Do you believe in ghosts? Me neither. At least I didn’t until a month or so ago. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
My name is Joshua. I’m 39 years old, married and the father of 2 children. For the past year my wife and I have been renovating a small vacation home on the coast of Maine. We got it dirt-cheap because it had been empty for years and really needed a lot of work. We decided to do much of the renovations ourselves to save some money. It’s a really cute cottage, right on the beach. It has 3 bedrooms, although 2 of them are pretty small. But that was fine since we’d only be spending vacation time there.
My brother and I spent last summer building a new deck outside. In the fall and winter we did all of the indoor renovations. We completely redid the kitchen and master bath, refinished all the floors and painted. A month ago we moved in the furniture. We were almost set for our first summer in our new vacation home, but there was still a bit of finish work to do. It was early spring and I told my wife that if I went up there for a few days and brought all my tools, I could get everything done by myself and we’d finally be finished. She agreed, so I took a few days off from work, packed the car and left our home in Boston to go and finish the house.
The drive took a few hours and it was late afternoon by the time I reached the sleepy little coastal town in Maine. I stopped at a small grocery store to pick up some supplies before heading down to the beach where our house was. The little old lady who owned the store recognized me and greeted me warmly. Her name was Emily Thornhall and she and her husband had lived in the town all their lives. They’d owned the grocery store for almost 30 years. They knew everyone and everything in the little town. I told her I was there for a few days to get the house ready for the summer. She helped me find everything I needed and even helped carry the extra bag out to the car for me. I thanked her and climbed into the car. Before I could pull away, she tapped on my window and motioned for me to roll it down. When I did, she leaned in and told me be careful and call her and her husband if anything “funny” should happen.
I was bewildered. I asked her what she meant and she just shrugged and said she’d heard “things”. I asked here what “things” she was talking about and she just fluttered her hands and said that over the years she’d heard the house had a ghost. We both started laughing and she said if I had the time I should come back into the store and she’d put on a pot of coffee and tell me the tale of our ghost. I was a little tired from the drive, but too intrigued not to take her up on her offer.
Back in the store over a steaming hot cup of coffee and some wonderfully fresh, homemade crullers, she told me what she knew. She told me that back in the late 1800’s the house was owned by a fisherman named . She couldn’t recall ’s last name, but she knew quite a few details about his life. It seems was a young widower who lost his wife and child in a terrible accident. He was only in his early 30’s. About a month after the tragic accident, set out on a fishing expedition and never returned. His boat was found drifting about 5 miles off the coast. There was no sign of on board and no sign of foul play. There hadn’t been any storms in recent days. It was a mystery. Some people in the town thought that had taken his own life, distraught as he was over the loss of his family.
I told her that was a sad story, but I still didn’t believe in ghosts. Mrs. Thornhall just smiled at me. Then she said, “Of course, there were those OTHER stories about too.”
I looked at Mrs. Thornhall and asked what the other stories were. She jumped out of her seat and began to clear away the cups and dishes saying she didn’t much like to talk about THAT stuff. Now I was really intrigued and pressed her to please tell me the rest. After all, I told her, it was only fair since I’d be living with his ghost. She looked at me very seriously, sighed and sat down again. She said she’d tell me on one condition: That I would promise not to tell anyone I’d heard it from her. I laughed and told her the secret was safe with me. She pulled her chair right up next to me and began her tale in a very quiet voice as if she was afraid someone would overhear us, even though there was no one else in the store.
Mrs. Thornhall said there was another, darker explanation for the death of ’s wife and daughter and why he may have taken his own life. She said not long after the “accident” rumors began circulating around the small town that ’s wife had actually committed suicide, taking the life of their daughter too so as not to leave her behind. Mrs. Thornhill said people around town were whispering the most dreadful things. One of the town’s other fishermen swore he knew the story was true because it had happened to his cousin’s neighbor. It seems this guy was a deck hand on ’s fishing boat one summer. He was a young man, probably in his late teens or early twenties. It was his first real job away from home. His father thought it was time for him to start making his own way and spoke to directly about giving his son a job. , as the story goes, was delighted and hired the young man immediately. He told the father to have his son down at the boat docks at 4 the following morning and be ready for a 5-day trip. They settled on a salary and the man went home happily to give his son the news.
The next day the father brought the young man down to ’s boat. The story has it that was delighted and commented to the father that he thought his son was a “fine young specimen”. He also told him not to worry, that he’d teach him everything he knew and would bring him back a man.
After 5 days the father went down to the dock to await his son’s arrival. The boat came in and as soon as and the young man got off the boat the father knew something was wrong. His son was very quiet and said he just wanted to go home. barely looked him in the eye as he said to the man that he didn’t think his son was cut out to be a fisherman.
The father took his son home and on the way asked him what was wrong. The young man said he didn’t want to talk about it. The father got irate and said if he didn’t tell him, he’d beat it out of him. The young man broke down in sobs and told his father the whole, terrible story.
He said the third night out he went to his bunk early because he was exhausted from 3 long days of fishing. He fell asleep immediately but sometime later in the night he was awakened by something. He opened his eyes and although it was dark in his cabin, the moonlight was coming through the porthole. He could make out , sitting on the side of his bunk. He asked if it was morning already, but quietly said no and lay down on the bunk beside him.
The young man’s father stopped their carriage and stared at his son with wide eyes. He started sobbing again and said he was sorry to his father.
“Sorry for what, son?” his father asked.
He said that was bigger and stronger than he was and he couldn’t stop him. told him he was going to show him what real fishermen did while away at sea to take care of certain “urges”. The father was now in shock as his son told him how “had his way” with him that night and the next. He said he was afraid would do something terrible if he didn’t let him have what he wanted.
The father dropped off his son and told him not to tell a soul what he’d just told him. He then took off for ’s home with murder on his mind. When he got to ’s he barged in and beat the living daylights out of . ’s wife was horrified. As lay there bleeding, the father told her the story. struggled to his feet. He said that the boy’s story was TRUE except for one detail.
said it was the man’s son who had crept into his bunk that night and made the first advances. He admitted they’d had “immoral sex” but it was by consent and the young man was feeling guilty now and blaming him. ’s wife ran to her room and threw herself on the bed sobbing.
and the father just stood there for a bit staring at each other. Then, surprisingly, the man slumped down into a chair and began to cry. He said he was always afraid his son wasn’t “normal” and no matter what the truth of this story, it just confirmed his suspicions. didn’t know what to say or do.
Finally the man composed himself and rose up from the chair. He looked at and said although he’d like to kill him for ruining his son, he couldn’t. He said he was going to send his son to California to be with some relatives out there; maybe life out west would make more of a man out of him. He told the only reason he’d keep quiet about this and not go to the constable was he didn’t want to ruin his family’s reputation. Without another word, he turned and left. never saw him or the young man again.
But still had his wife to deal with. She was beside herself with grief and shame. She told she hated him and she’d make sure he never saw her or his daughter again. left the house and went to stay on his boat.
The next afternoon the constable came to the boat. He told he had terrible news for him. He said his wife and daughter were dead. Someone had seen them that morning up on the cliffs overlooking the bay. She’d seemed distracted when suddenly she took her daughter in her arms and together they ran off the cliff falling to their deaths on the rocks below. No one seemed to know why such a lovely young woman would do such a terrible thing: no one, of course, except .
Mrs. Thornhall stopped. I was astonished. I told her that was an amazing story and great history of our house. I told her that when we were cleaning out the attic of the house we’d come across a painting of a young man and woman with a little girl on a boat. I said my wife liked the painting and thought they were a lovely family. Mrs. Thornhall said she was sure it was probably and his wife and daughter but if we wanted, she could contact the Historical Society and have it verified.
I asked her if she believed that actually haunted the house. She said over the years when the house was a rental property there were people who’d say they saw him. She remembered one man and woman who left in the middle of the night, refusing to pay the balance of the rent for the summer. They told the rental agent that things happened to them they wouldn’t talk about and they thought the house should be torn down. Everyone in town knew it was . Some of the older townsfolk tell stories of people who swear they’ve seen a young, good-looking sailor walking along the cliffs. The man they described was always dressed in old-fashioned clothing and resembled .
It was getting late now. I thanked Mrs. Thornhall for the coffee and crullers and particularly for the story of . I told her I’d bring her the painting before I left to go back to Boston. She walked me to my car and again told me to call if I needed anything. I smiled at her and told her that even though I loved the story, I still didn’t believe in ghosts. I said I’d be just fine. I pulled away and through my rear view mirror I saw Mrs. Thornhill watching as I rounded the curve toward the beach and my house.
After I arrived at the house and unpacked the car, the first thing I did was head out to the garage and get out that old painting and bring it inside. I took a long, close look at it for the first time. When we originally found this we had no idea it may be people who actually lived here. They were a good-looking family. The wife was pretty with blonde hair and very white skin. The little girl had a halo of blonde curls framing a face that mirrored her mother’s. (if it really was ) was a handsome fellow with dark, curly hair and full beard. The way the artist painted him, he had a deep tan and crow’s feet around his eyes probably from too many hours spent in the sun and wind. All three were smiling and appeared not to have a care in the world. I smiled to myself as I recalled Mrs. Thornhill’s story. Ghosts, indeed!
I turned off the kitchen light and decided to hit the hay. I was really tired and tomorrow would be a long day. As it was I was up much later than I’d planned. I locked up and made my way to the master bedroom. Flipping on the light in the bathroom, I stripped down to my boxers and flopped down on the bed. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Sometime during the night I woke up. I was a bit disoriented from the unfamiliar surroundings, but I quickly realized where I was and that I’d left the light on in the bathroom. I got out of bed to go shut off the light and as I came around the bed, I stubbed my toe really hard-on something on the floor. I was hopping around on one foot, my toe was throbbing so much, and I made my way to the night stand by the bed to turn on the light. When I did, I sat down on the bed to examine my foot. There was no blood, but it was red and sore as hell. I was really pissed too: I couldn’t imagine what I possibly could have left on the floor on which I could have so stubbed my toe. I got up to look and was startled by what I saw: There, lying at the foot of my bed on the floor, was the painting of and his family.
How did that get there? I had left it in the kitchen. At least I thought that’s where I’d left it. I picked up the painting and propped it against the wall next to the bed. I was looking at it and feeling a little creepy. The best I could guess was that I was so tired when I went to bed that I just forgot I had carried it to the bedroom with me. I had a fleeting thought of Mrs. Thornhill and her ghost tale.
I laughed to myself and decided my imagination was getting the best of me. I got up and went into the bathroom to take a long, much-needed piss. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly 3am. I still had time to get more sleep before sunrise. I really wanted to be well rested for the long day ahead. I got back into bed. This time I pulled the covers over me as I glanced at ’s painting and chuckled. I looked at him and told him to let me get some sleep. If he wanted to play games, we’d have to do it tomorrow. I turned off the lights and rolled on my side to try and get back to sleep. It didn’t take very long and the next thing I knew the sun was shining through the window on my face.
I must have overslept. I pulled my arm out from under the covers to look at my watch, but I wasn’t wearing it. I glanced over and there it was on the dresser. I got out of bed to get it and was mildly surprised to find I was naked, and my boxers were lying in a heap next to the bed. I stood there for a second. Didn’t I have on my shorts and watch when I went to bed? Then I remembered stubbing my toe and going to the bathroom. I must have been half sleepwalking and got undressed before I got back into bed. I grabbed my watch off the dresser and sure enough it was already 9:30. I’d slept way longer than I had wanted to.
I made my way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I didn’t even bother to get dressed: the house was very secluded and no one was going to see me in my kitchen naked, making coffee. As the coffee brewed, I stepped out on to the deck to look at the ocean. It felt great being naked in the warm morning sun. I loved the feeling and normally didn’t get much of a chance with two little kids running around the house. I realized I liked being here alone, free to do as I pleased.
I went back inside and poured myself a cup of coffee, then went back out to the deck to drink it and plan my day. I was sitting on a lounge chair in the morning sun deciding what to do first and taking in the view. Right next to the house were some rather large dunes with really tall grass. Beyond the dunes were the beach and the ocean. I was watching the morning tide come in. The sun was warming my body and I was feeling very relaxed. I thought I’d better get going or I’d spend the day out here sunbathing in the nude. As inviting an idea as that was, I got up from the lounge chair to go inside and get dressed. As I stood I looked down and realized I had the beginnings of a nice hard-on! The sun and warm air were having a very erotic effect on me, but I thought there’s no time for nonsense with so much to do, so I quickly went inside and got dressed in my old work clothes and set out to get something productive done.
By four in the afternoon I had all the trim work in the kitchen, family room and both small bedrooms finished. I decided that was enough for today. Tomorrow I’d prime and paint the trim. I was starving because I hadn’t eaten all day. I thought I’d take a long hot shower and fix myself one of those nice thick steaks on the barbeque that I’d gotten from Mrs. Thornhill. After cleaning up and putting away all my tools, I went into the bedroom to get out of my sweaty clothes and take that shower.
I quickly stripped and went into the bathroom. I couldn’t wait to use our new glass enclosed shower. It had two showerheads and different settings. One was a massage setting that I intended to try out on my tired body. As the water warmed up I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. At 39 I was still in pretty good shape. I worked out a few days a week and made a commitment that I wasn’t going to start going soft as so many of my friends had. I had a 33-inch waist, nice muscle tone, not really built, but lean and firm. My thighs and calves were nicely thick from running and my butt was still good and firm.
Just before I stepped into the shower I stopped at the large windows that overlooked the dunes next to the house. My wife wanted to cover the windows for privacy but I convinced her that the view was too good and no one could see in since the dunes were off-limits to the public because they were considered to be ecologically fragile.
I stepped into the glass shower and the water temperature was just right. I shampooed my hair and began to soap up my sweaty body. The shower felt great coming at me from two sides. I rinsed off the soap, turned both showerheads to massage and made the water a little hotter. Soon the glass began to steam up and the pulsating water against my muscles was having a wonderful effect. I closed my eyes and let the water beat down on me.
As I slowly turned around, one of the water jets landed right on my groin. I jumped back, expecting it to hurt, but to my surprise it felt really good. I moved under the stream again and let the water beat against my cock. In no time at all it brought me to a full erection. I leaned back and just let it happen. I recalled the hard-on from that morning and decided a nice little hand job in the shower was just what I needed. Once the water got me to full attention I wrapped my hand around the base of my cock and slowly began to pump. The water was beating against my balls on one side and my lower back on the other as my hand was massaging the head of my cock. I couldn’t believe how good this was feeling. I just let go. Between the heat of the shower and the water massage, in no time at all I was ready to shoot. I stood straight up and spread my legs wide. One hand pumped my rigid cock and the other was pinching one of my nipples. I was breathing heavily and moaning a bit. I felt the first shot of cum rising out of me. It hit the glass shower wall as my body started shaking all over. Globs of white juice flowed down the shower wall. Slowly my breathing came back to normal but I was weak in the knees as I carefully stepped under the water again to rinse off.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, I began to dry myself off. I was feeling much better now and couldn’t wait for that steak. I glanced out the windows and thought I saw something move in the dune grass, as if someone had just dodged out of sight. I watched for a minute but didn’t see anything and decided it was the wind and shadows playing tricks on me. No one was supposed to be on those dunes anyway. I went into the bedroom, put on a tee shirt and pair of running shorts and made my way to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
As the steak was grilling, I remembered a bottle of wine that my brother had brought up the last time he was here. I found it in the kitchen and prayed we had a corkscrew. Luckily we did, so I popped open the wine and poured myself a generous glass. My brother was a wine aficionado so this was a really nice bottle of vintage red, but after a couple of long sips on an empty stomach I was already feeling a bit woozy. The steak was done to perfection and I sat down and devoured it along with a baked potato. I was feeling quite relaxed now between the hot shower, a great meal and a half bottle of wine. I cleaned up the kitchen and took the rest of the wine out to the deck. It was an unusually warm night for this early in the spring. I lay back in the lounge chair with my wine and stared up at the stars. Yep, I decided this was the life: No job, no city pressures, just peace and quiet. I missed my family but had to admit I was enjoying the solitude. I reached down to pour myself more wine and was surprised to see I’d emptied the bottle. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I knocked off a whole bottle by myself. I took my last sips and closed my eyes listening to the ocean in the distance. In no time at all the sound of the waves lulled me to sleep.
In my wine-induced slumber I began to dream. I was in the bedroom of the beach house and it was night. I couldn’t see very well, but what I could feel was incredible: a warm mouth was engulfing my cock. In the dream I reached down and ran my fingers through the hair on the head that was servicing me. I murmured in the dream to my wife to not stop. I called her by name and urged her on, telling her what she was doing was fantastic. She didn’t answer but proceeded to suck even harder. I was moaning and holding her head as I began to pump my hips. Her hand reached underneath me and her fingers began to play with my ass. In my dream I was surprised because my wife never did anything like that to me. Slowly she pushed a finger inside me as she greedily sucked on me. I was going wild, thrashing around and begging her to finger me harder as I ground my ass into her hand and pumped my cock down her throat. I began to have a crushing orgasm, moaning and calling out her name. She swallowed every last drop, pulled her finger out of me and sat up.
I lay there with my eyes closed, catching my breath. I mumbled to her in the dream that she’d just given me the best blowjob she had ever given me. I asked where she had learned that. She didn’t answer. I opened my eyes and looked down at her. All the breath went out of my body: There, sitting at the foot of the bed between my legs, wasn’t my wife; it was ! He just smiled at me, stood up and walked out of the room. I tried to get up to go after him but in my dream I couldn’t move. I tried to yell but nothing came out of my mouth. I lay there and struggled and struggled until I finally jolted awake.
I was still outside on the deck in the lounge chair. I was out of breath, covered in sweat and rather dizzy while trying to make sense of what had just happened. I sat up. My running shorts were pulled down to my knees. My half hard dick was wet and there was cum in my pubic hair. I hadn’t had a wet dream since I was in high school. I must have been whacking off in my sleep. I pulled up my shorts and fell back on the lounge chair. I realized the sun was coming up. I’d been out there all night. I lay there thinking about the dream and feeling uncomfortable. After a little while, I picked up the empty wine bottle and glass and went into the house to make a pot of coffee.
As the coffee brewed, I threw the wine bottle in the recycle bin and vowed never to drink a whole bottle by myself again. I was more awake now and surprised that not only didn’t I have a hangover I was feeling pretty good. I made my way into the bathroom to take a quick shower. As I stripped off my clothes, in the mirror I looked at the dried cum on my crotch. I think I actually blushed but I had to chuckle to myself: Whoever gave me that blowjob in my dream sure knew what they were doing! Between Mrs. Thornhill’s stories and too much wine, this was turning into a strange few days.
Painting the trim that morning went quicker than I thought and I was finished by early afternoon. I cleaned up and opened all the windows in the house to blow out the paint smell. I hadn’t thought of the dream all morning but now that I was finished working it came back to me. I decided to take the painting of to Mrs. Thornhill. Part of me wanted to verify that it was and part of me just wanted it out of the house. It was beginning to spook me.
I called home to check in with my wife. She said everything was fine there and asked how I was doing. I realized I shouldn’t tell her about , at least not yet. And I CERTAINLY wasn’t going to tell her about the dream I’d had. I just told her the job was moving quickly and I’d probably be done a couple of days early. She surprised me by saying I should stay for the whole five days and relax a bit. She and the kids had made plans to visit her sister anyway and she didn’t want to change them. Since I’d already arranged for the time off, I agreed. Drunken wet dreams and ghosts aside, I was enjoying being here.
Driving down to Mrs. Thornhill’s with the painting, I found myself wondering about . Obviously he was gay, or at least bisexual. I thought how difficult it must have been for him back when he was alive to have those feelings. People nowadays are more liberated in their thinking and except for some conservative, right wing religious hypocrites most people didn’t give a rat’s ass who anyone slept with as long as it didn’t harm anyone. As a matter of fact my wife and I are very close friends with a gay couple, Rob and Thomas. My wife has known Rob since high school and he was even an usher in our wedding. He and Thomas even met at our wedding. Thomas was the “date” of one of our bridal attendants. Rob caught my wife’s garter at the reception and when it came time to put it on a lovely young lady’s leg, he grabbed Thomas out of the crowd and put it on his! Thomas blushed a blue streak, but everyone at the reception roared with laughter and thought it was cute. They’ve been together ever since and the four of us spend a fair amount of time together.
I’ve taken quite a bit of ribbing over the years from the two of them. They keep telling me I should “switch sides” for a night and give them a try. My wife just laughs at this, but one night Rob jokingly said that men give better head than women. They got into a good-natured argument over that, but I could tell my wife was wondering how true a statement that was. To be honest, so did I. I figured that a guy knows what turns a guy on, so it should follow that a guy could do a better job. I said so, which shocked my wife and Rob spent the better part of the next hour trying like hell to convince me to give it a go. He didn’t get anywhere, but he had me wondering. It was all just so easy and natural for us to talk about. Poor probably had no one to talk to and was convinced he was perverted or something.
I parked the car, picked up the painting out of the back seat and brought it into Mrs. Thornhill’s shop. She seemed delighted to see me, but even more excited over the painting. She said she’d get it over to the Historical Society that evening as she poured us both a cup of her fabulous coffee. Looking at the painting, Mrs. Thornhill decided she was sure it was . The descriptions she’d heard of him over the years matched the man on the boat exactly. She asked how things were going at the house. I told her I was pretty much finished but was staying through the weekend. She fiddled with her coffee cup a bit then nervously asked me if I’d experienced anything unusual during the past three nights. I told her no, which was a lie, but how was I supposed to tell this sweet little, gray haired lady about my dream? She gave me a long hard look and seemed to be about to say something when some customers walked into the store. I told her I had to go and asked her to call me when she heard back from the Historical Society.
When I got back to the house there was the beginning of a beautiful sunset over the hills and a warm breeze coming off the ocean. I fixed myself a salad for dinner and took it, a glass of iced tea and a book I was reading out to the deck to enjoy and relax. While I was eating I put all thoughts of our ghost out of my head and thought how glad I was the house was finished. We were going to have a wonderful summer here I decided. After reading outside for a while I realized I was pretty tired and thought I’d just get into bed with the book. I cleaned up, locked the house and went up to bed. I took a quick shower, slipped on a pair of clean boxer shorts and climbed into bed with my book.
Reading in bed for me was like taking a sleeping pill. Within 10 minutes I could hardly keep my eyes open. I lay the book down next to me for just a second and before I could pick it up again I was fast asleep. I don’t know how long I was asleep when the dream started, but this time even asleep I was frightened.
I was lying on my back in the bed. was standing at the foot of the bed smiling at me. I was completely nude and couldn’t seem to move although I tried to get up several times. I began to panic and tried to yell but nothing would come out of my mouth. came to the side of the bed looking down at me and smiling, always smiling. He stroked my forehead as if to calm me. I stopped struggling and just lay there. sat on the side of the bed. He continued to stroke my forehead until my breathing came back to near normal. His hands then started to stroke down my chest. I felt shivers run through me as he lightly ran his fingers down my body. He turned his head and looked toward my crotch. I looked down and I was getting hard. I couldn’t stop myself. He looked back and me and nodded and smiled. His other hand circled my cock and began to pump it until I was fully hard. He took his hand away and stood up.
I watched as he walked to the end of bed, got between my legs and moved them apart. He lowered his head over my cock and began to take it in his mouth. It was warm and wet and felt like nothing I’d ever felt before. My whole body began to quiver. He slipped one hand under my ass and began to press one finger against my hole. I could feel myself begin to push against him as his finger slid inside me. Waves of pleasure swept over me as he fingered my ass and sucked my cock. I was surprised to see I could move my arms and instead of trying to get away, I had ’s head in my hands and I was pushing it down on my cock, moaning and quietly asking for more.
Suddenly he stopped and stood up. I watched as he undid his pants and let them drop. His cock was rigid and stood straight out from his body. He bent over and turned me on my stomach. I didn’t even try to resist as climbed on top of me and placed the head of his cock against my ass. With his body against mine I was pinned between him and the bed. I don’t even remember if I tried to move, but I felt him begin to push forward with his hips. It felt like a white-hot poker was burning into me. pushed harder against me and I began to feel him enter my ass. I was moaning underneath him and he stroked my forehead as he’d done before to calm me. Soon the pain began to lessen and ’s cock was sliding more freely inside me. The next thing I knew he was fucking me fast with long hard strokes. It felt wonderful every time his cock pushed past my prostate. I realized my cock was leaking beneath me and I could feel ’s hot breath on my neck. I was pushing back against him as if I couldn’t get enough, and I couldn’t! I wanted more and would have begged for it.
I don’t know how long this lasted, but finally I felt that familiar feeling in my stomach. I was going to cum and nothing could stop it. I was bucking under as the first shot left my cock. I could feel the wetness spreading on the sheet beneath me as I came and came. The only sound I thought I heard from was a faint moan as his body went rigid and I felt his cock spasm inside me pumping his cum in my ass. I felt his cock slide out of me. I wanted to reach around and put it back, I felt so empty. And then I realized he was gone. I couldn’t feel him on top of me anymore. I drifted and everything went black.
I opened my eyes to the sun shining on my face. I immediately knew something had happened, but I was groggy. Then I felt the wetness under me. I didn’t move. The dream came crashing back to me. What was going on? Then as I moved to try and get out of bed, I realized something else. My ass was sore and as I moved my legs to get up I felt a sticky wet feeling between my ass cheeks. I lay still as I reached down to feel myself. It was warm and wet but it wasn’t blood, it was cum! I just lay there confused and scared. It was a DREAM; it had to be! But…But what?
I lay in bed for over an hour. I was going over and over the dream. Had I actually enjoyed it? Was it possible that I actually lay there and not only did not resist, but enjoyed it? Did the ghost of actually come to me last night and make love to me? Take my virginity? And I enjoyed it? The truth was, I did enjoy it. As I recalled the feelings he had made me feel, I realized I liked it. Not only that, I wanted it. ’s ghost was real. I had the proof. But it was proof I couldn’t share with a soul.
That day I did manage to get out of bed. I showered, dressed and had coffee, just like every other morning. I walked the beach for miles thinking about what had happened to me. I felt changed somehow. I wasn’t quite sure how or what was going to happen but one thing seemed certain: things were different now.
That night, as will happen in the early spring, the weather changed from warm to cool. After dinner I built a fire in the fireplace. I got another bottle of wine my brother had brought for me, turned off all the lights and sat in front of the fire to think. And as I drank the wine it all became very clear to me.
I looked up. He smiled down at me. “Have a glass of wine . I’ve been waiting for you.”
And he reached down and stroked my forehead.