My Lady Adair by A.J. Brown

When I was a child, the month of October was always the greatest time of year. Even though school was back in session, we had the State Fair in the beginning of the month and Halloween to bring in November. In between the two, there was always some harvest festival or other going on at one of the local churches. For me, a poor boy in a small town in South Carolina, October was as fun as summer break.

Halloween night would find my brother and me running the streets of the New Brookland mill village where my grandparents lived. I was usually a vampire, with false blood at the comers of my mouth and wax lips that tasted terrible and looked as bad on my face. My cape was made out of an old sheet, but I didn't care. We made our costumes as real as our money could allow.

When I was eleven, I fell in love. No, not real love and probably more like lust than anything else. I think it was the first moment I felt lust in my loins and actually saw a woman for something more than just a "girl."

Her name was Adair, and she was much older than I was at the time, maybe in her mid-twenties. She was the daughter of Mrs. Wanda Mae, who lived next door to my grandparents. My brother and I walked up to the door, knocked and waited patiently. The door opened a few seconds later and there she stood, a blond haired, blue eyed angel, dressed in a red skirt that barely covered her undies, long black stockings, and a red corset that I wanted to just reach out and touch; to feel the shiny material on my young finger tips. I remember seeing her full lips and suddenly desiring to kiss them.

My brother yelled the typical Trick-or-Treat song and held out the old paper bag that he had drawn skull and crossbones on. Adair placed some candy in the bag and he hopped off the side of the porch like the macho dork he was.

"Well, howdy, Dracula," she said and I felt my knees grow weak. "You wanna bite my neck?" I wanted to biter her neck. I wanted to taste her skin, kiss her lips and I wasn't sure what else I wanted to do. What I did was nod my head as my face turned red with heat and embarrassment. Unable to speak, I looked down at my shoe tops and held my bag out to her. She dropped a piece of candy in the bag and then did something I'll never forget.

Adair took a finger and touched my chin. She lifted my face so I could watch her as she bent forward. I saw the tops of her breasts struggling for release from her bra. Her scent was sweet. Her lips were soft as she kissed me on the cheek, and they left two bold scarlet stains ...

"Come back in a few years, darling," she said and I nodded before heading down the steps, my head in the clouds and heat like nothing I had ever felt before in my belly.

My brother hounded me about it the rest of the night, and into the following weeks. But I didn't care.

I didn't Trick-or-Treating again until I was eighteen. Dressed as the finest vampire my part time job could afford, I stopped by Mrs. Wanda Mae's house. To my joyous surprise, Adair was there. She was still beautiful, her lips still supple and her body still inviting. By then, I knew what lust was and I knew I wanted her more than anything in the world.

But, there was a problem and I knew it by the sound of his voice coming from inside the house. He yelled, telling her to get rid of whoever it was and to close the door. I also knew by the bad makeup job she had done on her swollen eye that she was in for worse than she appeared.

"It's me," I said. "I've come to save you from this." It was all I could think of. "You're sweet," she whispered as a tear trickled from her eye. "But, you're too late."

The door closed and the light flicked off, leaving me in the dark with my thoughts. I turned, broken hearted, and walked down the steps, my empty bag in one hand and my own tears forming in my eyes.

That was six years ago. I never forgot about her. I dream about her and sometimes tears fill my eyes as I think of her. I haven't been with too many women, but each one I imagined was Adair; wished it were her instead of the woman I was with.

It's late Halloween night and all the trick-or-treaters have gone home. I stand on the porch where she kissed my cheek and stirred my manhood for the first time. In one hand I hold the newspaper that details her suspicious death. In the other hand I hold a brown paper bag, a crude skull and crossbones drawn on it.

The light is on in the den and his car is on the dirt driveway. My hand trembles as I knock on the door. The paper falls to the porch and I reach into the bag, sliding my hand along the handle of the knife.
I smile as he opens the door ...

@ 2007-A Jefferson Brown

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