Cornholed

Sarah Roberts stood on her front porch, shaking her head. Every year, she went through the trouble of putting up Halloween decorations, and every year some asshole kids from the neighborhood would trash things. The hay bales she'd had stacked out front were knocked over, the fake witch she'd had hanging from the tree was nowhere to be seen, and her jack-o-lanterns were smashed to pieces.

Toilet paper trailed down from the branches of the big oak tree in her front yard. Some of the little ceramic skulls she'd carefully put tea candles inside were missing, some were broken. Sarah surveyed the damage, then suddenly felt a stab of panic.

She ran over to the jumble of hay bales, and saw that her scarecrow- the very expensive antique scarecrow that she'd purchased from that odd old woman- was still there, and still intact. It was lying on its back on the other side of the bales. It was intact, but had been tampered with.

Some junior high joker had apparently thought that it would be funny to take one of the decorative pieces of corn she'd arranged on the bales, and to stick it out from between the scarecrow's legs, like a jutting penis. Sarah shook her head again, breaking a slight smile as she tsked to her self. Kids!

She bent over, and tried to pick up the corncob, but when she pulled on it, the entire waist of the scarecrow came up with it, hips raising off the ground. She let go, then tried again, with the same result. She heard faint laughter, and blushed.

Great! It had looked like she was giving the scarecrow a handjob. Some kid must be lurking nearby, waiting around to see his handiwork. Or rather, to see HER handiwork. Sarah bent over again, this time picking up the entire scarecrow and heaving it over her shoulder. She walked back inside, with as much dignity as she could, considering the situation. The ear of dried corn jabbed into her back a bit with every step.

Sarah dumped the scarecrow down on the couch, then rested. The thing was heavier than it looked. She had no idea how old the thing was, but they certainly didn't make them like this any more. The body of the scarecrow consisted of a full set of old-fashioned farm clothing: brown shirt, brown pants, socks and even shoes for the feet. The hands were what appeared to be well-worn leather work gloves, stitched right to the sleeves.

Sarah didn't know what the thing was stuffed with, but it felt like solid cloth. Probably old rags or something. She wasn't sure why she bought it, she was just driving down a country road, and saw that a farm house was having a yard sale. She stopped by, the scarecrow caught her eye, and she bought it on a whim.

When she told the old woman who was running the sale that she was going to use it as a Halloween decoration, the woman had responded oddly: "When you truly have the spirit of Halloween, the spirit of Halloween will truly have YOU!"

Sarah was pretty certain that the old woman wasn't quite right in the head, but the price she'd paid for the decoration had seemed quite reasonable, so she didn't feel like she was ripping anybody off. Considering the way things had turned out, with those kids ruining her display on Halloween night itself, Sarah was beginning to think that she'd paid too much for the thing. It should have gone to somebody else, somebody who lived in a neighborhood that appreciated the spirit of Halloween.

Trick-or-treating was through for the night, and curfew was in effect, so Sarah didn't expect any more trouble from kids that night. Now it was adult time. She decided it would be a good time to break out some of the pumpkin spice wine that she bought, and maybe eat some of the leftover candy. Sarah always bought more than enough, and always smiled as she had to dispose of the leftovers.

She went into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of pumpkin wine from the fridge, and uncorked it. She set her wide, black witch's hat down on the counter, then went back to the living room and settled in on the couch. The scarecrow was sprawled on the other end of the couch, it's head limply lolling backward, as if had passed out while looking at something on the ceiling, perhaps a spider in the corner.

"Well," Sarah said to the scarecrow. "I guess you've had a rough night, but now we get to relax!"

She drank some of the wine straight from the bottle, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. Really, she considered, it should be called a "wine table." She certainly never drank coffee on it. She kicked off her black high heels, stretching her toes a bit, though they were still enclosed in the black stockings that made up part of her "sexy witch" outfit, the other components being a short black dress, the discarded shoes, the discarded hat, and a pair of black, velvety opera length gloves. She considered ditching the gloves as well, and the stockings, but she decided to keep them on. They make her feel sexy.

Sarah reached over to the bottle, took another swig. The stuff was good, although it tasted a bit more like cider than pumpkin in her opinion. There was a sharp wine flavor, though, and the spices reminded her of mulled wine. She wondered if the stuff she was drinking would be better if it were heated, but decided that it was good enough as-is.

She tucked her feet underneath her, leaned on the arm of the couch, and turned on the television, skipping through channel after channel until she found a good movie. Finally, she found a station playing an old horror classic, Romero's Martin, a story of a boy who may or may not be a vampire, but who was certainly a serial killer. He'd have sex with unconscious women, drink their blood, and dispose of the bodies.

Sarah thought she could use a bit of that first bit, the sex. Although she didn't want to be unconscious for it. Helpless, maybe, to a point, though. She grinned. The other two steps were no good, of course. The women couldn't appreciate the first step. Martin, Sarah decided, was a selfish dick.

She watched the movie anyway, drinking her spiced pumpkin wine, unwinding from the day. As the movie unfolded on the glowing screen in front of her, Sarah grew first tipsy, then a bit drunk. Unconscious women or not, some of the sex scenes were turning her on, making her feel horny, and lonely.

By the time the movie ended, she had moved to the middle of the couch, and the room was spinning slightly every time she moved her head. She leaned over to the scarecrow, pulling its head forward to look at its face. "Hey, Jack! Are you lonely too?"

Sarah apparently had decided to name the thing "Jack," probably from Jack Skellington from A Nightmare Before Christmas, or from Jack Pumpkinhead from Baum's Oz books. It seemed like a good, Halloweeny name. Jack O'Lantern. Although, this scarecrow didn't have a jack-o-lantern for a head, just a standard cloth sack stitched to the collar of the brown shirt. A hat was stitched on top of the head. From the neck up, this thing looked more like the Scarecrow from Oz than it looked like old Jack Pumpkinhead.

Sarah stuffed an end pillow behind the scarecrow's head, propping it up, pointing its face toward the television. Now she had a TV companion for the night, somebody to talk to, even if he couldn't talk back. "Let's see what else is on!"

She realized that this was a bit pathetic, that this was the adult version of a little kid's stuffed animal toy, just some fake company for somebody who couldn't manage the responsibility of the real thing. Sarah was always better with fantasy than with reality, though, and she understood that about herself. She was familiar with it, if not fully comfortable.

That was one reason why she so loved the holidays, especially Halloween. It was a magical time, a time of wonders and horrors of the mind. It was a time of fantasies, both dark and light. Of heat and hate. Of fate and fear, and flights of fancy. She could indulge in fantasies of things that she'd never want to face. She could dream of one-night affairs at a masquerade, and she could wonder what it would be like to run for her life from ghosts and goblins.

She realized that her mind was getting muddled, and her thoughts weren't really focused. Good! She let out a laugh. At last! Man, what a relief it was to have killed enough brain cells for the night that she could set aside her nervousness, let go of her doubts, and just relax and be happy, something that she usually had a great deal of trouble accomplishing. Sober, anyway.

She found a cable channel that had the opening credits for another horror movie, Meridian. It was an old Full Moon production, which meant low-budget fun. From the description, it looked like an R-rated, horror movie version of Beauty and the Beast. She watched a woman, the main character, and a friend wandering around a dark, European castle, meeting odd characters and strange encounters. She drank more wine.

By the time the main character and her friend were drugged, one of them raped on a large wooden table in the dining hall, while the lead female was taken by an inhuman beast back in a bedroom, Sarah was heavily drunk, and heavily horny. She found herself caressing one of her breasts, lightly stroking her nipple through her thin dress. She didn't have on a bra. Her breasts were firm enough to support their own slender weight without the help of confining straps.

Sarah's other hand moved down, slipping up under her skirt, pushing on her panties, rubbing her clitoris through the cloth as she watched the onscreen sex unfold. It was a perfect example of what she had just been thinking about, she realized. This was a fantasy sex scene that would be horrible in real life, utterly scarring to witness. Women getting raped by monsters and little people. There was nothing arousing about that, not if it were reality. But the thought of it... the thought of it, the fantasy, that could be quite arousing. And Halloween was a time when it was okay to think about such things, a time to give one's mind permission to indulge a bit in these darker fantasies. Just as long as one can tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

She caught an image out of the corner of her eye, of a man sitting next to her, and she turned with alarm, only to remember that Jack the scarecrow was there. She laughed at herself, patting Jack on the shoulder, then leaning her head onto his shoulder. She thought about laying her head in his lap, but first saw, then remembered, the ear of dried corn jutting up from the crotch of his jeans. If she'd tried to lay her head on his lap, she'd have gotten an earful of corn!

She mentally laughed at the image, and the pun. Then she decided that she might as well remove that thing, and she reached down with her hand, tugging gently on the corn. Reminds me of high school, she thought. She chuckled aloud at that.

Hey, she thought, her hand unconsciously changing motions, more stroking than tugging. Just because he's named Jack The Scarecrow doesn't mean that I should jack the scarecrow!

She laughed uproariously at her own bawdy humor. Her hand unconsciously kept stroking the scarecrow's jutting appendage. She eventually stopped laughing, noticed what she was doing, and pulled her hand away.

Sarah regained her focus, leaned down over Jack's crotch, trying to figure out how the ear of corn was attached. The kids must have gone all out on this one, she realized. The corn was attached inside the pants- it was sticking out through the open zipper, the base was attached somewhere inside.

"Now, Jack..." Sarah looked up at the scarecrow's smiling face as she spoke. Had it been smiling before? Of course it had. What else? It changed expressions? Nonsense. "Don't think I'm getting too friendly here; I'm just trying to see how this thing works."

She realized that her words wouldn't have exactly sounded discouraging to a real man, in a similar situation. She smiled, and turned her attention back to the task. Her hand slid down the length of rough corn. It slipped inside of the open fly, fumbling around inside.

She couldn't feel where or how it was attached. There was cloth in there, probably rags, but what had the kids done? Just glued the corn to the stuffing? She found the base of the corn, and her hand touched something hard, maybe wooden.

"What. The...?" She pulled her findings out to examine them, exposing the base of the cob and the attached objects to the light of her living room lamp. Walnuts. The scarecrow had two large walnuts attached to the base of his corn phallus.

Sarah cracked up, laughing almost crazily, the room spinning from the wine. She slapped the end of the couch, laughing in complete amusement. She still didn't know how the base was attached to the scarecrow, but whoever these kids were, they deserved a prize, a trophy for the best goddamned practical joke in history. They must have not only given old Jack a penis, but a pair of literal nuts as well, and had gone through the trouble to tuck those nuts inside, specifically so that when she tried to lower Jack's prodigious appendage, she'd end up fondling his nuts.

Fine! She thought. They win! I'm just going to lie here and laugh about this for a while. And she did. And she had more wine, and watched more scary movies. At some point, she lost the rest of her consciousness.

#

Sarah enjoyed the feel of a man's hand. She liked the strength of male hands, the largeness of them compared to her own hand and body. She liked holding hands with men, liked them touching her. She loved the feel of a man's hands on her breasts, of those powerful fingers kneading her soft flesh, caressing, or even pinching or flicking her nipples.

She loved the feel of a man's hands between her legs. Just the thought of it, of strong fingers stroking and spreading her flesh, turned Sarah on. She loved the feel of a man's thick finger, or fingers, sliding up and down over her clitoris, rubbing the tiny bud, dipping lower, the tips sliding into her, then bringing her moisture back up to touch her clit again.

She loved it when a man knew how to use his fingers, when a man understood exactly how much pressure to bring to bear on her body. Too soft of a touch on her clitoris, and she simply ended up frustrated. Too much pressure, and it could hurt. A man's fingers had to find the proper middle ground, if they wanted to bring her the pleasure she craved.

Sarah moaned, pressing herself back against the fingers that were rubbing her moistened clit. She realized that she was kneeling, her buttocks raised high in the air, her face lying low on a lap, looking at the open fly in front of her, looking at her hand stroking the ear of dried corn that was sticking out of those brown pants.

She should have started, should have panicked, jumped up, and ran, but she couldn't. Her mind was working so slowly, that by the time she had put all these pieces together, arranged the puzzle that her senses were presenting to her in the proper order, she was aware of other things as well.

The hand between her legs was gloved. She could feel the leather fingers stroking her intimately. Another gloved hand grasped her by the back of her hair, urging her mouth toward the corn phallus. Her hand was already in motion, caressing Jack's rigid cob-shaft, as she came to consciousness. She had been doing things while she was passed out. A thing was trying to do her while she was passed out. She was close, so close, to orgasm.

None of this added up in her mind, except for the absurdity and the pleasure. She must be having a dream, she decided, a dream that was about to become very, very wet. Her anxiety was still discarded. Her fears and concerns were still passed out on the floor. She was still happy, still drunk. She decided to roll with it.

She laughed a bit, and looked up at the scarecrow's face, which was looking down at her eagerly. It didn't just have a smile, it had a full-blown grin, pointy teeth like candy corns showing between its cloth lips. It was a devious smile, but not sinister. The hand again urged her face toward the jutting ear of corn.

She rolled with it. If she was going to pass out, getting horny to horror movies, feeling lonely, and if she was going to have a dream about an amorous scarecrow with a dick made of corn, and if she was going to be oh so close to coming, then she might as well just roll with it.

Sarah slid her hand to the base of the corn, cupping the walnuts, playing with them. She licked the side of the corn, up and down the scarecrow's shaft. It was too large to fit more than the tapered end of it into her mouth, but she did this, laughing internally about the nonsense of it all, even as she sucked and licked.

The fingers, those manly, knowing fingers that knew just how to touch her, kept doing what they were good at. They stroked her clitoris, then they slid up her slit to the base, dipped inside her well, and brought more moisture back to her clit. They circled, and rubbed, and pressed, and teased. They moved back and forth, from clit to entrance to clit again, keeping her on the verge of orgasm, but not quite pushing her over the edge.

It might have been her imagination, (heck- it was ALL her imagination, wasn't it?) but it was as if she could feel the scarecrow's body responding to her caressing hand, to her mouth. She could almost feel the object of her attentions pulse, and throb under her administrations, could feel the scarecrow's hips thrusting slightly up, as his leather hand pulled her mouth slightly down onto him. It was almost as if the corn started to feel warmer the more she touched it, almost alive.

Sarah pulled her lips off of her manikin lover. Her hand kept moving, as she looked at his painted face. "Come on, Jack!" She pleaded, her voice hoarse with need as well as with the surreality of the situation. "Give a girl a break. Make me come, don't just keep me in limbo!"

The candy-corn smile widened. Did some kind of tongue just lick those cloth lips? The hand stopped stroking her, and instead patted her hip, then patted the top of the back of the couch. She understood.

Sarah stood up on the couch, then sat down again, her buttocks seated on the place that Jack had patted, her feet on the cushions where one would normally sit. She hiked up her dress, pushing it up to her waist. As she watched the scarecrow stand fully upright, on the floor, and take the two steps required to stand in front of her, just like a real person, Sarah pushed her panties down, kicking them off onto the floor.

The scarecrow knelt on the couch in front of her. For a moment, she thought that it was going to go down on her, to lick her, but instead it simply placed one of its leather hands between her legs, teasing her, spreading her, then slipping a finger inside of her. Her body welcomed the intrusion, pleasure spreading through her loins, and her brain screaming: Yes, Finally, Ohgod, at last!

The other hand reached forward, the fingers spreading out to cover that expanse of her body between her belly and her box. The fingers helped hold the dress up, out of the way. The thumb probed her clitoris. More pleasure shot through her, and she had been already so very close to orgasm, that within minutes of those knowing, talented fingers working at her intimate flesh, her body exploded in orgasm.

Her hips rocked, her breath came and went in hoarse gasps. She grabbed the back of Jack's hand, and ground herself up against it, pushing her clitoris harder against his leather thumb as her release continued, continued, then slowly abated.

Sarah's emotions were mixed. She had gotten the relief that she had sought, she had felt the pleasure of sexual bliss, and she was caught in a mix of afterglow and lingering lust. She also now fully understood that this was not, in fact, any kind of dream.

#

Sarah was a bit stunned by the realization that had slowly sunken into her foggy brain, but the conclusion was inescapable. Everything was too real to be a dream, every sensation too sharp. The scarecrow didn't seem to mean her any harm- quite the contrary- but the idea that this was an actual scarecrow come to life in front of her was understandably shocking to her.