Winnipeg Wonders: Canoe Country Follow-up
After a pleasant late fall drive up the west side of Minnesota and on into Manitoba, I arrived rather late to my hotel in downtown Winnipeg. After lugging in my suitcase and a bag of items for my workshop the next day, I grabbed a bite to eat in the bar of the hotel, and just went to bed.
The next morning after a decent hotel breakfast, I made my way across the river to Fort Gibraltar, where the Fall Gathering of the English Civil War reenactment group was taking place. I am a little shy in public, so while I brought my period clothing to wear, I wore normal clothes while traveling, and as I drove into the Saint Boniface neighborhood and found the recreated log fur-trade post. I was giving a presentation as part of the long weekend event that brings students and aficionados of that time in English history to Winnipeg every few years. I was proud of my outfit, which replicates one that might have been worn by a soldier in about 1650. And I was pleased to have been asked to present on the life of a little-known English rebel and his operations.
Parking my car in the lot, I toted my pack basket filled with my period clothing and my material and walked up the front steps of the Great Hall. I was greeted warmly by the registration folks, whom I remembered from previous events. Sophie Lamiere and Jeannette Framboise are excellent knitters and seamsters, in addition to volunteering to host the event. They were wearing petticoats over their white linen chemises, with coif caps covering their shorter-than-period-correct hairstyles. We joked as I signed in and got the itinerary sheet and other stuff, some of it from some Winnipeg chamber of commerce or tourist bureau.
Sophie directed me to a restroom where I could change, and, pleased with the effect, I set my other stuff on a bench along the log wall. Hungry, I walked over to the table where the continental breakfast spread was laid. As I was sliding a croissant onto my paper plate, I looked up at the woman on the other side of the table, who was refilling a platter of hard rolls. I did a double-take and looked more closely.
"Britt?" I asked with a rising inflection.
The woman looked up with a questioning smile, looked at me, and the smile turned into a wide, toothy grin. "Is it Tom? Oh, my God! Tom!" she clapped her hands, emitted a happy squeal, and rushed around to my side of the table for a big hug.
I was happy to see her, too, and as we hugged I was happy to notice that she was wearing period-correct underclothing--that is, her unencumbered breasts were pressed into my chest.
Raising her head and clasping my arms with her hands, she exclaimed, "What a surprise! I'm so glad to see you!" Leaning in, she gave me a kiss on my cheek, and as we rubbed faces she whispered, "I keep remembering our canoe trip! It was such fun, and... Ooh! I'm getting wet just seeing you again."
"I'm glad to see you, too, Britt," I responded. "That was the best canoe trip I've ever been on." We both laughed as we broke apart.
"But what are you doing here?" She asked.
So I told her about my presentation, and the book I'd written, and how I've been coming to these events for several years. I asked her what she was doing at the event.
"Oh, my ex-boyfriend got me involved," she waved a hand and smiled again. "But I got more interested, and he got less interested, and when we broke up I just stayed in the Winnipeg club. So I'm on the hospitality team, and I'll take part in as much of everything as I can."
We talked some more, and before she went back into the kitchen, she led me over to a private corner and stepped inside the door of a custodial closet. Turning to face me, she quickly reached for the hem of her petticoat and chemise, and to my surprise lifted them up to show me her bare lady bits. She giggled and dropped the skirts before anyone else could catch her.
"I'd love to see more of you, too, Tom. Check with me later!" Giving me a kiss on my lips, she scurried off.
In a bit of a daze fueled by erotic memories and hoping no one noticed the tent in my baggy britches, I loaded a few more breakfast items onto my plate, got a coffee, and found a spot at one of the tables. My meal was consumed in a reverie as I recalled how we'd encountered each other in the wilderness of the Boundary Waters and the Quetico Provincial Park, last summer.
I'd been on a solo two-week canoe trip in the pristine wilderness of the lake country and had set up my camp at a favorite spot on a favorite lake. I was skinny dipping when Britt and her sister Tegen paddled up, having been unable to find their own campsite. That was the beginning of a week of serious sex, interspersed with paddling, sex, portaging, sex, swimming, fishing, sex, campfires, sex, and sex. We'd parted on very friendly terms, all of us needing to return to our real lives back in civilization. We had not traded contact info, having accepted our time together as a glorious, one-time adventure with no regrets.
I smiled as I saw Britt helping out around the kitchen and hall, and refamiliarized myself with her features. A little bit short but well-muscled, Britt still looked slender and fit. Her reddish hair, which she'd worn double-braided last summer, was today pulled back into a traditional bun at the back of her head. Though paler than she had been in July, she still had the normal red-head's freckles on her face and arms. And she was apparently still as bold as she had been back in July, when she and I had fucked standing up while her sister held her up, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lakes and trees of the wilderness.
I didn't see her sister Tegen around the gathering, but I certainly remembered her fondly, too. A bit taller than Britt, she didn't look like her sister. With black hair and slightly darker skin, smaller breasts than Britt's nicely rounded ones, and the trim look of a long-distance runner, Tegen was a bit quieter than Britt but equally passionate when it came to sex, and sometimes opted for daring positions.
I set those pleasant memories aside as the day began, and I immersed myself in the life of 1600s England. I got a good response to my first presentation, which was Part One; I'd finish up the next day. It was fun reconnecting with people I only saw once a year at these events, and I enjoyed a hands-on workshop where I made a man's cap. I even had the chance to sit down over coffee once with Britt and learn more about her life. She made it clear that she was not romantically attached to anyone at the moment. When she invited me to come to her place that night, she reached under the table and gave the bulge in my pants an affectionate squeeze. So I thought things were going well.
There was a buffet dinner for the participants as the last event of the evening, and I sat with Britt to enjoy the meal, listening to an early music group and talking with table mates. Pretty much the whole time, Britt and I were playing footsie under the table. Not that we had reasons for being secretive or anything, as far as I knew. No one there was playing morality police, anyway. I was feeling pretty horny as I thought about her lips sliding up and down over my cock, or me nibbling on her clit until she came. But still...
When the evening came to a close, I had to keep my seat for several minutes before I could stand up, to keep anyone from noticing the swelling in the front of my authentic 17th century breeches.
Britt eagerly led me to her car, asking first what hotel I was staying at. When I told her, she gave a happy smile and said she could take care of that. Before we drove away from the Fort, she tapped out a long text message, smiled happily again, and off we went.
We stepped out of her car in front of a small house not too far away, and I was glad I was wearing baggy britches and that it was dark, because my hard-on was tenting the baggy wool material in a very noticeable way.
