Trick or Treat

Every year. Rain or shine. We keep the magic alive.

Mara, she’s just so sexy, she has this light that shines out of her, like her soul imprinted on the air around her or something. She trails fairy dust. She moves like both a swan and a stripper, all serenity, all energy; all crunch and cream.

And that’s just on a regular day.

Now, Halloween…

So, we have this tradition. She’ll come to the house sometime pretty late, maybe around midnight. And she’ll be dressed in a costume, something really slinky and enticing. Something that’ll make me feel flushed and flustered. She’ll stand there in her French maid costume – or whatever it is that year – and she’ll hold out her little plastic pumpkin with a couple of leds in the bottom, and she’ll shrug her shoulders up to her cheeks, thrust out her heels. “Trick or treat!”

“I think I’ll take the trick, if its all the same to you.”

“Maybe the trick is a treat.”

I’m usually so hot for her by then that my pants are aching, and I just want to drag her upstairs and have at it. Which is what we generally do. I tell you, I’m a lucky guy being married to a woman like that.

#

Well, this year, she comes a little bit early. And my God she looks good. She’s wearing something shimmery and opalescent, just a tiny bit transparent, flowing filmily over her hips, along her elegant, full-stretched arms. There are little bells around her wrists and ankles, bare feet. Hair all down loose.

“Trick or treat, cowboy?” She takes a slightly different approach this year, leaning against the doorframe, or soft and sultry and languid.

“I’d like to see what the trick involves.”

She sidles up to me and slips her arm around my shoulder. It tingles. She’s full of electric shocks, she smells like honey and cinnamon, and she’s making a soft, sexy clicking noise with her tongue. Later, I might ask her how she does that. Right now, there’s only one thing on my mind, I slip my arms around her waist, dragging her inside, leaning against the door to close it. She covers my mouth with a kiss that makes my heartbeat jump.

“Upstairs,” I manage.

And what we have together this night is next level. She’s feverish hot – literally and figuratively – and its like she has six arms, I can hardly keep track of where her hands are. Her skin is sheer silk, it almost feels like cream. And she tastes… I don’t know how she does it, but the taste is beyond description. I have never loved or been loved like this before.

#

As she sits on the bed and I go over to the window to open it a crack, I notice that her car has just pulled up in the driveway. I do a double-take. No, it is. And I turn back to look at her. She’s reaching behind her to unzip her costume. Not just the fabric, but the skin as well, and the lush auburn hair.

I see the car door open.

I turn back. She’s almost all in shadow, but I can see where her shed skin, and thick hair have been discarded on the bed. The rest of her shape is no more than an outline; a tiny bluish-white glow gives her edges. I hesitate a moment, before walking back over to the bed.

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work