Full Moons, Halloween, and Witches

So, unless you are one of them, even those who speak openly about witchcraft, those who are immersed in witchery and deception, are not so open about admitting they are witches. Those who seemingly are free in talking about witchcraft, are never generous in sharing their secret knowledge of the occult and the unknown, even to one another. Best you avoid those who you think may be a witch. If you think they are, they probably are.

What comes natural to the Evil One, does not so to witches. Unlike the Devil, Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Antichrist, Demon, the Evil One, the Fallen Angel, and the Dark Angel, witches must work at being evil. Just as a magician must practice his magic, a witch must practice witchcraft, the reason why they are called practitioners of the black art.

Every witch has a book of dark and forbidden secrets that has been passed down from great, great grandmother, to great grandmother, to grandmother, to mother, and to daughter. Every witch has a secret spell and a favorite curse. Protected from prying eyes, their books contain recipes of all their potions and lotions and the words to all their spells and curses.

A witch is not a witch without her magic book of spells and curses and her caldron of evil to mix it together to bring it to a boil in a thick soup. A witch is not a witch, unless she's been reinforced, empowered, and fortified by generations of dark magic and diabolical evil. A witch is no longer a witch, unless she has been reinvigorated and reenergized with a new victim during the occurrence of a full moon. I dare say, a witch without her magic book of evil is just an old, unhappy woman. Why are so many witches old? Because, with so much to learn and memorize, it takes generations to master the nearly lost, dark art of witchcraft.

Look around you. Other than your mother-in-law, have you recently seen any old, unhappy women? Well, those women, no doubt, are witches who have lost their magic books of potions, lotions, spells, and curses. Best you be nice to them now because, if they happen upon their magic books later, they'll be Hell to pay for those who were mean to them then.

Unbeknownst to the uniformed, witches are known to cast spells to make you have sex with them. I'm not sure why it is that sex plays such an important role within the lives of witches and in the art of witchcraft, but it does. Their ceremonies filled with nakedness and nude sacrifices, nudity and sex always followed Satan, evil, witches, and witchcraft.

Maybe, just because they can make people have sex against their will is why they do it. Maybe, forcing those to have sex is the ultimate form of control, degradation, and excitement. You'd think that if you were dead for hundreds of years there'd be something else that you'd want, crave, need, require, and desire more than a good screw, such as ice cream, dark chocolate, a cigarette, a cup of coffee, a big juicy steak, a hamburger with all the toppings, or a cold beer.

Have you ever had sex with a witch or a warlock, that is, other than your ex-wife, your ex-girlfriend, your ex-husband, or your ex-boyfriend? Maybe you have and never knew. Maybe you have and have suspected. Truth be told, if put under a spell, you'd never know for certain if you had sex with a witch or a warlock or not. Truth be told, many of us have had sex with witches and warlocks, but just don't know it.

Sex is the most common occurrence when coming in contact with a witch. Call it a sexual fetish, call it wanting to be in control, call it debauchery, but witches receive not only sexual gratification making people do sexual things that they, as strangers, wouldn't ordinarily do but also power in enlisting us and then forcing those of us to do their bidding. Only, most people who have had a witch come to them and who have had sex with them think that it is a sexy dream or a horrible nightmare. Because of the deep sleep and hallucination of the spell that they were put under, they don't realize that it was real. They don't realize that they had sex with a witch. If still alive, they don't realize how close they came to death.

Trust me, if you've had sex with a witch, especially around the time of a full moon, especially on Halloween it is more of a bad nightmare than it is a sexy dream. Moreover, it's a dastardly nightmare that can take a turn for the worse and one that can go from sexual pleasure to frightful terror and even murder in just an instant. Be wary. Be afraid. Be careful during a full moon, especially during Halloween night.

Typically, she comes to your bedroom while you're sleeping in your bed. Always, she comes to you as someone else, possibly someone you know well or wish you knew better. As if you're having a dream, a sexy dream of a beautiful, naked woman, she comes to you in another form, someone who you lust over and dream about, but cannot have. It may be a friend, a relative, a stranger, or a celebrity. You are aroused by the dream that she makes you have. Her spell makes you vulnerable, horny, and ready for her passion. Because you think it a dream, you think it's someone else, someone you've been lusting over, but it is her.

Yet, when you are in her control, when you have submitted your will to her, when she has the power of suggestion over you and your free will in the palm of her hand, she appears, as would an apparition from out of a fog.

"Run! Flee! Too late!"

Gradually, she emerges from her world to your world. Gradually, she takes over your being, until she's naked before you and alive inside of you. No longer are you dreaming. No longer are you safe.

From the dream that you just had of her and from the impressionable dream state that you are still in, she is here with you now in your room to reap the benefits of her selfish acts by forcing you to have sex with her. Oh, God help you for thinking that what happen to you is pleasurable. If one was to define the experience of having sex with a wicked witch, it would be frighteningly horrible.

"Lord have mercy on your soul."

Once you are dreaming of this beautiful, naked woman, who in actuality is this dead, decrepit wicked witch, is when she appears. Even though you are now wide awake, under her spell, as if hypnotized, you are still dreaming, yet it feels so real. She strips you naked and instantly, you are aroused. Her intention is to make you pleasure her. Her intention is to use you to get her off at your expense. Her intension is to strip you naked not only of your clothes but also of your soul. Draining the life out of you, her intention is to use you to reinvigorate herself.

Aroused by her touch, she takes your cock in her hand as you sleep and slowly strokes you. Not knowing what is happening, but feeling pleasure, you stir from your sleep. It feels so good for her, for someone, for anyone to touch you in the way that she is touching you now, while you're sleeping. No one, not your wife, not your girlfriend, not your mistress, not even your mother and/or mother-in-law fondles your cock while you're sleeping, but she does. The wicked witch always fondles you, as you sleep.

Her hand wrapped around your now stiff prick works its magic on your libido. Her way of opening the door to your secrets, she's already inside your head. Is it a dream? Is it real? You are unable to tell one from the other, yet, you don't care because it feels so good for her to stroke your cock. Now in her power, you can no longer tell your dream state from reality.

She slowly lowers herself down to you and takes your erect penis in her mouth. Just as you feel the warm, softness of her hand, you feel the pressure of her lips and the wetness of her tongue more than you would in a dream. The passion she has for you that is directed through her blowjob is like nothing you have ever experienced. Never have you experienced sex like this before, even with that stripper you met at the bar, paid her three hundred dollars, and drove home...to talk.

This blowjob is way better than that blowjob you received from Mary Beth in the back seat of your car during prom night, and that was a great blowjob. A long time coming, literally and figuratively, this blowjob is way better than the blowjob your new bride gave you on your honeymoon. Unbelievably, this blowjob that you're receiving now from the wicked witch is way better than the blowjob your mother-in-law gave you, when you were both drunk and horny, after the Patriots won the Super Bowl for the third time.

Surely, this is real, but just in case it's a dream, you don't want to wake up now. You're receiving a wonderful blowjob, but even though it feels so real, it's just a dream. Isn't it? How can anything that feels this good be a dream. If you know what a spell was, you'd know it was a spell.

Already, no longer of free will, you are unable to resist her. You are unable to stop her from having her way with you. You are in her control. You do whatever she wants and whatever she needs you to do. You think you are dreaming, but it feels too real to be a dream. Your mind is reeling with pleasure, yet, you are so confused.

Are you sleeping or are you awake? Dreams aren't suppose to feel like this, are they? Never would you have imagined a blowjob feeling this good, yet it does. Never would you have imagined a wicked witch coming into your bedroom and fondling your cock, before stroking you and then sucking you, but one did.

So what? What's so bad about a beautiful, naked woman coming in your bedroom and making you have sex with her real or not, even if she is a wicked witch? It sounds pretty good, doesn't it, especially since there are no such thing as witches? Besides, you're getting a blowjob. At this point, who cares if it's real or a dream?

Certainly, it feels real enough. What does it matter if it isn't? So long as you cum, it doesn't matter if you are dreaming about getting a blowjob or are really getting a blowjob. Being able to cum is all that matters and then you cum, in her mouth and again in her pussy.

Yet, there are things within the dream that are frightening. As if you are possessed by the Devil, and in reality you are, evil thoughts flash through your mind. She's using you as her antenna to receive what she wants and what she needs to empower her evilness to a higher level. As if you're her power source, her battery, she's draining you of your energy and of your soul for the sake of her in the way that a vampire draws blood from its victims to feed. With such a high price to pay for the simple pleasure of sex, but it's not all good.

You begin to awaken and wonder if you're having a nightmare. You wonder if what you just experienced was imagined or real. Then, she puts you back under her spell and you fall back to sleep. Even after awakening, you are unsure if it was a dream or real. Nonetheless, you are either excited by the memory of having sex with a naked, beautiful woman or, when the nightmares start and the flashbacks occur, still in her control and under her spell, disturbed by the suspicion that you just had sex with a witch, a decrepit old woman, ala Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby, when she had sex with the Devil.

Which is it pleasure or terror? The fact remains that, unless you break her spell, she now has control over you, forever. She can now make you do whatever she wants you to do at her whim and whimsy. You are her puppet. Just another successful victim in her book of spells, your life and death are in her hands. You are afraid, but are unsure why you feel fear.

"Run! Flee! Just go!"

Yet no matter how fast you run and wherever you flee, she'll find you again. The answers to all her questions and to your location are revealed to her through her crystal ball. Once a witch has you in her power, there's no letting go. She has you forever, that is, until you die. Trust me, you'd wish you were dead rather than being in the control of a wicked witch.

Depending upon the person, some remember more than others. Much like hypnosis, some are more susceptible to her magic spells, while others, those who resist it, have images of more of those details that really happened. Yet, no one is ever sure and no one wants to believe that it really happened. Whether it's good sex or bad sex, no one wants to think that they had sex with a witch.

Ask anyone and they all picture witches as old and disgusting looking women and they'd be right. Lifelong practitioners, forever witches in training, it takes a long time to become a witch. Yet, through spells, potions, lotions, and curses, witches have the ability to make you not see them for who they truly are but for who you want them to be. When you think you are in bed with your dream woman, you are then willing to do whatever it is she wants.

Those who have experienced intimacy with a wicked witch don't talk about it. Shocked, embarrassed, and afraid, they keep what happened to themselves. If they were to share their thoughts and suspicions of what happened, others would think them crazy. Certainly, no one would believe them. Even they don't believe what happened because they don't know what happened, not totally. It was a dream or was it? It was a nightmare or was it? Maybe, it was all nothing more than just eating some bad sushi. Sure that was it.

Too horrific a thought to imagine that a wicked witch singled you out, it is easier for you to put it out of your mind and not think about such wickedness and evilness. It is too horrible a reality to confront that a wicked witch came into your bedroom while you slept and chose you to have sex with her. It is better if you believe that it was just a bad dream. Yes, that's it. It was just a bad dream. You'll feel better thinking that and believing that. You'll feel better after you shower and wash her wetness from your stomach and thighs and the naked images of her from your mind.

Why? Why you? Why now? What does it all mean? Is it real or was it just a dream or a terrible nightmare? Surely, there's no such thing as a witch, just as there is no such thing as a wicked witch.

Just as Johnny turned away from the brightness of the full moon to lose himself in the effervescent bubbles in his beer, a gust of wind kicked up outside to blow papers and twirl trash around in a whirlwind of activity. The wind was so strong that it shook and rattled the big bay window of the bar. He watched the papers and trash dancing outside, so much like spinning leaves that fell from the trees that held onto them, as if trying to preserve a coat of foliage against the chill of fall and the inevitableness of winter.

Then, the barroom door blew open with a crash and in walked a black cat, as if it owned the place. With Johnny and the bartender focusing on the black cat, as if appearing from out of thin air, a tall, sultry redhead wearing a slinky, low cut black dress, one that showed her abundant cleavage in the way of how Elvira always flashed her big breasts, strode in the bar in her knee high, black boots. Then, as if ass backwards, the lull after the storm, instead of the lull before the storm, the wind stopped, everything returned to normal, and it was quiet, except for the sound of her boots.

Tap, tap, tapping her boots made the sound similar to and one that evoked a memory of Edgar Allen Poe's poem, The Raven, when rap, rap, rapping, the raven rapped on his chamber door. Instead of rap, rap, rapping, there was tap, tap, tapping with the witch walking closer to the bar, upon the barroom floor. With Johnny and the bartender watching her in stunned silence, the sound of her boot heels were the only noise in the room, tap, tap, tapping. Finally, she approached the bar with all the drama of an actress making her entrance on stage.

Had Johnny not been so taken by a woman in the bar, especially such a beautiful woman, when women never entered this establishment, he may have otherwise noticed and commented to the bartender, "Look what the wind blew in and look what the cat dragged in," but thinking better of saying that, he didn't. Still under the spell of the full moon and now under the spell of the wicked witch, he was awestruck. Love at first sight, he was in love. He was doomed.

"Sorry, Lady," said Joe, the bartender. "No pets, especially cats, and especially black cats on Halloween, no less. I hate cats and I hate black cats even more," said the bartender looking to Johnny, while, no doubt, knowing his aversion to cats, too, waited for him to voice his agreement in his hatred of cats, too.

"It's okay, Joe. It's just a cat," said Johnny raising his hand to quell the bartender's protest, but never removing his beady, brown eyes from her big, blue eyes and from the enormity of so much of her exposed breasts.

"May I just have one drink, a double shot of whiskey straight, before I leave with my cat? I'm parched," she said in a voice that echoed from deep within her and sounded so tired and so unearthly.

"Okay, I'll pour you just the one drink and because it's Halloween and we don't get many women in here, the drink is on the house. After you drink that, you must leave. We don't take kindly to strangers around here and I don't want any trouble," said the bartender suddenly and obviously feeling the need to finger his baseball bat that stayed handily at the ready beneath the bar but had suddenly and inexplicably changed from wood to rubber.

Joe pulled out the bat to ponder the change in its composition, while she took the empty stool next to Johnny and eyed him out of the corner of her eye. Obviously not caring about his monstrous looks, using that to her advantage, no doubt, she knew that he was ripe for the taking. Before she swallowed her drink with one sip, she turned her head to him and gave him a sexy look that made him want to confess his love at first sight for her. "Hi," she said, as if exhaling a cool breeze on a hot day.

"Hi. I'm Johnny," he said putting out his oversized mitt to take her warm, small hand in his.

Not wanting to let go of her hand, he shook her hand, as if he was shaking up a can of oil for his milling machine, before feeling the soft, warm skin of her hand with his fingers. Then, he felt the connection. As if his hand melded into hers, as if his hand was forever handcuffed to her wrist, he belonged to her, in the way that Egor belonged to Dr. Frankenstein.

Not one to be sexually attracted to a woman, saving himself for that one special woman, this was a woman he could spend cold, lonely nights in bed fucking and licking, while she fucked and sucked him. Never imagining such wicked thoughts before, he now imagined his big hands all over her big tits, before he mounted her, spread her legs, and impaled his virgin cock in her warm, wet pussy. No longer thinking of his job or of sports or of where he was, he wanted this woman in the way that he never wanted any woman before.

"Rachel," she said. "Please to meet a gentleman, who loves animals," she said. "Thank you for standing up for my cat. Simon goes everywhere I go, isn't that right, Simon?" She patted the cat that sat on the stool beside her, before stroking the cat in the way that he imagined her stroking him, yet without ever removing her big, blue eyes from Johnny.

"Meow," said Simon, as if he understand and responded in the affirmative to her question.

"Oh, I just love cats," said Johnny, the type of man who never lied and after having just met the woman was already lying now. The type of man who would never have sex with a woman he wasn't married to, he was imagining having his sexual way with this woman now. Filled with sexual lust, there was just something about her that made him stare. He didn't know she had bathe herself in a bath of pumpkin pie and lavender, before applying a lotion filled with pheromones that aroused him sexually.

"Let's go," she said looking to Simon, before looking to Johnny. "Shall we go to your place?"