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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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It all sounded excellent at first. A charity event with a Regency theme. The fundraising committee (on zoom) had suddenly got very animated... Blame "Bridgerton" fever There were some dirty chuckles and quite a few "Duke of Hastings oh my" to be heard. Possibly I may have partaken in this myself although I was more of an Anthony Bridgerton gal myself.
I'd noticed there were also some facial fanning gestures going on that many a 18th century debutante would have admired. Lockdown certainly had a lot to answer for...
So here I am. An empty low lit ball room (although sadly the hotel's health and safety risk assessment had ruled out the use of too many candles) with the night yet to begin. Somehow I'd been tasked with the last few getting ready jobs whilst the others had swanned off to beautify themselves. Never had so many ladies in the 21st century talked about muslin gowns and evening slippers with such earnestness as had taken place in the last few months.
The hotel was gorgeous and quite a few of the committee had booked rooms. Myself included - However I'd recently split from my ex and the double room was alternating between feeling such a waste and yet a total luxury.
The ballroom did look good. Bin bag in hand I was just doing a last minute check of the floor for detritus. Obviously the hotel had cleaned up beforehand but they hadn't quite accounted for the amount of glitter etc on the table decorations. There had been a decided competitive element to the homemade endeavours not seen since the bread making competitions of 2020 (also zoom).
So there I was near the entrance to the room, in my jeans, on my hands and knees, bent over picking up sequins from the carpet.
Edging forward, I was going slightly light headed from patterned swirl overdose when suddenly a pair of polished black shoes appeared silently in front of my eyes. Black male shoes with a buckle.
I pursed my lips. First thought was you've got to admire a man prepared to go the whole hog - followed swiftly by second thought that he was probably under threatened orders to wear what his wife told him. I ruefully reflected that finding a date was hard enough but the Regency element had rendered it impossible. I was flying solo tonight.
Possibly I'd been staring at the shoes for too long. I could see in the polished black leather that my own hair up do was still in place.
The shoes were very still but one of them gave an impatient tap.
My eyes lifted upwards. Oooh
Never thought of men's calves/shins as being an area particular area of interest. But these were shod in silk stockings. Someone's wife was a stickler for detail. But somehow worn with panache.
Still no greeting from above. Slightly irritating. I mean he'd deliberately placed himself in my way. Good manners called for me to look up and say hello. Sheer perversity was stopping me doing that. I was curious to see how long the silence would hold...
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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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It was the contrast that beguiled him. The immaculate hairstyle (ringlets falling at the front, ornate styling at the back) contrasting with the white shirt, jeans and bin bag. Hang on... "beguiled" - really this regency thing was getting too much he self chastised.
Maybe he'd been in the hotel bar too long. He'd settled in a quiet corner earlier so had seen the comings and goings of the organising committee. And seen also the receptionist's dismayed look at the trail of glitter across the foyer. From what would have been regarded as matrons in 18th century England there had been a lot of shrieking and laughing. Although there were some seriously fit MILFs in the pack and he'd let his eye appreciate roam over posh subscription legginged derrieres.
It had certainly improved his mood which had been less than optimum when he realised he'd locked himself out of his room in full regency attire. Worse was to come when for some complicated IT reason he didn't follow reception had been unable to make a new key for a few hours. The apologies had been abject, the drinks free and the receptionist's face so genuinely smirk free he had settled down in his chair somewhat mollified.
Served him right he supposed. He just couldn't resist trying the hire costume on. Julie had called him a child but then everything he did lately irritated her. It seemed to be the final straw and She'd stormed out, he'd paused to throw the shoes on and run after her, but made it outside the door before realising his heart just wasn't in it... and also (with a greater jolt of emotion) that he was now locked out of the room.
He'd spent some time (when not admiring pert bottoms) reflecting that he was now single. Julie's parting words had made that very clear. As soon as he could get in his room he'd make his escape. Julie had organised the tickets from a distant friend. He knew noone and couldn't imagine anything worse than attending on his own.
And then he saw her.
She hadn't been making noise like the others. Or dashing around. Just serenely moving around doing practical things in an efficient manner pretty much unnoticed.
Although he'd noticed that in her concentration one more button on her white shirt had come open than was probably decent.
Particularly noticeable since the others had left - as she was now on hands and knees picking up glitter and sequins. (He'd caught the receptionist's beam of approval at this)
Somewhat disappointingly it was only a practical white bra on show. Although her breasts looked full. She'd lent forward, reaching out and they'd swung slightly. He's found himself idly wondering how much they'd swing if released from the white fabric containing them and been surprised by how roused he suddenly felt.
Hastily putting his drink down he'd managed to miss the table and spilt it over his shoes. He'd groaned inwardly, really not his day. But then he'd noticed the duster she had at her waist. That would do nicely to polish then up again...the perfect excuse to chat to her.
Really an opportunity too good to waste. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair - briefly admiring his Omega watch. Time for action...
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