Halloween

Author's note: This series is devoted to my wife, for whom it was originally written. It is both a history of our sexual life as well as my means of sharing our fantasies, with alterations to names and times to protect our friends, but both the fantasy and reality are/were spectacular enough to warrant sharing with others.

**This is a stand-alone story.** For those who have been following it is the third in the series. It is the combination of two different parties we attended while in college, and while mostly true, there is one significant piece of embellishment for story-telling purposes. Enjoy.

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If Tori and I had been passionate while dating, we were downright manic now that we were "official." We spent as much time naked as we did clothed, talking and fooling around with unhindered excitement. I marveled in the wonders of her body, always amazed when she disrobed and never fully satisfied that I had seen enough, no matter how many times it happened. She joked that she had never been this carefree before, insisting that she had always been fairly conservative with past boyfriends.

"Uh-huh, I'll bet you were," I mocked. "I actually believe that, because you are such an incredible slut around me, the only way you could possibly act would be with more dignity."

-smack- "Fine, I'll put my clothes back on."

At this point I pleaded with her not to, apologizing all over myself and immediately pinning her down and kissing her breasts like I would never be able to again. She giggled, and relented, and I licked her pussy in gratitude and she kissed my neck and jacked me off until I came on her stomach. Another Saturday afternoon.

In all the excitement of those heady days, however, we kept it a secret from our friends. Instead, we decided to announce it at our friend Stacy's upcoming Halloween party. All of my buddies would be there, as would Tori's band of harpies, so with their help we would be able to celebrate such a momentous occasion appropriately.

The next dilemma was picking out costumes. I knew most of my friends were going with a toga theme, but I wanted to do something unique, and Tori wanted to do something that matched. After much debate, she finally suggested a Native American theme, and I knew instantly what I would wear for that. Apparently she did too, but neither of us wanted to reveal what we had in mind. So with a tacit agreement to surprise one another, our talk shifted to the party itself and what we expected.

"Last year Shane and Padraig went as a pair of lecherous professors, and their girlfriends dressed as schoolgirls."

"Yeah, most of my friends usually dress as genies or cheerleaders and the like."

"As if they need an excuse to be slutty...any idea what Stacy will be?"

"No clue. By the way, how do you know her?"

Oddly enough, Tori and I hadn't talked much about how we had met, and I explained my history with Stacy after her failing relationship with Shane, and mentioned that she had played a pivotal role in my pursuit of Tori.

"Really? How so?"

"Remember the first night we met? She caught on instantly that I was attracted to you, but she calmed me down and told me to be patient, since you currently had a boyfriend, but things weren't going well. After that night, she would tease me with comments like, 'I saw Tori today; she was wearing a pair of REALLY tight jeans,' or, 'I'm going dancing with Tori tonight...oh, sorry, it's a Girls Night Out, so I'm afraid you can't come.' Just crap like that to confirm that I still had a crush on you."

Tori laughed. "Come to think of it, she mentioned you from time to time, just in passing, and I was always curious to know how you were doing."

I nodded knowingly. "Also, that night at the bar when we first hooked up, she pulled me aside as soon as you girls arrived and gave me the heads-up that you were single again and that you'd been asking about me. I had been *this close* to walking to the bar for another beer before she told me that, because I hadn't seen you in the group. If she hadn't said anything, I probably would have missed my opportunity with you, since one of my scumbag friends would have moved in on you by the time I got back from the bar."

She frowned slightly. "She really said that? Because I wasn't asking about you."

I pulled a face.

"No offense, honey," she quickly continued, "But I really hadn't expected you or any of your friends to be there. She hadn't said anything about

it on the drive over, and I just assumed we were going out with the girls."

"I am truly sorry I ruined you plans, then."

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Relax, you know I couldn't be happier with the way things turned out."

"It doesn't sound like things just 'turned out' the way they did--little Stacy has been manipulating us from the start."

"You're right! She totally abused my trust, forcing me into your arms like that."

"Exactly! She's such a bitch for whipping my desire for you into such a frenzy that I overcame my fear of you to ask you to dance. Really, she's a terrible person."

"You were afraid of me?" Tori asked, intrigued. "Why? Was I bitchy to you that first night we met?"

"No, of course not! I just...I dunno, haven't I told you this enough already? I think you are the most lovely creature on Earth. I have thought that from the moment we met, and that sentiment almost made you untouchable to my mind. Stacy knew just how to break down that image, in just the right way, to convince me to make a move on you. Otherwise I probably would have been too shy." It was weird admitting this out loud. I've never been concerned about getting shot down, but that was usually because I didn't care enough about the girl. But from the beginning I had felt Tori was special, and the very real possibility that I could have fucked it all up or been too scared to try at all remained a sobering thought.

Tori walked over to me and placed her hands on my face, looking into my eyes. "I guess we owe her a great deal of thanks, don't we? I believe you and I were meant for each other, but I don't rule out the possibility of Fate needing a little help from time to time."

"I doubt that she'd mind being referred to as Fate's sidekick."

"Yeah, but we should do something more than give her a nice compliment."

"Please, no chocolate chip cookies; I'm terrible at baking."

She closed her eyes and sighed. "You are like a child. Alright, no baking, but we'll have to think of something. And whatever we decide, I'd like to bring it to the party, so keep thinking about it between now and then, okay?"

I'm a guy, so of course I didn't, but then she didn't either, so by the time the party rolled around, the whole conversation had dropped off our radar. I left my roommate, who was studying again (it was Saturday night and Halloween--fuck Engineering), and made my way over to Tori's dorm. Her homebody roommate was also in, doing God know's what, and Tori quickly said goodbye and joined me. She was carrying her costume in a plastic bag.

"Where's your costume? Oh, God, you forgot didn't you?"

"Calm down, it's in my pocket." I patted the slight bulge in my hooded sweatshirt.

She gave me a strange look but didn't ask.

We got to her car and drove out of the parking lot.

"Sex!" I yelled as I hit the ceiling with my hand.

"What?! Where, I don't--oh, dammit..."

I had introduced the Sex game to Tori early in our dating. The rules state that whoever spots a car with a headlight out, says, "Sex," and hits the ceiling first, wins an article of clothing from every member of the opposite sex in the vehicle. I had played this all through high school in Colorado, where every third car has a burned out headlight. For some reason, the headlights in Texas don't burn out as often, so the game isn't as exciting, but since Tori would actually play, unlike some of my ex-girlfriends, coupled with the fact that she was hotter than all of my ex-girlfriends, made it very fun regardless.

She always started with her shoes, which I thought was crap, but she agreed to count both as one article, so I grudgingly relented. Usually socks or a pullover blouse would follow (also boring), but from three cars on the excitement ramped up exponentially.

As luck would have it, I saw two more on the way to Stacy's, and we pulled up to her house with Tori down to her lace bra on top.

"Oh, c'mon, you're just going to be taking it off again in a second to put on your costume," I pleaded with her as her sleeveless-T reappeared.

"Shut up and get out of the car. I'm interested to see what you have in your pocket."

"I'll bet you are, you dirty girl."

"Damon, grow up." She took my hand as we walked up to the door.

Stacy greeted us, looking fantastic in a sexy cowgirl getup. Her pearl-snap shirt was unbuttoned almost halfway down, revealing glimpses of a crimson bra and a stunning display of cleavage. I had always known that she had a nice body, but that moment was the first time I actually looked; I mean, really looked. If Tori was petite, Stacy was minuscule, but her body was wonderfully proportionate, and her legs were squeezed into a pair of jeans that must've come from the children's rack. To top it off, she wore knee high leather boots, not quite in the cowboy style but much sexier, and her blond hair was braided into pigtails that hung over her shoulders.

Stacy was a northern 'foreigner' like me, and her over-the-top Texan accent was both hilarious and annoying coming from her. "Hey, y'all, come on in. Yer a might bit early but I see you ain't dressed yet. We cain't have that, no sirree, we just cain't have that."

I smiled and hugged her, smacking her butt as I did. "Hi, Stacy. It sounds like the horse you rode in on kicked you in the head."

She laughed. "Yeah, I know, I just wanted to see your reaction. I remember you talking about Texan accents before."

I have nothing against Texans--my mother is from Dallas, as a matter of fact, not to mention I was head-over-heels for a girl from Austin--but good God, some of those rednecks could butcher the English language. Still, I considered many of those redneck fucks my closest friends, and told them so to their faces. They would laugh and call me a "faggot Yankee"--the banter of true friends.

"Ignore him, he's being a pest," Tori said as she leaned in and shared a cheek-kiss with the hostess. "And yes, we do need somewhere to change."

"You can take my room. Damon, the bathroom's right over there."

"Ah, well, if she's getting naked upstairs, I want to go there."

"Too bad. I need to help her get ready, and you're not invited."

I gave Tori a hurtful look. "You're undressing with another girl and you won't let me watch?"

"See what I mean? He's a pest. Don't worry, baby, it'll be worth it." My lovely girlfriend kissed my cheek, then scampered up the stairs with Stacy in tow.

"I doubt that," I sulked. I had been joking, but watching Tori's ass and Stacy's boots disappear around the landing made my disappointment a little real. Cursing mildly to myself, I walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

The year before, power went out across the city one night, and within an hour it was absolute chaos on our end of the campus. Everyone had been afraid their beer would get warm, so all of it had been consumed within ten minutes of the outage. What followed could hardly be called a party, mostly because there weren't enough chicks, but also because the bizarre antics and pranks which ensued had an element of destruction absent most parties (except maybe the very best ones). Most of that night was a blur, but one moment I remember clearly was when a supposed leader of our organization sprinted past wearing nothing but a pair of whitie-tighties and two ascots velcro'd around his waist. I thought to myself, 'Wow, that's a passable loincloth,' then promptly forgot about it for seven months...right up until Tori mentioned her Indian idea. But I wasn't afraid of a light breeze 'rustling my branches' at a house party, so I was going sans particulars, sporting only my ascot velcro'd to my roommate's. A dash of warpaint, a red bandana for a headband, and poof!--instant Indian brave.

I heard the front door open and loud voices coming from the living room, so I slipped out and walked to the kitchen, helping myself to a beer.

"DAMN, you look hot!"

I turned and smiled at a girl I'd never met before dressed as a sexy French maid. She was staring open-mouthed at my crotch.

"Yeah, man, I kinda want to fuck you myself," said farmer Shane behind her.

"I wouldn't want the sheep you keep at home to get jealous," I replied.

"Shut the fuck up and gimme a beer," he said. "Damon, this is Becca; Becca, Damon."

Becca quickly recovered and finally looked me in the eye, clearly surprised by her reaction but not at all embarrassed. "Nice to meet you Damon...you aren't wearing anything under that, are you?"

I gave her a quick appraisal. She was obviously an athlete, and carried herself with very erect posture. She seemed...energetic. I gave her a wink. "You are very perceptive. I'm trying to be authentic: the Indians didn't have Fruit of the Loom or Hanes, so here we are."

She pondered that for a moment. "I'm pretty sure they didn't have tattoos..." Then she walked up and brazenly flipped the 'waistband' down, revealing a MADE IN CHINA tag. Her hand held everything in place, so nothing was revealed, but damned if her fingers weren't a bare inch from my package. "Nor did they wear stuff made in Asia." She looked up at me. "Guess you'll just have to take this off, too."

Shane quickly intervened, "Okay, I don't think anyone wants to see that." He took her hand and walked toward more voices coming through the door. "Go put some clothes on, Hiawatha."

"Don't get mad at me if she spends more time tonight looking for my dick than she does looking for yours!" I called after him. He replied with the finger as I finished my beer. I grabbed another and followed them to the main part of the house, where sounds of the party were ramping up.

The room had filled with pirates, Roman senators, athletes, and of course gorgeous college girls in the most creative, slutty attire they could find. Halloween is the best excuse for girls to go crazy, except for possibly Spring Break and Mardi Gras, but bikinis don't have the imagination of, say, a naughty nun outfit. Thus, from the age of 15 I have always been a huge fan of this holiday.

"Hey, look, it's Sacagewea's fuck toy!"

I greeted Captain Padraig in return, whose idea of getting 'dressed up' was limited to an eyepatch. "Goddamn, dude, are those ascots? Did you buy an extra one?"

"Nope, it's Russ'."

He almost spilled his beer. "Please tell me you asked first."

I just smiled, and he laughed even harder. Before I could say anything else, he looked up and said, "I can't believe...oh, wow."

I noticed several others looking up like he was, so I turned to see what he was staring at, and I instantly swelled with pride. And I do not mean entirely metaphorically, either.

Tori was on the landing, dressed in a simple tan shift that fell in all the right places. It started mid-thigh and barely made it up to a halter-top, and while it looked like cloth at first, there was a shimmer to it that belied a much finer material. Around her waist was a string of turquoise forming a loose belt, and her dark hair draped over her shoulder in one long ponytail with feathers braided into it. She, too, had gone with the warpaint look, and somehow it softened her Asian heritage to something not quite Indian, but still exotically non-Caucasian. She looked dynamite.

Tori was standing mid-stride, looking down at us with a "what did I do?" expression on her face. I was grinning like an idiot, and she fixed me with a "what did you tell them?!" look before Stacy, who was standing behind her, addressed the crowd.

"Hey guys! You all remember Tori, right? Well, stop drooling, because this is Damon's new girlfriend, so she's officially off the market!"

I held up my arms in triumph, high-fiving those nearest me and nodding my head like I'd accomplished something, amidst catcalls and congratulations like, "Go fuck yourself, dude, she is way too hot for you!" and "Put some clothes on, douchebag!" I made my way over to the stairs, but Shane stopped me at the bottom.

"I'm happy for you, man--really--but you aren't allowed to go up and down stairs unless you put more clothes on."

I laughed, and Tori was already on her way down, so I shook his hand and thanked him before he walked off looking for his maid. Tori stopped

on the step above me, hands on her hips as she looked me up and down. She regarded me with half-lidded eyes that sparkled with amusement.

"Really?" she asked rhetorically. "That's all you brought? Two handkerchiefs and some cammie paint?"

I exaggeratedly imitated her gesture and fired back, "This from a girl wearing a brown pillowcase."

She leaned forward, placing her lips on my ear. My eyes never left the crevice above her breasts. "Pillowcases aren't see-through, darling."

My eyes instantly darted around her frame, trying to pick up a hint of nipple or see the skin beneath. It wasn't until I really looked that I realized I could see the floor through the material between her legs. She wasn't kidding.

"Are you even wearing a bra?" I murmured back.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she answered primly.

Yeah, that was exciting.

"Okay, calm down, Chief, I don't want the velcro to pull apart down there." She took my hand and led me into the party.

Apparently we made quite the couple: everyone wanted to take pictures with us and hear about our new status. By now Tori knew most of my buddies pretty well and felt comfortable around them, and most of them had brought dates who were down for a good time. Eventually we migrated to the garage for beer pong. Along the way someone made the mistake of calling Tori "Pocahontas," which created an opportunity to exhaust every possible "poke" pun I could think of throughout the rest of the night. I'm sure they stopped being funny after the second or third one, but by then my drinking had taken me well beyond the point of "no mouth filter" on the way to "barely coherent."

Tori caught me eyeing the tense competition over by the table while she chattered with a slutty cop and Becca the maid.

"Go have fun. I'm going to mingle for awhile," she said. It was a dilemma: I was currently standing with three very good looking, very barely-dressed babes, but I drunkenly reasoned that I would impress them more with victories on the table, so I went forth to conquer and win accolades for my Indian princess.

For the next hour I played and jeered, drinking some but causing others to drink a lot more in an ad hoc tournament of skill, luck, and ultimate endurance. Through it all I watched Tori work her way around the room, talking and laughing comfortably with my friends and their women. Even in the midst of the games I was so proud to be with her, as in the caveman-style thump-my-chest-and-point-at-my-spoils type of pride in what I had achieved. But in one of those strange drunken moments where all sound sort of melts away as you focus intently on something, I watched Tori laugh at something Stacy was saying, and time seemed to slow and everything around her blurred out until all I could see was her smile, her black hair, and the outline of her body through her dress. That moment froze in my mind, a perfect example of her beautiful spirit and how happy she could make me from across the room.

Naturally the moment came to an abrupt halt when Padraig smacked my crotch with the back of his hand to get me back into the game. I swore and took a swing at him, but he just laughed and told me to "Throw the damn ball!"

I looked back to Tori and winked; she smiled and gave a little wave, but she seemed to be listening intently to Stacy. Without looking I threw the ball at the table, bouncing it into a far cup for two points. I eloquently told at Padraig to "Suck it," and the game continued.