It had been years since I'd been to a medieval recreation event on my own, and the feeling was a strange one. Ordinarily, I'd be here with my wife(and, often, our two daughters). We'd be together much of the time, politely talking and flirting with others as well as with each other. But today, I was alone, a bachelor, a lone wolf. And, as I say, it felt weird.
So, I kept to myself much of the day, reading science fiction, chatting with friends, exchanging idle gossip, and trying to sharpen my flirting abilities by making ladies 20 years younger than me giggle. I was satisfied with being alone, still feeling a bit out of place, until late in the afternoon. Then, I found myself bored with whole thing and wanting to escape. Since it was a raw, windy, rainy November day, outside was impossible. The main hall was cramped and filled to almost overflowing with fighters and spectators. The alcove to the hall was likewise filled with chatting gentles, the merchants' spaces, and the tollner's station. The "quiet" hall was anything but. And the basement was an echo chamber, so that the three or four speakers there were making as much noise as an army.
Where to go? I went exploring and found a door marked "To the Pit of Hell". Well, I couldn't lose by going there, since some folk seemed to feel I had reservations already. So down I went to the sub-basement of the building...warm and dirty, the furnace room and storage area. But quiet. And completely devoid of human occupants (although I couldn't swear that other life forms were not present). So I pulled up a chair, cleaned it off, took out my novel and settled in for an interlude of peace and quiet.
* * * * *
About an hour later, I emerged from the depths to find the feast was about to get going. I hurriedly found my table & my table-mates, set up my feast gear, and fielded the inevitable questions as to where I'd disappeared. The feast was alright, though nothing to write home about. Following local custom, the highest ranking gentle became server for the table. Me. Ah, well, a good chance to meet others. And in line in front of me was a lovely young lady, who I had briefly met...Jocelyn, I recalled. She was about three inches shorter than me, and was wearing a chemise, well off her shoulders, and a plaid skirt. Her auburn hair was to her shoulders, and her smile was infectious. Naturally, I flirted, giving her a slightly lecherous leer. The young man near us accused me of trying to devour her with my eyes. When I protested, she responded that I could eat her up anytime I wanted.
So it started. And continued with each remove (of which there were many...thank you, gods). We flirted, each two minute opportunity becoming more intense. I complimented her eyes, her shoulders, her hair, her grace. And she responded, warmly, blushing. I was amazed. I always figured that my flirtations were nothing spectacular, that my wife responded amorously because we're married and very much in lust, and the ladies of the household were gigglers anyway. So, when a complete stranger showed interest in a "lecherous old man" and his come-ons, I was flattered and slightly bewildered.
However, after a cup or two of wine, I became bolder and stopped at her table. She was chatting with her friends and I dared to interrupt. I drifted a fingertip to her naked shoulders and lightly stroked her flesh. She started and turned, but seeing me, smiled.