Write of Passage - Chapter 1 (The Rite)

© 2024 by the authors using the pen names UpperNorthLeft and Jalibar62.

This is the second story in the ongoing adventures of Harry and Portia; the first being "Write 'em, Cowboy." This will make a lot more sense if you read that one first.

Any frisky frolicking, hot monkey lovin', or other sexy shenanigans are between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.

And away we go...

===

HARRY

Is this how it feels to die? Body parts going numb one by one. My vision dims... the body slumps... a final death rattle... This is the end. Thank you, Jim Morrison.

Grow a pair, Harry! It's just a freaking book tour! I gave one last internal snivel, mentally kicked myself, and then sat up a little straighter in my chair.

My hand was a cramped claw from signing books all day. My ass had fallen asleep several hours ago. My brain was graying out after a month on the road, traveling from one book event to another.

Suddenly, my navel-gazing was interrupted by a sharp jab from a pointy elbow, straight to my short ribs.

"Ow, what the fff... heck, Portia?" I shot her a wounded glare, only to see her, wide-eyed and ghost-white, staring out into the line of people waiting for autographs.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

===

After plighting our troth in Zilker Park in mid-May, life moved into the fast lane for Portia and me. The lead foot on the accelerator of our lives was the Jimmy Choo-shod size 6 of Betty Morgan, our publisher.

Our first inkling of Betty's Machiavellian plans for us was at brunch the next day. We were at one of Austin's latest hipster fusion restaurants, eating our way through several admittedly delicious Asian-inspired takes on Texas BBQ. The place was hopping, with crowds of eager eaters just barely controlled by the restaurant's take-a-number app. Betty, of course, knew the owners, and a prime table had quickly materialized, already populated with several complimentary appetizers.

===

PORTIA

I polished off the last of our oak-grilled edamame. I licked my fingers and then turned to Betty, who was delicately sipping her way through a frozen mango-habanero slushee.

"So, Betty."

"Hmm?"

"You know I love you... and your expense account. But you're always up to something. Why are you still here in Austin, and not back in Boston-on-the-Bayou closing book deals?"

She put down her slushee and arched an eyebrow at me. I arched mine right back. So there.

She took this superciliary standoff well, and sighed, "I think it's time to line up a few things on your calendar."

"Calendar? It's too early to go on tour - we just finished our book." I thought that was where she was going, but I turned out to be oh, so wrong.

With a grin that was showing just a few too many teeth for comfort, she said, "I agree. But while we still have everyone in town, this weekend is the perfect time for... dun dun duuunnnn... your bachelorette and bachelor parties."

It's been a while since I've done a spit take, but damn, there it was. Most of my mouthful of wine-sake spritzer went out on the table. "What the fuck, Betty?" I turned to Harry, "Help me out here, hon!"

Harry's eyes were wide.

Betty smiled and said, "I think Harry would rather kiss a live rattlesnake than touch that line, sweetie. Besides, you know I'm right. Everyone you know and love is here in town, just waiting for the signal that it's on!"

I said, "That list is getting shorter by the moment, just so you know." She was unfazed, and I turned my attention to my dear sweet boo. Narrowing my eyes at him, I demanded, "Did you know about this?"

Harry's eyes got even wider, and he looked like he'd rather be off somewhere milking Gila monsters. He rapidly shook his head. "No, I swear! First I've heard of it. But..." he continued cautiously, "she does have a point."

I tried and failed to scorch his eyebrows with my steely gaze. Then I tried it on Betty, but it didn't work with her either. Crap.

Betty was relentless. "Both sets of parents are still in town, as well as Harry's sister. The Fleeglemans will be here all week. Bill and Marjorie and Joe have their calendars cleared. All we need is for the bride to bow to the inevitable."

Shit, shit, shit. I hate it when Betty's right. But I had to ask, just one more time.

Grabbing Harry's hands, I asked, "You don't think this is moving just a little too fast?" I hated the whine that crept into my voice.

He sighed and ran one hand through his sandy hair, and I resisted the urge to straighten it.

"I hear you, babe. I really do. I agree, 'Just because everyone's here' isn't a reason to rush things." He eyed Betty, and then looked back to me. "And if You. Are. Not. Ready, then, it's not happening." And this time, when he eyed Betty again, she paled. Wow, that was a first. I felt a little thrill run through me.

"If you want my two cents though, I don't. Have any doubts, that is. I love you, and I'll marry you right this damn minute if that's what you want."

Zing! Another jolt ran through me. I liked this forceful Harry.

I thought about it for about five seconds. Why should we wait? I started to tear up. This was happening!

But I couldn't let Betty get away scot-free. I sighed, and said, "Okay, fine. Fuck you very much, Betty. Let's have the goddamn parties this weekend! Just tell us when the hell to show up."

I had a sudden thought, and added, "And no strippers!!"

Betty's smirk did not encourage me. "I promise not to hire a single stripper, sweetie."

What the hell did that mean? Was she only gonna hire married strippers? Or did she intend to hire two or more? Or did Austin have a stripper charity where people dropped their drawers for free? Whatever... I was too tired to care anymore.

===

HARRY

Betty's operational security was so tight that neither Portia nor I had any idea of the mayhem that would befall us that weekend. We were simply told to dress casually and to hop in the correct stretch limo in front of our house on Saturday at 6 pm.

I spent Friday at my office, unsuccessfully trying to debug a few dozen lines of Python code. My work pals Bill Williams and Joe Nichols finally took pity on me and forced me to go home before I actually made it worse. I found Portia there, where she had spent the day bouncing off the walls from anxiety. We were already hard at work on our next collaboration, but clearly my honey did not get any writing done today.

I took her in my arms and tried to comfort her. "Sweetie, we've survived a snake and a goat attack together. Compared to that, what could possibly go wrong tomorrow?"

She looked at me as if I had suddenly grown antlers. "Harry, it's Betty! And Doris Fleegleman! And your sister! Anything could happen."

Crap. I hadn't considered that. Suddenly I was the one who needed comforting.

After dinner, we comforted each other the old-fashioned way: we shared a bottle of Chablis and then spent some quality time canoodling, both in and out of our hot tub. This mixture of alcohol and activity took the edge off well enough that we both slept like the dead.

===

Somehow, we made it through Saturday without biting each other's heads off. We spent much of the afternoon brainstorming plot ideas. Somewhere along the line, it went off the rails, and we found ourselves coming up with progressively crazier revenge plots and ways to smite the villains in a story. Most of that was too far over the top to ever use, but it was fun to imagine some of our less lethal scenarios raining down on Betty's head.

We knew in our heart of hearts that Betty would never actually harm us. However, extreme embarrassment was definitely on the table. Eek.

===

Somehow, we did three days' worth of worrying before six o'clock finally arrived. We were waiting outside our house when identical stretch limos rolled up in front - each one sporting giant banners. I kissed Portia and wished her luck as she got into the one marked BRIDE. I took a deep breath, climbed into the GROOM car, and off we went.

Inside were Bill, Joe, both of our dads, and Barney Fleegleman. The party was already well underway, and Portia's dad handed me a shot of tequila. None of them had any idea where we were going, and none of them really cared. Good OPSEC, Betty! Damn.

Finally, the limo pulled to a stop. We were next to a dock on the south shore of Town Lake. The driver led us all to a pier and escorted us onto an odd little boat. Imagine a donut that is seven meters wide, with seats for ten folks inside, and a blue canvas canopy over the middle, and you'd have a pretty good idea of what these contraptions looked like.

Our "captain" passed out snacks, and kept our glasses filled with tequila or beer (or both) for the next few hours. We cruised up and down the lake, drinking and making merry. Everyone took turns telling their most embarrassing stories about me.

Joe and Bill told a few tales from our dude ranch trip, where I'd met Portia. Bill moved here from New York and Joe was from New Jersey. However, they have both picked up the Texas national penchant for exaggeration. They made the gentle Medina River sound like a piranha-infested backwater of the Amazon, with snakes hanging from every tree. They suggested that all the time Portia and I spent writing together in her room at the ranch was merely a cover for threesomes with Jessie, the perky cowgirl who worked there. Not only that, but they hinted that the rope-twirling tricks I had demonstrated to Portia were merely the prelude to dark BDSM acts in a secret dude ranch sex dungeon.

Bill and Joe had been feeding off each other, amping up their exaggerations and outright fabrications, but this last whopper crossed some internal line with Portia's dad, Ed. He dampened their enthusiasm for making shit up about Portia by pouring a pitcher of beer on their heads. I gave him a fist bump for that and refilled his shot glass. He and I were going to get along well.

My dad definitely won the 'Humiliate Harry' contest. He had plenty of material, and his threshold for revealing it diminished with each new tequila shot. He regaled the group with stories about how I tortured my little sister Pam by using her and her friends -- and her dates -- as roping targets. This eventually put me in massive debt at the karma bank. According to Dad, Pam had spent many hours complaining to him about this and sharing her plans for my doom. Dad was a dutiful father and more than once told me to lay off, but... I think he kinda wanted to see what Pam would do. And he got his wish, boy howdy, did he ever.

He told the story about how payback occurred one evening as I was on my way out to pick up my high school girlfriend Cindy for a movie. On the way out to my pickup, I stepped right into a tree snare Pam had set for me. One moment I was planning my ploys for advancing from second to third base with the voluptuous Cindy, and the next I was in a net, hanging eight feet off the ground, strung up on a branch of the large live oak tree in our front yard. Apparently, Pam had some serious rope skills of her own, and I had inadvertently taught her a few of them. I was pretty helpless, with my arms pinned to my side by my own weight. I couldn't reach my phone or my knife, so I just hung there, cursing.

For several minutes I dangled thusly. I passed the time by taking my personal pile of profanities out for a walk, and marinating in my own bile. Finally, Pam and several of her friends came out of the house, laughing their asses off. They took innumerable pictures of me with their phones, including several selfies with me hanging in the background. Then Pam called Cindy. I could only hear Pam's side of the conversation, but I didn't like it very much.

"Hi, Cindy. This is Pam."

"Harry's hanging out with me and my friends."

"No, he can't come to the phone -- he's a little tied up at the moment."

"No, he's okay -- for some reason, he can't get his pickup started."

"So you'll come over and pick him up? Great, I'll tell him. Bye."

Pam finally let me go, but only after Cindy had taken a few selfies of her own. Cindy and I still went out that night, but my confidence had been badly shaken. Sadly, there was no base running that night.

That incident with Pam taught me an important lesson: being bigger and stronger means nothing if your opponent is patient, cunning, and has a very particular set of skills. Liam Neeson ain't got nuthin' on my little sis. I took the lesson to heart, and Pam and I have gotten along really well ever since.

When dad finished telling this story, he was declared 'Harry Harasser Supreme' for the day. Up to this point, I had been sipping my tequila slowly. After that, I reached for the bottle and started to drink directly from it.

As dusk approached, our boat began to meander closer to the Congress Avenue bridge. In case you've never been to Austin, the crevices under that bridge host a colony of one and a half million Mexican short-tailed bats. In warm weather, they swarm out in a vast cloud at dusk, and go out to dine on 200 tons of mosquitoes and other bugs. Yum.

By the time the bats came out to feast, we were feeling little pain, and cheered and hooted as the tiny critters emerged in a vast cloud. Our boat stayed well back from the bridge to avoid being showered by guano or by 'honeydew', as the Austin Bat Refuge euphemistically calls their urine. Certain bat superfans consider this honeydew to bring good luck. Our boat's captain held the more traditional view that good luck consisted of not being shat or peed upon by bats. I wholeheartedly agreed, and made a mental note to up his tip.

===

PORTIA

Inside the limo were Betty, my mom, Harry's mom, Doris Fleegleman, Harry's sister Pam and Bill's wife Marjorie. Before I was even able to find a seat, someone shoved a mimosa in my hand. In general, I'm a bit of a loner, and don't tend to have a lot of female friends. You sure couldn't tell that tonight - I was surrounded by joyous women who kept me smiling and laughing all the way to our destination. After a few drinks, we took turns standing up in the open sunroof like in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, with long paper streamers and balloons trailing along in our wake.

The limo eventually dropped us off at a dock on Town Lake, and we were escorted onto a rectangular 50-foot, double-decker party boat with its own open bar. A fresh round of mimosas was poured, and our ship set sail into Town Lake. Someone asked Betty where all the men were. She belched, then laughed, "Who cares?!" Stay classy, Betty!

The first order of business was to embarrass the bride with progressively naughtier gifts. My posse wasted no time in humiliating me. Every one of the gifts was covered by rather garish wrapping paper -- covered with hundreds of little dicks. To think that I had once accused Harry of making dick joke single-entendres. There was absolutely NO entendre here. Just... dicks. Everywhere. Clearly, I had led a sheltered life.

Things started off gently with a gift from my mom. Somehow, she found throw blankets that looked like giant flour tortillas two meters in diameter. She gave me a set of two, and we all took turns posing for selfies while wrapped up in them. Doris took a great one of me and my mom wrapped up together like a giant pair of Mueller burritos. My dad was going to love that shot.

Harry's mom inadvertently turned up the gain control a bit with her gift of T-shirts for Harry and me that simply said, "Married A.F." on the front. I think she probably thought the "A.F." stood for something sweet, like "Always Forever". If so, she was rudely awakened, and blushed crimson when Doris hooted, "Married! As! Fuck! Good one, Helen!"

Marjorie briefly brought the gift rating back to PG with a set of embroidered pillow cases. The first one said "Blanket Stealer" in big letters. The other one said, "Snore Master". Harry was definitely going to get the second one. Marjorie also gave me a thesaurus for romance writers, filled with all sorts of useful euphemisms for body parts and sexual acts. That was going to come in pretty handy.

Pam picked up the pace with a whole passel of profane and phallic props. I will only mention a few of them, including a bag of dick-shaped pasta, a box of phallic shortbread cookies, a golden penis-shaped bottle opener, a blow-job bib, and a plain cylinder the size of a Pringles can. Against my better judgment, I opened it, and a meter-long, spring-loaded dong shot out of it, arcing over the heads of an awestruck group of women.

Pam was not done with me. Somehow, she had smuggled a rather intimidating giant pink penis piñata on board, and proceeded to hoist it up with a pulley attached to the overhead. She put a blindfold on me, spun me around a few times, and let me take several swings at it with a bat. I kept missing, and finally passed the blindfold and the bat on to another woman. It was actually fairly cathartic for all of us, trying to whack off (sorry) one phallic object with another one. When it was my turn again, even my mildly conservative mom got into the spirit, yelling "Hit that dick, Portia!"

Harry's mom was not to be outdone. She hollered, "Give that dick a few more blows, Portia!"

Who knew that penile pugilism offered so many low-hanging (sorry again) puns? I was progressively told to 'Don't peter out, give that thing a few more strokes!', to 'Give it a few more licks!', to 'Give it a really big smack, right on the tip!'.

I was laughing so hard that it was hard to swing the bat. However, I eventually connected with a solid thunk that knocked off one of the large, glitter-encrusted testicles. Alas, none of the contents emerged, so I handed off the baton, so to speak, to Marjorie. She finally provided the happy ending we had all been waiting for. With one last, mighty backhand swing, the dick disintegrated in a giant golden shower -- in this case a shower of little chocolate dicks, each individually wrapped with shiny, gold foil. The sight of all of these women that I loved down on their knees, giggling and filling their arms with tiny dicks is one that I can never unsee. And never want to unsee.

The little, dark chocolate dicks were hilarious -- the end of each little shaft was coated with a white chocolate condom. Needless to say, many dicks went into many mouths, and were deemed delicious.

A few minutes later, Doris cleared her throat. "Ahem. Portia, my dear. I have a few things for you. Barney and I brought you a few items from our hardware store back home." I nodded. "What you probably don't know, is that we have a whole corner of the store devoted to sexual hardware. I call it 'Love Forest by Doris'."

I broke into a cold sweat. Doris is an enthusiastic fan of my books, and celebrates each new release by banging her husband Barney into catatonia. Behind her wholesome Midwestern exterior lurks a Central Illinois succubus who sometimes alarms me with the occasional glimpses I see behind her innocent-appearing facade.

The smile on her face did not reassure me. "I'm sure that you and Harry have absolutely no problems in the bedroom. However, if either of you ever want to do some..." She paused to make air quotes with her fingers, "...'lay' research for one of your books, I'll give you a personal tour of our showroom."

She handed me yet another box, tastefully wrapped in dick paper. "Until then, here's just a sample of some of the hardware and software we sell there."

My hands did not shake as I unwrapped the box, but my mind did. The first item was a pair of panties, proclaiming that the contents... "Ain't Gonna Lick Itself." My mom's eyes went a little wide at that.

Betty noticed. "What, Maxine, you're not gonna tell me that good old Ed's never 'dined at the Y'?"

"I don't even know what that means," Mom replied a little shakily.

"Oh my God, you and I are so gonna talk!"

As the weirdness continued, I contemplated my chances of survival if I jumped ship and swam to shore. Next up was a vaguely scrotal-shaped ceramic object that I hesitated to touch. I looked askance at Doris.

"That's a tea-infuser, dear. We call it the 'Tea-Bagger'."

"Umm... Thank you?" Note to self #2: Never ever offer tea to guests. Well, maybe to Betty. And Doris.

I recognized the next item -- a rather high-tech looking vibrator.

"That's one of our top sellers, dear. Besides the usual booty-buzzer, it also has Wi-Fi and Bluetooth."

I was gobsmacked. Even though I wrote about sex for a living, I couldn't conceive of any reason why I'd want my kootch connected to the internet.

Against my better judgment, I asked, "Uhh... why?"

"Why what, dear?"

"Why a Bluetooth vibrator?"

"So you can hook it to your phone, duh! There's an app, see?" She showed me her phone. "It's pretty hot when I let Barney have the controls."

"I'm so sorry I asked," I whispered, hiding my face in my hands.

I looked in the bottom of the box, and saw a pair of Kama Sutra dice, a box of naughty truth or dare cards, and an envelope. Inside the envelope was a gift certificate for an industrial-sized container of Astroglide and a card with a QR code.

"That code will take you to our private online catalog, dear. Just for 'research' purposes."

I was both appalled and relieved. Mostly relieved, because I had been dreading what sort of marital hardware Doris considered to be appropriate to bring to a bachelorette party. I gave her a big hug. "Thank you, Doris!"

Now to face my biggest worry; Betty. She eyed me like a Great White circling its prey, and said, "I've been looking forward to this for a long time, sweetie."

"Uh, yeah... me too." Yeah, like leprosy, or bubonic plague. Please put me out of my misery, someone!

"My gift has several parts. Here's the first part." She clapped her hands together, and Doris wheeled out a cart with a large cake box.

Betty said, "Austin has the most marvelous erotic bakery. I present... the Italian Stallion!"

She lifted the cover off the box, accompanied by shrieks from all around. It contained a large chocolate cake in the shape of the hips and thighs of a muscular man, with a dong the size of his femur. I was speechless.

Betty crowed, "See any parts you'd like to eat first, Portia?" Why was my mom giggling at that?

After the initial shock dissipated, we did have a lot of fun with that cake. Let's just say that a certain amount of marzipan masturbation and fondant fellatio took place as we admired the cake. I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to shove Betty face-first into it. We all took a disturbing number of selfies with it, which our partners would hopefully never see. We finally cut the cake, and it was chocolaty perfection inside.

Just as I was thinking that the worst was over, Betty said, "I've got a few more things for you, sweetie. But first, let's watch the bats."

We all filed up to the upper deck. The bats were, indeed, beginning to boil out from under the bridge. It was an awesome enough sight that I forgot all about Betty's promise for 'a few more things.'

As the bats began to recede in the distance, we saw a small, round boat approaching ours. As it got closer, the passengers aboard it began to wave at us. It was the men!

===

HARRY

We had a significant buzz on as we sat in our glorified coracle, watching the bats go by.

Finally, the cloud of Chiroptera passed -- little nano-nemeses on their way to chomp on the bitey-bugs of Austin.

We were bemused to see our captain moving our toroid transport over toward a larger boat. He deftly tucked it in against the big boat, and several deckhands made us fast against the stern. Those hands then assisted the more inebriated of us (who, me?) into the larger boat, where we were pleased to see some actual bathrooms. When we emerged from the heads, we were even more pleased (and surprised) to see all of our women coming down from the upper deck.

Portia gave me a hug and a big sloppy kiss, and seemed to be about as looped as I was. "You girls have fun?"

She kept her arms draped around my neck as she gazed tipsily up at me. "Omigosh! It's been so much fun. Scary at times, but fun. How about you guys?"

"It's been a hoot 'n a holler. But I'm glad to be back here with you."

"Aww, babe..." her eyes softened, and she kissed me again.

Meanwhile, Portia's mom was nearly as effusive in greeting Ed. His eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as she swabbed his tonsils.

"Mom!" Portia screeched, then burst out in giggles.

Ed actually blushed, and Maxine grinned at us.

Betty chose that moment to interrupt our family bonding time by clapping her hands together. "If you'll take your seats at the table, dinner will be served shortly!"

Dinner consisted of two of my favorite Austin food groups: barbecue and Tex-Mex. Other states have their own delusions about what makes good barbecue. I'm happy to enertain their fantasies, but only after they've had a few bites of extra-moist, end-cut Texas-style brisket.

When other states use the word "barbecue" they are referring to nondescript chunks of hot, dead meat, swimming in some kind of goddamned sauce. In Texas, we use the term as God intended, and reserve it for slow-cooked, mesquite-smoked brisket. A brisket is a tough cut of meat with a lot of gristle, but after slow-cooking it at relatively low temperatures over many hours, that tough gristle turns into tasty gelatin. We often pour a bit of sauce over the meat right before we eat it. But most of the time, I prefer to let the meat speak for itself.

I have similar feelings for Tex-Mex. Mexico is a huge place, with lots of different styles of cuisine. I like them all, but greatly prefer the style and flavors found along both sides of the Rio Grande.

Betty had our dinner catered from two of my favorite restaurants in Austin, and it was a splendid feast. After I finished my second helpings of brisket and carne asada, Portia slipped me a little gold package. I burst out laughing when I saw the tiny dick inside. "Looks like you guys have been pretty busy here."

"You have no idea."

"Feeling a little less anxious about the party now that it's over?"

She grimaced. "Mostly, but I still think Betty has something up her sleeve."

"Figures. Any idea what it might be?"

"Nope, but I expect we'll find out shortly."

===

PORTIA

As we sat in postprandial bliss, Betty stood up and announced, "Men, to the upper deck. Ladies, stay where you are. We'll reassemble here shortly."

Once the men were on the upper deck, Betty said, "Okay, girls. Clothes off, but you can keep your panties!"

We all gaped at her.

She saw our hesitation, but forged ahead and began to pull off her own clothes. "Come on, strip! Unless you want to get body paint on your outfits."

Betty's next shoe had clearly dropped, and I had no clue what she was up to. "Uh... Why the body paint?"

She looked at me as if I had just flunked third grade for the third time. "For the dance! Duh!"

I've known Betty for the last decade, and I've learned to pick my battles with her. Sometimes you've just got to stop asking questions and roll with whatever she has in mind. Betty said strip. So, I shut up and pulled off my clothes. The other women followed, but at a slower pace.

We were gonna need more alcohol.

Apparently, Mayahuel, the Aztec goddess of agave, heard my prayer, because an attendant appeared with a fresh round of margaritas for everyone. While we were undressing, several other young women armed with painting gear had come up from the crew area. Four of them continued up the stairs to the upper deck. The rest of them pounced on us, and after handing out some optional pasties for us to apply, started applying colorful paint to our exposed flesh.

Once they finished my chest and back, I held my arms out to the side to let everything dry. I looked in a mirror on the side of the wall, and was astonished to find that the front of my torso was now the snarling face of a lioness, and my boobs were now large yellow eyes, with slit pupils. Holy crap!

I looked around the room and saw different patterns on everyone else. My mom was now a large momma bear. Harry's mom was the moon. Pam was a leopard, Marjorie was a tiger, Doris was a rather voluptuous armadillo, and Betty... Betty was a crocodile. Like me, everyone else's boobs had been transformed into large staring eyeballs.

While I was drying, I tried to imagine Betty's endgame. That seemed like a fine time to swill down another margarita. Most of the other women followed my example.

Once our bodies were dry, our faces were transmogrified into Dia de los Muertos sugar skulls.

For the final touches, our attendants attached sarongs around each of our waists, and shiny tiaras to our heads.

We waited nervously to see what had happened to the men. Please let this just be a dance, and not some goddamned fertility rite!

===

HARRY

As soon as we got to the upper deck, we were followed by a group of young women, who asked us to remove our shirts.

They proceeded to cover our torsos with body paint -- each of us with our own pattern. Barney's body became an armadillo. Bill was a tiger and Joe was a werewolf. My dad had a giant sun on his front, and Portia's dad was a grizzly bear. I couldn't see my own painting very well, but the painter told me I was a lion.

Our faces then became Mexican sugar skulls, with a white base and brightly colored dots outlining our other features.

We were all issued sarongs to wear. Once the attendants had gone back to the lower deck, we dropped trou and put on the sarongs. Then we waited in a state of mild dread to see what the hell would happen next.

The attendants had left two pitchers of margaritas with us to sip while we waited. We finished the first one, and were working on the second, when an attendant appeared and beckoned us to come down to the lower deck. The sound of rhythmic drumming began below. Dunno what's going to happen next, but it's showtime!

===

PORTIA

On a signal from Betty, drums began to pound through the ship's PA system. The lights dimmed, except for a UV spotlight aimed at the stairs from the upper deck. One by one, the men began to dance -- with varying degrees of success -- down the stairs. They were dressed similarly to us, with sarongs and lots of body paint. As they stepped into the spotlight, their paint began to fluoresce.

When they were all on the lower deck, another battery of UV lights came on, and all of the women materialized. The men froze in their tracks when they saw us, and their jaws dropped.

Betty began to undulate her hips in time with the drums, and danced down the line of gaping men, shaking her giant crocodile eyes at them. She gave an insistent wave to our cohort of thunderstruck women, and we slowly began to emulate her movements as best we could. We followed her along the line of men, their eyes riveted on our second set of eyes, and we pulled them out onto the dance floor with us.

It was a wild, ecstatic dance, with no particular structure. However, anything it lacked in coordination was made up for by the absolute synchrony of everyone dancing in time with the driving beat. Everyone danced with everyone, but those of us with partners eventually gravitated toward them. Even with a painted face and a snarling lion on his chest, I could pick Harry out of a police lineup. He seemed to have no doubt who I was. Eventually, the drums slowed to a halt. Everyone cheered, and caught their breath.

After a few seconds, the sound system emitted a steel guitar instrumental number with a simple beat. Harry then taught us an easy line dance without saying a word, using only hand gestures to show us what to do. If you've never seen a group of glowing, half-naked, skull-faced people doing a line dance, I pity you.

This was followed by a classic Bob Wills swing tune. Harry took my hands and led me through a few of the basic swing moves he had taught me at the dude ranch where we first met. As the music got wilder, Harry dialed up the difficulty of the moves, and I followed him as best I could. Eventually, I noticed that everyone else had stopped moving and were just watching us dance. The music crescendoed, and then came to a dramatic halt, just as Harry swung me down into a deep dip with his face just inches away from mine. The crowd cheered wildly, especially when he kissed me.

We all took a short break and shared another icy pitcher of margaritas. Hmm, this one had a pleasant bite to it. I looked, and there were thinly sliced serrano peppers floating around in it. Harry sipped appreciatively as well.

Then drums began once more, and beat out a slow, but insistent rhythm. We put down our drinks and began a fresh round of freestyle dance. Everyone had their own unique way of moving. My mom impressed me the most. For a straight, somewhat conservative white chick, she had some moves. My dad was completely entranced, and gazed at her like she was the last taco on the breakfast buffet. Any concerns I had about dancing topless in front of him now seemed pretty silly -- he only had eyes for her.

Harry's parents were equally cute. As they danced, his sun orbited about her moon, which periodically eclipsed him in a romantic way. They were clearly made for each other. And like me, after an initial awkward glance, Harry didn't seem too fazed by his mother's state of déshabillée.

He had a slightly different reaction to Pam. He damned well saw her, but studiously avoided looking directly at her. It was very sweet watching him trying not to be creepy. She eventually noticed this, and with a wicked grin, moved right into his line of sight. He finally gave up, and made a point of looking her up and down slowly with an appreciative eye. If either of them blushed, no one could tell.

Bill and Marjorie were a wild and feral couple -- stalking each other around the floor and showing off their matching tiger stripes, circling and spiraling in an ever decreasing radius, until they were pressed against each other. Wow, so hot!

And speaking of hot (hot and strange, that is), I had never before seen an armadillo mating dance. However, I imagine that it's something like what Doris and Barney were doing on the dance floor. If non-Texans could have seen their dance that night, armadillos would have been a shoo-in in any vote for national animal.

Pam's lithe and graceful leopard seemed to elicit quite a response from Joe. The glowing eyes of his werewolf followed her every move, and his occasional howls were not feigned. Harry eyed his friend with a less-than-amused expression, but he cooled it when Pam gave him The Look. She clearly didn't mind the lycanthropic love interest.

Despite all the goings-on around us, most of my attention was on my sweet, sexy, leonine lover. Harry could always make me melt by looking deeply into my eyes. Tonight, he gave equal time to both sets of my eyes, especially when I shook the lower set in his face. I had forgone the pasties!

Speaking of eyes, the paint job on our boobs was a fantastic effect as we shimmied and undulated our way through our own, personal Carnaval. And they were a great contrast to those painted on the men's chests. Our array of fluorescent, wobbling googly eyes seemed sensual and predatory, while the men's 'eyes' were those of helpless prey, transfixed by the rapacious gaze of our painted orbs.

The drums morphed gradually into a call and response pattern. The staccato calls of the smaller drums were answered by a similar boom from the larger drums. It somehow seemed very natural for the women to flaunt a particular move in time with the small drums, and our dance partners would then echo it back to us with the growl of the tom-toms.

I don't know how long we danced. Slowly, the drums steadily upped their tempo, and finally concluded with a prolonged explosion of sound.

We took another breather and replenished our bodily fluids with a round of chilled daiquiris. I was struggling to catch my breath, and I distinctly noticed Harry admiring my efforts to draw in some much-needed oxygen. I smirked at him, and arched my back a little, pointing the girls at him a bit more directly. He smirked right back with a sexy wink.

"Portia!" Mom hissed. I just shrugged and grinned.

As we sipped our drinks, Betty called us to attention.

"Thank you for coming tonight to celebrate the betrothal of Portia and Harry!"

Our friends and family erupted in cheers and whoops.

With a satisfied gleam in her eye, she said, "Is there any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony?"

A chorus of "Hell, no's!" rang out.

My blood ran cold. THIS was the finale of Betty's fiendish plan! Harry was staring at me with a stunned expression that I'm sure mirrored mine.

"Portia, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

I stared at Betty in shock. Then I stared at Harry -- with both sets of my eyes. He looked as flabbergasted as I was. He stared back for a moment, and then his face lit up in a glorious smile. He mouthed, "Say yes!"

I shook myself out of my stupor. "Yes! Oh, hell yes!"

Betty said, "Harry, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

He wasted no time. "Damn skippy, I do!"

Betty raised both of her hands in the air, "Then by the power vested in me by the Great State of Texas... and the Universal Life Church... I declare you woman and husband! Man and wife! Now kiss each other, damnit!"

The crowd had already been wild, but they now turned it up to eleven. After an amazing round of headlight-to-headlight hugs, congratulations, toasts and tears, Betty said, "Just one more tiny detail, hon." Oh, shit. What now?

She handed me something that looked suspiciously like the Dick-in-a-Box I had been given earlier. "Time to toss the bouquet, sweetie!"

What the hell. I turned my back on the expectant crowd and aimed the cylinder over my shoulder at them. I pulled off the lid and released the kraken.

Actually, it was another meter-long, spring-loaded dick, but this one was festooned with flowers. It arched through the air, right into the arms of Pam, who seized it with a broad grin.

As we all cheered, the drums began to sound anew.

Betty raised her hands to the heavens once more and shouted, "Let the wild rumpus start!"

===

Much later, I dragged Harry over to Betty and said, "I don't know if I want to kill you or hug you."

Betty laughed. "Hug me first. You can still kill me later."

"Okay -- I'll take a rain check on your hideous death. Please tell me that you weren't recording this or live-streaming it somewhere."

Betty smirked for a moment, just long enough to make me worry, and then smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did record everything in 4K video, but it's just for your own personal wedding album. Don't worry, sweetie. Any other recording of this event is where it belongs -- in all of our brains. What happens on Town Lake stays on Town Lake -- at least until you're ready to share."

My mind reeled. I could just imagine showing the wedding photos to our grandkids 40 years from now... "Grandma, what big eyes you have..."

"Good to hear. Also, please tell me you're not going to spring any more surprises on us tonight."

"This is it, hon. The boat is heading back to the dock now, and the limos are going to take us all back so we can sleep the sleep of the just."

"Make that just exhausted for me." I paused, and said, "I've been terrified for the past two days, worrying about what the hell you were going to do tonight. As expected, you've kept me way out of my comfort zone for most of the goddamned evening."

I sighed. "But I wouldn't change a thing. Thank you for tonight, and thank you for being my friend all of these years."

Betty's eyes misted up, and she embraced me for a long, long time. "My pleasure, sweetie. My absolute pleasure."

===

PORTIA

As we pulled into the dock, attendants handed each of us a bathrobe to wear for the limo ride home.

Betty announced that she had a table for a late wedding brunch booked for 11 a.m. the next morning for anyone who wanted to join her.

This time we boarded the limos as couples. Harry and I were bemused to see that Pam was riding home with Joe. Dunno how that would work out, but they could both do a whole lot worse.

When we got home, we considered how long it would take us to scrub off all the body paint before bed. Harry gave me a look of utter exhaustion, and said, "Fuck it. Let's do it tomorrow. We can always burn the sheets. Or frame them," he smirked.

We fell into bed.

===

AFTERWORD

You have undoubtedly been wondering, "Hey B2S, where can I score me some chocolate dicks?" Well, you'll be happy to know that one can, indeed, buy them as a gift for a bachelorette (or bachelor) party. Or for other reasons. We don't judge, but neither do we want to know.

Unfortunately, as far as we know, they don't currently come with white chocolate condoms - we just made up that little detail. Otherwise, all of the crap that Portia got at her bachelorette party is actually for sale out there on the interwebs. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Parts 2 and 3 are complete. Part 2 will be submitted as soon as Part 1 posts.