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© 2018 - This is an original work by Michael Fitzgerald and is protected under copyright by U.S. copyright law. It is only submitted at Literotica.Com. Any submission to another site has not been authorized by the Author and is an infringement of copyright. Such other site is requested to remove this story. All persons depicted in this work are at least 18 years of age.
Here's a Happy Holiday story to wrap up the year. Time ticks so cherish everyone, every chance you get. Credit Wm. Shakespeare for a great closing line. My crack editing team didn't return my calls so I have no one to blame but myself. Best wishes.
*****
I spend a lot of my time around the house fixing things. I work construction, mainly cement, so I'm good with my hands. You can call me Robb. Kate's my wife of 22 years, and we have two girls, twins born 18 months after we tied the knot. Emma's engaged and getting married in three weeks to Bill, an ROTC candidate at State University, majoring in engineering. He's a smart kid with a good head on his shoulders. I know I'm supposed to give suitors for my girls a hard time, and I did a little, but I liked Bill when I first met him. Good men make good husbands and good fathers, so I think I lucked out on this one.
Kate and Lori, Emma's twin, were huddled in the kitchen, planning something. Every so often, they would burst into giggles. Then, the whispering would start up again. Not that I had any of the details. It shouldn't be news to you that fathers of the bride are kept in the dark and light in the wallet. The only guy smiling was the caterer. That said, in no way was I above eavesdropping.
"So how many do you think?" That was Emma asking Lori.
"At least four. Are six too many?" Lori always sounds serious and she does try to keep her control mania in check - well, most of the time anyway,
"How about five, that would cost less than six but still look like a lot, don't you think?"
I know when Kate is trying to be serious but really is about to bust a gut laughing. "Emma, you are absolutely, ... absolute .. Oh God, yes, five is perfect."
Again, there were gales of laughter and the sound frantic notes being scribbled. Clearly, their party plans were coming together, and they thought it was going to be hilarious. Maybe so, but I've been to my share of hen parties. I wanted no part of a bachelorette shindig. I gratefully moved on to the next chore, careful to be quiet as I escaped.
My last thought was wondering how much the party would cost. I could never have guessed.
******************************
"Honey, we need to talk."
Yeah, I've read those stories too. The Five Words of Marital Death. But how bad could it be? I'd bite.
"So, what's up? You going to divorce me? Start stepping out with a boyfriend?"
"Don't be stupid, Robb. I've got you where I want you and I'm never letting you go. No, it's about the party for Emma. We have some entertainment lined up for the night. It's a small dance troupe, all men and one of them sprained his ankle. They don't perform with only four and there's no time to get someone else." Kate was giving me that look again, the "dirty job" look, the one that says, "
pretty please, do this for me and I'll totally make it worth your while."
Or else!
After 20 years of matrimony, if you have any sense, you know your wife deals the cards from the bottom of the deck. It only looks like a free and open conversation to fool the tourists. She asks you nicely to do something that makes you wince; you say no way. She says it's not that bad; you say I'll feel stupid. She says but they won't know who you are; you say I'll know who I am, and I'll feel stupid. And then, sweetly, she drops the hammer. Honey, this is really important to Emma and me and I'd think you'd want to make her happy. But if you're gonna be selfish and get all caught up in your fragile male ego ... .
When your wife's eye-rolling pause comes to its intentionally awkward end, you knuckle under, say "yes, dear," and get with the program. So, here's the deal I got roped into. Five guys have a dance routine they do at bachelorette parties. They wear costumes, do some dancing around, pretty much weight lifting moves to music, pose and make a fuss over the bride to be. And they wear clown masks so no one knows who they are.
Isn't that just so perfect!!
I would fill in, fake some dance moves, and the show would go on. Emma would have her night. I wasn't happy about it but I said okay so long as I wasn't made to look like a fool. I made Kate promise to protect me and she said she would.
***********************
I got there early so there was no chance Emma would see me. We were in black sleeveless jumpsuits, loose fitting, nothing underneath, and barefoot. As I pulled my jumpsuit up, one of the guys helped me lace it closed across my shoulders. Everything hung from that. I liked the guys I was going to do this with. They were all ex-jocks, looking to make a little side cash. Good guys, they had me laughing at stories about wild things that happened at other parties. God, I hoped Emma or Lori didn't do anything as crazy as what I heard went on.
The clown mask was really good. It was made of molded rubber and fit okay on my head, a big red wig on top. It wasn't loose or anything. I was set to go. We had to be ready off stage 10 minutes before the start time and we got to hear the women arriving, their chatter and laughter. I could feel the rising excitement. I was getting pumped up for what looked to be an amazing night. I had a momentary flash of me at center stage, doing some great dance move. Everyone would be applauding. I'd take off my mask and my girls would be so proud of me. Tell me, what dad in my place wouldn't have been thinking the same thing?
"Ladies, One and All!!" Kate was kicking the night off.
"Tonight, is our dear Emma's bachelorette party (much whistling and cheers) and we have a fabulous night ahead. But to get things started, we give you the "Cocky Clowns."
The lights came up, the music blared, and we jumped and swaggered our way on the stage. Three in front and two back, I was in the center. It was like my dream. We had four simple moves we did in order right away. The women were going nuts; I could barely hear the music. At the end of the third dance bit, I was supposed to wind up with my fists in the air like Rocky, feet apart, defiant. I hit my mark, center stage right at footlights, punched my fists high. And from behind, a guy on each side pulled the cord that held my jumpsuit together. Before I could react, it was falling off me. Before I could move, everything I had to wear, except my mask, was gone.