"Do you see something you like, M'Lord?" the perky blond asked, leaning over the display case and offering a stunning view of her full breasts, barely contained in a low-cut peasant blouse.
"Absolutely," I replied, trying not to stare. Pointing at a silver pendant, I said, "'Ow about that one?"
With a dazzling smile, she took it out and handed it to me. It was a bold sculpture of a dragon with spread wings, clutching an amethyst crystal. She talked about the design and the artist who made it but I was too busy stealing glances at her smooth, creamy flesh to pay much attention. I was nineteen then, and somewhat awkward around girls.
This time, I promised myself, would be different.
I was The Barbarian. Wearing little more than a fur loincloth, boots, and a four-foot broadsword, I swaggered and flirted my way through my first day at a Renaissance Faire.
I leaned a brawny arm on the display case, grinned, and said, "Maybe you should model it for me."
She smiled and raised her arms to put on the necklace, which made her tits even more prominent. The dim circles of her nipples showed faintly through the fabric. I ogled her with a self-assurance I conjured from nowhere. Normally this would have been greeted with an icy stare or even a slap. But she just put her hands on her hips and twisted from side to side, allowing me to view the necklace and her enticing curves from all angles.
"Is it to your liking, M'Lord?"
Like everyone else, myself included, she spoke with what was supposed to be an English accent. A real Englishman would probably have a stroke hearing what we thought his countrymen sounded like, but it lent a wonderful air of playfulness to the place. My eyes roamed her young body, from her clingy, artfully ragged skirt, over her corset, and across her jutting tits. My cock, half-hard for most of the day, grew to full length.
"Your beauty makes it look like a pebble in comparison," I said, not believing I could deliver such a line with a straight face. But she beamed at me and thrust her chest forward.
"You fancy another piece?" she asked.
"Actually, I was thinking of it for myself."
"'Tis a bit masculine for a lady," she said, knowing I'd had no reason to ask her to wear it.
"I just needed to be sure," I lied unconvincingly.
"Per'aps you should try it on," she replied, unfastening it from her slender neck.
She held it out. I leaned forward, practically sticking my face into her cleavage. Her fingers brushed my shoulders as she reached under my hair and fastened the clasp. The view between those glorious orbs was breathtaking. My cock twitched and I felt pre-cum dribbling out. I really needed to re-position my dick but I didn't dare. Straightening up with some reluctance, I looked into the mirror she held for me.
I hardly recognized myself: three-day scruff of beard, longish hair barely combed, broad shoulders tanned by the Texas sun, the strap of my broadsword scabbard cutting across my hairy chest. "I like it."
"It becomes you," she said, her sea-green eyes peering at me through dense lashes.
Sure, she was flirting with me to make a sale, but I also sensed genuine interest. I wondered if she was playing a role as much as I. She probably lived in her parent's basement and worked some dead-end job in real life. But there was no mistaking the sexuality that radiated from her, like distortion waves on a desert highway.
Fingering the pendant, I asked, "What's your name, lass?"
"Rochelle, M'Lord," she replied, and curtsied.
I sure felt like a Lord. "I'll take it," I said.
I paid her but took my time doing it. We made googly eyes at each other and I left a hefty tip in a copper bowl next to the historically inaccurate cash register. I was reluctant to leave but I knew she had other customers.
"Anything else you like?" she asked.
I looked her up and down one last time and said, "There is, fair maiden, but I must come back for it later."
She curtsied again, blinded me with her teeth, and turned away. I strolled off, trying to look casual as I tugged my cock into a more comfortable position.
The sun beat down, warm even in October. Scantily clad people in period clothing or outlandish fantasy attire wandered around or stood in front of shops hawking their wares. Minstrels playing Victorian instruments strolled among the crowd.
People treated a nearly naked barbarian far differently than they did the tongue-tied teenager I was on all other days. True, I was muscular and fit from years of cycling and rock climbing, with a wide chest and tree-trunk legs, but girls sensed my awkwardness and I didn't score as much as some of my less attractive but more outgoing friends. So I'd come to the Renaissance Faire to try a new persona, one that showed off my attributes and allowed me to be someone else for a while.
I'd heard about the place for years but had never been here. Several hundred merchants worked from permanent structures of wood, brick, and stone that gave a reasonably convincing impression of a Medieval town. Stages offered musical acts, jugglers, and magicians, and there was full-contact jousting and a daily parade.
The place was packed with people looking to escape the real world.
I felt despondent about leaving Rochelle and found myself moping around, avoiding everyone who wanted to talk to me or take my picture. Snap out of it, I told myself. This isn't how The Barbarian acts! I still have a shot at her. She had not discouraged me when I suggested I would return. I felt my spirits lift. The womanizing, devil-may-care persona flooded over me.
The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat so I bought a turkey leg and an overpriced ceramic stein filled with cold beer. Laughing, I gnawed the leg and gulped the beer like a true barbarian.
Women of all ages seemed drawn to me. Giggling schoolgirls pointed and whispered, while housewives and secretaries clustered around me as their friends took pictures. A couple of women gave my ass a squeeze and one even slipped her hand under my loincloth.
I'd never had this much attention in my life. I'd had a couple of girlfriends and hooked up with a few chicks at parties. But this was a surreal fantasy world where regular folks mingled with half-naked people from another time. Different rules of behavior seemed to apply. Several women, entranced by the magical atmosphere (and possibly a little drunk) made their willingness to venture off with me quite clear. A few wooded areas would be perfect for a quick tryst, or we could just walk out to one of our vehicles.
Normally I would have been happy to fuck any of them. But I was The Barbarian. I wanted Rochelle.
After a few hours the sun dropped below the trees and the crowds began to thin. Criers wandered about letting everyone know the faire closed at sunset. I made my way back toward Rochelle's shop. Would she still be there? Was her interest just an act?
Rounding the corner of a leatherworker's booth, I saw her across the street packing trays of jewelry into wooden boxes. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and I had a great view down her blouse as she bent over to pick up another tray. As my normal self I knew I'd never land a girl like her.
I told myself, "I am The Barbarian. I will have her."
I puffed out my chest and marched up to the shop, one hand on the hilt of my broadsword, the other carrying my empty beer stein. Rochelle glanced up. She gave a delighted smile as she packed the last of the trays.
"You came back, M'Lord," she said, brushing a few strands of honey-colored hair behind her ear.
