Ghostlover Ch. 00

Here are the memories of Elizabeth [surname deleted], who had a boyfriend she did never kiss, but after his demise she wildly copulated with his five ghosts, even after her getting married and bearing children, until she died at 102.

*

It all began the evening in which I heard a rifle crack. After a few minutes, dad went in and told me, "Don't worry, darling, I've just shot dead a wild boar which was getting near the poultry pen. I'm taking a spade and bury it."

"Why don't we dress and eat it, dad?"

"There is an Echinococcus outbreak among the animals in the wood. Eating their flesh would be very risky. The best solution would be burning the carrion, but we're going to face a harsh winter, and we cannot squander firewood."

Dad went out with the spade, and I went to my bedroom; I took out a letter from my bosom, written by my boyfriend Paul, who wrote that he was going to work in a shipyard as an accountant, and was going to meet me that night, in my bedroom, before catching the train to London.

I was nearly aroused by his letter, and wildly fantasized about what we would do together that night. Paul was a young man who studied in an Edinburgh boarding school while I was growing up, and when he ended it and came back to town -- I was smitten by him.

He was tall, learned, polite and sturdy, as his boarding school required both learning and strength. Hadn't his family gone bankrupt, he would have soon joined a good university, but his current priority was finding a job.

Dad hired him for a few months; he reorganized our accounts, and inventoried all our property. When he was done, Dad fired him.

Dad was kind of a gentleman: he simply stated that Paul had worked very well, and he just dismissed him because his task was completed.

But the real reason is that he became suspicious of us, and when he knew I was smitten with him, he kept reminding me that his family was brought to bankruptcy by Paul's father's alcoholism.

"His father's problem, not Paul's", I replied, but he rejoined, "Alcohol dependency runs in families, and I'm not going to take the risk. Please, ask his mother's neighbors what are they forced to witness each night. I want a healthy, not an abusive husband for my daughter."

I didn't listen to him -- while he was working in our house he could have drunk either our beer or our whisky, but he didn't, so I assumed that he was clean.

But that night, in which the rifle cracked, Paul didn't materialize. I thought that he either couldn't evade my father's watch, or that he was forced to take an earlier train than anticipated, so I didn't worry about him.

But a few nights later, I saw the semblance of Paul in my bedroom, as I went to bed. I tried to hug him, but I felt that he lacked his body -- he was just a ghost!

"What has happened, Paul?"

"The hog dangerously nearing the poultry pen that your father shot dead a few nights ago -- it was me."

"I'll kill him."

"Sorry, but revenge won't help me now. By the way, your father was genuinely worried about your health."

"I don't think you've inherited alcoholism from your father."

"It isn't just an alcohol-related problem. I've caught syphilis."

"The venereal disease?"

"Which is up to now, Anno Domini 1894, incurable? Yes. Had you become my wife, you would certainly have caught it. So would have our children."

"Did Dad know that?"

"He saw me getting out from the practice of a venereologist -- a specialist in such diseases."

"What did Dad do of your body?"

"He didn't use the spade he had taken - he dragged my body to the manhole of an old cistern, and dumped me into it."

"And you'll keep haunting my house until you'll be removed from the cistern and properly buried and mourned, won't you?"

"Yes, Liz. Although I haven't been fully honest with you, I still deserve a proper burial."

"Paul ... could you still infect me with the disease?"

"No. Not in my ghostly form."

"Paul ... my life has ended the very evening Dad shot you dead. I swore I would never love anybody but you, and I'll keep the promise.

You concealed your illness from me, exposing me to grave danger; I won't remove your body from the cistern."

"Why?"

"Because I'll never have anybody or anything sweeter in my life than your ghostly presence."

"You're crazy. You can't deprive anybody of his grave!

Jews -- I met some in Edinburgh -- say that burial is the charitable act par excellence, since the dead may not even know what is being done to him, let alone reciprocate!"

"Jews are right, but look at my neck. What you see encircling it?"

"A necklace -- made up of pearls."

"Pearls are secreted by oysters when a foreign body enters them. What is an illness for the oyster is beauty incarnate for a woman.

You are my favorite pearl, Paul. I won't lose it."

"Measure for measure, as the Bard put it. My illness could have caused you lifelong pain, so you now want my pain to be your solace."

"Not just solace, not just pain. Couldn't you become somewhat denser?"

"What you mean?"

"Our vicar keeps telling tales of 'incubi' and 'succubi' -- a 'succubus' collects semen from men, and then becomes an 'incubus' to give it to women."

"I can't give you real semen. I can emulate copulation, but the semen will be as ghostly as my body. It won't have any effect on you."

"It could be to my advantage, couldn't it? I will never marry anyway; why shouldn't I lose my occasion to enjoy the pleasures of love scot free - without risking pregnancy, miscarriage, labor pains and delivery death?"

"You may be right -- but you have to promise me that you'll see that after your death, the whereabouts of my body will be disclosed, and my body will be properly buried."

"Oh, I'll ask that we will be buried together."

Paul loved the idea, and kissed me. He was somewhat denser now, and I could feel his tongue wedging through my lips; I opened them, so I had my first French kiss.

We kissed once, twice, three and more times ... until I felt his hand on my left nipple, touching my skin, not my clothes.

"How could you do that?" I asked, and Paul answered, "Ghosts can cross walls, not just clothes."

Paul continued fondling my breast, my two breasts, arousing me so much that I laid on the bed and begged for more.

He kneeled on my genitalia and began licking and eating them sending me into ecstasy -- without removing a cloth from my body; had I worn a chastity belt, it would have made no difference.

But I told him, "Undress me ... when I'm naked I am more excitable."

He did that, he told me that he had never seen a woman as beautiful as me, he especially complimented my 42"-32" bosom and my long black hair I could cover my whole trunk with.

So I removed all the pins from my coiffure, and spread my hair all around my trunk -- he loved playing with it and uncovering my body again; then he undressed and asked me to fondle his penis and eat it as if it were a sausage.

I did that, loved his penis' taste, and even tried to cause ejaculation, but once it was so hard and inflated that it became wider than my mouth and crossed my teeth, palate, uvula and tongue, he withdrew it, and put it into my vagina.

Although I was a virgin, I felt no pain, and I didn't shed blood -- but I felt his grand penis filling my whole body, and when he ejaculated, I felt his warm fluid soaking me all over.

His saber was not just magnificent, was also masterfully brandished, and not only I felt unprecedented bliss -- I felt complete for the first time.

When we both were done, I put a finger into my genitalia, and was astonished at finding my maidenhead intact.

Paul smiled and said, "The basic skill of a ghost is modulating his density -- I was thick where I had to push your vaginal walls away and tickle your clitoris, thin when I had to cross your cribiform hymen.

You promised that you won't love anybody but me ... but a gentleman doesn't compromise a woman's reputation."

"I love you, Paul."

"I love you, Liz."

Paul then snuggled behind me and hugged me from behind; he fondled my breasts, and inserted his penis between my buttocks, its tip touching my anus. Although I had worked as a nurse at a doctor's, I didn't yet know what was he going to do.

He asked whether he could insert the tip of his penis into my anus, and I found no reason to object; but his tip was now very thin, and his penis penetrated like a douche pipe.

While he was in, one of his hands reached my vulva and masturbated me, while the other fondled my breasts; his penis in my rectum began inflating and throbbing, and arousing me.

I climaxed when his penis completely and somewhat painfully sealed my anus, and discharged a pint of urine into my rectum. Paul didn't release me, didn't stop masturbating me, until the urine stimulated defecation, and I had to hurriedly sit on the chamber pot.

I had never moved my bowels in front of a man since I was five, and I felt somewhat umiliated; but Paul gently stroked my cheek, combed my hair, even cleaned it with his tongue -- and I noticed that his penis was nonetheless immaculate.

"Ghosts never soil themselves," he remarked, and when I was done he licked my butt clean.

I'm somewhat revengeful, so I asked him to clean my vulva too -- and he did it perfectly, although I urinated into his mouth when he was doing that. Why should only he allowed to pee into someone else's orifices?

Actually, he loved that act; so we kept madly making love until dawn. At dawn, he bade me farewell, and promised me to meet me again next night.

I felt elated for the whole day, and I couldn't help remembering what we had done, and thinking about what we would do in the evening.

That evening, he found me in the bed, naked, under the blankets. He joined me, and suckled my breasts to arouse me before making love. We did the same things that we had done the night before, and I told him that a thing I always dreamt of was having twins, nursing them and, once they were replete and I aroused, make love with him.

"I can give you them."

"Could you make me pregnant?"

"With a phantom pregnancy, of course."

I laughed so much that Dad shouted, "I've always told you that you shouldn't bring Jerome Klapka Jerome's books to bed."

I repressed my laugh, and asked him, "What do you mean? I know that bitches [female dogs] are prone to it, but I don't think it may happen to me."

"I can have you conceive two ghosts like me. The doctor will only diagnose a false pregnancy, but you'll eventually bear twin ghosts, and you'll be able to nurse them."

I enjoyed the idea of becoming a mother, although a ghostly mother, and I agreed. After a couple weeks of wild nightly love, I missed my period.

After a month, I had bouts of nausea and my father smelled a rat; he asked me if I wanted to see a doctor, and I said yes.

Our family doctor visited me and told us, "The maidenhead is still intact, and a cribiform hymen like hers wouldn't have withstood sexual intercourse.

Her breasts have swollen and her nipples and areolas have become darker and broader -- it may show pregnancy, but women can miss periods and feel sickness for several reasons.

I'd visit her again in two months. If she is really pregnant, I should be able to discern uterine enlargement; if not, pregnancy may only be her wildest desire."

Dad told me, "In my opinion, you should leave the town for a few months, until your condition becomes clear.

The doctor is a prudent and discreet man, but the townspeople aren't, and we should prevent them from gossiping."

"What if I am really pregnant?"

"You said no, the doctor said that it is unlikely. But if you really are, we'll find a solution for you and ... my grandson."

So I moved to Anne's. She was my father's sister; since she was a fresh widow, with a daughter named Mary, Dad could pretend that I moved in in order to help them.

As she lived forty miles from my home, I feared I couldn't meet Paul at night, but he managed to follow me, and when Mary was asleep, we kept making love -- in a very strange way.

I and Mary shared a queen-size bed, and Paul had to carefully modulate his density when he met me, as he had to be "thick" in the body parts in my bed half (in order to touch me and make love with me), and "thin" in the body parts in Mary's bed half -- or he would have awaken, or worse, smashed or smothered her.

I didn't even undress, so he could instantly vanish if we were seen and I could pretend nothing had happened. Apparently it worked, and Mary never suspected anything.

After two months, our doctor visited me again, and ruled out pregnancy, since my womb hadn't grown an inch since his last visit, although my belly and my bust had somewhat grown up.

He didn't find any illness, though, so he diagnosed me with "pseudocyesis", and advised me to seek a husband, so I could have a real child.

Since my symptoms didn't subdue after his statement, I stood with aunt Anne until the ninth month of my purported pregnancy; then one night, after long hours of love with Paul (Mary was 'sleeping' at Linda's, so she couldn't interfere), I suddenly and painlessly gave birth to two specters.

They weren't the ghosts of two newborn children ... they were two adult midgets resembling Paul! They were two miniatures of Paul!

I was astonished at that, and Paul explained, "Ghostly blood and human blood don't mix. You could only nourish these ghosts, in and out of your womb, but you couldn't contribute to their essence or aspect."

"So, they aren't my children, are they?"

"Think to them as adoptees. Actually, they are my replicas."

These replicas cried, my breasts spurted milk, so I nursed them; I knew that male infants could get an erection while suckling -- but nursing two male midgets was far more embarrassing, as they rubbed their scrota against the thighs they were sitting on, and their members against my hips.

Their arousal matched my excitation, as they masterfully drew my milk from my breasts, and hugged and fondled them. Then Paul opened his pants, and offered me his erect penis.

I grabbed it and began sucking it -- eventually the milk oozing through my nipples was matched by the semen entering my mouth.

The replicas were apparently insatiable -- they kept suckling for more than an hour, and my mammae kept producing milk; Paul put a hand on my forehead and (gently) pushed me to the mattress.

I knew what he wanted, and moved my ankles out of his way, so he could penetrate me while the replicas kept suckling.

The pleasure was exceedingly intense, and only when I and Paul came, the replicas came too and stopped suckling.

"Thanks, Elizabeth," said all three Pauls.

"You're welcome," I replied, and noticed, "These replicas deserve a name. How could we call them?"

"Paul II," answered the midget at my right; "Paul III", answered the other.

"There is another problem," I said, "They won't be able to live with me, and I won't be able to rear them."

"They don't need maternal care, as they are miniatures, not babies. They will be content with being nursed or led to orgasm from time to time."

I laughed and quoted the Gospel, "Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

"Right. During the day they'll be with me; during the night, you'll meet them."

In a few days, the belly came to normal proportions, but the breasts were fiercely lactating, had grown to 45", and I agreed to nurse two babies (in the flesh!) whose mothers couldn't nurse them.

The children loved me and my milk, so it took 36 months to wean them. I've been told that women without a husband risk developing an unhealthy attachment to the children they nurse, but it was not my case, since the Pauls kept satisfying me at night, and at times even during the day.

After weaning these children, I kept lactating, but I learnt how to conceal that during the day, so I could go back at Dad's, and learn that there were some handsome and well-off guys who were going to ask my hand in marriage.

I talked about it with Paul, who said that he wasn't jealous, and thought that I needed real children, not just phantom pregnancies.

I didn't really love any of my suitors, but I knew that I could sleep with them, and that the Pauls would have given me pleasure in any case.

So I picked Arthur, the owner of a big farm, who wasn't disappointed at discovering that I was a wet nurse; he only feared that lactation could interfere with conception, but a few months later our doctor proved that it wasn't the case: I was pregnant -- for real!

But it was Paul who told me first, the very night I conceived, and he even proposed me to host another couple of ghosts in my womb, together with my child, during this pregnancy.

As he assured me that nobody would be harmed, I accepted, so I didn't just give birth to Angela, my and Arthur's daughter, but also to Paula A and Paula B, Paul's miniatures -- of the opposite sex.

My love life with Arthur was quite normal -- I only wanted the missionary position, in order to easily get pregnant; but when Arthur was away (he got up at about 4.00 every morning, as he had to manage a big farm with lots of cattle and sheep) I had wild orgies with Paul and his miniatures.

It usually went as such: the Paulas, the female replicas, sat on my thighs, latched on to my breasts like leeches, and rubbed their genitalia against my femurs.

As they aroused me, I laid supine, exposing my rectum and vagina to enemy fire. So the lesser Pauls drew lots to choose orifices, and one of them sodomized me, while the other (nearly) raped me.

Now it was the turn of Paul, my original lover, who first kissed me, and then let me suck his penis.

The Paulas swapped my tits, while the Pauls exchanged my orifices: Paul I went to my vulva, Paul II to my anus, Paul III to my mouth -- don't worry, "ghosts never soil themselves".

The next turn, the Pauls moved to the next orifices; then the lesser Pauls exchanged places with the Paulas: they [the males] sucked my tits, while I was engaged in a threesome with the Paulas -- I ate the vulva of Paula A, who in turn ate the one of Paula B, who in turn ate mine.

This triangle required external support to avoid falling, and it was the greater Paul, Paul I, who kept them in place while his penis was tightly inserted into my rectum. After the first orgasm, the Paulas swapped places (so I ate Paula B's vulva, and so on), and so did the Pauls (therefore, the one at my right breast went to my left).

It took a few hours to perform all that, and when we were done, I bade farewell to all them, nursed my children (I had a child a year for 30 years), and began my daily grind.

My husband Arthur died in 1930; luckily, he never gambled on the Stock Exchange, so our farm supported us throughout the years, and when Britain joined the European Common Market in 1973, agricultural subsidies made us rich.

Now it is 1978, I'm 102, and although the Pauls have kept me in good shape throughout the years, the doctor says that I won't live for long.

So I've been reminded my promise, to have Paul properly buried, and I'm asking my heirs to have him disinterred, and, if his family doesn't object, to have him buried in my cemetery, as near as possible to my tomb -- the closest place, at my side, has been taken by my husband's tomb.

Don't be harsh at my father's memory: he killed Paul because he knew that he had syphilis, and had he let him enter my bedroom that night, he would have transmitted it to me. It was a kind of self defense, since it was an incurable disease in 1894.