Chapter 6
Judy
“Happy Halloween,” read the sign hanging from the great hall's threshold.
“Isn't it December?” My voice was so distant that I briefly felt like a ventriloquist's puppet.
The ballroom floor was painted bright orange and black, like a jack-o-lantern with a great Cheshire grin. I was dancing in the middle of everyone. One wrong step, and I'd fall into the pumpkin's gaping smile and disappear forever.
Everyone wore these elaborate masks, but it wasn't a costume party. They all had on the suits and gowns of a formal evening party. I remember loving the concept of it but the name flitted away from me.
What was that called?
“A masquerade,” the man I was suddenly dancing with answered the question I'd never actually spoken aloud. “Where's your mask?”
He twirled me. I felt so small in his arms; so safe. In the mirrored far wall, I could see that I was the only one in the whole dance that didn't have a mask on!
What happened to mine? I know I wore one. I vividly remember making it myself. Where was it now?
“I don't know...” Anxiety flooded me. This was a masquerade, I couldn't not have one. What was I going to do?
“Dance,” the masked man said, pulling me closer. He was tall and broad, and his hands were strong like rough-hewn stone. He had the shoulders and thighs of an athlete; a large one at that.
Baseball or hockey maybe?
No... Football - that was it!
It was glaringly obvious now. His mask wasn't a mask at all, but a football helmet. He wore pads over his finely tailored suit. “Stick with me and they won't notice.”
I believed him. How could they possibly see my face if I was dancing? I felt silly for not coming to that conclusion on my own. “But I don't know how to dance.”
“I'll show you. Then you'll never forget.” My partner masterfully led me around the dance hall. His every step was impossibly smooth and confident. He was amazing. Better than anyone I'd ever seen.
He moved me like a leaf on the wind.
I was his completely.
The music slowed and I got worried. What would happen if we stopped dancing? His body pressed against mine, and suddenly the pads weren't there anymore.
We were both completely naked.
“Our clothes!” I gasped, shivering. I looked to see if anyone was looking at us. No one seemed to notice.
“See?” He said, unconcerned. He still wore his helmet, the bars and straps somehow blacked out his face completely. That didn't make any sense. That wasn't how helmets were supposed to work. “They don't notice as long as we keep dancing.”
Who are you? I stared into his icy eyes, which were the only attributes of his face the helmet didn't steal from me.
“You know who I am,” he said. I heard the voice in my ears and in my mind. The look he gave me seemed to bore into my head, heart and soul simultaneously. He didn't blink or look away, and neither did I.
I wrapped myself around his great chest, and let my head lull in the nook between his neck and shoulder. Without clothes on I was so cold, but he was a blazing furnace of warmth. As long as I stayed there for the rest of my life, I'd be alright.
He didn't hear that thought, or if he did he ignored it.
He took my hand in a slow waltz, and slipped his leg between mine. I felt the massive bulge of his cock on my inner thigh as he dipped me low. I closed my eyes. His cock was warm and hardening, and spongy as it dragged across my leg. It melted the skin it touched, ruining me with renewed shivers.
My clit began to ache for his roughness. That yearning radiated out from my pussy until my whole body demanded to feel him inside of me. I was wet, and couldn't stop bucking up against him.
“It's been a long time since you were touched.”
“A long time...” I parroted distractedly. My limbs were turning into rubber. My body was giving in to him.
Despite my eyes being closed I could see that we weren't in the clubhouse ballroom any longer. We were in my old store, Black Rocket Records. My back and head still arched, I opened my eyes and looked at him. The rippling muscles in his arms and chest flexed to keep me from falling.
He gently lowered me onto one of the many small circular tables. The second he laid his fat cock on my swollen pussy, my legs began to tremble. It ignited a fire in me that only his cock could put out.
He leaned forward over top of me. To prop himself up, he slammed a fist down on the table so loud it startled me. “You've never been fucked by a man like me before.”
“There are no men like you...” I said, grabbing his helmet and tearing it off him.
Garrett Walker's face stared back at me. He seized the base of his cock, and drove the impossible length into me.
*****
I woke up in my bed, sweating and breathing heavily. Two of my fingers were pushed deep inside my pussy. My panties were embarrassingly soaked through.
Fuck, I was horny.
“No. No. Nononononono...” I whined miserably. I spent the next half hour trying, and failing, to get back into my dream; to get back to my mystery dance partner. Eventually I gave up. “Dammit.”
Ah! I hated this dream. What a frustrating way to wake up and start my day. Slowly pulling my fingers out past either side of my aching clit, my pussy started clenching uncontrollably.
Oh what the hell.
I breathed and began slowly rubbing. Finding my rhythm and pressure, I summoned fresh thoughts of my dance partner's naked skin and huge cock. I imagined his sweaty, rough body lying on top of me, thrusting. I imagined the feeling of being filled up and having his pressure inside me, pushing me apart... I came hard.
I laid there for a while.
What the hell was that dream all about? I understood the sex part. Who wouldn't? But with Garrett Walker?
Garrett was an asshole. He was also a gorgeous world renowned athlete. I doubted I was the only one thinking of him when they got off.
“Why the change of heart?” I asked myself, knowing I didn't have any answers for it. One minute he's all death and brimstone, then next... What did I miss?
I sighed. Nothing made sense anymore.
I checked the time. It was still early. I had plenty of time until my father showed up and we went to meet Mr. Walker. Pretentious jerk.
The cool shower helped clear that horrible, sexy man from my head. I wasn't ready to put on big girl clothes just yet, so a clean pair of panties and an oversize T-shirt left here by one of the models I used to paint would have to do.
God, I needed to get around to laundry soon...
“Call Gloria, phone!” I demanded placing my cell phone on my cluttered kitchen table. I cleared off enough space for a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice. Gloria was in my favorites so it would've been just as quick to touch the icon of the silly picture I had of her face and call her that way, but I liked ordering my phone to do things.
It made feel I was in charge of things.
“Hey, dude. What's up?” Gloria greeted me when the call went through.
“I'm freaking out is what's up!” I poured cereal into a bowl and brought my half gallon of milk to the table. “Also, Hi.”
I could hear the smirk in her tone when she asked me, “What's freaking you out? Please don't tell me you’re still mad about the latest season of Arrow.”
“No! This is much more important. Although, yes, I am still upset about that show. It used to be so good and now—” I caught myself. My Arrow rant would have to wait. “Never mind. The fate of our whole town is resting on my shoulders, Gloria.”
“Yeah?” Gloria asked distractedly. I could hear typing in the background.
“Gloria! This is important.”
“Sorry... I'm just…wrapping up an email...riiiiight now. And sent. This is just a super busy time for us. We're opening a Rocket store in Hong Kong and—. Shit, I'm sorry. You probably don't want to hear about this.”
“No,” I said “It's fine. Really.” And it was.
Mostly.
Giving up my half of the company was painful, but losing it would've been even worse. Besides Black Rocket Records was Gloria's dream, not mine. It was wrong for my father to have stapled me on to her project.
I just wasn't cut out to run a small business. I understand that now.
“Whatever, it's all boring shit anyway.” Gloria dismissed the business stuff.
“Why are you working anyways? You're fit to pop any second!” I scolded her.
“No, I've got another month. I know you know that.”
“Just hammering the point home. Stop working! Go eat weird shit and binge watch TV shows. I'm living vicariously through you and I feel exhausted.”
“I'm not doing back flips, Judy. It's just a little admin work,” she protested. “Tell me about what's going on with you?”
“I have to play tour guide for some wealthy investor and convince him to invest in the stadium.” I idly browsed my small stack of mail as I ate and talked. Most of them were various bills, but a few were rejection letters from art galleries, which made me feel super awesome.
Not even my paintings were good enough.
“Invest how?” Gloria asked. “Last I heard your dad was just looking at selling naming rights.”
“That or part ownership.” I took a heaping mouthful of cereal and talked while chewing it. I'd never have done that around anyone else. “I dunno? Whatever will get us another hundred million dollars.”
“Oh!” I abruptly remembered. “Did I tell you he jumped out of a fucking helicopter to meet us?!”
“No... Seriously?”
“Yeah, the guy's a total nut job!” I flung my rejection letter across the room.
“Hey,” Gloria’s tone shifted. “You know we'd help more if we could...” There was a pause on her end, then she added somberly. “Caldwell Hope is our home, too.”
“I know.” My voice was as full of sympathetic understanding as my mouth was full of Lucky Charms. Putting the majority of their wealth in a trust fund for their children was a great way to bring the King family back together, but it did come with some unforeseen drawbacks.
They couldn't afford to bail out their town in its time of need.
I finished my bowl of cereal as she caught me up with her latest pregnancy woes. The conversation was a bit bittersweet for me, but I was genuinely happy for them. It sounded like everything was really working out for them.
I casually put a few more strokes of color on a painting I was sporadically working on. It wasn’t anything serious. I never had the inspiration for a real piece anymore, so I did little commissions here and there.
One corner of my kitchen was set up as a small art studio. It was nothing elaborate, just an easel, some additional lighting, plastic on the floor and surrounding wall—for when I got passionately messy—and a cleaning and paint station, which was a small square glass-topped table.
It wasn't much, but it was my favorite way to unwind. It was also why my house was a cluttered disaster. I was always working on one project or another.
“Which greasy old billionaire did you get stuck with?” Gloria asked flippantly, as the doorbell rang.
“Garrett Walker.” I checked my melting Salvador Dalí wall clock. “Hey I gotta let you go, Dad's here.”
Weird. Dad wasn't supposed to be here for another half hour. I shrugged and went for the door. My condo was set furthest away from my other neighbors, so I didn't care that I was underdressed. And it was hard to care about being modest around a man who used to change my diapers.
“Woah, Judy...” Gloria suddenly sounded distressed. “Garrett Walker? The Grim Reaper of Wall Street?”
“Yeah. Silly nickname, right?” I undid the deadbolt and gave the door a heavy heave. For some reason it always stuck in the winter. I shielded myself against the blast of snowy wind. The cold breeze whipped across my bare legs and up my double XL shirt, turning my bra-less nipples into hard little nubs of ice. “Hi, Dad. You're early.”
“Be careful, with that guy, Judy!” Gloria said in the background. “Garrett Walker is bad news.”
I finally looked up from the initial blast and realized much to my horror; it wasn't my father at the door at all.
“Hi,” said Garrett Walker.