by Jolie James
Table of Contents
Ghostly Penetration Title Page
About Jolie James
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GHOSTLY
PENETRATION
Jolie James
Copyright © 2013 Steam Books Erotica & Romance
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
The summer I turned 32 was the most interesting summer of my life.
I had graduated with my master’s degree and landed a job teaching sociology at my alma mater. My biggest accomplishment, though, was the purchase of my first house. I had scrimped and saved throughout the entirety of my twenties. It’s amazing how long a person can exist solely on noodles microwaved in a cup. By the spring just before my birthday, I had enough banked in my savings account to begin looking for my new home.
I knew I didn’t want to live in the city, so I focused my search on the countryside. Incredibly, there was a four bedroom farmhouse for sale at an astoundingly low price. I remember making the appointment, thinking for sure that it was a fake. Amazingly, I found myself talking with a pretty voice over the phone and excitedly jotting down directions. The property was only twenty minutes outside of town, and I can still feel the wind in my hair as I raced down the winding road that led to the estate.
When I arrived, a woman was standing against her tan mini-van, obviously waiting for me. I pulled my convertible next to where she was parked and got out of the car. Graciously, she accepted my outstretched hand and began telling me about the house. It sat on a nice chunk of land. There was a small tool shed a few yards from the garage, and I could see the overgrown farm plots stretch across the back field before hitting a wall of forest, dense with trees and shrubs. The house itself was painted blue, almost the same color as the brilliant summer sky. I smiled as I listened to her tell of how she came into ownership of such a sparkling gem.
The farm had been in her family for generations, but no one had lived there over the past two decades. I remember thinking that was odd, since it was such a beautiful home, but I allowed her to continue without interrupting. Recently, her uncle had passed away and he had been the only one willing to keep up with the demands of such a property. It was passed to her in his will and she had initially decided to rent it out. In only a year and a half of renting, she had gone through nearly a dozen tenants. Hardly any of them gave her notice, and even fewer offered an explanation for their sudden desire to move. It was much too far from their jobs for her family to take up residence, so she put the estate on the market.
We stood on the front end of the porch, admiring the hand-carved posts of the railing that wrapped around the entire house. An aroma of patchouli oil kept hitting my nostrils. She unlocked the immense double doors and we entered into the front parlor.
Immediately, something eerie about the house struck me. I chalked up the feeling to its long vacancy, and tried to shake it off as we toured the home. I was pretty much already sold on the deal by its location and price, but the expanse and layout of the rooms was more than enough to make me want to sign. Within a few weeks, we closed the deal and I took ownership of the estate.
I had a group of buddies help me move. It took two truck loads and a few cases of beer, but after a weekend of heaving furniture and lugging boxes, I had my home set up the way I wanted. The architecture of the house perfectly fit my style. Everything I had seemed to perfectly slide into place. One of my buddies I had helping me was a guy I had been seeing on and off for a while at the time. When everyone else had gone home, he stayed to help me relax. We christened half the rooms and I got a blowjob in the tool shed.
The first weird experience I had at the farm happened while he was on his knees sucking my dick. I had my ass resting against the workbench and remember feeling the jagged, splintering wood press against my skin. The space was clean, but still dark despite the sunlight that trickled through the stained windows. I remember sensing someone else’s presence near us. I initially thought that one of my buddies had returned for something, but I never heard anyone approach. There was just the oppressive sensation that I was being watched. I tried to ignore it and focus on the feeling of his tongue wrapping itself around my cock, but it was pervasive. Even when I exploded into his mouth, I was still aware of something else around us.
That night, my friend left and I settled into life in my new home. I had taken the master room and collapsed onto my freshly made bed, exhausted from the move. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember the dream I had. It started like all dreams do, suddenly, but gradually at the same time.
In my dream, I stood in the kitchen of the house, looking at a young man sitting in a chair at a breakfast table. It was my new kitchen, in my new house, but at a different time. There were no major appliances, and the cabinetry was plane pine. Nothing happened for a while. Instead of witnessing any action, I seemed to channel the young man’s emotions. I felt the sadness that wafted from him and couldn’t help but notice the scent of patchouli in the air.
The dream jumped around to images of my buddies, my former home, and back to the young man. He was dressed in jeans without a shirt, this time staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was my bathroom, the one that adjoined to my new room. Again, everything in there was different. The mirror was much smaller, showing only his chiseled face and bulging chest. I looked upon him from behind and noticed scars from lashings across his back.
Suddenly, a series of booming pounds echoed through my consciousness. I watched as the young man in my dream nearly jumped out of his skin and opened the bathroom door. I couldn’t see who stood in the threshold, but I felt his anger towards the young man. The words were jumbled, but the roaring yells of their argument startled me awake.
I remember feeling confused and shaken as my eyes tried to focus on the spinning blades of the ceiling fan above me. I felt the breeze as it blew against my face, becoming aware of the sweat that gathered on my forehead and neck. I stood up in bed, wanting a glass of water, but being too freaked out to travel down to the kitchen, or into the bathroom, to retrieve one. So, I waited until I was dizzy enough with fatigue to lie back down. I was off work for the remaining two weeks of summer, and intended to spend them putting the finishing touches on my new home in a rejuvenating peace and quiet. The dream, however, was an unsettling start to my stay-cation before beginning the fall semester.
Over the next few nights, the dreams became more vivid. I saw the young man in my house and at distinct locations across the grounds. Always, he seemed distraught and desperate for some sort of salvation. There was a tension in his demeanor, as if he were plagued by guilt. I found myself thinking about him often as I spent the days painting and unpacking boxes. Each time I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, he would be there waiting for me.
I began to refer to him in my thoughts as Xander, my ghost man. I honestly thought he was just a figment of my imagination, perpetuated by the stress of such a major life change. How fitting it turned out to be that I found him to be ghost-like.
Now, I had a decent childhood, but coming out in high school was rough for me. When I was seventeen, my dad found my stash of gay porn. He was so upset by it that he didn’t speak to me for weeks. Eventually
, everyone came around to acceptance, and I never felt threatened because of my attraction to other men. The few weeks Dad ignored me though, sent a stinging pain deep down into the core of my soul. In a dream one night, I realized why Xander was so sad.
It was fuzzy, but I knew we were in the tool shed. It was like I was experiencing a dual consciousness. I knew that it was me observing Xander, but I was seeing things from his perspective. I was able to physically feel what he felt; even his breath seemed to be my own. As one entity, we were gazing out the window at a crew of workers in the field. I felt the pressure of his hand around his dick, vaguely aware of my own hand grasping my erection beneath the sheets as I slept.
Xander was pumping away vigorously, deliriously turned on by the sight of the shirtless men in the field, glistening in the sun. I felt his heart beat pound in my own chest as he neared a climax. His fingernails gripped the slick, finished wood of the workbench.
Then, there was a crash and light flooded my view. All of a sudden, I felt intense fear as Xander scrambled to stuff his throbbing cock back into his jeans. Then, there was a searing pain across my back and a thundering yell ringing in my ears. I woke up, sweaty, with my hard dick in my hand, still able to feel the sting from the lashes that had rained down upon him.
The next morning met me with a foul taste in my mouth and a bad mood to match. I felt connected to Xander. The scene from my dream played over and over in my head, and I began to pity him. I considered calling the previous owner, to see if his description matched anyone in her family, but couldn’t bring myself to admit that I was dreaming about a real ghost. Instead, I just contemplated what his existence must have been like, living here in constant fear of his sexuality. My intense concentration on him was probably what brought everything else on, but I sure didn’t realize that at the time.
That day, I was sorting through books as I set them upon the shelves in room I claimed as my office. Without any cause, rhyme, or reason, one of my thickest volumes of an encyclopedia fell to the floor. I immediately knew something had to have pushed it, but the trained part of my brain dismissed the idea completely. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t set it all the way on the shelf, and that it must have lost its balance. Of course, that was logically just as ridiculous.
I attempted to continue unpacking when I was startled by a crash downstairs. I scurried to my feet and rushed down the steps. Each wooden slat squeaked beneath my weight as I sailed down the staircase towards the source of the noise. In my front room, a large potted plant had been tipped over. Soil spilled across the wood floor, and my beautiful blossoms were all crushed. As I stood in astonishment, I saw Xander’s face glimmer across an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. It was more than I could deny, even though I felt it impossible to believe.
I had never been afraid of ghosts, but I suddenly felt the rush of panic that comes from knowing there is something present that you cannot fully explain. I was paralyzed and incapable of deciding what to do next. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up and goose bumps covered my flesh. My first conscious thought circled around being irritated over having wanted a home in the country so badly.
My feet rushed me towards the front parlor and out the door as my hands grabbed my wallet and keys. Before I knew it, I was driving down the road that led back to town. I didn’t plan on stopping, I just needed to clear my head and regain control of the eerie situation I found myself in. By the time I reached the city, though, I had determined to get a hold of some sage in an attempt to get Xander’s spirit out of my house.
~ ~ ~
I returned home as the sun was just sinking below the treetops of forest beyond the back field. I sat in my car and looked up at the blue façade and reflective windows. Just like during the moments I spent getting sucked off in the tool shed, I felt him watching me.
I gathered myself, and the sage, and forced confidence into my steps as I walked back into my new home. The flower pot was still overturned on the living room floor, but, other than that, nothing else seemed disturbed. I glanced around the room, as if looking for spiders, and made my way to the kitchen.
I took out a book of matches and lit the sage stick over the sink, letting the cherry of it glow bright red before blowing out the flame. Smoke started to billow from its end and I began to waft it around the room. I went through the entire house, thinking the sage would help Xander’s spirit catch the drift towards freedom. The whole time, though, there was a part of me that begged him to stay.
When I had gone through every room, closet, and hallway, I began to open the windows. To my amazement, none of them stuck, and I was tension-free as I went back into the kitchen to make some dinner. I threw a steak in a frying pan and boiled a couple cobs of corn. When it was ready, I scooped some coleslaw onto my plate, grabbed a beer, and headed outside. I finished my meal on the porch, listening to the crickets and watching the fireflies dance in the fading summer heat.
When I got back into the house, everything seemed peaceful. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, finally starting to feel at home. I decided to do some reading before I showered and turned in for the night. I got through at least ten chapters before my eyelids started to droop. Still undisturbed by Xander, I climbed the stairs to my room. I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them in the hamper on my way to the bathroom.
I turned the shower on full blast and studied myself in the mirror as it warmed up. Xander kept crossing my mind, and I wondered how desperate he must have been for a companion, for someone to love and accept him. It was cruel and terrible that he was punished for his sexuality. It turned my stomach as I thought about it. Steam built on the mirror, and I pulled the shower curtain to step into the tub.
The massaging jet showerhead I installed sent warm, pulsating waves of water cascading down my shoulders. My mind traveled to a memory of the dream from a few nights before where I became Xander in the tool shed. The thought of him pleasuring himself made my junk lurch in the spray of the shower. I lathered body wash over every inch of my skin before I finally gave in and wrapped my hand around my dick.
I felt the same excitement that I experienced in the dream. I closed my eyes and rested my head on my arm against the tiled wall. I spread soapy bubbles over my cock and pumped my fist up and down around it. I pictured Xander in the shower with me and imagined it was his hand on me instead of my own. I came within a few minutes and rested under the steady stream of warmth as my orgasm washed over me. The shower started to run cold and I emerged from the tub. Instantly chills ran through me, not from temperature, but from a note written in the steam upon the mirror.
The words, ‘Be my hero’ were scribbled across the glass. The message hit me in the core of my being. That’s what I felt like I wanted to be to Xander; his hero. I wanted to save him from his pain and show him the ecstasy of physical love. Immediately, I felt his presence beckoning me to my bed. I didn’t even reach for the towel as I left the bathroom, almost entranced and half expecting to see him standing naked in my room.
I felt like I was back in one of the dreams as I lied down on top of the comforter. The air was heavy in my chest, and I felt the pressure of his spirit across my entire body. I wasn’t startled when I looked down to see the indentation of invisible hands at my sides. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, the scent of patchouli filled my breath. I saw Xander’s face in my mind and imagined him hovering over me.
My eyelids snapped open when I felt an intense heat encompass my package. I saw a pulsating glow directly in front of me. It was almost formless, and I could barely make out a male physique floating above me. Features seemed to define themselves, then fade away. I caught only glimpses of his expressions, but I knew it was Xander.
My mind raced into overdrive and must have overheated, because I was intensely aroused by his energy. Every conscious thought of doubt fled my being and I opened myself completely to him. Even when I closed my eyes, I could still see his glowing form and feel the tingle as his spirit caressed my hips and t
highs. The heat around my dick grew hotter as I swelled to my full size. It swirled around me, like a long tongue.
Exhilarating pulses of pleasure shot through me and I reached my hands to try and feel him. There was only air, and my movement seemed to make the glow disperse. My heart jumped in fear of losing the moment, and I turned over onto my side. I felt Xander wrap himself around my waist and encircle my cock. I shuddered when I felt something phallic at my asshole. Instinctively, my cheeks tightened, but I relaxed, allowing him to push inside of me.
The ghostly penetration was exquisite. There was no friction, only the stimulating stretch that caused pressure deep within me. At the same time, I was getting the best rub down I had ever gotten before. Combined, the two sensations made me rock against the atmosphere as my hands clutched the pillow beneath my head. I abandoned any notions of confusion, or self consciousness about what I was experiencing. I bucked against the force of Xander’s tangible spirit. I felt prickles on my skin and imagined his chest pressed against my back as he fucked me and jerked me off. I opened my mouth, yearning to feel his lips on mine.
Suddenly, I felt like his spirit was completely covering me. Ripples of electricity danced across my tongue as I experienced what it’s like to kiss a ghost.
As our passion mounted, I felt like my soul was melding with his. His glow radiated throughout the entire room. I felt like his fingers were massaging every muscle of my body simultaneously. The rhythm of his thrusts into my ass had me riveting against the mattress while I convulsed around him. A dozen orgasms rocketed through me without my dick spilling a drop of cum. I was floating with the rest of existence where lines of dimensions meant nothing. My consciousness was lost in bliss.
Finally, I erupted. A load of my warm fluid spurted out onto my bedspread like lava spewing from a volcano. It was the strongest reaction I had ever had during sex. I almost lost control of my entire body, especially when his spirit began its own ascension into sexual delight.