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Author's Notes: You know how sometimes you feel playful? Naughty? Mischievous? And sometimes, I don't know about you, but I just feel, well, raunchy! Like I MUST get the raw out. This story, written for the 2015 Halloween Contest, was originally meant to tease, mercilessly. However, the characters, one of them inanimate, took over in unexpected ways. The resulting story is loads better for the careful reading and suggestions made by my honest and insightful editor, the talented and very patient AlwaysHungry.

Let me know whether you enjoyed the story - please vote and leave your comments.



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Halloween in New Orleans, I thought, might be the best part of the meeting I had to attend. That, and Jack Presbitt. Now that would be a treat.

I've always liked Halloween - my favorite holiday. These days, I liked to wear something a little sexy or a little scary, nothing too extreme, just a bit unexpected. I often wore a costume to work as well - I liked the surprise on the faces of my colleagues who don't expect any surprises from me, the sober CFO. What I usually hate is what happened to me last year - having to spend Halloween on a business trip. Except what I thought would be an awful, boring conference I hadn't wanted to attend turned out to be an opportunity for an enjoyable little romp with my friend Jack.

I had been part of a project involving colleagues at a couple of other companies, a few universities, and even a government lab. We had all received money for a large education project, and had to attend a yearly meeting to discuss our progress and coordinate our plans for the following year. If the money I'd received for this project hadn't been so substantial, I would have blown off the meeting. But it was too big and I had to suck it up and go, even when I realized that the only time everyone could get together included October 31st. At least one of my favorite colleagues would be at the meeting, Jack Presbitt. He and I had been an item quite a few years back. We'd parted ways amicably, and he'd gotten married and had himself two blond, blue-eyed kids (both above average, of course). Whenever we'd run into each other, we'd flirt up a storm every time. Since Jack lived in New Orleans, I assumed he'd certainly be at the meeting.

I'd managed to stay single - I always told my parents that they hadn't invested all that money in my education so I could spend my time washing some man's dirty underwear. In truth, when I'd been interested in getting married most, I hadn't met anyone who'd captured my imagination. Eventually I had given up on the idea and settled into a series of hot relationships that generally ended becoming comfortable and eventually boring, by which time both parties were ready to go on to greener pastures. Lately I'd started getting antsy again. It was a bit disturbing that the fuse on the fireworks was fizzling out faster than in the past, and my patience was getting shorter and shorter the closer I was getting to menopause. Frankly I felt like my time was running out and I didn't want to waste it on lukewarm relationships with *quot;Mr. Nice Guy, But...*quot;

Instead, I'd take the opportunity, whenever I could, to let my hair down at out-of-town conferences. After the requisite happy hour mixers with glasses of white wine and hors d'oeuvres standing in for dinner, I'd beg off, pleading a long travel day. I'd go back to my room, change into some tight little black number, thigh highs and high-heeled boots, and head out clubbing. Preferably somewhere where they'd play good jazz, blues or funk, and where they had a good selection of single malts and a knowledgeable bartender who enjoyed surprising his customers with something out of the ordinary.

If I was really lucky there'd be good dance music and a nice dance floor where I could lose myself in the grooves and feel myself getting hot and slick between my thighs. Well-oiled above my thigh highs and warm and fuzzy all over at 2 or 3 am, I'd hop a taxi ride to the hotel, strip down to my sexy lingerie, and have me a hot date with my fingers and my favorite travel vibrator before calling it a night.

The last couple of times when I'd been at a conference with Jack, he'd come with me to the clubs. We'd had a few drinks, reminisced about old times, then he'd invited me to dance to some old song that had brought back memories. He was a great dancer - he had the body for it, tall and slim but not too thin, a graceful mover. He was one of those men at ease in his own skin, who liked to get down and to feel a woman's body rub up against his. I'd found it hard to part chastely from him at the end of those nights, but I didn't want to cause trouble in his marriage. I'd let him go with an easy laugh after indulging in our usual bouts of shameless flirtations that still managed to stay safely this side of cheating.

The last time had been the hardest. Jack knew his way around a woman's body on the dance floor, and that time we'd gone to a Country