Gateway Ch. 02

We continued to talk as I consumed more wine and the buzz has its relaxing effect. I soon find myself much more animated in our conversation, my body moving freely as we talk, my arm no longer attempting to cover me, my legs parting as I shift from one foot to the other, as I walk to select another bottle of wine and begin consuming it. I fill a warm glow spreading through me and only part of it was the buzz of the wine.

We have numerous barriers to communication. For one, we have about 170 years separating our understanding of the world. Things I take for granted like a simple move from Chicago and airplanes are unimaginable to him. Besides the technological and societal changes over 170 years is the relationship of a young black man to a mature white woman living in a house like this from his perspective. Hence, his persistent use of the term 'Ma'am'.

His name is Jacob. There had been 10 other boys, young men, who died in the fire. There are seven who remain on the site. He can't explain why the seven remained or why the others didn't. What he did know was that they saw ... felt ... were aware ... how devastated the Professor, Mr. Hardaway, was after the fire destroyed the other buildings. Jacob had been identified by Hardaway as a leader of the other boys and installed as such even over the white boys. It was an example of how advanced Hardaway's thinking was for the time, not only in providing skills training but instilling equality thinking into them. After the fire ... and their deaths ... they found themselves tied to the location out of concern and devotion to Hardaway. Time no longer had meaning to them but after some time and after the others pressed Jacob about what they should or could do for Hardaway, he realized that some of them were not among the group. He didn't know what happened to them. He said he wasn't aware of a 'light' that people talk about as a guide to heaven. He never saw that. Was it his, their, concern for Hardaway that they missed it when the others saw it? He didn't know. All he knew was that those that weren't there anymore were the white boys and he didn't know how that could be significant. Maybe those remaining somehow felt a strong tie to the Professor? He didn't know.

They were desperate to somehow assist or comfort the Professor, and to let him know they didn't blame him. Initially, there wasn't much they could do, though. They felt incapable of communication or interaction. They shared among themselves but that was the extent of it. The others came to Jacob. What could they do? Jacob was determined. There were stories that everyone knew about spirits scaring the living by opening doors, knocking things off tables, etc. He decided it was just a skill to be learned like what the Professor had been working with them on. It became an obsession for them. It took a long time but they slowly made progress and, once they did, they understood how to improve. Soon ... not soon, it was actually quite a bit of time ... they solved the elements of matter so they could influence the physical world. Then, came the sounds.

The Professor was guilt-ridden and despondent. To help, it was they who tore down the fire-ruined structures and pile the scrap for complete burning. The sub-level where the boiler was located was filled in. People from the town came regularly to attend to him and make sure he ate. They marveled at the progress he made in cleaning the property. Unfortunately, he was honest with the people. He always gave credit where credit was due so he told everyone that his wonderful boys were his help and he owed all the progress to his boys. He began talking about his boys so much, even talking to some of them when people were present, that he was finally committed. It was a sad day when he was taken away from the property. Now, the boys truly were alone.

Buyers came and moved in, but, as Jacob said, he was too curious. Once they could interact with the physical world, it was difficult to be completely invisible and unobtrusive when being snoopy. The boys eventually made an agreement to not intrude on those living on the property. Jacob, though, being not only the most curious but also the leader, would take liberties. As he did with me.

His story had me mesmerized. It wasn't just an interesting story. It was being told by someone dead. I was captivated by another part of his telling it: his voice. His voice was very familiar. I knew it, had heard it before. Certainly, it must be a voice similar. When would I have heard a ghost's voice? Where would I have ...?

I straighten up, tensed by a thought, a memory, a ... realization. "You said you learned to materialize, to influence the material, the physical, world." He nodded. I could see his features perfectly. I hadn't noticed until now how real, how physically real, he looks. His eyes were sharp, and his mouth forms a shy, yet anticipating grin. "You said you learned to talk." Obviously, that's what we've been doing, girl. The thought in my mind, "Can you speak without being material? I mean, without taking on a form like ... like this ... like you are now?"

He steps closer to me. It wasn't stepping ... he glides closer to me. Now only 5 feet separate, I expect to get some scent from him, some natural musk, even something from his clothes, but he wasn't really real, like a real person, I mean ... My mind went in too many directions with too many colliding thoughts and suddenly aware of the implications.

"Yes, Ma'am." For a moment he looks awkward, then his expression changes as if he has made a decision and he looks determined but struggling to appear confident but isn't quite. "Ma'am, you are ... are very beautiful. You're different than all the others. You belong here. We don't want you to be afraid of us. We can protect you here."

Oh, my God ... I've heard some of those words in that voice. In the cloud of my lust last night. The shadow across the mirror. The voice in my head ... it wasn't in my head ... it was him?

"You ... last night ... in my bedroom." He holds my gaze quietly. "You ... I was teasing, taunting my image in the mirror while I ... the voice in my head responding wasn't in my head, though, was it? That voice was you. That's why the mirror blurred, went fuzzy ... you were passing in front of it as you watched me. You were encouraging me, enticing me to ... you were the voice goading me to be ... to act ... oh my God ... you watched me last night!"

His black hand reaches out toward me. It stops just shy of my right breast and nipple visible under the sheer baby doll I wore. I have an overwhelming desire, and need, to cover up. But what's the sense in that. I've been exposed to this whole conversation and ... last night ...

His hand stops mere inches from my nipple. I can see his need, his longing, his eyes fixed on my breast. Without pulling his hand back, his eyes rise to mine. "I mean no disrespect, Ma'am. You are so beautiful. We died when we were so young and ... some are inexperienced." He pulls his hand away. "I am sorry, Ma'am. We'll leave you alone if ..."

I reach out. It wasn't even a thought. What did I expect to happen? Would I grab him or would my hand pass through him? My hand grasps his hand, though. It's solid, there is substance there. Though I intended to grasp him, doing so is shocking and my hand pulls back at the touch. He feels so real. Suddenly, everything about this night changes. Now, it is as if I am in front of a man ... he feels like a man ... and I am almost naked and ... last night ... he saw me ... last night ...

"Jacob, wait." What am I doing? What do I expect from this? I not only remember a few of his words but now the conversation, his encouragement, and my responses play back to me like a high-speed playback: 'You like watching me, don't you?' 'Yes ... I like watching you. I have since you arrived. You belong here. We want you here. We'll protect you.' 'I'll be the slut, then!' 'Be our slut. There is so much waiting for you.'

My mind is whirling. He's a ghost ... not real. Listen to yourself, I think. A ghost but I touch him. He may be a ghost but he felt real. I look into his eyes, he's only a few feet from me. I softly touch his face and I do touch it. His skin is smooth and dark ... black really, black as coal.

"You feel so real, but ..." He chuckles and it sounds delightful. He's regained his confidence with my touch. "Last night ... you said, there is so much waiting for me, if I ... I said I could be your ... your ..."

He reaches up and touches my face. I gasp at the touch and shudder, involuntarily. "You didn't know you were talking to me."

"No, I didn't." I take his hand in mine. I look down at it. This is crazy. What are you doing? "But the feelings were real. At the moment it was what I felt. You feel real, Jacob. Are you real? Real enough?"

I move his hand, my eyes still holding his, and gently place its palm on my right breast. I shiver and sigh, my eyes closing softly at the feeling of his hand on my breast over the sheer fabric. I hear his gasp as he feels the same touch. My eyes slowly open and he is watching me. This is clearly unexpected territory for him. To watch me was one thing, to be touching ...

My mind might have argued with me, but I was past putting too much thought into this. I might not want a man but this wasn't really a man. I pressed his hand into my breast and it squeezed me. I sighed, again. Oh ... to be touched, again.

"Jacob ... how real can you be?"

His eyes stay on mine. He is weighing my words, my reactions. Am I sure? Is he? "Are you sure, Ma'am?" I give him a nod. It's subtle, even timid, but I've said it and I mean it. He pulls his hand from my breast and, for a moment, I am disappointed until his other hand joins at the bow which is tied below my breasts holding the flimsy gown together. My breath is instantly caught in my throat as I watch his hands take hold of the two loose ends ... and pulls. The bow opens and we both gaze at the whiteness of my skin showing in the opening of the red, sheer fabric. His index finger touches the exposed skin between my breasts. It glides up my chest to my chin. The slightest of pressure raises my chin and face and his lips come down to mine. His lips are full and as they touch mine, a shiver courses through my body.

When he pulls back, my breath expels with another shuddering gasp. Oh ... he feels very real! My breath catches in my throat more than it freely flows. My heart is racing like I attempted to run a couple miles. My mind can't accept that this could be happening, and, as a consequence, my mind can't anticipate what might happen next. My body, though ... my body feels very accepting of what has just happened and whatever it is that will happen next.

Jacob is so real now in every appearance that I feel he IS real. His body stands a mere foot from mine. His finger leaves my chin, and slides over my jaw to my neck, his eyes follow the finger as it travels over my collar bone to between my breasts and down over my stomach. I shiver intensely when it stops on my belly button before moving further down to my mound where it stops.

I'm watching his eyes as they are watching his finger touch my body. When his finger stops on my mound and his eyes rise back up to mine, my breathing is ragged and my eyes reflect my growing desire and lack of fear. He leans back into me, his face and lips coming closer and closer so slowly, so sensuously. My face is turned up to him, and my lips part in anticipation of his next kiss. At the same time, both of his hands come to my collar bones. They graze my skin softly as they catch the edges of my opened, flimsy gown and push the edges to my shoulders until it falls like a whisper down my arms to the floor at my feet. Both hands softly, gently cover my breast and I moan into his mouth.

As he pulls back, he gives me a quick parting peck on the lips. He takes a full step backward where he stops and his eyes travel down and back up my now completely naked body. At the same time, I appraise him with much more intention. He is fully formed now, obviously by his physical touch. He is at least a full head taller than my 5' 3" inches, maybe 6' tall. He appears strong with wide shoulders and a narrow waist even in the loose clothes. His skin is jet black. His hair was short and nappy. His hands hanging next to his legs are huge but I have already felt how tender they can be. Continuing down, he still doesn't have any feet, which is somewhat disconcerting as an image, but he stands still before me as if he did.

A thought occurs to me and I flush profusely. He seems to notice and looks into my gaze intently.

"I ... you ... you've seen me ... in bed before last night, too?" He nods. Damn, he looks so real! I catch a reaction that he's embarrassed to admit it. But he does admit it. "Others? I mean ... you said there were seven of you still here ... have the others ... seen me ... watched me, too?"

A smile forms on his lips and he shakes his head. His eyes keep going to my breasts but quickly return to my face each time. I am convinced by his actions and manner that he has strong desires but equally strong intention not to disrespect me. There is a timidity about his gaze and gentle touches.

"No, Ma'am. As I said, we had decided, agreed, not to intrude on the living, but ..."

I smile, "You are too curious."

"Yes, Ma'am. Sorry. We didn't want to scare you away like the others. They have all seen you, of course. They've seen you around the property, on the balcony, on the porch. I am the one who ventured inside. They have seen you in your nightgowns at night through the windows and when you venture onto the porch at night. But I am the only one who has ... watched you like last night."

I watch him closely. Why I feel so comfortable, I can't begin to understand. Even getting past the part of him being a ghost, he's a stranger in my house and that should be alarming. But none of it is.

"The others don't know?"

He laughs. I don't know why, maybe because he's an apparition and I don't know what to expect, but his laugh is rich, hearty, and full. It makes me smile and fills me with delight. "No, they know. They weren't happy about it, either. I managed to convince them to let me explore a relationship potential. Maybe you were different." He chuckles, "You certainly are."

His hand rises toward my right breast. His thumb and forefinger approach the nipple, then stop. My breath is caught in my throat ... again. I take his hand in both of mine and bring it to my nipple. His fingers capture my nipple and I sigh.

I am still in disbelief as I watch and feel his fingers at my nipple as he squeezes and tugs on it gently. I take a deep breath and another sigh escapes with it. "If this isn't a dream ... if I'm not going crazy now ..." as a moan rolls out as his fingers roll the nipple "... I want to explore this, too." He looks up from watching his own fingers. Perhaps he is in disbelief of this happening, too. I continue as our eyes connect, "Jacob ... it has been so long since I have wanted to be with a man since ... well, never mind about that. It's been a long time." I search his eyes and face. "Have you ... been ... with a woman?" He nods and his hands shake slightly. Nerves. He's getting nervous. "But it's been a very long time for you."

He nods. "Time is different for us. But, yes."

I crush into him. I feel his hands and arms around my back, his hands carefully gliding over my bare skin. "I want to, Jacob. This might be crazy, but I want to. Can we? Can you?"

What a silly question, can he. As I press my hips into him, I can feel that he can. I can feel his arousal pressing against me and my curiosity is inflamed. It is like nothing that has been pressed against me in my life. I feel his nod, his willingness, his acceptance. I raise my face to him and he lowers his to me. As we kiss, again, my hand slides between our bodies. I press it against his stomach and feel his body underneath is as hard and taut as I imagined. I slide the hand over the belt holding his ill-fitting heavy pants. As it continues down, I feel the head of his cock underneath. He is very hard. I smile to myself with unabashed pleasure that at 47 years old I can still create such a reaction from a young man. I ignore the reality that it has been well over a century and a half for him. As I press my hand down, I am shocked at the feeling. How big is his cock? How long is it?

I break the kiss out of a need to find out. I look at his face. His breathing is ragged now, too. His eyes have changed, reflecting need and desire. At least we are on the same wavelength. I drop my other hand from his face to his shoulders. I was right, they are wide and muscled. My hand drops to his chest and I sigh with delight. He feels like solid muscle. All this time, though, my other hand is squeezing and massaging the cock underneath.

I take a deep breath. I am acting like a wanton slut. I am sure women, certainly not respectable women, didn't act this way, this aggressively. I don't care, though. He's seen me pleasure myself. He was there when I declared my sluttiness. He watched my explosion of sexuality. But ... a stranger ... a ghost ... I must be dreaming.

My fingers undo his belt buckle. I glance up and see him suck in a breath and hold it. I sink down to my knees in front of him. I wonder, briefly, what his experience before was. A whore for the night? A lover? I doubted he had a lover around here. Did any act like this? Am I shocking his impression of me but his use of 'Ma'am' is unwavering ...?

When I undo the buckle and open his trousers, I expect them to drop down his legs and pool at his feet. First, he still doesn't have feet, but when his trousers begin to drop ... they disappear. I look up and find his shirt has disappeared, too. Very weird. The clothes aren't real. He is probably manifesting his appearance as it was when he died. I find my hands on his hips, his bare hips. It feels electric. Not really electric like a charge but in a sensory kind of way. His naked, hard body is under my hands. I look up as my hands rise over his hard, tight stomach to his hard, broad chest. While my hands are above my head stroking his strong, muscular body, his hard, black cock is pointed at my face. Without thought my head moves forward only inches, my lips slightly parted, and I kiss the bulbous head. It twitches at my touch. Damn ... it's so big it doesn't stand up straight but points at me. I am guessing a good 12 inches long ... and thick. Longer and thicker than any of my toys. My hands slide down his body and take hold of it. I gasp when both hands are around his weapon and the head is still not covered. I open my mouth and take the head between my lips. I hear him gasp. It feels so real. It even twitches as my lips close around it and my tongue licks and swirls around it inside my mouth.

I can feel my pussy leaking. This is surreal. Nothing about this is normal or reasonable. This is beyond understanding and comprehending. My body overrides any thought, though. Understanding ... or attempting to ... is for later.

I rise to my feet, my breasts sliding sensuously up his skin. I wrap my arms around his neck and he meets me in kissing. This time, we don't merely kiss, we devour each other. I press my hips into him and I feel his hardness press into my stomach. He responds by pressing back and moving me back against the counter. God, I want him ... I need him ... I have to feel him inside me. This is insane, crazy, impossible. But I want it.

I pull my mouth away from his and bury my face in his shoulder, my breathing coming in ragged gasping pants. I hold him tight as my body shudders in his embrace. As I grind my pelvis into him, I could orgasm right now at the slightest increase in sensational stimulation. Not here, though.