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The clash of steel upon steel excites me as the hot sun beats down upon us faire-goers. Today is the battle - a time when modern folk don garb and armor, and proceed to skillfully pummel the living bejesus out of each other. I can feel a drop of sweat run down between my breasts, squeezed as they are in a tightly laced corset, as I cheer on the sweaty warriors. The sun glints off their weapons and the air itself is energized with the excitement of the crowd and the enthusiasm of the fighters.

I am at a local event, attended by many renaissance re-enactors. We number a few thousand, and I'm hoping, that with those odds, I may find someone who can warm my bed this eve. I am keeping an eye on the brawny fighters, trying to discern who may be a good companion. I pull my sleeves down, and adjust my chemise off my shoulders, hoping to attract a little more attention. I scan the crowd and realize that I am just one in a sea of cleavage, and sigh.

But, ho! What is this? As I turn my gaze back on the grassy arena, I see one of the fighters heading off to the sides. He has pulled off his helmet and is shaking his hair loose. I can see the sun glistening off his sweat soaked skin. He looks to be a bit under 6 feet, broad shouldered, with strawberry-blonde shoulder-length hair. He's also very cute. I smile in his general direction, hoping to make eye contact. Amazingly enough, it appears that he has noticed me as well. He sketches a slight bow, and I give him a "come-hither" gesture. ...

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