Our first date at a Halloween party was cunningly weird; her costume was deceptively weirder: all black except for a faded printed pumpkin around her tights.
“What am I?”
Not to be corny but I couldn’t hold my smutty mind. “Are you a Jack-O-Lantern?”
Her smile suggestively lewd, she blazingly demanded, “Would you light me up?”
Few minutes later, carving my way into her, she lusciously ordered, “Give me your milk, make me a pumpkin spice latte!”
Creaming her hollowness, I regretfully asked myself, ‘Was that really a date, or am I now just a spent candle to throw away?’
