Incident at Cemetery Junction

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He felt her fingers working their way down his chest and across his stomach and became aware of what would, under other circumstances have been an erection. He stretched a bit, but when her hand found his manhood, he tried to stop her. "Whoa, there. Easy, me dear."

"You really must relax if you are to learn", she whispered. Her hand was demonstrating this as she spoke, but he felt no vibration; just what the nerves would feel and that went up and down his spine like a taught spring.

"You are nice and big," was her only comment.

It took a great deal of concentration to remain conscious, a fact that she noticed as she continued her stroking of his erection.

"You really are doing very well," she said. "Come for Mary. . ." and she kissed him passionately.

Her hand moved again, but this time he felt physical movement. If he'd had a voice it would have yelled out loud with joy. All he could shout as the tingle steadily rose from his spine to his balls and to the tip of his prick was, "Ee Ah h h - O o o h - WOW!" as he experienced his first postmortem orgasm.

"And how many times can you do that?" she asked a little later, with a giggle.

Her question came to his mind as he recovered what would, under other circumstances, have been his breath.

"As a physical being, once or twice is about it, unless you're a film star. That was the best I've ever had," he said. He didn't want to think about porn studs.

She giggled. "Not here," she whispered.

She took his hand and laid it on her breast. It was deep, soft, and smooth, round and had a soft nipple. With no conscious thought, he caressed and squeezed it gently and played with a nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. He cupped her breast and let his thumb brush over the now firm nipple. She let a little moan build in her throat as she twisted into a kiss.

"Oh, more, yes; more, more please," she hissed, and pushed his head downwards.

He bent to taste this ghostly nipple; it tasted good and it felt 'right'. Not the artificial stuff in films, just simply -- right. He gripped the nipple in his teeth and gently stroked the tip with his tongue. Her perfume filled his nostrils and she arched her shoulders, pushing her breast to his mouth. He felt her move. She shivered, feeling the heat between her legs. He kissed her again and she lost herself in sensations not felt in centuries.

She whispered, "Touch my pussy please."

She moved his hand over her smooth belly and down to her furry triangle.

"Slowly," she whispered, "up and back, round and round."

Her pubic hair was like soft down and he explored, down the lips and back up. She took his hand and guided his fingers round her labia: "Gently, like this," she whispered as she steered his fingers gently.

He touched something that made her jump. "That's the spot," she moaned. "Go easy at it. Just stroke gently; do not stop even if I tell you to."

Without wondering about this logic, he stroked her lips, her clitoris and felt moisture, rather to his surprise; this was uncharted territory in his life, let alone death. "Faster", she moaned, and he sped up his stroking. By now, he noticed, it wasn't so much moist as wet. She moved his finger into her wetness; he responded by exploring her warmth.

She sighed and made little incoherent noises. "Ah, yes, yes," she moaned, and with a shriek more moisture flooded his hand. He could feel the ripples in her tummy for some while. There was a moment of silence and then she kissed him, long and with passion. It never occurred to him to wonder where the moisture came from in a four centuries-old widow.

"That," she said, "was pure magic." She took his hand and tasted it. Then she gave him a lover's kiss, long and passionate.

"Now it's your turn for a real orgasm."

Without realizing how he'd done it, he was on top of her and her knees were wide. She grasped his prick and introduced it into her hot, wet and hungry pussy. "Now, my lover," she said, "go gently and slowly."

She moved her hips and he got the rhythm. It was like a warm, soft tunnel wrapped round his prick and he felt the exquisite sweetness of her heat. His thrust came naturally, and they moved together like real lovers. She encouraged his movement by moving her hips and wrapped her feet round his back, pulling him into her warm and inviting wetness.

She made little grunts with increasing tempo, stiffened, shouted "Yes, yes, yes" and let out a long breathy moan. "Don't stop", she shrieked, and continued the rhythm. He felt a strange draining sensation as he consciously emptied a lifetime of his semen deep into her pussy with a loud and happy yell of his own.

All he could think of was "Wow!", and blanked out.

****

The Vicar took Mrs Claverton to one side after Matins. "I've been asking the Bishop for guidance", he said.

She nodded. "Good," she said. "And has he helped?"

"I think he's reluctant to commit himself, but the Librarian was very helpful," he said. "I've found a couple of good things to put into evensong sometime soon, when the Choir get it practiced, and there's a curious Anthem which has a note to say it 'banishes evil'; it's in Latin." He passed her a copy.

Mrs Claverton looked at it, thought for a moment and said: "Yes, that sounds like just the thing. It might be better on All Hallows: Evensong, perhaps."

The Vicar looked into her eyes and felt as if she was forcing her will upon him, but he wasn't frightened. Rather, he was encouraged.

The discussion between the Church Wardens, the Organist and the Choirmaster went on long into the evening.

"Look," said the Vicar, "with all these rumours about ghostly doings, it strikes me that, at the very least, we can be seen to be doing something." He banged the table in emphasis and went on: "I've been digging around and consulting the Bishop's Librarian and I've got these". He spread the sheets on the table. "Even Mrs. Claverton seems to think it worth our while," he added. There was a distinct pause.

The Choirmaster picked up the music for the Anthem: "This Anthem is a good one," he said, wondering why he'd not seen it before. "But it's very old."

The Organist looked at the music and said to the Choirmaster: "How many extra sessions to get this right?" He wondered if the Choir would really be up to it without a lot of practice.

"We'll just have to practice it a bit more often", said the Vicar. "I think one Evensong is suitable; perhaps after the Harvest Festival, or when the kids go back to school after the autumn half-turn break; say, All Hallows?" He looked round the table. "And I wonder if our local newspaper would be interested; maybe drum up a little more than the usual support from the locals".

"Good thinking", muttered the Choirmaster and he read the words. The Organist was humming as he read the music. The Vicar wondered if the Bishop would care to attend, but then thought perhaps not this time. The Bishop seemed to have little or no interest in the local problem. The Vicar wondered why.

****

"You know," she said as he surfaced again, "I've never experienced that feeling."

Thinking about the books he'd read on the subject, he said "It's called an orgasm, although the Japanese used to call it the 'clouds and rain'. He wondered why he'd said it.

"When can we do it again?" she asked, rubbing her hand over his chest.

This time the answer came without thinking: "Any time you want, my love." It came as something of a shock that he meant it.

"Can I be your love?", she asked quietly. He leaned over, kissed her and said: "Oh yes," and he felt a surge of energy throughout his body. He didn't bother wondering why; it just felt real good and he held her tight to his chest.

"Can you see me?" he asked as he stroked her back.

"I'm beginning to," she answered. "You've got curly hair, and your toenails need cutting."

He thought about that for a moment, concentrated on an image of clippers on his toenails and then stopped. "That better?" he said.

Her foot found his and explored. It was almost prehensile, but it was gentle. "How did you do that?" she asked with some surprise.

"I just thought about my clippers," he said.

"Can you see anything?" she asked. Her hand kept up its gentle massage of his chest.

"Not much; a few shadows and that's about it." It came as a shock to him that he could experience anything, let alone sight. "Wow," was all he could say.

She kissed him again. It was long, deep and loaded with all the passion she could muster. After a few centuries of nothing, she could muster quite a lot. Eventually, she stopped.

"Hang on," he said.

He tried his eyes again, concentrating on things he remembered. Slowly, as if a heavy fog was lifting, he could see a shape; a female shape. The concentration was too much and things went very dim in his head. She reached up to steady him: "Easy, my lover," she said.

He suddenly felt that things were almost physical. She was lying next to him, her head on his shoulder as if asleep; it felt good, somehow. The idea of spending eternity with her did not make him nervous anymore and he began to think about possibilities. The idea of Eskimo Nell's 'skeletons rattle in sexual battle' had something going for it, then. Her hair swam into focus.

"You have got dark hair and it's long and wavy", he said.

Her head lifted off his shoulder and giggled: "You worked that out from the feel?"

"No," he replied, "I can just about see it; as 'through a glass, darkly'."

"Thou art good," she said. "Very good."

"How come we are back to medieval speak, then?" he wondered.

"It is a little easier at times," she whispered. Her hand weaved its magic way down his stomach and his previously dormant erection became manifest. He could feel the tingle in his prick; the demand from his body to mate. His hand gently caressed a nipple. She made little noises in her throat as he did so. His hand gently smoothed its way along the smooth curve of her hip and down to her sex, stroking gently round her labia and clitoris. She made urgent noises in her throat as her passion rose.

"Oh, come to me, my love," she whispered, and pulled him on top of her. With a little wiggle, he was in her and they were making sweet love, but this time with more passion, less frantic and no panic.

Her warm wetness gripped his manhood as he swung, her hips meeting each thrust. She moaned and cried "Yes s s s s" as her own orgasm built up. Her legs folded round his back and pulled him deeper into her as her hands raked his back. She stiffened and little animal noises came from her throat as the waves took her.

"Come for me", she said, "Fuck me -Hard." At her climax she pulled him deeper, that exquisite feeling in the tip of his prick took over and he pushed harder as he emptied even more of his seed into her. He rolled sideways and they clung to each other kissing and smiling. It was good, he thought, that breathing was not necessary here and now.

If they'd been alive, they'd have slept. They rested, happy in themselves and with each other. After regaining their composure as the tingles eased back he asked: "When can I do a bit of haunting?"

"You've a lot to learn yet," she said, "but you are coming along very well. You have nice eyes."

"I'm not the only one who's been practising, am I?" he whispered.

The reply was a bare whisper, laden with all manner of sweet promise. "No."

"I wonder if I can see any more of you," he asked.

She removed her head from his shoulder and rolled away. "And can you?" she said

It was as if he'd sat up. Lying beside him was the most delightful female form he'd ever seen, even in pictures. There wasn't a great deal of detail, but enough for him. He took in every gentle curve from her breast to her pubis. He gulped and then started to panic. He concentrated and the image stayed. He said, "Was that really you, or were you projecting some image?"

"Oh, no," she said, "that's me all right, although it's as I was before the water."

"Bit of jealousy in the village then?" he asked, "I thought it was all supposed to be Old Crones, not sex-crazed passion on legs."

"There were certainly several young men after my favours," she replied. "But some of the women were less than pleased that I was fancied by their menfolk or sons. I had no brothers or sisters; just my old Granny, and we were less trusted, more tolerated. Our cottage was set apart from the others, closer to the forest."

They lay cuddled together for a time; he didn't want to work it out; he was happy with things as they were. Her hand restarted its exploration of his body but stopped when it encountered what might have been, under other circumstances, puckered flesh.

"What's this?" she asked, "a scar?"

"Yes," he replied, "machine accident a while ago." He thought about it for a moment and recalled how it happened.

"How come you and I can feel it?" he said.

"I told you," she said, "You are getting more used to it. And, if I may say so, very well."

She had her head on his shoulder. They spent some time just lying together, at peace. She whispered: "Tell me a bit about your world."

He did and told her about politics, wars, electricity and cars. "When," he asked after a bit, "can I do some real Haunting? I'd really like to do for that idiot."

"Haunting is not quite the revenge it once was," she said. "These days it's all contact by 'Clairvoyants' and so on. But I think we might manage a bit of old-fashioned haunting sometime soon. You're coming along very well indeed."

"Have you got sort-of green eyes?" he said.

"Yes," she replied. She thought about it for a while and asked: "How did you know?"

"I can see them. Though art indeed beautiful," he whispered.

"I think that you might be ready to try and rise," she said.

"I thought I'd already done that", he replied without thought. Her response was a dig in what would have been his ribs. She giggled.

"Think about standing up," she said. He did, and nothing happened. When he regained control, her head was not on his shoulder, nor anywhere that he could see. He concentrated and saw her legs. They went on forever, shapely into the darkness. Her shift was just short of her knee and, if she'd been a modern girl, she'd have worn a great mini-skirt. "Where are you?" he said.

"Stand up," came the instruction.

"Hang on," he said. "You have great legs."

"Oh get up, do," she replied, and then added "And thank ye kindly, Sir."

The soft burr of her accent was more noticeable. Without thinking about it, he stood up. He wondered where the roof was, but then stopped. It didn't matter any more.

"Take my hand," she said. He felt her hand in his.

"Now," she said, "concentrate on being on the ground, not in it."

In the blink of an eye, they were standing on the grass beside an old Yew tree. "There's my stone," she said, and pointed to an aged marker stone in the corner of the wall a few yards away. "My granddaughter put it up before she died and she lived to a ripe old age. She's down somewhere over the other side."

But he was looking round and realised exactly where he was. Behind him was what must be the modern graves, each with its headstone, in neat rows. He was standing by an old stone wall that had marked out the original plot.

On the other side of a busy road, a huge building was brightly lit. "The hospital," he said, "where most folk get out alive, if not completely cured."

"You mean people come to this place to get healed?" she said in some surprise.

"Yes," he said, "we don't need to find a wise woman these days, although sometimes it might be better. Now, how do we go about finding the man I want to see?"

"There's two ways," she said. "Wander round the road where it happened and wait and see if its part of his regular journeys, or you might wait here and see if you can catch him. That takes longer, of course. I've sometimes been over the road. I think they reckon I'm an old woman that cannot leave the place."

"Hang on," he said, "What sort of good deed are you supposed to do to free your personal curse?"

"I told you," she replied, "help someone. That will complete the circle."

"Do what?"

"Well, in your case, I assume it's restoration of what you never learned in life," she said. "And apart from the swiving, at which you are getting better, you have a few more other things to gain. Come on, let's go back."

They turned, but he held her back. A few yards away, a courting couple were cuddling & fumbling at each other. "Look", he said quietly. She turned to look as the girl lay down on a grave and pulled her boyfriend towards her. She lifted her hips as he deftly removed her knickers.

Mary was interested, as if she'd never seen it before.

"Can they hear us?" James whispered.

"Why?" she asked.

"I've always wondered about haunting", he said, and chuckled.

"You'll have to project your voice if you want them to hear you," she said quietly.

They watched for a while longer, the girl's head going wildly side to side and making noises as the boy pumped into her. In the midst of wild passion, the boy lifted up his head. James leaned forward and said loudly: "Do you two mind? I'm trying to sleep down here."

The girl's screams changed from barely restrained passion to real fright. The lovers panicked and ran. She had her knickers in one hand and her bag in the other. He was trying to fasten his trousers as he sprinted, yelling, down the path. Her screams could be heard for quite a while.

"I've often wondered about that," said James.

The Church lights were on and they could hear the Choir practice. The Choir were having difficulty, going over some lines several times.

"You know," said Mary, "I've heard music like that before." She went on: "Come on, let's go back, you are getting better all the time."

"How do we go back?" he asked.

"Think under, not on." she said.

He thought, and nothing happened. He tried again, with the same result.

She came back to him.

"I'm stuck," he said.

"Take my hand," she said, taking his. "Now, concentrate."

It wasn't so much a flash as the absence of flash and they were back underground.

His head was cradled in her arms. "Is that how they do it these days?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he replied. She kissed the top of his head as a mother would her child. His mouth found her nipple. She crooned and rocked and kissed him. He gently caressed the other nipple.

"Thou art indeed lovely: You have lovely breasts", he said. "Come to me".

He lifted her on top of him and then realized he could feel some weight. Her hands did their slow, gentle magic around his chest and his erection grew. He could feel each and every nerve reacting to the massage. He reached out and explored her pussy, round and round the labia, fingering the spot by her clitoris. She was soon very wet.

"Come inside me please, now," she said urgently.

A quick shuffle was all it took and he was deep inside her, rocking to an ancient rhythm, gentle, loving and beautiful. He pushed away the thought that this was what he'd missed in life. His hands caressed her breasts, pinching each nipple as her hips rocked. She sighed and moaned in pleasure given and taken freely, with little sounds from the back of her throat.

He felt her muscles tighten and he pushed hard. Her head rocked back and she screamed as her back straightened as she willed even more of him into her wet cunt. Her essences flooded as he released even more of his semen into her waiting womb. She collapsed on him and kissed him; very gently and with a lifetime of love.

He was beginning to feel more of her weight; he rolled her sideways very, very gently and pulled her to him. He rested. There was a smile on his face.

"You've been gone a while," she said, when he became aware again. He started and then stopped wondering about just what consciousness was down here. He was warm & dry, not hungry and he had a gorgeous sex-mad granny as his companion. Life, if that's what it was, was definitely better than hitherto, even if it was a bit puzzling.