He cursed them as he stamped along the wharf having woken naked, cold and with a terrible headache. They’d left him clothes, at least. A sou'wester and hat filled with fish and stinking so bad he spent half the walk dry retching.
Filled with anger, he felt they’d gone too far. Sure, he’d participated before, ramped it up with each marriage. This, though, was too much and he was determined to tell them so. Especially when the rain hit.
He never did. Not after finding a stag worse off: in lingerie, handcuffed to a bhoy and sick from the bobbing.
Filled with anger, he felt they’d gone too far. Sure, he’d participated before, ramped it up with each marriage. This, though, was too much and he was determined to tell them so. Especially when the rain hit.
He never did. Not after finding a stag worse off: in lingerie, handcuffed to a bhoy and sick from the bobbing.
Written for 100 Word Challenge #391 on Velvet Verbosity; the prompt was the word Wharf.
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