L.A. Pirates' Party: tease a Mast

At my side, my wife was reading absorbed.

I asked her, "But doesn't it say anything funny in your paper?"

Susan arched an eyebrow in disappointment and told me, "It clearly says I can't talk about this, with YOU. Last line."

I always forgot that my wife reads with absurd speed. I never understood how she did it. While I was still reading for the first time, she surely had already read everything twice and was mentally correcting grammar and punctuation errors.

"But you're my wife ... we can't have secrets between us ... the two of us always tell each other everything ..." (I was sincere, but the voice sounded kidding, I don't know why).

"Honey, it's just a Halloween weekend, it's not like we're going to reveal secrets that will change our lives forever! Probably your so-called 'secret' will be knowing the place where the candies are kept, and your 'secret contact' will be the person in charge of providing directions to the door to open!"

"But even so, it promises to be the best Halloween party ever! And the star will be me, Admiral De Alarcón!"

Susan shook her head, commiseratingly.

Ah, the women!

I was so eager, and she seemed so disenchanted. Mah!

In silence, I resumed reading my instructions. Point 7-the Motto. I already knew it.

8) COSTUME: Wear all clothing and all accessories contained in the envelopes marked "L. d. A." that will be delivered to the hotel. Without exception. The left boot contains a button sewn under the left big toe to remind you which leg you are to limp on. Please keep the button there. Do not wear anything else.

9) OBJECTS: Bring with you all items marked "L. d. A." Among them, please notice a silver rapier with a hilt: this is not a toy, the blade is metal and the tip is very sharp. And the brass spyglass. Do not bring any other items (and most importantly: no cell phone).

10) SECRECY. Do not confide these instructions to anyone. Especially with the people listed below: ([X] your wife: Susan) ([...] blank space) ([...] blank space).

"You were right darling, as always..."

Even though my wife did not want to talk to me about it, which was strange because we always told each other everything, the excitement in me was very high. I didn't like those hastily set up Halloween parties with sweaty costumes and no theme. Many years ago, when I was a kid, there was a family that prepared a very broad theme each year (such as "fairy tales," or "animals"), then each child was offered treats only if they could show that their character was either directly related to the theme, or completely unrelated to the theme. For example, if the theme was animals, Vampires, Werewolves, and princesses would connect in an instant, while those who were dressed as Calendars or Mummies had to struggle (although one friend of mine managed to convince them that the judge of mummies was Anubis with a Jackal's head).

For weeks I kept mulling over the party and rehearsing in the mirror the phrases I imagined I might say to my interlocutors. Perhaps there would be many Spanish officers: I checked the Internet for the hierarchy of Navy ranks, so as not to confuse the hierarchical ranks of a Commodore with a Corvette Lieutenant Commander.

Finally, the day of departure came. We traveled Friday afternoon, arrived at the hotel late in the evening, and had a quick dinner, Susan insisted on taking a shower, but as soon as she undressed I told her I was so excited, we made love, we enjoyed, and then we fell asleep, happy.

Chapter 5. Wearing Halloween costumes in a big hurry.

The next morning we were awakened very late by a hotel bellboy, who insisted that he had to deliver some Halloween costumes. He had one of those fancy carts that are used in big hotels (and which I had only seen in romantic movies).

"Now how can we keep it a secret? I need your advice..."

"Oh but I mean, it's not like you're a child, do you need me to wear a Halloween costume?" But as usual, her sweetness overcame all other emotions, and she said, "but of course, honey, it doesn't say that I can't help you dress up, it just says that you mustn't talk to me about secret things. I can see very well that in this pile of clothes there is a spyglass and a sword..."

"A rapier..."

"If you want me to help you put a stop to mansplaining..."

"Mute as a fish."

"Okay. Also, it says in my instructions that I am to impersonate Susanna de Alarcón, Spanish duchess born in Maracaibo (Colombia), married to famous Admiral Lucas...."

"Here I am, that's me!"

"Honey, you have to stop revealing information! In the fiction, our two characters are married, so it will be normal for me to help you put on your marsina and jabots. And it will also be normal for you to lead me by the hand and accompany me on walks."

### Shave.

I was slightly surprised to see, among the clothes, also a depilatory cream, a razor, and an emollient ointment. There was a note that read "mandatory: shave pubic area smooth as a newborn."

My wife and I always shaved mine and his pubic hair with a regular trimmer, not out of any particular lust but simply for practicality: it dried sooner in the shower, and in the small Midwestern town where we lived, that was a major advantage.

My wife also often shaved the excess part of her bikini in the summer, and that summer she had shaved the left side excessively by mistake. To make up for it, she had excessively shaved the right side. Thus, for the first time in my life, that very summer she inhaled a very rare Mohican combing of her pubic hair, to which I was not yet accustomed.

Wearing her pajama shirt, and without any ceremony, she said to me, "you've been shaving your beard for so many years, it won't be hard to shave a Mohawk tuft... just be careful not to cut my skin!"

"No, no, honey...I am the king of razors...don't worry..."

Emollient cream, massage, after much of my fear, she had finally come into a masterpiece. I turned to leave but his hand grabbed my wrist. "Where are you running to, hubby? Your turn now, it says mandatory for women and men."

"But I've never shaved down there, then I can't see, what if I cut my skin?"

"But I'm your wife, I've taken it in my mouth many times, do you want me not to be able to shave it like a baby?"

In the end, she prevailed (as always). I was lying on the bed with wide legs, calves dangling over the edge, and pubes exposed, watching sports on TV: she, on the other hand, with creams and razor shaved my whole area and with scissors shortened the longer hairs on my thighs and navel.

To compensate for the loss of pubic hair, I had a very wide white wig, and a hat with a wide brim and a long ostrich feather, like the ones you see in the Three Musketeers movies. I never realized it was ostrich feathers: long, fluffy, magnificent, and very elegant. Who knows why, before I saw that hat I associated ostrich feathers with drag queens...from that moment on, the ostrich feather became for me a symbol of the most epic heroism.

The wig... sincerely, I didn't like it. It was evidently a masculine object, so imposing and severe: and I understood that it was part of the character, so noble and elegant that I allowed myself to wear a powdered wig while the servants and workers were sweating with their heads uncovered. But as soon as I put it on, I marveled at how comfortable it was: I could have walked around in an admiral's wig for hours and never noticed. It was loaded with powder because shaking it off made the powder fall off, but the scent was very masculine: sandalwood and tobacco. I felt like a hero.

My silk shirt with lace at the sleeves was magnificent; so was the wide pleated ruff. The uniform consisted of two different materials but of the same dark gold color: a tailcoat with broad padded shoulders, which made me look more muscular than I am (but looks can be deceiving, they say), and a pair of leggings of the same color but very tight-fitting, of a stretchy fabric.

"Susan, can you help me look for the boxers? I can't find them."

"The What?"

"Boxers, panties, briefs, something!"

"But love, don't be silly, in the 18th-century men wore nothing under their pants, ha ha ha!" she giggled.

"You mean you don't have panties? And no bra either?"

"Now I'll show you what I found under the label 'panties': a white silk petticoat all pierced as if it were lace. And if I only wear this, you can see underneath! And even though it's ankle-length, it's shaped like a skirt: that is, if I walk on top of a crystal ceiling, my shaved pussy will show from underneath!" She giggles like a little girl. "Can you imagine? A century when all the noblest ladies went Commando! While lace breeches were considered a prostitute's gimmick."

I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined all the women at the party with shaved pussies without panties ... but soon after I realized I was thinking of only one pussy, that of Jackie my wife's friend. I had been following her for years in the films she made as an actress when her husband worked as the Producer; I had listened to both of them in many interviews; and on the Internet, I had found several pictures of her naked, on the red carpet in sheer dresses showing her pierced nipples, or at the beach on some nudist beach, or a boat... and I often masturbated late at night, contemplating the beauty of her gorgeous body.

That thought triggered strong guilt.

I tried to appear a caring husband and asked:

"And how do you do about the boobs?"

"And how will I do? I'm going to do what all the ladies of the eighteenth century do: I'm going to tighten this ribbon that runs between the holes in my shirt under my breasts, and then--there, you see? Then I'll have my boobs jolting with every step, and my nipples sticking out. Imagine the spectacle, if they make me dance the minuet, with the bows, and the leaps! Ha, ha!"

"Don't you have a jacket to cover yourself?"

"Let's divide this question into two parts.

Do I have a jacket? Yes, I have.

Will it be useful to cover me up? No. It's just a short puff sleeves bolero (elegant, embroidered, and damasked), but with exaggerated cleavage-anyone can enjoy the view of my boobs from above, below, or from the side."

To prove her point, she wore both the green skirt and the dark green bolero. It looked more like a shrug than a short jacket, typical of eighteenth-century Spanish fashion: it left the back bare and covered the ribs very little. And the boobs were sticking out. An old iron key hung from a necklace of thin gold rings and danced joyfully between her boobs with each step. Raising an eyebrow sternly, she prohibited me from asking questions about the key. Okay, each of us will play a role in the treasure hunt, someone will tell me where the candy is, and she will have the key to open the right door. Okay. Predictable, but funny.

An admiral must admire.

Admiring her prancing breasts, I gasped with desire and tried to hug her, but she quickly wriggled out of the way. "Get dressed and gather your things, didn't you say you had a sword, is a foil?"

"A rapier!"

"A Rap-ier? The proper weapon for a Rap-ist!"

"Ah no, this is unacceptable! The honor of the noble art of fencing is at stake!"

"Less 'Puntillo' and more punctuality, Sir Duke. Finish dressing quickly and let's go. Would you like a glass of grapefruit juice?"

How kind of my caring wife! A glass of ice-cold grapefruit juice was exactly what I needed.

######

Quickly we exited the junior suite.

We took a cab. No one noticed us: it was Halloween week, and to everyone, it seemed normal to see two 18th-century Spanish nobles leaving a hotel and taking a cab wearing tight clothes.

I tried to find my wallet where I had written the address, but realized I had left it in the room. The taxi driver saw my embarrassment and said, "No problem Sir, everything is already arranged and you don't have to pay anything, I'll take you to the Mansion."

The glass partition between us and the driver went up leaving us completely alone. Classical music was playing in the background... I don't know about it, but it could have been a Minuet, like the ones my wife used to say.

I wish I could tell that as soon as we got into the cab, we kissed and undressed and made love uninterruptedly for forty minutes... but it didn't happen. What happened instead was that I talked for forty minutes about rapiers, foils, sabers, and Olympic swords, with copious details about anecdotes of great champions and so on. Was I boring? Uh... yes, maybe. But my wife and I always told each other everything, without secrets, and my brain was focused on the rapier, and I am sure she was glad to listen to all my explanations, even if she was too shy to ask.

Chapter 6. An Admiral at the Party: meet Jackie Swallow

The cab entered the first gate. then went through a pleasant grove of well-kept oak trees, and came to a second gate. Here the cab driver stopped and lowered a window, but by mistake, he also lowered the back window. We saw the Mansion, with white columns like Jefferson's Monticello, and I could not hold back a whistle of admiration.

A valet handed me a pre-filled sheet of paper. "There is a guest register to sign, sir..." Regardless I signed, but I was distracted looking at the extraordinary building silhouetted against the setting sun.

"Wow! Your friend Jackie lives in a magnificent Mansion! The only thing I dislike is the foredeck of the sailing ship stuck on the second floor."

In fact, on the second floor, the skyline of the building was defaced by a sailing ship. No: only half a sailing ship. It looked like those Planet Hollywood chain restaurants, where sometimes on the second floor you can see half of a car embedded in the outer wall.

Here the Villa had a very serious, Renaissance look, with white columns and marble slabs, and balconies with twisted columns.

Then suddenly you could see a dark wooden prow, with a large Main Mast from which hung two spars (with canvas curled up) and a pole stretching forward beyond the prow: in Spanish "Bompresso", in English bowsprit. Below, instead of a simple wooden bow, was a statue of a naked woman.

I was reminded of the Spanish name: "Mascarón de proa". In English: figurehead. Too much mansplaining, I kept my mouth closed.

But it was not merely a face. If the vessel had to sail, the weight of the statue would have adversely affected the ship's movements. But because it was merely an architectural joke, the artists had gone too far, representing Jackie's entire body naked.

Her face looked forward and I could only see her perfect profile and her kind nose.

Her Body (like in Egyptian painting) was turned toward the viewer, aligned with the facade of the building.

Even from a distance, I recognized the piercings on her nipples, from which hung a chain of metal rings.

The legs were obscenely open, pretending to show movement while swimming (breaststroke). A particularly meticulous decorator (a female touch, maybe?) had painted the clitoris a deeper dark pink, and the half-opened labia in two different shades of pink.

It was a Statue completely unsuitable for sailing because the weight was all on the left side of the vessel: but since it was only an artifice, no one cared. Appearances are deceiving. I also wondered if it was just a flat scaffold, with nothing behind it: like in those old western movies.

The cab arrived exactly in front of the central staircase in front of the large front door. A valet, in eighteenth-century clothes, ran to open our door: as I got out holding the sheath of my rapier, I saw him give the cab driver a large tip. One less problem. Then the valet made a quick bow and ran to offer his hand to my wife the Duchess, who was waiting sitting in the car.

I met her gaze. She had a proud frown and a light in her eyes that flashed knives at me. A: I had realized belatedly. A real Duke should have been concerned about the welfare of his Duchess and extended his hand to help her out of the Carriage. My fault.

I was eager to enter the front hall, holding my wife at arm's length, like a Spanish Admiral with his Lady.

As we walked through the front door into the entrance hall in front of the salon, I whispered:

"Can you ever forgive me, love?"

"You are already forgiven, my love. But in the future, I would desire more attention."

"ATTENTION!" repeated an unpleasant voice.

We both turned around. My wife was holding up the elegant eye mask with her stick, but she had her left hand free.

An old woman with white hair took her hand and said, "I am a fortune teller, a seer. Let me read your future, beautiful lady!"

We didn't know how to react and both of us remained motionless. In my instructions, there was no mention of fortune-tellers.

The old woman continued. "The lines of your hand! It all starts in a blur, then suddenly your life will change! Today, it will change! You saved a person, and today that person will save you from boredom and disappointment and lack of attention. Listen to my words, both of you! Things are never as they appear; don't be distracted by appearances!"

My wife lowered the stick to look me in the eye. "Lucas... I'm afraid!"

I stared at her. "I'm going to chase this hag 'bruja' away now..."

I turned around. There was no one there. Hallucinations?

At that moment, I heard the sweet Jackie's voice calling loudly to us.

Jackie, the wealthy widow friend of my wife, was dressed as a drunken pirate. As soon as she saw us, she advanced toward us, greeting us in high-pitched voices and attracting the attention of many guests.

"At last! The Duchess and Duke Alarcón have now reached the humble abode of this poor drunken pirate... please just call me She-Captain Swallow: Jackie... Swallow. I have a license to kill, here in my abode, of course: not a problem."

My wife had gotten right into the role, and after a fancy bow, she said, disguised behind her stick mask, "It is a great honor for us, She-Captain Swallow! Your name strikes fear over all the fleets of the Caribbean!"

I was too proud and pointed out, "Oh, well, let's just say, it instills a lot of fear in those cowardly Englishmen, and little fear in the genuine Spanish sea wolves, hehe..."

My wife struck my big toe with her heel. It was a gesture she had made for years whenever I said a gaffe. It hurt more today because it was the limp foot.

Jackie looked at us with a stern look. "Gents! Today, on October 30th, in the year 1722, the rules of my party are very clear, inside my Mansion -- ops! Inside my Cove! No brawling between enemy nations, no waving of flags, and no duels: violators will be tied to the Mast, and whipped!" Everyone laughed.

I tried to check if she was my contact, enunciating my motto in Latin. "Thank you for the invitation, she-Captain. My family motto is 'Decipit frons prima multos' it means 'I have defeated many enemies on the Frontline'."

Our landlady smiled at me. "Are you kidding, Admiral? I don't think that's the exact translation-"First appearances can fool many people." - And she winked at me. - My poor deceased husband also had a Latin motto, Audaces Fortuna Iuvat, but I prefer this other one: 'FFF=Fortune doesn't favor fools,' what does the Duchess think?"

Without waiting for an answer from me, Jackie took my wife under her arm, led her to the center of the large room, and proclaimed, "Now my best friend has arrived! The person I love most in the world! And we will see the new Aquarium! But, now... Let's the fun begins!" everyone applauded and the musicians began the dancing.

Disappointed, I mingled among the guests. The hall was full of people, of all ages and ethnicity, which I expected to see in the eighteenth-century Caribbean.

A group of women of various ages (one very old and wrinkled) chatted near a string quartet. The only male musician, a Jamaican with very dark skin, was playing double bass with only three strings, as was the custom in 18th-century Europe: but my character could not afford boring mansplaining about the history of musical instruments. I also noticed that the girl playing the cello looked very young: perhaps 19 years old, she was the most youthful person in the room. Two women played violin (standing) and viola (sitting). All the musicians wore elegant concert dresses very similar to Mozart's, with shoes with marked heels and a large metal buckle.