You had invited me to a Wiccan rite on Samhain, All Hallows Eve (that would be Halloween to you and me). It was a cold night and joints, long since abused by military life and martial arts, were aching. I don't know why I agreed, but I did so I tagged along.
I was to be a spectator only, which suited me just fine as all religions to me seemed the same. You smiled at me, trying to put me at ease and actually succeeding. You knew that I was uncomfortable in social situations where I did not know many people. And you truly appreciated my coming to keep you company. Seeing you smile, I was reminded exactly how lucky your husband, my friend, truly was.
I stood there, watching, as the ritual began. For the most part, I just tuned it out. Regardless of the trappings, to me, religions were all the same. But as the ritual continued, I could feel something slowly building up, like static electricity floating through the air.
The night was chilly, but clear. Or at least it had been clear. Despite the predictions made by the local meteorologists, clouds began to roll in, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed. The sound of distant thunder could be heard throughout the night. The usual sounds of the night, the insects and night birds, slowly faded away, as if Nature herself sought not to disturb this rite.
The sounds from the Circle grew to a fevered pitch and the feeling of static electricity in the air was growing strong enough to make the hairs on my arm stand on end. I shivered, but not merely from the cold. Even as cynical a skeptic such as myself could feel something was happening.
A sudden motion from outside of my peripheral vision caught my eye. I turned in time to watch a drunk local throwing a beer bottle. The bottle flew through the air and I leapt out to catch it.
Not fully understand why or how, I knew that if that bottle broke the plan of the circle that had been painstakingly drawn, the result would not be good. But even at my fastest, I was not quite fast enough. My hand wrapped around the bottle just as the neck broke through the plane.
The night's silence was broken by a powerful thunderclap that set off alarms and shattered windows all around for nearly a mile. A bolt of lightning then lit the night as brightly as the sun did the day. The bolt split in two, one fork striking me and the other striking you, knocking us both off of our feet.
I shakily stood up, dusting myself off, undamaged and my eyes quickly darted over to you, relief filling me when I saw you were as unhurt as I. The rite was irrevocably interrupted, no hope of salvaging and no point to finishing. Everyone gathered their belongings and began to leave, saying their farewells to each other. I could not stop the smile that crossed my face as I saw you again, unhurt.
I rushed over to you, hugging you tightly. You were my friend's wife, but you had come to be very special to me. The thought of you possibly getting hurt was almost too much to bear. As our hands touched, a small spark leapt out, arcing between us and making us both jump, startled.
We shared a quick laugh and then we left. You were still shook up from the events of the night, so you asked me to drive. As we drove along, I noticed a subtle change come over you. The change was hard to describe. It was almost as if there was another face superimposed over your own. The face was a beautiful one. Not more so than your own face, merely different.
Somehow, the almost invisible visage seemed to accentuate your own beauty, as if drawing out that inner beauty that I already knew was there. You smiled at me and leaned over, resting your head on my shoulder. Your hand fell, casually, coming to rest on my thigh and you sighed, contentedly.
It was a long drive, made in near total, yet surprisingly comfortable, silence. Your hand traced patterns on my thigh. The patterns appeared random, and yet they felt vaguely familiar, eliciting flashes of memories that were gone before they could be fully realized.
The patterns moved further and further up along my thigh, softly and tenderly. I grew harder and harder as each moment passed. Gradually, your hand approached my crotch until, finally, your hand caressed me through my jeans.
I groaned as your hand began to release the buttons holding me in. I knew that I should stop you, but something within me would simply not allow it. Once I was freed, you began to stroke me, smiling beautifully at the groans I could not suppress.
Then you leaned down, taking my hard cock into your warm, inviting mouth. Your tongue and lips were performing acts upon my stiff member that were beyond masterful. Your skills bordered on, and quickly crossed over into, the realms of the magical.