WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories. If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.

All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age of 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

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John has the best Halloween parties ever. I attended the first one of his parties ten years ago. I’m not on the guest list, never have been, but no one knows that. There are always a lot of party crashers at John’s Halloween parties. Part of the thrill of John’s parties is that everyone is totally anonymous. Many years ago such masked parties were quite the rage, but modern costumes and disguises are so much better. In fact, reasonably-priced modern latex masks and stage makeup are so good that some guests can arrive, participate in hours of decadent pleasure, and then leave without anyone ever knowing who they are.

It helps that John has a huge house way out in the country with an enormous backyard that can’t really be seen from the road. The pasture alongside becomes a parking lot for the evening with lighting, striped lanes and everything. There is also a pathway to the backyard which is always lit by real Jack O’Lanterns and guarded by skeletons standing practically shoulder to shoulder . Dozens of rental cars are carefully parked in the field before the guests walk over to the house for the party. No one ever brings their own car. Why spend a ton of money on exquisite costumes just to be recognized by the car you are driving. So if you have a designated driver or are not leaving until morning when you are sobered up, you rent a car, otherwise you arrange for a ride share company to come out and pick you up.

Some guests are almost immediately known, however. Alistair’s costumes are unbelievable, but everyone knows it’s him. My favorite was when he came as a Fudgesicle. Only a man… or woman… with a full length prosthetic leg can pull that off. He has to hop around, so it is obvious that he is a one-legged man. But his prosthetic leg that straps to his body has such a strange way of moving that everyone would know who he is anyway. The woman who stays close to him all night is his wife, Victoria. Or at least it usually is. Sometimes a woman of similar height and build takes her place as Alistair’s escort while she circulates throughout the party doing all sorts of wicked, anonymous things.

It is amazing what people will do when they think that no one knows it is them. Gloria, who has several very elaborate and very well-known tattoos, becomes an absolute slut. She is pretty much a slut anyway, but when no one knows it is her, she is even moreso. She has a professional makeup artist paint her skin to disguise the tattoos. Then she wears a costume that reveals almost everything. Only once has anyone come even close to recognizing her. Last year Frank, who ironically was wearing a rather elaborate Frankenstein costume said to her, “I wish I knew who you were. You suck cock almost as well as Gloria, and she is the best.” Gloria replied in the squeaky voice that she always uses for the party, “I try.” Then she laughed in that high-pitched air-head style of laughter that causes everyone else in the room to join in.

I always wear the same costume to the party but no one knows who I am. Several have asked for the name of the costumer or shop who created my costume, but none have seen through it and guessed who I really am. That is all for the best. I don’t like to advertize who I am or that I am in the area. The original business that brought me to the party ten years ago should have only taken a few minutes, but when I saw what a wonderful party it was, I decided to stay. And then I decided to come back. I’ve been coming back every year now for ten years.

I think my favorite party was two years ago. Eugene was in a drunken rage about how men rule the world. Everyone knew it was Eugene. There is no costume or disguise on earth that can conceal such an asshole. His assholeness bleeds through whatever costume he is wearing no matter how expensive it is or how well it is crafted.