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><i>This is a little aside from the main story, but one >of my favorites. Something actually happened to a >friend of mine, and I when I asked if she'd let me use >it, she gave me the line about how stories can't go >untold. The names have of course been changed to >protect the guilty. I think no matter what kind of >sex Emma had with Mike, she'd have a hard time topping >this one.</i> > > > >It was a windy evening, spitting rain every now and >then, making a fire pit at Salt Creek a miserable >impossibility. Stealing a bottle from the staff >reserves, Storie held moved the party into her room, >announcing that anyone with a tackle box was welcome, >but fishing poles were not. Dejected, the boys slunk >off to parts unknown while the rest of us girls piled >in with blankets, junk food, and all the other >trappings of a first rate slumber party. > >Naturally, after about a half hour of the usual >complaining of guests and a philosophical discussion >of the benefits of the ice cream maker, the topic >turned to sex. For a ranch that had been barred from >doing the dirty, a lot of dirty still managed to >happen. We all contributed, stories about horrible >boyfriends and one night stands, each person trying to >out-do the previous. > >I had a sneaking suspicion if I told the story of Mike >and I, I’d win hands down, but I kept my mouth shut >and considered myself the winner no matter what. Or >at least I did until Kate spoke up. > >She’d been laughing along with everyone else, poking >fun at Jen and her story about the guy who burped into >her mouth, when she suddenly heaved a dramatic sigh >and suddenly held up her hands for silence. We all >looked to her expectantly. > >“I wasn’t going to tell anyone about this,” said Kate. > “I swore I’d take it to the grave, but, well, a story >like this, it can’t remain untold. > >“Every December, out in San Francisco, where I’m from, >they have the Great Dickens Christmas Fair. They take >over a convention hall and build a replica of >Victorian London, complete with chimney sweeps and >sawdust snow. A friend of my runs a clothing booth >there and I always help out. It’s fun. You get to >dress up in fancy clothes and talk like Oliver Twist. >There’s probably two hundred people who work there. >They even reenact scenes from Dickens classics, Mr. >Scrooge and all that. I pretty much stand in the >booth and tell people how great the look in silly hats >and encourage them to buy trinkets and whatnot. But I >get to wear pretty things. And let me tell you, >Victorian clothing may be super conservative, but the >lingerie is downright sinful. Corsets and ruffles and >lace.” > >“Sounds uncomfortable to me,” said Caro, reaching for >a handful of chips. > >“Well, if they’re fitted right, there not all that >bad,” said Kate, shrugging. “But oh my god, corsets >make your boobs look amazing. And you spend all day, >dressed from neck to toes, but underneath, you’re >wearing a black number with red lace trim and ruffly >underwear. Mm! It’s enough to turn anyone on. > >“Anyways, I’d work there on weekends and spent the >night at my friend’s apartment in the city. One >night, I think it was somebody’s roommate’s birthday >or something, we decided to go out drinking. And my >friend dared me to wear the corset out. I threw it on >over some jeans and we went out to a club. > >“It was like flies on honey. The guys, they couldn’t >get enough. But there was this one guy, a freaking >giant, he saw me and seemed, I dunno, a little pissed >and a little amused. He was gorgeous. Long, shaggy >blonde hair, beard, glasses. So right up my alley he >was practically parked in my front lobby. He came >over, we started taking. Then we started not talking >and by the end of the night, we were doing the dirty >in the back of his friend’s car.” Kate smiled >wickedly. “He had me keep the corset on.” > >We all grinned along with her. > >“Anyway, we got dressed and he dropped me off and I >got about three hours of sleep before I had to be back >at the fair the next morning. > >“I’m all dressed and doing my shop girl thing. Every >now and then, I’d move and feel the corset and think >about the night before and get a little flushed and >hot. The booth got stuffy, so I stepped out into the >hall to get some air. > >“I hear this voice from behind me, all deep and >fake-English. ‘I bet I know what color your corset is, >madam.’ I turn around and well...” > >Kate bit her lip, but kept on going. > >“Remember what I said about them re-enacting scenes >from Dickens?” > >We all nodded, eager for her to continue. > >“Let’s just say that I never though the Ghost of >Christmas Past would curve slightly to the left.”
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