Rednecks gathered in the water, guzzling Natty Light beer. Stoners played hacky-sack in a smoke-filled circle on the shore. A multitude of music, mainly country and classic rock, clashed. A hillbilly orchestra, conducted by oily men, competed for the honor of loudest speaker system. Most of the natives wore lake-stained swimsuits. But some of them did not.

Red, white, and blue stars were the nipple pasty of choice. Some islanders wore no pasties or swimsuit, baring it all from eighties style bush to red razor-rash vag. Saggy, patriotically decorated breasts dotted the island.

Julian looked trapped. Doobies still clamped tight in his teeth, he swam in small circles, not knowing where to turn. Back out into the open lake waters or onto the vagina-infested shores of Booby Island.

Harriett, Lulu, Jack, and I trudged up a sandy incline looking for a spot to make camp. Once settled, Jack unloaded the cooler, doling out cold cans of beer into our waiting hands. "We probably should have brought some bottled water," he said peering into the beer-filled ice chest.

"Does anybody have sunscreen?" I asked, removing my sunglasses and analyzing the reddish hue appearing across my shoulders and arms.

"Shit! We left it on the boat," Harriett moaned.

"What about towels?" Lulu questioned, looking around in vain. "What in the fuck! Are we going to sit in the mud?"

"It's sand," Harriett corrected.

"Muddy sand," Lulu shot back.

"Nipples everywhere, they're staring at me. That one looks like a squid's eye!" Julian shuddered, shaking water from his body and hiding behind Jack.

"We're such idiots, y'all. We left everything except the beer on the boat. We don't even have any food."
I wondered how we'd pass our time on Booby Island.

"I wanted to go skiing and tubing," Lulu pouted from her spot in the mud.

"To be survivors on this island, we need to be drunk," I said, reaching for another beer. "Let's play a drinking game."

An hour later we'd begun our metamorphosis into island natives, thanks to a heated game of "I Never."

"I never had butt phone sex," I laughed, calling out Lulu and forcing her to swig from her can of beer.

"Screw you, Annie." Lulu drank.

"You had butt-sex over the phone?" Jack asked Lulu, with shocked laughter.

"Did you actually go through with butthole insertion? Or did you fake it because he couldn't see you?" Harriet asked, wrinkling her nose but clearly interested.

"She used her sugar spoon!" I told on Lulu.

"Okay, okay I never called a witch doctor and begged her for a love-spell," Lulu shot back, forcing me to drink, embarrassed.

"I never mailed my period blood across the ocean to Europe," I yelled at Lulu, wanting to get even.

"He wanted me to," Lulu screamed back, referring to her ex, the British con-man. She chugged the rest of her beer.

"Okay, gross. I don't even want to hear that story," Jack started.

Loud cheers coming from down the beach interrupted our game. As a group we jogged with drunken interest to see what we were missing.

A mud wrestling match was in full swing. Two naked, beasts of women were tackling one another in a pool of oozing sludge. Lenny Kravitz's 'American Woman' blared loudly and Lake People cheered as the mud fight reached its pinnacle. The victorious woman pumped her muddy fists high in the air while standing on top of the mud-drenched loser.

"Hey, Jack, wanna wrestle?" Julian asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and looking hopeful.

"I'll wresssthle you thhson," an unfamiliar voice came from behind us. The man was toothless and large, wearing a confederate flag bandana wrapped around his fleshy head. He spoke with a lisp which contradicted his deep voice. His gum-filled smile lingered on Jewls. "I like your ssswimssssuite," the man purred, petting Julian's wet fur mankini.

"Help! Stranger danger!" Julian screamed as the man moved in, scooping my writhing friend's body up over his head and carrying him toward the mud pit.

Lulu, Harriett, Jack, and I laughed, enjoying the show. We began a slow chant of Jewls...Jewls...Jewls...Jewls...Jewls...

"Nooo, this will ruin my leopard swimwear. Don't cheer! Don't cheer for that! This is the fur of a mighty leopard, show some respect," Julian yelled to the crowd as he drew closer to the squishy brown hole. "Oh my God! Where are my doobies?" He asked, genuinely panicked over the idea of mud destroying the joints he fought so hard to bring along.

Hearing Julian's comments the drunken crowd chanted harder, deciding they loved my friend, this furry banana-hammock wearing doobie-smoking queer.

"Jewls...Jewls...Jewls...Jewls"

The lisper flung him into the mud pit.

Julian wailed, but like a honey badger, he quickly re-gathered his strength and spun about, attacking his lisping molester with ferocious intensity and terrifying force. Jewls knocked the surprised man to his knees, hopped onto his back and rode him like a rodeo bull. "Yeeehaaaw!" He called, as the man bucked wildly beneath him.

"Jewls...Jewls...Jewls...Jewls," the enchanted crowd continued to chant.

Recognizing his admired status, his acceptance amongst the Booby Island natives, Julian beamed and played to his audience. He danced a jaunty jig in the squishy mud. With chants of "Jewls" ringing in his semi-deaf ears, he bent slowly down toward the lisper, now lying in the mud. Julian puckered his plump lips and planted a long, slow tongue kiss onto the lisping losers muddy mouth.

Finished with his performance, Julian rose to his feet. "I'm king of the lake people!" he declared, throwing open his arms, flinging mud droplets into the now hysterical crowd.

At six forty-five that evening my friends and I, dehydrated, angry, and with matching sunburns speckled in bits of dried mud, finally made our way back to the Barnes's estate. No thanks to Matt John.

We sat waiting on the docks, our designated pick-up point, for over an hour, desperate to escape Booby Island. But Matt John never came.

His mother finally appeared at the docks, an angel in a cigarette boat, saving us from a life stranded on Booby Island. She didn't bother to apologize for Matt John's behavior. I think she sensed we weren't in the mood.

"This is the worst fucking Fourth of July ever!" Lulu cried once aboard the boat, her face streaked with lake mud.

"I can't believe he never came back." Harriett shook her head, bewildered.

"What about the airplane rides?" Julian questioned, the only one of us to enjoy the Booby Island experience and seemingly ready for more excitement.

"Oh, don't worry! We'll take up the plane as soon as we get home," Debbie promised.

True to her word the small open airplane was gassed, engine rumbling when we returned. Matt John's father, Mike, sat waiting in the cockpit.

"Which two are going up first?" he asked, from beneath his bug-eyed cockpit goggles.

Julian and Lulu moved first, hopping into the bi-plane and securing their flimsy seatbelts. We watched them fly away, disappearing into the night as the first explosions of fireworks lit the darkening sky.

Harriett, Jack, and I waited, faces tilted upward, toward the explosive show.

"Y'all go next. I'm going to wait and ride with Matt John." Harriett stubbornly refused to accept that her fantasy had dissolved.

So that's how I found myself crammed into a rickety looking airplane next to Jack Swanson. We flew in silence watching fireworks burst in brilliant flashes. Inside I exploded along with the fireworks, unable to curtail my sizzling feelings for Jack. Stop it Annie, I scolded myself. He's gay! Besides, what's wrong with me? I finally have Jaime Knox.

The plane plunged, dropping through the night. Jack's arms were on me, embracing my body tight. Even as we fell I felt safe. As quickly as it dropped, the plane altered its course, rising once again. Jack appeared immune to our peril. He hummed the tune to the Star Spangle Banner. I joined and together we shared a patriotic moment, laughing together and enjoying the thrill of riding in the flimsy aircraft. We talked easily, each absorbed in conversation.

He asked about my missed interview with Dallas Morning News and listened with interest as I told him of my dreams to become a writer. He shared with me his passion for books. And for a moment it felt as though we saw the world through one another's eyes.

"Annie, can I ask you something?" Jack said, after a comfortable moment of silence.

"Sure."

"What do you want from life?" He stared intensely into my eyes as an orchestra of fireworks continued to boom.

Caught off guard by the depth of his question I paused to consider my answer, never breaking his gaze. I settled upon what I wanted. "Everything," I told him. "I want love, a partner in crime, joy, freedom, friendship, laughter. I want to write. I want giant parties and beauty and a family, all of it. Maybe that's why I struggle. I want a little piece of it all and can't seem to settle."

"And you think this Jaime Knox can give you all that?" He looked as though he was not at all convinced.

"I think there's a chance he could. Maybe?"

"Good then," Jack breathed deeply. "Because you deserve everything, Annie. You deserve everything you want and more."

Jack said nothing more on the subject of Jaime, but our short conversation would haunt my thoughts for weeks to come.

Jaime makes me happy, right? I thought, disappointed as our small plane touched down roughly onto the thin runway, signaling the end of my time with Jack.

Harriett, Lulu, and Jewls waited at the Barnes's house, each looking as tired as I felt. Everyone took a Xanex and slept like kittens all night long.

I awoke the next morning with a headache and an urgent need to get back to Dallas, to Jaime. Motivated I jumped from bed and began packing my overnight bag. Once finished, I crept from my room wondering if anyone else was awake.

I heard noises coming from the kitchen and was about to round the corner when I recognized the muffled sounds of a woman's crying. I stopped short, hidden in the hallway and listened closely.

Deborah Barnes wept violently into the phone, her voice racked with sobs. "This was our last chance to save Matt John and it failed miserably. If that beautiful Harriett can't make him want to sober up, change his ways, nothing will. We're going to have to send him to re-hab."

Yikes. Silently, I tiptoed back down the hall toward Harriet's room. I crawled in bed with my friend, studying her beautiful face. Please don't settle, Harriett. I wished she knew how much more she deserved.

Her eyelids quivered and she opened her wide-blue eyes. As her memory kicked in, disappointment flooded her face. She pulled the covers over her head. "I'm going to die alone," she mumbled beneath her shield of blanket. "Even that loser Matt John doesn't want me."

"Harriett," I sighed, wishing she could see how lucky she was to have escaped a life trapped on the lake with Matt John. "You deserve so much more than that loser. This whole trip was divine intervention. A bitch slap from God! God doesn't want you to settle for anything less than amazing. Matt John's an idiot for passing on you. He walked right by a once-in-a-lifetime rummage sale at Neiman's and is too stupid to be sad."

It struck me that my concerns in regard to Harriett settling for less than she deserved were similar to the words Jack spoke to me in the plane. The harder I fought to forget his doubts the louder Jack's voice rang in my ears.

And you think this Jaime Knox can give you all that?

Unable to block out budding concerns, I joined my friend under the covers.

Vote, vote, vote, vote. Please and thank you :)

Also, I am taking part in the Brigade Watty Awards, and I'll be in love with you forever for voting for Fag Hag in the contest. It is chapter 83 and here is the link:

http://my.w.tt/UiNb/io0KGX0lkv

Thank you so very much!!