You Be My Hero, I'll Be Yours

Copyright by the Author 2022. All characters engaging in anything remotely sexual are well over the age of 18. This story is an entry in the Halloween Story Contest 2022. Votes and comments are appreciated.

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*CHERYL*

"You're not going to stay in that big house all by yourself, are you?"

Well-meaning? Maybe. But definitely annoying. And preachy, presumptive and nosy.

After months of the unwelcome, unasked-for 'concern' from neighbors and acquaintances since her husband had succumbed to cancer, for the past two weeks, from mid-October, it had been replaced by "You're not doing all that silly decorating yourself, are you? It's just for one night, for the kids."

If not for the condescending, negative advice, she might well have considered it too much effort to drag out, sort through the six large containers labeled 'Halloween stuff' in her husband's scrawl. Too loaded with memories and still-fresh pain.

Johnathan had done most of the set-up in past years, had conceived, designed and built the creepy contraptions and, honestly, the whole over-the-top Halloween decorating idea had been his from the start. She had enjoyed dressing up, putting on a show for the trick or treaters, and, later, delighted in the passionate paths their costumes had led the young couple, imaginary roles encouraging them to explore limits and test adult-only boundaries.

The deluge of assuming, unasked for, downright pushy 'concern' Cheryl had received since her husband's shockingly rapid decline -- especially once the sweaty, pale surgeon, eyes anywhere but theirs, muttered those awful words, 'inoperable' and 'aggressive' and 'too far gone' - was probably the best motivator she could have asked for. This year, the town's by-far most detailed and overdone Halloween display would be an homage to her late husband and his enthusiastic, macabre vision.

Johnathan had been ahead of his time. Years later, it would be easy to find moving, flashing, glowing ghosts, skeletons, gravestones and witches for sale. He'd had to make them himself.

Or had he?

Now that she thought of it, Charlie, the Fulmer's kid from next door, Johnathan's devoted shadow, had contributed more than he got credit. Her husband had more than once shared how impressed he was by the youngster's problem-solving creativity.

"The quiet nerdy guy is amazing. I wondered out loud if we could have ghosts pop up when kids come to the door, and he used that loose board on the bottom step as a trigger to release three springs, one at a time, each powering a cloth ghost to shoot up from behind the hedge. Not only did he come up with the idea, he's the one who made it work. I would have never figured out that release mechanism."

*CHAZ*

His parents had suggested he stay at their old house during his Fall break: the renters had just moved out, their own new condo was hours further to drive and the kitchen was torn up, being totally remodeled. He could check on the old house for them and have more quiet time to study. He did need time for outlining his senior engineering project, and the new place meant he'd have to sleep on the convertible couch in the living room, so he had agreed. His own roommates were planning a costume party in their apartment, just off the college campus. If it was anything like last year, he could count on not getting much work done if he stayed.

The drive, following back roads he knew well, allowed his active mind time to think about growing up in the old house and neighborhood, which led to thoughts of death and poor Ms. Ogden. Hot Ms. Ogden. Every other married adult woman in town was a "Missus;" Ms. Ogden had been a "Miz" from the time the young couple had moved in.

Chaz couldn't think of the tall beauty without picturing that one time, when limbs trimmed off a tree had offered him a clear line of sight from his bedroom to a sunny patch in the Ogdens' sheltered yard. That long, sculpted, luscious body sunbathing on a towel in the backyard in only a diminutive bikini, its metallic bronze sheen almost matching her skin tone. Almost deceiving his eyes into seeing her as naked. He steered his thoughts away from that vision, concentrating on her sweet, soft laugh and, especially, that wide radiant smile beneath those big, expressive eyes. A smile that could brighten a room, cause grown men to stumble over their feet and words.

She brought that smile to the garage often, usually with water or iced tea and a snack, when he helped Mr. Ogden on his projects. It was the couple's early praise and encouragement of his mechanical talents that led him down the path to the engineering degree he was now near to completing with honors. Mr. Ogden had been the first adult to really ask Chaz for help, to listen and appreciate his suggestions and ideas.

It was also her words, calling the two workers 'her big, strong, men' that helped form Chaz's opinion of his own body. Like Mr. Ogden, he tended well toward the stocky. He was never the fastest runner, but his size and strength demanded at least two playmates to tackle him to the ground when he had the football in their childhood games. Kids had called him chubby, fat, butterball and worse as he alternated spurts of growth upward in height and outward in girth.

Gripping the steering wheel, he let a ripple of flexed muscle pass through his thick chest. He was nowhere near an elite athlete, his body too slow in its reflexes. Chaz would never be a jock, but he had found a release from his studies in the college weight room. He'd found respect, encouragement and companionship there with some of the school's biggest, strongest athletes. His sets of bench presses in particular had become almost a legend in the gym.

And it had all started with Ms. Ogden calling him her big, strong man, a smaller twin to her husband's own powerfully built figure.

*CHERYL*

Frustrated, tired, about to give up on some of Johnathan's most complicated contraptions, she thought again of one particular, nosy 'you're not, are you?' woman. The busybody was inspiration to not give up. Johnathan had at least had the dedicated help of Charlie, the former neighbors' son, for both the design and the time-consuming set up, October after October. She imagined the little kids, the ones Halloween was meant for, asking about where the ghosts were this year. Worse, she thought of them asking where the big man was -- her companion always there to make them laugh or scream or both, as Frankenstein's monster, as Batman to her Catwoman, as Dracula. The idea of having to answer their innocent inquiries over and over again, ignoring the knowing, uncomfortable, rotely sympathetic looks on their parents faces.

She didn't think she could...a shudder caught at her heart, fluttering her diaphragm. Moisture already blurred her vision, twin wet tracks already streaming down her face. She had not cried much at all after his death, and only when she was alone. It was not the way she showed her grief and never had been. But something about this holiday, so special to him, and these goddam confusing, hand-made contraptions of his, brought out the tears.

*CHAZ*

Chaz had heard about her young, apparently healthy husband's shocking death this past summer, but the drive turned his thoughts to Ms. Ogden again and again. Sweating in the summer garden, shirt tied over her belly button, jeans hugging low on sweet, curving hips. The couple wasn't really that much older than him, the tall young bride in particular looking like she could still be in high school when they'd moved in. They'd occupied an odd space, somewhere between his parents' generation and his own. Again, the vision of the barely covered goddess in the bikini, the sight he had only seen that one afternoon, returned, as clear and detailed as ever. He was surprised how quickly he reached the old neighborhood.

He slowed as he drove past the familiar Ogden house.

The garage door was open. He was pleased to see the foam tombstones strewn across the front yard and thick spider webs stretched across corners, over hedges and bushes. His favorite creation, three ghastly ghosts that would each rise when anyone climbed the front steps, and move as even the slightest breeze billowed the cloth sails, was still in a pile of parts. He was still proud of how it had turned out, his own youthful innovation that had turned the concept into reality. His first real engineering project.

He made out a dim shape in the garage, a tall human figure seated, head in hands, a cascade of thick dark hair falling forward, hiding her face.

*CHERYL*

She was only dimly interested in the unfamiliar older station wagon that stopped by the curb, until she saw the stocky, muscular man exiting it. Even then it was only because men with that sort of build, thick, strong, meaty, had always attracted her eye. A t-shirt stretched over a broad, powerful chest never failed to remind her of her bulky, powerful husband.

But this man's body was even bigger, especially across the chest. And the face that turned toward her was young, barely past youth. Handsome, almost pretty. She wiped her face with both hands, wondering if that would hide the tear tracks or just smear a year's worth of accumulated garage dust over her cheeks.

She spoke as she left the darkness of the garage. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, Ms. Ogden. It's me, Cha..."

She immediately recognized the familiar, slurred-together 'Mizogden,' but associated it with a younger, more hesitant voice. Not this...man's. "Charlie!"

*CHAZ*

Muscles, which he hadn't known were clenched, immediately relaxed when she called out his name, delighted. Deep in his subconscious, a fear had lurked that the beautiful woman wouldn't even remember some kid who used to live next door, coming over to bug her husband. He was surprised to find out he was taller than her now; she had always seemed so...towering. He was more surprised when she did not hesitate to wrap him in a close, warm hug. He still felt young, not in her league somehow, but that changed with a single brief embrace.

"My god! You have grown up - and out - into a big, strong man." The familiar description pleased him. He couldn't help but inhale deeply, expanding his chest into her hand's contact when she reached out, lightly touched his t-shirt. The breath faltered when she brushed over a nipple through the stretched knit fabric. She could have no idea how sensitive the area had always been.

"Hey. Do you want some help with all this?" He suddenly wanted to extend this time with her.

"I couldn't ask you that, you must have more important things to do."

"Mizogd..."

"It's 'Cheryl.' Please. We're all adults here."

He liked hearing her include him that way, no longer a child.

"Okay, Cheryl it is. Believe me: I know this stuff doesn't come with any assembly instructions and some of it's pretty wonky. Like that bungee cord." He pointed.

"It used to be enough for the weight of the ghosts, but it's stretched out over the years. See where we drilled extra holes, so the tension could be adjusted?"

She shook her head. Yes, now she saw the small holes, but would have never known what they were for. As she watched, the young man crouched, slipped a metal hook into the middle hole, pulled a slip knot tight and hooked a small, oddly shaped metal plate into a gap between. She found the sure, confident movements of his heavy, thick hands oddly soothing while the play of muscles across his powerful forearms was almost distracting.

He stood, raised one foot onto the stair. The cloth ghost rose, steady and smooth.

"I would never have figured that out. I accept your offer of assistance, kind sir. If you really have the time. Would you at least like some sweet tea?" Her smile was as bright, as broad, as he remembered.

"Your sweet tea would be great." Mentally, he patted his own back, happy to get the words out without tripping up on them.

*CHERYL*

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It had been a long time since she's seen her own grin, wide and satisfied, even if it shone through smeared dust. It had also been a long time since she'd had a young, handsome man around, especially one with a body like that. Especially? As solid as Johnathan had been, young Chaz Fulmer was in a different class of thick.

She left her image in the mirror, grabbed the phone from its cradle on the kitchen wall when it rang. "Who's the hunk on display in your front yard, Cherie?"

"Hi, Beth." Cheryl had seen her friend drive by a while ago, with her kids in the back, so the call was not unexpected. "It's Charlie Fulmer. You know, the boy that lived next door. The brick house."

"He's a brick house alright. And we both know that's your type. Think he'd be heavy enough to hold you down, take your breath away? Big enough to make you feel little?"

Cheryl sighed. Sometimes she wished she'd never shared some details of her sexual fantasies with her good friend. But Beth was good at listening when she wanted to be, and always generous when it came to pouring drinks. And big men could make her feel little, petite. After a lifetime of comments calling her everything from 'towering' to 'statuesque,' feeling diminutive with a man was a treat.

"Beth. Come on. Shush! He's still in college, barely old enough to..."

"He's barely younger than you are and you know it. But: more importantly, when are you going to see him again?"

"Beth!" She squeaked out the protest. Her friend laughed, knowing what that meant.

"So you are seeing him again. You go, girl."

Another sigh. "It's not like that. He said he'd come over tonight, to make sure the displays kept working. He built at least half of them. And he can help hand out candy."

"This all sounds like code for me, Cher." Beth was laughing openly at her and a Cheryl could feel her cheeks starting to heat up. "A hunky young man is coming over to offer you an after-dark hand. 'Would you like some candy, little girl? How about an all-night sucker?'"

Cheryl couldn't hold back the laugh. 'God, Beth. You are too much."

"And he's a big thick guy -- might be too much in a different way. Too much, or just enough to scratch a certain itch."

"You are naughty, B."

"Speaking of naughty, what naughty costume are you going to be wearing tonight?"

"Oh. I hadn't even thought that far ahead."

"Then wear the witch one."

"The witch? I have sexier costumes than that."

Beth laughed again. "Look at you: going for the sexy outfit on a first date!"

Her cheeks were definitely hot now. Glowing. "It's not a date! You're the one who was talking about sex."

"Me? I never mentioned sex. You're just taking my innocent conversation, twisting it to conform to your deviant and unmet bodily urges. But take my word for it: wear the witch dress. Without showing any skin, that stretchy black lace clings to your curves. Promise?"

"You win. I'm a witch this year."

"Good. I'll be bringing the kids by early. And I'll bring you a special care package too. Bye-ee."

Cheryl leaned against the wall after her friend hung up. There was no way this was anything like a date. He was too young, just coming over to help. But she was right about one thing: Chaz was big in all the right ways. Big enough for her to feel small. Too big to get her arms around. Plenty big enough for his weight to pin her down, leave her struggling to breath.

Growing up, she'd often been the tallest student in her class, and she relished a chance to feel small, or at least not too tall. A new teacher, fresh out of college, single and handsome, had once called her 'Amazonian' in high school. It hurt. And the best way she'd found to feel small, feel delicate, more like a woman than a Greek warrior bitch was the weight, the power, the strength of a big, thick, strong man's weight holding her down. Pinning her willingly underneath him, where she was free to let loose, give in, struggle, gasp for air, all until that deep deep tension that built up so easily in her finally let loose.

One year she and Johnathan dressed as Superman and Wonder Woman. Afterwards, they had played at dominance, a super-powerful woman, a goddess, overcome by an even stronger man. Her costume's golden Lasso of Truth had ended up adding a light bondage element to their explorations. Costumes had often given them a way to make sex special, to open up with each other about their fantasies. Why was her mind suddenly picturing another man, a bigger, younger man wrapping a golden rope around her wrists with thick, confident, irresistible hands?

God! Just thinking about it had left her a little short of breath. She looked at the clock, realized it was getting to be time to have the bowl of candy ready, to shower, to transform into a witch even taller than normal in her huge pointy black hat.

She was playing with the high buttoned collar of the dress when the doorbell rang. She had tried it buttoned up high, covering her long neck, and unbuttoned, showing a flash of skin at her throat. It would have to stay up now.

Waiting on the covered front porch, Chaz had cleaned up well, looking conservatively overdressed for the holiday. His dark hair was slicked back, leaving a single curl on his forehead. She stopped herself immediately but couldn't deny that she'd felt the urge to reach out, play with the curl. As she welcomed him in she wondered what the idea was behind his plain blue blazer, stretched over his frame as though it had been bought before a recent growth spurt, his white shirt and conservative striped tie. Again, in offering a greeting hug, she was struck by her struggle to reach around his torso even with her long arms.

"So...tell about your costume."

*CHAZ*

She looked great in the long, sleek, old-fashioned black dress, with simple, matching black flats. "You first, Cheryl. Are you Morticia Addams?"

She looked puzzled. "Morticia? No...Oh, hold on."

She spun on one foot, offering him a view that confirmed how very nicely the fabric of the dress clung to, exaggerated the rounded curves of her backside.

When she returned, it was with the addition of a tall, peaked back hat with a floppy brim. "I'm a witch, silly. And you? An Accountant?"

He laughed. "Accountants can be scary. Wielding those frightening audits and garnishments. The pen is mightier than the sword, they say. No, I'm not an accountant."

He reached inside his blazer, pulled out a thick-rimmed pair of glasses with no lens, slipped them on. "I'm...a reporter."

"A reporter?"

"Yes. A mild-mannered reporter, for a quaint metropolitan newspaper." Dramatically, he swept the glasses back off with one hand, loosened his tie with the other. The collar of his shirt fell open enough to show blue fabric underneath with a hint of red and gold.

"Superman!" She clapped her hands, the hat's wide brim bouncing with her excitement.

He shrugged. "I didn't have much to work with -- I wasn't planning on dressing up tonight at all. So luckily I had my Superman t-shirt with me."

He noticed Cheryl's eyes returning to the opening in his white button-down shirt. Was she just chewing on her lower lip? She had stopped now, but he was almost sure he hadn't imagined two perfect incisors biting down on that sensuous, full lip.

He tugged the tie's knot lower before starting to unbutton a button, then another, encouraged by her continuing gaze. After a third button had opened the placket halfway down his torso he grabbed both sides and pulled open the Oxford cloth curtains, revealing the famous "S."

He growled out his line in a macho baritone announcer's voice, encouraged by her increasingly concentrated look. "That's right! It's Supe..."

The doorbell rang. Both jumped, Cheryl's eyes fleeing his exposed chest, his own flicking to one side, trying to avoid being caught staring at her. When she reached for the knob he held up one hand, hissed "Wait."