HALLOWEEN STORY

by Paradox

Melissa and I were fighting again. Something that I was finding

depressingly common. This time it was about Halloween. Sheila Wood,

one of the women from her study group, had invited Melissa to a

party on Halloween night and Melissa wanted me to come with her.

Now I had nothing against Sheila, or any of the others from her

study group. Well, OK, I didn't like Carl. But the rest were

alright. There were eight in the group, three other women besides

Melissa and Sheila, and two other men besides Carl. They met once a

week to work on the newest assignment for their adult education

classes. You know, the ones that working adults take to complete

their MBA's. The group met once a month at my condo.

But I wasn't much of a socializer, and I hadn't had fun at a

Halloween party since junior high. And I really didn't want to go to

a party and fight with Melissa all night. Actually, I almost

wondered if we'd still be together in the week till Halloween. But

tonight, we were taking a walk downtown after dinner.

The walk was frustrating me as well. Not so long ago, we'd walk hand-

in-hand, or with our arms entwined. Now I had my hands at my sides

and she had hers stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans.

"You know, Jeff, I really do want to go to Sheila's party. I know a

lot of people from school are going, and it sounds like it could be

a blast."

"Melissa, you know I don't do parties very well. Shit, even having

your study-buddies over gets to me a little."

"Oh come on, Jeff! You can wear a costume and pretend to have a good

time for a change, can't you?"

"Yeah, a costume. Sure. I'm supposed to find a costume a week before

Halloween? Right," I said sarcastically. "I suppose she has a theme

for the costumes too. Care to tell me about what I'm supposed to be

trying to find?"

"Actually, you're supposed to dress up like a character from a book

or series of books. Of course, with some of these people, I expect

to see a lot of comic book characters."

"Melissa, I really don't think I'll go. If your heart is set on

going, ask one of the guys from your group. Or go stag." I couldn't

see the look on her face at my words, but I expected it to be

furious, and we walked on for a bit. The next time she spoke, she

was leaning against the display window of a used paperback store,

and I was looking at the books without seeing them.

"Jeff, if you'll do this, you can use any book you want, and I'll be

whatever character you decide."

I was going to refuse again when my eyes focused on the display, and

an idea occurred to me that I thought was guaranteed to end the

discussion. If it ended our relationship, maybe that was for the

better, too.

"Any book?" I asked.

"Any book you've read, I'll go along with."

I pointed to a book in the window. It had a ridiculously muscled man

with a big sword and a cowering female in not much of

anything. "Have you ever read any of those books?"

She turned around to see what I was pointing at. "Gor? Yeah, back in

college. Why, you want to dress up like Conan?"

Yeah, right, the fat Conan, I thought. "Well, not quite. But how

about characters from that milieu?"

"Sure, I can use some of your armor for an Amazon costume." We were

both active members of the SCA, or Society for Creative Anachronism,

a group that would dress in medieval costume for jousts, "wars" and

just fun weekends. I had a pretty good selection of armor and

weapons I'd collected over the years.

"You said you'd be whatever I chose?"

"Yeah, I did. What did you have in mind?" I think she was still

thinking Amazon, or maybe a Freewoman.

"I'll go. If you go as my slave."

She looked at me, then at the book again. I fully expected her to

slap me, or at least tell me to Fuck Off. She didn't. Instead she

said; "All right. But you have to get my costume together. I'll come

to your house a half hour early to pick you up and dress." Then she

turned around and hailed a cab, and I didn't hear from her again for

the rest of the week.

That night, I dug out my collection of Gor books, and surfed the web

for reference. The next day, I went to a fabric store and bought a

length of translucent red silk. That night, I pinned together a

pleasure slaves tunic, and went through my armor pieces for my own

costume. I decided on a heavy leather kilt and a broadsword. Monday

morning, I had a friend who worked with metals make a steel collar

for me, with a hasp and slot in the back. He engraved it with a

veritable garden of blossoms, with my name across the throat. Monday

night, I admitted I was wasting my time. No way in hell was Melissa

going to show up Friday night. I was better off using my time to

pack her stuff for when she demanded it all back.

Friday after work. Sheila's party was supposed to start in about an

hour. I felt like a fool in my leather kilt and fur lined vest. Want

to know what a Scotsman wears under his leather? Not a thing. I

opened a beer and flopped on the couch, thinking "God, Jeff, you are

such a fuck-up."

I had just taken a second gulp when the doorbell rang. I grabbed my

candy bowl and opened the door. My heart nearly stopped at seeing

Melissa.

"Hello Jeff. May I come in?"

I opened the door wide and motioned her in. She looked me over with

a smile. "I like your costume. Is mine ready?" I pointed to a chair,

and the red material draped over it. She sauntered over and picked

up the tunic I'd made and chuckled. "Red silk. How appropriate. So

tell me Jeff, when does my servitude begin?"

I swallowed. "When you decide." She nodded and carried the tunic

into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. The door opened a few

moments later. She stepped out and leaned with her back against the

side of the door, the palms of her hands on the jamb, her head up,

lips slightly parted, eyes smoldering as she looked at me. The tunic

clung to her, and I realized that unless she was wearing a very tiny

red thong I couldn't see, she was nude under it.

Then I remembered the collar. I opened the drawer of my desk, and

took it out. I approached her, and held it out for her to admire it.

She smiled then lifted her hair up and let me place it around her

throat. I slipped the hasp through the slot. She handed me a tiny

padlock she'd had concealed in her hand, and I locked the collar on

her.

Suddenly, she was kneeling before me. She sat on her heels, her back

straight and her head held high. Her knees were spread widely, and

her palms were up in supplication to me.

"Speak, slave."

"Melissa greets her Master. May Melissa please her Master?"

"Not yet. Perhaps later. Now, stand. We travel." When she stood, I

held her long leather coat for her, then slipped my raincoat on. No

sense getting arrested for indecency on the way. In the car, Melissa

had a present for me.

A leather whip with a single long, wide strap.

Sheila told us later we missed quite a party. The way she looks at

me sometimes, I think Melissa told her about our own party.