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I walked the whole way through town before feeling the blood between my legs. God damn it. And I’m always so careful…
It was a ten-minute walk and two hundred years of history from my apartment to The Black Hare. It was clear out, and cold. I wrapped my leather jacket tighter. Bright gold leaves dotted the path.
I grasped the massive door ring and pulled. Early settlers built this place as a church, though it had been left to rot for decades. A gust of coffee-shop warmth blew out before I could swing the pointed door shut.
“You want the usual, Dana?” Elliot asked as I rushed past the counter.
“Yes, please. Back in a sec.”
I crossed to the end of what used to be the nave into a tiny washroom. Dead branches tapped at its wavy glass window. I wadded up some toilet paper as best I could, pulling up my tight leggings with a wiggle. I sighed, checking my watch. In a few hours, the blood would be the least of my worries.
When I came out, Elliot had already cleared a space and poured a latte. I sat at the counter and unwound my scarf, shaking out my long black hair. “Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome. On the house. Full moon special.”
“It’s Devil’s Night tonight too, eh?” I said, looking around. Children in costume were crawling on the velvet couches at the other end of the space, loudly practising for tomorrow’s trick-or-treating.
“I took down the silver crosses this week.”
“You know that’s a myth, right?” I smiled, turning back to him.
“Only every time you tell me,” he said, looking into my eyes.
“Yeah, well. Maybe Aultsville needs a proper church after all.”
Elliot had used his father’s money to save this church from ruin. He’d wanted to do a pub originally. “A bar is bad news,” his father said. “All the hassle of drunks and none of the benefits. The insurance would kill you. You want to do food retail? Do a coffee shop.” And so they compromised. Elliot had quietly, steadily used up every ounce of the heritage board’s goodwill and his contractors’ patience to turn it into The Black Hare. A coffee shop, but with copper pipes, stained glass, tagelharpa music on the speakers. Our very own shining example of small-town renewal.
My upper lip only just touched the latte’s foamy cap when a loud crash came from outside. Patrons startled, saucers clattering, and turned to the entrance. One half of the heavy oak doors swung open.
The telltale squeak of ten-hole Doc Martens echoed up the nave. Their owner plunked down beside me and crossed his arms. “Hiya, Elliot,” he said straight ahead.
Elliot stood stiff but he didn’t turn around. “Hello, James.”
James Giroux. Local Don Juan. Local everything, really. While Elliot’s family claims to have lived here since written records started–I swear they think they came over with Champlain–James’s family have been here since time immemorial. Their families didn’t exactly get along. Feuds run deep here. Nobody ever forgets.
“Cute place,” James carved an exaggerated arc with his nose as he gazed at the roof beams. “Guess you proved yourself, huh?”
“You could say that.” Elliot wiped the already-clean counter over and over. The espresso machine hissed.
“I get it,” he said. “Gotta impress good old Dad. You have any beer, or did he not let you serve any?”
Elliot stared at him. He reached over to the taps with a glass, poured a pint, and slid it over without spilling a drop.
“Where have you been?” Elliot asked after watching him drink.
“Why? You miss me?” James said into the glass.
“Well, I’ve been here. Just don’t feel like being a tourist in my own town. You can’t even open Instagram without seeing shots of these floor tiles.”
Most people in Elliot’s position, I thought, would’ve snapped back at James. But Elliot understood. In colonial settlements like Aultsville, the most violent thugs got the power, always. Elliot’s family was like that, but not Elliot. Even when other children called James names or threw roadkill at me, and even when those pranks turned harder, more obscured, in high school, Elliot was always kind. He was kind to everyone, of course. He was popular. He always had the prettiest girlfriends–ones who, like many girls in this town, probably ‘slipped up’ once or twice by sleeping with James. But I liked that Elliot used his imperious family’s name as a shield for others, not a weapon for himself.
Plus, getting to see those broad shoulders up close didn’t hurt.
“It’s a blood moon tonight, you know. And on Devil’s Night,” James was saying, leaning back. “The bush party’s gonna be epic this year.”
“You going, James?” I asked. I never go.
“You kidding me? I wouldn’t miss the chance to see the hockey players and puck bunnies make total asses of themselves, so, yes.”
“Aultsville’s finest,” I said. At least we agreed on that.
Some of the children ran up to us as one harried parent paid the bill. “Devil’s night! Devil’s night!” they chanted.
James turned to the children with a glint in his eye. “Sure is! You ever heard of Flying Head?”
“No.” istanbul travesti said a mini-Captain America.
James scraped his chair back. I rolled my eyes. I knew where this was going.
“Well. Flying Head is a creature who comes out on Devil’s Night. She has a hunger for flesh. Human flesh! You know what she looks like?”
The kids shook their heads, moving closer.
James dropped his voice to a whisper. “People say she’s got a hairy hide; too thick for bullets or knives to pierce it. She’s got long, greasy hair. And big, shiny, terrible eyes. Yellow eyes. And if you want to escape, you’ll never run fast enough. You know why? ‘Cause… she’s also got… BAT WINGS!”
The children shrieked and giggled as James stuck his arms out, making a funny face.
“You ever seen her?” A kid dressed as a ninja asked him.
“Maybe.” James winked.
A mermaid piped up: “My daddy told me there’s a monster in the woods who comes out on the full moon and eats dogs and people and animals!”
“Good taxonomy there,” I muttered.
“It’s true,” James nodded at her solemnly. “Very, very true.”
“Will you stop?” Elliot said. “This place gets crazy enough on Hallowe’en.”
The kids scattered once their parents started corralling them. James sunk the last of the lager and wiped his mouth. “All right. Later, townies. I’ve got some pre-drinking to do. Dana, you wanna…?” he mimicked taking a toke.
“Sure. Give me a minute.” I shot Elliot an apologetic look as I zipped up my jacket.
Elliot took a big breath. “Wait,” he said. We paused. He scanned the place, bent down, and pulled out three shot glasses, lining them up.
“Fucking excellent. You’re full of surprises,” said James.
Elliot topped them up with Jägermeister. “To the blood moon,” I said.
We clinked them in unison. “To the blood moon.”
Walking outside afterwards, the smell of woodsmoke in the air, I saw what had caused that loud bang. A firm, ripe pumpkin, smashed at the Hare’s wall. Someone’s jealous husband probably swung it at James. Some things never change.
The bush party happened in the same place every year: a clearing in the forest at the edge of town. After finishing the joint, Elliot and I closed up the Hare and bought beer and a bottle of whiskey to share on the way.
The edge of the woods wasn’t far. We passed the whiskey back and forth while trudging through the underbrush, following the voices. We heard them before we saw them.
“Steph! Did you and the hubby see the cider station outside the courthouse? With the ghosts? Adorable!”
“I saw those!”
A Greek chorus of honey blonde girls I knew from high school were already there. They were struggling to start the bonfire in the clearing before it got too dark. Girls always went in first to light the way: Aultsville bush party tradition.
“…and the cider’s made out of this year’s apples from Jack’s farm out on Concession Road. It’s just super cute–”
I stepped on a branch, which snapped. They saw us and stopped talking. Four faces turned to me.
“Dana Holter? Is that you?” said one.
The girl beside her, Jilaine, barked out a laugh, then looked back at her phone.
“I didn’t expect you,” Kaitlyn said. She turned to Elliot. “Hey, El.” She shot him a sly look. They all looked relieved to see Elliot’s handsome, steady face. Great.
“Hey, Kaits,” he said. “Hope I’m not breaking protocol by coming early.”
“Not at all. Help us set up the music.” Before I could say anything, they got up and clustered around him, purring like panthers. They moved over to a pile of speakers spread across a point blanket.
“Poor you,” I said to the abandoned, sputtering fire. I sat on the log and coaxed it back to life, blowing softly on its embers. I took another slug of whiskey.
As I got up to look for more suitable kindling, I heard a girl whisper: “Why’d the freak slut show up? Is Elliot babysitting her?”
“Beats me,” said another. “Maybe she’s gonna suck our blood.” Giggles all round.
God, Jilaine, you have absolutely no fucking imagination, I thought, making a pile of dead branches. I looked up. The sun dipped below the trees.
It wasn’t long before little lights started dotting the hills. More and more people arrived. They held hacked-off corn stalks as torches, or flashlights from their phones. Elliot and his admirers had managed to hook up the music. I got a proper fire going. Being useful felt good. People dragged two-fours and coolers of ice into the clearing, passing bottles around.
I spotted James in his black hoodie, smoking with some friends. “Well, well, well,” he said, sauntering over to me. “You queen of the cheerleaders yet?”
“If only,” I smiled. The whiskey finished and coursing nicely through my veins, I kicked cans and bottles into a vague pile. “I think I lost my jock ambassador.”
“Looks like he’s busy playing DJ,” he pointed over istanbul travestileri to a pile of people dancing by the fire. Elliot was watching a girl hunched over the laptop.
Jilaine walked over and put a hand on her hip. “James Giroux! You gonna hook us up with some good shit?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Your cop boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”
“I said no. He tried to pull a Headless Horseman on me this morning, you know.” Before she could speak, he yelled, “Dude’s got terrible aim. Did you know that? He should really go back to gun school.”
“Cark,” I blurted, trying to suppress a laugh as it came out mangled. A few heads turned our way. James couldn’t help laughing.
“Fuck off!” she said. She spun back around to fire and friends and the light. We kept walking into a darker part of the forest.
“Real Housewives of Aultsville,” he said. “Don’t let them get to you.”
“I could kiss you for doing that,” I said, trying to spark up a small joint.
James stopped, looked at me.
“So do it,” he said.
My heart tripped over its next beat. The firelight was just close enough to highlight the side of his face, his dark eyebrows. The curve where his lower lip met his chin. I took a half step toward him as I crammed the joint into my jacket pocket. He slowly lowered the hood off his head, and stared down into my eyes. I tilted my face up. I think he could tell I was a little drunk, and impatient, but he took his time. He unwrapped the long scarf around my neck, twirling my hair with it, exposing my neck. For five agonizing, impossible seconds, he stared at me, unmoving.
I heard shouts in the distance, and camera clicks. The blood moon was rising.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Dana,” he said. A surge of panic and lust rushed through me.
I brought my face to his ear. “So fucking kiss me then,” I whispered.
He grabbed my waist and pushed me against the tree beside us, a broad old sugar maple. He leaned down pressing me into the bark, and kissed my lips.
James and I drunkenly hooked up at a party once, years ago, before I left for undergrad. This felt so different; slower, more knowing. I closed my eyes. My hands smoothed over his hair, down his lean back, savouring the muscles there it as his lips did my tongue. I hooked my thumbs through his belt loops and pulled him closer. He ground his hips on mine. James rested his hands and forearms above me on the trunk, scraping the rough bark as he pressed me against it. I felt myself get wet, but not with blood anymore.
A twig snapped. We froze.
“What are you doing?”
James held my shoulders to help draw himself upright. He turned around to see behind him. It was Elliot. He was standing stock-still, beer in hand. He looked like he didn’t know whether to run or stay.
James was about to say something clever, but his smirk vanished once he saw Elliot’s face: tender and imploring and scared all at once. And I felt James’s grip on my shoulder soften in return. A flash passed between them in the blue light of dusk.
Oh my god, I thought. I totally misread how they felt about each other. It wasn’t resentment at all. It wasn’t their families, or histories. It wasn’t even jealousy. It wasn’t any of those things. It was something way, way more vulnerable.
Do it, the voice inside me said. Let us three fuck each other senseless.
Blood thumping in my temples, I reached past James and took Elliot’s hand. With one fluid motion, I pulled him closer, and kissed him on the mouth. We’d never kissed before. The bottle slipped from his hand and bounced on the forest dirt. Foam glugged out, dissipated. He moved to take my face in both hands. After being his friend for so long, it felt deliciously forbidden, like I was getting away with murder.
James’s hands encircled my waist from behind, biting my neck and earlobe as I kissed Elliot. Elliot was bolder than I expected, and dexterous–feeling every part of my lips with his tongue, tickling me slightly.
I felt James’s arms curve around my waist, feeling its narrowness, pressing his hips to my ass. He was hard. I brought my arms around Elliot’s neck to draw him closer, and his hands found James’s. They entangled themselves around me and each other. I became this burning, white-hot little flame between them, the moon between their trees. The clit between their lips.
I felt over the front of Elliot’s pants while I kissed him, and his cock and spine stiffened at the same time. Thrilled, I stroked him over his pants with one hand and squeezed his ass with the other. James was grinding on me, cock throbbing, straining.
“I want a cock in my mouth,” I said desperately, breaking the kiss. “I want both of you in my mouth.”
We unclasped ourselves. James made no short work of unbuttoning his fly. His cock sprang out, curving sharply, its head pointing to the stars. Elliot stared at it, stunned, like it was the most gorgeous thing in the world. James, looking relieved, reached over and undid Elliot’s belt buckle expertly with one hand, and threaded the belt out with travesti istanbul a flourish. Elliot undid his pants and pulled his briefs down. I could swear he was blushing. But his cock was getting longer and harder with every throb of blood, and he looked at me and James like he couldn’t believe his fortune.
I knelt down between them and took their cocks in my hands. They were so warm and my hands were cold from the night. They both jumped slightly.
“Sorry,” I said, smiling. “Let me make them warmer.”
I wet my tongue and started with James’s, and licked up his shaft in slow strokes. They both looked down at me, watching me. I stroked Elliot’s hardening cock as I covered James’s cock head with my mouth; just the head, moving his foreskin around, coating it in saliva, sucking it gently as I lightly stroked Elliot’s shaft, feeling the veins bulging beneath the skin.
When James looked like he couldn’t take my mouth’s pleasure anymore I switched over to Elliot, sliding his cock over my lips as I cupped James’s balls. A gush of James’s pre-cum filled my palm, and I brought it over to Elliot’s cock to lube him up, getting him slick, priming and pumping him to the point of bursting before switching back to James.
I heard shrieking in the woods but ignored it. I motioned for them to reposition themselves and brought both their cocks into my mouth at the same time, making sure they slid against each other as much as me. I let one cock slide around my soft cheeks, slapping gently, while I rolled the other one around my tongue. The entire lower half of my face was slicked with saliva. Not knowing which man’s pre-cum I was tasting, my tongue slipped around them and between them and over them and united them both in a double-cocked treat for my pouting mouth. I drooled onto the forest floor. My cunt was wet with both blood and anticipation of being rammed into, getting me ready for fucking, priming me.
“Oh, god,” Elliot moaned. I looked up and could see his head thrown back, his larynx silhouetted against the trees. I fought the urge to rise up and bite it. James stared at him, lips parted. Finally James reached over and took Elliot’s jaw in one hand, the other hand cupping the back of his head. With their faces inches from each other, staring into each other’s eyes as they both felt pleasure from the same woman, Elliot kissed James with force–and I made sure to time a long, firm, luxurious suck on Elliot’s cock right as their lips touched. He moaned into the kiss, stumbling slightly. James steadied him and entwined Elliot’s hair in his fingers. They kissed and rocked slowly together. Their hips began to orbit in unison. I couldn’t believe I was feeling those small ellipses of movement that sent their cocks sliding against each other as I sucked on them both.
I felt my skin crawl. It looked so tender. Chills rippled through my ribs. Oh, shit, I thought, we’ve got to get out of this forest. I looked up to the sky just long enough to see the blood moon rise from the clouds; angry and full.
“I’m gonna come,” said James, breaking the kiss from Elliot. I exhaled and pushed him all the way down my throat. “Oh my god, fuck! Fuck!” said James, gripping my head as he pumped his cum into my mouth, doubling over slightly. Elliot tongued James’s ear, jerking himself off as I swallowed it all.
“What the fuck!” I heard a cry from the woods. People were getting drunker, and wandering off to get a better look at the moon in the semi-darkness. They were bound to see us soon.
“Elliot,” I said, panting. We were all panting. I licked my lips and tried again. “Elliot, open up the Hare for us.”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes widening as he nodded. “Yeah, come with me.”
We did our clothes back up and sprinted back out of the woods, laughing at our unbelievable luck, passing a joint between us. We drunkenly grabbed at each other as we stumbled over the cobblestones. But I could feel the hairs on my head start to grow. My nails were sharpening. I scratched James’s denim jacket enough to tear. Oops. I could barely keep my own clothes on until Elliot locked the doors behind us.
The problem with church conversions, Elliot once told me, is that they’re built for worship, not everyday life. There’s odd angles, ceilings too tall for one floor and too short for two, windows where walls ought to be. Things like altars just stay in place because that’s their place, and there’s no other place for them.
And so the Hare’s huge oak altar remained. I led us to it. What a perfect site for their ravaging.
It was dark inside. After taking his clothes off, James fumbled with the light switch and dimmed the chandeliers down to their lowest. I leaned back on the altar. Elliot took me in his arms and kissed me while he peeled off my clothes–the leather jacket, the wool cardigan, the tank top, the leggings, the bra. I let them slide off me and drop. My underwear was last. As Elliot pulled them down he could see the blood caked down my thighs. A thin, silvery thread of cunt juice dripped lazily down from my swollen cunt lips to the floor, and before I could do anything Elliot leaned down to thread it through his fingers, working upward. I watched his fingertips move up to my sopping labia, spreading them around, mixing the juices, and he locked eyes with me from below as I cried out, working myself onto his long, strong fingers.
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