1 comments/ 16774 views/ 5 favorites Full Moons, Halloween, and Witches By: SuperHeroRalph This is a Halloween contest story. Too many readers don't vote. Please vote. I need the support of your vote. Witches love full moons, especially during Halloween, when a wicked witch has her wicked way with a 40-year-old virgin. * Johnny sat at a bar minding his own business with his only friend, a cold beer, keeping him company. A regular, he came to Al's place for a frosty, cold draft and some sports banter with the bartender every night after work. Never having more than two beers, a precision tool and die maker, holding the cold glass in his big, swollen hands felt good, after handling hot tools all day. He had big, strong hands, hands like a professional baseball catcher, calloused and thick skinned. Every mark, every smashed knuckle and split fingernail, every scratch, cut, and scar, saved a work related story to tell. Other than sports, with not much of a social life, work was all that he talked about. Other than to watch a baseball or a football game on TV, watch the news, or read about the outside world in the newspaper, work is all he did. Alone with his thoughts, without his friend, Mike, the regular bartender there to keep his lips moving and his thoughts off other things, mainly his job, he stared down at his glass in silence. Reminding him of a little lagoon, located off of a white sandy beach, that he saw in a magazine at the barber shop, he traced the line of condensation that ran down his glass to collect in a little pool of water on the bar. Never having been anywhere and done anything, he's never even been on a plane. Yet, he's always dreamt of traveling and he'd travel somewhere, anywhere, if only he had someone to share the experience. Always alone, it would be no fun traveling alone, too, without having someone to share in his excitement. Having lived his whole life here, all he knows is this small town, his house, and his job at the machine shop. It was Halloween night, the night he should be out trick or treating with his kids, but he didn't have any children. The regular bartender, his friend, Mike, was home with his family, and left the bar to Joe, the fill-in bartender. Still living in the house his father built and left to him, when his parents died, his life has always been the mundane same. Somehow, with working overtime and double shifts, life has passed him by and now twenty years later, he was a middle-aged, tired, and depressed man. Somehow, fortunately or unfortunately, he skipped what so many others have done and aspire to do again, dating, marriage, children, cheating, divorce, second marriage, cheating, and divorce, before becoming tired of the merry-go-round of women and empty relationships and deciding to live alone with their bad selves. His friends were attending a Swingers' Halloween Masquerade Ball with their wives, but he didn't have a wife. Even if he did have a wife, he'd never expose her to one of those disgusting sex orgies. Truth be told, never having had a special someone in his life, he didn't even have a girlfriend. Truth be told, a 40-year-old virgin, even with the prostitute his friends hired to service him on his 40th birthday last month, he respectfully declined her offer of passionless sex. He's never been with a woman in that way, naked, humping, and sweating and surely, he didn't want his first experience to be with a prostitute. He didn't understand how anyone could do that, have meaningless sex with a stranger, without being married and in love. Knowing that he was a virgin, his swinging friends offered him their wives, but he politely declined their offer of empty sex, too. Even though their wives were desirable and more woman than he ever hoped to be with, not wanting them to know, he tried not to show that their offer of him bedding their wives disgusted him and, in his eyes, disgraced them. Wrong on so many different levels, against his morals, and not even tempted, he'd never have sex with the wife of another man. No matter how they tried to justify their swinging lifestyle to him, it was just wrong. It was just nasty. How could they do that, offer their woman to him, another man? How could they share their woman with another? If he had a woman, he'd hurt any man, who disrespected him and/or his woman by flirting with her and trying to get with her. After his friends offered him a prostitute for his birthday and then offered him their wives, when he declined to have sex with the prostitute and politely declined their offer of having sex with their wives, he regretted telling his friends that he was a virgin. Information that was too personal, they'd somehow use that against him to judge him for the man they think he is. Now, because of how they perceived him, as if there was something wrong with someone abstaining from sex and maybe there was, he now kept his friends at arm's distance. A big man. A good man. A kind man. An honest man. A loyal and generous man, he'd never put the hurt to someone that didn't deserve to be hurt. One never known to throw the first blow, he's always the last man standing to throw the last one. He never understood his friends' need to share their wives' intimate secrets with others. Shame on them. He'd never be able to kiss his wife's lips again with the thoughts that she had sex with another man and had another man's penis in her hand, her pussy, and in her mouth. How they could break their holy vows of matrimony by having sexual relations with others and still stay married was a mystery to him. If he had a woman, what she did before she came into his life was her business, but after she came into his life and they committed to one another in marriage, she was his and no one else's. 'Til death do you part, a lifelong commitment, free sex never made any sense to him, when there's so much more to life and to marriage than just random and passionless sex with a stranger. Besides, with all the diseases and STD's out there, he never understood his friends' need and desire to have sex with the planet's population. Not one to lust over anyone's women, he only wanted to have sex with one special lady, his very own. Just as he missed the whole point of the swinging lifestyle, Johnny believed that they missed the whole point of love, marriage, morals, and respect. If they weren't going to honor one another by being true to each other, he never understood why they married each another in the first place. If he had a wife, if he went through all the time, the effort, and the expense to romance her and then to take the vows of holy matrimony to love, to honor, to respect, and to cherish her, he'd stay faithful to that one woman for the rest of his life. Yet, alone with his high and seemingly unrealistic morals and lonely without a good woman in his life to love and to cherish, just as Johnny wasn't very lucky with women, he wasn't such a good looking man. Actually, a monstrous man that looked like a cross between Rubeus Hagrid of Harry Potter fame, albeit a much bigger version, and Luca Brasi, Don Corleone's hit man, in Mario Puzo's, The Godfather 1, he was a scary looking man to those who didn't know him. Hailing from a long line of ugly people, his Dad was even homelier that he was at his 40-year-old age. He'd be relieved, with the homely man his Dad was, to realize that even his Dad found someone to love with his plain looks, that is, had his Dad not married his fraternal twin sister. Gross, shocking, and nasty, he couldn't believe it, when his parents sat him down to tell him their deep, dark, incestuous secret. A forbidden love between brother and sister, no one knew that he was their love child. He never understood what may have happened in their lives that twisted them enough to not only fall in love with one another but also to marry and have a baby? Is there any wonder why, at 40-years-old, Johnny is still alone, lonely, and unmarried? Doomed never to win a beauty contest, his Dad's sister, his mother, was just as homely as he was, which explains his homely looking puss. With his Mom the one that should have been his aunt or his Dad the one that should have been his uncle, he started his life confused, unhappy, embarrassed, and always living with the horrible shame of their incestuous secret. Glad that they did, he sometimes wished they had never told him. Didn't they think of the long-term repercussions? Didn't they think of him, before they had a baby? Tired of being rejected, when asking a woman out for a date, all the women he was attracted to were unable to get by his physical appearance to discover his hidden heart of gold and the good, kind, honest, loving, and loyal man that resided deep inside him. All the women he was attracted to, if interested in him at all, were only interested in him because he had a good job, a nice house, a new car, and, since he had never been married and didn't have children, obviously, he had money. All the women he was attracted to weren't attracted to him, at all. If they were anything at all, they were afraid of him. Doing their best to take advantage of him by offering him sex, all the women he was attracted to weren't very nice to him. Only, their tempting him with sex in exchange for him lavishing them with money, didn't work with him. Not interested in sex, he was no one's sucker for love. They didn't know that he wouldn't have sex with anyone, until he was married and on his Honeymoon. They didn't see what a good man he was. Truth be known, they'd be the lucky ones to have someone as good as he was in their lives. Truth be told, loving him would make them a better person. Able to see through their insincerity, rather than go through the heartache and the heartbreak of marrying a gold digger, he stopped trying to find his love match. Rather, perhaps because of his deep, dark secret, deciding to be alone and lonely than to live with someone who didn't truly love him, long since deciding to live a solitary life, not even his close friends knew that he was a byproduct of incestuous love. Especially after the big production they made over him being a virgin, he'd never tell them that his Dad married his identical twin sister. Imagine their shock. Imagine their horror. What would they think then? Knowing full well that if he told his friends about his accident of birth, they'd look at him as the monster that he wasn't and, somehow, as if it was his fault. As a byproduct of incestuous love, they'd question his sanity and forever question his logic, whenever he imparted his advice. Besides, no one needed to know the secret that surrounded his birth. His personal life was none of anyone's business. Eager to embarrass themselves in front of the whole world, when everyone else was vying to go on Jerry Springer to proclaim that they were a product of a brother marrying a sister, he kept his secret to himself. A friendly, yet private man, his secrets were his to shoulder alone, unless some woman was willing to share them. Hard enough living with the ugly face he had than to compound his misery with the public inspection of his private life by telling everyone about his background and taking on the shame of incest, too, he stayed to himself. Nonetheless, feeling so terribly lonely, he'd get a dog, if he could. He always wanted a dog, a dog that looked just like him, a big dog, a dog that had a big bark and that frightened people just be looking at them, but a dog that was a gentle giant. He had a fondness for oversized dogs, big German Shepherds and tall Rhodesian Ridgebacks, Irish Wolfhounds, Scottish Deerhounds, and Great Danes, but he worked long hours. Gone twelve hours a day, it wouldn't be fair to the dog to be left alone for such a long period of time. Instead, with his passion for dogs, on his one day off, he volunteered his time at the animal shelter, something that he loved doing. Rather than see them put to sleep, rather than know a healthy and happy dog that no one wanted was scheduled to die, he'd take them all home if he could. Instead of having them put the down, when the shelter ran out of room to house the dogs and the money to feed the animals, he donated enough of his own money to expand the shelter and pay for the food. He loved dogs, but hated cats. Sneaky and not as lovingly loyal and pack leader obedient, as a dog, he didn't understand cat lovers, just as they didn't understand his love of dogs. Cats, especially black cats gave him the creeps and made him think of witches, ugly, wicked witches. If there was one thing that he hated more than black cats, it was ugly, wicked witches. Even though he knew that witches didn't exist, even though he knew his fears were founded on a movie, he was scarred from watching the Wizard of Oz as a child. He still has nightmares of the Wicked Witch looking in her crystal ball, seeing Dorothy, and then ordering all those monkeys dressed in uniforms that were obviously put under a spell, chase after and kidnap poor, innocent, sweet, and loving, little Dorothy. Even though he knew it was just a movie, he couldn't help but think that there really were wicked witches that could put a spell on someone. Black cats, wicked witches, and Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, the things that went through his mind never ceased to amaze him. Maybe because unburdened by caring for anyone else but himself, unencumbered by a woman and children, he had a clear mind to think of other things, less important things. Maybe because it was Halloween night and maybe because he was alone with his thoughts, rather than spending time talking sports to his bartender friend, Mike, who was out, no doubt, taking his kids trick or treating, was why his mind turned to thinking about wicked witches. Only, he didn't know that during a full moon on Halloween, thinking about wicked witches will summon them, beckon them from out of the darkness to expose themselves in the light of a full moon, and will make them appear. He wished he had someplace fun to go to celebrate the Halloween holiday. He wished someone had invited him to a Halloween party, albeit not a swingers' orgy to have sex, but to a regular Halloween party, where he could have dressed up in costume. Yet, all his friends were making their own good time at the Swingers' Masquerade Ball having fun, having sex, and drinking. Alone and lonely, he'd love to meet one special woman to love and to spend the rest of his life with her. Bored, alone, and lonely, Johnny looked out the big, dirty, bar window at the bright full moon that commanded the attention of the sky. Normally a dark, dank, drinking hole, a little place where the locals found comfort from their wives and solace from their children, the moonlight lit up the bar and his stool, as if he was an actor on stage of a one man Broadway play. As if hypnotized by the unseemly sight of it, the full moon mesmerized him and lulled him into a soft, reflective quietness he had never known. Drawing energy from the full moon, he somehow felt recharged, reenergized, and reconnected from his disconnection to life and to those around him. Then, when looking away from the pulsating glow of the full moon, refreshed, as if awakened from a long sleep, invigorated, as if stretching after a one hour massage, and relaxed, as if spending a two week vacation on a quiet beach, he felt so centered. The feeling he had was surreal. Feeling so very relaxed, instead of being a precision tool and die maker sitting on his barstool with his elbows resting on the bar, he could have been a hippie hermit sitting on a mountaintop and contemplating the universe. Especially on Halloween, much like black cats and flying brooms, full moons and wicked witches go together and seldom do you see one without the other. Just as vampires appear from out of nowhere to suck blood, wicked witches materialize whenever there is a full moon and whenever someone beckons them by thinking about them, just as Johnny had been thinking about the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz. Only, most times, you can't hear them, see them, smell them, or feel them, that is, until it's too late. Most times, as if in a dream, a hypnotic fog, you don't even know they were there and gone. Your only clue to the presence of a wicked witch is a lingering dream and the sight of a full moon. Most can feel when there's a full moon arising, but not know that there is a wicked witch looming? Eerily spooky, making your hair stand and your skin crawl, giving you the chills, the willies, and the heebie jeebies, wicked witches have the same adverse effect, as do vampires, ghosts, ghouls, demons, and goblins. Just as some can sense the presence of a wicked witch and the feeling of a ghost, for that matter, others are oblivious to them. What is an unnerving feeling to some is just another ordinary day to others. Yet, there are many strange and unexplained occurrences that happen when there's a full moon. Howling is one occurrence of a full moon, psychic phenomena is another, and unexplained animal behavior is still another. Typically over activeness and aggressiveness turn the most precious little, otherwise, tame pets wild. Making matters worse, during such an occasion of a full moon on Halloween, all sorts of unexplained phenomena happens. The most common occurrences are ghosts, spirits, demons, and apparitions. Hiding behind the veil of the unexpected, the unbelievable, and the occult, a full moon on Halloween is the perfect time for wicked witches to do their witchery with witchcraft. Witches use the full moon on Halloween to their full advantage to appear and to seek their ultimate revenge on those who have wronged them. Some say that those unearthly things, ghosts, spirits, apparitions, goblins, demons, and witches, that are, otherwise, no longer of this Earth, derive a renewed energy that reinvigorates their long since dead spirits enough for them to return to wreak their evil havoc on the living population of our planet. Some say, once reinvigorated enough to live for a day, they need to find a warm, living, and receptive victim to take over and control their body for them to live longer. It is that person that gives wicked witches the energy to continue living. It is that person that saves wicked witches from the inevitableness and finality of death. With not much time to find the one they need, just as a vampire needs to feed before the dawn of the new day, it is that victim that wicked witches need to find, before the full moon disappears and it's too late. It's during this time that you best stay indoors. It's during this time that you best not challenge fate by becoming a victim to a wicked witch, witchcraft, curses, and spells. May God have mercy on your doomed soul, if, by happenchance, you come in contact with a wicked witch. Too busy doing other things in our crazy, fucked up world, even God may not be able to save you from a wicked witch. "Run! Save yourself. Run! Run!" Only, just as it's difficult to discern a wicked witch from a wicked woman, it's difficult to determine the agenda of one from the other. Where wicked witches want to possess you, wicked women just want your money. Until the time that they reveal their intensions, it's hard to tell one from the other. Do you believe in witches? You will, if you come in contact with one. Have you ever seen a witch? Have you ever seen a wicked witch? You may never know if you had. Except for the stereotypical Hollywood witch, do you know what a witch looks like? Look in the mirror. Do you see that image staring back at you? They look just like you. Sanctuaries for the practitioners of the lost black arts, there are stores in nearly every city that cater to witches and witchcraft by selling potions, lotions, amulets, and talismans. When you speak of spells, potions, curses, and omens, if you do and when you do, but I recommend you don't, those who follow the black arts all know what you're talking about without having to mention what never should be mentioned. Superstitions are the reality of witches and, when talking about witches and witchcraft, superstitions have a coincidental way of becoming your reality. Full Moons, Halloween, and Witches So, unless you are one of them, even those who speak openly about witchcraft, those who are immersed in witchery and deception, are not so open about admitting they are witches. Those who seemingly are free in talking about witchcraft, are never generous in sharing their secret knowledge of the occult and the unknown, even to one another. Best you avoid those who you think may be a witch. If you think they are, they probably are. What comes natural to the Evil One, does not so to witches. Unlike the Devil, Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Antichrist, Demon, the Evil One, the Fallen Angel, and the Dark Angel, witches must work at being evil. Just as a magician must practice his magic, a witch must practice witchcraft, the reason why they are called practitioners of the black art. Every witch has a book of dark and forbidden secrets that has been passed down from great, great grandmother, to great grandmother, to grandmother, to mother, and to daughter. Every witch has a secret spell and a favorite curse. Protected from prying eyes, their books contain recipes of all their potions and lotions and the words to all their spells and curses. A witch is not a witch without her magic book of spells and curses and her caldron of evil to mix it together to bring it to a boil in a thick soup. A witch is not a witch, unless she's been reinforced, empowered, and fortified by generations of dark magic and diabolical evil. A witch is no longer a witch, unless she has been reinvigorated and reenergized with a new victim during the occurrence of a full moon. I dare say, a witch without her magic book of evil is just an old, unhappy woman. Why are so many witches old? Because, with so much to learn and memorize, it takes generations to master the nearly lost, dark art of witchcraft. Look around you. Other than your mother, have you recently seen any old, unhappy women? Well, those women, no doubt, are witches who have lost their magic books of potions, lotions, spells, and curses. Best you be nice to them now because, if they happen upon their magic books later, they'll be Hell to pay for those who were mean to them then. Unbeknownst to the uniformed, witches are known to cast spells to make you have sex with them. I'm not sure why it is that sex plays such an important role within the lives of witches and in the art of witchcraft, but it does. Their ceremonies filled with nakedness and nude sacrifices, nudity and sex always followed Satan, evil, witches, and witchcraft. Maybe, just because they can make people have sex against their will is why they do it. Maybe, forcing those to have sex is the ultimate form of control, degradation, and excitement. You'd think that if you were dead for hundreds of years there'd be something else that you'd want, crave, need, require, and desire more than a good screw, such as ice cream, dark chocolate, a cigarette, a cup of coffee, a big juicy steak, a hamburger with all the toppings, or a cold beer. Have you ever had sex with a witch or a warlock, that is, other than your ex-wife, your ex-girlfriend, your ex-husband, or your ex-boyfriend? Maybe you have and never knew. Maybe you have and have suspected. Truth be told, if put under a spell, you'd never know for certain if you had sex with a witch or a warlock or not. Truth be told, many of us have had sex with witches and warlocks, but just don't know it. Sex is the most common occurrence when coming in contact with a witch. Call it a sexual fetish, call it wanting to be in control, call it debauchery, but witches receive not only sexual gratification making people do sexual things that they, as strangers, wouldn't ordinarily do but also power in enlisting us and then forcing those of us to do their bidding. Only, most people who have had a witch come to them and who have had sex with them think that it is a sexy dream or a horrible nightmare. Because of the deep sleep and hallucination of the spell that they were put under, they don't realize that it was real. They don't realize that they had sex with a witch. If still alive, they don't realize how close they came to death. Trust me, if you've had sex with a witch, especially around the time of a full moon, especially on Halloween it is more of a bad nightmare than it is a sexy dream. Moreover, it's a dastardly nightmare that can take a turn for the worse and one that can go from sexual pleasure to frightful terror and even murder in just an instant. Be wary. Be afraid. Be careful during a full moon, especially during Halloween night. Typically, she comes to your bedroom while you're sleeping in your bed. Always, she comes to you as someone else, possibly someone you know well or wish you knew better. As if you're having a dream, a sexy dream of a beautiful, naked woman, she comes to you in another form, someone who you lust over and dream about, but cannot have. It may be a friend, a relative, a stranger, or a celebrity. You are aroused by the dream that she makes you have. Her spell makes you vulnerable, horny, and ready for her passion. Because you think it a dream, you think it's someone else, someone you've been lusting over, but it is her. Yet, when you are in her control, when you have submitted your will to her, when she has the power of suggestion over you and your free will in the palm of her hand, she appears, as would an apparition from out of a fog. "Run! Flee! Too late!" Gradually, she emerges from her world to your world. Gradually, she takes over your being, until she's naked before you and alive inside of you. No longer are you dreaming. No longer are you safe. From the dream that you just had of her and from the impressionable dream state that you are still in, she is here with you now in your room to reap the benefits of her selfish acts by forcing you to have sex with her. Oh, God help you for thinking that what happen to you is pleasurable. If one was to define the experience of having sex with a wicked witch, it would be frighteningly horrible. "Lord have mercy on your soul." Once you are dreaming of this beautiful, naked woman, who in actuality is this dead, decrepit wicked witch, is when she appears. Even though you are now wide awake, under her spell, as if hypnotized, you are still dreaming, yet it feels so real. She strips you naked and instantly, you are aroused. Her intention is to make you pleasure her. Her intention is to use you to get her off at your expense. Her intension is to strip you naked not only of your clothes but also of your soul. Draining the life out of you, her intention is to use you to reinvigorate herself. Aroused by her touch, she takes your cock in her hand as you sleep and slowly strokes you. Not knowing what is happening, but feeling pleasure, you stir from your sleep. It feels so good for her, for someone, for anyone to touch you in the way that she is touching you now, while you're sleeping. No one, not your wife, not your girlfriend, not your mistress, not even your mother and/or mother fondles your cock while you're sleeping, but she does. The wicked witch always fondles you, as you sleep. Her hand wrapped around your now stiff prick works its magic on your libido. Her way of opening the door to your secrets, she's already inside your head. Is it a dream? Is it real? You are unable to tell one from the other, yet, you don't care because it feels so good for her to stroke your cock. Now in her power, you can no longer tell your dream state from reality. She slowly lowers herself down to you and takes your erect penis in her mouth. Just as you feel the warm, softness of her hand, you feel the pressure of her lips and the wetness of her tongue more than you would in a dream. The passion she has for you that is directed through her blowjob is like nothing you have ever experienced. Never have you experienced sex like this before, even with that stripper you met at the bar, paid her three hundred dollars, and drove home...to talk. This blowjob is way better than that blowjob you received from Mary Beth in the back seat of your car during prom night, and that was a great blowjob. A long time coming, literally and figuratively, this blowjob is way better than the blowjob your new bride gave you on your honeymoon. Unbelievably, this blowjob that you're receiving now from the wicked witch is way better than the blowjob your mother gave you, when you were both drunk and horny, after the Patriots won the Super Bowl for the third time. Surely, this is real, but just in case it's a dream, you don't want to wake up now. You're receiving a wonderful blowjob, but even though it feels so real, it's just a dream. Isn't it? How can anything that feels this good be a dream. If you know what a spell was, you'd know it was a spell. Already, no longer of free will, you are unable to resist her. You are unable to stop her from having her way with you. You are in her control. You do whatever she wants and whatever she needs you to do. You think you are dreaming, but it feels too real to be a dream. Your mind is reeling with pleasure, yet, you are so confused. Are you sleeping or are you awake? Dreams aren't suppose to feel like this, are they? Never would you have imagined a blowjob feeling this good, yet it does. Never would you have imagined a wicked witch coming into your bedroom and fondling your cock, before stroking you and then sucking you, but one did. So what? What's so bad about a beautiful, naked woman coming in your bedroom and making you have sex with her real or not, even if she is a wicked witch? It sounds pretty good, doesn't it, especially since there are no such thing as witches? Besides, you're getting a blowjob. At this point, who cares if it's real or a dream? Certainly, it feels real enough. What does it matter if it isn't? So long as you cum, it doesn't matter if you are dreaming about getting a blowjob or are really getting a blowjob. Being able to cum is all that matters and then you cum, in her mouth and again in her pussy. Yet, there are things within the dream that are frightening. As if you are possessed by the Devil, and in reality you are, evil thoughts flash through your mind. She's using you as her antenna to receive what she wants and what she needs to empower her evilness to a higher level. As if you're her power source, her battery, she's draining you of your energy and of your soul for the sake of her in the way that a vampire draws blood from its victims to feed. With such a high price to pay for the simple pleasure of sex, but it's not all good. You begin to awaken and wonder if you're having a nightmare. You wonder if what you just experienced was imagined or real. Then, she puts you back under her spell and you fall back to sleep. Even after awakening, you are unsure if it was a dream or real. Nonetheless, you are either excited by the memory of having sex with a naked, beautiful woman or, when the nightmares start and the flashbacks occur, still in her control and under her spell, disturbed by the suspicion that you just had sex with a witch, a decrepit old woman, ala Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby, when she had sex with the Devil. Which is it pleasure or terror? The fact remains that, unless you break her spell, she now has control over you, forever. She can now make you do whatever she wants you to do at her whim and whimsy. You are her puppet. Just another successful victim in her book of spells, your life and death are in her hands. You are afraid, but are unsure why you feel fear. "Run! Flee! Just go!" Yet no matter how fast you run and wherever you flee, she'll find you again. The answers to all her questions and to your location are revealed to her through her crystal ball. Once a witch has you in her power, there's no letting go. She has you forever, that is, until you die. Trust me, you'd wish you were dead rather than being in the control of a wicked witch. Depending upon the person, some remember more than others. Much like hypnosis, some are more susceptible to her magic spells, while others, those who resist it, have images of more of those details that really happened. Yet, no one is ever sure and no one wants to believe that it really happened. Whether it's good sex or bad sex, no one wants to think that they had sex with a witch. Ask anyone and they all picture witches as old and disgusting looking women and they'd be right. Lifelong practitioners, forever witches in training, it takes a long time to become a witch. Yet, through spells, potions, lotions, and curses, witches have the ability to make you not see them for who they truly are but for who you want them to be. When you think you are in bed with your dream woman, you are then willing to do whatever it is she wants. Those who have experienced intimacy with a wicked witch don't talk about it. Shocked, embarrassed, and afraid, they keep what happened to themselves. If they were to share their thoughts and suspicions of what happened, others would think them crazy. Certainly, no one would believe them. Even they don't believe what happened because they don't know what happened, not totally. It was a dream or was it? It was a nightmare or was it? Maybe, it was all nothing more than just eating some bad sushi. Sure that was it. Too horrific a thought to imagine that a wicked witch singled you out, it is easier for you to put it out of your mind and not think about such wickedness and evilness. It is too horrible a reality to confront that a wicked witch came into your bedroom while you slept and chose you to have sex with her. It is better if you believe that it was just a bad dream. Yes, that's it. It was just a bad dream. You'll feel better thinking that and believing that. You'll feel better after you shower and wash her wetness from your stomach and thighs and the naked images of her from your mind. Why? Why you? Why now? What does it all mean? Is it real or was it just a dream or a terrible nightmare? Surely, there's no such thing as a witch, just as there is no such thing as a wicked witch. Just as Johnny turned away from the brightness of the full moon to lose himself in the effervescent bubbles in his beer, a gust of wind kicked up outside to blow papers and twirl trash around in a whirlwind of activity. The wind was so strong that it shook and rattled the big bay window of the bar. He watched the papers and trash dancing outside, so much like spinning leaves that fell from the trees that held onto them, as if trying to preserve a coat of foliage against the chill of fall and the inevitableness of winter. Then, the barroom door blew open with a crash and in walked a black cat, as if it owned the place. With Johnny and the bartender focusing on the black cat, as if appearing from out of thin air, a tall, sultry redhead wearing a slinky, low cut black dress, one that showed her abundant cleavage in the way of how Elvira always flashed her big breasts, strode in the bar in her knee high, black boots. Then, as if ass backwards, the lull after the storm, instead of the lull before the storm, the wind stopped, everything returned to normal, and it was quiet, except for the sound of her boots. Tap, tap, tapping her boots made the sound similar to and one that evoked a memory of Edgar Allen Poe's poem, The Raven, when rap, rap, rapping, the raven rapped on his chamber door. Instead of rap, rap, rapping, there was tap, tap, tapping with the witch walking closer to the bar, upon the barroom floor. With Johnny and the bartender watching her in stunned silence, the sound of her boot heels were the only noise in the room, tap, tap, tapping. Finally, she approached the bar with all the drama of an actress making her entrance on stage. Had Johnny not been so taken by a woman in the bar, especially such a beautiful woman, when women never entered this establishment, he may have otherwise noticed and commented to the bartender, "Look what the wind blew in and look what the cat dragged in," but thinking better of saying that, he didn't. Still under the spell of the full moon and now under the spell of the wicked witch, he was awestruck. Love at first sight, he was in love. He was doomed. "Sorry, Lady," said Joe, the bartender. "No pets, especially cats, and especially black cats on Halloween, no less. I hate cats and I hate black cats even more," said the bartender looking to Johnny, while, no doubt, knowing his aversion to cats, too, waited for him to voice his agreement in his hatred of cats, too. "It's okay, Joe. It's just a cat," said Johnny raising his hand to quell the bartender's protest, but never removing his beady, brown eyes from her big, blue eyes and from the enormity of so much of her exposed breasts. "May I just have one drink, a double shot of whiskey straight, before I leave with my cat? I'm parched," she said in a voice that echoed from deep within her and sounded so tired and so unearthly. "Okay, I'll pour you just the one drink and because it's Halloween and we don't get many women in here, the drink is on the house. After you drink that, you must leave. We don't take kindly to strangers around here and I don't want any trouble," said the bartender suddenly and obviously feeling the need to finger his baseball bat that stayed handily at the ready beneath the bar but had suddenly and inexplicably changed from wood to rubber. Joe pulled out the bat to ponder the change in its composition, while she took the empty stool next to Johnny and eyed him out of the corner of her eye. Obviously not caring about his monstrous looks, using that to her advantage, no doubt, she knew that he was ripe for the taking. Before she swallowed her drink with one sip, she turned her head to him and gave him a sexy look that made him want to confess his love at first sight for her. "Hi," she said, as if exhaling a cool breeze on a hot day. "Hi. I'm Johnny," he said putting out his oversized mitt to take her warm, small hand in his. Not wanting to let go of her hand, he shook her hand, as if he was shaking up a can of oil for his milling machine, before feeling the soft, warm skin of her hand with his fingers. Then, he felt the connection. As if his hand melded into hers, as if his hand was forever handcuffed to her wrist, he belonged to her, in the way that Egor belonged to Dr. Frankenstein. Not one to be sexually attracted to a woman, saving himself for that one special woman, this was a woman he could spend cold, lonely nights in bed fucking and licking, while she fucked and sucked him. Never imagining such wicked thoughts before, he now imagined his big hands all over her big tits, before he mounted her, spread her legs, and impaled his virgin cock in her warm, wet pussy. No longer thinking of his job or of sports or of where he was, he wanted this woman in the way that he never wanted any woman before. "Rachel," she said. "Please to meet a gentleman, who loves animals," she said. "Thank you for standing up for my cat. Simon goes everywhere I go, isn't that right, Simon?" She patted the cat that sat on the stool beside her, before stroking the cat in the way that he imagined her stroking him, yet without ever removing her big, blue eyes from Johnny. "Meow," said Simon, as if he understand and responded in the affirmative to her question. "Oh, I just love cats," said Johnny, the type of man who never lied and after having just met the woman was already lying now. The type of man who would never have sex with a woman he wasn't married to, he was imagining having his sexual way with this woman now. Filled with sexual lust, there was just something about her that made him stare. He didn't know she had bathe herself in a bath of pumpkin pie and lavender, before applying a lotion filled with pheromones that aroused him sexually. "Let's go," she said looking to Simon, before looking to Johnny. "Shall we go to your place?" Full Moons, Halloween, and Witches "My place? You want to go home with me? Yes, of course, I'd love to take you home with me." An hour later, Mike, the regular bartender, arrived to relieve his fill-in bartender, Joe, of his shift. "Where's Johnny? He comes in every night for his two beer limit." "Johnny was here earlier and only had one beer, before he left with an elderly woman with a black cat." "Maybe she was his mother," said Mike "More like his grandmother," said Joe. "She was wickedly old and ugly." * This is a Halloween contest story and I need the support of your vote. Please vote. Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading, voting for, and/or making a comment on my story.