The Dire Island Hat Club Soiree

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A humorous short story involving the 'Dire Island Hat Club' where clothing is banned but hats are mandatory! They meet for a Christmas Soiree once a year using ficticious names, playing various characters and harboring many secrets, too many to reveal in a short story. Perhaps one day... a novel?:-)

Submitted: November 11, 2007

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Submitted: November 11, 2007

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The Dire Island Hat Club Soiree

by Gerard Lebel

THE DOORBELL RANG. Marguerite Du Barry, playing the role of the maid this year, grasped the front door knob with white gloved hand. The eighth and final guest was now arriving for the dinner party of Mrs. Lillian Dupont Appletree, an annual, ‘by invitation only’, Christmas Soiree. It was quite easily called ‘THE’ event of the season by all the local society folk of Dire Island. And quite honestly, it was ‘THE’ event of the season, but of course, no one actually knew what transpired at the soiree to make an accurate judgment, other than those attending.

“Madame Dupont Appletree… announcing the arrival of Sir Neville Parkington, if you please… our final guest of the evening,” proclaimed Marguerite with a flurry as she extended her arms outward and upward for Sir Neville to place his winter-lined trench coat upon and carrying it with her, she scurried off rather abruptly, jiggling buns, boobs and all.

Why Neville, I must say… you are looking devilishly handsome this evening,” whispered Lillian seductively as she surveyed his goods.

“Why, thank you Lillian dear, you’re not looking so bad yourself,” he replied, with a wry smile as he gave her the once over in return... and then a teeny weeny pinch for fun. “Am I late? Where is everyone?”

“No… you aren’t late, my dear. Everyone seemed to arrive early this year. Perhaps a little anxious to get things started. The rest of the regulars are already seated in the dining room. I suppose we should join them now,” she said cupping his firm buttocks with her right hand and bussing his cheek.

“But I’ve got to warn you… we’ve already had a huge disagreement this evening. It appears that Bartholomew Kensington has had a nipple piercing completed within the last year and is wearing a rather large something or other dangling from it. Now you know Neville, the rules that we set up years ago clearly state that we are to wear nothing… unconditionally nothing else but some type of a hat to these soiree’s. That’s the point of them… to show off our new hat creations with nothing else for a distraction. And of course, whatever happens between consenting adults after dinner… well, that’s their business. I mean, look at us, Neville. I have on this sexy little red sequined taffeta cap from the 1920‘s,, with a large red, sparkling removable feather extending from the side and surrounded by these wonderful, shiny bugle beads and you’re wearing that fabulous ivory cream, firm and masculine straw hat with a black, crepe ribbon brim and a bow and streamer dangling in the back… and absolutely nothing else! Oh Neville… Neville… Neville, your hat is simply divine.”

After another quick perusal of Neville‘s posterior and a skip of her breath, Lillian continued. “Oh God, Neville, just look at you… look at you! I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you right now!”

“Well, first things first, Lillian dear,” mumbled Neville. “Personally I don’t see anything wrong with Bartholomew having a nipple piercing. I mean, you’re wearing diamond drop earrings aren’t you, Lillian? I have my rather garish wedding band and Rolex watch on, don’t I, Lillian? I think it’s just because everyone is unaccustomed to seeing someone with a nipple piercing and they are prejudiced against it. Yes, I think that’s what it… WHOA!! What are you doing, my naughty little Flapper? Shouldn‘t we be joining the others now?”

Lillian, having pulled the sequined red feather from her hat was now using it to caress Neville’s tempting, smooth flesh. “I want you Neville… I want you right here… right now. No excuses any longer.”

“Lillian dear, we must join the others now. They have been waiting for us,” he said with much urgency as he stuck the feather back in her sequined cap with a broad smile and walked her arm in arm to the dining room where they joined the others at the table.

“Dinner is served,” announced Marguerite gliding in with her asparagus green, Peter Pan hat and a mammoth salad bowl, placing it in the center of the antique mahogany table, draped in an oyster white linen table cloth.

“Wait!” shouted Lillian. “Just a moment, Marguerite dear. Would you please take off that silly white glove. You know the rules,” she admonished.

“Well now, before we all begin gorging ourselves silly, we must take a moment, as is our custom, to say grace,” Lillian blurted.

“Bartholomew, my sweet, would you be so kind as to rise and lead us in a prayer of thanks? I‘m sure all of us would like to get a good long, hard look dear, at that one of a kind, simply marvelous... chapeauof yours!”

As Bartholomew rose slowly, a chorus of "Ahhh's and Oos," could be heard as all eyes were fixed on him… oh, not on his deliciously flamboyant sombrero with the rather handsome matador print silk scarf wrapped around it nor his near perfect, high-toned, muscular, rippled body, but all eyes were focused on his outlandish piece of nipple jewelry! The gasps and whisperings continued. Dangling from the piercing to his left nipple was an 18k solid gold pendant the size of a small Wrigley’s gum wrapper. Chiseled into the sparkling buttery soft, gold as a proclamation of his undying love were the words… ‘Neve and Bart Forever!’

Neville smiled longingly as he extended his foot beneath the table, tenderly grazing Bartholomew‘s foot in acknowledgement. Bartholomew returned the loving smile with a shiver of goose bumps, closing his glassy eyes and bowing his head in prayer.

“Dear Father in heaven, we thank you for this magnificently scrumptious food we are about to eat and for our fantabulous, Dire Island Hat Club Soiree… sans clothing, now in its sixth year. We ask that you bless us all this night and remind each and every one of us that we have all used various pen names to play out this little festive game of ours and to retain our privacy. In order to ensure our club secrets strictly confidential from our island neighbors, we need to keep ALL our little secrets, however shocking or delicious, confidential. Whatever happens here on Dire Island, tonight or any night… must stay on Dire Island… Kabeesh??? Bless this food... A-men.”

“I did not hear you peoples!” Bart queried in his bogus Mexican accent. On the count of three, a confident and promising “A-MEN” was heard collectively ‘round the table, indicating the start of another evening of secrets at the Dire Island Hat Club Soiree.

Copyright 2007 Gerard Lebel
All rights reserved



© Copyright 2017 gerabel. All rights reserved.

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