Soldier of Love

by Gabrielle Holly

  Toni cringed with embarrassment. “Just a couple minutes here and there. You know, when he changes the station.”

  Thomas had gathered her hands in his and Toni felt physically weakened by his touch and her own anxiety.

  Toni was mortified by how feeble her voice sounded when she replied, “What am I supposed to tell the guests?”

  Bridget chimed in, “Toni, studies show that lodging facilities that can claim plausible paranormal activity show a fifty per cent higher annual revenue over otherwise equal competition. Being featured on an episode of Paranormal Research Team is like getting a five-star travel guide rating…times ten!”

  Toni nodded. Of course Bridget was right, but the idea of paranormal tourism seemed a lot less scary when Toni was just reading about it in a trade publication. Her mind ticked as she considered her financial reality. She’d blown through all of her savings and then some. The inn had become an albatross around her neck. Everything that could need fixing did. Because of the disrepair, she’d had to cut her rates to attract guests and even at that only half of the potentially rentable rooms were habitable. Then there was the expense of feeding her lodgers and providing them with clean linens. Her balance sheet was teetering on the edge of insolvency. A merciless slideshow of failure played through her mind. She shuddered at the prospect of packing her bags and returning to the city—her tail between her legs—in abject failure.

  Bridget stood, took Toni’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Let’s talk.”

  Bridget gently led her out the front door, then sat next to her on the creaking porch swing.

  “Toni, I can see that you want to make this work. Otherwise, why would you traipse around in that god-awful getup?”

  She scanned Toni’s puritanical dress and winked. Toni laughed in spite of herself.

  “We can help you, Toni. People eat this stuff up. Now, think, is there anything that you haven’t told us that could put this place over the top?”

  Toni closed her eyes. She thought of the dreams—the hot, pussy-wetting dreams—that seemed so real. She thought of that morning’s ghostly dry-hump in the kitchen. She imagined a balance scale—on one side was her embarrassment and on the other was her financial salvation. She opened her eyes and met Bridget’s stare.

  “Well, there is one thing.”

  Bridget leaned in and nodded her encouragement.

  “He touches me.”

  Bridget sat back in the porch swing. “Right. You told us about that, the sensation of being brushed against, like walking into a cobweb or something.”

  Toni shook her head. “No, I mean he touches me…sexually.”

  * * * *

  The Paranormal Research Team was sitting around the dining room table discussing Toni’s supernatural sexual encounters.

  “It’s called paranormal frottage,” Bridget said. “Frottage is from the French meaning ‘to rub’.”

  Thomas and Brad seemed unfazed by the revelation that Toni had been dry-humped by a ghost.

  “It’s actually a pretty common phenomenon,” Brad said. “Everyone in the paranormal research community is aware of it, but nobody talks about it. People think we’re weird enough as it is without thinking we have sex with spirits.”

  Bridget nodded. “And, for that reason, we won’t get explicit when we talk about your encounters. We’ll say that you’ve had ‘sensations of physical contact’ or something to that effect.”

  Toni nodded. Her embarrassment had quickly faded as her business sense kicked in. She could almost hear the clatter of virtual tumblers falling into place when she mentally compared the demographics of Paranormal Research Team’s viewers with her ideal guests. They were—to her surprise and delight—an exact match.

  The team laid out their plan for filming at night. During the day they’d go out and get some exterior shots of the inn and the town. They would approach the guests regarding on-camera interviews. Toni was willing to bet that guys who spent their vacation time playing dress-up would be more than willing to participate.

  Toni and the television crew were still in the dining room when the re-enactors rolled in well past midnight. All six of the men immediately recognised the ghost-hunting celebrities. Toni invited the star-struck re-enactors to join them.

  “The team is going to spend a few nights here,” Toni announced to her guests. “They’ve assured me they won’t be in the way. You can all just go about your business and pretend they aren’t even here.”

  She collected ten mismatched glasses from the top shelf of the china hutch. Using the skeleton key that hung from a ribbon pinned to her bodice, she unlocked the cabinet doors and pulled out her private stash of cognac. She poured her paying guests, and the television team, generous servings before filling her own glass and adding an extra bump. Bridget waved off the drink. Toni took the open seat at the end of the table beside Thomas. She put her glass to her lips, bowed her head, closed her eyes, and dragged the bouquet of the cognac up into her nose. Toni tried to concentrate on picking out the subtle aromas of grape and oak and flowers and nuts. Another scent busted through—the smell of campfires and gun smoke. Toni was about to ask if anyone else smelt it, but Bridget spoke first.

  “We might like to ask a few questions,” Bridget said, batting her long lashes at the re-enactors. “Of course, you’re under no obligation.”

  The redhead closed with a dazzling smile and Toni had to bite back a grin when she saw the moony-eyed expressions on the men’s faces. She noticed that Bridget seemed pale in this light and tiny beads of sweat had formed on her upper lip.

  “This is fantastic!” Mike Briggs said.

  Thomas leaned in to Toni’s ear and whispered, “Told ya they’d eat it up.” Toni jumped when she felt a pat on her thigh. Thomas sat back and met her eye. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

  He hadn’t moved his hand from her thigh and Toni could only manage a shrug and a dopey grin. He was so good-looking. She leaned in a bit and inhaled. He smelt wonderful. Toni scanned his face and stopped at his mouth. She wondered what those lips would feel like against her mouth, her neck, her nipples, her… Toni was amazed by how quickly the cognac had gone to her head. She glanced from his lips to his eyes and he winked. It seemed Thomas had been likewise affected. This kind of inhibition-free behaviour usually didn’t start rearing up until people were well lubricated with liquor.

  She heard Arthur Edwards ask if anyone else smelt gunpowder. His voice seemed muffled and far off.

  They can smell it too, Toni registered.

  Thomas leaned closer. His breath moved the curls that had escaped Toni’s bobby pins and now hung near her ear. He let his hand fall to the inside of her thigh and whispered, “Did you think this was the ghost? I assure you, I’m warm flesh and blood,” punctuating the words by winking and giving her plump flesh a squeeze.

  After that morning in the kitchen, being teased to the brink of orgasm before the ghost disappeared, and now under this spell of strange intoxication, Toni felt brazen. She wanted to be kissed and licked and touched and fucked. She slid a cursory glance around the room. The six guests were all leaning in towards Bridget, hanging on her every word. Bridget seemed unaware that she was stroking the valley of her cleavage and glancing at each of the men with lidded bedroom eyes. Brad had pushed back from the table and was staring at the cell phone in his lap, apparently oblivious to the others in the room.

  The light in the room had taken on a reddish glow and every movement appeared slowed down and exaggerated. Bridget’s voice sounded far away and sluggish, like a record played at too slow a speed. A thought floated through Toni’s mind. I wonder if we’ve been drugged. She concluded that she didn’t care. She felt wonderful, and sexy and incredibly horny.

  Toni reached under the table and laid her hand on Thomas’ thigh. He moaned as if he’d just tasted something wonderful. Thomas pressed the side of his face against hers and breathed in.

  “You smell amazing. I could just eat
you up,” he growled in her ear.

  Toni’s pussy contracted and grew wet and warm at the sound of his voice and the meaning in his words. She slid her hand up his thigh, then flattened her palm over his crotch. She could feel the outline of an enormous erection straining beneath his jeans. She licked her lips as she imagined what that cock would feel like thrusting inside her. Thomas pulled his face from her ear and leant back until they were eye to eye. Toni was bound by his stare. He tilted his head ever so slightly to the right. Toni did the same. Thomas moved a hand behind Toni’s head and pulled her towards him. She could feel his breath on her face and was about to close her eyes and press her lips against his.

  “Oh my God! This is it!” Brad yelled, springing to his feet and sending his chair clattering to the floor.

  An instant after the chair hit the floor, five of the six bulbs in the chandelier above the dining table flared, then burst in tiny, simultaneous explosions, showering down a hailstorm of feather-light glass shards. Everyone pushed back from the table and stood staring dumbly, as if they’d been shocked awake from a deep sleep.

  Thomas was the first to speak. “Please tell me you got that!”

  Without taking his eyes from his cell phone, Brad pulled his hand from the screen and jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the camera standing on the tripod in the corner of the room. “Yep. Those guys will need to sign releases, though.”

  Toni finally found her voice. “What just happened?”

  Brad slipped his cell phone into his shirt pocket. “Um, I’d guess it was a mass trance. Pretty rare. You guys will figure it out. I’ve gotta go, man.”

  Thomas shook his head. “What do you mean you have to go? Go where?”

  “My wife is in labour! This is it!”

  * * * *

  Brad left with nothing but the car keys and the clothes he was wearing. Toni, Thomas, Bridget and the six inn guests were still getting their bearings. Jerry Simpson was the first to break the silence.

  “Well folks, that about does it for me.” He rounded the table, reached out and patted Toni’s shoulder. “Thank you, Miss Bianchi. It’s been an adventure, if not a pleasure.” He patted Thomas and Bridget in turn. “Love your show. Good luck with all this”—the accountant held up his palms and looked over the room—“whatever this is.”

  “You’re leaving?” Toni asked.

  “Yes. He’s leaving. We’re all leaving,” Arthur Edwards said.

  Toni looked at Thomas in a panic. Thomas responded by patting at the air in a “calm down” gesture.

  Arthur Edwards scanned the guests, stood tall and puffed out his chest as if drawing on his experience as a pretend general. “Men, I think it best that we go upstairs together to collect our belongings.”

  Toni couldn’t blame them for freaking out. If her name weren’t on the mortgage, she would have run screaming out the squeaky front door. She felt her shoulders droop as she watched them huddle into a tight pack and try to manoeuvre up the stairs without losing physical contact with one another.

  When the last of their feet had disappeared from view, she turned to Thomas. “Now what am I supposed to do? I’ve got a stack of bills and an empty inn. And I’m pretty sure they’re going to want their money back. And there’s no way you’re going to be able to get them to sign releases now and…”

  Bridget flipped her clipboard onto the dining room table and the tiny shards of broken light bulbs crunched beneath it.

  “Already done. Every one of them signed a release before the weird shit started going down.”

  Thomas clamped his hands over the sides of Bridget’s face and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  “Atta girl!”

  Thomas’ hands remained on Bridget’s face for a moment. He pressed one palm against her forehead. He tilted his head and looked concerned. “You’re burning up, O’Malley. Are you feeling okay?”

  Bridget jerked out of his reach. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just the excitement, and the cognac. You know how drinking makes my face flush.”

  “But you didn’t have a dr…” Toni began, straining to make out Bridget’s face in the dim room

  Bridget stopped her with an icy stare. “I’m fine!”

  Thomas flipped up one end of the tablecloth, catching the glass shards inside, and pushed it back to clear a spot for the three to work. He didn’t look up as the six re-enactors hurried down the stairs in almost as tight of a huddle as they’d ascended.

  Toni started to rise to see them out, but Thomas pressed a palm over her thigh. There was nothing sexual about this under-the-table touch. With his free hand, Thomas scooped up Bridget’s clipboard and tapped it on the far side of the linen to knock off any stray glass. He released Toni’s leg, laid the clipboard on the table and flipped to the blank notebook pages in the back. He didn’t acknowledge the men at the base of the stairs.

  Toni frowned as she heard the front door creak open, then shut, followed by the unmistakable tap of hard-soled shoes falling on the oak planks in the foyer. She wondered for an instant if she was imagining it, but Thomas and Bridget turned towards the sound. Toni held her breath. She sensed the other two were doing the same. The three leaned towards the arch between the foyer and the dining room.

  “Oh, for chrissake!” Thomas said as Mike Briggs rounded the corner.

  The real estate salesman gave an awkward wave as he entered the room.

  “I’d like to stay, if that’s okay,” he said.

  Toni stood. This time Thomas didn’t stop her. She rushed over to the man and drew him into a hug. “Thank you!”

  Thomas shrugged. “Yeah, that’ll be good. We can get at least one guest interview.”

  “Actually,” Mike began, “I was thinking I might be able to help. I went to school to be a photo-journalist. That didn’t work out quite the way I thought. Anyway, I know my way around a camera, and I can’t help but notice you seem to be without your A/V guy.”

  Thomas nodded. “We could use the help. It usually takes two to do tech and Red’s not lookin’ so hot.” Bridget pushed a damp hank of bangs back from her glistening forehead. “I’m fine!” she insisted, not sounding fine at all. “Okay,” Thomas said, giving Bridget a quick once-over. “Let’s storyboard this thing quick so we can get something on tape before sunrise.”

  Thomas motioned everyone in. Mike took the seat at the head of the table. Bridget sat at his right, Thomas at his left and Toni beside Thomas. He fished his keys from his pocket, flicked on the little penlight attached to the ring, and trained the thin beam of light on the clipboard.

  Toni kept her gaze trained on Bridget’s obviously pained face while Thomas began scribbling notes.

  “Okay, Toni, you said you’ve got the most activity in the kitchen…”

  Toni felt a squeeze on her inner thigh. The squeeze became a massage, and the massage became a stroke.

  “…let’s start in there and see if we can get any action.”

  Before Thomas finished his sentence, Toni’s pussy was engulfed in a strong palm with probing fingers.

  Toni shot to standing and when Thomas turned to look at her, she knocked his face back to centre with a strong slap. She was stunned by how satisfying it felt. It was one thing to feel her up when both of them were under some kind of supernatural voodoo trance, but to think he could just…

  “What the fuck was that!” Thomas yelled, dropping his pen and jerking up his hand to cover his face.

  Toni snatched up the penlight and pointed it at him. “Oh please! You think you can just finger-bang me under the table and… What? Because you’re some big TV star I’m just going to grin and be soooo flattered?”

  Thomas dropped his hand from his face and Toni stared wide-eyed at the hand-shaped welt her slap had left behind. Her sense of righteous indignation was beginning to waver. Thomas glared at her as he opened his mouth wide then moved his lower jaw from side to side as if testing for major damage. Toni struggled not to be the first to blink. Thomas met her stare as he groped around the
tabletop for his pen. He picked it up and held it out to her—in the same hand he’d used to cover his now raging red left cheek.

  “I’m left-handed,” he snarled. “I was taking notes. With…my…left…hand, right up until the moment you clocked me. I was nowhere near your pussy, Miss Bianchi!”

  Toni stooped to peer under the table, sweeping the little flashlight back and forth over the space. There was nothing beneath it besides a ratty braided rug.

  Toni stood, dropped the key ring on the table then fidgeted with the front of her dress. “I’m really sorry, Thomas. I…it was just so…I was certain…”

  Thomas’ eyebrows pulled together and he tilted his head to one side. “Did it happen just now? The, uh, contact?”

  Toni nodded.

  Thomas cycled his hand over his head as if twirling a lasso. “Let’s round up the equipment and set up in the kitchen. We’ll interview Toni right now about the frottage. We’ll cut out the overtly sexual stuff, but maybe just talking about it will get Buckman to show himself.”

  Mike and Thomas hurried into the kitchen. Bridget remained in her chair and Toni noticed that her skin had taken on a greyish cast. Toni walked around the table, knelt in front of the pretty ghost hunter then put her hand on Bridget’s forehead. She was burning hot.

  “Do you want to go lie down?” Toni asked.

  Bridget shook her head, “Let’s get a couple of shots. I’ll sleep when the sun comes up.”

  * * * *

  Thomas sat Bridget down at the long farmhouse table in the kitchen and placed some audio equipment within her reach. The redhead just leaned her forehead into her hand while Thomas powered up and adjusted the settings. Mike levelled the camera tripod and tested the ambient light levels for the night-vision camera. Toni leant back against the sink, thankful for the darkened room. The idea of giving Thomas an explicit account of her ghost sex had left her completely mortified.