Danny Boy - A Halloween Story - Sex Stories

Danny Boy - A Halloween Story

... matching green pants with green slippers that curled up at the toes. Some people might have reacted in shock at seeing something like this on their desk in the middle of the night, but my connection to reality is tenuous enough that nothing surprises me anymore. Besides, I have a sleep disorder that sometimes allows me to wake up without totally waking up or go to sleep without totally going to sleep. The result is I can start dreaming while I am awake or I wake up and keep dreaming. I’ve even learned to control the dreams somewhat, so, it’s like having your own personal holo-deck that I can take with me wherever I go. With all of that in my life, I’ve learned to just go with the flow and see where things end up. So, rather than freaking out, I replied, “I thought Leprechauns were supposed to be about three feet high, not three inches high.” He laughed, stood up and said, “We can be any size we want to be.” Suddenly he was eight or nine feet tall crouching between the desk and the ceiling. His bass voiced boomed out “But it’s kind of hard to hide behind the flowers when you are ten times your normal size.” He jumped off the desk and landed with a resounding thud before shrinking to my expected three feet high. “Ye be disappointin’ us this year,” he said. “Ye don’t have an Irish story for Halloween. And where would Halloween be without the ould sod. It all started there, ye know.” “Yes, I know.” I replied. “And I know that it’s supposed to be on the dark of the moon following ...

... the fall equinox, not on October 31st. But the pixies haven’t been whispering in my ear this year and I have nothing to write.” “Ah, yes,” he laughed. “The spriggan lassie is still a bit upset about your collection of erotic faerie images.” “That was a Tinkerbell erotic Photoshop contest!” I blurted out as I looked over my shoulder at printouts of Tinkerbell in a series of very naughty poses. “I suppose she was offended,” I said. “Offended?” he snorted. “That wee lassie wasn’t offended. She was jealous. She was spittin’ thorns that you didn’t ask her to pose for ya.” “Tell her I’m sorry.” I said, “Maybe she will bring me a story for next year.” “Aye,” he said, “but that doesna solve the problem for this year, does it?” He took a long draw on his pipe before pointing the stem at me and saying, “Though I have a story for ye. It’s all about how I defeated the four west country cailleach sisters.” “Wait a minute,” I said and starting typing furiously on my keyboard. “What’s a cailleach sister? And, who are you? What’s your name?” “Some people like to call them witches,” he said, “but the west country sisters weren’t wise ones. Hags would be a better word. And these hags were more like demons. I think the English word is ‘succubus’. They would draw the life out of man as they drew out his seed.” “OK,” I sputtered, trying to keep up with him. “I’m getting this. But I would still like to know your name.” “Me name is ....” He made a noise that sounded very much like a cat hacking up ...