitchen and deposits me into a dining chair, pulls out his cellphone, and places it on the table.

Within minutes a spread of sliced salamis, prosciuttos, and various cheeses are placed in front of me. Greedily, I begin to shovel the meats and cheeses into my mouth.

He sets two glasses of water on the table. One in front of me and one in front of him. He stares at me as I continue to stuff the food into my mouth. 

“How does Cato afford to feed the two of you? I’ve never seen anyone out-eat him, but you’re impressively close.”

I wave my hand about, grab the glass and chug water. When I am particularly parched, I make this rather interesting (or annoying, depending on the listener) series of high-pitched glubbing sounds. When he hears them he cringes, as though the sounds are nails on a chalkboard.  

I exhale after I finish drinking, and set the now-empty glass back down in front of me. “What’s the story with the van?” I ask, looking intently at him.

“Last night when we pulled up we noticed two Time Warner vans on your street. One parked directly across the street. The other up the street.”

“Okay?” I say, not quite understanding.

“Do your neighbors work for Time Warner?” 

“I don’t think so. I’ve never noticed Time Warner vans parked on our street before. Other than the occasional service…but nothing more than a few hours, and definitely not overnight.”

“Exactly. Think about it, DJ, who gets cable installed after midnight?”

“People in pornos,” I say, matter-of-factly, as I stuff some more cheese into my mouth.

He leans back in the chair with a wide smile. “You got neighbors that make porn?”

“Want me to introduce you?” I say, eyeing him.

He stares at me in silence. 

“I’m joking. I mean they might. I don’t know my neighbors well enough to find out their occupations.”

“After Dylan left last night, he realized he was being followed.”

I stop chewing momentarily. “Wfut?” I say, spewing bits of cheese out.

He peels a piece of cheese from his cheek, “It was one of the Time Warner vans parked out front. I swear to God. He didn’t wanna lead them to his place, so he went to one of the motels on Hotel Circle Drive.”

“Tell me they didn’t follow him to the motel.”

He chuckles, “I almost wish I was there with him. Yeah, the idiots pulled up right alongside his car. He comes out and immediately goes to his trunk. Two dudes pile out from the front driver and passenger sides. They don’t realize he grabbed a bat from his trunk until it’s too late, and one just nearly ducks in time as Dylan swings it at him. They haul-ass back inside the van and peel off, but not before Dylan smashes the passenger window.”

I stifle a laugh. “Good ol’ Dyl. Why were they after him? Did he say?
His face grows serious, “They weren’t after him.”

“Who then?”

He brings his index finger to his chest, pointing.

I raise an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

He smiles devilishly, “Gen.”

“Come again?”

He laughs, “Did that too. Several times. It’s why you could hardly sleep, right?” He winks.

I roll my eyes.

“You need a refill.” He says as he grabs my glass, takes it over to the fridge, presses it against the water dispenser. As the glass begins to fill he clears his throat. “Let me ask you a question. Do you know who owns Time Warner Cable?”

I shrug, “Warner Brothers?”

He places the water glass in front of me. “How are you feeling?”

“I manage a smile, “Better. Thanks.”

He nods his head. “They did own Time Warner Cable. It was bought by Amatol.” 

I blink and furrow my eyebrows. “What doesn’t that Amhole Jeff Bozos own?” I scoff, “I mean, why else would Gen marry him?” I stare out the sliding glass door, admiring the bright red clusters of tillandsia that hang from a wooden lattice arch. 

My eyes widen and then I gasp, “Do you think Jeff hired them to park outside?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his smile is confirmation.

“Does Gen know?”

“Not yet. He’s possessive and she knows it. I know it.” His eyes bug out, “I just didn’t know how possessive. It’s why I agreed to the costume. I wanted to see her. He forbids any contact between her and I.” His voice lowers to nearly inaudible. “Any.” He sits in silence for a moment and then looks up at me as though he forgot we were conversing, “The van’s still outside. They know two of us went inside, and only Dylan came out.”

“Are you going to wait them out?”

“Can’t. I need to get to the station. My shift begins soon.”

“How soon?”

He smiles guiltily. “Nine.”

“I run back to the living room, grab my phone, and run back into the kitchen. “That’s in less than thirty-minutes! What are you going to do?”

He smiles mischievously, “Reinforcements.”

Before I can question what that means, we hear the sound of tires screeching outside.

“DJ! DJ!” Chelsea screams. I rush from the kitchen, phone in hand, and head over to the couch, where a very disoriented Chelea stares at me with frightened-eyes, “I think they’re going at it again! I can hear Gen climaxing.”

“That’s not Gen!” I say, in-between laughs, as I rush over to the front door and look out the glass panel. I gasp and turn my head towards him. He’s standing underneath the arch that separates the living room from the kitchen. “The reinforcements are here!”

He runs over to the door and he’s peering out the glass panel with me. 

I turn to Chelasea, “Chels! You gotta see this!”

A very dazed Chelsea stumbles over to us and also looks out the glass panel. “Is-is that Dylan?” she gasps.

“It is,” he smiles victoriously.

“What is he doing?” Chelsea asks, covering her mouth in shock.

“He slashed the van’s back tires. Now he’s heading to his trunk!” I say excitedly. He and I look at each other briefly, knowing what’s about to happen next.

“Dylan must really hate their internet service,” Chelsea states as Dylan begins smashing the passenger-side window. 

Seconds later, the van’s engine rumbles to life, and it takes off, swerving this-way-and-that with its deflating back tires. Dylan shouts a few expletives at the van while shaking his bat in a threatening manner. 

Dylan and his bat head towards my front door. We all scramble away, as though we’re a group of voyeurs who got caught peeping. He knocks on the door with the bat. I open the door and step back, inviting Dylan inside.

Dylan automatically shoots Chelsea a winning grin, “Hey, Kitten,” he winks, as though they’re still dating.

I send her a questioning look, my eyebrows shooting upwards. She just looks at me in confusion, shrugging her shoulders.

“Is that what you firefighters wear nowadays?” Dylan asks, waggling his eyebrows at him.

“Only on Sundays.” He jokes. “Uhhh. I wasn’t planning to stay overnight, and this was the only thing I had on under the fox suit.”

“You can borrow something from Cato’s closet if that helps.” I interject.

He shoots me a smile, “Thanks!” he says while racing up the stairs and yelling down to Dylan, “I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

“Take your time,” Dylan says as he saunters inside and I shut the door. He places the bat next to the couch, sits down, pats the spot next to him and then turns to Chelsea. Dylan has on his fuck-me eyes, and she’s clearly turned to putty as she falls against him. They instantly begin to makeout.

I rub my eyes and temples with the palms of my hands. What a fucking morning

Moments later footsteps can be heard upstairs heading toward the stairwell. He is dressed in jeans and a button-up, short-sleeved shirt. His feet wear Rainbow-brand-sandals, which showcase the cleanest and most well-manicured toes I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing…on a man anyways. He carries the Robin Hood fox-head in one hand, and the bodysuit draped over his other arm. His arm cradles Gen’s torso, pressing her against his body, as they make their way slowly down the stairs. The moony look that was evident in Gen’s eyes last night is now replaced with solemn sadness, as though the moment he lets go of her side he’ll be out of her life forever. Except, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.

“Ready to get goin’?” He asks Dylan.

Dylan pulls himself away from Chelsea. They do some sorta weird post-makeout foreplay by staring into each other’s eyes. Dylan smiles lazily at Chelsea. He reaches for his bat and gets up. “Yup,” Dylan says as he heads out the front door. 

“Call off the wedding,” He tells Gen, as they hold each other in a lover’s embrace.

“You know I can’t,” she says, her voice dripping with sadness.

“You can if you want.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, and that’s his answer. She doesn’t want to call off the wedding.

He pulls away from her. They both have tears threatening to spill. “Take care of yourself, Genny,” He says as he kisses her cheek. He turns, carrying his belongings, and walks out the door. He throws the entire costume in the trunk, closes it, and gets into the passenger seat. Dylan revs the car a few times before they peel off. 

“I love you, Cayden Dimitri,” Gen says softly to the empty air. 


Later That Night….

I sink into the couch. It’s old now; the years haven’t been kind to its upholstery or frame. I’m next to the same pillow that Chelsea held after Dylan had left Gen’s Bachelorette Party. I unlock my phone and punch the screen a few times. 

“Cayden, how would you like to meet me in Vegas?”


In which Author DJ reveals her fuck-up (or the blooper/bonus section of the DVD). In case you’re wondering WHY Chelsea and DJ shared a couch when there were TWO couches… Yeah… When I was writing the story I imagined an L-shaped couch, however, the game did not supply what my brain manifested, so I just used two couches, and didn’t realize my blunder until I had already captured photos. Muh bad.

Midsummer Eve Masquerade part 1: What Fools These Mortals Be

**Creator Note: Rated PG-15 for suggestive sexuallity/adult situations and underage drinking**

June 21, 2009

The future has a way of arriving unannounced ~ George Will

O tis sweet, this night; this midsummer night, that we, two young lovers, embrace beneath the breath of the new moon.  O’ what a moon! Bright it beats in the stygian ink well. Surely, Selene conjures magic with her orb…I thought as a heavy sigh escaped my lips. I looked up into Cato’s eyes; the flecks of which resembled fine grains of amber, as they bore into my eyes.

“When do I get to steal you away from your party?” He asked, the warmth of his breath caressed my face. I smiled, and his eyes danced with my reflection.

“I’ve already done the meet-and-greet. I am all yours for the whenever-and-wherever,” I whispered, pressing myself against him seductively.

Cato extended his hand towards me, “M’lady?”

I looked down and then back into his eyes, “Not the appendage I’d rather be holding…”


“Later?” I said in bewilderment. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me to behave?”

He looked at me silently, contemplating how to respond, “Usually, yes. Tonight, no. Tonight is your night.”

“To misbehave?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Wow! I should throw elaborate parties more often,” I said as we made our way out of the castle’s main entrance. 

Our stride was lackadaisical, as though we were in a reverie. The crisp air nipped our skin. His arm wrapped itself around my shoulder, and his hand slid up and down the expanse of my arm, warming me briefly with the gentleness of his caress.

“These shoes are not meant for walking,”  I said, grimacing, “Pretty, yes. Stylish, definitely. Practical? Not on your life.” 

“Should I carry you?”

My fingertips playfully slid to the lower portion of his back as we continued to walk.  “You just want an excuse to hold me. You’ll probably throw me in a lake or something.” 

A smile briefly touched his lips, “You look far too beautiful to be thrown into a lake.”

“Regardless, you are contemplating it.” Mischievousness flooded my features as I whispered, “If you threw me into a lake I would get wet. If I got wet then I would have to disrobe. If I were to disrobe-

“That will be later.” He said hastily.

I feigned an exaggerated sigh, “Oh very well… if I must wait.” I followed Cato, not knowing where he was leading us, and not caring; after all I had no reason to distrust him. I took in the scenery that surrounded us as we left behind the Neuschwanstein castle and all of its beauty, which was shrouded in a dense layer of clouds (after all we were on a mountain top).

I could see the makings of a lake or a stream up ahead. “I knew it!”  The words erupted in a bellow.  “You are planning to throw me in!”

Cato chuckled as our steps came to a halt. He turned to me, the back of his palm stroking my cheek. “I’m not going to throw you in.”  I opened my mouth to protest what he had said, but the words were suddenly unable to escape as he pressed his lips briefly to mine. Before I knew it, and much to my disappointment, the kiss was already over.

“Wait right here.”  

I stumbled slightly as he stepped away and headed towards the thicket. I could see him struggling momentarily with something. He pushed a large object, propelling it towards the lake.  A dull splash resonated as a rowboat skimmed the surface. Cato beckoned me over. I stood there unable to move as my eyebrows knitted together in confusion.  

“Your chariot awaits,” he said. He extended me his free hand, which I looked at in uncertainty.

“Uhhh, you overestimate my abilities in a heavy, corseted dress.”

Cato smirked bashfully, grabbed me by my waist and hoisted me onto the rowboat. His arms secured my waist as I carefully sat down. Once fully stable, he pushed the rowboat from the shore. 

“Uh, did you put on weight, Toots?”

“What?!” I said, flustered.

“It’s just…this boat has become…suddenly…heavier than I…anticipated.”

“No, I didn’t put on weight! My dress just happens to weigh around ten pounds!”

Cato smirked. “Ah, so you did put on weight!”

“Well I did offer to take the dress off, but you said that would be later,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Anyways, maybe you’ve grown weak.” 

“Perhaps I have,” Cato sighed, knowing that continuing this exchange would be futile. His mind had been preoccupied most of tonight, causing him to act and say things that were not typical. 

Once his legs were knee-deep in the dark water, Cato hoisted himself up next to me. “Rowboat sex, eh? That might be tricky,” I mused, “All that rocking and what-not. If I had known I would have brought Dramamine.” I said, nudging him playfully in the sides.

“We might not want to chance that one. I don’t want to bring you back soaking wet.”

“I’m just teasing, Cato.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Of course you are,” he said in disbelief, as he moved to a spot directly across from me.

“Of course I am.” I responded matter-of-factly.

Cato began to row us out a bit further from the shore. A lazy, summer breeze blew by on occasion, but mostly the night air was balmy. Cato’s rowing came to a halt and we sat there under the stars, listening to the faint sounds of partygoers’ laughter mingling with the lustrous, metallic sounds of the violin, until the sounds of nature began to increase in intensity. 

I looked up and over at Cato whose face was drenched in perspiration.

“Are you okay? Did you overexert yourself rowing us out here?” I asked. 

“You have kept me on my toes since day one.” Cato blurted, shifting nervously as he turned to face me. 

Surprised, and worried that he was possibly feverish, I arched an eyebrow.

“You look so beautiful, Toots. You leave me breathless.” He paused momentarily, “There have been several occasions where you have left me speechless…” 

A hand fumbled around in his upper coat pocket as he continued, “You constantly occupy my mind.  The first time we talked… I knew there was something special about you… something special about … us… that we had a connection.” He removed his hand from underneath his coat and grabbed my hand, placing it between both of his. “DJ, every fiber of my being loves you. I could not imagine living my life without you.”  He spoke the words quickly, as though filled with apprehension. 

Silence consumed us, save for the chirping sounds of the crickets, and the languid movement of the boat upon the lake. His eyes bore into mine, pleading for some form of a response. 

I smiled sweetly up at him, a little weary of his sudden change in behavior and odd demeanor.  “I love you too, Dimitri.” I laughed nervously. “You know that…. right?” My eyes searched his eyes for a sign of sanity.

His eyes lit up in response to my words. His hands left mine momentarily. He reached inside his upper coat pocket once more, this time he brought out a small blue box, tied neatly with a white ribbon…a Tiffany’s box.

I could feel my face flush in response, This isn’t what I think it is, is it? I thought as panic began to consume me. My eyes darted towards his eyes for confirmation. I could feel myself growing faint as he discarded the blue casing, which revealed a ring. Something pink caught my eyes as it glittered in the moonlight. 

Cato’s hand encompassed mine as he slid the ring onto my finger. “Will you marry me?” He beamed. I looked up at him. Moisture softly filled his eyes, making them shine brilliantly.

I could feel the color drain from my face as I grew completely faint. I felt as though I was going to pass out. It is often said that when one is about to die they can see their life flash before their eyes. In a moment such as this, the effect is almost identical. Various images of tonight’s events filled my head… as though I could hear the sounds of the party in the distance….The sounds became clearer…. until I could hear the overpowering sound of several voices talking at once… 


All the guests had arrived a quarter-to-six.  Gen and William (better known as “Mr. Moneybags” aka “Gen’s Fiance” aka “The-idiot-paying-to-rent-the-castle”) were in the carriage ahead of us.  William wanted to make a grand entrance with Gen by his side. Shortly after, Cato and I would follow suit and make a not-as-grand entrance. 

I was a little frisky and needed some lovin. However, for some reason or another Cato was unwilling to do anything of the sort (he can be such a prude at the most inconvenient times). I silently pouted, shooting him a dirty look. In the long run I got what I wanted (kinda-sorta).  He felt his way up my dress with his hands (I won’t spell out what he did to me. I want to keep this blog – well not “child friendly” – but reader-friendly… without it being *too friendly*). 

The rhythm of the trotting horses helped me to … uhhhh….Although Cato was still.. assisting me…as the horses pulled up to the gates.  It’s now or never, I thought to myself. I could sense Cato getting a tad agitated…I mean…I doubt he wanted to be caught with his hands in the…er…cookie jar.  Thankfully I got my “now” and not the “never.”  I shuddered momentarily, but nicely composed myself right after. Nobody suspected what we had just done. 

Everyone looked up at us in awe. I felt like a princess in The Rose Parade, and waved to my adoring public with the signature cupped hand twisting slowly side-to-side 

Cato and I busied ourselves greeting guests and engaging in smalltalk. Once we had met with all our guests, Lani strolled over to me.

“Do you wanna play with me and a couple other girls?”  She asked. 

“Huh?” I said, wondering if I had heard her right.

“We need a fourth for a game of poker.”

Now, for the life of me, I swear I thought she said “poke her,” and not “poker.”  I took a step back as I looked at Lani skeptically. “Uh, Lani… I don’t play like that with girls, and since when do you play poke-her?”

“What are you talking about? Poker! You know, the card game we would play some nights when you came to visit.”

I stood there momentarily until it sunk in. “Oh! Poker!” I laughed, and then explained what I had thought she said.

Lani just shook her head and sighed, “Goodness! Only you, DJ. Only you.”

I made my way to the table and stared momentarily at the empty chair, debating how I was going to fit. With all the care I could muster, I gathered my gown and slowly hoovered over the chair until I could feel my bottom against the chair’s wooden surface. It was embarrassingly obvious that I had never worn a custom-made dress before. The corset held me stiff while seated. 

The men gathered around to watch.  For the most part they were well-behaved, not giving us lip as we gambled away their simoleons. Men can be such nags about that sort of thing. 

Time passed quickly, and  before we knew it the clock chimed 7 o’clock. I pushed myself away from the table (with very slim winnings in tote). Cato and I walked outside, and we headed off to the hedge maze. On our way there, Cato and I ran into Dylan and Chelsea. 

“And what are we grinning about, Chels?”  I asked, even though it was pretty evident.

“Hmm? Nothing.” She replied in a tone that would warrant suspicion.

“Riiiight. Nothing.” I said, winking at her. “Cato was doing some ‘nothing’ to me with his fingers in the carriage.”

What!?”  Chelsea nearly screamed.

“You heard me. He ‘nothing’d’ me real good too.”  I turned to face Cato who was looking at me in hopes that I would shut up. “Babe, if I had my purse you could have used some antibacterial gel wipes to get my coochie-cooties off your hand. Don’t tell anyone, Chels,” I said as I turned back to face her. “I think Cato shook hands with at least a dozen guests.”  I looked at Dylan, who looked a tad nauseous. Oppsy, I thought, I hope he wasn’t one of the unfortunate ones to have shaken Cato’s hand

There was something in the air that night. Far be it for me to determine what that something was.  Some say it was magic, others say it was undigested pork tenderloin. Whatever it was, it made for an interesting evening. There were two things I was particular about having at my party: Pixie Sticks and Skittles. My sole intention for this was to make Cato happy (Skittles are his favorite candy – he has quite the sweet tooth – and Pixie Stick powder is great for…foreplay – a little sprinkle here; a little licky there – you see where I’m going with this? Sugarhiiiiiiiiiiiigh). 

Cato rolled around in both piles, like Scrooge McDuck in his money bin. It was rather amusing… until his eyes began to glaze over…. and then it was less like Scrooge McDuck and more like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. To me, it was like looking at a reflection of myself when my sexual appetite’s raw and insatiable. 

A low, guttural growl erupted from his throat as he grabbed me. My backside made sudden contact with one of the several piles of Skittles. Cato climbed on top of me and bit the fabric over my ta ta. He bared his teeth and he growled again. I giggled. Then he did something unexpected: He bit the same area again…except this time there was no fabric barrier. I gasped at the intimate contact (not only that but he was giving some of the partygoers quite the show… including his older brother, Cayden). I cleared my throat in hopes that he’d get off (not like that, but actually removing his body from mine)… but to no avail.  The fun-and-games didn’t end there… he then started to “nothing” me with his hand again (like he had done earlier in the carriage). This time I was able to make an escape as I slid under him (Skittles are easier to maneuver over than most surfaces). 

Again…fun-and-game-time was inescapable. Cato grabbed my midsection and pulled me close to him. I could feel… it...against my backside…and it was happy. Mr Sugarhigh let go of me for an instant, but only to move his one hand from my waist to my chest.  And what was Cato doing with his free hand?…the hand he used to “nothing” me with momentarily?  He licked it! All five of his fingers! Slurping and sucking each one of them…clean.

I don’t know at what exact point the party started going all crazy-lusty… but it seemed as though everyone was feeling something strange overcome them. The strangest of which happened to Jess Balleta and her new hubby, Kody Balleta. To this day I still have no clue what overcame him (or anyone else at the party). Jess said he hadn’t drunk a drop of the bubbly…or eaten any unidentifiable candies from off the ground….But for most of us, we were witnesses to the strange phenomenon….

Like any newly-married couple, Jess couldn’t seem to keep her hands off of Kody. Jess was in rather high spirits…er and her spirits weren’t the only thing rising…of course it didn’t hurt that she kinda “nothing’d” Kody’s bulge…

Kody seemed to have mistaken a blue plant (or was it a tree?) for Jess (er… at least he kept calling it “Jess”). It began comical, Kody would confess his undying love to the thing, stroke its fronds, and perform other such amusing displays of love to it. Then things turned poorly. He started to get a bit… horny. He got pretty close to the trunk/base of the plant, and ran his hands up and down its sides as though it were a person. Once he got halfway up he caressed the tree as though it had breasts, while making out with it (or, in actuality, slobbering against it). Then… he unzipped his pants… and pulled out his… friend. Thank-Will-Wright, Kody was wrested to the ground before he could stick his tallywacker into the plant (I’m sure the last thing Jess would want is to be married to a…nature lover).

Oh, but that did not end the shenanigans of one Mr. Kody Balleta. No siree. He stumbled over to the uh……happy-laughy-fun-fun?…er bubble blower?…er Hookah?…ah whatever you wanna call the thing. He yelled for Jess to come over and….“nothing” him. He wanted her to “nothing” him with her mouth, her hand, and her bleeeeep. He said it LOUD too. VERY LOUD. I think he even tried saying it in German (well we were in Germany), but whatever he was saying was not German. 


At 9 o’clock sharp we made our way back to the castle – to the ballroom to be exact. Instead of a Disc Jockey entertaining the crowd, we hired a violinist and a pianist to perform sections from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (obviously, right?).

The night eclipsed into sheer romance. Loved ones cupped hands with their significant others, leading each other to the dance floor. Ball gowns glided to-and-fro, making love to the wooden beams that moaned in ecstasy beneath them. 

Our eyes met, as they had all those moments in passing, but somehow, for unknown reasons beyond my comprehension, tonight had held more meaning. Was it those intoxicating champagne bubbles that teased our senses? Something cosmic perhaps? Or maybe… just maybe…magic existed, and it emerged during summer solstice. 

Time, the cruel mistress that she is, beckoned us back momentarily as the chimes rang out; informing all that an hour had slipped away. It was now 10 o’clock. Cato’s lips embraced my own as the strokes from the clock resonated over the orchestration. 

We descended toward the small banquet table, where he popped open one of the vintage bottles of Germanic sparkling wine. Dancing desisted at the sound of the cork. 

“Here’s to our undying love. May the world cease to exist before the last drop dries.” Cato said as we locked eyes. Our glasses clinked in unison, and we took a small swig of the burgundy liquid; the bubbles tickling the back of my throat as I swallowed it down.

I was getting a bit lightheaded. Cato guided me to the balcony for some fresh air.  We were alone. The moon, in all its splendor, shone down on us, and everything below us, as far as our eyes could see. My mind ran rampant, overcome with the beauty of the night and all its happenings.

“When do I get to steal you away from here?” I could hear him say. I turned to face him but my eyes were blurring, and I could no longer make him out. The sounds began to fade in and out until all I could hear was the sound of my heart beating erratically. I closed my eyes tightly, growing fainter by each pound of my heart. I gripped the side of something, not knowing what it was. My eyes fluttered open to meet Cato’s eyes.

And so there we were; just as though we were in a dream: upon the lake, in a makeshift rowboat. He held my hand. His eyes searched my eyes for an answer… the answer to the question: “Will you marry me?”

My eyes left his eyes momentarily to look at the ring. Both his hand and mine trembled in uncertainty for what the future held. At this time there was only one thing that mattered; the words forming and taking shape as I pressed my lips together until the audible sounds were barely an utterance of breath.

“I-I dunno what to say, Cato. I’m…um…I don’t know….No…No, it wouldn’t be right….I can’t.”

“You can’t marry me?”  The words fell from his lips, as his voice cracked in dubiety.

I averted my eyes, knowing the guilt that shone through them would be evident. “No….I don’t know how to say this, but…I…I haven’t been completely honest with you….”

To Be Continued….