Chapter 11: Halloween

“Are you going tomorrow night?” Imogen asked.

“To The Ball?” replied Katie, a homely yet deceptively sexy brunette who was one of the core members of our study group.

“Yeah.”

It was just before lunchtime on Friday, the day before The Halloween Ball which was, everyone kept telling me, a Westmouth University tradition. Seven members of our study group were in the Law Library, working on an essay that was cruelly due the following Monday. There’d been groans in the lecture hall when people realised the due date was right after The Ball. I couldn’t help but wonder if the course lecturer did that deliberately.

Katie and a couple of the others confirmed they were indeed going.

“That’s why I want to finish this today. Or at least, the bulk of it. I can always type it up on Sunday if I have to,” Katie said.

“What are you going as?” One of the other girls asked. I couldn’t recall her name, sorry. Did I mention The Halloween Ball was fancy dress? Did I really need to?

“A Bride of Dracula,” Katie said. “You know, like Chloe Goodman that year she got caught giving that guy a blowjob outside The Union?”

“I remember that,” said the same nameless girl as before. “It was all over the papers. I couldn’t believe she’d do something like that. What a slut!”

“Are you going, Paul?” Imogen asked, cutting off the impending bitchy discussion of Westmouth’s resident movie star.

“Yeah. I don’t really have a choice.”

“Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic,” said the nameless girl. I really did need to make an effort to remember more people’s names. I only remembered Katie’s name because I thought she was kind of cute.

<<Cute? Or fuckable?>>

She just couldn’t leave me alone, could she? Even when I was studying.

“To be honest, I’d rather not go,” I said. “But my friends are making me.”

“What’s your costume?” Imogen asked.

“A Werewolf,” I said. Then by way of explanation, I added, “It was all they had left in the shop.”

“Well, a werewolf is halloweeny,” she said.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Witch,” she said. “It was the cheapest and easiest costume they had.”

“Well, me and some of the girls from Linnell are going as Zombie Cheerleaders,” said the nameless girl. Like I really cared what she and her friends were going as.

I looked at my watch, then at Imogen. “Lunch?” I asked.

“Is it that time already?”

“Near enough.” I glanced down the table at the girls still talking about their costumes for The Ball.

“Oh, right.” I’ll say one thing for Imogen, she picked up on what I was thinking pretty quickly. I probably wasn’t exactly subtle about it, mind you.

We packed up and bid the others goodbye. As usual we would be eating in the canteen at The Union, but most of the others went back to their flats for lunch.

As soon as we left the library, Imogen said, “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Starting them off one The Ball and their costumes and stuff. I should have known they’d get carried away.”

I shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“Maybe. But still, I’m sorry.” A few moments later, she said, “Do you really not want to go tomorrow?”

I shrugged again. It was my standard response to questions I didn’t really want to answer.

“Why go then?”

“I told you, I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course, you have a choice.”

I grinned. “You’ve met my friends, right? Amanda? Scary lady with big boobs?”

She giggled. “I’ve seen her around but I don’t think I’ve ever really met her.”

“Lucky you. I’ll have to introduce you.”

“Best not.”

“You’re probably right.”

After a pause, she said, “Is she really scary?”

I shook my head. “Not as long as you do what she wants.” I grinned and Imogen laughed. She had a lovely laugh.

There was a knock on my door. I usually left it propped open, as did the others on the corridor, but I always shut it when I was getting ready to go out. I don’t know if everyone feels this way, but I think washing, shaving and dressing are private affairs. As it happened, the knock came just as I’d finished putting on my werewolf costume.

I opened the door to find Red Riding Hood standing there, complete with a wicker picnic basket. Although I doubt it was filled with sweet delights for grandmamma.

“Yes?” I said.

She smiled. “I’m Hannah.”

My silence spoke volumes.

“Your date? Didn’t Amanda tell you? I thought she told you I’d be coming to pick you up, not the other way around.”

“Excuse me,” I said, closing the door on her.

“But—”

Through the closed door, I could hear Mark say, “He does that. I wouldn’t worry. Give him five minutes. Do you want a cup of tea or something?”

I picked up my phone from the desk and pulled Amanda’s number from the memory.

“Hey, stud,” she said—her usual greeting for me.

“So you’re arranging dates for me now?”

“Oh, so Hannah’s there already, is she? Guess she couldn’t wait.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Paul, chillax, okay. It’s not a night out in town, it’s a Ball. You can’t show up without a date. And since Hannah’s next on the list anyway, so I figured, makes sense. Right?”

“Bloody list,” I said, gruffly.

“Hey, what do you think of her outfit? Doesn’t she look gorgeous? It shows off her legs really well and you’ve got to love the way it pushes up—”

I hung up the phone. I wasn’t worried about offending Amanda. She never got offended. Well, hardly ever. Which is the same thing. More or less.

Red Riding Hood (notice I didn’t call her Little Red Riding Hood—there’s no way you could call her Little in any way, shape or form if you know what I mean) was in the same place I’d left her when I closed the door. I grabbed her arm, pulled her inside and let the door slam shut behind us.

“Paul, I thought Aman—”

“It’s Hannah, right?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry if I—”

“Let’s get one thing clear, okay, Hannah. This isn’t a date. You’re next on Amanda’s list. That’s all. Yes, I’ll accompany you to The Ball. Yes, we might talk and dance and I might buy you a drink or two. I’ll even smile when someone points a camera at us, but this isn’t a date and for all I care, we can separate when we get to The Union and not speak to each other all night. But you’re on this damn list, so I’ll do what Amanda’s promised you. At the end of the night, I’ll bring you back here and fuck you within an inch of your life. Got it?”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off me from the moment I interrupted her. I knew I wasn’t exactly playing the nice guy. If anything, perhaps I wanted to put her off. If she changed her mind and backed out, I might get a peaceful night—I might actually enjoy the night. But if anything, she looked even more interested. Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen, isn’t that how the old saying goes? I never really believed it could be true, but looking at Hannah’s reaction, I started to wonder.

I pointed to the bed on the far side of the room. “See that?”

She looked across, then back at me. “The ... The bed?” she said, nervously.

I nodded. “Get a good look at it now, because you won’t have time later, even when you’ve got your face buried in the covers while I pound you from behind. Because that’s what you want? Isn’t it? That’s why you’re here, right? You want to get fucked. You want me to fuck you like I fucked your friends. You want me to give you the best damn night of your life. Well? Is that what you want?”

She shivered. I smiled.

“Do you know what the French call orgasms?”

She shook her head.

“Le Petit Mort. The Little Death,” I said. “And tonight, I promise you, you’re going to suffer a thousand Little Deaths.”

She closed her eyes and shivered again, letting out a little squeak too. She hadn’t, had she? She couldn’t have suffered her first Little Death just from my words, could she?

<<Damn right she did! Oh, this is going to be a fun evening!>>

I hate to admit it, but that damn voice was right, it was fun. Hannah had something of a hair-trigger, but the real fun came from keeping her on a low simmer for as long as I could without setting her off. A little touch on her upper arm. A light stroke of her lower back. A suggestion of what might happen when I got her back to my room. It was almost too easy.

Almost.

Regardless, it was a lot of fun.

One of the things that distinguished this formal ball from any other Saturday night in The Union, was the quality of the live entertainment. Saturday nights were always live music nights, but on this occasion, I’d actually heard of the band up on stage, and while The Mutt’s Nuts weren’t going to be headlining any summer festivals any time soon, they had at least had a couple of top twenty hits recently.

After their hour-long set, which I’ll admit was pretty good, they took a break promising to do an encore set later, and much of the audience took the opportunity to have a break too. Hannah and some of her friends made for the bathrooms downstairs, while I headed to the bar to top up our drinks. I hadn’t had that many and I’d made sure Hannah hadn’t either. Not because I was averse to the idea of getting royally drunk (actually, the idea had merit), but more because I didn’t want Hannah passing out on me before I’d had a chance to really see just how many Little Deaths this girl could take in one go.

Walking back through the bar, heading for the main room, with a drink in each hand, I almost didn’t hear the little voice calling to me.

“Paul!”

I turned and grinned when I saw a red-haired Little Bo Beep, complete with staff and bonnet—although there was a distinct lack of sheep. She must have lost them.

“Oh, hi, Imogen. You look—”

“Ridiculous. That’s what I look. And don’t laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Genuinely, I wasn’t. I thought she looked really cute. But maybe she wasn’t going for cute. One thing’s for sure, she wasn’t well enough endowed for the outfit to do to her upper torso what Red Riding Hood’s had done for Hannah’s.

“I thought you were going as a witch,” I said.

“I lied. I didn’t want to admit to being Bo Beep in front of the other girls.”

“Don’t you think they’ll notice anyway?”

“Probably, but with a bit of luck I’ll soon be too drunk to care.”

“So ... Why?” I guested up and down her costume.

She half-smiled. “It was Vanessa’s idea. It’s a Welsh thing. Like a joke?”

I nodded. “I get it.”

“I saw your date,” she said with a smile. “Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. Good match. It’s almost as if you planned it.”