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“Yes, I am. It’s very different from my regular life.”
“First time, huh?”
“Sort of?”
She looked at me curiously.
“The setting is totally new—and very refreshing. But the spanking…” I paused, but really didn’t feel at all inhibited saying, “it isn’t new at all.”
“I see. But did you expect this?”
“No, not at all.”
She nodded her head knowingly. “I’d figure as much. KC Gable is a scoundrel.”
“You’ve seen him before?”
“Every year for the last six. We’re old pals.”
“I suppose he’s familiar with every ass around here,” I ventured, hoping to hear more.
“Oh, my yes! He’d be voted, ‘most liked to be spanked by.’”
“Really?”
“Oooo, yes, he’s a sexy man. Be glad you bagged him for the season.”
The season? That rattled me. “Does he usually bring a woman?”
“Always, a different one every year. I don’t suppose he’s mentioned them?”
“I’ve never asked. And are they collared women?”
“Of course.”
I felt shamefully naked without a collar of my own. They were just simple bands, a few were made of leather, some fabric. But nothing like the S&M slave collars I’ve seen in leather catalogues. These were much more subdued.
“You know we’re not a hardcore crowd. We love our lust, and like it a little kinky this time of year. Then hardly think about it the rest of the year… well, except for those few who live it all the time.”
She was a jolly one who was easily distracted. I was just about to get to some meaty questions when two fellows, needing Gretchen for the chorus approached us. She was a singer as well as fabric worker and could belt out bawdy drinking songs in her rich female contralto with a resonance to match any man’s sonorous baritone.
“So, am I just your date for the summer?” I asked KC at lunch. I knew this would sound testy and suspicious; but having dwelled on my conversation with Gretchen for three hours, I couldn’t stop myself no matter how distrustful the question sounded.
“What was that?” he was honestly aghast.
“Am I just your annual date to the Faire,” I reframed my words.
“This is a serious question?” he looked seriously baffled.
“Yes.”
His expression turned menacing, as though I’d stepped over the line. “Have you been talking to someone?”
“Gretchen.”
“Listening to gossip is pretty stupid, Gail.”
“Are you avoiding the question?” I wondered aloud. I’m not sure why I kept pressing, especially since I knew we were headed for an argument.
