Shortly after I filed the last dispatch, I returned to the Hyatt lobby and found my lovely but winded kitten. She had left the Little Black Dress(TM) at home when she packed, so, with a helpful fashion advisor in tow, we headed for the Crown Center Mall to remedy this situation.
While the two of them shopped, I received a call from Augur which saved me from becoming trapped in a “does my body make me look fat?” situation in the store. kitten managed to get out of the store after spending only a hundred dollars, I breathed a sigh of relief and we de-escalated down two levels to the diner where little trains delivered our hamburgers.
By the time we returned to the venue, Bill Patterson, one of the organizers of the conference, was reading excerpts from his new biography of Heinlein which described Robert’s years in the Naval Academy. He took questions from the audience, and I found my attention wandering around the hall. There were about fifty or so early-birds there that ranged in age and status. During a question involving Heinlein’s intentions to include a scene (in 1938) in which his hero ended up in bed between two lovelies, I muttered that that “sounded like an average weekend at my house.”
Evidently, I muttered it just loud enough to be overheard from the young man blogging at the next table, who rushed up to the podium after the last question and returned breathless to tell me about his new relationship with a young married woman and her husband. He was excited at the thought of discussing this with folks who would understand and I referred him to the articles I had written here last winter.
About this time, I was startled by the sound of a geek-girl rapidly approaching terminal excitement. I had heard that sound before, usually in stores that sold rare anime or had large fuzzy 20-sided dice that you could hang from your rear-view mirror. The source was, however, pointing to my shirt and visibly vibrating next to a middle-aged man in a black t-shirt that referenced Ayn Rand. He looked like a retired professional wrestler charged with defending the honor of a Mensa temptress.
She was stunning–raven hair to her waist and an hourglass figure that clearly showed me that the timer had just been set. A tiny maple-leaf flag was near the top of her blouse. She pushed her oversized glasses back from where they had wiggled when she saw my shirt and told me that she wanted to steal it. (Not the first time I had ever heard that, but the frequency of the remark had sadly diminished over the last two decades.)
I explained to her (by now I had learned that her name was Kate) that it was a limited edition created in tribute of Spider Robinson’s Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon and that Spider and Jeannie would be arriving about 10 PM.
I have to say that I was truly intrigued by this time, so I invited the unlikely duo to sit at the table and visit for a while, since the main attraction (as well as the rest of the Hall) had wandered off. We passed around introductions, at which point the liveblogger’s suitemate asked all of us what we did.
Fortunately, I didn’t have a mouthful of soda when Kate informed us that she was a WebWhore(TM )and that she had had to change her badge name to her professional name in case any photos were taken of her during the conference. The fellow with her was not a bodyguard, but a Boulder native she had met in the hallway.
She had spent the last two or three months having orgasms on the internet (while geeks watched at the rate of $6/minute) in part to raise the money to come to the conference. Therein lay a story, of course…..
Once upon a time, she was going to be a nun. She had spent quite a bit of time with the members of a convent and was approaching the time in which she would have had to take her initial vows. Someone (I missed exactly who) had a library of science-fiction that she had been reading. On the top shelf, the tippy-top where one had to obtain a chair, was a copy of Stranger in a Strange Land. After reading most everything else, she climbed to the top and snatched it–reading it with relish…..
And the world changed as she completed it. She then sat down, read the Bible cover to cover and told her mentor, Sister Mary Margaret, that she had discovered that “other women liked both men and women–Christianity was, perhaps, not the road for her .” The wise nun explained to her that they had been waiting for the crisis of faith that all potential initiates experienced, and that she should explore the world and her identity and return when she was ready.
She finished the story, and by now a few other newcomers had arrived. Kate mentioned that she had a bottle of 12-year old Scotch that she had purchased at the Duty-Free, but needed a room in which to drink it. There were no shortage of volunteers, so we headed off to live-blogger’s room in the other hotel.
I remarked that she looked like a geekess pied-piper as she led our group on the ten-minute walk across downtown. By now, there were eight of us–Kate, kitten and me, the large libertarian gentleman, live-blogger and his roommate and a couple from the Bay area who had arrived during the latter part of Kate’s story.
Eventually, we arrived at liveblogger’s room and the Scotch was uncorked and passed around. Kate showed us her website (someone asked why there were no shows scheduled and she said, “because I’m on vacation, silly”) and we all agreed that yes, indeed, those were some lovely breasts she had there.
So, it was story time. As the bottle made its rounds, we all got to contribute. Kate was from Montreal, so a lot of time was spent discussing the nuances of language. Several of the folks there had spent time in Europe, so people were switching back and forth between French, English, German and the patois spoken in Quebec. Canadian and American politics were dissected and dismissed as beneath our notice.
Then we all began telling work stories. By now, Kate and I owned the corner of the room and most of the time, we were talking without really taking a breath. It wasn’t really a competition, although the quality of the stories became better and better as everyone else in the room became more and more lubricated. I told the story about Fred and the Geiger Counter. Kate described posing quite profitably for Necrophilia-fetishists with only a sheet and a toe-tag. The fellow from the Bay area talked about living in a commune dedicated to making sure that women had virtually non-stop orgasms. (Now that was a definite showstopper.)
About 11:15 or so, Kate realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Fortunately, room service was still available and she rang for nachos. While they were on the way, she fluidly exited, to return in ten minutes in the exquisite blue dress that she intends to wear to the Gala on Saturday night. It was form-fitting and scoop-necked, displaying her charms for our benefit. She flowed into the chair in the corner and we resumed captivating the room.
The nachos arrived–a huge metal plate covered with tri-colored chips and a delicious smelling mixture. However, looking over at Kate, I became a bit protective. “It would be a tragedy to get this stuff on that dress, it would certainly ruin it. You should probably get a towel.” She smiled over at me and said, “I’ve got something a hell of a lot better than a towel–skin!”
At which point, she slid the blue dress over her head and we found that it had been the only piece of clothing that she had been wearing. She placed the plate on her lap, tucked a cloth napkin under her chin and said, “Dig in!”
And so, gentle readers, this is how I ended the first night of the Con–eating nachos from the lap of a young, beautiful, unclothed internet sex worker. Oh, and they were great nachos, too.