1 comments/ 17971 views/ 0 favorites GhostStory Ch. 1 By: HomerPindar Once awake she lay in bed for a moment, shocked at herself. Slowly she stretched a hand out across the empty bed. She breathed a sigh of relief, then tried to figure out what had prompted her to have a one night stand. Not only a one night stand, but one with a complete stranger. Max? Mark? 'Oh my God,' she thought to her self, "I don't even know his name?" she said it out loud, hoping the sound of her voice would jar her memory. No luck. 'Oh God,' she thought, what had gotten into her? She rolled out of bed, uncertain if she wanted to find a note, or a phone number, or maybe proof the whole thing had been a dream. She didn't have to look far. The piece of paper say on her bedside table. She stared at it. A long note. Was that a good thing? She had no experience with one night stands, she didn't know what the norm was, but she was willing to bet that page long notes were not the norm. With a sigh she picked it up; Diane, She cringed, she'd actually given this guy her real name. And he obviously knew her new address. What if he was a stalker? Or a drug user? She didn't want strangers wandering around her new Victorian home, she'd bought it for the seclusion. "Guess I should have remembered that before I brought him home," she mumbled to herself as she continued to read. Diane, Thanks for a wonderful night. Sorry I have to leave – breakfast sounded like a great idea (she tried to remember what breakfast was suppose to have been, and couldn't) – but I have to work today. I'll give you a call, Mike Mike. His name was Mike. At least she liked it more than Max. Have to work? On a Saturday? She wasn't sure what Mike did, but working weekends didn't strike her as a bonus. Then again, there were a number of days when she was trying to win brownie points that she would work weekends. Maybe that was all it was. After his name the note continued, but instead of a quick scrawl that looked like it was written late at night the handwriting was noticeably changed. Now it was flowing, a nice smooth pen stroke that made her think he'd spent hours simply practicing his penmanship. Your passion was such a pleasant surprise, The eagerness with which you embraced me Though I sensed your lust deep within your eyes I was not certain you would let it free Only now that you have tasted such pleasures I want to unleash your lust every night To any length I'll go for such measures Taking your desires up to new heights. Lips upon your breasts, hands stroking your skin Let me make such sensations all of you With flesh on flesh I will slip deep within Each thrust together feeding us both anew Do not think so poorly of me for this Together we both will get what we wish She stared at it for a second, and then read it again. "Wow," she'd never read erotic poetry before. It had been a pretty hot night, she'd nearly pulled him of his jeans at the bar at one point. Yet she didn't feel a hangover now. She must have worked it off. It certainly sounded like she'd left a helluva impression on Mike. In fact, she found herself wishing he was here now, so she feel his lips on her breasts instead of just reading about it. She was aware she'd gone from shock at her actions to wet and hot over it simply by reading a poem. Smiling, she realized she didn't care, she had enjoyed herself. He'd had a condom, they'd had great sex, and clearly he wasn't just a good looking semi-jock with nothing upstairs. No harm done. Hell, she was single again, and why shouldn't she enjoy herself once in awhile? Heading into her bathroom she debated the pluses and minuses of one night stands. And she wondered if she wanted Mike to be a one night stand. If he could write a poem like that, she could only imagine what else he was capable of. She turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. She realized that the heat she felt was more than just the summer weather, indeed, the air-conditioner had been on in the bedroom all night. Testing the water with left hand she slid her right across her belly, imagining the feel of Mike's hand there instead. As she stepped into the shower she let the water take the feel of his flesh pressed against her own. The sensation of the water running down her neck and over her breasts became the feel of their bodies sliding together. Her one hand cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples just as he would. Her other hand slid down to her mound, her fingers stroking the ache that had built since she read the poem. In the back of her mind Diane wondered at the sudden change that came over her. But as her own fingers stroked her clit, and mixed with the sensation of the water on her body, she forgot such concerns and simply enjoyed herself. It felt so good she almost didn't register the phone ringing. At first she considered ignoring it, then she thought it might be Mike. She jumped out of the shower, and dripping wet ran back into the bedroom to answer the phone. In her haste to answer to answer the phone she failed to notice the bathroom mirror. Covered with steam the mirror had become a perfect writing board, upon which a cinquain had appeared; your lust fuels my desires I want you to join me eternal satisfaction is my gift But by the time Diane got off the phone the steam had escaped through the open bedroom door, and the message had vanished from sight GhostStory Ch. 2 She ran into the bedroom dripping wet from the shower, "Hello?" "Hey there." "Oh, hi Steve." "Well, don't sound so excited to hear from me." She smiled at herself, "Sorry, just thought you might be someone else." She was growing aware of standing in her air conditioned bedroom dripping wet. The cool air was causing her nipples to harden into small pebbles. "Oh, replaced so soon?" It was a long standing joke. Steve was an ex-boyfriend, current long term friend. He'd stood in as an usher at her wedding, as he only passingly got along with Doug, who didn't want him as best man. Actually, Doug came close to saying how he didn't want Steve at the wedding altogether. Her ex-husband had seen their long-term friendship, and the fact that they were ex-lovers, as a threat. Of course, for the four years they'd been married, she'd never once considered an affair with Steve. They got along just fine, they simply both wanted something different from their long term relationships. "Of course not," she answered, while thinking to herself that there was no way she could tell Steve about a one night stand. He was the swinger, she was the conservative one. While they enjoyed each others company, there was no way she wanted him to think she wanted that in her life. Did she? "Well," continued Steve, "you still want some help on that monster of a house you got?" "Hell yeah, you don't expect me to move a baby grand piano all on my own do you?" She was shivering now, and cut him off before he could ask about a non-existent piano, "Look, Steve, I jumped out of the shower to answer the phone, mind if I call you back?" "Heck, I'll be over in twenty minutes, unless you were serious about a piano. In which case, forget it!" "Just kidding, just kidding, no piano." "Alright, see you in twenty." "Great, see you then," she hung up the phone and dashed back for a towel. She was dried, clothed, and unpacking the kitchen forty minutes later when Steve finally rang the bell. The house was a monster, a large comfortable monster that left her feeling warm and vitalized since her first visit. The Victorian had gone up for sheriff sale on back taxes. A grateful client, enjoying their newly designed restaurant, knew someone who worked in real estate. It ended up being just this side of legal, and a chance she was happy to jump at. As it was, it took her a minute to walk to the front door, during which Steve rang the bell a couple more times. As she came down the hall she found herself reciting a limerick in the back of her mind; There was a young man with a hard on he could make the doorbell ring ding-dong and when answered that day the housewife he'd lay and they'd screw each other for real long Having no idea where it came from she was smiling at her train of thoughts as she opened the door. "Hey there," Steve paused, seeing the smile on her face, "What?" "Oh, it's nothing, come in," she waved him in and tried to wipe the smile off her face. She found it hard as she noticed the tight jeans Steve had worn over that day. "No shorts? It's nearly ninety degrees out there." "Yeah, and the last time I moved furniture in shorts I nearly took off my knee caps. I'll pass on that, thanks." He wandered into the living room, staring around. "Helluva place you got here." "Yep, it's a monster all right. But I have a thing for monsters." Steve gave her a look, but kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted to do was bring up Doug. And seeing Diane in her t-shirt and shorts gave Steve's active imagination more than enough motivation to keep things nice. "How about a tour of the monster then?" "Sure," closing the door she joined led him into the living room, "Living room!" "How can you tell?" Steve looked over the boxes, over which a number of random objects, papers and mail lay scattered. He almost apologized for making her feel self conscious when she started picking up some loose things from the floor. He didn't though, instead admiring her the lines her shorts made across her rear as she bent over. "It needs a little work," she said as she shifted some books. She could hear Steve's non-committal agreement. She knew that sound, and suddenly realized she had her ass pointed right at him. Not rushing as fast as she might, she pretended not to notice his response. "Well, let's show off my stuff," she added, as innocently as possible. Leading the way, they went into the dining room, then across to the den. The whole time considered teasing him some more, enjoying the thought of playing with him as he worked. It wasn't until they'd circled the center stairwell, back to the entrance and across from the living room where the library would be, that she considered what she was thinking. What had gotten into her? "Upstairs?" She nearly jumped, "Oh, just bedrooms there," she turned to the back of the house, "this way to the kitchen." He followed along. "So, what exactly did you want help with?" "Um, some of the light fixtures and a fan need to be put in, and the last time I tried to wire in a new fixture I blew through two fuses." "Yeah, I remember that," but he cut off his comment on Doug's failure to help out around the house. Steve might count himself a player, but he was also open minded enough to help out somewhat around the house. At the very least doing the standard male jobs of fixing faulty light fixtures. "So, where's these fixtures, and which goes where, and so on?" "Right here," she pointed to the kitchen table, littered with a series of ceiling fixtures and a couple of ceiling fans, currently dismantled. She directed him to on which lights and fans went where and sent him to work. The whole time she tried to figure out why she couldn't keep her eyes off the growing bulge in Steve's jeans. Once alone in the kitchen she breathed a sigh of relief and sat down. This wasn't like her. Oh my God, she thought for the hundredth time that day, I'm even getting hot all over again. Running a hand under her t-shirt she was happy it was ninety degrees, at least that gave her a reason to be sweating. She didn't want a relationship with Steve. Then again, she reasoned as her hand slid down her stomach, Steve wasn't really looking for a relationship either. And it wasn't like he was a total stranger. Maybe if she told him it was just this once, she thought as her fingers slipped under her shorts. She stopped, here she was, ready to start masturbating in her own kitchen fantasizing about a guy who was working in her living room with a hard on of his own. She got up and headed for down the hallway. Steve was just stepping up a ladder in the library. He paused as she stood in the doorway. Slowly she crossed the room, well aware that from his vantage point he could see the swell of her breasts down the from of her worn t-shirt. "So," he asked, "what's up?" Her gaze shifted from her eyes down to the bulge of his jeans that now stood at eye level to her, "Looks like you are." She smiled up at him, "And I think you deserve some special treatment for helping me out." "You sure about this Diane? It's not like," he didn't finish as she started pulling down the fly to his tight jeans. "Yeah, I'm sure," she answered as she pulled unbuttoned his fly. She pulled down his briefs enough to free his erection. Once free it was right there for her to kiss, which she planted right on his full head. She could see Steve's hands gripping the top step of the ladder as she wrapped her lips around him and sucked lightly. Once she'd tasted him though she didn't wait. She licked the length of his shaft, down as far as she could, before closing her mouth over him. She started sucking in earnest then, working her hands along with her mouth up and down him. Knowing what he liked she ran her tongue across the underside of his head as she sucked. His hips started working in time with her sucking, his one hand on the ladder the other on her shoulder. Steve was so turned on by Diane's sudden change of character that he felt himself ready to climax far sooner than he would have wanted. Diane tasted his pre-cum, and was suddenly eager to swallow his every drop. Sucking harder she let her one hand fondle him as he continued to thrust into her mouth. With a gasp from him, and a hum of satisfaction from her, he began to cum while she swallowed what she could. She tried to get every drop, but found herself wiping her mouth afterwards. "Wow." He didn't move, he wasn't too sure what had come over Diane, but he certainly didn't mind it so far. She smiled up at him, "Don't get any ideas here, I just figured we might christen the house a little." "Sure," he examined her face, she certainly looked happy, and very hot. "But don't think this means you get out of work," she headed out of the room, "finish up in here and meet me in the den next." Steve watched her go, suddenly wondering if he could manage not to electrocute himself before the day was out. GhostStory Ch. 3 She left Steve asleep in her bed as she went for a shower and to try and think about what had come over her. In the last twenty four hours she'd brought home a total stranger named Mike for a one night stand, and now she'd seduced an old boyfriend who'd come over to help fix up her new Victorian home. Why? She usually wasn't so horny, and certainly not so forward. But try as she might she couldn't feel bad about it. Indeed, as she stepped into the shower she realized she felt great, never better even. But even that was a little strange, as she'd just wore out her ex-boyfriend and left him asleep in her bed. She should be exhausted, beyond worn out. They'd done a nearly complete tour of the house, alternately screwing each other and fixing up the room they happen to be in. There was no logical way she could have done all of that and not feel tired, sore and ready for a nap at least. Yet, here she was, feeling better now than she did when she started. It didn't make sense. More than anything, she was curious now, not worried. Whatever had gotten into her hadn't done any damage, just the opposite for her at least. And nothing a nice long nap won't help Steve from recovering from. The fact that she'd, for the first time, had worn him out just struck her. She had to admit, she felt a bit proud of that. Only, now she was the one who was ready to keep going, and he was out cold. And a part of her did want to keep going, and she knew if Steve woke up anytime soon she might see if he was up for some more. Then again, she didn't want to hurt anyone, and it was possible to hurt the guy if she only felt more invigorated after each orgasm and he only felt more worn out. No, best to let him rest up, regain his strength. Still, she couldn't believe her train of thoughts, nothing but sex! Whatever happen to her belief in relationships? In something other than just the physical? She knew something was happening, and wondered if her current concerns would be drowned the next time she thought of some guy she wanted to sleep with. It was kind of scary, and yet at the same time, thrilling. She got out of the shower and stared at the steam covered mirror before wiping away a space for her to see herself. She had to admit, she looked as good as she felt. It's my new diet plan, she thought to her self, loads of sex and a couple of showers a day. Slipping back into her bedroom she grabbed her robe before heading out of the room. She didn't want to disturb Steve, convincing herself that it was simply so she wouldn't be rude and wake him, and not admitting it she also thought about him regaining his strength. Realizing she'd not eaten all day, another wonder considering how much of a work out she'd had, she took the back stairs down to the kitchen. In the doorway she paused. The table was cleared off of the light fixtures, Steve had in fact installed most of them in between them having sex in each of the rooms where he worked. Now a single tupperware container sat on the table. She didn't remember leaving it there, or even pulling it out of the box of kitchen supplies that stood open beside the refrigerator. That alone was a little strange, but the truly odd part was that the container had held her small collection of magnets for her fridge, including a promotional pack of refrigerator poetry magnets, a word or portion of each word on the magnet. Now the whole collection was on her fridge. The center of her freezer door was covered with a random scattering of words, except the exact center. There, someone, it had to have been Steve was Diane's first thought, had arranged a poem for her: today you please him driving wild entertainment little did he ask how now tonight we dance for I'm hungry to show you how I can feed your need to live on love But, if it had been Steve who wrote it, why would he have written this? And who besides himself did he think she'd been pleasing today? She was starting to consider that the poem was from someone else, and that this someone else must have something to do with what she'd been experiencing, when the doorbell rang. She headed down the hall to the front door, wondering who this could be and at the same time trying to recollect the limerick she'd composed when she came to answer the door for Steve. Failing at recalling the limerick she was surprised to find a young lady holding a casserole dish. "Maggie!" "Um, hi, my mom wanted me to bring you a housewarming." Diane stepped back, inviting in her friend and co-workers daughter, "How's our suicidal sky-diver doing?" Maggie smiled back, "She's getting better, but she still can't get around with her cast up to her hip." Diane closed the door behind Maggie, "Well, you'll have to tell her thanks," she said as she took the casserole dish. "So how's school?" Maggie shrugged in a manner that Diane knew to mean her answer was only a facade, "Well enough, grades are fine." "Uh-huh, look, why don't I put this in the kitchen and you make yourself at home. Give me a chance to give you the grand tour." "Sure," Maggie made a point of looking around the living room, "It's a great place," she said, smiling back at Diane. "It certainly has done wonders for me," Diane headed back to the kitchen, "Can I get you anything to drink?" "No, not right now, I'm fine." Diane paused in the doorway to the kitchen again, looking over at the fridge. Only this time, instead of the poem, her eyes were drawn to a grouping of words just below the poem. She tried to remember if those same words had been there before. She couldn't. For all she knew these same words had been sitting there, innocently enough, while she stood reading the poem for the first time. She couldn't tell. All she knew was this new message was as clear as day to her now: kiss her she wants you Diane crossed to the fridge while glancing around the room. She was alone, felt alone, but still she wondered if she was, in fact, alone. She put the casserole in the fridge as she stared at the message. She, Maggie. The freshman daughter of her friend and co-worker. In her living room. Wearing a light flowing summer dress and sandals. Brown curly hair down to her shoulders. Diane traced a finger down the words again. Kiss. Her. She wants. You. "How do I know I can trust you?" she whispered to the magnets. She didn't want to hurt anyone, herself or her house guest, but something was certainly at work here, and Diane knew if she just walked back into the living room she was likely to do just what the magnets said even though she'd never been with a woman before and certainly hadn't considered it before that moment. Even now the thrill of uncertainty, what it would be like, how it would feel, how did Maggie taste, the very unfamiliar of it all was what caused Diane to suddenly want Maggie. Now. Naked. Laying out on Diane's sofa in the living room. With Diane's robe laying discarded beside Maggie's dress. With Diane feeling another woman's smooth skin for the first time. Maggie's fingers twisting in Diane's hair. Diane lowering her mouth to Maggie's... Diane swallowed. She took a deep breath. "Answer me this question," Diane closed her eyes as she tried to think of the right way to ask the question. She didn't want any loop holes, and certainly didn't want to make a mistake. "Will you ever cause any harm, physical, emotional or mental, to any guest or resident of this house?" She jabbed her thumb down against the freezer door. Before she opened her eyes she realized that she was far more likely to have missed a magnet than to have hit one. But she hadn't, she could feel a small smooth magnet under her thumb. Slowly she opened her eyes, and just as slowly she moved her thumb off the magnet. One word. One answer. And she felt a wave of reassurance as she read it. Never. "Alright, I'm holding you to it." In the back of her mind she realized she was only talking to a bunch of magnets on a freezer door, but another part of her, the more vocal part at the moment, felt she'd come to an arrangement with something, or someone. As satisfied as she could be about the current events Diane grabbed two beers out of the fridge and headed back to the living room. "Sorry, had to make space in the fridge." Maggie looked up from a book she had open on the coffee table before her, "Oh, that's ok. I didn't know you were into poetry." Diane nearly dropped the beers, "Excuse me?" Maggie held up the book, "Poetry," she sounded skeptical. "Oh," Diane remembered picking up some books when Steve had come in, but she hadn't realized that one was an old collection from her own college days. "I'm finding myself getting drawn back into it." She put the beers on the coffee table and sat besides Maggie on the couch, "Beer?" "Um," Maggie looked a little surprised, "Thanks." "Hey, I went to college, I know I was drinking by your age." Maggie smiled bashfully at Diane before turning back to the book. Diane resisted the temptation to simply lean forward and kiss Maggie's cheek. A lock of curls swung down across Maggie's face. Maggie glanced up, aware of the silence. Diane was suddenly nervous herself, feeling a mixture of uncertainty and desire that she'd not so intensely in years, if ever. "Find one you like?" she asked, motioning to the book. Maggie gave that same half, non-committal, shrug that suggested she had something on her mind, "I was just reading this one by Elizabeth Bishop," she lifted the book to show it to Diane. "Read it," Diane managed a mix of encouragement with challenge in her voice. Maggie smiled and glanced at Diane before reading, "One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop; The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the flutter of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. – Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it) like disaster." "I liked it," Diane couldn't help but think how she wanted to loose her own robe. Or for Maggie to loose that dress. For both of them to loose themselves in exploring each other. Lost in the scent of each other, the feel, tasting each other for the first time. Lost in each other laying together on the couch. "Yeah, kind of like the way it make losing something so rewarding." Diane licked her lips, stopping for replying, Like losing control? That same curl of dark hair fell back across Maggie's face. Gently, Diane took her arm off the back of the couch and brushed aside the lock of hair, all the while admiring how cute and sexy it was at the same time. Maggie tilted her head, not quite away from Diane's touch. She lowered her eyes as well, as the color rose to her cheeks. Diane traced her hand down, around Maggie's ear, as she leaned forward. Lifting Maggie's chin Diane slowly brought her lips closer to her house guest's lips. Maggie didn't move, her eyes half closing, as Diane's lips touched her's. Soft. And warm. Diane followed up the initial touch with a further kiss, using her thumb on Maggie's chin to open her mouth a bit more. Maggie responded in kind, and Diane found herself lost in the sensation of kissing another woman. The warmth, the sensuality, the feel of their tongues first touch. The kiss was long, passionate, and left both of them near breathless. Diane leaned back from Maggie silently praying that whatever force was behind the magnets, and her current heightened sexuality, hadn't been lying, or just her own hyperactive imagination. She needn't have worried. Maggie's hand traced it's own line down Diane's cheek, under her chin, and continued down Diane's neck. Once in contact with Diane's robe Maggie turned her hand, and pulled open Diane's robe. "I'm, ah," Maggie stared into Diane's eyes. "Shh," Diane leaned forward again, snaking one hand around Maggie's neck as she pulled loose the knot holding her robe shut, "Let's just get lost in it." With that Diane pulled Maggie close, losing herself in another kiss. Next Diane lost her robe. It lay under her as she lay back across the couch. Maggie found her way down Diane's naked body. With Maggie, still in her summer dress, laying between Diane's spread thighs, Diane lost herself in her first orgasm between them. Once Diane was able to take a breath again, she pulled Maggie up and across her body. Once again they lost each other in their arms and kisses. They both enjoyed the sensation of kissing and making out, Diane naked, Maggie in her summer dress. Then Diane lost herself in undoing Maggie's clothing, revealing inch after inch of smooth skin. Lost in the sight, the feel of her cheek against smooth skin, the wonderful scent of another woman. Eventually Maggie lost the dress and sandals to the living room floor. Diane pulled away her robe before laying Maggie down on the couch. She tossed the robe on top of Maggie's discarded clothes before losing herself in the exploration of the young woman's body. Down. Feeling. Smelling, licking, kissing, finding herself laying between smooth thighs. Tasting, fingers twisting in her hair, getting lost in the sensation. Losing track of when she no longer lay between, but over. Losing sense of who tasting whom, and even who is on top. And totally enjoying getting lost in it.