We were ravenous little beasties and it didn’t take long before all the juice was gone.
“You’re right,” she moaned. “This stuff is damned good.”
I searched the sheets for a drop of juice, but we had soaked them enough to drown any taste left.
We lay together until the buzz wore off. She had to go home and I had to rescue Poobah. We separated out our clothes from the pile and pulled them on.
“Thanks for showing me the drink,” she said. “If any of my friends ever end up in your neck of the woods, I’ll tell them to look you up.”
“No problem,” I said. “Thanks for being the drink. If I can send any of my friends your way, let me know.”
We locked the room and I kissed her on our way to the lobby. Her hair was well-sexed but she wasn’t the only one. We traded email addresses before we split up.
I found Poobah still listening to her mother in the ballroom, and I bent over between them. “Excuse me,” I said, and put my arm around Poobah’s shoulder. “I have to go fuck your daughter now. I’m sorry, it’s not personal.”
Her mom’s mouth fell open and for once, nothing came out.
Poobah shrugged. “Bye, Mom. See you next year,” she said, and hurried back to our room with me. She sniffed my fingers.
“You always have more fun at these events,” she said. “I don’t know why I bring you.”
A NEW YORK STORY
D. L. King
Elaine had been living in the top floor of the brownstone on Washington Square North for, well, for a long time. She moved into the floor-through her freshman year at New York University and just stayed.
The brownstone was old, probably from the mid-nineteenth century, and the landlady warned her that it had a reputation for being haunted but Elaine fell in love with its charm and felt a ghost would only add to the ambience. Besides, she’d never seen a ghost before and didn’t really believe in them anyway.
Her inheritance from a dead aunt left her quite well off and able to easily afford the rent. She’d fallen in love with The Village and its bohemian atmosphere. It felt like the home she’d always wanted to have, was meant to have. Everything was so free. People could be whoever they wanted to be in this comfortable, insulated existence. Artists set up their easels on the street and painted. Poets and philosophers stood in Washington Square Park and proclaimed their manifestos to the world. Lovers wandered hand and hand through the park, as well as on the streets, heedless of the outside world.
Elaine was too busy, while in school, for any affairs of the heart; at least that’s what she told herself. Instead, she carried on love affairs with the likes of Mata Hari, the beautiful temptress, and the dashing Amelia Earhart.
She knew from an early age that she wasn’t interested in men. But a woman—one with a mix of intelligence, power, and a beautiful, ethereal grace, could cause her heart to quicken and take her breath away. It was better not to think of such things. She knew others were able to carry on relationships like that, but she would never be able to, certainly not in public. If her mother ever found out…well, she’d never approve. After all, it was against nature, wasn’t it?
The ’70s were a much more sexually open decade, following in the footsteps of the “free love” of the ’60s, but still it wasn’t for old-fashioned Elaine. Although every time she saw two women sitting close together or holding hands in the park…oh, but she just couldn’t bring herself to be like them. And anyway, she really didn’t need anyone else. She was fine on her own.
When she studied though, she often found herself daydreaming about her favorite women from history. Amelia would offer to take her upstairs for a quick hop. Once up and away from everyone and everything, she would slide her hand under Elaine’s skirt and caress her knee. She’d move her hand up to Elaine’s thigh, then very slowly bring it between her legs. Elaine would sigh and spread her legs wider as Amelia felt the damp underwear covering her pussy. Amelia’s middle finger would press against the white cotton, pushing it into her widening slit, occasionally taking her eyes away from the sky to glance at Elaine and smile. As Elaine’s legs parted, Amelia used the tip of her finger to stroke back and forth, pushing the fabric even farther up into her opening.
“Do you want to feel me inside of you, sweet girl?” Amelia would ask.
“Oh yes, oh god yes!” she’d say as Amelia, eyes watching the sky and one hand on the yoke, would push the crotch of her panties aside and insert first one finger and then a second into Elaine’s pussy.
Elaine’s eyes closed as she felt the fingers pump in and out of her sopping opening, thumb playing against her clit. As the fingers sped up Elaine became lost to the ecstasy of feeling, and finally with a deep moan she came, opening her eyes to her books scattered across the bed and her hand inside her still convulsing sex.
Sybil watched from the foot of the bed with the intensity and yearning of the starved. Why couldn’t this girl feel her? Others had felt her presence. She had managed to make a few run screaming from the house, and return only in daylight, to retrieve their belongings and move out. She wasn’t really trying to get rid of the tenants; although it had been fun to watch the men dash out of the room, scared out of their wits. Heaven knows if she could have worked that particular trick on her husband, when she’d been alive, she would have!
No such luck. She had had to suffer through years of his unwanted advances, as well as four pregnancies. She really wasn’t cut out to be a wife and mother but what else was there for a lady of her position? But she loved this house that he’d built for her—loved it so much that when her time came, she hadn’t wanted to leave. Interestingly enough, that was all it took: not wanting to leave.
How happy she was to realize that she could interact with the living, or at least some of the living. Yes, she was enjoying her afterlife much more than her life. Now, she could do as she pleased and take pleasure as she pleased. If only this pretty little Elaine girl could feel her.
Others were able to feel her, if they were sensitive enough. She had watched the bodies of several women through the years react to her touch. She loved playing with them while they slept. As a spirit, she could reach inside their clothes to caress them, and she so loved watching their bodies react to her touch. She took pleasure in opening their nightclothes, as they slept, to gaze upon their bodies. She watched their nipples get erect as she ran her hands over their breasts.
Initially, it had been difficult for her to do more than cause a sensation of cold, but after long years of experimentation and concentration, she could make them feel pressure when she cupped their breasts and even delicious pain when she pinched their nipples. And, in turn, she was able to truly feel the bodies of those she caressed. She could cup and hold and pinch. She could even taste and smell.
Right before this new girl moved in, another young university student had lived in the apartment and reveled in Sybil’s touch. This had been the first time, to Sybil’s knowledge, a tenant had known of her presence and welcomed it. Every night, this young woman would invite her, not only by her actions but verbally, into her bed.
“Hello,” she would call, tentatively. “Hello spirit. I’m here. I’m ready for you. Please come to me.”
She lay on the bed, nude and completely open with her arms and legs spread, waiting for the caress of Sybil’s mouth and hands. Her body was so responsive. Sybil felt such power, watching the girl’s nipples crinkle and harden as she passed her hands over them. Listening to her moan as Sybil rolled them between her cold white fingers. Watching as goose bumps formed everywhere her hands went.
Sybil gloried in the continuous weeping of the girl’s pussy until she could watch no longer and felt a pull to place her mouth over the girl’s slit and lap at the wetness dripping from within. Drinking from her opening and stabbing her erect bud with her tongue, she enjoyed kneading and squeezing the girl’s ripe breasts at the same time until the girl vibrated and rocked under her, finally gushing her climax.
Althoug
h the girl looked right at her, she couldn’t touch her or make contact on her own. Sybil watched the girl’s hand pass right through her, leaving a trail of silver mist in its wake.
Yes, it was obvious that she could see Sybil. But it became clear that she could see little more than the outline of a body when she begged Sybil to stick her “beautiful, cold, silver cock” into her.
After that, Sybil began to lose interest in her. Somehow, all that year, Sybil had just assumed that the tenant knew she was a woman.
Weeks passed and Sybil would watch with contempt from the foot of the bed as the girl would entreat and plead with her to take her once more. Finally, in the early summer, the girl moved out and the apartment was empty again.
Sybil had no real knowledge of the passing of time. She watched other tenants come and go, but none of them interested her. She still played with them occasionally, but she felt herself becoming more and more lonely. She was beginning to fade when Elaine moved into the apartment on a bright fall morning. Sybil was interested in the new tenant, but she couldn’t seem to get this girl to notice her.
Elaine tended to talk in her sleep and Sybil was overjoyed to learn that she seemed to be more interested in women than men. She enjoyed watching Elaine pleasure herself. She loved watching the play of emotions and feeling cross her face until a final expression of contentment and joy overcame her in the end.
Sybil played with Elaine almost nightly for several months with no response. Well, no response other than the purely physical and autonomic. It seemed Elaine was completely unaware of Sybil’s presence.
Sybil watched closely as she pushed the T-shirt up past Elaine’s breasts and saw no response from the sleeping girl. She passed her hand over her smooth and flattened nipples and watched them crinkle and erect from her cold touch, but still saw no response on Elaine’s face. Kneading the lovely breasts and sucking on them brought Sybil lots of pleasure but nothing from the sleeping girl.
Sybil peeled the panties down past the girl’s sleeping pussy. She managed to slide them over her pert bottom and down her thighs to just above her knees. As she blew her cold breath across Elaine’s pussy, she watched the dark brown hairs move. Not being able to wait any longer, she pried the girl’s legs apart enough to get her mouth on that beautiful slit. As she licked and sucked at the opening, a normal, physical response took place. Elaine began to produce her own moisture as her body responded to Sybil’s stimulation.
Sybil enjoyed sliding her hands under Elaine’s bottom to squeeze her cheeks and finally, slowly, insert a finger into the girl’s anus. More and more wetness would flow from Elaine’s pussy when Sybil played this game, but still there would be no response from Elaine.
Sybil noticed that, on those occasions when she left Elaine’s panties down around her knees, eventually Elaine would move her own hand down and pleasure herself in her sleep. At those times, Sybil saw expressions of emotion pass over the girl’s face.
It really bothered Sybil that she was unable to elicit those expressions. It made her want to work harder and all the more intensely to achieve her goal.
This routine went on for years with no change. Sybil tried everything she could think of, even biting and slapping, although she was afraid this might wake Elaine up. Unfortunately, Elaine never seemed to take any notice of Sybil.
Elaine graduated from NYU and, although she didn’t need the money, took a job teaching history to high school students at a private school in Brooklyn Heights. She loved her students and most of her fellow teachers.
Occasionally she would go out with a group, but she could never bring herself to date. She watched the sexual mores change through the years. She loved watching the growth of the Gay Pride Parade. It had gotten so large that she almost couldn’t stand long enough to watch the whole thing, yet she had let the parade pass her by.
It was okay; she got what she needed from occasional masturbation, but mostly from the ghostly encounters, which had been occurring since she first moved into the apartment. That was one of the reasons she couldn’t bring herself to move out of the floor-through. Of course living in the heart of Greenwich Village, right on the park, didn’t hurt either. She had been considering buying the brownstone; real estate prices were pretty good and she had the money.
Ah, but back to thoughts of the ghost…she loved the ghost. Elaine had gotten a very brief glimpse of her one night. She could tell the ghost was definitely a woman, young and beautiful. She had her hair up in a bun with tendrils hanging down and clinging to her neck. She wore a long satin dress with a very low-cut neckline. It hugged her torso tightly then flared out at the hips. It was obvious she wore a corset, as Elaine could see the beautiful swell of her breasts threatening to overspill the bodice. She could also detect several layers of petticoats under the skirt. Elaine wished she could run her hands down the woman’s torso and around her hourglass waist, feeling the tightness of the fabric that appeared to hold the ghost prisoner; she wanted to have a look under the petticoats, unfasten the underwear she found there and explore the woman’s contours and interior.
It was thoughts like these that made it impossible for Elaine not to masturbate. All in all, she preferred the ghost to make love to her, but if she thought about those sensations, she became so wet she just couldn’t help herself. Once, while masturbating, with her eyes opened to slits, she saw the ghost again, standing at the foot of the bed watching her intently and smiling.
Elaine placed the ghost as having lived around the late–middle 1800s. Her dress looked very fine and expensive. She wished she could see her in color, but the ghost appeared only as a fairly substantial silver mist, preventing her from detecting any colors at all.
Elaine thought a great deal about the ghost over the years. Due to the richness of the clothing, she thought the woman might have been the first owner of the house or, if not her, some male member of her family must have been.
She lived for the ghost’s amazing sexual caresses. All along, she had been afraid that if she responded, the ghost would leave or stop playing with her. She had convinced herself of this and it was the last thing she wanted. She longed to look at the ghost, respond to her and talk to her. She already thought of this woman as her lover; she wished she could be a companion, as well.
It was so difficult, not responding to the ghost’s ministrations, as she was so adept at bringing Elaine to orgasm. She wanted, more than anything, to let herself go, to see if she could touch the ghost. She wanted to hold her and pleasure her; to reciprocate for all the joy the ghost had given her.
Years passed and things continued as they had since Elaine had first moved into the house. For some reason, she never got around to buying it when the rates were low and now, at the turn of the century, with the rates as high as they were and rents having gone up so much, she really wished she had. Well, no matter. She had a good broker who had invested her money well. She had made a killing in tech stocks and he had managed to get her out before they took their inevitable nosedive. She could afford the rent but she could kick herself when she thought of how low prices and interest rates had been before.
If I put it off any longer, I’ll never buy the house, she thought as she left to meet with her broker one beautiful, bright morning in September. Yes, she would go ahead and buy it, she thought, getting out of the cab in front of the World Trade Center.
Looking up, she smiled, thinking about how much she loved this ridiculous building and its twin. About how happy it made her whenever she visited her broker, way up on the eighty-third floor. She didn’t care about the prices going down; she had enough money. It would be good to be a property owner in New York, instead of a renter. She’d ask her broker what he thought of the idea.
Elaine awoke on her bed, in the dark. She felt a little disoriented. It was strange, but she didn’t remember coming home and taking a nap. Well, she must have done, she thought, as she sat up.
Her eyes quickly became accustomed to the darkness and, with a start, she realize
d that things seemed much clearer. Colors seemed sharper. Her bedspread even looked brighter. She ran her hand over it. The nerve endings in her hand responded like never before. They seemed ultrasensitive. It reminded her of descriptions she’d read of acid trips in the late ’60s and early ’70s. As she looked up, she saw the ghost standing by the foot of her bed. As usual, Elaine acted like she hadn’t seen her, and looked past her toward the bathroom.
Her head snapped back around and she stared at the ghost. “Why can I see you in color?” she asked aloud, before clamping a hand over her own mouth.
The woman standing at the foot of the bed frowned. “Are you implying that you can not only see me now, but that you’ve seen me before? Can this be true?” Words tumbled from Sybil as she released her anger and frustration. “Have you always known of my presence? Were you able to feel me? And if this is true, why did you ignore me? Did you think I’d go away if you ignored me? You answer my questions right now, then perhaps I’ll answer yours!”
Elaine looked down. “I didn’t know you could speak,” she whispered. “What’s your name?”
“Never you mind my name, my girl! Answer my questions! I’ve always cared so much for you but I must confess, I’m rather angry just now. Don’t toy with me!”
“O-oh, I’m sorry; I’m not toying with you, I promise. Yes, I’ve known about you since I first moved in. I saw you a few times but tried not to look. I always felt you; oh god, how I felt you. I just didn’t want you to go away!” Elaine said.
“I was sure somehow that if you knew that I knew, you’d stop making love to me and you’d go away. I fell in love with you and couldn’t bear the thought of your leaving. Now I’ve made you angry. Please, please don’t go away. Don’t leave me,” Elaine said, beginning to cry.
As the tears ran down Elaine’s face, Sybil’s heart melted. She sat on the bed next to Elaine and put her arms around her shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Don’t worry my dear, I’ve no intention of leaving you. Don’t you know I love you too?” she asked, kissing Elaine deeply.
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