tagNonHumanGhostStory Ch. 1

GhostStory Ch. 1

byHomerPindar©

Once awake she lay in bed for a moment, shocked at herself. Slowly she stretched a hand out across the empty bed. She breathed a sigh of relief, then tried to figure out what had prompted her to have a one night stand. Not only a one night stand, but one with a complete stranger. Max? Mark? 'Oh my God,' she thought to her self, "I don't even know his name?" she said it out loud, hoping the sound of her voice would jar her memory.

No luck. 'Oh God,' she thought, what had gotten into her? She rolled out of bed, uncertain if she wanted to find a note, or a phone number, or maybe proof the whole thing had been a dream. She didn't have to look far. The piece of paper say on her bedside table. She stared at it. A long note. Was that a good thing? She had no experience with one night stands, she didn't know what the norm was, but she was willing to bet that page long notes were not the norm. With a sigh she picked it up;

Diane,

She cringed, she'd actually given this guy her real name. And he obviously knew her new address. What if he was a stalker? Or a drug user? She didn't want strangers wandering around her new Victorian home, she'd bought it for the seclusion. "Guess I should have remembered that before I brought him home," she mumbled to herself as she continued to read.

Diane,

Thanks for a wonderful night. Sorry I have to leave – breakfast sounded like a great idea (she tried to remember what breakfast was suppose to have been, and couldn't) – but I have to work today. I'll give you a call,

Mike

Mike. His name was Mike. At least she liked it more than Max. Have to work? On a Saturday? She wasn't sure what Mike did, but working weekends didn't strike her as a bonus. Then again, there were a number of days when she was trying to win brownie points that she would work weekends. Maybe that was all it was.

After his name the note continued, but instead of a quick scrawl that looked like it was written late at night the handwriting was noticeably changed. Now it was flowing, a nice smooth pen stroke that made her think he'd spent hours simply practicing his penmanship.

Your passion was such a pleasant surprise,
The eagerness with which you embraced me
Though I sensed your lust deep within your eyes
I was not certain you would let it free
Only now that you have tasted such pleasures
I want to unleash your lust every night
To any length I'll go for such measures
Taking your desires up to new heights.
Lips upon your breasts, hands stroking your skin
Let me make such sensations all of you
With flesh on flesh I will slip deep within
Each thrust together feeding us both anew
Do not think so poorly of me for this
Together we both will get what we wish

She stared at it for a second, and then read it again. "Wow," she'd never read erotic poetry before. It had been a pretty hot night, she'd nearly pulled him of his jeans at the bar at one point. Yet she didn't feel a hangover now. She must have worked it off. It certainly sounded like she'd left a helluva impression on Mike. In fact, she found herself wishing he was here now, so she feel his lips on her breasts instead of just reading about it.

She was aware she'd gone from shock at her actions to wet and hot over it simply by reading a poem. Smiling, she realized she didn't care, she had enjoyed herself. He'd had a condom, they'd had great sex, and clearly he wasn't just a good looking semi-jock with nothing upstairs. No harm done. Hell, she was single again, and why shouldn't she enjoy herself once in awhile?

Heading into her bathroom she debated the pluses and minuses of one night stands. And she wondered if she wanted Mike to be a one night stand. If he could write a poem like that, she could only imagine what else he was capable of.

She turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. She realized that the heat she felt was more than just the summer weather, indeed, the air-conditioner had been on in the bedroom all night. Testing the water with left hand she slid her right across her belly, imagining the feel of Mike's hand there instead.

As she stepped into the shower she let the water take the feel of his flesh pressed against her own. The sensation of the water running down her neck and over her breasts became the feel of their bodies sliding together. Her one hand cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples just as he would. Her other hand slid down to her mound, her fingers stroking the ache that had built since she read the poem.

In the back of her mind Diane wondered at the sudden change that came over her. But as her own fingers stroked her clit, and mixed with the sensation of the water on her body, she forgot such concerns and simply enjoyed herself. It felt so good she almost didn't register the phone ringing. At first she considered ignoring it, then she thought it might be Mike.

She jumped out of the shower, and dripping wet ran back into the bedroom to answer the phone. In her haste to answer to answer the phone she failed to notice the bathroom mirror. Covered with steam the mirror had become a perfect writing board, upon which a cinquain had appeared;

your lust
fuels my desires
I want you to join me
eternal satisfaction is
my gift

But by the time Diane got off the phone the steam had escaped through the open bedroom door, and the message had vanished from sight

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