Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
People of all ages milled about as we all headed toward the risers on the far side of the gym. Everyone from groups of singles in their early twenties to a couple who had to be in their mid-seventies chatted and were obviously having a great time. I couldn’t help but smile when I realized the older folks probably knew the authentic 80s vibe better than I did because they’d lived through it. For them, this must feel like reliving their youth. One of the things I enjoyed about Rawhide was the wide variety of ages and people who came here to have fun. Some very, very different people united by their love of kink and self-expression.
The women, both subs and Dommes, wore everything from 80s power suits complete with shoulder pads, to elegant gowns and furs like the old soap-opera stars, to punk, goth, emo, and even nerd. There was a good representation of preppies as well, and even a mustached guy who looked a lot like Tom Selleck. I was glad I’d decided to attend the event, even if things didn’t work out with Ivy. The atmosphere was fun and energetic, charged with an undercurrent of sex that made everything just a little more enjoyable.
Most of the Dominant men wore suits of one kind or another. And there were a lot of Daddy types here. Shit, I wondered if Ivy wanted a Daddy instead of a Master. Only thing was I wasn’t a Daddy. It just wasn’t my thing. So what could I be to Ivy that might interest her? If anything, I was more like her big brother’s best friend. The one her parents warned her to stay away from. The one she couldn’t resist. Yeah, that would work. It fit the image I was currently portraying of a guy in jeans and a hoodie. I wore a faded Metallica t-shirt beneath, but the gym was cold so I kept the hoodie on.
Thankfully I wasn’t the only one not sporting a suit. There were also a good number of guys dressed in the typical preppie and burnout looks, with a few goths and nerds here and there. It was kinda like the makeup of my old high school in an odd way. I gave my head a little shake to snap myself out of my daydreams and focus on my competition. I was sure that I wouldn’t be the only one wanting to collar the lovely Ivy. Her spunky personality and good looks would attract a lot of attention.
Across the room I spied Derek watching me and raised my hand in greeting. Derek gave his chin a subtle lift to the right, and I followed his line of sight to Ivy. My whole body tingled like I’d gotten a mild electrical shock as I took her in. She was even prettier in the light of day, and I couldn’t help but smile as the crowd parted enough for me to catch a full glimpse of her. Her hair had been teased away from her face in big curls, and it gleamed more like rose gold than red in the overhead lights. She wore a pair of pink fishnet over white tights held up by garters, and a distressed jean skirt and matching jacket. Beneath the jacket she wore a couple thin, layered white and pink tank tops that revealed the slight curves of her chest. Small breasts, high and perky with nipples that tipped slightly upward.
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on them.
The crowd around her closed again and I lost sight of her. She was so petite it was easy to miss her, even with her strawberry-blonde hair teased into a cloud. When the crowd parted, I realized she was talking to someone. A guy. My brain suddenly alerted me that the smile on her face, and the posture of her body, had been flirtatious.
Now, I wasn’t a jealous man by nature. I’d had periods of my life where I’d dated multiple women, while they’d been dating multiple men. But once I committed to a woman, I became a tad possessive. Not enough to call the local police and a therapist, but I definitely grew protective. And I did not like other men hitting on my woman.
I almost marched over there, ready to cause a scene, when the screech of a microphone cut through me like a knife. Everyone in the gym clenched their hands to their ears, and the screech stopped, followed by a bit of static before a matronly female voice said, “Hello Class of 1984, welcome to Spirit Week! If you could all make your way to the stands that would be wonderful.”
I followed the direction of the voice and found Professor Renard from the university wearing a blue floral dress, standing on a podium and speaking into a microphone. The crowd around me shifted, and I found myself being herded into a seat on the risers not too far away from where Ivy sat next to a blond guy in maybe his late thirties. He wore a blue polo shirt with the collar turned up, a white sweater draped over his broad shoulders, and had gleaming white teeth. Good looking, and he seemed to be into Ivy.