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© 2015, Sally Fornia First StreetLib edition June 2017
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ENCHANTED BY THE SEXY WITCHES
“Trick or treat!”
OK, that’s how it starts, I think as I go to the door. The early kids doing the rounds. It’s my first Halloween in this neighbourhood, and as a single woman without kids, I haven’t got much to do, except fulfill the role of the good neighbour: the young woman who treats the kids well, gives them candy, and accompanies the gift with a wide, charming smile. I’m fully prepared for that. I’m not fully prepared for what I see when I open the door, though.
Because what appears before me are two clearly adult girls, in their twenty-fives maybe, dressed as witches. Their costumes are exquisite; they must have paid lots of money for them. One of the girls is dressed in purple and black, with a top, a short skirt and fitting pants, long leather boots and a huge pointy hat. The other is dressed as a “sexy” witch, showing lots of skin, with a sleeved top, panties and a smaller witch hat, everything in black lace; she also carries a broom with a long, twisted shaft and rough bristles. (This is not to say that her friend isn’t also sexy, as I can appreciate that in a fellow member of the female persuasion, even if I’m attracted to men and men only.) Also, the abundant skin she is showing is all green, and it looks expertly painted, without missing spots or overdone areas. The color is uniform and pleasant, as long as I can see. Her hair is also green, but in a darker tone, like Hulk’s in the old TV version with Bill Bixby, made before I was born.
“Hi, I’m Fand,” says the girl in black (the green witch), holding the broom vertically. “Hi, I’m Lameia,” says the other one.
“Hi, my name is Helen,” I say, with a half-smile betraying my surprise. What are they doing here? Shouldn’t they be sending their kids instead? I don’t know about kids anyway. I’m an accountant, I only know about numbers. What do mothers do when...?
“Trick or treat!” Lameia exclaims with a playful voice.
A distinct smell of pumpkin reaches my nose. I haven’t bought any pumpkins so it must come from them. It’s sweet and slight, like a perfume.
“Trick,” I say, because you’re not supposed to give treats to adult people. In fact, it’s pathetic that two grown-up women are ringing bells in the neighbourhood for some pieces of candy, my rational mind judges.
I’m lying. That’s not the reason. I don’t know why I say “Trick” instead of “Treat”. It’s something unexplained, a sudden impulse.
But I’m lying again: I actually know why. These girls have picked my curiosity, and I don’t want this weird scene to end. I say “Trick” because don’t want them to go away. I want to see what happens.
And yet, I’m still lying. It’s not that I’m just curious —I’m feeling something strange, something I had never felt before. I feel kind of dizzy inside, as if there’s a warm, fuzzy void in the middle of my body; a new, surprising, unthinkable horniness. God, this is so weird.
What I mean is I’ve never, ever been a lesbian; not even during a “phase” in high school. But now, here, in front of these sexy witches, a sudden, unexplainable urge is overcoming me: an irresistible desire to fuck them both.
That’s it. That’s the truth. That’s why I say “Trick”.
Even if it doesn’t make any sense.