Every year I host an Adults Only Halloween party. Granted, it's a bunch of thirtysomething soccer moms and dads (because it would be awkward not to invite the moms), but the party is a favorite haunt for men who know that a Devil costume isn't going to be the only horny thing at this party.
Since my divorce, the hot dads in town know this will be the night they get to pretend they are someone else. They choose their costumes carefully- easy access is a must. They know after I have a few Grey Goose martinis I will be choosing a few guests to receive special Halloween treats.
It was a dark and stormy night. Really.
Perfect for the party. Cold enough so that the fog created by the commercial fog machine hung gently in the grass, making the graveyard in front of the house look especially spooky. Thunder and lightning added nature's décor as haunted organ music played menacingly in the background.
Each year I, too, choose my Halloween costume carefully. I want my party guests to be jealous (wives) and horny (husbands)- so cleavage is first and foremost. On 80's night I wore a professional reproduction of Madonna's Like a Virgin costume, although I think everyone knew I wasn't being touched for the very first time. At the Cartoon Characters Night, my Wilma Flintsone costume ensured there were a few rock hard Yabba Dabba Doo's heard. For the Villians party I put together a Cruella Deville costume that would bleach the spots off any Dalmatian.
This year, for Goth night I had gone all-out Vampiress. A tight black long dress made of something thin and wispy. My DD tits oozed out the front of the dress, causing a few men to flinch from the pinches they received from wives catching them staring at my 'girls'. High black stiletto Manolo's and fishnet stockings. White, black and blue shadowed makeup with dark purplish lipstick and black hair coloring and extensions were done before the party by a hot gay salon guy I couldn't quite convince to go straight just for fifteen minutes. The dress was slitted up the side so high women looked away when they followed the line up to where my thong could be seen if they ere brave enough to keep looking.
Men didn't look away.
I spotted my first black widow victim of the night as he arrived. He was wearing a black velvet cape, white ruffled shirt, opened at the neck, hair slicked back, convincing fangs, and a wife crammed full of Prozac. His naturally black, curly hair gleamed in the candlelight, and I felt my barely there panties get wet just looking at him with his touch of sexy black eyeliner, the fuck me twinkle in his eye. I got his wife a huge glass of chardonnay (they always drink wine) and escorted her to the screened porch where some of her fellow soccer moms were practically having a PTA meeting.
