Mything You

Author's Notes:

'Mything You' is my story for Literotica's 2019 Geek Pride event.

All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

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Mything You

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Chapter 1

"Christie! Your EpiPen! Where is it?!?" Sam asked his girlfriend desperately as he frantically dug through her enormous shoulder bag. He had no idea why she needed such a large bag as it seemed cavernous even with all the crap she stuffed in it.

There was a sewing kit to make repairs to their costumes should a wardrobe malfunction occur, not that it ever had. He found her makeup kit which would put most Hollywood cosmeticians to shame. A paperback, two packs of tissues, Christie's cell phone, keys, and other items he couldn't identify getting in his way in his panic-driven search.

At the bottom of the bag was a carefully packed lunch to protect her from her severe allergies.

Just no EpiPen!

The small, plump woman was sucking in smaller and smaller amounts of air as her body went into severe anaphylactic shock.

Sam looked into her eyes and saw her shake her head slightly.

She'd left it at home. Again.

Sam habitually carried her spare, but today they were in full costume for the Fan Expo. His ratty charcoal grey robes, skin-tight black full-body leotard, and plate-mail gloves made him look like one of the Ringwraiths from Lord of the Rings, but it had the drawback of having no pockets. Christie's huge purse also contained his wallet, keys, and his cell he'd used to call for help but NO GOD DAMNED EPIPEN!!!

"Where are the paramedics?!?" he screamed at the crowd gathered around him. They glanced around, but none answered his desperate question. He surged to his feet, and his 6' 4" height let him see over most the surrounding group. The convention center was packed with people, many in costume and the aisles were clogged.

He sank back down to his knees and dropped her purse next to him. He took Christie's cool small hands in his larger ones. She looked into his eyes, and he could see she was slipping away from him.

"No! No! Christie! Stay with me!" he begged, looking into her soft brown eyes. Those eyes, only this morning, looked at him with so much love it warmed his entire body. Now, icy cold fear hooked its fingers into Sam. He was losing her. He didn't know what to do!

Once more, he scanned the crowd around him, looking for someone to rescue his love from this cruel fate.

Then it was too late.

Sam knelt on the floor of the vast convention center, surrounded by hundreds but feeling utterly alone, silent tears running down his cheeks.

His beautiful Christie was gone.

Chapter 2

"I smite thee verily! Consider yourself smote, Anesh!"

Dice rolled across the table, and when they stopped, a burst of laughter rang out from the gathered players, drowning out the single voice of outrage.

"Three! You rolled a three. You smite nothing with a three!" Anesh crowed.

"Rick, I told you the Gods of Chance would not favor you playing your Paladin as Chaotic Evil!" Shelina chastised the man. Her D&D character was a Neutral Good Elvish princess and the petite beauty from Mumbai, India stayed in character throughout the game.

She'd begun attending the twice-weekly game nights in costume. It started with a tiara and slowly, as the weeks and months passed, she added jewelry, then a fancier blouse, then a dress, until she was in full royal attire for each game.

Other members of their little group began wearing some bits of their character's costumes too, nothing as complete as Shelina but definitely in the spirit.

Sam was the only one who refrained from joining in on the cosplay. He was aware of his friend's attempts to bring him back to his former level of involvement in the hobby, but his heart wasn't in it.

He hosted the games at his apartment as it was the largest and had a dining room table which sat eight people. Their group had seven, now that Christie was gone.

Sam stood abruptly and walked into the kitchen to get the pitcher of ice water from the fridge. He returned to the table and refilled glasses. As he did, he glanced at his friends.

Anesh and Shelina Roonaboonsingh both had petite statures, worked as a Realtor team, and were the only married couple in the group. Anesh was originally from Delhi, India and came to the states twelve years ago. He met Shelina at a Fan Expo two years later, and to the delight of both of their families who were convinced it would never happen for either of them, they fell in love and got married.

Rick Campbell was Network SysAdmin and a self-proclaimed lone wolf when he was between girlfriends. In truth, he had a sharp tongue, a sarcastic wit, and minimal control over both. A broad-shouldered hairy brute, Shelina suggested a visit to a hair removal clinic. Not that his rampant body hair stopped him from dating. He had plenty of confidence. It was keeping a girlfriend that was his challenge.

David Nguyen was their Dungeon Master, guiding them on their adventures of imagination. He was also a social media technologist who dragged stone-age companies into present-day levels of technology. Soft-spoken but intensely creative, his adventures kept the group coming back for more. David's boyfriend, who was also in the social media field, traveled frequently and never attended the get-togethers. That was David's excuse for him at least.

Jasmine 'Jaz' Zhang, was a petite woman of Chinese descent and third generation American. She was the last addition to their group and a huge fan of cosplay. She'd even paid an extraordinary sum to get breast augmentation surgery to make her costumed personas more eye-catching. Her daytime job as a forensic accountant earned her a good salary to pay for her hobbies. She and Christie used to work on costume designs for hours. Sam got the impression that she'd had a bit of a crush on his girlfriend.

Sam's final guest was Ben Achebe. The software developer from Ethiopia moved to the states seven years ago and discovered a passion for D&D at a local comic shop where their group shopped. He and Rick became good friends, so he joined their game nights.

Glasses filled, Sam settled back into his seat, and the game continued.

The laughter and genuine regard this group held for each other was a balm on Sam's heart, and he looked forward to their visits. Often he spoke only when necessary and just soaked in the positive mood of the others. Tonight had been a good night for that.

David ensured the storyline moved them forward and kept them out of the quicksand, for the most part. While it was Friday night and they could all sleep in tomorrow, the hour was growing late, and David took his cue from Jaz's yawn. He put a bookmark in their game and told them they'd pick up their adventure from there next week.

Everyone leaned back with smiles. It'd been a spirited and challenging evening, yet their D&D party was still alive. They were doing something right, even with Rick's Chaotic Evil Paladin in the mix.

David packed up his dungeon master equipment, and everyone packed their dice away.

"No way I'm playing with these dice next game. Shelina put a hex on them!" Rick said with a sly grin.

"I did no such thing! I'm not a spellcaster!" she blustered in outrage.

Anish rolled his eyes. "Don't fall for Rick's trolling."

Rick started chuckling evilly.

Shelina's chin came up as she looked down her nose at the prankster. "Chaotic Evil is an appropriate alignment for you!"

Rick put his hand to his heart as if physically wounded by her words, but the glee never left his eyes.

His friends helped clean up then made their way to the door. With hugs and handshakes, each took their leave until Sam was alone in his apartment once more.

He looked around and sighed. It was time for his purging ritual. After each game night, he'd collect the bags from the garbage cans in his place then pick one item that belonged to Christie he'd dispose of as well. He knew he would always remember her and always love her, but he was surrounded by things that painfully reminded him of his loss. The grief counselor he's spoken to showed him this method of letting go. He'd set his own pace, and he had to admit, at only twice a week, he was moving far slower than the counselor recommended.

Most weeks, the items were small and unsubstantial, but today he was going to make a significant break. This morning, something he gazed upon daily almost brought him to tears for the last time. He'd had too many mornings filled with tears. He knew Christie would want him to smile, so it had to go. When he had the trash bags ready by the front door, he walked into the bedroom again and stood before the sliding mirrored doors.

He was a little shocked to see how thin he'd become. He knew his appetite was low and he'd always been a tall beanpole, but now he looked... gaunt. He looked at his hands. Even there, his long fingers were showing their muscles and tendons with minimal padding. Now he understood the looks of concern Shelina and Jaz had given him when they arrived tonight. Once he completed the ritual, he'd order a pizza and force himself to eat all of it or most of it at least.

With a sigh, he opened the closet door.

The polished chain mail shirt he'd made by hand for Christie hung inside, gleaming faintly. The hours he's spent shining each tiny links showed in how it reflected even this minimal light.

It hung there in the dark day after day. Every morning and every night, he caught a glimpse of it waiting to be used again. But it never would be.

Christie hadn't been tall, but she'd had meat on her bones, so the shirt had many, many links, each one handcrafted. As a jewelry maker, Sam had the talent for making beautiful things from metal. His lightweight fantasy plate mail armor was highly sought after in the cosplay community, and he'd even had one of his pieces purchased and used in a Hollywood film for all of fifteen minutes of screen time.

These days he stuck to crafting whatever his employer asked for, as his creativity was on hiatus.

He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He wiped it away roughly. Before he could change his mind, he plucked the shirt from the hanger and marched back to the front door. While he had some trouble seeing them clearly through his tears, he picked up the garbage bags in his other hand and surged out into the hall.

"EEEP!"

Sam collided with a tall woman passing by and dropped the bags and the shirt as he bounced back against the door jamb.

The woman hit the opposite wall, dropped her duffle bag, purse, and keys. Then she slid down the wall crying as she leaned against it, her face in her hands.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I should have looked where I was going!" he gasped.

"No, it's just the perfect way to end a shitty day in a shittier week," she cried from behind her hands.

"Hang on!" he said before he ducked back into his apartment to grab a box of tissues. He returned to see she was now sitting on the floor with her long toned legs sticking out before her as she rested back against the wall. Her eyes were closed, but he could see she'd been crying, probably for a while, as they were puffy and red like the tip of her cute nose. She had full sensual lips currently turned down in a frown.

Her hair was platinum white in a short tousled cut, and she was wearing a tan trench coat which hid her body but suggested lush curves. She had long slim fingers with gleaming silver glamor nails and a few rings on each hand.

Sam tore his eyes away from admiring her features and held out the box of tissues. "Here."

Green eyes opened and climbed up his body to lock on his blue eyes. She seemed confused at first, then her eyes flicked down to the tissues.

"Are these for me or you?" she asked as she pulled a few from the box to dab her eyes and her nose.

Sam took some to wipe his eyes as well.

The woman looked deeply into his eyes, and he felt it like a physical shock. "I know why I'm crying. Why are you?" she asked the silent man.

He frowned and shook his head as he wasn't able to talk about it with a stranger. She just nodded and gave a defeated shrug. She glanced at the plastic bags on the floor. "What were you in such a hurry for?"

His face heated up as he knew the rush had been due to his upset. "I was just throwing out the garbage," he muttered as he dropped the tissue box next to her and collected the bags once more. Her eyes flashed wide when he picked up the shirt.

Her hand shot forward to take hold of the delicate but strong links.

"What- you weren't going to throw this out, were you?" she gasped, running her thumb over the links in awe.

Sam tugged, and she pulled back. "Yes! It's mine! I can do with it what I want!"

She looked closer and pulled a little harder. "This is beautiful work! It's- it's art! It'd be a crime to throw it in the trash!"

Sam's eyes began to tear once more as the woman unconsciously used Christie's words against him. He felt himself begin to lose control over his emotions, so he grit his teeth and released his hold on the shirt. She quickly pulled it close to cling to it.

"Fine! Keep it!" he snapped and stepped back in his apartment to close and lock the door. He dropped the garbage bags on the floor and stiffly walked into the bedroom to fall face first onto the bed. He buried his face in the pillow so he wouldn't feel the tears on his cheeks anymore.

Chapter 3

Taylor gaped at the closed door. The man seemed far more upset than she'd been. She noticed he'd left the box of tissues as well. Even angry, he'd been courteous. She stood and picked up her dropped items. She paused for a moment, thinking she might leave the tissues but decided to take them too.

Her apartment was at the end of the hall, so she let herself in and locked up. Her small one bedroom unit was as empty and dark as it had been when she left on her business trip five days ago. If she broke even on the trip, she'd be surprised.

What had initially been promised to be a well-paying job, turned into a struggle to survive. She'd traveled to Las Vegas to be a model for a trade show. The organizers turned out to be complete sleaze bags, and many of the models didn't get paid or were put into booths selling questionable products which led to some being harassed and molested. She'd had several close calls herself.

On the first day, Taylor met another model she'd worked with before, so they split the cost of a hotel room. It was only last night that she discovered the other woman had been bringing convention attendees back to their hotel room to have sex for money.

The convention continued for two more days, but Taylor calculated that she'd actually lose money if she stayed.

Home at last, she walked into her living room, dropped her duffle on the floor, and her purse and keys on the coffee table. She then turned on the lamp next to the couch and plunked herself down on the worn cushions. Her place was kind of a dump, but she was carrying the rent on her own, and she had a limited income. She was going to have to go back to waitressing next week to make enough to cover the rent this month.

Around and around her mind went as she relaxed back on the couch. Her modeling career was in a death spiral. If she didn't do something new, something that captured people's attention soon, she was done.

She wasn't going to pose for naked photos or turn to porn. Some of the girls she originally worked with now worked at cam sites shaking their money makers for the online coin. She wasn't willing to do that. The closest she'd come to that was a lingerie shoot, and the photographer hadn't made her feel very comfortable.

As she rested back against the couch, she found her eyes trapped by the way the lamp's light glittered off the chain mail. She ran her fingers over the smooth links and smiled. A sudden frown appeared on her face. What made that guy want to throw this in the garbage? She couldn't imagine it.

She used both hands to hold up the shirt before her and marveled at the craftsmanship. Due to some slight irregularities amongst the links, she could tell this was not the product of some machine. Someone hand made this garment, poured their blood, sweat, and tear- her head turned towards the door. Could it have been him? She thought about that, but if he

had

put so much effort into making it, it made even less sense that he'd be willing to throw it out.

She pushed those thoughts aside as she was clearly missing information and outside of a confrontation with the upset man, she wasn't getting it.

She stood and walked into the bedroom to flip on the light. Her full-length mirror was in here, and she wanted to see how the shirt looked on her. She took off her trench coat and her blouse but left on her bra. She pulled the mail shirt on over her head and shivered slightly at the cool feel of the links against her smooth skin. The sleeves were a little short, but the shoulders and chest fit well. Considering the width of her shoulders and the size of her breast implants, she was relieved the shirt was large enough to contain them. The hem was perhaps a little loose, but it left her tight belly muscles exposed

Fuck! She looked really hot!

She wondered if other models were wearing such beautiful chain mail. Maybe this could give her that edge, that unique catch that would set her apart.

She walked over to her old laptop on her desk by the window and pressed the power button. Holding her breath for a moment, she released it when the device began its startup process. One day soon, this piece of crap wasn't going to wake, and she couldn't afford to replace it. She'd be relegated to waiting for a turn on the computers at the public library.

She pulled her mind back from that dark thought and took a seat before the laptop. She opened a browser and typed

chain mail fashion

and did a search for pictures. The sheer quantity of results that came back was dazzling! The variety of costumes seemed endless!

She did a little research to see if there was any money in this costume wearing modeling and found it was called cosplay and it could be very lucrative indeed!

Going back to the pictures, she was a little daunted by the beauties working the costumes to draw an audience. What could she bring to this game that distinguished her from the others?

She had a rockin' body that she put a lot of effort and money into keeping that way. Other female models were wearing these costumes who were almost as fit, but due to her height, she knew she had a edge here.

Taylor knew she was beautiful, and she understood how egotistical it sounded to call herself that, but as a model, her face and her body were her business. She was also aware that ego and attitude could poison a modeling career, so she was vigilant for signs of acting like an entitled prima donna.

As she did for her fitness, she worked hard to maintain her smooth, blemish and tattoo-free skin.

Genetics blessed her with almond-shaped green eyes with naturally long lashes, a slim and straight nose, and full luscious lips with a slight upturn at the corners. Her features were also highly symmetrical, which enhanced their appeal.

Her full, round breasts were not a gift of genetics, but she'd spent significant money on an excellent surgeon who minimized the scarring. She might have gone a little larger than she should have, but with her larger frame, they seemed proportional at the time.

The braces she had when she was young and her diligent oral healthcare gave her straight white teeth for a truly dazzling smile.

Looking at the website images closer, some of the other models were truly lovely so she might say she was on par with them.

She left the computer and moved back to the mirror. As she admired how amazing the chain mail shirt looked on her, she realized this was her differentiator; the costume and how her body shape accentuated it! If she could get her hands on more pieces at this level of quality, her body would enhance the costume as much as it enhanced her.