pictures!'
I stared at my diminutive friend in surprise. This was a far cry from the Miss Lawrence who gave a Montana football team more than they bargained for when trapped in a snow-bound Howard Johnson's two winters ago.
'I want my wedding pictures! All dressed up in virginal white and you in a white tuxedo and a black tie. And bridesmaids. And flowers. And… and… and… I want my wedding pictures!!'
I put my arm around my sobbing friend – my sobbing wife. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment then tugged at my pajama jacket and blew her nose noisily on it.
'Mind you, I never thought you'd be in my wedding pictures. But you asked me so nicely, on bended knee and everything, rose behind your ear and champagne in the waitress's slipper. 'I love you, Jay Lawrence,' you said, 'Hitch your star to mine and I'll have your babies.' Everyone applauded and someone gave you the Fairly Irreverent Pastor Von Schlong's folding brochure and…'
The tears started again and I did my ineffectual manly bit until they stemmed. It was starting to come back to me.
We turned up at Miami airport and told Fly By Night Airlines that we would go anywhere as long as we got an upgrade. After rejecting Edmonton, Alberta with a pair of heartfelt shudders we accepted two Business Class seats to Sin City. We loaded up with sushi from the concourse bar, instructed the flight staff as we boarded on how to store it and when to serve it, and proceeded to show our appreciation for Fly By Night's generosity and cooperation by gushingly complimenting every glass as it arrived and was rapidly replaced by the next one.
'I want the plashtic handcuffs!' is the refrain I recall emanating from Miss Lawrence in a bondage mood. Eventually they fished out the restraints to keep the racket down and she was happy for the rest of the flight.
Things got a bit blurry after that. There was a taxi ride to a hotel, presumably the one we were in now, and a bar crawl along the strip in which we made lots of new friends. And in which apparently I ate worms. I didn't remember that bit and didn't want to, blonde croupiers in togas or not.
Then, apparently, I popped the question and slipped the Irrelevant Schlong a fin or two to do the dirty deed.
'A white dress…'
'Shush, my dear. Rest your head on me and calm yourself.'
'A white dress… and bridesmaids…'
'Hush a bye baby…' I trilled.
Mrs. Neptune sat up. 'Are you going to be sick?'
'No, I am not going to be sick! I am comforting you with a lullaby.'
'Humph. Stick to patting my bum or I'll be sick.'
'Charming! What's that sticking out of your bag? Is it our wedding certificate?'
Jay leaned over and pulled out an official looking piece of paper covered with small print. I could make out the words 'Copyright, Chapel of Celestial Bliss' overprinted in pale red.
'It's not the wedding certificate. I propped that up on the dresser with your aftershave bottle. It's – it's a prenuptial agreement!'
'What! Does that mean I get all your money when we annul this afternoon?'
Jay gave me an old-fashioned look.
'It says on the top, 'For The Bride'. As far as I can make out I take you to the cleaners under any and all circumstances, plus a few I hadn't thought of. Wow! Not even Elizabeth Taylor thought of that one – it's a lulu…'
I leaned back and adjusted my comfort. I smiled.
'As I keep telling you, my love, I haven't a sou. I live off my wits and charm. You may dispose of that useless piece of paper in the nearest waste receptacle.'
'Oh yes, Harry Neptune? What about that Cayman National Laundry account you told them to pay your winnings into last night? That's where you keep your dirty socks, is it?'
I maintained my sangfroid admirably. I closed my eyes and sighed.
'A hang over from my Colonial days, sweetie pie. Merely a few tens of dollars to cover any unexpected expenses. The interest wouldn't keep me in jelly babies.'
I yawned elaborately and peeped at my new spouse out of one eye.
'Your Platinum Cayman National Laundry account. No doubt with diamond clusters.' There was a glint in the Lawrence eye. 'We'll see about that. I always did wonder where you found the loot for Saville Row suits.'
I decided a change of subject was in order. I was searching for one when a sudden and obvious thought burst into my mind.
'Consummation! Every marriage has to be consummated or it's null and void! Who was the queer poet who never rogered his wife and she divorced him after years and years?'
'Oscar Wilde probably. And who says our marriage is not consummated? We've consummated at every opportunity for yonks!'
'Not after the ceremony we haven't! That's all that matters. Pre-marital practice doesn't count.'
'How do you know we didn't? You can't remember a dickey bird from last night!'
'Exactly! I rest my case! You know perfectly well that if I get as completely blotto as that, the old hampton wick goes into hibernation. Quoderat demonstrandum. Nil lead in pencil, nil consummation, nil marriage. We're off the hook!'
I was glared at.
'And nil prenuptial agreement – there must be a cooling off clause in there somewhere!' I added as an afterthought.
I wasn't expecting the fist that landed in my left eye. Nor was I expecting the hand that dived into my pajama trousers, nor to be straddled by a gimlet eyed Miss Lawrence.
'Miss Lawrence!' I gasped.
'That's Mrs. Neptune to you!'
Harry made a sound like antique bagpipes.
'Oof! Gerroff my belly! And before breakfast, too! You know I can't do a thing 'til I've had my eggs over easy!'
Relentlessly, I hunted down his snoozing manhood and clasped it tight within my hot little hand. My husband yelped.
'You've been over easy for way too long, darling. I think it's time you saw the light and were saved by the love of a good woman.'
I was quite getting into the matrimonial lark. In fact, I wondered why I hadn't tried it before. Oh, it was something to do with that 'love, honor and obey' clause. But no one ever paid much attention to the small print, anyway. The power was rather intoxicating. Seductively, I slipped my silky robe from my shoulders, revealing my heavy breasts. Sensing my strategy, Harry turned his head to one side and scrunched his eyes shut. I began to rock gently and rhythmically against his crotch, enjoying the way his big torso made me open my thighs full stretch. Riding horsy was one of our favorite games. Harry clenched his teeth. I picked up speed, moving from a sedate walk to a nice crisp trot.
'Bouncy, bouncy! Ooh, look at those boobies go! Up, down, up, down, up, down. Jiggle, joggle, jiggle, joggle, jiggle, joggle!'
There was a large mirror on the wall above the bed and I watched my plump breasts twitch and frisk in the bright morning sunlight. Not bad, Mrs. Neptune. Not bad at all. It was a few years since I'd last appeared in a blue movie but I still had the moves. I felt a vague stirring between my legs and Harry began to mutter.
'Cold showers, thick tights, cold showers, thick tights…'
I giggled and upgraded the trot to a canter. My boobs began to slap lustily against my ribs as I gripped Harry's hips with my thighs and squirmed my soaking pussy against his helplessly swelling shaft. Now, I understood why people got married. Amazing to think that such a large percentage of the populace were sadists, however. Strains of Wagner filled my head as I rode my trusty steed towards a rousing climax. The muttering intensified and the pitch rose by an octave. My beloved sounded like a Buddhist monk on acid.
