"I'll be right down," Marjorie said. She hurriedly washed, put on the dress and brushed her now platinum blonde hair. Noticing again just how much the dress revealed, shw wondered whether to put on a pair of panties, then thought: To hell with it. You know you aren't going to be able to resist getting into that stagecoach. And if you're going to immerse yourself in this fantasy, then you might as well do things properly. And your twenty-first century cotton panties definitely don't qualify.
Marjorie made her way down to the lobby, and swept past the startled doorman and onto the street. There was the coach, with a smartly liveried flunkey holding its door open for her. "Thank you," she said, as regally as she could manage, and climbed into the coach. She sank into the luxuriously upholstered seat. The flunkey climbed up to his own seat, on the outside of the coach, picked up his whip and the reins, and goaded the horses into a brisk canter.
Mon May 7 06:51:28 2001