Double Tears
Chapter 103
“Cosplay. Why you just said the magic word!”
—Danika Stone, All the Feels
DESI AND I got to Indianapolis in plenty of time to stop at the hotel room Riko and Riley reserved for us. They’d put our costumes in our closet and then went to finish setting up their booth. Desi and I glanced at the clock and then at the bed. We tore the covers off the bed and the clothes off each other.
“I kept wanting you to go faster on the freeway so we’d have time for this,” she panted as my cock sank into her wet pussy. “Oh, Jacob! I love making love to you!”
“We have all weekend, Lover,” I said. “I want to be in this position frequently. As often as we can.”
“Can I be on top sometimes?” I rolled us over and Desi sat back, just doing little pelvic thrusts as I reached up to play with her breasts. Her head tilted back and her breath came in gasps. “I love this!”
“So do I, beautiful.” My hands slid down to caress her rippling stomach. I thought Desi had trimmed down a bit this spring, though it might be that her breasts got bigger. I lifted them and stroked the hard points of her nipples with my thumbs.
“I’m so… Are you…? Can you…?” Desi’s movements became more pronounced, sliding my cock in and out as she slammed down on me. Yes, I was.
“Now!” I screamed as I pushed up into her and started spurting.
“Yes!” she answered. I was glad I kept hold of her boobs. That slowed her descent as she collapsed forward onto me. I let her down on my chest and reveled in the feel of her weight resting on me as we fought to catch our breath.
“We need to get cleaned up and over to the show,” I said. “I don’t want Riley and Riko mad at me the first night. I’d love it, though, if you promised to put your incredible vagina around my penis again later tonight.”
“You might have to lick it first. Just to make sure it’s ready,” she giggled.
“Oh, woe is me.”
PopCon attracts more characters from various media than a ComicCon. It was truly cross-cultural. I was amused to see a couple high-profile political leaders in the costume parade. Turned out, there was a booth displaying books including one titled Fake News: An Unauthorized Autobiography. I was tempted to pick it up. I hadn’t found anything humorous in any of the news I’d read in this life.
Of course, there were many costumes depicting favorite anime and comic book characters, especially those recently released in superhero movies. There was an entire Steampunk contingent. I was intrigued by the concept behind books like Jeffrey Cook’s Dawn of Steam and Nikki McCormack’s The Girl and the Clockwork Cat. There were a lot of cosplayers around their booth dressed as characters from the wide range of books in that genre.
“Riley has been wanting us to do a steampunk cosplay ever since you joined us,” Desi said as she strolled along beside me. “It will depend somewhat on the popularity at the Ren Faires.”
“They do steampunk at the Ren Faires?” I asked.
“Yes. And pirates. Lots of pirates.”
“I guess I can understand that.”
“The central themes continue to be medieval kings, knights, damsels in distress, and that sort of thing. Lots of handcrafts, too. Far more than what you see at the cons. But there have been increasing factions of pirates and steampunk cosplayers wandering around and even exhibiting.”
We got to the RPG section of the show floor and went to a performance platform to show off our costumes. I did some runs on the lute and Desi joined in with a story song she made up about the Bard’s Tale. She didn’t seem to need a set tune and I just kept playing one of the renaissance dance pieces I’d rehearsed. She fit the words to whatever tune I was playing.
We got applause and several people wanted to have pictures taken with us before we were moved off the platform and a couple of Hobbits took it over. Nice costumes.
“Reactions, responses, and reflections?” Riley asked as we sat at dinner. It took nearly half an hour after the show officially closed at ten to get the booth buttoned up and head for the hotel café. We were just getting food at eleven at night and I was a little impatient to get Des back to bed.
“Typical Friday crowd,” Desi said. “Lots of people in for a first look so when they come back tomorrow or Sunday, they’ll have their list of priorities. Fantasy novels seem to be making a comeback. New authors but the same elves, dwarves, and dragons of a century ago.” Riley looked at me.
“Noisy,” I said. “Acoustics in the hall are terrible. I don’t think even Desi is being heard more than five feet away. The lute doesn’t carry that far. I could be strumming a dummy instrument and no one would know.” It was true. We’d stopped five times at photo/performance stations and during one of the photos, someone had said, ‘Oh, you’re actually playing that!’
“We might need to look at amplification,” Riley said.
“Traffic in the booth was much as Desiree described it,” Riko said. “People standing just outside the range where we could engage, looking and pointing. A couple of sales to people who want to ‘blow their friends’ minds’ when they show up tomorrow.”
“We’ve always known Saturday was the big day here,” Riley said. “Do we need to make any major changes in order to do better tomorrow?”
“I don’t think the warrior woman companion costume is working well,” Desi said. “Jacob’s outfit is great but I’m doing the singing. I should go to more of a Snow White rig or sexy peasant girl. Even barmaid.”
“It would certainly loosen your performance up,” Riko posed. “You need to remember, though, that Jacob has his hands full already and won’t be able to protect you as well.”
“I think I can handle it,” Desi said.
“Lying in bed waiting for Jacob and thinking of all the fun we had here last fall,” Desi was saying into her phone when I left the bathroom. “Yes. If he’s not too tired. We can sleep in way late in the morning. We’re working noon to ten.— Yeah. I’m going to get it before we go instead of waiting till after.— Want to talk to him?” Desi handed me the phone and I listened to my sister.
“Hope you’re having fun,” she said.
“Oh, yeah. I think this is the only weekend we have all summer where Desi and I are alone. I want to take advantage of it as much as possible,” I laughed. Desi leaned over and sucked my cock into her mouth. “Mmm.”
“I’d stick around and walk you through it, but I just got home from my route and haven’t eaten yet.”
“I wish you were here. I think Desi and I know how the pieces fit together, though.”
“Don’t make it too hard for her to walk tomorrow,” Em laughed. “Goodnight, J. Happy pussy and sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight, Em. Get some sleep. I sure don’t want you driving when you’re sleep deprived.”
We hung up and Desi pulled me over her. It didn’t last long but we slept well.
When we woke up in the morning, we continued to play until Riley knocked on the door and called, “Breakfast downstairs in half an hour. Don’t be late!” I pulled my spent cock out of Desi’s drenched pussy and kissed her again.
“Mmm. Didn’t your sister say not to make it hard for me to walk today?” she sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You never have to apologize for sex that good,” she said, kissing me again. “Now get the shower going so you can scrub my voluptuous peasant body and get me into a skirt.”
“Aren’t you going to wear a blouse, too?”
“I suppose. But I plan to be swinging free under it.”
Riley and Riko examined our costumes after breakfast and after she’d tweaked Desi’s nipples, made her go back to the room and put pasties on. I helped.
We turned our roles a little less bardic and just became traveling entertainers. That’s one thing about a con: no one really cares if they can recognize the character as long as you are creating one. Instead of focusing all our performance time on the platforms, I played as we walked up and down the aisles, through the lobby, and down the meeting room halls. We did hit the platforms as well, but we were doing pretty well just wandering. Like a wandering minstrel, I guess. Several of the larger booths invited us in to perform in front of their displays. That drew people to their offerings and gave us a safe space to entertain where we weren’t blocking aisles.
“Are you doing any Ren Faires this summer?” one of our hosts asked. His business was as an armorer and he had a variety of plastic but realistic looking swords and knives.
“We head for Lawrence, Kansas, midweek,” Desi said. “We’ll be at the Kansas Ren Faire for two weekends. We’ll have other characters joining us there.”
“Fantastic! I’ll have my full armory set up there. None of this plastic stuff. You’ll be welcome to stop and entertain at my shop any time,” he said. “I’m Dustin Kane, armorer, at your service. Let me give you my card. Give me a call when you get to Lawrence and we’ll go out to eat. I’d love to get together with you.” Well, that was obvious. He was doing his best to be inclusive, but Desi’s cleavage was like a magnet to his eyes. I could see clearly what he wanted to get together with.
Still, another friendly venue at the next stop.
The place got busier and more crowded as the day turned to evening. Riley got us all sandwiches and we ate in the booth. He crammed his down so he could deal with customers while Riko ate in peace. I was glad to see the booth had been busy.
It was good to sit for a while. I planned to run tomorrow morning but wasn’t sure if my legs would be up to it. Besides, that would mean getting out of Desi’s bed. Not going to happen.
After I got home Sunday night, I got Pey to join me in my room to record a concert. There had been no place and no time to do one in Indy. True to form, she fell asleep beside me and I carried the little angel to her bed.
Every once in a while, some ninja emotion crept up on me silently and slew me. That’s what it was like when I looked at her sleeping in her bed. I cried for V1’s lost little sister. I was coming to dislike the old man more every day.
I posted the video and went to bed. Tomorrow, I’d be back in the midst of practicing with Cindy before we all headed to Kansas.
We were headed out on Thursday, so I called an early halt to our practice on Wednesday. There was a stop I hadn’t been able to make since I got home. I sent a text and received the reply, “Come to lunch.” I got in the truck and headed out into the country.
“Jacob! I’m so glad you had an opportunity to visit me during your short time back,” Donna said as she met me at the door. I didn’t have time to get my shoes off before she had me in a hug. Once again, I felt those soft cushions against my chest and surreptitiously stroked my hand down her back to see if I could feel any straps. I didn’t. “You know, I don’t do that just so you can get a charge out of it,” she said, stepping back and looking sternly into my eyes. “It’s a side benefit,” she giggled. “Get your shoes off and come in for lunch.”
Donna Levy giggled? And made a suggestive comment? And gave me a long hug. A lot of V1 fantasies were coming alive beneath my fingertips. I pulled off my shoes and followed her inside. She had two places set at the kitchen table with placemats, napkins, bowls, and flatware. It looked quaint.
“Would you get the tea out of the fridge and pour it while I dress the salad?” she asked.
“My pleasure,” I said. I retrieved a pitcher of tea, poured two glasses, and set them on the table.
“Go ahead and sit. It’s simple food. Just a farmer’s salad.”
“What’s a farmer’s salad?”
“Whatever is ripe in the garden. I don’t plant a huge garden but it always produces way more than I can eat. This just has spring greens, baby carrots, a little broccoli, and some peapods. I know you, especially, need protein, so I chopped a grilled chicken breast into it. I hope you like it,” she said, serving a huge portion to my bowl.
“Thank you, Donna. This is delicious,” I said. “I didn’t intend for you to do anything special.”
“Even a spinster farmgirl needs to eat.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Donna, how old do farmgirls need to be before they are considered spinsters?” I thought that was a subtle way to ask her age. She didn’t take the bait.
“In this county, about fifteen. If a girl isn’t showing a baby bump by the time she’s out of high school, she pretty much has to move to the city.” She looked at me with an expression of pure innocence and I wanted to reach across the table to kiss her. Her smile turned impish.
“Or she has to become a school marm,” I nodded. “I suppose eventually she ends up a librarian. Unless some traveling salesman comes along and sweeps her off her feet.” I held her eye and we both started laughing.
“How are your rehearsals coming?” she asked. Maybe it was a shift of conversation away from age but seemed like a natural flow of conversation between two friends.
“Cindy and I connect well when we’re playing. I don’t think it’s what any of our music teachers are hoping for but this morning, Desi joined us and sang to some of the tunes we’re playing. We’ll find out how it all comes together this weekend, I guess,” I said.
“Desi has words to your music?”
“Desi has an uncanny ability to make things up on the fly. She’s been working with her parents at Ren Faires almost since she was born and has a flair for performance,” I paused a moment as I savored some herb that caught me by surprise.
“Borage,” Donna said.
“I wanted to thank you again for stepping in to help last week.”
“I’m sure you could have handled it. I just happened to be there.”
“I made a big speech and set some rules but one thing I’ve learned about being a teen is you can’t control adults. They respect good ideas and will listen to my desires but they still don’t quite consider us capable of making decisions about our future. I’m very fortunate to have the parents I have.”
“Your mother was head to head with Betty Marvel a couple of times but I think they’ll get along okay. Do you still want to become a writer?”
“Yes. I don’t know if I’ll ever be a great writer but I have a need for that creative outlet. And I don’t mean music isn’t creative. They are completely different things. I feel—even when I make recordings—music is a temporary thing. After the performance, the notes fade in the air and it’s over. I think that’s why I—and maybe musicians in general—spend so much time with our instruments. When we’re holding them, the music is real. When we set them aside, the music is only a memory. Writing, though… I’ve gone back to read a couple of things I wrote last year. Thanks to you and continuing practice, my writing has improved. But the stories still capture me. And I don’t need to be reading them aloud in order for someone else to experience my… What is it? Is writing still considered an artform? Can I say my art?”
“Jacob, that was beautifully put. Yes, both an art and a craft. One that is being lost today. I’m not a luddite, by any stretch, but our technology has changed language in a way we may never recover from. Prose is being trampled into e-speak. Simplify this sentence. Be direct. One hundred forty characters only. Encountering someone who wants to truly use language to convey more than data is refreshing. It’s what I saw in your writing.”
“You’ve helped my craft immensely. I hope the art grows as well.” We cleared the dishes from the table and I washed them while Donna packaged the remains of our salad and put it in the refrigerator.
“Shall we walk the estate?” she suggested. I agreed and we stepped out to the deck to put our shoes on and head toward the path around the massive lawn her father had used as a driving range.
We continued our chat as we walked along the fence and when we reached the woodlot in back, I was surprised to find Donna’s hand in mine. Someplace between character arcs and grammar they had simply slipped together. It was so natural, I wasn’t thrown by it at all. It was like holding Beca’s hand in mine. She was my friend and we could walk that way for hours without ever thinking about it.
And thinking of that, led me to something else I needed to ask.
“Donna, I’m worried about Beca. She’s not going with us to Kansas this weekend. She’s convinced that if she goes anywhere, she’ll miss Joan’s call. I was wondering if… if you’d mind her coming out to visit. I mean… I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you to babysit. But I know you like her, too, and she could just use a friend to lean on while the rest of us are gone,” I said.
“Jacob, every member of the pod is welcome to visit here at any time. I don’t want my house to be a place people need permission for. You know that all the girlfriends have been to visit me since the big meeting?”
“No! I had no idea.”
“Jacob, what you have—and I use the plural you to include all the pod—is unique and, to me, a bit foreign. I was raised in a one man-one woman-and child family. I assumed that was the way of the world. I discovered in your writing a different way to look at relationships. And I don’t mean only in your erotica. Your space opera involves relationships that change and grow and are added onto. The very concept that your ship’s crew has a three-to-one ratio of women to men is designed for polygamous relationships. I’m interested to discover how a future in which the births are more evenly divided affects the prevailing attitudes of the culture on the ship. Will there be a shortage of girls? Will the crew, like a reverse China, cull boys from the population? Is there a preconception process the couple can or must use to choose the sex of their child?”
“Wow! I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” I said. “I’ll need to investigate that.”
“I got off topic. The point was that I was irrationally attracted to your polyamorous community. I don’t know if I am in line to become one of you or if I am merely an ally. But I know I want to be close to you and that includes Rebeca. I plan to invite her and Nanette for a girls’ overnight Saturday. Does that cover your concern?”
“That’s wonderful, Donna. Thank you so much.” We were nearing the house again and I gave her hand a squeeze. “I promised my baby sister I would take her out to fly my drone this afternoon,” I said. “I’m afraid I need to get going. Thank you for being such a good friend to us, Donna, and for letting me visit for lunch today. I don’t know if you are ‘in line,’ as you say, or not. I rather hope so.”
Donna turned and hugged me when we got to my truck. Unlike holding her hand, having her soft boobs pressed against my chest had a more definite response in my body. I knew she could tell but she didn’t release me, instead laying her head against my chest as we held each other by the open door of the truck. At last, she pushed away and reached up to touch my cheek.
“I hope so, too.”
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