Old magazine

The engraved box, with two ornately carved leaves, looked curious in the hole she had found below the floorboards. Who had put the box there? She had accidentally found it while walking through the attic, her foot falling into the hole and splitting the rotted wood. Now she held the box in her hands. On the side was her husband’s name, stamped in gold lettering, “George”. She undid the gold clasp and slowly lifted the lid. Inside was a magazine, Modern Man, from December 1958. A voluptuous brunette was on the cover, a red sweater pulled low, revealing her deep cleavage. What was the significance of this old magazine? She lifted it; the pages were old and curled. She fanned it slowly with her fingertips, seeing a naked model, her breasts hanging like pears, an anonymous couple having sex, and some old car advertisements. Near the back of the magazine, a black mask, hidden by time, slid down the page and fell into her lap.

She lifted the mask to her face. The leather was cracked, there were stains under the eyelets, but there was no doubt it was the one she had worn for Halloween long ago. She held the mask tightly to her chest, and thought back to the night she had worn it.

It was 1953, the Halloween before their daughter was born. George was a wise guy from the Capone era and she was wearing her sexy cat woman outfit. After passing out the last of the candy, George turned the front porch light off and dropped the empty bowl onto the couch. One table lamp lit the room softly and he switched it off. She sensed him fumbling around in the dark.

“George, what are you up to?”

“I’ve decided that I can’t wait anymore to have you. That costume looks incredible.”

“Oh George, come over here and put your hands on me.”

He came up behind her and nibbled on her ear. He unzipped her top and it crashed to the floor. She turned to face him, and he took her breast in his mouth. His tongue worked the nipple lovingly.

She kicked her black heels off, and fumbled with the button on her pants. They walked backwards slowly, disrobing each other, their intentions wherever she could sit or lie down. She had almost freed his length when she tripped over something lying on the ground behind her and fell onto her back. George followed her to the cold ground.

He buried his head between her breasts, kissing them, and she sensed his cock touching her soft folds. He pushed. She felt his warm shaft impale her and she moaned at how wonderful it felt. He was kissing her and thrusting himself in and out of her deepest parts.

“Oh, George, you feel so good.”

His release came too fast and he flooded her inner heat with his come; he cried out in the quiet room.

She looked down at the mask that she was holding. George had only been dead a month, heart attack; it had all ended too quickly. She missed his laughter, their talks, and his rugged smell. He was her best friend and now he was gone.

As she sat on the attic floor, she realized that for the first time in a long time, she wanted hLong Lostim. She thought of the memories of that Halloween night when they had conceived their eldest daughter, Victoria, and a delicious heat rose within her. The heat felt so good and so long overdue.

She saw a glint of light reflect off the golden clasp on the box and she peered into it again. There was a small pile of black and white photographs. She blushed and remembered. In the first one, she was on her knees in front of his cock, her mouth around his length, her eyes staring at the camera.

The next picture caused her to gasp loudly. A left hand was holding a cock, which was pointed stiffly in front of a face. A pearl of come was shooting out from the head. Some had already splattered on the mask and there were several splotches on the cheeks and nose. She never remembered ever wearing that mask again and certainly not for that. Something didn’t seem right. The wedding ring she saw on the finger was George’s but the woman’s lips were too full, the chin too thin, and the eyes way too light. Hers were a dark brown.