(by Peter McKenna, copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

I know I’m too old for trick or treat, but I couldn’t resist. Anyway, if I hadn’t, I would never have come to your door and rung your bell.

It took me a month to make the costume. I had decided to be a jester, dressed in satin. The yellow and black hat, with its two floppy corners and bells on the ends, was the hardest part. The rest was one piece. The arms and legs were tapered and in black, while the torso was in alternating black and yellow diamonds. For practical reasons, I did not make pointed slippers. Black running shoes would better suit the autumn streets and sidewalks.

It was a chilly night and I was feeling the cold. I didn’t want outlines of under ware to show, so I wasn’t wearing any. I may have been shivering a bit, when I rang your bell. Then you came to the door.

“Trick or treat,” I announced.

“You look like you’re freezing. You better come in and warm up,” you suggested and stepped aside to let me in.

I skipped through the entrance. “OK,” I said, “Thanks.”

“There are some treats in the bowl on the coffee table,” you said, indicating the brightly lit room to the right. “Help yourself.”

I went in and sat on the sofa in front of a ceramic bowl of miniature candy bars. Some of them were my favorite kind. I selected one of those, removed the wrapper and bit off about a third of it. You set down the basket you had been carrying, before coming to sit beside me. I guessed that it held more of the same.

“Great costume,” you commented.

“Thanks,” I said.

I watched you drink from a glass that you had taken from a side table next to an arm chair that was closer to the doorway. Perhaps I looked thirsty. “Care for a taste?” You offered your glass.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a sip and handed it back. It was cola, but mellower somehow.

“Like it?”

“Yup, what is it?”

“Calvert and Coke. Would you like me to fix you one?”

“Yeah … please,” I remembered to say.

“Take care of the door if anyone rings,” you asked of me on your way; to the kitchen, I supposed.

I don’t know what took you so long, but there were several groups of kids who rang your chimes. I would go over, pick up the basket and open up for them. I dropped a candy bar into each of the grocery store bags or pillow cases held out for me. I made sure not to give away any of my favorites, and I ate a couple more of them before you came back.

“It’s strong stuff, so sip it slowly,” you said when you returned.

Then the bell rang. “You want to get it?” you asked me.

“Sure,” I agreed. I tended the door and handed out more candy bars.

When I got back, I saw that you had put some glossy magazines on the coffee table. Getting them together was probably what had delayed your return. Some of the covers carried photos of shirtless boys of about eighteen, three years older than myself. Others had men on the cover. I picked up one that featured a construction worker with his shirt open and the sleeves rolled up above his biceps.

There wasn’t any hard porn in it. Some of the later pictures did show the guy’s dick, both hard and soft, but he wasn’t doing anything with anyone. I guessed that they were all like that. I took a sip of my drink.

“You like that?” you asked.

“Yup. Its funny how it has ice cubes and is cold, but makes me feel warm.”

“I meant the guy,” you said, smiling. I think you were amused.

“Oh, sure. He’s very good looking,” I admitted.

We chatted for a while and I gave out more candy. The intervals between groups of ghosts and goblins became longer. Finally fifteen minutes passed without anyone coming to the door.

“I really like your costume,” you said. I told you how I had made it myself. I took off the hat to show you how it was put together. You seemed to be impressed.

“How do you get into it?” you asked me.

“There is a zipper in the back underneath a flap of material.”

I turned my back to you and showed you how it went from the nape of my neck to the bottom of my spine. “I just slip into it and zip it up,” I told you.

You put your hands on my shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. I leaned back and you held me in your arms. I heard and felt you sniffing my hair. I closed my eyes.

“Are you feeling a little sleepy?” you asked me.

“Yup, warm too.”

You sat me back up and unzipped my costume. You felt my back. “You are a little damp,” you told me. “Would you like me to carry you up to bed?”

“OK.”

You scooped me up. We paused in the hallway, where you locked the front door. You asked me to switch off the hall and porch lights, because I could reach them better. We started up the stairs.

“When I was little, sometimes I would fall asleep downstairs and my dad would carry me up and put me to bed,” I told you.

“You can call me Daddy, if you want to,” you suggested.

“Are you going to fuck me, Daddy?” I asked you.

“Yes, son. I am.”

I snuggled my face into the side of your neck. “Mmm, good,” I said.

I was feeling funny. It was very adult to be the host giving out the candy to little kids and to have a drink with alcohol in it. But it was very childish to be borne up in a man’s arms. You took off my shoes and socks and my costume too.

But it was very adult to have sex like that. You lay me on my stomach before putting on a condom and lubing my hole. Then you turned me over, lifted my legs and got between them. You were so careful with me, you must have thought that this might be my first time. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you that it wasn’t. Not right then. And it was our first time.

That was the night you taught me to pinch my nipples while you were doing it. What a great trick. It was the first time I ever came while being screwed. But not the last, for sure.

“Thank you, Daddy.”