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Halloween
WILL'S DIARY

	I was 14-years-old when my first sexual contact with the opposite sex
inspired me to take pencil in hand and start a secret daily journal...a
diary.  A remarkable undertaking for a youngster like me who hated
society rules made to prevent boys from being boys, but the thrill and
excitement of seeing and touching the softness of a woman overwhelmed
me.  I had to save a record of every precious sexual second!  So I
started my hidden under-the-mattress diary.

	Even at fourteen, the most important thing in my life was - and had
been for several years - my penis, with its remarkable ability to
transform itself from soft, limp pisser to swollen, pulsing rod of
sexual pleasure.  Insatiable.  It demanded - and got - loving personal
attention from me several times a day.

	When my scoutmaster, Dr. Reed, suggested I accept the responsibility of
Den Leader for a Cub Scout pack which met over at Mrs. Hefner's, I had
no idea of the fabulous reward within my grasp.  Reluctantly, I signed
up, attending my first Cub meeting the very next afternoon, never
suspecting I would soon be the most fortunate boy ever to attend
Millwood.

	We lived in the country northeast of Oklahoma City.  All of the kids
for several miles around attended Millwood, our rural school, which
consisted of 8 grades squeezed into 4 rooms.  Mrs. Clifford, my 8th
grade teacher, was a pistol.  Sour of face, harsh, she literally
exploded in indignation and fury at the slightest sight or sound of
anything sexual.  I thought she was going to have a stroke the day she
caught Sonny Hatfield behind a big lilac bush jerking off while he
watched the girls running and stretching as they played volley ball.

	As you may have suspected, my precious diary was lost when I grew to
manhood and left home.  I suppose mom or - hopefully - dad found it and
trashed it.  What is written here is the story of the secrets the diary
contained, a true story if there ever was one.  Secrets of this
magnitude are not likely to be forgotton.  Ever.  
	Joan Hefner was not the type to appreciate the secluded life she lived
with her small family and servants on the remote Hefner country estate. 
At 32, she was easily the most attractive of all the Millwood moms. 
Petite, she wore her honey blond hair like a crown, shaking her head now
and then to show it off.  Her well turned legs were openly admired by
all males.  Her luscious hips enhanced her figure, making her the envy
of every Millwood mom.  If that weren't enough, her wealth secured for
her a high place.

	Her only child was 10-year-old Johnny, a small, shy kid whose face was
covered with freckles.  When he joined the Cub Scouts, Joan became a Den
Mother.  The pack met at her place, the Hefner estate, hidden by a thick
growth of blackjack and pin oaks, black walnut, hickory and cottonwood
trees.  The driveway winding through the woods was almost 100 yards
long.  During the summer the pack met twice a month, the 1st and 3rd
Wednesdays.

	My first meeting with them was October 31st, Halloween.  After the
meeting, Mrs. Hefner asked me if I would mind staying another few
minutes to discuss how best to conduct future meetings, and how to
divide the responsibilities between us.  I was highly flattered, and of
course, I told her yes, I'd stay, even though I had planned on heading
for home to get ready for trick and treating.

	As the young cub scouts left, I watched from behind Mrs. Hefner, who
was silhouetted in the doorway, her luscious figure plainly visible
through her dress, spotlighted by the summer sun.  She turned to me, and
smiling, motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen where she
directed her maid to drive Johnny to the barber shop in town for a
haircut.  After the maid and her son left, she gave me a couple of
cookies and a tall glass of lemonade, and we sat at the kitchen table
and talked about trick or treat.  After about fifteen minutes, she
looked at her wrist watch and exclaimed, "Oh, my goodness!  I completely
forgot that I have an appointment in town.  Would you mind coming
upstairs, Will?  We can finish talking while I get myself together..." 
I nodded, yes.

	I was deeply impressed by the thick carpet and expensive furnishings of
the place, but that didn't prepare me for the elegance of her boudoir. 
Pointing to a velvet covered chair, she said, "Take that chair, Will." 
I did.  She continued to talk about the cub pack, but I no longer was
capable of concentrating on anything other than the gorgeous Mrs. Joan
Hefner.  Here, in her own room, she was transformed into the most
exciting and beautiful creature I had ever seen or imagined.

	She acted as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world to
change clothes in my presence.  When she stepped out of her skirt,
allowing me to see her most intimate place through the delicate white
lace of her panties, my face burned and flamed scarlet, whether from
embarrassment or lust I didn't know.  My cock came alive, and I thought
it might not be bid enough for a woman like her.

	Her panties were not briefs, but were cut full like boxer shorts.  She
wore a matching garter belt and beige nylons. Her shoes were high heeled
and shiny black.  Reaching behind her lovely back she unhooked her bra
and allowed it to drop to the floor.  Then, she was suddenly before me
nude.  She asked me to excuse her a moment while she freshened up in her
private bath.  When she returned in a minute or so she continued to talk
about how we would together lead the pack of cubs, but little of what
she said sunk into my inflamed brain.  Still nude, she walked over to me
and pulled me up out of the chair and held me close against her lovely
body.  We were almost exactly the same height, which placed my now
raging erection directly against her prize.  She smiled and walked
around the bed.  I was sure she intended to invite me to join her there,
but in less than ten minutes she was dressed again and acted just as
though nothing had happened.

	"Will," she said in her soft, lovely voice, "I'm very cut off, living
out here.  Lonely.  Very lonely.  Henry leaves for work at 6:30 every
morning and seldom gets back before 7 or 8 at night.  I have nobody to
talk to...nobody to confide in.  I need somebody, Will.  Somebody who'd
care.  Maybe you could come by every day or so and talk with me.  Do you
suppose you could?  It's only a little over a mile from your place." 
Oh, yes, I could!  She kissed my burning cheeks and led me down the
quiet stairs and let me out the front door.
	Thursday morning

     Mom and dad had taken my sister and brothers and left early to go
to the city, reminding me not to neglect my chores.  Nobody else was
home but mom's live-in helper, Cindy.  I hurried to my secret place in
the attic where I had spent many long hours as a peeping Tom spying on
her.

	Cindy carefully removed her clothing, wiggling as though doing a strip
tease while watching herself approvingly in the mirrow. She shivered in
the summer coolness of the tiled bathroom.  I tried to remain motionless
on my belly in the dark attic above.  Squinting through my secret peep
hole, I was delighted to see the most desirable parts of the Indian
maiden's body as panties and bra dropped to the floor, revealing
intimate places unkissed by the sun.  I groaned softly as Chi Chi Li
(her Cherokee Indian name, pronounced chee chee lee) stretched and
stepped seductively into the tub of sparkling water.  When her lovely
body came to rest, I could plainly see her black bush shimmering beneath
the surface.  

     Cindy (she didn"t like to be called Chi Chi Li) was a real
temptation to all of us - my brothers and I - but off limits.  Dad had
threatened us with terrible consequences if we so much as looked
longingly at her.  Our sister was much younger.  Cindy knew I had the
hots, not only for her, but for any girl.    She stretched out in the
tub and remained perfectly still, allowing me plenty of time to visually
explore her body.  I was sure she knew how I lusted for her.  The
thought of being a sexual object for me was not at all repugnant to her
and had not been ever since she had read a book containing a chapter on
"beneficial titallation."  When I saw her hide the book, I of course
sneaked a peek and found the marked chapter.

     "If I had my way," the author of the book had written, "every
family would practice nudism in the privacy of their own home.  It's a
crime to force young boys to learn about girls by studying textbooks or
looking at air brushed pictures in a girlie magazine.  If you have a
brother, letting him see you naked is of benefit to him and is a duty
for you."  Cindy did her duty often.

     She had come to live with us the year before.  In exchange for
helping mom take care of the house and my brothers and I, dad taught her
bookkeeping and allowed her to attend business college.  Being an Indian
wasn't easy for her.  Cindy's dad, Albert Red Elk, was always on the
make, while her mother, Mona - half Cherokee, half Comanche - was
considered the most beautiful young housewife in their hometown,
apparently an ideal mother to Cindy and her younger brother, but a
not-so-happy wife.  

      Cindy, now sixteen, had heard most of the town gossip.  How her
dad had poked it to - or at - just about every desirable girl and woman
in town.   How her mother was hit on as regularly as the town clock
chimed (where there's smoke there must be fire).  But even though she
never gave any man a come-on as far as Cindy knew, most of them found it
impossible not to react to her.  They either feared her or fell under
the spell of her mystique, getting hot flushes and unexpected erections
when Mona looked at them.  Women, on the other hand, distrusted her
magnetic personality and dark good looks.  Cindy was a youthful replica
of her mother and had the same problems with boys as her mother had with
men, but she enjoyed it.  Her bath lasted a long time, and I was soaked
with sweat and shaking when she at last toweled off and went to her own
room.  I wondered what it would be like to actually touch a girl - a
real live girl like Cindy-Chi Chi Li.

Friday

	I road my bicycle over to the Hefner place.  Nobody was about, and the
place looked deserted.  Nevertheless, I boldly went up to the front door
and pushed the doorbell button.  I heard footsteps, and then Mrs. Joan
Hefner opened the door.

	"Will, I'm so happy to see you," she said, "Please come in.  come in!" 
She stood back to allow me to pass into the dark, cool house.  Taking my
hand she led me up the long stairway.  I soon learned that Mrs. Hefner
was not much of a talker, and never, never "beat around the bush," but
always preferred direct action to unneccesary words.   "We'll be all
alone today, Will," she said, her eyes ablaze with happiness and
adventure, just like a little girl playing house.  She led me into her
bed room, and without any preliminaries, kissed me full on my mouth, a
long, passionate kiss making my knees as weak as watered down tea.  I
felt her loosen my belt and undo my pants.  Before I fully realized what
was going on, we were naked together on the bed.

	"Will," she whispered softly, "We'll just stay here for hours touching
each other.  Is that alright with you?"  I nodded dumbly, unable to
speak.  Her hands roamed all over my body, pausing here and there, and
continuing as though she were blind and must feel every smidgin of me to
know me.  "Will, I know for certain that to lie with a boy like you in a
nice, safe place, is to become part of the magic of a world most never
see."  I shivered and nuzzled her breasts.  

	We rolled together.  She, practiced and sure.  Me, inexpert and
hesitant.  She guided my hands here and there, making sure I knew where
all of her was.  Hard against her, I felt rather than heard purring
rumblings deep within her.  She licked me all over.  Tasting, feeling,
then tasting again.  Smacking her lips and kissing me often on the
mouth.  We twined about each other like playful kittens.  I had long
since forgotten she was a married woman and I was nothing but a young
Boy Scout.  Then unexpected, unplanned sensations added, added, and
added up to a sudden crisis of delight that left me gasping and weeping
into her breast.  Yes, to lie with the sweet woman of my choice was
heaven beyond my ability to endure...was magic, indeed.

	As the weeks sped by, we did this over and over again, but never went
so far as sexual intercourse.  But it was beyond me not to react to the
delicious lovliness of this magic woman, and I often spilled my seed on
her or her spotless bed with much groaning.  When it happened, she would
pet me and say, "There, there, my strong young lover.  There, there." 
And she would nuzzle and kiss me.  We grew more skilled at pleasing each
other, but we never lost some sense of awe at each other's mere
presence.  Just being there, on the cool sheets in the safety of her
dark bedroom, seemed a continual wonder to me.  She taught me much, and
anything we could imagine, any refinement or pleasure we could dream, we
did with tenderness, with laughter, with breathless excitement.  We
would lie naked for hours touching each other all over, taking turns. 
"Is it nice if I touch you like this?  Like this?  Like this?"

	Then on the next Halloween, half mad with desire and too desperate to
care, I rolled on top of her spread loveliness thrusting with impatient,
unskilled stabbs at her body, pushing my hardness into her thighs,
against her wet softness until there was a split second of terrifying
pleasure as frightening as falling from a tree, as painful as a knife
cut, as I found the sweet hidden secret place and pushed in.  For a
second we both froze still, stunned by the sensation, then unable to
hold back I shook her body like a terrier does a rat, and in seconds she
was screaming.  We writhed like frantic mink, biting and clawing.  With
a terrible groan, I came to completion and collapsed upon her, but she -
hungry, greedy, insatiable - arched her back and rubbed and rubbed
against me till spasms shook her and she sobbed and lay still.  At last
we had done it.  All of it.

	Tearfully, I apologized for my gross behaviour, but she hushed me, and
weeping herself, kissed me and held me close.  "I love you, Will," she
softly whispered, "I love you."  I sobbed and sobbed, unable to control
my emotions.

	Riding my bicycle home that evening, I felt exultant and proud.  I was
no longer a virgin.  I had actually fucked a woman!  A beautiful,
willing woman!  My chest swelled with pride as I lifted my rear off of
the seat and pumped hard on the pedals.  I was full of contradiction; in
love with Mrs. Joan Hefner on the one hand, but on the other, I intended
to take what I wanted from now on - to take whatever girl or woman I
desired.  I pictured Chi Chi Li.  She'd be happy at this new me, now
fifteen.

	I set my little windup alarm clock for midnight and pushed it under my
pillow.  I had a surprise for Chi Chi Li: "Trick or treat!"
                              ###

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