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Once again, I have put together a lighthearted, vintage fantasy that takes place in mid-century middle America. However, this time, I am finally venturing into the CFNM genre.
With that said, I present my entry for the Halloween Story Contest 2025. Thank you for reading and Happy Halloween!
Special note: Please read the whole story before you criticize the spelling.
The following story contains one-sided male nudity, public nakedness, mythology and sorcery, compelled exhibitionism, female-led relationships, ball pulling and sensual humiliation.
All events are entirely fictional, and all characters involved are over the age of consent.
All Howls Eve
Pay the Witch on the twenty-sixth,
And all shall be right by the twenty-ninth,
Cherish the deeds that fix the cursed,
And revisit this sight on the thirty-first.
One week before Halloween, the residents of Willow Ridge celebrate All Howls Eve.
Many married couples visit the next town over for the night, leaving the young people to explore some early Halloween activities on their own.
As expected, most of the college sweethearts make quick use of the empty houses while the adults are away. One such pair is Jon and Harriet, who are at Harriet's family home for the evening.
Her parents have been taking part in the late-October ritual since before she was born, but apart from a few poems and superstitions, Harriet isn't sure why anyone honors this trivial holiday.
Her boyfriend, Jon, doesn't know, or care. As the star fullback for the college football team, he's more concerned about keeping in tip-top shape for the big game on Thursday.
Alone in the living room, Harriet walks in with a pile of books and magazines, while Jon, sprawled on the settee, looks at her, and says the most romantic thing he can think of:
"Got any snacks?"
Harriet smiles and sighs at the same time.
She likes Jon a lot. He's very big, and strong, and athletic, and popular, but, he's not the brightest bulb in the socket.
"Look what I found," Harriet shifts the topic, "all sorts of write-ups on fortune-telling! That's a peachy Halloween activity, don't you think?"
"I thought we were supposed to make fudge or eat treats at Halloween," Jon answers.
"There's a bowl of pretzels on the sideboard," she chides, "How about if you eat those, and we'll use these books to see what our futures hold?"
Getting no response, Harriet reluctantly adds, "Then after that I'll make kettle corn."
"I can wait for kettle corn," Jon perks up. And, so does Harriet.
"Listen to these titles," she lists the headings in her collection, "Unlocking Destiny, Your Fate Made Easy, The Total Guide To The Zodiac, how kooky!"
She examines a small brown leather volume at the bottom of the pile.
"This dusty, old almanac must be mother's."
Sitting on the carpet with her legs to the side, Harriet opens up several magazines and unfolds the charts stapled inside.
"You start with your birth month," she traces along the page with her finger, "find the current date, then match it with the year you were born..." she pinpoints another section with the opposite hand, "...and then read from the corresponding reference page."
Harriet flips through the printed sheets in excitement.
"Look! Here's mine:
'This lunar phase presents a unique opportunity, when it knocks.
Familiar doors will open to an exciting new world.
Under your guiding hand, your true love will make a big noise in exclusive circles.'
Isn't that a scream?" Harriet looks at Jon for confirmation.
"Gee, that's swell," Jon replies, totally uninterested.
"I think it's fascinating," Harriet beams. "Come on, let's do yours!"
Jon slouches on the sofa.
Knock-knock-knock.
"I'll get it," Jon leaps to the doorway, grateful to get away from Harriet's hocus-pocus, and also to give the heave-ho to whoever is prolonging his prospect of popcorn.
He turns the handle to reveal a middle-aged woman, wearing a midnight blue suit with a white chiffon scarf. Her blonde curls protrude from behind her face in a halo, which casts a golden shimmer over her steel grey eyes.
"Good evening, young man, I'm collecting for All Howls Eve, a fine tradition that promotes healthy relationships and lifelong partnerships in the community. Would you care to make a contribution?"
The stranger on the doorstep holds out her silver donation bucket with a warm smile.
"Get lost, you old bag."
The cheerful glow around the well-meaning charity worker vanishes. Her piercing eyes turn dark, apart from a yellow ring around her iris.
"Jon!" Harriet scrambles to her feet and hurtles toward the entry.
The uncanny caller fixes Jon in her stare.
"You are a very inconsiderate young man," she scolds. "Your tongue is course, your behavior is rash, and your approach is awkward."
"Please, miss!" Harriet tries to intervene.
She digs in her coin purse with the beat-up almanac under her arm.
"We'd love to donate, wouldn't we Jon?" Harriet cautiously drops a shiny half dollar in the silver collection pail with a clang.
The stranger examines Harriet closely, pausing at the book under her arm, then raises her voice against a sudden gust of wind and points a curled finger at Jon.
"The girl can help you mind your manners, maybe,
But, your skin will crawl, and your step become lazy,
And, your words must be soft, until you can learn to respect a lady."
"What kind of charity is this?" Jon asks, running his fingers through his hair.
The breeze dies down and the woman's blond curls settle back into place. Her smoldering pupils fall on Harriet's almanac.
"The answers are in that little book, young lady. You inherited well."
With that, the mysterious volunteer drifts silently down the front walk, leaving Harriet's heart in her throat and Jon scratching his head.
"How could you?!" Harriet snaps.
"What did I do?"
"You were so rude! And on today of all days."
"That dame was a creep. And, I came over for snacks, not to empty my pockets for some spooky Goodwill."
Harriet shakes her head, "mother always says 'pay the witch on the twenty-sixth.'"
"Aw, baloney." Jon mutters, trying to scratch between his shoulder blades.
"You didn't pay, and she got mad!"
"There's no such a thing as witches, and why should I lose my dough just because it's All Howls Eve? What a holiday, it's not even spelled right."
Jon's voice is stern, but reasonable. Harriet stares at the floor, sensing she may have overreacted.
"Come on," Jon says, "let's go in and get popcorn."
Reaching forward to close the door, he pulls it shut, then, with a ping, his fingers slip off the knob, and he stumbles backward onto the living room floor.
"Jon!"
"I'm all right. Just lost my footing, I guess."
Jon stands up slowly, scratching his legs, wondering what went wrong.
As he steps forward, he trips over his heel, sending himself into a somersault.
"Oh, Jon!" Harriet cries out.
"Gosh, what gives? I've got no balance."
"Don't you see? You've been jinxed!"
"Aw, cut it out," Jon says, itching his shoulder, "that's kid stuff." His face looks riled, but his pitch remains calm.
"You can't stop scratching, can you?" Harriet digs.
"It must be allergies."
"You didn't have allergies before. You're itchy, and you've lost your balance," Harriet catalogs his symptoms as she thumbs through the tattered almanac.
"There's no such thing as jinxes, now lay off."
He accents his words angrily, but without any bite.
"You can't raise your voice, can you?" She gives him a sidelong stare.
"I can, too." Jon tries to emphasize, but, to no effect.
Harriet goes back to her book, while Jon considers if something might actually be wrong.
"A-ha!" Harriet exclaims, rotating the almanac toward Jon. "The Three-Quarter Curse. That's you!"
Jon focuses on the dingy page and slowly reads it out.
"This hex takes the form of three afflictions: an itch that can't be scratched, a lack of balance, and a permanently hushed voice. The sufferer must perform four rituals, one for each malady and an apology to Selene."
Jon scratches behind his ear, "what's that mean?"
"It means you've been jinxed!"
Jon wobbles at Harriet's conclusion.
"I can't be jinxed. The big game's in three days. What am I going to do?"
Even without any urgency in his tone, it's clear that Jon is starting to panic.
"Lucky for you, the remedy is right here in mother's dusty old book," she scrolls through the pages.
"There's no time for that bunk, Harriet. How can I lead the team on Thursday when I can't even walk straight?"
Harriet lays her hand on his forearm.
"It will be all right, Jon, just like the rhyme says:
'Pay the Witch on the twenty-sixth,
And all shall be right by the twenty-ninth,
Cherish the deeds that fix the cursed,
And revisit this sight on the thirty-first.'"
He scratches his elbow, unimpressed.
"Your game is on the twenty-ninth. You'll be fine! Trust me."
Jon nods at her cheerful confidence.
He may be a big star on the football field, but, spell-breaking is her cup of tea.
Finding her place in the book, she reads.
"How to remove the Three-Quarter Curse:
To scratch the itch, let your flesh breathe, and seal your outer layer in the skin of a tree.
You can find your footing and stability by following the steps laid out on page one-thirty-three.
Turning an honest thought into a humble request will loosen your lips and set your tongue free.
Finally, raise your highest voice, thrice, in desperate joy, to appease the companion of Selene."
"I don't get it," he scratches under his ribs.
"It's like a riddle."
"So, we're stuck?"
"Listen, Jon, you're used to solving problems with your muscles, but, to fix this one, we need brainpower, so... let me think."
Harriet puts her finger on her chin and wanders into the kitchen.
She returns with a large, paper grocery sack.
"This is the skin of a tree," Harriet reasons, opening the brown paper bag, "and, you can keep things inside it."
"O.K., but what am I supposed to put in there?"
"Seal your outer layers in the skin of a tree," Harriet quotes. "Let your flesh breathe."
Jon rubs his eye.
"Your outer layer is your clothes, Jon."
"They want me to put my clothes in a paper bag?" He wavers, scratching his back. "I'm not sure about this, Harriet."
"Why not?"
"Because, it'll be awkward if I don't have any clothes on."
"Yes, but, only in front of me."
"That makes it more embarrassing," he admits, sheepishly.
She stifles a grin. He's cute this way.
"You're embarrassed because I'll see you naked?" She prods.
"Yes."
"But, you've got broad shoulders and thick legs," she squints at him. "Do you have a tiny ding-a-ling?"
"I don't think so," Jon responds, honestly.
"Then, what's there to worry about? You don't want to be jinxed for the game on Thursday, do you?"
"No."
"You don't want to let the team down, right?"
"Right."
"And, you don't want to let me down... do you?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Well, then..." Harriet rustles the paper bag.
Jon musters himself, throws off his varsity jacket, and... immediately falls over.
"Maybe you better sit on the carpet to remove your clothes," Harriet suggests. "We'll get your balance back after we stop the itching jinx."
So, on the floor, Jon takes his clothes off, piece by piece.
His canvas sneakers, crew socks, blue jeans and white T-shirt, all go into Harriet's outstretched paper bag.
She turns her head when he slips off his pinstripe boxer shorts, but, furtively, keeps one eye fixed on the naked athlete in her living room.
Slowly and carefully, Jon puts one foot on the ground, then the next, and, spreading his arms to steady himself, gradually rises from a cautiously nude crouch to a fully exposed vertical stance.
What a hunk!
Harriet always knew that Jon had a firm physique, but, now, completely undressed in front of her, she can see where all his muscles bulge.
There are no secrets between us anymore, she muses, surveying him.
"What should I do with these?" Jon raises the scrunched-up pair of boxers in his fist, trying to keep his poise.
Harriet shakes the paper sack, prompting Jon to drop his undies inside.
With all his clothes in the bag, Harriet carefully inspects her bare skin beau.
Although he's still a youth, he has a man's build. His shoulders are wide and round, his chest is broad and chiseled and his hips are thick and powerful.
She likes that she can see the outline of his thigh muscles in the front, and that he has deep creases that separate his legs from his abdomen.
He reaches behind his head, giving Harriet a rush of butterflies when she sees his apple-sized bicep.
But, of course, as a woman, every time her eyes dart between his shoulders and thighs, or arms and hips, her attention lingers a little longer on his manhood.
With each glance, she absorbs more detail of his intimate area.
His scrotum is stretched very tight by two distinct ping-pong-sized balls, while, hanging slightly lower, and slightly larger, is the equally round head of his member, which, Harriet notes, is shaped a little like a light bulb.
"I'm still itchy," Jon says, scratching the back of his neck.
Harriet, distracted by all the wonderful facets of his body, has to take a moment to refocus on the task.
"Oh!" She realizes, "It's not sealed!"
She walks to the writing desk where her mother keeps the stationary.
Taking a piece of Scotch Tape from the roll, she sticks down the flap of the paper bag, securing her partner's clothes inside.
She turns to Jon, his toned frame teetering in the middle of the living room.
"Hey, I'm not itchy anymore," he smiles in relief. "Would you look at that?"
"Oh, I'm looking," Harriet says as she slides the sealed bag under the sofa.
Leaning against the couch, she lets her gaze wander over Jon's bare flesh as he sways unstably.
"So... can you get my balance back?" He asks, innocently.
Harriet smiles, confident in her new-found knack for lifting curses.
She thumbs through the almanac to find the next set of instructions.
Ring-ring.
The telephone takes away Harriet's attention.
"Stay put," she says, walking briskly to the side table where the household phone rests.
Ring-ring.
She picks up the receiver, turning, to keep an eye on her shaky, nakey, boyfriend, and answers.
"Hello?"
"It's your mother, dear."
"Oh, hello, mother, how's the All Howls Eve party?"
"Fine, dear. The festivities don't start until later, but everyone's ready to hoot and holler. Are things all right at home?"
"Yes, although..." Harriet hesitates, unsure how much to reveal.
"Yes, dear?"
"I paid the witch."
"Oh... I see. If you need any help, there's a little book..."
"I already have it."
"Then, take my advice and keep a firm grip on... things."
"I will, I promise."
"I know you can, dear. I'll let you get on with it. Goodbye for now."
"Goodbye, mother."
Harriet sets the phone back on the saddle.
She stares at the manly figure of her main squeeze and wonders how much her mother can guess about their situation.
"Can I have my balance back, please, Harriet?"
His voice pulls her head out of the clouds. The poor boy is clearly embarrassed to have been left standing in the living room without his clothes on while she chit-chats on the phone.
She grins and goes back to her mother's almanac.
"You can find your footing and stability by following the steps laid out on page one-thirty-three," she reads out, thumbing back and forth to find the appropriate page.
Printed on page 133 is a short passage titled The Seven Stable Steps.
"Step one," Harriet starts, "take a sprig of rosemary in the left hand and a stalk of sage in the other."
Her nose in the book, Harriet opens the door and wanders out into the garden, where her mother keeps a collection of herbs growing.
She plucks several branches of rosemary and a handful of sage, then heads back into the house.
Seeing Jon's blatant nudity framed in the open doorway gives her a warm tingle of delight.
"A sprig of rosemary in the left hand and a stalk of sage in the other," she repeats as she places the herbs into Jon's grasp.
"Step two: stretch your arms out wide and stand on your right leg."
She supervises as Jon slowly moves his arms laterally and raises his left leg, nearly toppling over multiple times.
Harriet likes this view of him and hates to look away as she reads the next instruction.
"Step three: hop on your right leg in a clockwise circle. Recite the phrase 'strong and stable' as you turn and do not stop until you make three complete rotations."
Jon looks at her, uncertain.
"Jump in a circle, this way," Harriet says, pointing to her left, "and keep saying the words 'strong and stable' until I tell you to stop."
Wobbling on one leg, Jon starts to bounce and mutter the magic words 'strong and stable' as he shifts his body in the direction of Harriet's finger.
His muscles tense as he revolves, with the exception of his bulbous member, which seems to float in midair as his bulky legs propel his body up, down and around.
During his first cycle, Harriet uncovers a new feature she hadn't fully appreciated: his tightly sculpted bottom.
Not quite round, but not exactly square, each cheek has its own well-defined angles and, is, in Harriet's opinion, adorable!
"Strong and stable," Jon says again and again as his ding-a-ling flutters back into her view.
Hiding her smile behind the leather-bound book, she can't help but feel a little guilty about how much she's enjoying his exposition.
"Keep going," she encourages.
She likes seeing the sole of his foot as it orbits his waist.
As he comes to the end of his third loop, she shouts, "Stop!"
He does, coming to rest on one leg. Harriet is drawn to his throbbing thighs.
"Step four," she returns to the text, "mirror the previous step by revolving three times counter-clockwise on your left leg."
Catching Jon's blank expression, she explains it simply.
"Put your leg down." He does, with a thud, causing his penis to rattle, which elicits a quiet snort out of Harriet.
"Now, raise your left leg and jump around in a circle this way," she points to her right.
Shifting his weight and putting his toes into the air, Jon wriggles his naked form around to follow her finger.
"And, don't forget to say 'strong and stable.'"
"Strong and stable," he chants, under his breath, bringing his uplifted buttocks back into her view.
I could get used to this, Harriet thinks to herself.
She takes in as much of him as she can as he swivels, tilting her head for a better view of his goods on display.
He is surprisingly graceful during his final lap and Harriet is sorry to end the show.
"Stop!" She says at the end of his final turn.
Jon stalls on his tiptoes, and waits for her to find her place on the page.
"You can put your leg down now."
Blushing, he places his foot on the carpet.
"Step six: rub the herbs across your body to bind the cure..."
She makes a wiping motion with her palm and Jon copies her, brushing the rosemary and sage over his chest and biceps.
"...especially the feet, legs and hips."Jon moves the herbs down, looking at Harriet for approval.
She nods, then adds, "face the other way so I can make sure you reach your tush."
Harriet covers her mouth with the almanac to stop from giggling, while she watches her naked boyfriend lift his limbs up and down to spread the scented leaves over his skin.
Turning back around with a plant stem in each hand, he asks, "am I done?"
She holds up her finger.
"Step seven: squat to the ground and leap up high to free yourself from fumbles and blunders."
Jon tucks himself into a ball on the floor, then bursts towards the ceiling. Harriet swoons at the sight of his active thighs as he jumps and the jiggle of his manhood as he lands.
With a deep breath, Jon sticks out his chest and confidently curls his limbs.
"I feel great! You're a wonder, Harriet."
"You're really something, yourself, Jon," she watches him dip and flex.
In a rush of excitement, he swoops in to kiss her. She tilts her face to receive his lips on her cheek, then catches him by the chin and presses her mouth onto his.
The forceful move makes Jon's head spin. But, the enthusiastic growth below his waist makes it obvious to both himself, and Harriet, that he likes it.
"Only two cures left," Harriet raises the tattered book and quotes, "Turning an honest thought into a humble request will loosen your lips and set your tongue free."
"Gosh, Harriet, I'm always honest with you."
"I know you don't have anything to hide from me," she openly admires his physique, "but if you want to use your voice again, you have to ask for a genuine favor, and it has to be polite."
"I haven't a clue what to ask for," Jon says, with a shrug of his rotund shoulders.
"Well, you better think of something before the final task."
"I'll try... what's the other thing I have to do?"
Harriet reads the closing line, "Raise your highest voice, thrice, in desperate joy, to appease the companion of Selene."
"What's the companion of Selene?"
"I think that's a name from our Greek Mythology Class."
Harriet rapidly scans the almanac.
"Here!" She locates the passage. "Selene: moon goddess, who rides a silver chariot across the night sky, represents beauty, change, and renewal."
"So, who's her companion? Does she have a pet?"
"No," Harriet ponders, "I think it means the moon. 'Raise your highest voice, thrice...' The final instruction is to howl at the moon."
"Thrice?"
"Three times, Jon!" She clucks her tongue.
"But, we can't see the moon from inside the house here."
"No, but, we can see it from up there," Harriet points out the window to a small cliff jutting out over the neighborhood.
"Gee, I don't know. That's a long way to go."
"There's a shortcut behind the house. We can be at the overlook in 10 minutes."
Harriet checks her wristwatch, then adds, "Maybe a little longer without your shoes."
"Oh, right," Jon recognizes, "I almost forgot I was naked."
I didn't. Harriet sizes him up as she fishes a flashlight out of the desk drawer.
"You're not too shy to take me on a late night stroll without your clothes on?"
"You don't think anyone else will see me, do you?" he asks.
"Just me. Do you mind?"
"Not a bit," he grins, "In fact, I... kind of like it."
"So I see," she says, peeking at his privates, making a nimble bobbing gesture with her index finger.
Jon halfheartedly tries to cover himself, but quickly drops his hands when Harriet asks, "Would you get the door for me?"
He does, then follows her footsteps down the concrete garden path. Somehow, he feels even more exposed with the cool autumn air on his skin.
She pauses when they reach the white picket fence and Jon instinctively maneuvers his naked frame around her to open the gate, holding it open for her to pass.
A few steps along the hiking trail, Harriet says, "Walk in front of me, Jon."
"Why? Does it look like trouble?"
"No. I just want a better view, that's all."
She shines the flashlight on Jon's well-built rump as he lunges ahead of her.
Harriet purses her lips, unsure if Jon understands why she urged him to lead the way, but, she is delighted by the display of his taut backside as they trudge up the slope.
His hips move in exactly the right way to show off the firm curves of his supple cheeks. He even waits for her every few seconds to keep his buff figure in the beam of her flashlight.
About half a mile into their uphill hike, Harries says, "turn left here."
The ground levels out, and they find themselves at the edge of the cliff, looking over the town of Willow Ridge.
"I didn't even know this was here," Jon says, running up to the ledge.
"Not many people do."
The clouds part and the little plateau is flooded in moonlight.
"Wow!"
"It's a beautiful scene," Harriet says, twisting her hair while tracing Jon's naked features reflecting in the lunar glow.
The clouds swirl, and Harriet comes back to earth, realizing they have another problem.
"Jon... I don't know how you're going to raise your voice when you're still hushed by the jinx."
That thought hadn't even occurred to Jon, he'd been too busy climbing to the hilltop.
He has no idea.
Then, the clouds roll away.
"I think I know how to fix it."
"How?" Harriet arches her eyebrow.
"You said I have to howl at the moon three times."
"Yes."
"But, before I can do that, I have to ask you for a favor, from the heart."
"Right."
"Then, I might have a way to do two things at once."
"Do you, really?" Harriet approaches him in wonder.
"But... I have to ask you something... something embarrassing."
"I think," she puts her hand on his arm, "that's the point."
"In that case," he gathers his courage, then says nervously, "to help me get my voice as loud as possible... could you... could you please... pull my ballsack?"
"Jon!" Harriet beams at him, "Do you know if that will work?"
"It's hard to say. Guys make some pretty crazy noises when their nuts get squished. It might be the only thing that can make me yell like that."
"You're brilliant!" She exclaims, proud to see him use his brains, on top of his brawn and buns.
He smiles at the compliment.
"How should I do it?" Harriet asks, excitedly.
"Maybe..." he rotates his nude body to get the right angle.
"...if I crouch down a little, like at football... and you can hold them from behind."
Jon puts his hands on his knees and lowers his haunches into a three-point stance.
"You'll have to push your hips back, big boy, I don't see anything yet," she announces playfully.
"How's this?" Jon deepens his stance.
"A little lower," she pats his protruding derrière, "and relax."
He wiggles his pelvis, exhales and allows his overstuffed testes to appear between his powerful legs, right in line with Harriet's palm.
"Very good, darling," her fingers attach to his buoyant scrotum, like a magnet.
She's surprised at how natural it feels to have his balls in her hand.
Jon moans lewdly as she adjusts her grip.
"Keep still, darling, let me get a good handle on them."
"Ahhhh... ahhhh..." Jon dances in place as she fumbles with his sensitive undercarriage, until each of her fingers find the right spot.
"Does that feel like I've got them?"
"Ye-yes."
"Good," Harriet says, smugly. "Now, maybe you better ask me again. You know... make your humble request. Just to be sure it sticks."
"I... uh..."
"Go on," she encourages him with a tender pinch.
"Ohhh... Oh, Harriet..." he struggles to face her, "ah... please... please make me shout as... ah... loud as I can... by stretching my balls."
"It'll be my pleasure," she assures him.
With her man firmly in hand, Harriet looks into the night.
"The moon will come out from behind the clouds soon. When it does, I'll count to three, then give your marbles a little squeeze."
"Tha... ah... anks," he stammers, both anxious and comforted by her warm touch.
The skyline brightens and Harriet starts to count.
"One...
Two...
Three!"
Jon's voice only makes a timid hum. Then, Harriet clutches and tugs his sensitive pouch, producing a magnificent howl that soars across the valley.
"Awwwwhhhhooooooo!"
"Oh Jon, that was perfect!" She bursts with glee. "Just like a werewolf picture!"
Giddy with the result of his first attempt, she asks: "Was that me... that made you sound that way?"
"It must be you," Jon responds, breathlessly, "I couldn't..."
"AaaaaaawwwWWWwwwwhhHHHOOOOooooooooooo!"
Startled by a sudden yank on his testicles, Jon unleashes a long, exaggerated wail.
"Sorry! I couldn't resist!" Harriet confesses with a cheeky grimace.
The awkward sonata that resulted from her little joke makes Harriet chuckle like a schoolgirl, which causes Jon to join in with several sore, but cheerful, grunts.
They laugh together, his family jewels still under her thumb.
"O.K.," she re-wraps her fingers between his legs, "Let's really make the last one count, what do you say?"
"O.K." Jon agrees, happy to have his speech back.
She rubs his hindquarters, motivating him to crouch a little lower. He spreads his feet further apart.
"Here we go," she steadies her hand, Jon takes a deep breath, and Harriet begins the countdown.
"One...
Two...
Three!"
She squeezes firmly, making Jon throw his head back and roar for the third time.
"AAaaaaaawwwhhhoOOOoooooooooooooo..."
Near the end of his song, Harriet curls her wrist, twisting Jon's ample ballsack.
Her move compels him to extend his howl and reach a whole new note. His knees go weak and he arches his spine.
"...oooOOOOOOOEEEEEEeeeeeoooowwwww!"
His prolonged, piercing cry lingers in the air.
Harriet keeps her fingers around his scrotum for quite some time, while Jon pants heavily, exhausted from his performance.
"Would you like to stand up?" She asks calmly as his breathing returns to normal. "If so, I'll release your balls now."
He waits to answer, enjoying a few more moments of Harriet's hand on his delicate orbs.
Finally, he says, "Yes, please."
She lets go, following his backbone and shoulders as he stands upright.
"Oh, Harriet..." he takes her by the hand.
In utter bliss, she gazes at the glassy-eyed, fully erect, naked male beside her.
"I just want to say..."
His words are interrupted by a strange sound in the distance. Then, another. They pause to listen.
Slowly, but steadily, a chorus of howls rumble through the peaceful village, some coming from the quaint family homes nearby, and some coming from as far away as the next town over.
Harriet clings to the sturdy arm of her nude boyfriend as the passionate wolf cries reach their ears.
"What is it?"
"It's the other All Howls Eve couples," Harriet explains, "just like us."
The symphony grows louder... and louder... and louder.
Then, just like that, the moonlit mating calls fade into the distance, leaving the evening in peace.
"So..." Jon asks, "what do we do next?"
Harriet puts her forefinger to her chin.
"Ask me out on a date," she replies, "for Halloween."
"O.K., but... what for?"
"Cherish the deeds that fix the cursed," she quotes the old folk tale, "and revisit this sight on the thirty-first."
Jon takes a minute to catch on.
Then, he gently swings her around, holding her enchanted fingers in the moonlight.
"Harriet, I really enjoyed our night out," he says candidly, "Would you be my date for Halloween?"
Harriet rolls her eyes back and forth, pretending to think it over.
"Next week? hmmmm... all right! I'd like to see you again."
She grins, noticing the blush on his cheek, but she can tell by his swollen penis that he's looking forward to their next date as much as she is.
"Now," she says, linking his arm again, "would you like to walk me home? We should have plenty of time for popcorn before mother and father get back."
"Gee, that'd be swell! I really worked up an appetite with all that jumping in circles."
"I got hungry just watching you," Harriet giggles.
With the curse lifted, they walk arm in arm down the path to Harriet's house, chattering away, carefree, as she happily watches his rigid ding-a-ling dance in the moonlight.
And, that's how Jon and Harriet discovered the meaning of All Howls Eve. A tradition, they now know, many couples keep every year.
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