A Halloween to Remember

"Candy, I hate Halloween – Little sugar laden beggars threatening to egg my little hybrid if I don't succumb to the Trick or Treat threat! The only people who make out are the Dentists!"

"Oh come on, Cuz, it will do you good. Meet the man I am going to marry and put some perspective into that over worked brain of yours. Put some boots on your feet, and get your city ass on out here tomorrow."

"I wish I could, really. But I have a deadline, and dinner with the Chamber of Commerce Saturday, and loads of laundry stacked to the ceiling. Besides, who would take care of the cat? And, most importantly, I don't have a costume, and I am not getting one."

"I have something you can wear." There was just a bit too much sweetness in that last comment of my cousin Candy's voice. I ought to know, I had been falling for her tricks for 35 years. Some might have thought we were sisters, but for the fact she was short, curvy and blond, and I was not.

"A rendition of Dolly Parton in a leopard print lycra cat suit isn't it, is it?"

"Oh hell no, honey, there were three Dollies last year, give me more credit than that! Besides, there will be a couple of cute wrangler butts. One is divorced, or ought to be."

"I am not looking! I swore off men for Lent!"

"Wrong season honey, even a heathen like me knows that's three months away! Besides, he drives a red pick up truck."

"Of course he does." She was losing ground, it was clear. Her cousin knew just the things to say, and even as she rolled her eyes, she was glancing to her duffel bag, not even bothering to ask his name. "Pick up trucks are over rated. I prefer a much more environmentally aware cosmopolitan type, who can discuss politics, good red wines, and knows what the inside of the Art Museum looks like."

"Sure you do, Vic, just keep telling yourself that, besides, how is that workin' out for ya? Be here by 8 on Friday, Saturday is busy, and bring your damn laundry, we can do it while we rate your new red wine interest, and catch up."

And just like that, she hung up on me. What was she doing, watching Dr. Phil? The invitation to return to Casey County could not have come at a more inopportune time.

I loaded up after work the following eve, a couple baskets of clothes to be washed, and a vintage bottle of Francis Ford Coppola's "Moving On" 2004 reserve Syrah. I liked Casey County this time of year. Most of the tourists had vacated, the crisp air was filled with politically incorrect wood burning stoves, there were real hay bales, pumpkins, bobbing for apples, a parade around town square and a corn maize. At least, that was what I recall from the couple times I came out as a kid. I liked everything about Casey County except for the limited radio selection, as I seemed to only get Country. By the time I got there, I knew six George Straight Songs and the fact he would be in concert the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend.

When I arrived, I glanced over the small well kept ranch, her barn larger than the house, and grinned as I reached for the bags, and made my way towards the dog who eyed me suspiciously, and then wagged his tail slowly, letting out a baleful howl in greeting. Candy opened the door and nearly gushed, as she took the laundry from me, and gave me a big hug, I was engulfed.

A half hour later catching up, we had opened the bottle of wine, friends had given me when the last guy walked out of my life, taking that corporate relocation to the West Coast. Moving On, indeed.

"How about a belly dancer?" Standing she began to shimmy, and move her arms in a snake like manner, as I blinked several times. "Oh shake it….shake it… It's all in the hips." She was nearly giggling, and I could see the effects of the wine.

"Are you drunk? How about a Scare Crow? Surely you have a pair of overalls and a flannel shirt around here."

"Come on let's visit my closet."

Into the diva's lair of country living we went, my wine glass refilled. Glancing over different things, I grinned and picked up a bottle of perfume on her dresser and sprayed it. "REBELicious? You are wearing a perfume named… "Rebelicious?"" But as I turned and glanced over her room… she began to pull out a pink belt with silver Swarovski crystals all over it and pink boots. Watching her, I thought how they suited Candy perfectly, but when she turned and threw a pair of jeans at me with the label Cruel Girl, I stopped.

"What are you doing?"

"We are going out! I like ole Truman Capote just fine for a ménage trios, but I need more… And besides, your clothes are dirty!"

"Pink belt, pink boots, what am I, three? I need my lil pink felt hat and a bandana and my stick horse and I can go as a cowgirl tomorrow. And this isn't the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants!" Eyeing the jeans suspiciously, she had a much shorter inseam. And.. picking up the boots, I nearly winced. "Whoever Dan Post is, he spends a little too much time working in pink! And it's Francis, not Truman."

Twenty minutes later we were sitting in the Midlands, the local honky tonk, upon barstools, chatting away, with two margarita's in front of us. Nothing like tequila on a Girl's Night Out. And surprisingly those Cruel Girls fit just fine.

"So, whatever happened to ole whatshisname anyway?," Candy managed as she eyed up the bartender, and winked.

"Well, my standard answers are.. He was gay, He forgot to tell me he had a wife and was married to his job, or if they get really obnoxious, I just tell them I am a celibate lesbian."

"Ever regret not moving?"

"Used to - Every damn day."

About that time, Duane, the team roping champion of Casey County, rolled in, and swept Candy off her stool, a tip of the hat in my direction, before he planted the hottest kiss I had ever seen upon her, complete with bending her backwards. I wondered if she, too, ever regretted giving up her dreams. She was Nashville bound at eighteen, until her life took a turn, causing her to marry too young, and have a child. He left her when she was 28, and it was the best thing that ever happened to her. Shattered dreams, were not the only thing he left her with. Fortunately, he had moved on to younger women and faster horses, so to speak. Duane, from our phone conversations, seemed like the real salt of the earth kind of guy. Simple, basic, mature and dam good between the sheets. I was blushing as I recalled some of her tales.

"So what's the plan Ladies? And nice to meet you Vic, Candy has told me a lot about you." Grinning as he ordered a Bud Light on tap, and leaned against the bar, he eyed the pink belt on me, and pinched Candy's waist. "Not fitting you these days, Sugar?"

God I loved that drawl. It wasn't quite southern, but it was sexy as hell. Candy elbowed him, hard in the ribs, and then winked. "Tomorrow is the parade in the morning, the hog roast at five, and then the Costume Barn dance. And Sunday, is the breakfast trail ride."

"Hope your cousin, the big city girl, can handle it." He playfully to me as he ordered us another round, and then leaned down to cup the back cheek of Candy's jeans, before turning to go start up a game of darts.

"Dayum.. I want one of those!" My eyes followed him as I softly exhaled. Had I just said that? Glancing around maybe I only thought it.

"Well he has older brothers and younger brothers, one is recently divorced or should be, and drives a red pick up truck." Candy quipped, as she glanced out the multi paned window glass. "I think that's him pullin' in now. I hope you approve of the Best Man, I told him all about you!."

"I told you not to fix me up! I just came to relax, commiserate with Francis and do my laundry!"

"You need laid, you're cranky as hell."

"I certainly do not! I need chocolate! Besides, have batteries can travel!"

"Uh huh… How's that seem to be workin' out for you? Besides..nothin like the feel of a pair of long legs wrapped around you!"

About that time, the prodigal of Duane's family walked into the bar. Nate Donavan, Candy told her, had given up life in the big city and come home to bail out the family business. His wife, had elected to stay in New York. He gave a casual eye in our direction, and moved over to his brother near the darts, as he drained Duane's beer and sent the waitress for a small bucket of long necks.

"I have to go."

"You will do no such thing! You look adorable! Sit your ass down on that stool."

"No wonder you wear jeans named Cruel Girl. That is… one fine specimen of a man." And indeed, it was feeling warm in there. Or maybe the jeans had got a little tight.

Of course, the rest of the night, we were ignored by Duane and the droolicious brother. Maybe I had not sprayed enough "Rebelicious" around.

After watching what seemed like round after round of darts from a distance, the brothers returned, and Duane introduced Nate. Almost as if on cue, Candy went to the juke box, and put on a George Straight song, "How Bout Them Cowgirls?" and began to two step with Duane, at least, I thought it might be a two step. Nate leaned against the bar, his arm accidentally grazed mine, and I blinked feeling sparks. When he took my hand, and grinned and led me out to the nonexistent dance floor, I am sure my jaw was mostly open. I felt his firm hand at my lower back, and tried to follow his lead. I was close, too close, and those damn pink boots stepped on his toe, wincing as I apologized, and we both leaned in at the same time. His lips grazed my temple, and my breath caught. Was it hard to breath in here? He was suddenly close, and glancing over to Candy and Duane it was harder to tell who had the best look on their face. He kept his lips near my ear, and grinned.

"My toes are pleased to meet yours.. Perhaps under softer circumstances, they could become friends."

I nearly died. It also wasn't hard to note the looks I was getting from a couple of the other women, who apparently thought Nate Donavan was a welcome sight. We finished the dance, and a couple more…before he got a text message, that left him making apologies and heading out the door, but not before, he told me he looked forward to seeing me Saturday. Duane said something to Candy about someone giving birth.

The next day, Candy and I made it out to watch the town parade around the square. My costume was a pair of sunglasses. The half a bottle of red, and two margaritas were showing. The rest of the day, we spent doing errands and helping decorate the barn, while Duane organized and oversaw the Hog Roast. It was one of those authentic deals that involved digging, not a nice BBQ spit. I suspected asking for tofu might be out of the question. Still, there was no sign of Mr. Red Ford Nate Donavan. Not that I was looking, of course. It was good to relax, do my laundry, help make salads and set up for the party. It kept me busy. It was only a couple dances. Not like I would likely ever see him again after this weekend.

"I am not wearing that little scarf with coins jingling sewn on to it! Nor those little brass finger cymbals. Good God, Candy, did you raid the Wal-Mart accessory section? And what is that, your swimsuit from Jr. High?"

"Well what are you going to go as then? You don't like the French Maid, The Vampire, The Belly Dancer, The Candy Stripper, The Cat Suit or The Dolly Parton. That is my last six years of Halloween costumes!"

"Give me a trench coat and a fedora. I will wear my sun glasses and go as Sophia Loren."

"Who? You have to stop watchin those old movies."

"Fine.. flannel shirt and overalls with bits of straw tucked in for effect."

"Girl, are you crazy? The most handsome, almost eligible man in Casey County is gonna be there and you want to dress in drag?"

Spying her tennis racquet in her closet I grinned. "Remember when we used to play?"

"OH HELL YEAH! And I bet I still have a little white skirt around here too… "

What seemed like hours later, the blond belly dancer, and the ex-tennis pro appeared to finish off the bottle of Moving On. Duane's brother didn't seem to be knockin' down the door to see me. So, I was determined to have a good time, complete with racquet and balls. Besides, someone he knew was pregnant, and he was getting text messages about it, 'nuff said.

The barn was magical, stalls hung with spider webs, little pumpkin lights, bales of hay, a witches Calderon complete with punch. Across the back field, stood the silent corn field, the tall dried stalks standing eerily in the moonlight. Guests arrived mostly in pairs and Duane was working with the music. Nate slipped in the back way, looking like he could have stepped out of the pages of a Zane Gray book. Several horses were turned out in a second pasture of Candy's. He didn't appear to be in costume, and he grinned eyeing up my slightly too short tennis skirt and polo shirt. I was holding a pair of tennis balls in one hand, and the racquet in the other.

Leaning down, he flipped my pony tail and let his lips graze across my temple again, teasing me.

A woman who knows how to juggle balls, Nate thought wryly to himself.

I blushed fiercely, and gave him a glance, before he laughed and turned making his way out to help his brother with the hog. Candy came by with a platter of food and I went to make myself busy. Looking for one of the serving spoons in her kitchen, I leaned up against the counter, and had the strangest sensation of eyes upon me.

"Nice view…"

The next thing I knew.. his long arms were around my waist, and his lips were near my ear. "I…eh.. thought you had to help with the pig…. "

"I did…I came to get a platter…but Candy and Duane have it covered." He was grinning, and slowly I felt him leaning against me. "I like short white skirts, for all the obvious reasons." He spun me slowly around, one hand going to my lower back once more, and urging me forward, His head dipped and I felt his lips brush mine, before capturing them soundly. His other hand went behind my neck, and my hands lifted to curl against his chest. The kiss lasted several moments, taking on a deepening hint of passion. My knees, felt a little like Jello, and somehow a soft moan escaped between my lips. With that he grinned and slightly pulled back to study my face. "Why, Vic, you act as if you haven't been kissed in a while." Maybe it was that accent, or that cock sure way he had. Or maybe it was just those natural pheromones he was giving off. Or, maybe he was right. His eyes slid down the front of my outfit, and I just knew the stiff tell tale signs of the girls were standing at attention, and yet he only seemed to smile broader.

"I um…eh.. need.." To get back to the city, my mind wanted to scream.

"Oh, I am pretty certain.. I know…" He managed, as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

It was the sound of the Monster Mash being played overly loud and the resulting gales of laughter from the costumed inhabitants in the barn that brought us to our senses. As we rejoined the others, Candy grinned and Duane loaded up the wagon for a hay ride which would carry us out to the corn maize. Of the 12 or so couples there, and six singles, it seemed a pretty congenial group. Still, the Werewolf and Vampire were slightly scary. The Nurse, The Dominatrix, Little Red RidingHood were all making eyes at Nate. As we climbed into the wagon, he slipped his hand in mine, and pulled me down to sit in his lap, as he whispered in my ear. "Your job is to protect me from evil women and it helps if you look like you're into the part."

His hand slid easily up my bare thigh, and I trembled in his lap, before kissing him once more. In the dark, he turned me in his lap, so both legs fell over the side, his hand slipping under my skirt. One finger played along the inside of my thigh, along the edge of the dampening fabric. I wore the white satin and lace bikini's to go with the skirt. I shifted slightly in his lap, and could feel his response, leaning up he pulled my lips down to his, to keep me quiet, his other hand sliding up the front of my little tennis sweater to cup my left breast through the thin matching satin and lace bra. I struggled not to moan, nor grind nor even look as if we were doing anything other than kissing, although when he pinched my nipple, I nearly screamed. When the wagon stopped, everyone else got off and headed for the maize. He glanced up into my eyes, and slowly urged one of my thighs up and over his, so I straddled his lap. Both hands slid beneath the sweater, and he kissed me once more. His tongue entwined with mine almost as if baiting me. His fingers quickly brought both nipples to attention, and he leaned up as he lifted the sweater off, to kiss both breasts through the bra, one hand moving deftly to unhook it, and letting it fall. My eyes closed and my back arched, as he bit and sucked upon my nipples, his hands moving to rest upon my hips, which he guided in a slow clockwise grind. I moaned again into his lips, feeling his need beneath me, hard and growing as I unsnapped his shirt to bare his chest. One of his hands slipped beneath the skirt as he cupped my mound, his middle finger sliding expertly beneath the satin and into the warm and welcoming heated flesh. I heard his groan, and lifted up slightly, as he reached and grabbed for the panties, tearing them away. I was shocked, and my breathing nearly ragged. He grinned as he leaned back and undid his belt. My fingers went to the snap and zipper, as I eased him out. He was indeed, well made, and from all apparent purposes hard.

His finger pressed and slowly entered me, curling, as my hands rested upon his shoulders our bodies partially hidden under the veil of the pale moonlight. "Oh God…" His thumb found that little bud of pleasure, and soon was petting my clit up and down, side to side, and my favorite, around and round. The man was reducing me to a veritable slut in the span of 24 hours. I wanted him. No, I needed him, and perhaps the contractions around his finger might have told him so. His thumb kept up the pressure until I clutched his shoulder and whispered, "Oh God.. Nate.. mmmm.. Yessssss… Ohhhhh OHHHHh… " and I came, fast and hard, coating his hand. He let me lie against his chest for a few moments, before taking me firmly in a kiss, and whispering for me to move. I slid between his thighs, my dark hair covering my bare back, the skirt pulled up around my waist, as the pale moonlight revealed the curve of my bare cheeks. My tongue danced upon the tip of his manhood, before my lips started to glide up and down the sides of his shaft. I could hear him moan, and at the first taste of his glistening offering, I lapped harder, swirling my tongue urging him for more.

In a harsh voice.. He ran his hand through my hair and murmured. "I want you Vic…turn around..put your forehead to the floor, and spread your thighs." It was very vulnerable to have your back to someone, allowing them to see the glistening bits they had just managed to release, and knowing he was about to take me. I felt him shift and heard the jeans slide down his thighs…as I felt his hands upon my hips possessively.. grinding against me. One hand moved to guide him into me, as he let the tip glide through the warm moist heated flesh, and back to the entrance. As he began to rock, I could feel the whole wagon creak forward and back. Without warning he drove deep into me, piercing me and I cried out. He thrust hard and deep, one hand reaching around to punish my nipples and then back down to the clit. When he came, it was a deep satisfied groan,. Moving slowly he pulled me back around to lay upon him, his hands resting over the curve of my cheeks and mid back.

In the distance, we could hear the steady jingle of what sounded like a hundred tambourines, jingling in a steady cadence to the oldest rhythm known to man. A smile crossed my features. Duane was likely getting treated to a private belly dance.