"But I don't want to go to some Halloween party, Laurel," I whined at my younger sister.
"That may be, Dane," informed my sister, in that same no-nonsense tone that said I did not have a chance of winning this argument. "There are two very good reasons why... no, three good reasons."
"Oh?" I said, inviting her to elucidate.
"Yes. First of all, the 'rents won't let me go alone, and I want to go, so you are my only hope," she said, and I knew she was correct. Laurel had spent weeks preparing her Maleficent costume, going so far as to sculpt intricate horns out of Worbla thermoplastic. She was a vision of Disney-inspired black-hearted evil at its sexy finest, and I had watched her labor for weeks, with black and purple velvet, a black leather corset, and one of my old Society of Creative Anachronism (known as the SCA) daggers tied to her belt. She looked magnificent and malevolent and other m-words as the fairy Dark Queen.
"Second, you have spent almost three weeks moping around here since Adriana broke up with you, and I get it - it sucks.... But there is a two-week limit on feeling sorry for yourself." Once more, I could not really argue the point. Adriana has stopped by the "ancestral mansion" on her way to the airport and Paris just long enough to kiss me chastely goodbye and break up with me; the fact that she had concealed this plan all summer while we spent hours ringing each others' bells notwithstanding stung worse than pouring mead on an open laceration.
Not to mention it being a waste of good mead, but I digress.
"Third, you have a closet full of ready-to-wear comfortable costumes! Now go change!" She came up behind me and started pushing on my shoulders; I reflexively refused to budge. Laurel was a svelte goddess who stood 5' 2" trying to push a 5'9" tall fellow built like a Neanderthal; I came from "good peasant stock" and grew up swimming competitively in high school, and while I was no longer quite so ripped as I had been, I was still a good180 lbs of (mostly) muscle.
Laurel was correct; I had a closet full of medieval costumes and accessories from the SCA, all of which was built for comfort. I even had my set of leather and steel armor from when I had participated in their armored sport combat events, but that was far too heavy and utilitarian for comfort.
"What's in it for me?" I asked Laurel, with a grin.
She continued to push at me, more for theatrics than actual hope. "You'd do it because you love your wonderful, devoted sister?"
"Try again."
She stopped and thought, and an idea came to her. "I have a new friend at school, who just transferred from Tri-State University because her Dad had to move her for work. She's smart and clever, but she hardly knows anyone here; how about I set you up with her on a blind date?""
"Fine, fine, I'll go... but you have to tell me what she did to piss you off so badly she'd get stuck with me for an evening as punishment," I said as I headed to old bedroom; my studio apartment at college didn't have enough storage space for my stuff, so my hobbies were al stored here. "Give me fifteen minutes, and we'll go, OK!?
"Perfect!" Laurel gave me a quick hug from behind. "You really are my favorite brother!"
"I'm your ONLY brother!" I called back over my shoulder.
Fifteen minutes later we were on our way; I had chosen my Viking-style keyhole tunic in dark grey with the collar, tunic cuffs, and bottom decorated with a black and silver Scandinavian knotwork pattern. Around my neck hung my only jewelry; a silver Thor's Hammer. It hung halfway down my thighs, with a long belt festooned with leather pouches (for wallet, cell phone, and car keys), a sax-dagger, and drinking horn. A separate sword-belt held 37 inches of hand-forged spring-steel. My leggings here black jeans (hey, you couldn't tell under the tunic), and steel toe motorcycle boots completed the ensemble.
"If anyone asks, can I tell them you are my bodyguard?" asked Laurel, half-joking. She had made me play 'boyfriend' before, when some males wanted to take things further than Laurel desired, and having me in reserve was a convenient and harmless dodge.
"Of course you can," I confirmed. Like a good brother, I made a show of being exasperated with my Little Sister (™), but the truth is that I would always be more than a little protective of Laurel, and spoil her as rotten as possible (so long as I could do it without it being noticed). We played the roles of "annoyed siblings", but both of us knew full well the bonds of love and respect we held for each other' we just hated to admit it.
I dropped Laurel near the house and went in search of parking; any convenient street parking had predictably been taken long before we got there. I found a place three blocks down from the party, but that was fine; I was tonight's "designated driver" and did not plan on drinking anything harder than a Diet Coke. The walk would also allow Laurel to make her entrance without escort, which I am sure she would appreciate.
The house itself was decorated with faux tombstones and dirt on the front lawn, faux spiderwebs in the shrubbery, and a stand-up skeleton wearing a cowboy hat and cap gun six-shooters of the kind carried by kids. The front door opened, and a Frankenstein's Monster was on door duty. The house was the residence of the Mayerson family, whose eldest son Larry was a friend and longtime schoolmate of Laurel's and the father in the Frankie costume knew me by sight, if not well.
"GRAAAAWR!" he snarled at me, waving me towards the kitchen and the drinks. The lighting was low but not low enough to be romantic. The music was playing from ad hoc speakers so that the house could be covered by a low volume rather than high at one end and low at another. I grabbed a Diet Coke and wandered in the circle that went from living room to dining room to kitchen to TV room and back past the stairs to the second floor bedrooms and the entrance foyer. The house was comfortably crowded, and I was hailed by old acquaintances and friends from High School. I went slowly, and noticed Laurel in a corner of the TV room, talking with Batman and a costume that can only be charitably described as "slutty nurse".
When I passed though the kitchen I tossed my empty soda into the recycling and snatched up a Lemon hard seltzer, figuring that one drink wouldn't impair my ability to safely drive. I exited the kitchen through the door to the backyard, which held a kidney-shaped pool to the left, and a grassy patch to the right, surrounded by fruit trees at the back fence.
I was feeling depressed, in spite of the festivities. There was eye candy in abundance, but that was part of the problem; while I knew some of the women from school - mostly my sister's social circle - I'd known them for years, and I could never quite get past having known them when they were teenage jailbait, and thus off limits. There were plenty of women I did not know, but while I enjoyed window-shopping, all of them seemed busy with other people. In general, I was not a "people person", and the idea of making superficial casual conversation held no appeal.
I sat on the stone bench near the back, recessed into the foliage of two shade trees, and sat. I was determined to be a good brother and let Laurel enjoy herself for at least a couple of hours. I popped the tab on my seltzer and was about to take a sip when the bushes behind me rustled.
As I turned to look, a soft voice did a horrible imitation of a cat.
"Meowr!" came from the walkway on the other side of the bushes, which led to the side door to the backyard.
"Is there a stray little cat hiding in the bushes?" I called out playfully.
"Meowrr!" confirmed the voice.
"Well, come on out!" I said lovingly.
I heard the bushes rustle, and a woman in a leopard costume came forward.
She was a vision, in tall black boots, worn over thigh-high fishnets that hugged her shapely legs. She wore a leopard-print with black fringe skirt that hung low on her hips and worked hard to reach the top bands of the fishnet stockings; they may have concealed her panties, but only if she stood up straight. A black bustier started an inch above her skirt, cinching her waist and gently shaped and presented her generous, firm breasts, ending just above her concealed nipples. She wore fingerless black lace gloves, which extended in a leopard print pattern to her elbows. She wore no mask, but a pair of leopard cat ears topped her mane of deep chestnut luxuriously wavy hair.
