'Oatmeal and woolly vests! Oatmeal and woolly vests!'
The sweet taste of victory close at hand, I launched myself into full-tilt gallop and the William Tell Overture, popularly known as the theme from the Lone Ranger.
'Da da da, da da da, da da dah dah dah!
Da da da, da da da, da da da dah dah!'
'Cold tights, woolly oatmeal…'
'Hi ho, Silver, away!'
Now we bounced as one, the furious rhythm carrying us along in a wild orgiastic frenzy. Harry's cock was hard and full against my dripping cleft. With a deft feat of syncopation, I captured his luscious love-tool with my hungry snatch and gripped as if my life depended on it. My husband howled in a schizoid blend of pleasure and despair.
'Bitch! Oh, Jesus, that feels good! You've never done it like this before! Aaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeee!!! Nnnyurrrghh!!!'
I felt my own orgasm approach hot on the heels of Harry's. Interestingly, marriage seemed to be bringing out my sluttish side. Maybe wedded bliss was the ultimate kink for a card-carrying pervert and confirmed single. My singing rose to an ecstatic shriek.
'Ooh, yes! YES!! Harry!!!'
I dismounted with as much grace as I could muster (which wasn't much, as I had cramp in both calves and my knees had seized up). Harry lay like a beached whale, a strange glazed look in his eyes. Briskly, I threw off my robe and headed for the shower, attempting to limp with a slink. Casually, I called out from the bathroom:
'I think we can call this marriage consummated, sweetie. Don't worry. I just know this is going to be good for both of us. Don't know why we didn't take the plunge years ago.'
'You said you were allergic.'
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, numbly examining the large damp patch on the front of his pajamas.
'I hope you haven't ruined my new PJs!'
I adopted a clipped, 1950s hausfrau tone.
'Of course not, darling! Why, you just whip them off and I'll get out my Acme washer and wringer and have them squeaky clean in no time at all! Would you like nice sharp creases in the trousers? I should have some Crispo laundry starch.'
'Well, now you mention it, I do have some shirts you could iron…'
'Sorry, darling. The schedule is full. Ask the maid. I want to visit Retro Mart for some old-fashioned undies to play my new wifely role to the hilt. You know, seamed stockings, Betty Paige stuff. You won't regret making an honest woman of me!'
Harry began to look more cheerful. At that moment, there was a faint rustle and a large pink envelope slid underneath our hotel room door. Tastefully decorated with glittery kissing cherubs, it bore the legend:
Compliments of the Chapel of Celestial Bliss
Do Not Destroy! You May Be A Winner!!
CHAPTER TWO: 'A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE…'
Fort Liquordale disappeared into the rose red setting sun as the good ship Caribbean Conch steamed out for a fortnight of cruising bliss. I slipped my arm around my spouse's shoulder and emitted a hearty sigh.
'All right, the bar should be open by now. Come on, I'll buy you a restorer.'
I turned my back on the vista of cranes highlighted against reddened clouds.
'There's one at the sharp end. Lovely view of where we're going. I always did like to sit facing the engine.'
We found ourselves two comfy steamer chairs on the deck outside the Sharp End Bar. In no time restorative Margaritas were doing their vital medicinal work.
'This is better than Las Vegas!' we said as one. Jay licked the remaining booze out of her glass and looked round hopefully for a waitperson.
'Must be a record,' I said. 'From hangover in improvised desert honeymoon suite, to Bridal Suite Sans Pareil on America's idea of a luxury liner. Am I still drunk and dreaming?'
'Nope. Not yet, anyway. Thanks to the Irrefutable Reverend Von Schlong, we are actually on our way to a selection of tropical paradises, populated by beauties of all sexes, and swimming in the elixir of life. And I hear the fruit is pretty good as well.'
'And your old stamping ground,' added the thirsty Miss Lawrence.
'Indeed,' I replied. 'Perhaps I shall stay on board when we get to the Virgin Islands. Do some press ups in the gym or something.'
Miss Lawrence didn't bother responding. No doubt she would think of some mischief or other by the time we hit Tortola.
My empty glass was replaced with a full one. I leaned back and stretched my legs, and ran over once again how we had progressed from a bemused morning in the desert to being served hand and foot en route to the Caribbean Sea.
Compliments of the Chapel of Celestial Bliss
Do Not Destroy! You May Be A Winner!!
That's what the pink envelope had said. And for once, it meant it.
After being bounced on by my consummate wife, I took a cautious sip of the remaining Tequila in a hair of the dog attempt to get my brain back to a semblance of what passes somewhere close to the neighborhood of something like normality (as Miss Lawrence unfunnily puts it at frequent intervals).
Jay stepped on the envelope on her way to the shower, muttering 'I'm all sticky…'
As the sound of rushing water indicated that stickiness removal was under way, I clambered gingerly out of the tangled bedclothes and cautiously approached the propped up marriage certificate. It looked pretty kosher. It seemed Von Schlong was a Notary Public as well as an Unorthodox Vicar. All avenues of escape cut off. I put it back after deciding that the bugger must have a copy filed so there was no point in eating this one, grumbling tummy or not. Breakfast was well overdue.
I perambulated a couple of steps and picked up the pink envelope with a view to chucking it in the wastebasket. My brain fired spasmodically on the second cylinder and for some reason I opened the garish thing.
A sheet of matching pink paper fell out.
Happy First Day of Wedded Bliss!
Webet hope you had a lovely night!
Are You The Lucky Ones?
This week we wed our millionth ecstatic couple!
Bring your marriage certificate into the Chapel Of Celestial Bliss!
If you are Couple 1,000,000 you will win an all expenses paid luxury Caribbean cruise!
Come On Down!
Hallelujah!
I looked again at the certificate on the dresser. Maybe it was worth something after all…
Jay reappeared from the bathroom with a towel turban wrapped round her head. She dripped.
'Come on Lawrence, Neptune, whatever your name is! Get dressed, we're going to claim our prize.'
I found my Hawaiian shirt under the bed and hauled on a pair of slacks with several interesting stains. Jay was in an Indian dress with matching stains as we staggered out of the door.
'To the Chapel of Celestial Bliss!' I cried at the taxi driver. He raised one eyebrow and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
'Oh.' The Chapel of Celestial Bliss was next door to the hotel.
'We'll walk,' I said. The taxi driver closed his eyes. No tip.
Heavenly music flowed from the Chapel of Celestial Bliss as we walked under a fringed canopy and into a
