Death Can Be Fun Ch. 01

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What's it like to be a randy ghost?
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Otazel
Otazel
2,581 Followers

I'm Eddie and I died of a heart attack aged thirty-nine. Thirty-nine for God's sake! But I'm not sorry, 'cos that's when I started to enjoy myself. I'll explain. In life I suffered from a debilitating illness, I could hardly walk, had difficulty speaking, and needed help with my bodily functions - I don't need to expand on that, do I? The result was that I hadn't been out for years, had no sex life, and met almost nobody apart from my career. But ghosts don't have those problems and so now I'm free, free to have fun - and I do!

Of course, at the time I didn't understand what had happened, all I knew was that I had a terrific pain in my chest and then passed out. When I came round I found things very different and most confusing. The first thing I noticed was when I got up and went into the kitchen for a drink of water - I was walking normally! I stopped dead and looked down at myself. My legs were now straight and strong, I couldn't believe it. I filled my drinking cup with water, and on impulse I left off the drinking spout that I would usually need and tried to drink properly from the cup for the first time in years! Then I found that although I could get the water into my mouth like every normal person (so my mouth was back to normal), I couldn't swallow it and I ended up spitting it out. I tried a second cup with the same result and then gave up, and I've never been thirsty since. I was completely baffled by this turn of events, but not complaining about the legs and lips, you understand.

I went back through into my room and came to a sudden halt again. There in my chair was a twin brother I didn't have, except that this twin had the twisted legs, withered arms, and drooping mouth that I normally sported. But before I could ask him what he was doing there, Joan, my carer, came in, looked at my twin and began screaming! I told her to shut up, but she totally ignored me and went running out of the door. Right then I began to understand that something was not quite right, but it wasn't until I stood unnoticed and watched ambulance men and police come and take away my 'brother' that I figured out that someone was dead and it could just possibly be me!

When the penny finally dropped it freaked me out a bit, you know? But I was fortunate, because another guy came into the house about then and he could actually see me! It turned out that was because he was dead too, but at least he could clue me in on things. Now, so that you know, let me tell how it works. If you die suddenly, before the guy upstairs (or downstairs) is expecting you, then you're kept hanging about while they sort out their scheduling. Trouble is, time is not the same to them as it is to us, so it can take years and in some cases even centuries! Meanwhile, you stay put on earth as a ghost. You can interact with any nonliving thing that had existed when you were alive, and just a few living things. What I mean by that is that most people don't know you're there. Apparently only about three percent of the living population are sensitive to those of us who've 'passed over'. Of this three percent, more than half are only conscious of a presence, but can't see you, and while the remainder can see and/or hear you. Then there are the occasional one or two can actually interact with you as a solid being, but they are rare and they can't always see you! Oh, and those percentages are more than double for animals, especially dogs.

The guy who told me all this, his name was Julian by the way, had died by electrocuting his stupid self dropping an electric drill in a bucket of paint and then reaching in to pick it out! He wasn't amused when I suggested we gloss over his death! No sense of humour, some people! Anyway, he'd seen the ambulance and had come in just in case there was a new trainee ghost who might need help adjusting. Too damn right there was!

He stayed with me all that night and into the next day, talking me through the crisis that is death and helping me cope. He was bloody good at it too, 'cos by the time he left the next afternoon I'd pretty much come to the conclusion that I was better off dead! He'd also given me some tips on how to get fun out of it, and that's what I'm gonna tell you about. What'dya mean about time?

One thing he'd said had rung a bell with me and that was that "If you've got voyeuristic tendencies, the being a ghost is a Godsend! You can wander in and out of ladies changing rooms, bedrooms, even ladies toilets if that's your bag, and you'll never get caught!"

As it happens I do have voyeuristic tendencies, so my ears perked up when I heard that. You see, with an illness like mine, for years my sex life had consisted of porn and a left hand (my right didn't work so well!) and I had developed a sort of 'watch rather than do' mentality. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a virgin. As a teenager and before my condition got too noticeable, I had girlfriends and I'd begun to have sex, but that didn't last and I never managed to explore my full potential. I think I'd probably have been quite kinky if I had. Even after I got to where I couldn't cope on my own, a few of my carers have been willing to help me out a bit. Mostly it was a quick wank, but couple of them have laid me on my bed and fucked me 'girl on top', and Cathy, the one before Joan, had given me the best (because it was also the only) blow job I ever had!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, using my new found mobility and freedom, over the next few weeks I got to see more tits and cunts than I'd seen in my whole life, and I'm in the position for that statement to be literally accurate! I visited store changing rooms, the tennis club shower rooms, the sauna, oh - everywhere that pussy might be on show. I had to be a little bit careful going in and out of these places, because a door opening and closing on its own does tend to throw some folk, so I'd follow a live one in or out! But, all in all, I had absolutely no problems - so much for the six percent so-called psychic sensitives. I did meet a couple more of us dead ones, but they just acknowledged me and went about their own business, so I didn't push it.

Silly as it may seem, it wasn't until I spent a couple of hours in the local brothel that I realised I'd see more action if I visited bedrooms. I guess every ghost comes to that conclusion sooner or later and that probably accounts for the living seeing more ghosts in their bedrooms at night than anywhere else. So, from then on, I became much more nocturnal. Pretty soon I worked out a kind of schedule, I knew that the couple next door but one always had sex on Sunday afternoon (appropriately enough for the Sabbath it was always in the missionary position), the blonde woman on the corner had her lover call every night on alternate weeks when her husband was on nights, the black couple opposite had it away with the light on at least four times a week as soon as they went to bed at close on eleven pm, and the young couple in the flat over the newsagents were at it most of the time! And there were others.

Then one night I found the blonde had locked the door before I got there and I couldn't get in. That's the problem with things that were there before I died, I can interact with them as if I was still real - and in fact I have to! Its only things that were put up after my demise that I can walk through in true ghostly fashion, as if they weren't there!

So anyway, I went searching for something new, and found a gorgeous red head in her mid twenties lying on her bed, legs akimbo and playing with the biggest vibrator I'd ever seen. She was well away, driving that vibe in and out of a very wet pussy and yelling fit to bust. Obviously an orgasm was close. It must have been very close too, for within a minute or so she began bucking wildly, raising her arse off the bed and arching her back so that only her shoulders and feet were touching. Then, as she actually came, she screamed an almighty 'yeesss', thrashed her head about and then collapsed back onto the bed breathing like she'd run a marathon. The sight seemed so ridiculous to me that I burst out laughing. Luckily she was one of the people who sense nothing and she never heard me.

She must have wanted to carry on for another climax, because she left the vibrator merrily buzzing away in her cunt while she got her breath back, and then began to gently massage her clit. I watched this spectacle for a while until she was once again on the climb towards another orgasm, then for some reason I'm not sure of - perhaps just innate mischievousness - I leaned over her, grasped the vibe by its base and gently pulled it from her cunt, leaving it vibrating away on the mattress. Presumably she thought it had slipped out of its own accord, for with a muttered 'sod it' she stopped strumming for a moment and put it back in.

What did I do? Well, what do you think I did? I left it until she started back along the path to pleasure, and pulled it out again! Once more she cursed and replaced it, only to find it back out of her cunt within minutes.

By now I was giggling fit to bust, and by now you'd have thought she have begun to smell a rat, but no! Back it went, though this time she did hold it in with two fingers of her free hand. Ok, so I couldn't pull it out again, but I wasn't beaten. Carefully using one hand to hold it still, I used the other to switch it off! It took a moment or two for her to realise it had stopped, but when she did she reacted by pulling it from her pussy and hurling it across the room, missing my shoulder by about a foot.

"Fucking stupid thing" she yelled as she threw it. It's a good job she didn't hit me me, 'cos as it was solid to me it would have looked like it bounced off thin air as far as the redhead was concerned. I think she might have noticed that, and I hate to think what would have happened then - a bit of heavy duty screaming I should think!

At that point I reckoned it was time to go and I left her to masturbate in peace. But the seeds were sown and from then on I just couldn't resist any opportunity for fun at the expense of live ones. After all, by that time I was getting just a bit bored of having nobody to talk to and only ever being the voyeur, so, if truth be told, I was just a shade jealous.

I found that one neat trick was to cup cold water in my palm and trickle it over the buttocks of a man just as he was screwing his girlfriend at full steam ahead. That usually stopped him in his tracks, much to the consternation of the lady concerned! Another was to gently swing open the bedroom door just as the kids came up the stairs!

One good one was when I managed to get a man to drop his post coital cigarette into his naked wife's lap. I've never seen anyone get out of bed that quick! I guess that singed pubic hair smells much like any other! When I left about half an hour later, they were still arguing over who knocked the cigarette out of his fingers!

But I've got two best of all favourites. One was a time when I managed to help 'lose' the key to the handcuffs with which a naked man had been fastened to the bed by his wife. When they had got to the point where necessity had overcome embarrassment and they had phoned someone to bring round bolt crops, I 'arranged' for them to find the key under a bedside book! The language was terrible - full of 'f' words, though I can't think why!

And the other came when I was being entertained by a threesome, two men and a girl - and a very pretty girl too, early twenties, brunette and stacked! She wanted to try a dp, but things were not quite working out as they expected. Dp? Oh, I thought you'd know! It means 'double penetration', you know, a dick in each hole at the same time.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, her double penetration. One guy was lying on the bed and she was straddling him with his cock buried deep in her cunt, and the other guy was moving up behind with the intention of filling up her arse. To do this he obviously had to lubricate it well first and he'd taken a large dollop of KY gel from a pot on the bedside table. And that's when it started to go wrong.

You see, what I knew but they didn't, was that I'd managed to sprinkle just a little paprika into the KY when they weren't looking, and in the half light of the bedroom nobody noticed. Well, nobody that is, until the man spread it copiously over her anus and introduced some into her rectum with his fingers. Then all hell let loose. She was off the first guy like his cock was red hot and heading for the bathroom at a great rate of knots, screaming her head off and cursing fit to bust. The language that some women use these days! The two men just stared after her in bewilderment, the paprika hadn't affected the tougher skin of fingers in the same way it had the tender skin of her arsehole, and they had no idea what was wrong.

Anyway, then there came a time when I was in this woman's bedroom on a hot summer afternoon. She was having an afternoon nap in the nude. She was beautiful, and looked so innocent curled up asleep like that. I stood watching for a while wishing that I could have fucked her. Then for some reason, again pure impulse, I leaned over and placed my hand on her breast, and too my astonishment I could feel it! She was one of the rare living creatures who feel solid to a ghost.

For a moment I jumped back, both from surprise that I'd made contact, and from fear that I would wake her. Then curiosity and a hardening ghostly cock made me try again. This time I massaged her breast and gently pinched her nipple.

"Mmmmm." She said sleepily and rolled onto her back.

Again I jumped back, but it was soon clear that she was still sound asleep and I went back to her. Now with her on her back I had access to both breasts and I very gently touched, stroked and eventually kissed them both. She was making little pleasure noises in her sleep, so I suppose I had triggered a randy dream, but she didn't wake.

Of course it wasn't long before I got more adventurous (and more aroused) and began to investigate other parts of her body. This was both very rewarding and very frustrating, all at the same time. A tentative hand softly advancing down her belly was met with an automatic opening of her legs and I was able to enjoy the feel of a woman's pussy for the first time in nearly twenty years. That was very nice, but it wouldn't get me a shag, would it? Or would it? A little exploring told me that her tunnel was slick from her own sleepy arousal, and she seemed well into sleep. I decide to take the risk and quietly climbed aboard. Gently I spread her legs a little wider, a move that she instinctively helped with, giving me full and complete access to her body. I took immediate advantage! Carefully taking my weight on my elbows, as any gentleman should, I eased myself onto her, my cock finding and gently entering her vagina.

I was in absolute bliss. There I was, a dead man, fucking a woman so gorgeous that she wouldn't have even looked at me in life, even if I'd been physically able to perform. Slowly I gained a little more confidence and picked up a bit more speed, until finally I was hammering away at her like a good one, my first post mortem orgasm already signalling its approach. She too was getting hotter and hotter in her sleep, gasping, sighing, and muttering, and gently thrusting back at me with her eyes tight shut and her words unintelligible apart from 'yes, yes, yes!'

Eventually it happened; we both got there together, our orgasms coinciding exactly. For me it was something of an anticlimax instead of a climax, because although all the sensations and pleasures were there, I didn't ejaculate. Nothing spurted from my cock, nothing, absolutely nothing. I sort of realised this as the first waves of orgasm swept over me, and it became more obvious as it proceeded. That caught me by surprise and I pulled out of her before I'd finished so that I could look for myself and check. And it was true, I was feeling that I was cumming, but I wasn't.

Of course, for my unaware and still sleeping partner this was something of a let down. From being shagged merrily to the very point of cumming and then suddenly finding her dream lover gone, must have been extremely frustrating. In fact she reacted in her sleep by muttering 'fucking hell, Dave' and diving her hand between her legs to take over where I'd left off. I assume that Dave was her usual partner. I do hope that when she woke up she exonerated him.

But for me, the discovery that ghosts can orgasm but can't actually cum was something of a letdown and I was no longer feeling at all horny. Though I still stood and watched her masturbate frantically trying to keep her own orgasm alive, but I think that was from confusion more than arousal. Then I got another shock.

"I suppose you think that's funny?"

It was a female voice and, because of the context, it was obviously addressing me. But I wasn't used to people talking to me anymore, not that they spoke to a cripple a lot when I was alive, and anyway I was a bit busy, so it was a moment or two before I reacted. Then, when I did cotton on that I was both subject and object of the remark, I had no idea where it had come from. As far as I knew I was invisible to everyone, and in any case the only girl was lying in front of me in the throes of a sleeping orgasm. But then looking around I suddenly realised that there was someone seated on a stool in the darkened corner. It was a woman and she was looking directly at me.

"Yes, I can see you." She spoke directly to me as well.

"Look." I said. "It might come as a bit of a surprise, but you're too late if you want to scare me to death, so kindly stop trying!"

"Yes, I know, I'm dead too."

She slid off the stool and stepped further into the room and into the light. I must say, she was a beautiful woman for a dead person, and must have been so in life. She was around thirty, quite tall, about 5'9", slim but solidly built, like an athlete, and had the most gorgeous body topped off with raven black hair, lots of it. She was dressed in a two piece beige business suit, white silk blouse and stilettos. A bit incongruous in the circumstances, but I suppose you can't choose what you die in.

"Do you find it amusing to have your fun and then just leave your unsuspecting victim red hot and high? Is it something that gets your rocks off? How many more women have suffered at your selfish hands?"

I was still in shock. "But, but...!"

"Oh, forget your buts and excuses, you're all alike, you men!"

I got it out this time, anger had overcome confusion. "That, I'll have you know, was my first fuck in years, from long before I died, and I didn't shoot, I came but nothing happened! Now that can be just a bit disconcerting, so get off your liberated woman soap box until you've heard both sides!"

I must have been glancing nervously at the woman on the bed, who was stirring slightly as if she could hear us, because my mouthy voyeur hesitated and then spoke again, sans soapbox.

"An argument here might not be good idea. If she could feel you there's a good chance she could see you. But I'd like to continue this conversation, so perhaps we could talk some more elsewhere? And maybe we should get going?"

So we got going and went back to my place. I was still using my old house as a base. I might as well, it was familiar territory and anyway, nobody lives there, not even me. It turns out that the lady ghost's name is Amanda (not under any circumstances Mandy) and she's been dead for about four years, having been knocked down by the police car she'd tried to flag down thinking it was a taxi. She's been on her way to a high powered meeting, hence the business suit. A professional lady she was, a company director no less.

I'd better explain something. When you get killed and become a ghost, you don't spend your time on earth in the battered state you ended up in, but in the state you subconsciously want to be in. That's why Amanda's clothing wasn't ripped and my body was repaired. So if any one talks about seeing a ghost with his head tucked under his arm, you can tell them from me, it ain't so - unless he wanted to do that when he was alive.

Otazel
Otazel
2,581 Followers
12