Introduction
...It started simple enough 'till we started kissin'. It wasn't supposed to be gettin' outta' hand. Just a friendly dance around the courtyard ballroom, is all. Innocent. Friendly-like. I had gone back to dancing with Eny briefly just under the balcony. Cute li'l hussy she is and all, she was bitin' her lower lip gently to flirt. She liked me.
Metaphorically speaking I had to pull the trigger, or lose her. I knew women like her were carefree. I wanted to be carefree too. For tonight, at least. I wasn't gonna' blow this. It was just after ten-thirty at night.
She sensually rolled 'em hips, smiled at me warmly, flipped the tendrils of her champagne-blonde locks in all directions under the silvery spotlights as she swayed like a gilded breeze in that tiny yellow cocktail dress. I gave that ass a good squeeze through her slinky gown and felt comforted.
Especially when I felt her skinny fingertips run down and back up my chest to curl behind my muscular neck. I grabbed handfuls of her skinny ass in my hands right quick over 'em li'l panties just under that dress.
My cock was almost ready to explode inside my pants by then. We were dancing like young bucks again. It felt like we was making-out for hours. It was heaven. I couldn't take it anymore on that courtyard! I had to bring her into my best friend's office to fuck her. God forgive me, I madly kept kissing her...tasting her mouth again, and again.
"Shall we go somewhere?" She whispered in my ear.
"....Lead the way," I said. Her voice sounded delicious and vibrated within my eardrum.
"Your husband's private office....I can get us in," I cried.
"Plenty of space in there..." She replied, naughtily.
"That so, honey-darling?"
She nodded like the siren she was, her sweet voice ringing in my thoughts.
"Just head out to the bar. You know where it is, honey," I said. Clumsily, I followed 'em heels....'em gazelle-like long legs. Her skinny body was whorishly sashaying in front of me in that wrinkled up dress. I loved 'em ruffles, if that's what they were.
Eny gave me the cutest smile...I grabbed her wigglin' bum again....pinchin' it. As she walked her skinny ass kept bobbin' cutely. That slinky, tulle style yellow dress hiking up close to her li'l panties as she walked shoulda' been illegal.
Her cute face was lookin' back, peekin' at how turned on I was for her....I reached down every now and then to smack it, her li'l ass.
"That nice ass better be ready, sugar-sweet! Buckle up, buttercup!!" I said sternly. I couldn't wait to have her again.
My fallen angel began teasing me. She hiked up her dress halfway, over 'em cute pink panties. Smiling widely, teasin' me, as she looked over her shoulder. If ya' pulled 'em ruffled panties down ya' could probably see clear to the promised land. I was still very fucked up.
"I missed you," I thought I heard her whisper back to me.
Eny pushed the flush-door of the office open for me after I'd freed it. It'd be empty inside, of course.
Nobody knew Brandon had a flush-door to a hidden office in the courtyard.
"It has to be quick, sweetheart. Got the wife back home..." I quickly quipped. I don't think she was even listening.
Playfully, I shoved Eny in hearing her laugh once I secured that door...I continued shovin' her...playfully, of course. I had fun toying with her, though she wasn't trying to get away from me. I cornered her up against the wall... I never meant for this to be happening....
Private Notes of Jessie Sales:
October 31
A really uneventful evening. Sad. Politicking is not my forte. It shouldn't be. It makes me very sad. Andy Wendi let success get his head. He's a machine. He's like a border collie, an attention whore when he's on...comatose whenever not.
Hard to concentrate with all the smoke and mirrors, but I was trying. I usually just ignore all the bullshit. Simply leave that shit to Andy. But this is what I was confronted with and this is what I was taking in based on the events of the evening thus far.
Boring all around. All Hallow's Eve should be our busiest night....although it might get interesting at close to midnight. Again, sad. But you can't blame Andy really. He's finally becoming the person he was meant to be.
Before arriving in the wealthy suburb of La Grange, Illinois in search of our next gig we both worked mainly out of Chicago. Way back, before Andy Wendi fully made his transition into becoming male.
We're journalists who worked for a variety of independent paranormal societies and news sources. Excellent journalists. Both of us worked hard for what we have.
Normally, I have my mind on work in order to get that competitive edge. The catch is tonight I was trying hard to live up to that awful, drawn-out African-American "playa'" stereotype. Trying to get attention from women and doing a terrible job at it. For different reasons. I'll explain.
You see, tonight I couldn't keep my eyes off elfin beauty Enysiobhán Vilhjálmsson. She was riveting. It was not lust. More "yearning" at first sight. More puppy-love than actual love. She reminds me of somebody. She's such a treat that I am trying hard not to ogle her.
She prefers to be called Eny and is the real estate broker that helped us find our house out here. A former Ford model, Enysiobhán took precedence over the spirits, demons and goblins I am normally committed to studying beside Andy Wendi.
I used to be an archeologist before I became a journalist and paranormal investigator, you see. And I find myself almost as fascinated by Enysiobhán tonight as I was the first time I encountered a ghost in my life and everything changed.
It all happened in the house of Omigas...extremely haunted, dangerous ruins, little did I know. At that time I was sponsored by the Douzaine Croix Society in Belgium and stationed in Africa.
It had been a dream in the making researching my first book about the hidden clan of settlers led by a sorceress witch named Zora. Tedious but interesting work until she actually appeared to me and shook my foundations. I thought I would unearth secrets from a bygone time but it all had to end abruptly once civil war broke loose.
Shortly after that I switched careers. Enysiobhán is much like that ancient woman. An illusive woman. Equally untamed and bewitching. More so on nights like this. I mean, Andy Wendi and I might have seemed like we were these rich, dope hipsters, but we were far from that.
Insecurity is a bitch. I'm still a tall but skinny talkative, Canadian born virgin with a high I.Q. who has never been around so many beautiful ladies in his life. Andy Wendi was just getting used to his fame and, to be honest, burning out professionally in the process. By overcompensating. Fake it 'till ya' make it had been our schema.
We are networking with people like Deirdre Harwich, Eny's aunt and a famous New York diamond heiress tonight. And also asking for backing from people like Bradley J. Johnson, the music industry promoter extraordinaire and tycoon investor from Brazil. We weren't doing any of this because we liked it. We had to do this...
Tonight our little gang finds itself up on the balcony of the castle-like courtyard of the house Eny shares with her estranged architect husband. She lives here with just her daughter now.
She let us throw our party here and we're beginning to witness the dancing spreading out before us. But we are up on the ample balcony for another reason. To keep Andy Wendi safe from psychos and overzealous fans. Just as soon as he is finished with his speech downstairs and gets up here that is.
This balcony is like our little safe-space away from the festivities. He should be back up here soon. Despite being thirty-two, Eny can probably pass for twenty-seven. She just has a bit of wear under her eyes. I'm a baby compared to her and Andy Wendi.
I am easily the most innocent of the trio due to my "virginity issue." I'm twenty-five. At twenty-nine, Andy is closer to her age.
But Enysiobhán is the main character tonight. Hard not to be entertained by a toxic alpha-female like her. Not at all surprising she's dressed up in a devil costume for this Halloween bash. Was it wrong to romanticize this gorgeous, slightly older woman? I really couldn't stop myself. I kept thinking of clever things to say.
...Eny smirked, getting lost in the next song playing..."Big Pimpin'" by Jay Z. The model frolicked on her seat...rapping sleekly over the music. Word for word, her head jerked animatedly as those longish piano-player's hands gesticulated.
"What size is your little devil outfit, Eny? Am guessing an extra, extra, small??" I teased once the song was over. The tiny horns on her head stopped wobbling with my interruption.
"That's it, exactly! The same size as your little silly willy, Jessie!" She shot back with a pout. That was a good one.
"Hardly the case, hun!" I fired back.
I liked how her little red horns attached to a tiny red head-band combed back her champagne-blonde locks. When that lovely hair wasn't sleek; Eny kept it in a straight bob or a pixie cut.
I would say that, kiss curls and all, she looked like a silent film actress. Kinda' like Carol Lombard....kittenish, classic, and cute as hell. Like a demonic sex-kitten. She wielded around a little red pitchfork with the costume for laughs.
Her little devil outfit came complete with red heels and a pointed tail...it also consisted of a corset, ruffled petticoat skirt and garter. ...She was easily the sexiest woman here.
"What are you going to wear next year, Eny...Mickey Mouse ears??" I quipped.
She frowned at this, adding...
"....Yeah, if you have the guts, I'd like to see you in that Minnie Mouse outfit we know you hang in your closet!" She answered with a swift chuckle. God, that tender little roar underneath her every giggle was so cute....
I had to outwit her. If my age or looks did not impress, maybe she would appreciate a cunning mind. I needed for her to think of me as a challenge if I was going to have a chance. A chance...yeah right....in my dreams. I might have been a bit too bony for my own good but my show was quickly climbing in the ratings. I knew she liked that...
Never ever hurts to try. That blasé attitude of hers was also probably bewitching to dozens of other men downstairs who were watching her too. They were too afraid to even try to flirt with her.
What is so mysterious about disaffected exotic women like her anyway??! Plenty! Enough for us nerds to put down our infrared and digital video cameras, crosses, thermal camera devices, EMF detectors, little pentagrams, ouija boards, garlic, silver bullets, stakes and our digital thermometers for a few hours...
The Letter to Enysiobhán Vilhjálmsson Slim
October 28
