Tapestry Ch. 02

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A cause for Celebration.
14.3k words
4.66
31.4k
20

Part 2 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/09/2023
Created 03/31/2012
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HLD
HLD
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The relationships we have are threads in a tapestry, each woven together to show the life we have lived and connections we have with one another. This is the second of an open-ended series that will feature characters from some of my past stories, and introduce some new friends for us to get to know.

Before you read any further, this is not a direct sequel to the first Tapestry chapter. Neither Amberle, McKayla, Maureen, Kevin nor Melanie make an appearance in this story, although characters from another of my stories are here. I've got a couple of other projects in the works and (believe it or not) there is a grand design—fluid as it may be—to weave all the Tapestry storylines together.

As with many of my tales, if you're looking for quickie sex, these are probably not the kind of stories you want to read. I love to hear from readers, so please leave me a comment or send me an email.

***************************

Breana pushed to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the vendor's wares.

The exhibition hall was abuzz with activity. It was, after all, the first day of Star Wars Celebration VI, and people were clamoring to see what was available. Her parents had raised her on Star Wars, even taking her to local sci-fi conventions in addition to Dragon*Con, Gencon and the like. This was her first Celebration, though, and her first major convention she had been to without her parents.

She was there ostensibly with some old friends from college. Like Breana, they were into costuming and play-acting, not only with Star Wars, but mainly with SCA and other similar groups. After graduation, they had scattered across the country pursuing graduate school and/or work. Still, they tried to get together when they could, even if only for a long weekend.

In reality, she was at the convention by herself. Her friends were there to stalk celebrities, get autographs that would soon end up on eBay, party like they were still in college, and attend some of the writing panels in hopes of maybe getting the novel they had been thinking about writing into a couple of short chapters so they could submit it as a treatment for possible publication. They were more casual Star Wars fans; they knew enough to tell the difference between a clone trooper and a stormtrooper, but they wouldn't be able to explain who Darth Revan and Darth Caedus were.

Still, all four girls dressed up in costume to one extent or another, and they truly loved one another like sisters.

At the same time, Breana liked hanging out with true Star Wars nerds. She read all the books, watched the TV shows and played the video games. For someone who was twenty-four years old and accepted Jar Jar Binks as fact (as opposed to a character to be wished away along with a Han Solo who only shot Greedo after the Rodian pulled the trigger first), she was every much immersed in the cult of that galaxy far, far away.

Her bags were full of "exclusive" merchandise, figurines and t-shirts-and ABC kids' blankets and such, for which she had waited in line for nearly two hours and paid a handsome sum, but Star Wars was her expensive hobby; she didn't drink much, play golf or have any other real vices. She collected action figures, mostly of the 12-inch scale and t-shirts, and it was at a t-shirt vendor where she ran into Boba Fett.

Rather, he was one of the dozens of Boba Fetts running around Celebration, but when she looked him up and down, Breana could tell that he had put a lot of time, energy and money into his costume. It was as screen-accurate as they came and she actually felt bad about stepping on his foot.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically.

"Don't worry about it, pretty twi'lek," he replied in a kind voice that had a hint of southern drawl to it. Even through the helmet, his voice was clear, not muted, which meant he probably had a microphone on and a speaker on his belt or under his chest plate. The exhibition hall was crowded and over the next four days, bumping into people and being pushed and prodded became something to be simply accepted.

Under her blue-painted skin, Breana blushed.

"Can I help you, Fett?" the booth attendant asked in the semi-impatient tone of a souvenir stand operator.

"Yeah, hold on." The bounty hunter paused long enough to remove his helmet.

Breana's pulse started to race and her nipples crinkled up immediately. Underneath the armour was a handsome Asian man. He looked to be around thirty with thin, wire glasses and a charming smile. He slung his prop rifle over his shoulder and set his helmet on the counter.

He pointed at a couple of shirts. "Let me have the grey one with the tauntaun, 'Vote Yes on Order 66', the 'What the Hell is an Aluminum Falcon?', and let's see . . . how about the red Ackbar 'It's a Trap!'. All in extra-large. Two for forty bucks, right?"

"Yup; eighty-five, twenty," the salesman replied, retrieving the t-shirts. He went to put them in one of the vendor's logoed specialty bags.

"I don't need a bag," Boba Fett took off his gloves and retrieved a debit card from one of the pouches on his belt.

Breana recovered enough to speak. "Can I have your bag?"

"Sure," Fett replied with a wry smile. "If I can have a picture with you."

The young girl blushed again. She readily agreed as her new friend fold his t-shirts into small bundles and tucked them away in the pockets of his costume pants.

She ordered the shirts she wanted and then the two of them made their way to the back of the crowd.

"Excuse me, can you take a picture for us?" Boba Fett asked a random stranger who happened to be standing nearby.

"Sure thing," the other man replied eagerly. This, too, was a frequent occurrence at Celebration. Breana pushed her camera into the man's hands, too. "Okay, one . . . two . . . three!"

The flash went off, then he took another, just for good measure. He did the same with Breana's camera, and then took a couple of pictures for himself.

They thanked one another, and then he turned to go on his way, leaving Breana and Boba Fett by themselves.

"Um, thanks for the bag" she stammered. Breana saw a flash of desire in his eyes, as he looked her over.

"You're very welcome," he replied in his charming voice. "Listen . . . can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?"

"Sure," she said, but inside she was thinking, But only if I can fuck your brains out afterwards.

He put his helmet back on and the two made their way across the exhibition hall, their progress slowed by the throngs of people looking to get pictures of them, either together or separately. Neither minded; after all, you don't dress up at a nerd convention if you're bothered by the attention.

Both posed and preened for the cameras—Boba Fett holding his blaster rifle menacingly, Breana making a Force motion with her hand or igniting the LEDs on her custom-built (and screen accurate) Aayla Secura lightsaber with the sound adapters—until they got to the impromptu food court, when the people around them melted back into the crowd. It's one of the unwritten rules of sci-fi conventions that you don't bother people while they're eating.

"Coffee?" Boba Fett asked.

"I'll just have a Coke," she said. "Or Pepsi, as the case may be."

They made their way to one of the food stalls. He got them both drinks and a couple of soft pretzels while she found a table that happened to be empty. He set his helmet and gloves down on the table.

"I really like your costume; where did you get the lekku?" Fett asked, referring to the headdress he wore. Breana was dressed as Aayla Secura, a Jedi Knight from the prequel movies. Aayla was a twi'lek, a humanoid race with various coloured skin and distinctive "head tails" that hung down their backs. In the Star Wars universe, lekku are semi-prehensile tendrils that house part of the twi'lek's brain, but also have communication and sensory functions.

"I bought them off a woman in California through one of the costuming organizations," Breana replied. Hers were fabric and filled with lightweight foam. They were attached to a headband that velcro'd under her chin and her skin was painted a matching blue. She also wore a tight leather top that showed off a lot of blue skin and matching leather pants. She could remove the blade from her lightsaber and hang the hilt from her belt, or just carry it everywhere as she was doing. Over the last year or so, she had invested a fair amount of effort in assembling her costume, but it was no where near as much as Boba Fett had in his.

"Which one? Rebel Legion?"

Breana nodded.

"They're good folks; I'm in the 501st and Mandalorian Mercs," he referred to a couple of the other premier costuming fan clubs.

She started to smile back, but as he took a bite of his pretzel, she saw the wedding ring on his left hand. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

It took him a second to notice, but as soon as he did, he set his pretzel and drink down. He flashed her an apologetic look. Neither spoke for a long moment.

Breana wanted to gather her things up and curse herself for being so stupid, but something about the odd glint in his eye gave her pause.

"I know this looks bad," he looked into her eyes, as if to gauge her reaction. "My wife and I . . . we have, um, . . . an arrangement."

"That's what they all say," Breana spat. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time she had unwittingly met a married man. At least she hadn't slept with Boba Fett yet.

"Would you like to ask her about it?"

Breana's jaw dropped and she was at a loss for words.

Fett reached for his helmet, flipped a switch and spoke into the microphone. "Sweetheart, you there?"

"Whatcha need, baby?" a soft, feminine voice sounded through the speaker.

"Can you come over to the food court?"

"Be right there."

He set his helmet back on the table and smiled at Breana. Something about him washed away her urge to get up from that table and walk away.

What seemed like an eternity passed.

Neither spoke. Boba Fett just munched on his pretzel and drank down some of his Pepsi.

She heard a crowd behind her and she turned. Cameras flashed out of the corner of her eyes. Her companion broke into a wide smile.

Across the floor came what Breana could only describe as a Mandalorian goddess.

Like her husband, she was dressed up like Boba Fett. If the bounty hunter were a voluptuous female and habitually showed lots of skin. Her hips swayed when she walked, and her ample breasts bounced enticingly.

Her armoured top was cropped short, showing off plenty of cleavage and a bare midriff above her wide, curved hips. Her thighs and upper arms were bare; her perfect skin was a healthy tan. The woman wore knee high boots that were perfectly in the style of Boba Fett, only they had four-inch fuck-me heels that accentuated her shapely legs. The signature Fett forearm guards ended in matching lace gloves and her helmet was an exact replica of Boba Fett's, with only a hole cut out of the back; a glorious mane of jet-black hair was pulled back into a pony tail that hung down to her waist over her jetpack.

Breana's heart skipped a beat, and if she hadn't been sitting down, she would have become weak in the knees. Even before this woman took off her helmet, Breana knew she was going to be drop-dead gorgeous.

The photo-seekers stopped at the food court, but those around them continued to gawk as the tall, lithe beauty sat down at the table next Breana, as if to box the young woman in between the two Fetts. She lifted her helmet off and sure enough, she was the most beautiful Latina woman Breana had ever seen. She had big brown eyes that radiated passion and mischief.

"I see you've met someone. I didn't think you were in to Jedi," she said playfully to her husband. Breana's heart skipped a beat when the woman patted her on the leg. "You're gorgeous, honey."

It took a second for her to form a reply.

"So are you," Breana whispered. Like her husband, Breana guess that she was in her late-twenties/early-thirties. The other woman giggled, which set some of Breana's nerves at ease.

"What's your name, young Jedi?" she started, but quickly added, "And don't tell me Aayla Secura!"

The three laughed nervously.

"Breana," she breathed.

"It's nice to meet you, Breana," Mrs. Boba Fett replied formally. "I'm Mireya, and you've already met my husband, Scott."

She didn't know where to start. Apparently Mireya and Scott did, though.

The tall woman leaned in close, so her voice couldn't be heard by anyone nearby. "I'm guessing Scott has told you about our . . . arrangement."

"Not really," Breana shrugged.

Mireya laughed, as if to put the young woman at ease. "Well, let me tell you that Scott Baxter is the luckiest S.O.B. in the world. Not only do I let him spend a fortune on his Star Wars hobby, but he can go out and meet beautiful young women like you. The only catch is that he has to share with me."

Breana had no response to that.

"We live a . . . different . . . ah . . . lifestyle," the dark-haired vixen said gently. "If you would like to spend the weekend with us, we'd love to have you."

Scott reached into one of his pouches and produced a trading card with a picture of his Boba Fett costume on it. He scribbled a phone number on the back and slipped it into Breana's hand.

Mireya leaned in and breathed into Breana's ear, sending a jolt of electricity down the young woman from head to toe. "Call us if you're interested in dinner tonight."

She pulled back and the couple reached for their helmets. "If not, enjoy the con."

Scott only winked, then the pair was off to pose for more pictures.

Breana sat at the table for another ten minutes, her head spinning, a mixture of apprehension and excitement coursing through her veins.

***************************

She returned to her room and dropped off her souvenir haul. Breana caught up with her friends, who were making plans to go out for dinner. She begged out, claiming to want to attend one of the evening panels at the convention. Making the short walk from her hotel back to the convention hall, Breana ducked into a couple of the panel discussions. She didn't see Scott or Mireya again.

Sometime around mid-afternoon, Breana worked up the nerve to call the number on the back of the Boba Fett trading card. It only rang once. "Hello?"

"Hello, Scott?" she stammered.

"Breana?" There was an odd reverberation in his voice, like he was in a tunnel.

"Yes; can you hear me?"

"Yeah," he replied sheepishly. "I've got Bluetooth in my helmet. There's probably an echo."

"Just a little," she giggled. "But everything is better with Bluetooth, right?"

"It sure is," he agreed. "Can we buy you dinner tonight?"

"Um, sure," she said. What the hell am I thinking?

"We're staying at the Peabody," he said. "If you want, come by the lobby there, or we can meet you somewhere else."

"I can meet you there." She appreciated that he didn't ask where she was staying. "What time?"

"It's, what? . . . three-thirty now? . . . How about six o'clock?"

"Sounds good." Breana's heart began to race. "I'll look for you in the lobby then."

She hung up, then went back to her room so she could wash her blue body paint off. It was all she could do to resist the urge to masturbate.

A little before six, she was cleaned and dressed in a light sundress that would be appropriate to the August Florida heat. Her sandy blonde hair hung down just past her shoulders; with the

Her hotel was just up the street from the convention center; their hotel was right across the street. As soon as she walked through the doors of the lobby, she saw Scott and Mireya sitting on one of the plush couches. He was in one of his new t-shirts, a pair of cargo shorts and sandals. She wore a low-cut loose blouse with a knee-length skirt, and had traded her high heels for a pair of comfortable Toms.

It looked like they had been waiting for a few minutes. She wasn't late.

Both stood as soon as they saw Breana.

When she walked over, Mireya gave the young woman a familiar hug. Scott leaned in and kissed her cheek, his moist lips making her spine shiver, in the good way.

"Do you trust us?" he asked with a pernicious grin. There was something disarming about his general demeanor. Against her better judgment, Breana readily agreed.

The trio made their way out of the lobby to the curb. The valet motioned for one of the waiting taxis and they got in. To her surprise, Scott told the driver to go to a local walk-in clinic.

Along the way, they talked and got to know one another.

The Baxters were college sweethearts who lived in the Orlando area, where she was head of the IT department at a local college and he was a plastic surgeon.

"I spend more time talking people out of having something done than I spend in an operating room," he said lamentfully. "Most people just need a little touch up here or there, but a lot of people want drastic changes. For instance, I had a girl come into my office who was about your age, and she wanted a nose job, bigger boobs and collagen in her lips."

"What's wrong with wanting to look better?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to look better." Scott just shook his head. "But no one should want to look different. For instance, I could give you a pair of double-D cup tits that would be awesome, but they'd look funny on you because you're not built for them."

When they pulled into the clinic parking lot, Scott led them inside, after slipping the cab driver a twenty to wait for them. The clinic had a lab, and Scott explained that they were all going in for blood tests, which he would pay for.

"We don't swing with just anyone," Mireya winked as she rolled up her sleeve.

Being a nurse herself, Breana was used to needles and the process was mostly painless. They left the clinic and headed to a local sushi restaurant back towards the convention center.

They were seated in a private room in the back. The servers didn't give them menus; they simply started bringing them food. It seemed that Scott and Mireya were regulars. Breana thought back to the restaurant her parents owned, and how she knew some of their frequent customers from all the years she worked there.

"I'll bet you have a million questions," Mireya said, not beating around the bush.

"Yeah . . .um, how exactly does your relationship work?" Breana downed her first helping of sake, and went back for a second.

"We met and dated at Georgetown," Scott said, passing the edemame around. "We must have broken up and gotten back together a dozen times."

"Why?"

"Because Scott couldn't keep his dick in his pants."

"And Mireya liked to sleep around."

Breana's eyebrow shot up. "So why are you together?"

"Because we're amazing in bed together," Mireya giggled. She reached across the table and took Breana's hand. "And despite all of the fights and the jealousy, we were in love from the moment we met. And we still are. We stay together because of our arrangement. Instead of cheating on one another, we share our bed with each others' lovers."

"How does that work?" It may have been the sexual tension, or it may have been the sake, but it seemed to Breana that the room was starting to get warm.

"There are three rules: First, there are no secrets, no cheating and no lying. It's all out in the open. Second, everyone shares, and if you decide to join us, that includes you, too." Mireya stopped as the servers brought a plate of sashimi and set it in the center of the table. "The third rule is that he always comes home to me, and I go home to him."

"Um, how many lovers do you have?" Breana wondered. Obviously, she wasn't the first person this couple had propositioned. In all likelihood, she wouldn't be the last, either. She just didn't want to be another notch in their bedpost.

HLD
HLD
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