Touch of a HandbySabledrake©
Here she was, naked in the dark.
Cool but not cold.
Her breathing shallow, her body motionless.
Hearing distant sounds, and waiting.
Eyes staring into the lightless black. Skin tingling.
Anticipating the touch. The touch of a hand.
As soon as he saw the girls running the ticket booth, Jeffrey decided that maybe this wouldn't be such a bad way to spend Halloween after all.
The one on the right was dressed in a harem outfit, all sequined bra and gauzy pants and slippers with the curled-up toes. The one on the left had gone for the 'naughty nurse' look and kept fingering her thermometer in a way that made his mercury rise. Or something, anyway. Both costumes were decent enough to keep the parents from protesting, but revealing enough to show off their fabulous bodies.
"Hey, all right," Bill said, giving Jeffrey a wink and an elbow. "And you thought this was a dumb idea."
Stretched above the gymnasium door was a banner welcoming kids and their families to the "Dark Hollow Community College Halloween Spook-Tacular." Games, bake sale, raffle, costume contest. Sponsored by various local businesses, all proceeds to benefit the new Children's Wing at the hospital, yadda-yadda.
What mattered to Jeffrey was that most of the volunteers were shapely DHCC co-eds. College girls. The kind of girls Jeffrey didn't see at Dark Hollow High, where he was a senior. It was amazing, the difference a year or two made. They all looked so much more mature, so sophisticated. Worldly. Experienced. As if they had learned things that he, at eighteen, could only dream.
"You didn't tell me about them," Jeffrey said. "I thought we were getting stuck with brat detail. I didn't know there would be perks."
Brat detail – Bill, who lived in a one-room apartment above his mom's garage, had two younger brothers and a younger sis at home. When Mrs. Jensen had gotten called in to work an extra shift at the diner, she'd nagged Bill into taking the kids to the Halloween carnival. Bill had phoned Jeffrey to tell him that their usual plans – to see if they could score a case of beer from someone with a legit I.D., and then maybe cruise Lakeside Drive scoping the chicks – were off. With nothing better to do than sit around his house with his mom and dad, and hand out fun-size candy bars to the neighborhood rugrats, Jeffrey had grudgingly elected to go along.
"She can rub my lamp any old time," Bill said, ogling the cleavage of the girl in the harem outfit.
They waited in line, bought their tickets. The nurse smiled at them and touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip, and Jeffrey had to will himself not to get a boner right then and there. Her smile widened, as if she knew exactly what was running through his mind. As they passed, Jeffrey glanced back and saw her lean over to the harem girl. They whispered, giggled.
"Man," Jeffrey said. "I mean ... whew!"
"Don't know about you," Bill said, waggling his eyebrows, "but I'm re-thinking community college."
This, of course, was a joke. Bill was a year older than Jeffrey, but had dropped out of high school his sophomore year. He worked at his uncle's gas station and had about as much chance of getting into even a rinky-dink community college as he had of landing a full scholarship to Harvard. Or flapping his arms and flying to the moon.
"Thought you had a new girlfriend," Jeffrey said.
"Yeah, but you know it never hurts to look."
Bill, who was good-looking in a husky Brad Pitt sort of way, had no trouble getting girls despite his lack of a cool car. Jeffrey might have been jealous of his success, except that these fleeting relationships never lasted more than a few dates.
Hell, who was he kidding? He was jealous.
"So how come you're not with her tonight instead of me?" Jeffrey asked.
"She was busy. And I told you, I got stuck with brat detail. Hey, though, look on the bright side. Maybe we can find you some action."
Bill's sibs dashed ahead into the gym to join a throng of hyperactive grade-schoolers. Right away, Jeffrey saw that he and Bill were the only their-age guys in attendance. All the others, and there weren't many of them, were thirtyish henpecked fathers and the occasional grandpa.
"Action. Me. Yeah, right."
The large room had been divided into rows of booths with different chintzy games and activities. There was also a stand selling hot dogs and soda pop, a seating area, and a puppet-show stage. Music issued from the speakers, a collection of spooky tunes from horror movie soundtracks blended with silly numbers like "The Monster Mash" and "One-Eyed, One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater."
But what captured Jeffrey's immediate attention, and Bill's as well as evidenced by his low appreciative whistle, were the girls.
At one booth, a babe in a shimmery green mermaid-tail skirt and seashell cups over small but perky tits helped kids dangle fishing rods with magnets instead of hooks over a partition. Behind the partition, someone else stuck cheap toys to the magnets, and the kids reeled these in with squeals of delight.
Another had slanted sheets of plywood painted with comical clown faces, with holes cut through where the eyes, nose, and mouth should be. A girl in a spangly circus outfit gave kids bean bags and invited them to toss them through the holes. Each winner got a miniature Tootsie-Pop.
At the face-painting booth, a short but curvy brunette in a hobo costume painted flowers and dragons and Harry Potter lightning bolts onto cheeks and foreheads. Next to her was a tall, slim girl in a form-fitting black velvet catsuit complete with ears and tail, helping kids make masks out of paper plates, pipe cleaners, and Popsicle sticks.
The girl at the bobbing-for-apples booth did generate some parent protest, because she had come dressed as Eve, with a skin-tone leotard, a long blonde wig, and a stuffed snake curled strategically around her body.
Kids ran everywhere, wired on sugar from cotton candy, candy corn, candied apples, caramel popcorn balls, and punch. Their shrill voices rang to the gym's rafters, which had been strung with crepe paper, that fake spider web stuff, orange and black balloons, and construction paper bats and spiders twirling idly on long strings.
Bill and Jeffrey roamed the booths, much more interested in the sexy costumes than in trying to guess the weight of a prize pumpkin, or buying raffle tickets that could win a year's free car washes at the Spiffy-Kleen, or even throwing aluminum pie pans filled with whipped cream and chocolate sauce at local bankers and politicians.
At the back of the gym stood a girl with a generous figure packed into a tight black dress with a deep vee neckline. She had fishnet stockings, high black button-up shoes, spider-shaped earrings, black lipstick and a pointy witch's hat perched atop a mass of gorgeous auburn curls.
To Jeffrey, she looked like an older and more sophisticated version of Tessa Laine, whom he'd had a crush on since kindergarten but never mustered the courage to ask out. Bill liked to razz him about it. "You and Charlie Brown, all in love with your little red-headed girls!"
This stunning witch was presiding over curtain-draped table supporting a long box with cloth-covered holes cut in the sides.. The box, which looked big enough to have originally contained a new refrigerator, was spray-painted matte black and up on a table. One by one, she took kids down the line and had them put their hands through the holes.
"This is the dead witch's hair!" she intoned with a cackle. "These are the dead witch's eyes! This is the dead witch's hand!"
The kids shrieked in squeamish glee, daring one another to reach in and feel the various body parts. More to get an up-close look at the redhead than anything else, Bill and Jeffrey joined the line and paid their quarters. She eyed them, her smile turning sultry.
"Ooh, some big boys want to put their fingers in my holes?"
"Fingers or whatever," Bill said.
No other adults were near enough to hear the exchange, and of course the kids didn't catch the innuendo.
"Aren't you afraid of what you might feel?" the witch asked.
"Nothing we haven't felt before," Bill replied.
"Speak for yourself," Jeffrey muttered, not meaning for the girl to hear him. But she heard him anyway and tossed her head, auburn curls dancing, as she voiced throaty laughter.
"Well, let's fix that, shall we?" She led them down the line. "What are your names?"
"I'm Bill, and this is Jeffrey."
They poked their hands in and felt the 'hair' that was an obvious wig. The 'eyes' that were peeled grapes. The 'hand' that was a rubber glove filled with Jell-O. The 'guts' that were overcooked noodles. The 'ear' that was probably a slice of dried apricot.
"Not quite what I was hoping to feel," Bill said.
"It's time for the raffle drawing!" cried a peppy voice over the loudspeakers. A pigtailed blonde in a red-and-white cheerleader outfit had gotten up on stage, next to a revolving wire drum full of ticket halves.
People flocked toward her, many of them digging in purses or pockets for their own tickets. For the time being, Jeffrey, Bill and Deb were more or less alone.
"Not what you were hoping to feel?" she repeated. "Hmm. I hate for you to go away dissatisfied. Maybe you should try the other side."
"Uh ..." Jeffrey said, feeling a sudden clenching anxiety in his stomach and not knowing why.
"Come on," she said to him. "You can go first."
"No, that's okay." He saw the mischievous glint in her emerald-green eyes and didn't trust it. There would be something else in the holes on the other side. A mousetrap, maybe, or something far more disgusting than overcooked noodles or peeled grapes.
"Go on, go for it," Bill said.
Deb pouted prettily, but there was still that devilish glint. "I think he doesn't trust me."
"No, I do," Jeff said, though he didn't, though he trusted her less and less with every passing second. "It's ... just ... um ... we have to keep an eye on your brothers and sister, right, Bill?"
"They'll be fine. Probably they'll puke in the car, all that junk food, but hey, isn't that what Halloween is all about?"
But he let her take his arm and lead him around to the back of the table. The box was tall enough that they were out of sight of the rest of the gym, and for one wild moment he thought that Deb meant to maybe kiss him. There was no reason why she would, and of course she didn't. What she did do was indicate another row of cloth-covered openings, guiding his hand to the first one.
"Here," she said. "This is her hair ..."
Jeffrey gingerly stuck his fingers through the curtain, wincing in expectation of something painful or unpleasant.
Instead, he touched what felt like hair. Another wig. A better-quality one, with the silky texture of actual human hair as opposed to synthetic strands.
"And here is her face," Deb said, moving him to the next hole.
Still with the wince, Jeffrey reached in. His fingertips brushed something smooth and curved and warm, like a ripe peach in the summer sun. He jumped.
"What?" Bill asked, leaning around the corner of the table. "What do you feel?"
"That's creepy," Jeffrey said. "It feels like a real face."
"It is a real face," the witch said. "Can you feel her mouth?"
He carefully slid his fingers up, brushing the side of a nose and then a warm, soft pair of lips. They were parted slightly, and even as he touched them, they pursed to kiss his fingertip.
Jeffrey snatched his hand back. "That's not funny. She's got someone in there."
"Of course I do," Deb said. "I told you."
"It's some kind of joke, right? A practical joke. Trying to make a fool out of us."
"I wouldn't do that. Here, try again." Deb nudged him toward the next hole. "This is her hand."
No rubber glove filled with Jell-O ... it was a hand, a slim and tapered feminine hand. Warm and alive, though not moving.
Jeffrey had trouble swallowing. He couldn't stop thinking that there was a girl in there, a real girl, lying still and letting him touch her. She'd kissed him, kissed his fingers. He went back to that other hole and caressed her face again, and this time when he got to her mouth, she drew his index finger into a moist suction.
"Uh-oh, the raffle's over," Deb murmured. "I have to get back to work. You'll just have to figure out the rest of the holes on your own, Jeffrey."
She went around to the front of the table, and he heard her cackle again as she greeted more kids. Bill was standing by the corner of the box, looking at him with one eyebrow hiked as if to ask, "Well?"
"This is nuts," Jeffrey whispered. "A babe like that comes onto us for no reason?"
"Hey!" Bill stuck out his chest, swaggered a little. "What's this 'no reason' crap?"
"You, maybe, okay. But college girls are way out of my league."
"You underestimate yourself, Jeffrey-my-friend," Bill said. "So you're no jock. So you're a skinny pretty-boy sissy. It works for that Orlando Bloom jerk. He's got pussy lined up around the block."
It had to be a joke, a prank. The girl in the box ... she was maybe fat, or ugly. A real dog, and this was the only way she could get her kicks. She was some desperate loser, and they would all laugh at him ...
Her tongue curled around his finger in a slow, teasing circle. Jeffrey thought this whole thing was crazy, but when he withdrew his hand, instead of turning to Bill and demanding they leave, he moved to the next box.
He felt a tit.
Jeffrey froze, wrist-deep in the box, his hand resting on what sure-to-God felt like a genuine tit. He felt the firm rising slope ... the wrinkly texture of the nipple. It couldn't be real. It was a department store dummy, or one of those novelty rubber boobs ... the mouth must have belonged to someone real, maybe hunkered under the table, but surely this couldn't be ...
Damned if it didn't feel real, though! Or at least what he imagined a real one felt like. He'd never had his hand on a naked tit before.
The nipple rose up in a puckered little peak against his palm. A rubber boob wouldn't do that. He gave a gentle squeeze, gliding his fingers over the soft skin. Beneath his hand, he could also feel the quick thumping of a heartbeat.
A girl. A real girl, naked in this box, naked and letting him grope her.
Unreality washed over him, but he found that he didn't care. He was touching a naked girl, touching her tit, and the fact that he was in a gymnasium with a couple hundred kids and their parents stopped mattering. He squeezed again, harder though not hard enough to hurt, and rolled the tight nub of nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
The breast rose rapidly, as if the girl, there in the box, gasped. Did she like it? Who was she? What did she look like? His hand could only tell him that she didn't seem to be a fattie, she certainly wasn't flat-chested.
Was she tall? Short? Blonde? Brunette? A redhead, like Deb, like Tessa Laine from school? Dusky-complexioned? Fair? Freckled?
He was at second base with a girl he hadn't even seen. Whose name he didn't know.
And he had a hard-on that wouldn't quit. It pressed against the fly of his jeans so stiffly that he had to hope the zipper would hold. Good thing he was behind the box, behind the table, shielded from the view of everyone but Bill. Who, thankfully, wasn't even looking his way. Bill's attention was fixed on Deb, his eyes following her every move as if tracing the contours of her body in the tight black witch's costume.
Jeffrey reluctantly released the tit, the only reason he could stand to let go was because his gaze had fallen on the next hole in the side of the box. It couldn't possibly give him access to what he thought it might ... just couldn't. But he would never know unless he tried, and he had to try.
He slid his hand in, part of him thinking that now would be the trick, the trap, the joke. Now he'd find the mouse trap, or the joy buzzer.
What he found was the sleek curve of the girl's bare hip. He felt around for panties, for the string of a thong, and found nothing. Only skin. Satiny skin. When he pushed his hand up and over, his breath snagged in his throat like cloth on a thorn, he was aware that his fingers were trembling.
He was light-headed, too, all the blood in his body seemingly concentrated in his pounding erection. Was he really about to touch ...?
His fingertips sank into a downy tuft of hair, and Jeffrey had to stifle a moan.
The girl's hips twitched and then stilled. He stroked gently, petting her pubic mound, finding the hair trimmed and groomed so that it was a narrow strip as soft as a rabbit's pelt. The skin around it was baby-smooth, probably waxed, and he could feel a damp heat baking up from between her legs.
She was excited. She was turned on by what he was doing. This blind exploration of strangers was arousing her as much as it was him.
Hardly believing it, hardly daring to, Jeffrey ran his fingertip along the velvety seam of her labia. He probed into the fleshy folds and the unseen girl twitched again as the pad of his forefinger met a hard little bud. From inside the draped box came a low, muffled sound that might have been a whimper.
A new idea popped into his head. A crazy idea. Outrageous and risky, the sort of thing that would get him arrested or beaten within an inch of his life if he was caught.
Then again, wouldn't he already be facing arrest or a beating if he was caught doing this, caught fingering some unknown girl in the middle of the Halloween carnival?
No one could see him, anyway. The box and the table were in the way.
He withdrew his exploring finger and, as stealthily as he could, unsnapped and unzipped his jeans. Lowered them, lowered his underwear, enough to let his erection spring out. Exposing himself in public, even clandestinely, sent wicked thrills sweeping through him.
Maybe the girl in the box hadn't bargained on this. Maybe she would scream, and burst out of hiding, naked, shocking all the kids and their parents. But he didn't think she would dare.
Jeffrey poked his erection through the hole by her hand. He felt the rounded tip of his cock nudge something, felt her twitch again in surprise. And then tentative fingers moved, tracing the shape of him. He imagined his mystery girl wide-eyed in the darkness as she lightly touched him, verifying that yes, it was what it felt like, a cock, a stiff cock rubbing up against her hand.
Her fingers enfolded him, and Jeffrey lurched forward, biting back a groan of sheer pleasure. His thighs struck the table and made it wobble. For one horrible instant he saw in his mind's eye the whole thing crashing over, spilling the girl to the gym floor in a mess of peeled grapes, overcooked noodles, and the other 'dead witch' parts and pieces. And him left standing there with his cock sticking out.
But the table didn't crash over. He steadied himself against it, breathing in harsh gasps as the girl gripped his cock, sliding her curled fist back and forth. No girl had ever even gotten close to touching him there before, and the sensation was unbelievable.
He started to reach for the other hole, the one that would give him access to her pussy, then paused. Considered for a moment, and smiled. He brought his hand to his face, put his fingers in his mouth, and licked them until they were wet and shiny. Then he returned to the hole, to her downy-soft pubic hair, and delved his slippery fingers into the folds of her labia.
This time, he was sure he did hear a whimper. He found that hard bud and rubbed it with slow, firm pressure. He slid his hand lower, and worked the length of his middle finger into a snug, clasping tightness.