Maiden Voyage
By Czolgolz
[email protected]

A young orphan tracks down his long lost twin sister on the day of her wedding to a rich man. Gosh, I hope she doesn't have something sinister planned.
***

It's a horrible thing never to know where you came from. Not to know who your parents were, not to know what city you were born in, not to know your own birthday. If you've had any sort of childhood whatsoever, then I envy you.

As you may have guessed, I was born an orphan. Dropped off at some Atlanta welfare society. No name, no past. 'Infant Doe.' Malnourished. About two months old. Traces of heroin in my system.

Things went downhill from there. Orphanages are less like 'Boys' Town' and more like 'Oliver Twist.' I won't bore you with accounts of the abuse and neglect. I was thirteen when I finally escaped for good.

Life on the streets. What can I say? You did what you did to survive. You stole. You robbed. You fought and struggled and looked over your shoulder. You crept among alleys like a rat. You developed a sixth sense. You learned to do anything, ANYTHING, to survive. I guess that's why I allowed it to happen.

I was hard and bitter, big shock, huh? I hated those people I'd see driving their big fancy cars, going home to their rich wives, sleeping in their warm beds. Hated them! But I envied them.

It's the orphan's dream. The family. Someone who cared for you. Someone who wanted you. Someone who loved you. I guess I never gave up hope that someday, somewhere, I'd have a real family.

I was working as a stevedore in Miami at the time. I guess I was around nineteen. I met this old merchant marine, we became fairly close. I wouldn't say friends, when you come from where I do, you don't make friends. A friend is just someone who hasn't turned on you yet.

Anyway, we're having beers one night. And we get to talking. He's been around, seen a few things. We come to the subject of families. I, of course, have nothing to say. But then he tells me something which changes my life.

I had always assumed that adoption records were private. You give up your son, no strings, never have to hear from him again. But I was wrong.

Turns out, you can access your family history for medical reasons. Makes sense, you never know if you're going to need a kidney or something.

It was a hopeless fantasy, I knew. Even the next day, as I caught a northbound semi to Atlanta, I had convinced myself that I was just moving on. But I couldn't help fantasizing...

About a middle-aged couple who had never stopped regretting the son they gave up years ago. Or perhaps an uncle, some wise older guy who would take me under his wing and help me get my life together. What if I had surviving grandparents? Or brothers and sisters?

It was stupid. On the off chance they still had my records, and they actually had my family name somewhere, and I could actually contact family members, would they actually want to see me? A penniless, homeless teenager? No, of course not. But sometimes, you have to follow your gut.

I pretended that I didn't care when I told the social workers who I was. I gave them a sob story about needed to contact my family about my health. I expected the worst.

I struck gold. My mother had left records when she dropped me off! I did have a past. I eagerly glommed on to the folder they dug up for me.

It was all depressing. My mother had been a prostitute. A junkie. Though the file didn't say it, I was sure she was long dead. But that wasn't the most interesting thing.

I had a twin sister! A twin sister! I nearly kissed the middle-aged woman who was assisting me. We had been separated after birth, the logic being it was easier to get single children adopted than a set, so to speak.

It hadn't worked. I lived in the orphanage before running away. My sister, according to her file, was in an out of foster homes until her teenage years. They lost contact after that.

The file listed her name as Andrea. I grinned at whatever civil servant had named us, way back when. Andrea and Andrew. Real original.

There was no clue as how to contact her.

"Um, ma'am," I started, not really sure how to go about this.

"Yes?"

"How could I go about contacting my sister?"

"I'm afraid you can't. If you bring a note from a legitimate doctor citing need for familial contact for health reasons, we can contact her anonymously."

I felt wretched. To be told I had family, and then told I could never contact her!

It must have shown on my face. I didn't need a transplant, and I'm sure my sister would have just as little clue about our family medical history as I did. I must have evoked sympathy from the social worker, because as I was leaving, she pressed something into my hand. It was a note.

'Andrea Jones. 1701 Robert E. Lee Dr, Savannah, GA. 555-1361.'

***

Paydirt! I blessed the woman for breaking the law to help me! Now I could talk to my real family! Only an orphan can know what a special thing that is.

I panhandled all afternoon to buy a phone card. I couldn't very well call her collect, could I? I couldn't remember the last time I had been so nervous. In all my years on the streets, nothing had scared me as much as the thought that I might be rejected by my own sister.

"Hello?" said a husky female voice.

"Hello. Is this...Andrea Jones?"

"Yes."

"You were delivered to The Savannah Children's Home in November, nineteen years ago?"

"Who is this? What do you want?" She seemed upset.

"You don't know me. Listen, there's no other way for me to say this. I'm Andy, your twin brother."

There was a long, long pause. I think I would have died had she hung up. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

"They mentioned something once about a brother. I never knew how to...are you in town?"

"I could be there tomorrow."

"Oh God, please come! Oh God, you don't know how much I need to talk to you right now!" She gave me the address of a Savannah restaurant. I told her I'd be there the next day.

I guess my nervousness showed. The salesman I thumbed a ride with seemed on the verge of putting me out of his car. I suppose I seemed like someone who was running from something. Only after I told him why I was so agitated did he calm down.

I arrived twenty minutes after I had agreed to meet her, and still I couldn't bring myself to enter the establishment. Here I was, homeless, bedraggled, and scruffy. How could I just go and present myself to my only family member? What would she think?

But I had to do it. I had to meet her. Even if she told me she didn't want anything to do with me, well, it would be worth it to see her. I had to see her. Besides, hadn't she told me she really wanted to talk to me?

I entered. This was a high-class place, and I instantly felt out of my element. I wondered why Andrea, whose upbringing hadn't been much easier than mine, would choose such an expensive joint.

I knew her right away when I saw her. There was no doubt in my mind that we were related. There was no doubt that we were twins.

Like me, she had short, blonde hair. Like me, she had blue eyes, and just the slightest hint of an overbite. Like me, she was just under six feet tall. Like me, she was slender and wiry.

She was very pretty, in a tomboy sort of way. Athletic and slightly buxom. She was wearing what looked like and expensive dress, though she seemed she'd look better in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Andrea?"

"Andy?" She stood up and hugged me. It took a lot of willpower not to cry. A hug from my sister. A hug from family.

She sat down and I took a seat opposite her. My sister! My own flesh and blood.

"I don't know where to begin," I babbled.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself."

"Well, I ran away from the orphanage when I was young. I've been doing odd jobs and such since then."

"Where are you living?"

"I'm, um, sort of on the move at the moment." I really tried to play down the true state of things. I didn't want her to think that my finding her and my poverty were related. The last thing I was going to do was sponge off of her. "So tell me about you."

"Well, I was kicked out of the home when I turned eighteen. I did a bit of modeling. Last year I met a guy, Duke Greyson, and we're getting married!"

"Married? That's great!" A brother-in-law too! Would I actually do something this Thanksgiving?

"Yeah," she said. Somehow she lacked the enthusiasm I showed, but I didn't feel it was my place to mention it. Besides, it was probably my imagination.

"What's he like?"

"He's a millionaire. Owns Greyson industries. For once, I'm going to live in style!" See sounded enthusiastic about that at least. "We're traveling around the world for our honeymoon."

Andrea was doing great. I thought about the rich man I'd soon be related to. I'd have to make a really good impression. An industry leader could get me a job, any sort of job. A real job that I'd keep for once. Maybe even I could get an advance on my paycheck and rent an apartment somewhere. Have some stability in my life. Get off the streets.

"So when's the big day?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Really? That's great!"

"I guess. So can you come?"

"Can I come? Uh..." I wanted to come more than anything, but the truth was I had nothing to wear to a wedding and no money to buy anything.

Andrea sensed my dilemma. "Don't worry about clothes. Just show up a few hours early. Show this at the door..." Andrea handed me a business card, which advertised her services as a model. "I'll have someone there to get you ready."

"You will? I mean, I don't want to put anyone to any trouble."

"Don't worry, Duke's paying for it all." That didn't reassure me. I didn't like to take charity. I had begged before, but only when I was very desperate. Of course, I flat out stole on numerous occasions, so I wasn't one to get on a moral high horse.

"So where will the wedding be?"

"On Duke's yacht at the marina." She wrote the address on the back of the card.

"When will I get to meet Duke?"

"At the reception. I'm sorry it can't be sooner, but we're both really busy with the wedding plans. In fact, I have to get going now."

I was disappointed. I had hoped we'd have more time to catch up.

"I'm sorry to see you go so soon."

"Don't worry. Once I get back from my honeymoon, we'll get together for the weekend or something. Here..." she passed me a bill, "go ahead and get some food, and see you at the wedding." She kissed my cheek and got up and left.

I ordered a Coke (I was still thinking like a hobo, not willing to blow my money in an expensive restaurant) and pondered. It was so great to see Andrea. But I felt slightly uneasy as well. Why didn't see seem as happy as a new bride should be? The wedding didn't seem to thrill her at all. And why couldn't I meet Duke? I mean, I know it was her wedding and all, but wasn't a long-lost twin brother something? She couldn't have me over for dinner or anything?

I was being paranoid and rude. I barely knew her, and already I'm psychoanalyzing her. And an unexpected family member was a big thing. I couldn't expect her to make me part of her family right off. I was lucky she was including me in the wedding.

I stuck the bill in the leather folder the waiter brought me without looking at it. He shot me a snooty look. I figured out why when he brought my change. I had just paid for a soda with a fifty-dollar bill.

***

Two days later I stood at the gate to the marina. The night before a church-sponsored homeless shelter had provided me with a shower, shave and a set of, if not new, clean clothes. I was determined not to be an embarrassment to my new family.

I had never seen so many Porches, Mercedes, and Ferraris on the same lot. For a second I wondered if there was a good chop shop in the area, and instantly resented myself for it. 'Try to act like a normal person,' I told myself.

I snuck around the gate at the entrance and looked for Duke's boat. I walked by it several times before I realized it wasn't a small island.

There are boats and then there are boats. My concept of boat had more to do with the barges and steamers I used to unload. I had pictured Duke's boat like a large sailboat, something big enough for about twenty people. But this...this was bigger than Omaha.

I found out later the boat, Greyson II, boasted five luxury suites, a gym, a sauna, a banquet hall, plus engines, servants quarters, and kitchens. Duke was rich in the same sense that the Pacific Ocean was wet. A mere millionaire couldn't afford a hulk like that. He had to have at least a cool billion.

Maybe I should just leave. I couldn't picture Andrea telling her wealthy fiancée "Guess what honey? My long lost  homeless brother will be joining us for the wedding!" I didn't belong here. I'd just call her again when she got back...
No. I had to go through with it. Who cared if I was the embarrassing family member? At least I would be part of a family. I marched towards the gangway.

The wedding wasn't for a while still, but hordes of catering staff, laborers, and decorators swarmed to and from the boat. I was about to wander aboard when a lumbering security guard stopped me.

"Do you have business here?"

"Um, I'm Andrea Jones's brother."

"She don't have a brother."

"No, seriously. We sent to separate orphanages when we were babies. She didn't know about me until the other day. Look, she told me to show this." I held up the business card Andrea had given me.

The guard barely looked at it. "I don't know what your scam is, pal, but you'd better beat it."

"But it's the truth."

"Scram, or I call the cops."

I didn't know what to do. I could maybe take this guy, but what would be the point? That would impress Andrea, me brawling my way into her wedding. I didn't know how to contact her. Why hadn't she warned anyone about me?

At that moment, my guardian angel appeared. She came in the form of a forty-something woman with a clipboard. She was dressed in a suit and had a no-nonsense business air about her. Still, despite her severe clothes and the age difference, she was quite cute. Tall, slender, and very well proportioned.

"Lars!" she barked at the human door. "It's okay. I'll take care of it."

Lars snapped to attention. "Yes ma'am!"

The woman took me by the arm and led me aboard. "I'm Nikki Lewis, Ms. Jones's personal assistant. I'm terribly sorry about the mix up. Ms. Jones wanted to give you a chance to change before she introduced you around."

I appreciated that. When I met Andrea's high society friends, I would at least be dressed nice. I kept nervously glancing around, amazed at the ritzy surroundings.

"Nervous?" asked Nikki.

"No. Well, yes. I slept at the men's shelter last night. I feel out of my depth."

Nikki stopped. She looked me in the eye and smiled. She had a real pretty smile. "Listen Andy. You're just as good as anyone here. Just stick your chest out, smile, and let everyone know that you don't have anything to be ashamed of."

"Thanks." Nikki sure was sweet. I hoped she be around during the reception. Maybe save a dance for me.

"At any rate, here we are." She pointed in an inauspicious door. "Just go right in."

I entered. It was a small cabin, just a bed, nightstand, closet, and a door to the bathroom. Probably a servant's quarters. Andrea was nowhere to be seen. I sat on the bed and waited.

She showed up about fifteen minutes later. "Andy!" she said with a smile. "I was afraid you weren't going to come!"

"Hey, I wouldn't miss my sister's wedding!" My sister's wedding. A family event.

"Can I fix you a drink?" she asked.

"Shouldn't I get dressed first?" I asked. I was still embarrassed about my charity clothes.

"Oh, the wedding's not for several hours. I'd really like to catch up with you." She pulled open a closet, revealing a small mini-bar. "What's your pleasure?"

I guessed Thunderbird wine would be in bad taste, so I asked for a gin and tonic, the classiest drink I knew. She poured me one.

"Now," she said, sitting down on the bed next to me, "I want you to tell me more about yourself."

I swigged my drink uncomfortably. What was there to say? When you have to home, you don't have a lot to say about yourself. I had no girlfriend, no hobbies, no collections, no job. I suddenly felt a little useless.

"There's not a whole lot to tell," I started, taking another swig. I didn't care for the drink, it tasted rather bitter.

"Oh, come on, you've had to have done something in the past couple of decades." She was smiling very sweetly.

"Oh, well, odd jobs, travel...aren't you drinking?"

"No, not before the big event. Don't you like your drink?" She looked hurt that I had set my gin aside. I took another gulp, even though it really tasted rank. It was almost making me sick.

"I've actually been to...been to..." I clutched my stomach. As a transient, having a low level case of the flu (or worse) was more or less a given, but something was really wrong. God, I wasn't coming down with something terrible now, was I?
I curled up on the bed, feeling horribly weak. I looked up at Andrea, but to my surprise she didn't look concerned. In fact, she was still smiling sweetly.

"Andrea?" I croaked. I could barely move.

"Don't worry, Andy. Just a little something I slipped in your drink. A chemist friend of mine whipped it up for me. It's a muscle paralyzer. Just a little something to keep you immobilized for a few hours."

I tried to ask her why, but I didn't have the strength. I couldn't move even a finger. Oh Christ, what the hell was my sister doing?

Andrea didn't seem to be in a hurry to explain things. She straightened my body out on the bed and grinned at me. "Yes, this will work out nicely." What will work out nicely?

Andrea opened another closet, and pulled out something in a large garment bag. I couldn't move my head to see clearly, there seemed to be more in the closet but I couldn't tell. Andrea moved into my line of vision and sat on the bed. Sipping her drink, she explained things.

"Andy, Andy, Andy. I'm almost sorry to do this to you. You see, I'm not really in love with Duke. I'm in love with his money. Ever since I left the orphanage, I've been trying to make it big. Find some rich schmuck who'll take care of me. Help me live the high life. When I met Duke, I knew he was just the sap to do it.

"My plan was to marry him, string him along for a few years, and then divorce him with a big 'ol alimony settlement. Mmmm, millions of dollars." Andrea leaned her head back and smiled, fantasizing. "But the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. I mean, Duke's an okay guy, I guess, but I really didn't feel like sleeping with him every night. But, there was no way out of it. If I wanted his money, I had to be his sex toy."

Andrea smiled in a very unsettling way. "And then I met you, dear brother. And all my problems were solved. You see, Duke, as a measure of good faith, put my name on his bank account, effective as soon as we are legally married. Now, if I were to run off with the money right after the wedding, he'd just have the marriage annulled. But when I met you, I figured out a way out."

I desperately willed my body to move. She was going to set me up! Make it look like I stole the money somehow, send me up the river while she spent Duke's money, free as a bird! What was she going to do, make it look like I killed her?

The answer, as it turned out, was much, much worse. "You see, Andy, once Duke marries me, I'll have free access to his money. But since I'll be on the honeymoon with him, I won't have a chance to withdraw anything. But what if someone else were to take my place? What if someone stood in for me as the bride, while I was emptying the bank accounts? By the time Duke realized he'd been duped, I'd be long gone."

No. She couldn't mean it. Surely, she didn't think I...

She must have read my thoughts. "Yes, you. You'll be the bride today. And when Duke realizes you're not me, I'll be halfway to Rio."

What made her think I'd go through with this insane plan? Why would I go through with a public wedding, just so my slut of a sister could rob the groom! I'd end up in jail when Duke found out!

Andrea apparently was unconcerned. "Well, if you're going to be pretty for your wedding day, let's get you fixed up." Then, unashamedly, and with no resistance on my part, she began to strip me.

"Hmmm...nice," she pondered. "You know, when you first called, I was afraid you'd be some huge hunk. But you're so scrawny, you'll make the perfect blushing bride!"

I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap her. But I felt like I was in a vice. I felt like I was in a straitjacket. And the most horrible thing was, being temporarily paralyzed wasn't the worst thing. I was going to be dressed as my sister! Soon, I was naked.

My head was propped up on my pillow so I could see what Andrea was doing to my body. She was lathering up my legs. Shaving cream spilled down all over the sheets, but she didn't seem to care. Why would she care? She'd steal from her fiancée, humiliate her brother, why would she care about who had to clean the sheets?

I knew what was coming. With a woman's razor, she shaved my legs. She nicked me a few times, but it didn't seem to bother her. She then began soaping up my armpits.

"Your arms are a bit muscular," she mused as she shaved me, "but I don't think anyone will notice. "There," she smiled as she wiped of the soap. "Clean and smooth. Here, let me get that chest hair."

I was never a hairy man, just a few strands around my nipples and under my navel, so that didn't take long to shave. She finished by plucking the few strands of facial hair I had.

She moved out of my line of vision and returned with a small cooler. Without ceremony, she dumped its contents onto my crotch. It was filled with crushed ice, which caused my testicles to shoot up into their recesses and my manhood to shrink uncontrollably. "I almost forgot to bring ice," Andrea quipped. "That might have been a problem."

As my balls were numbing, my sister pulled out another humiliating thing: a padded bra. "At first, I had decided to go with a gown that showed off a little cleavage. Thank God I didn't! Now I can give you a nice set of breasts without showing that they're fake."

As she forced me into the bra, I tried to speak. Why in the world would she think I would go through with this? The second I could move I would yank all these clothes off and tell everyone on the boat what she had done. I suddenly felt sorry for her fiancé, Duke. Poor guy, at least he'd know what a bullet he dodged when he found out. It would be embarrassing for both of us, but at least I wouldn't have to marry him.

Soon, I was in my bra. I looked like...well, a guy in a bra. I wondered what it would look like in a wedding gown. Aw, who cared? The gown would come off the second I could move.

Just when I thought I would die of cold, Andrea removed the ice from my crotch. Then she pulled something from out of my line of sight. "This is called a gaff," she said, showing me something like a woman's bikini bottom. "This will hide your manhood. Wouldn't want anything, um popping up, during the wedding." Lifting my deadened legs, she forced me into the garment. It was so tight I knew that it would be painful if I could still feel myself down there. I could still tell that my balls were retracted into my pelvis and that my penis had shrunken down to almost nothing.

So here I lay, helpless and miserable, in women's underwear. When Andrea began to press fake pink fingernails onto my hands I wasn't even surprised. I wondered what would come next.

"Now," said Andrea, as if explaining something I'd actually care about, "I'll leave your hair and makeup for last. I guess we can go ahead and get you into your gown."

From what I could see of the gown, it looked big enough to cover a baseball diamond during a rain delay. Probably cost a fortune too. Not that I cared, I'd probably tear the thing to shreds as soon as I could move. It took Andrea a good hour to cram me into the damn thing, and she wasn't gentle. I was tossed around like a sack of potatoes. My head flopped this way and that, I was unable to see what she was doing. Once, my face wound up in a pillow and I could hardly breathe for a couple of minutes. I had never hit a woman in my life, but it was fast looking like my twin sister might be the first one.

"My shoes just won't fit you," she said. "Nothing to be done, the gown will cover your feet." She laughed. "The barefoot bride. At least you're not pregnant."

Just calm down, Andrew. You'll be able to move soon enough. You'll be able to tell everyone what kind of a woman Andrea is.

I still had no idea what I looked like. One thing was for sure, I was a man who had never taken the slightest interest in personal appearance before. I was lucky if I got to shower a couple of times a week. I don't know how Andrea thought she could pass me off as a debutante bride, but it sure as hell wasn't going to work.

Andrea left. I prayed that she wouldn't come back, but of course she did. She'd only humiliated me a little, now was the time for the coup de gras. I still couldn't get up, but I could hear her wheeling something. I soon realized it must have been a makeup table.

Without so much as a warning, Andrea straddled me, kneeing me in the groin and knocking my wind out. I was nearly blind with rage by this time. Oh, Andrea, how lucky you were I couldn't move. How very lucky.

Brushes, pencils, powder puffs, and lipstick tubes flew in and out of my line of site. I could only imagine what was happening. She was certainly using enough makeup, she even powdered my bare neck and shoulders. I figured I'd look like Bozo the Clown when she was done.

Finally, Andrea smiled her evil smile and nodded. "You'll pass." She looked at her watch. "Damn. I guess I won't have time to do your hair like I'd like. Sorry Andy, I know how special this day is going to be for you. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

I swore revenge. Even if I wound up in prison for this, even if it took me twenty years, I'd find her and make her pay for this. It was bad enough she was setting me up and humiliating me like this, bad enough I'd have to face people dressed like a woman, but to act like I'd enjoy this? Act like I wanted to look pretty as a bride? She was dead
.
Andrea began to clip the ends of my longish hair, and spray it with almost an entire bottle of hairspray. She wasn't even careful not to get any in my nose. I could tell she wasn't happy with the results, but I was even more unhappy.

Finally, Andrea leaned back to look at me. "Well...I guess you'll do. No one will be expecting anyone other than me, and with all the makeup, I don't think anyone will notice. Now remember..." Andrea was cleaning up the room, putting away the makeup, gathering up my clothes. "Stand up straight, try to keep your voice high, and don't kiss the groom too long. Tacky."

Andrea must have lost her mind! Forget about the humiliation of being a bride, did she honest think I wanted to help her get away with this scam? To rip off some poor guy? I sure wasn't going to the slammer for this hoax! Just what was she thinking?

Andrea had put everything away, stuffing all my things into a garbage bag. "I'll just toss these on the way out," she said, as if she were carrying trash, instead of practically everything I owned, including almost fifty dollars in cash. She turned to me. "Sorry about this, Andy. But when you showed up, everything worked out so well." She kissed my cheek. "I know you're furious, but give it a shot. Duke's a nice guy, you might enjoy being a rich wife." She winked at me, and moved out of my line of sight. I heard the door open and close. She was gone.

I don't know how long I lay there. Probably much shorter than it felt like. My nose itched. My legs hurt from not moving. My privates were no longer numb, they ached in their confined location. It's hard to describe how miserable I felt. Even the humiliation of my situation was forgotten amid the agony of not moving. Just what was this chemical that had paralyzed me? What is Andrea was wrong? What if I could never move again?

After an eternity, I had the sensation like you get when a limb falls asleep and then wakes up. I numb, tingling. My fingers began to wiggle, just a little. I could make soft, pained sounds from my throat. "C'mon," I thought. I had to get moving, had to get help before someone came to take me to the wedding.

After about half an hour, I could move my arms and legs some; my trunk was still stiff and immobile. "Soon," I thought. "Soon. Just a little more."

Weak as a baby, I finally managed to sit up. My head swam. It couldn't focus. While my mind desperately wanted to rip off my finery, wash my face, and find some clothes, all I could do was sit on the bed and try to steady myself. I thought I was going to be sick.

I attempted to stand up, but the voluminous gown prevented me. Taking a deep breath I clutched the hems of the skirt and managed to rise. I needed a drink of water. I thought of the bar where Andrea had fixed me a drink. Maybe I could find an unopened bottle of tonic or something.

It was then that I saw my reflection in a large mirror on the wall. And with a horrible sense of realization, I knew that at least part of my sister's plans had come true.

I certainly didn't look like a fashion queen, or a socialite, or a centerfold. I looked like a fourteen-year-old tomboy forced to model her sister's wedding gown. But it would take more imagination to think that I was a guy than to think that I was a girl.

The wedding gown was huge. The large quantities of silk and lace pretty much covered everything from my hips down. Even if I sported a ten-inch erection, it would hardly be noticeable under all that material. The gown had obviously been designed for someone much more slender, my torso strained at the confines of the narrow waist. And yet...the gown seems to mold my figure, rather than vice versa. People would be more likely to think I the reason for the tight fit was that I was pregnant, not that I was really a guy. Oh God, was I in trouble.

The gown tapered off just above the surprisingly realistic looking mounds on my chest. My bare shoulders showed off my tanned, freckled skin. I noticed that Andrea had slipped a necklace on me when I had been incapacitated. Oh God...
The face was the worst part. I had never had many opportunities to look in the mirror. I almost never needed to shave and it was just as easy to comb my hair without looking at it. Whenever I did wash my face in front of some gas station mirror, all I'd see was a gawky, scrawny, teenage guy.

What I saw now was a awkward, slender, teenage girl. The hairspray had poofed my short hair out into something resembling a female 'do.' My cracked and chapped lips had become red and pouty. Highlights on my face made my sunken cheeks look high and effeminate. Mascara covered the circles under my eyes. If Andrea hadn't made me look like her, she had at least made me look kind of pretty.

But what did it matter? The makeup was coming off. The clothes were coming off. I staggered to the bathroom door, but it was locked. I tried to force the closet, hoping to find some cleanser in the makeup kit, but it was locked as well.
I had a sick feeling in my stomach. No water, no way to get off the makeup. What was worse, I realized, was that my sister had stolen all my clothes. The only thing to cover up with was the bed sheets, now soaking wet from the melted ice. I pictured myself, my face made up like a woman's, wearing nothing but a bed sheet toga, desperately trying to find my way off the ship. And once I reached land, what then?

Could I pretend to be Andrea and call for help? Ask for some cold cream and a set of sweats? No, that would only raise suspicion. Could I call for help through the door as myself, and ask for some water and a change of clothes? Pretend I had spilled something? That might work. There was only one problem. No one on board knew I was supposed to be there. No one but...

But Nikki! I thought of the pretty older woman and almost cried. She knew Andrea's brother was on board! If I could just pass myself off as Andrea for a few minutes, I could ask someone to send for Nikki. She was nice, I could explain what happened and she could rescue me.

Could I be brave enough to wander around the boat dressed like this? Did I have the courage? I thought back to a night running through a field outside Macon, security dogs hot on my tail. I thought of jumping a ten-foot fence in Nashville to escape from a drug dealer who realized I'd seen something I shouldn't have. I remembered a pimp pulling a knife on me behind a bar in Tulsa.

This was scarier. At least I knew what I was capable of in those situations. I knew I could handle myself. But pass myself as a bride? I had no idea what to do!

I checked myself in the mirror. Makeup still looked okay. What had Andrea said? Stand up straight and make my voice high. Remembering that I was supposed to be happy, I tried to wipe the look of terror off my face.

I tried the door. It was unlocked. I forced my face into a smile. 'Pretend this is the happiest day of your life,' I told myself. Just smile, stand up straight, and find Nikki.

I had no idea where to go in the labyrinthine vessel. Occasionally a crewmember would dash by and give me a smile. I was relieved that no one seemed suspicious.

After about ten minutes of wandering around, I knew I had to ask for directions. Stopping an important looking sailor, I asked him if he knew where Nikki was.

He blinked at me for a second, and I thought my voice had given away. "Nikki?" he asked. "Oh, you mean Ms. Lewis. Hold on, I'll page her." My cover was safe. Andrea had a bit of a husky voice, and I had been able to pull it off, at least for a couple of sentences.

The sailor spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Yes, Ms. Jones is trying to locate Ms. Lewis. Anyone know where she is? Okay. Great. I'll tell her."

He turned to me. "She's in the Blue Room. She says come right in."

The Blue Room? What the hell was that? "Um, I'm a little turned around here..."

"Oh, straight through that door, up the stairs, on your right." I quickly exited.

It didn't take me long to find the empty ballroom where Nikki was located. I had hoped to catch her alone, but I found her leaning on a table, talking and laughing with a man in a khaki uniform and sunglasses. Though he wore no sort of insignia, his sunburned, weather beaten face shouted 'pilot.'

"Ah, there's the blushing bride," he said, removing his sunglasses, and grasping my hand. I remembered at the last minute not to give him a firm handshake. "Are you nervous Andrea?"

And how! Obviously Andrea knew this guy, but I didn't have a clue. At least he didn't see anything odd.

Ignoring him, I turned to Nikki. "Nikki? Can I talk to you? Alone?"

Nikki was still looking at the pilot. "Huh? Sure. Trent, could you excuse us a moment?" Trent winked at Nikki and left. She stared after him distractedly. Obviously Nikki was having romantic thoughts. Finally she remembered me.

"Don't you look gorgeous!" she said with a lovely smile. "Maybe a bit too much makeup. Let me help." She took a powder puff from her purse and started dabbing at my face.

"No," I pulled away. "I have to talk to you. Listen," I looked around to make sure we were alone. "I can't go through with the wedding."

Nikki tilted her head and looked at me sympathetically. "You don't need to explain, honey. I already know."

"You---you know?"

"Of course. Don't worry, it's going to be okay."

I could have screamed with relief. If Nikki knew what was going on, I had nothing to worry about. She'd help me escape!

"Come this way," she pulled me into a side door, which lead into a narrow passage. Eventually we emerged in a small foyer. "Now wait here," she ordered me. "I'll be back in a moment."

Sitting down was impossible in the gown, so I stood studying myself in a large, decorative mirror, starting at every sound. It was odd looking at a female reflection. Not just because of the gender reversal. In my whole life I had never worn nice clothes, and here I was, decked out in a gown that probably cost a few grand. Quite frankly, I couldn't believe Andrea was willing to give up such a luxurious life. Well, once she went to prison, she'd wish she was merely poor again. I'd see to that.

After about fifteen minutes, Nikki returned. "Sorry about that. Now, let's talk."

Talk? About what? I had to escape!

"Now, Andrea," she continued, "I know how you feel. Ever girl is nervous on her wedding day."

No, no, no! I couldn't believe it! Nikki didn't know about my problems, she just thought I was Andrea, having pre-wedding jitters.

"No, Nikki," I protested, "it's something else. I have something horrible to tell you."

"Andrea," Nikki said softly, "whatever it is, it doesn't matter. You're starting a new life, your old life is over. Don't worry about it, it's part of your past. Forget it."

I was desperate. "I can't marry Duke!"

"Honey," to my surprise, Nikki kissed my cheek. "Someday you'll thank me for this." I felt her press something into my hands. Looking down, I realized it was a bouquet of flowers that had been sitting in a vase. While I was distracted, I heard Nikki say something into a radio. "Okay, now."

I looked up. In front of me a large set of double doors opened. Before I could see what was beyond, Nikki gave me a firm push. In order not to trip on my dress, I stepped forward quickly and heard the doors close and latch behind. I became horribly aware of my surroundings.

There must have been nearly five hundred people in folding chairs, sitting in the large stateroom. The moment I entered, they all rose. The streams of a very familiar march filled the room, sickening me to my stomach. Flashbulbs popped everywhere. At the end of a long red carpet, I was dimly aware of the smiling figure of a young man.

Nikki had set me up! She thought she was doing me a favor and had forced me out to the wedding! Oh God, what now?

Everyone in the room was staring at me expectantly. I wanted to scream to them all that this was all a terrible, terrible mistake. And I knew I couldn't. Here I was standing in front of hundreds of people. How could I tell them I was just a guy in drag? It would be too utterly humiliating, for myself and for Andrea's fiancé.

I then did the hardest thing I had ever did in all my life. I began to walk forward. More cameras snapped as nervously walked down the aisle. This was not happening. Oh, God, this was so not happening.

Then I caught sight of him. Duke. Andrea's fiancé. He looked to be about thirty. Handsome, in a GQ kind of way. Here was the billionaire. Bile rose in my stomach. This guy was the cause of all my trouble. If he'd actually taken the time to know my sister I wouldn't be in this mess. Probably never worked a day in his life.

I stopped next to him. Boy, did he look happy. Why shouldn't he? It was his wedding day after all. I tried my best to smile. I tried my best not to look miserable and scared. It was all I could do not to run away.

The minister began the ceremony. I tried not to cringe. I tried to look happy. I'm sure my smile was just a hideous, painted on clown grin, as I stood there and crushed my flowers. I'd never been in this much trouble. Now that I'd committed to the wedding, I couldn't escape until after the reception! I might even have to wait until I went to Duke's room that night! Oh...oh, I was in deep. Goddamn Andrea!

I was dimly aware of the minister speaking. My mind was elsewhere, planning my escape. Maybe I could jump overboard, ditch the clothes, and hide out until I could get something new to wear. Maybe I could exchange clothes with someone on board. Was there a laundry room on the ship?

The minister cleared his throat and Duke was looking at me with an intense, worried expression. I was on. "I do," I managed to cough out. There was a smattering of laughter from the audience.

"Then, by the power vested in my by the state of Georgia, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Before I knew what was happening, Duke's lips met mine in a chaste, closed-mouth wedding kiss. I was too stunned to close my eyes. Then, as his lips fell away and I strained with myself not to wipe my lips, the worst thought of that horrible day hit me. I was married. Married to another man. I was a bride. I was---a wife.

I was screwed.

(continued)