Hollow Halloween

By Chris Cross

In anticipation of their Halloween evening date ending in bed, young, promiscuous university instructor Ginnie and university department head Lawrence leave a concert at Wintergreen resort, atop the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, to return to Harrisonburg, in the Shenandoah Valley. Ginnie has had too much to drink and Lawrence has related to friends after the concert some legends of the clearing of the Blue Ridge of mountain folk in the 1930s for the establishment of the Shenandoah National Park and the Skyline Drive. One of the legends is that the spirits of the departed mountain folk rise up on Halloween and return to make their displeasure known.
The couple get lost in the folds of the mountains on the way down to the valley and have car trouble. While Lawrence works on the car, Ginnie drifts up into a hollow, enticed by a light—or, in her inebriated state, thinks she has done so. Ripe for sex, she finds it with a young mountain man before coming to at the car as Lawrence gets it fixed.
The next day she returns to the hollow in search of answers on whether she’d had divine sex the night before on the mountain or not—only to find all of the forced sex, with multiple men, that she could possibly want.
Unless, of course, it’s exactly what she wants.
Tags: barebacking, bondage, breeding, chance encounters, dating, drunkenness, Halloween, historical, mountains, multiple partners, nonconsent, outdoor sex, paranormal, promiscuity, sexual attraction, work colleague

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Sep 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781925568370

Chris Cross

Chris is interested in all genders and variations and writes about gay, straight, and trans characters.

Book preview

Chapter One: Mountain Hollow Halloween

More wine, Ginnie? Lawrence asked in a maybe you’ve had enough tone.

Yes, please, I answered, turning my gaze back to the last of the lingering sunset behind the Allegheny Mountains on the other side of the Shenandoah Valley. I was a bit amused at what must be a conundrum for him—wondering if I’d had too much to walk a straight line but enough to make his obvious intentions easier. I had come on the date anticipating—and even welcoming at the time—his obvious intentions. Even I have to admit that I’m pretty easy—because, basically, I am pretty easy. Sex is a renewable—and renewing—commodity, and I enjoy it. I have my standards, though. The guy has to appeal to me. With me, it’s just that a lot of guys do.

Lawrence had been ogling me and making suggestive comments ever since the term had started, and I had been flattered and welcomed them. Nearness on a date hadn’t made my heart grow fonder, though. Up close I could see there was a lot about Lawrence I didn’t find attractive. But he was a man, and as long as he was well equipped and had good technique, he could have what he wanted tonight. I was definitely in the mood, despite his unintended efforts to squelch that.

Lawrence was good looking enough and he had been talked up by Natalie, if not by the other women faculty members I knew. But most of them who found him lacking were much too serious and analytical for me. He was nearly twenty years older than I was, I was sure—but young enough to manage. It all returned to equipment and technique.

And on that note, He’s good in bed, Natalie had whispered to me when he’d flirted at a faculty convocation meeting before school started.

How good? I’d asked. I’d found Natalie’s earthiness welcome in the stuffiness I’d found in the department otherwise.

Very good, she said and winked at me. And I think he fancies you.

On a visual inspection, I fancied him too. I liked older men—not old, mind you; just appreciably older than I was—as long as they kept themselves in trim. They usually were safe to be with, experienced, and grateful for the opportunity—understanding that if they took care of you, you would take care of them. But I had found, once on this date, that Lawrence was too full of himself to have room for me as well. I had to think that maybe he’d be that way in bed too. And as wildly interesting as he was, he was boring. I giggled at the thought of the contradiction, yet the rightness of that, which might have been a signal that I, indeed, had had quite enough wine, rang true.

The next day I wondered if it was just the wine. I certainly hoped not, although details of that evening had become more hazy rather than clearer with the passage of time.

We were on the Bennings’—or was it Benkins’? . . . whatever—deck, at their Wintergreen townhouse condo. Lawrence had brought me to the tented concert hall by the resort lodge earlier in the evening for a fall orchestra concert—an annual Halloween night tradition. He had asked me if I wanted to stop off at his friends’ mountain condo after the concert before driving back to Harrisonburg, in the valley. Wintergreen was a ski resort community perched above the Blue Ridge Parkway and crowning the Blue Ridge Mountain range to the east side of the Shenandoah Valley near where Interstate 64 crossed the mountains.

I’d agreed readily to put off an awkward and quite possibly disappointing homecoming as long as possible. I knew he’d want to come in when he returned me to my apartment down in Harrisonburg, and I’d let him, but my expectations of what happened after that had been dampened by his incessant chatter. I’d had quite enough of him already. Yes, I’d let him bed me, assuming he could do that without chattering about himself, but more for my need than his.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had enough of himself yet. I’d been warned about him when I’d joined the faculty of James Madison University in the English Department. He was the chair of the History Department. But of course I hadn’t heeded the warning. I’d listened more to Natalie, who was head over heels for him. He really was quite good looking—more so with his mouth shut, though.

Happily, Clinton Benkins—or was it Clyde?—had wound Lawrence up by asking how