Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty- Six
D uring the next two hours, I had a long hot shower, FaceTimed Zali, and had a squeal with her over my zip-lining and a naughty giggle over Lydia’s meltdown. I also went shopping for tonight’s costume.
After Mother’s phone call, Roman had tried to cheer me up. In the end, it had been with a dare. A dare that I’d gladly accepted, intending to show him another side to me. Now I just had to pull it off.
Every night was Oktoberfest in many beer halls in Germany when you were a tourist. In Baden-Baden, several shops were selling Chinese-made Oktoberfest disguises and to my surprise, there were plenty of dresses for me to choose from.
It seemed beer-wench costumes were perfectly suited for big-busted women. YAY, about fucking time!
Back in my room, I had forty minutes to get ready. I was going to need every one of them.
I dressed in my sexy beer-wench outfit, and it was so ridiculous that I burst out laughing at my reflection. The dress was pulled in at the waist and had a flared-out skirt that was emphasized with layers of black netting.
The peasant-style top had my boobs nearly bulging right out of the minuscule bustier. By tugging it down, I risked nipple exposure. And it was so short that tugging it up just about flashed my red satin knickers.
I had black thigh-high stockings that were topped with silly red bows. But in keeping with Roman’s suggestion that I just be me , I put on my red Converse sneakers. No sexy, back-crippling, high heels for me. No bloody way. Comfort over crippling—that was my mantra when it came to shoes.
Giggling at how stupid I looked, I gave up fiddling with the dress and retrieved my makeup set from my suitcase.
One by one, I placed the items onto the vanity bench—liquid foundation and powder, rouge, mascara, eyeliner, three brushes, and lipstick.
Each time I applied makeup, I was surprised at how easy it was to cover my freckles. A new woman looked back at me. My skin was flawless; my cheeks had a touch of color. I looked . . . it was hard to pinpoint the right word.
It wasn’t beautiful, or classy, or younger. Maybe healthier?
Maybe that was what it was. I didn’t look like my face needed a good scrub.
In keeping with the costume, I parted my hair down the middle and made two plaits, and secured the ends with the red ribbons that came with the costume.
With that done, I grabbed my phone, took a photo, and sent it to Zali.
D: ‘Hey, Z, check out the beer wench.’
Z: ‘BAHAHAHA, you look hot.’
D: ‘Thanks, babe.’
Z: ‘You’re gonna hook up tonight. I can feel it in my bones. ’
D: ‘I don’t know what you’re feeling but you might want to get that checked.’
Z: ‘Trust me, babe. I’m good at this.’
D: ‘Yeah. Yeah. Gotta go. Wish me luck. Love you.’
Z: ‘Luv ya too. Go get some bootie. MWAHHH.’
I grabbed my bag and door key and headed for the elevator.
As I waited, I fiddled with the ribbon in my hair. With the frill at my cleavage. With the hem of my dress.
The elevator door glided open, and I burst out laughing.
Roman was right there, dressed in camel-colored Lederhosen breeches that showed off his knees and were held up by elastic braces. He had on white knee-high socks and brown shoes and wore a pistachio-colored button-up shirt that had little flowers embroidered across the collar.
His eyes shot up my body and he whistled as I stepped in. Unable to resist, I grabbed the left brace and snapped it onto his chest.
“Owwww.” Roman rubbed his nipple, but his gorgeous smile shone through his dark beard. “You’re in a cheeky mood.”
“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Giggling, I shuffled to his side and turned to face the front as the mirrored doors closed. I tugged at the flared skirt, but each time I pulled down at the back to cover my ass, more of my tits showed. I had no idea which was worse.
“Stop fiddling.” Roman scowled.
“I can’t help it.”
“You look amazing. Trust me.”
I cocked my head. “Trust you? You’re the one who dared me to do this.”
“And you’re the one who accepted the challenge. But don’t you feel great?”
I waggled my head. I did feel great. I felt sexy too. It was an interesting thing to have my boobs on display and actually feel okay about it.
This tiny costume could be the uniform for Tits-R-Us.
The elevator dinged open and side by side, we crossed the hotel lobby. People turned and smiled. Men glanced at me, then those glances turned into stares. Stares that lingered on my breasts for just a tad too long.
We crossed the road and when a few horns tooted, Roman bumped his hip to mine. “Look at you—you’re stopping traffic.”
“They’re tooting for us to get out of the way.”
“Jeez, Daisy, you can be so naive.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m not naive.”
“Don’t worry.” He winked. “It’s cute.”
“I’m not naive.”
“Okay, whatever you say.”
“I do say.”
He held up his hands in a peace gesture, and for a fleeting second, his eyes bounced to my boobs and back up again. It was so quick I couldn’t even tell if he’d noticed he’d done it.
It had me wondering why I’d always hated it when men did it to me. I mean, if a sexy man was walking in front of me wearing a pair of chaps without his jeans and his ass was on full display, would I look away? Hell no. I’d follow him to the North Pole and back with a massive grin on my face. I’d probably drool the entire way.
So yeah, what’s wrong with showing off a bit of flesh? It’s not like my nipples are hanging out.
I checked, just to be sure. All good.
With that bold affirmation dancing around my brain, we pushed through the crowd outside the beer hall. Everyone was dressed up. Everyone looked happy.
We entered through the double-glass door and joined a thousand more revelers, all crammed into the massive beer hall. Most of them would be foreigners—the locals didn’t actually do this outside of October, and even then, it wasn’t really like this. This was a show for the tourists. And the tourists loved it.
Each step was an explosion to the senses. The sound was a cacophony of voices and traditional German music. The aromas were beer mingled with cologne and various body odors, not all of them good. Backpackers weren’t exactly a hygienic bunch. Throughout the room, the lighting morphed from red to purple to blue.
Everywhere people were laughing, singing, drinking.
And most of the women were dressed like me.
I fit into a tribe. Yay me.
I followed Roman’s lead, walking past the tables that were set up in very long rows that stretched from one end of the hall to the other. Three-quarters of the way along, he entered an aisle and I followed in behind him, squeezing between two tables where people were crammed onto the bench seats. It seemed like everyone was talking at the same time.
A waitress carrying a dozen or so massive glass steins topped to the brim with beer wriggled past us. Her cleavage was as big as mine, and her tits seemed to be providing a platform for the beers to rest on. They had to be heavy, yet she didn’t spill a single drop.
Toward the end of the beer hall, Roman found our group. At his urging, we squeezed into the seats between Freida, one of four German backpackers whose perky B-size breasts were getting some airplay above her costume, and Samson, a dark-skinned New Zealander who’d somehow managed to squeeze his muscular frame into a pair of Lederhosen.
When I sat beside him, his knee-length breaches looked like they were nearly splitting apart at the seams. Especially when he bent forward to talk to the English girls across from him .
A massive beer was placed in front of me and Roman raised his glass to mine. “To not getting old.”
“Or getting caught.”
He laughed and we clinked our glasses. Gripping the sturdy handle, I swigged the beer and just about shot the warm, bitter ale right back out of my mouth.
“Oh, no you don’t, Dais.” Roman nudged his elbow to mine. “We’re in Germany at an Oktoberfest. You’re gonna drink that beer and the next two.”
Oh, God. “You just want to see me dancing on the tables.”
He raised his stein. “I’ll definitely drink to that.”
After that first mouthful, the beer began to taste better. I couldn’t decide if it got better with each mouthful because my tongue was going numb or because I was determined to impress Roman.
Either way, before I knew it, I’d drunk my first beer. No sooner had I drained the glass when another one was placed in front of me. Bloody hell. I better be careful.
“There you are!”
I turned to the high-pitched squeal.
It was Lydia.