I went to the Texas Renaissance Festival wearing an Exo-belt Extreme, ready for a kilt check from any woman. It’s always entertaining to surprise people who are easily surprised. I skipped setting up my tent, which meant there was no easy way to remove the belt when swapping out of my kilt.
I chatted with my best friend, T_, and mentioned that I believed I had sorted out the issues. Later in the evening, while much more intoxicated than earlier, I lay on the ground beside her, fiddling with a leather pouch. In a moment of foolishness, I asked if she knew what was inside. She grabbed it from me, declaring, “I’ve been waiting for that.” The keys—the only ones I possessed—were indeed in the pouch.
It wasn’t entirely non-consensual, though it might appear so. I had considered asking her to keep them; she simply didn’t wait for my question.
T_ held these keys before for a different device, just as part of an experiment. That was over a set period, and she ended up forgetting them when heading to work on the day they were due back. She claimed it was accidental, or at least that’s what I took from her story. This situation feels totally distinct; I have no clue when I’ll get my hands on them again.
Oh, did I note that even her closest friends view her as a wicked woman?