When The Wolf Bites - A Halloween One-Shot

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Halloween Night 2018- The Wenatchee Valley

Heading back to Seattle after two days of meetings in Spokane, I make a last-minute decision to take the scenic route home. At Ellensburg, I exit off of I-90 onto Highway 2, the North Cascades Highway. I love how my R8 handles the tight curves and switchbacks of the narrow mountain byway.

For the first hour, the highway winds through the dry landscape of Eastern Washington. The scrub trees and scablands are a stark contrast to the green lushness west of the mountains.

In my short time at college, I took a geology course with a guy from Ellensburg. Partway through the lecture on the moraines of Eastern Washington, he leans over and says, "I never realized I was growing up in a desert!" It may not have the sands and pipe cactuses of Arizona, but yeah... it's a fucking desert.

Finally, as I approach Leavenworth, I notice that the green is starting to creep in on the brown. I can see the vast Wenatchee National Forest and the Cascades rising up behind the small town.

Leavenworth is a classic tourist trap - a 'Bavarian' town tucked in along this ribbon of Washington highway. I don't normally give it a second look, but this evening, bright banners stretched above the street read "Oktoberfest" and "Happy Halloween." And one that calls my name in bright red script… "Microbrews."

On closer inspection, I see witches and vampires walking along the wooden sidewalks. I normally hate this kind of shit, but every one of those fuckers is carrying a plastic beer stein.

After being parched for the last two days in Spokane, I could practically feel a cold microbrew sliding down my throat. Against my better judgement, I start to look for a parking spot along the dusty shoulder. Grimacing as I walk away from my $180,000 car - praying that it doesn't get sideswiped by a tipsy bastard heading out of town - I hike the short distance back to the festival.

I've shed my suit coat and tie, but I still feel a bit out of place in my gray dress pants, white dress shirt, and expensive Italian dress shoes. I roll up my sleeves and slide on a pair of Ray-Bans, doing my best to blend in. This is about as dressed up for Halloween as I get.

I'm pretty far out from Seattle, but there are still plenty of people here who could recognize me. Plenty who would love to snap a selfie while clanking beer steins with Christian Grey. I don't typically travel without security, but I sent them home via I-90 in the SUV, wanting to travel alone in my R8.

I adjust my Ray-Bans and tuck my chin, one hand over my mouth, as I get in line for an $18 microbrew in a red plastic stein. Once one of these fuckers recognizes me, there will be a crowd and I'll never get out of here. I just want to sip my beer and then be on my way.

I hand the server $40 and tell her to keep the change. Maybe she can buy a new corset as her tits are spilling out of the one she's wearing. I am all for a good set of tits, but they better be for my eyes only, not paraded around at Oktoberfest.

I hear music coming from the town square, and I figure it's a good a spot as any to nurse my beer. The microbrew is sharp and ice cold as it hits my throat. It was worth the stop and the hassle... as long as nothing happens to my car.

I find a spot in the shade underneath a small fir tree and listen to the band. They're not bad... mostly brass, but they have a handful of strings mixed in, and it's not the annoying 'oompa-oompa' music that is so common at these types of events.

My eyes slide over the musicians, and they look like mostly college students, probably hired for the festival. They're all dressed in black, but I can see some random Halloween accessories… a couple of witch hats, some cat ears. And then my eyes come to rest on one of the cellists. She's sitting at the end, closest to me, and she's complete and utter perfection. Her long, chestnut hair is braided and thrown over one slim shoulder. The skin that I can see - her face, neck, and hands - is pale, but her cheeks are rosy. A perfect nose, a little pointed chin, and dark eyelashes complete the vision.

Maybe it's because her hair is braided and her eyes are downcast as she plays, but my mind is picturing her in my playroom. This time her hands would be in her lap, palms up. And her long black dress would be replaced with black, Agent Provocateur lace and thigh-highs. She's exactly my type... the perfect submissive.

My dick twitches in envy as her small, nimble hands slide up and down the neck of her cello. She's concentrating completely, a little 'v' between her eyebrows as she frowns. As the song rises to its finale, she sticks just the tip of her tongue out through her plump lips... Fuck.

The group stands and bows, and the announcer goes on about them being a collection of musicians from area colleges, mostly in the Wenatchee Valley. Then they start to pack up and move away, making room for 'The Bavarian Oompah Band.' These musicians are all portly and red-faced, wearing polyester lederhosen. This is my cue to head out.

My cellist… my cellist? walks right by me on her way out of the town square. She's almost past me, to safety, when I catch a whiff of apples. And then I'm speaking aloud before I can stop myself.

"You guys sounded great," I begin lamely. "Um, can I buy you a beer?"

She stops and considers me for a moment, her eyes traveling all the way down to my Italian leather shoes, then back up to the red plastic stein in my hand. "Those beers are like eighteen dollars," she says.

Is she mocking me? Thinking how stupid I am to spend that kind of money on a beer? But then one corner of her mouth quirks up a little. She's joking, teasing me.

I raise my Ray-Bans and let my eyes connect with hers, gray to bottomless blue. "I'm… Chris, by the way, and you are?"

"My friends call me Cricket." And she raises one eyebrow while her hands make the motion of drawing a bow across strings. I notice that she's wearing small, dangly, black spider earrings. Finally she shrugs, "Sure. You can buy me a beer." Sure, go ahead and waste your money on me if your want. Sucker.

It's a little fun being incognito for one night. Most women wouldn't bat an eyelash at spending $1800 of my money. I turn back toward the beer and food stands and she falls in step beside me.

"Can I buy you dinner, then?" She asks. "I know where they sell the best shish ke-dogs."

I stop in my tracks. "What, may I ask, is a shish ke-dog?" I am afraid of her answer, knowing that it will involve a food truck and a deep fryer.

"Well..." she says dramatically, "it's a corn dog, but the wiener is cut into sections. And there is a cube of cheese between each section. So after they bread it and deep-fry it, there is a bite of melted cheese in between each bite of wiener." She looks up at me and smirks, looking like she's proud of using the word 'wiener' in a sentence. Twice.

I am usually disciplined in my food choices, choosing high-protein and high-fiber foods almost exclusively. Eggs, chicken, beef, fish, vegetables... But now my mouth is watering with the thought of this acclaimed shish ke-dog.

She's waiting for my answer so I shrug and say, "Sure."

She stops in front of a brick building. "Um, this is where we're sleeping? I'll just be a minute... I want to drop off my cello and grab my purse?"

I nod and watch as she scurries up the concrete steps and through the glass doors. Half of me is afraid that she'll slip through a back door and disappear. The other half of me is afraid that she won't.

As promised, she appears just a few minutes later without her cello and with a small cross-body purse. She has a jean jacket over one arm, and she's still wearing those spider earrings. Good.

"So what's first, food or drink?" I ask.

"Food," she says emphatically, and leads me across the street and down a block to a food truck called 'Corndoggies.' She asks for two shish ke-dogs and one order of spicy curly fries.

The shish ke-dogs are like a foot long, and - seriously - put my wiener to shame. I wince a little when she bites the tip right off of hers, then moans in ecstasy.

I take a tentative bite, then another. The thing is fresh out of the fryer and burning hot, but I just can't stop eating it... It's delicious! I realize in that moment that I have been completely and totally depriving myself of one of life's pleasures... food sold off trucks and on sticks. Fair food.

"Well?" She asks.

"Delicious," I manage to mumble around a mouthful of scalding, wonderful, melted cheese. "It's the most amazing thing I have ever eaten."

We wander back up the street and stand in line for the overpriced beer. Once we each have a red plastic stein in hand, we find a picnic table near the town square. We're just far enough from the Oompa band to allow for conversation.

She offers me some of the spicy curly fries and, of course, they are heavenly as well. "You seem to be an expert at choosing fair food," I say. "Surely you don't eat like this all the time?" Her body is trim, in fact I'd go as far as to say she's a little underweight, so surely not.

"No, but I figure if you're going to indulge, go for the good stuff. The funnel cakes, for example? And the deep-fried Twinkies? They don't do it for me."

I nod. She does have a point. After all, I have indulged in two large steins of beer tonight. I don't want to even count the calories, never mind the carbs. But, they don't stop me from enjoying a good microbrew a few times a week.

"So you're a student?" I ask. "Music major?"

She shakes her head. "Secondary education, for both English and music."

"A teacher... a very noble profession," I say.

She nods, taking another curly fry and chewing thoughtfully. "So what do you do?"

What do I do? I don't know the last time someone asked me that. What do I do? I'm freaking Christian Grey! That's what I do.

"I'm in business... um, mostly mergers and acquisitions?"

She frowns. "So you, like, buy companies?"

"Yes, basically... and only when there's a good reason. Like if they are going to go under, and if there's profit to be made once we turn them around."

"Or if you sell them for pieces. Do people lose their jobs?"

"Sometimes," I say. "Generally we try to avoid that as much as possible."

She nods, then turns her attention back to her dinner. I watch her pale throat move as she takes a long drink of her beer. Her milky white skin is exquisite, practically glowing in the evening light.

We finish our meals, such as they are, in companionable silence. Then she fumbles in her purse, producing a brightly-wrapped sucker.

"Cherry Blo-Pop?" She asks. "They're my second-favorite treat on a stick."

"Sure," I say. This girl is just full of surprises. I'd like to treat her to my favorite kind of stick.

I hold out my hand, but she scowls and pulls the sucker back toward her chest. "This is mine," she says with a scowl. "But I'll share."

I chuckle at her expression as she removes the wrapper, exposing the red globe of candy underneath. She is all business, intent on her task.

She puts the whole sucker in her mouth, and I watch as her cheeks are pulled in by the suction. Oh fuck me. Please.

She removes it with an audible - pop! - and holds it out to me.

Holding my eyes on hers, I put the sucker in my mouth. It tastes of sweet, a little sour, and her.

^v-v^

I check my phone for the time. 4:47 AM. If I have any hope of making my 8:00 breakfast meeting, I need to get going. Sharing the Blo-Pop led to sharing the gum at the center, which led to kissing… which led to...

I lean down and kiss the brown-haired goddess sleeping next to me softly behind the ear.

She stirs and then opens her eyes, which are heavy with sleep.

"I need to get going... I'm sorry," I say softly, and then I slide out of the narrow bed, feeling the cold linoleum under my feet.

She sits up and watches me dress, the sheet of her narrow bed pulled up around her breasts. She's gorgeous… looking shy and sated with tendrils of hair escaping her braid.

"I don't even know your name," I say, feeling shame wash over me. I fucked this sweet, young, beautiful girl. Twice. And I'm about to leave her sitting naked in her bed. And I don't even know her name.

She looks as if she's weighing her options, and then her eyes meet mine. "Let's just leave it… you know, as a little Halloween treat?"

I finish dressing, deep in thought. Do I tell her my real name? Ask for her number? But I feel like this night was more of a dream than reality. A little trick-or-treat fantasy. And she will never fit into my reality. What am I going to do with a college girl from the Wenatchee Valley?

As if it's an omen, I hear a wolf howl in the distance. A lone wolf… one who's not fit for society.

I lean over and kiss her lips, allowing myself to run my fingers along her jaw, to touch her one last time. "You okay?" I ask.

She nods and looks down.

"They call me The Wolf," I joke and give her one of my signature panty-dropping smiles as I turn toward the door. I give a soft howl as I exit, and when I turn back and give her one last look, she's returning my smile.

I hike the quarter mile or so up the now-empty highway to my car, praying under my breath that it survived the night.

My baby is sitting all alone, but appears unscathed. Breathing a sigh of relief, I slip behind the wheel and rev the engine. It appears that I will make a clean getaway... no strings attached.

I plug my phone into the charger, seeing that Taylor replied at some point after I checked in last night.

Very good, Sir. See you at Escala.

I send a quick message stating that I am en route, and pull out onto the North Cascades Highway toward home.

And as I drive, I see sky blue eyes... rosy cheeks on pale skin... waves of chestnut hair. And it wasn't just her looks. She was funny, intelligent, and adorably clumsy. So sweet. Innocent.

And I fucked her. Hard. A one night stand, using both of the condoms that I had in my wallet. The first was frantic, as soon as we burst into her tiny room, up against the door. The second was on the narrow bed, missionary style, with her long legs spread wide open for me.

And then we slept. I slept with her, spooned with her, her soft backside curled against mine.

I shake my head and turn my attention back to the road, which is climbing in earnest now, up toward the pass.

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Graduation Day 2019 - WSU

I am bored out of my mind. As a major contributor to this university's agricultural program, I agreed to give the keynote speech and confer degrees at graduation. Never wanting to miss a chance to educate young people about world hunger and - giving in to my ever-persistent PR department - agreed.

Speaking of persistent, the tenacious Kate Kavanagh gave a great speech. She interviewed me for the school paper just last month, and the poor thing coughed and sniffled her way through her list of questions. She seems to be in good health today, her voice clear and her green eyes bright.

We move from the R's to the S's as the students file across the stage in a never-ending line of black and crimson.

Megan Soliah… Anastasia Steele…

Anastasia approaches me, eyes down, to collect her diploma. She takes the folder in one hand and reaches out to shake my hand with the other. As soon as our hands touch, I feel a tingle of electricity and I maintain my grasp on her hand. I will her eyes up to meet mine… Look at me, Anastasia.

After a heartbeat, she looks up at me and our eyes connect once again… blue to gray. My Cricket.

"Anastasia."

"Christian."

^v-v^

After some negotiating, I have secured a date with one Anastasia Steele, new graduate. She had lunch plans with her father, but she's mine for dinner.

She slides into my R8 and runs a hand over the buttery leather interior. "Nice car," she says. "Does she have a name?"

"No," I say. But you can name her anything you want. "Do your friends really call you Cricket?"

She snorts. She snorted! And it's the most adorable thing I have ever heard. "No."

As we pull into traffic, the song 'The Wolf' by The Spencer Lee Band begins to play.

I wanna jack it, smack it

You know the shit that turns you on?

I wanna lick it, kiss it

I'll give you everything you want

Ooh, howling out your name

Ooh, red like champagne

Ooh, you're gonna feel the vibes

When the wolf comes out tonight

We laugh, and I reach over and put my hand on her knee as we head toward Portland and The Heathman Hotel. I think it's another sign from my friend, The Wolf. Time to follow my instincts, and - with any luck - take another bite.