Page 5 of Forfeits

“Hey, Sebastian! This is my Uncle Fletcher,” Patrick said, gesturing to me.

“Lovely to meet you. Welcome to Maverick Molly’s. Sebastian Moriarty.”

He held out his graceful hand. I shook it and looked around.

“This is…a cool spot.”

Even the entry hall gave off Victorian vibes. The interior design had been expertly done. There were crown moldings on the high plastered ceiling, what looked like hardwood underfoot and pieces of antique furniture against the walls. Replica oil lamps hung on the walls to give the place the soft glow of a decades-old salon.

“Thank you so much,” Sebastian said. “Are you here for a drink or—?”

“He needs the washroom,” Patrick said.

“I’m so sorry. I should have gone at home,” I said.

“I’ll just take him into the changing room.”

“Of course. All the servers are on the floor.” Sebastian nodded to me, then said to Patrick. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Yep.”

“Thanks so much,” I said.

“No worries at all.” Sebastian smiled and went into the other room, above which a sign said ‘Gaming Parlor’.

I followed Patrick through a door marked ‘Staff Only’ into a large, sparsely decorated space with a couple of chairs and a beat-up settee.

“Washroom’s just there,” Patrick said, pointing to a door at the back.

“Thanks.” I hastened into a room with two stalls and a urinal, did my business quickly and washed my hands.

When I came out, I was greeted to the sight of Patrick sitting on the settee in a pair of lacy panties and a garter belt, pulling a black stocking up his calf.

“Better?” he asked, as I stood there, staring.

“Oh my God, yes. Thank you.” I stood there, gobsmacked. “They really get you to dress authentically, don’t they?”

Patrick smiled and attached the top of his stocking to the belt.

“Uh-huh. It takes some getting used to.”

The door to the changing area swung open. A young man wearing white bloomers and a corset over a white linen blouse came into the room. He had makeup on, black nail polish and spiky, shortish hair.

He stopped when he caught sight of me.

“Oh shit. I didn’t know we could have guests in here.” He looked back and forth between the two of us.

“Hi, Toby. This is my Uncle Fletcher.”

“Oh, okay,” Toby said. “That explains everything.”

“He needed to use the washroom.”

Toby put a hand on his hip. “A likely story. Or did he only want to see me in my bloomers?”

“So sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” I said, moving toward the exit.

“Not so fast Mr.…” Toby crossed his arms over his corset and looked at Patrick with raised eyebrows.

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