Sex, Gossip & DVDbyImaginator©
The textbook hit the polished granite floor, and the explosion bounced off every smooth plastered wall of the old science building lobby. Startled by the deafening sound, Elise Richardson quickly retrieved the wayward volume and shrank against a wall, just in time to avoid the rush of students pouring into the lobby from finished classes.
Two sophomore women raced by her to the foot of the nearby stairway and seated themselves on the bottom step.
"Did you hear about Danny and Stacy?" asked one woman.
"No," replied the other. "What? What?"
"Well," said the first, "Brenda told me that Marcia caught them making out in the back of the library last night."
"You're kidding," said the second. "Were they doing it?"
"Almost," said the first. "Stacy's shirt was completely unbuttoned, and she had his . . ."
"Excuse me, ladies," said Martin Frieler standing on the third step above them.
The first woman's eyes slowly climbed Martin's tanned and sinewy legs to his tight shorts and bulging T-shirt, and ended by gazing upon his smiling clean-shaven face.
"Hi, Martin," she said with a sudden grin.
The two women turned their legs as if opening a gate for him.
"Thank you," he said, then jogged between them and waded through the stream of students to reach Elise.
"Mmm," said the second woman, ogling Martin's rear-end, "makes you want to just reach out and kiss it."
Elise ducked her head and adjusted her glasses. She hoped no one had noticed her earlier clumsiness, but everyone around her seemed oblivious to the shy 20-year-old with long dark brown hair. Everyone except Martin Frieler, leader of the men's track team. He kissed her forehead and led her to the safety of a nearby corner.
"Later on, I'm going to look at that place over on Cherry," he said. "Want to come with me?"
"No," she said. "I've got some studying to do for tomorrow."
"Well, if I get it," said Martin, "then maybe you'll come by this weekend. Hm?"
"We'll see," said Elise.
She stared deeply into his green eyes and smiled. He felt the warmth of her body next to his and noticed the quivering of her soft lips as they began to part.
"Hey, buddy," said Steve, slapping Martin on the shoulder. "You going to check out that new place today? Hey, Elise."
"Hey," said Elise, pulling away from Martin and ducking her head again. "I've got to go. Call me later?"
"Sure," said Martin.
Elise took his hand as she moved away and held it until it slipped from her grasp.
"Well, me and Mike are going over to the track later," said Steve. "Coach says we need to work on our relays."
"Yeah, he's right," said Martin. "You two need to tighten up on your hand-offs. I'll swing by later, when I get back from seeing this lady."
"You two clowns coming, or what?" said Mike as he hurried pass them with his gym bag slung over his shoulder.
"Martin's going to check out that duplex over on Cherry," said Steve. "I can't believe it. Only 200 a month and furnished, too. Man, that's a real steal."
"Not unless you can pass muster with the owner," said Mike. "I hear she's a real hag, and picky, too. She's already turned down three guys. Must be using a tape-measurer to check dick size or something."
"Hey, that's the one Stan was telling me about," said Steve. "He said that she's actually a witch who believes that by drinking the blood of a virgin male she can keep herself eternally young."
"I thought she needed to drink the cum of a virgin male," said Mike.
"Man, you two have been watching too many horror flicks," said Martin. "I bet she's actually a very nice lady. And anyway, I'm going to offer to do some chores around the place. That usually goes over well with the older ones."
"Yeah, I can see it now. 'Oh, Martin!'" said Mike with a high-pitched voice, "'would you be so kind as to bend over and pick up that dish towel for me? Oh, my, what a nice, round derriere you have, young man.'"
"'And could you just wipe that spot on the floor there, sweety,'" said Steve, imitating Mike, "'while I continue to admire your firm buttocks?'"
Both Steve and Mike broke out in laughter. Martin just shook his head.
"Get going, you two," said Martin. "Coach'll be waiting."
Steve followed Mike through the door, both continuing to laugh and to talk with high-pitched voices like two old ladies.
Taking the sidewalk leading away from campus, Martin pulled from his backpack the newspaper clipping and re-read it:
"FOR RENT: 1 BR DUPLEX APARTMENT IN A QUIET NEIGHBORHOOD, FURNISHED. $200/MO. UTILITIES PAID AND MEALS INCLUDED. MALE STUDENT ATHLETE PREFERRED. 555-4665."
It was late in his junior year at Central Louisiana University, and being able to get away from the bustle and congestion of campus life held much appeal for him. He found the house next to a quiet side street overhung with thickly clad oak trees which shaded bright green lawns and flowery mounds of fiery pink azaleas. It was a narrow two-story wood-frame duplex, half of which appeared dark and empty with plain drapes hung in the windows. The stillness of it gave Martin an ominous feeling. The other half, however, had flowery hanging plants over the porch and windows bright and skillfully decorated.
The owner, Mrs. Sybil Sanchez, welcomed Martin into the latter half of the house. Its furnishings combined styles of both gothic and oriental, and carefully arranged on tables and shelves were a number of small crystal obelisks and pyramids reflecting the light of scented candles. A mahogany Buddha statue on the fireplace mantle stared down at Martin, as he seated himself beside Mrs. Sanchez on the edge of the sofa.
She was a small woman in her early 50's who wore her dark curly hair loose and long. Quartz crystals dangled from her ears and an embroidered shawl was draped over her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and Martin thought she looked quite young for her age.
"So, Martin," said Mrs. Sanchez, "you're an athlete at the university, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Martin. "I'm on the track team at Central. But may I ask, why did you state in your ad that you preferred a male athlete?"
"My late husband was a coach of the football team," she said. "I remember his players being some of the nicest young men. And I would much prefer renting to someone who is committed to good health and is well mannered. I just hope that you're not the partying type, though."
"Oh, no ma'am," said Martin. "I came to college to get a degree, not a hang-over."
Mrs. Sanchez giggled. Her smile accentuated her high cheek bones.
"Well then, there's just one more thing I need to ask you, Martin," she said. "And that is, do you by chance have a girlfriend?"
She leaned in close to Martin. A serious expression came over her face as her eyes locked with his. He felt her warm hand on his knee and started getting nervous, thinking that maybe Steve and Mike were right about this woman. His hand strayed toward the coffee table and landed on a large book of Japanese artwork.
"Um, uh," he stuttered, glancing at the book. "Yes, ma'am. There is a really nice girl that I'm dating right now, really nice. And smart, too."
"Good," she said, patting his knee and backing away with a smile. "I just wouldn't want someone bringing various young ladies around here at all hours. A steady girlfriend is acceptable, as long as she has her own place to sleep, mind you."
"Oh, yes ma'am," said Martin. "She's a perfect lady, and my parents raised me to be a perfect gentleman."
"Well then," she said. "I think you'll do just fine. The rent's payable at the beginning of each month, and you're welcome to have your meals with me each day. You can move in this evening, if you like. I'll have breakfast ready about 7 in the morning. Oh, and here's the key."
Martin left Mrs. Sanchez' house and went back to the dormitory to pack his things. He met Steve coming off the track field and asked him for the use of his car for the move. Steve hated losing such a good roommate, but he understood Martin's need to establish some independence for himself. He would have done the same, except for the local convenience of his parents' home.
Martin finished unpacking, then took a shower. Mrs. Sanchez had brought some food items earlier and put them in the refrigerator. So Martin, wearing nothing but his gym shorts, was in the kitchen fixing a sandwich, when she unlocked the front door and walked into the living room.
"Yoohoo, Martin," Mrs. Sanchez called. Martin was entering from the hallway and almost dropped the soda and sandwich, when he saw her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, halfway turning her face. "I'm just so used to letting myself in. I didn't think to check whether you were decent or not."
"Quite alright, ma'am," said Martin, setting down the things and checking his shorts. "I'm still use to walking around in just shorts myself, especially after living in a dorm full of guys. My apologies, ma'am. I should have remembered that a lady was on the premises."
"No harm done then," said Mrs. Sanchez with a soft laugh. "I just wanted to be sure you knew something, before anyone else gave you the wrong idea about this place. You see, it's been said that a ghost lives here. Now, I don't know what you've heard about ghosts, but I pride myself in being a bit familiar with the paranormal. And I'm sure that this one is quite benevolent, so you shouldn't be worried about anything."
"Well," said Martin with a smile, "I'm not much for believing in ghosts, ma'am."
"All the same," said Mrs. Sanchez. "I just wanted to inform you not to be too concerned, if you happen to hear any strange sounds or see anything unusual."
Mrs. Sanchez' eyes were scanning Martin's broad hairy chest and gliding down his bulging arms and legs, before ending up at the small bulge in the crotch of his shorts. The sight of him reminded her of how much she missed watching her husband's players work out on the field, their T-shirts drenched with sweat and clinging to the ripples of their hulking physiques.
"Well then," she said, backing toward the door, "I'll just say good night and leave you to settle in."
"Good night, Mrs. Sanchez," Martin said. "And thank you for the information. I'll be sure to keep my eyes and ears open and not be too judgmental."
Later that night, Mrs. Sanchez was lying in her bed thinking of Martin. She remembered his broad hairy chest, the bulging muscles of his arms and legs, and the tightness of his shorts. She imagined him sitting by the window of her room in the moonlight. When he turned to look at her, her heart began to pound. He stood and peeled the shorts from his hips, letting his thick penis dangle between his legs. He drew the covers back and crawled on top of her. His dark chest was overshadowing her body, as her knees rose and her hand slowly slid down and over the slightly damp swelling in her panties. The month-long denied touch sent shivers through her body.
She imagined Martin gripping her shoulders and kissing her neck passionately. Then, wanting to enhance the fantasy further, she opened the nightstand drawer and pulled from it the cream-colored dildo which she had not used in over a month. Shifting the cotton material of her panties to one side and exposing her moist and swollen labia, she dipped the phallus tip within her vaginal folds. As it slid so smoothly into her, she moaned and raised her back slightly from the bed.
The old sensations were returning, causing her body to writhe and her moaning to intensify. Her brow furrowed and her jaw widened, as the dildo moved more quickly. Martin's hands spread wide the folds of her nightgown and his lips were on her breast. The dildo sank deeper. She yelped, not caring if anyone heard her, not even Martin. The grip on her breast tightened, as her hips quivered and her buttocks contracted in anticipation of the orgasm. . . .
Thump, thump, thump . . .
Mrs. Sanchez froze. The sound had definitely come from the bedroom door. She quickly pulled the covers over her.
"Who's there?" she softly called.
Only silence replied. She lay there listening, a chill rushing over her body. Her ears searched for another sound, but only the soft ticking of the downstairs clock was detected. She nervously pushed back the covers and drew the dildo from her sopping vagina. She slowly approached the door, and extended her shaking hand toward the knob. She swung the door wide and stepped back, half expecting someone to be standing on the other side. But only emptiness lay beyond. She timidly poked her head through the opening, turning one way then another. The dimly lit hallway lay still. There was only the clear ticking of the clock from downstairs, and then . . .
It's chime made her gasp, but then reassured her that it had only struck one o'clock. She sighed, closed and locked the door, then returned to bed. She lay awake for what seemed like hours, listening, then at some point drifted into a deep slumber.
The next morning, she was placing the plate of bacon and eggs on the table, when Martin walked in wearing a bathrobe, yawning and dreary eyed.
"Good morning, Martin," said Mrs. Sanchez. "And how did you sleep last night?"
"Not too good," said Martin. "I kept having the weirdest dream, then I woke up and could hardly get back to sleep."
"What sort of dream was it?" asked Mrs. Sanchez.
"It was really weird," he said. "I felt as though someone had climbed into bed with me and was . . . well, it's kind of embarrassing. Not something I want to repeat to a lady. But the other thing was, that when I woke up, I thought I smelled something."
"What kind of smell?" asked Mrs. Sanchez.
"Sort of like perfume," said Martin. "Only not like any perfume I've ever smelled. Then, it just faded, and I haven't smelled it since."
"Well," she said, "it could have just been the breeze carrying the scent of flowers through the air. There are a lot of flowers blooming this time of year, you know. Did you by chance happen to hear anything last night?"
"No, ma'am," said Martin. "Although I did hear a slight rustling sound coming from somewhere, when I woke up. It was probably just the trees outside, though. But no, Mrs. Sanchez, I can assure you, there was no ghost in my room last night."
"Oh, well. I was just curious, that's all," she said. "Go ahead and finish your breakfast, and I'll not bother you about it anymore."
Martin gulped down the eggs and bacon, then thanked Mrs. Sanchez and headed back to his side of the house.
As she was laying the dishes in the sink, she heard a knock at the front door.
"Yoohoo, Sybil," said Mrs. Hatterly, a neighbor from across the street.
"Come on in, Gretchen," said Mrs. Sanchez. "I'll pour us some coffee."
"So," said Mrs. Hatterly, quickly seating herself at the table, "have you caught anything yet?"
"I haven't had a chance to check my traps yet this morning," said Mrs. Sanchez, "if that's what you mean."
"Think the bait lured her out this time?" asked Mrs. Hatterly.
"I sure hope so," said Mrs. Sanchez. "I've spent too much of my savings setting things up, not to mention weeks of searching for the right person. So tell me again about her, and don't skip any of the details."
"Well," said Mrs. Hatterly, "my husband is the only one who knows the full story. But from what I've gathered, her named was Camille. She attended the university many years ago, and rented the other side from a married couple who lived here. Now, the wife worked nights at the hospital, and that's when Camille would use the secret passage under the stairs to sneak over and climb into bed with the husband. But he happened to be away one night, and the young woman unknowingly climbed into bed with the wife instead. Well, the wife was startled, to say the least. Camille jumped from the bed and stood naked in the moonlight before her.
"The wife looked at Camille and decided that she liked what she saw. So she gave the young woman a choice: either continue pursuing her husband, in which case she would be reported to the school officials . . . I mean, back in those days it would have been scandalous for a college girl to be caught sleeping around, especially with a married man. Or, Camille could become the wife's personal love slave, and the whole thing would be hushed up."
"Ooh," said Mrs. Sanchez, "I guess the wife swung both ways, as they say. So, what became of the girl?"
"Well," continued Mrs. Hatterly, "Camille began skipping classes while servicing the wife during the day, leaving the husband to lay awake at night wondering. But then the guilt and shame of the whole thing must have finally gotten to her. They found her locked up over there, with an empty bottle of pills in her hand."
"Oh, the poor thing," said Mrs. Sanchez.
"The scandal wrecked the couple's marriage, and the house was sold. Afterwards, people claimed seeing lights go on and off in the empty half, and those who lived over here said they heard strange sounds coming through the wall. The house was unsellable for years, that is, until you bought it."
"Oh, how she must still suffer so," said Mrs. Sanchez, shaking her head. "I do hope that eventually she comes to realize that my efforts are meant to bring her some peace and satisfaction."
"Well, certainly not a piece of what you'll be getting out of it," said Mrs. Hatterly. "That is, if you can secure the needed evidence."
"Believe you me," said Mrs. Sanchez, "that million-dollar reward money would be most welcome, especially after paying for all those high-tech gadgets."
"Are you sure those things will work?" asked Mrs. Hatterly.
"They come highly recommended by the leading experts," said Mrs. Sanchez. "The sensors are suppose to pick up the energy field of a spirit-being and lock onto it. Then, the mounted mini-cam is activated and follows the spirit wherever it moves."
"That's a lot of expensive hardware to catch a spook," said Mrs. Hatterly.
"Well, believe you me, it wouldn't be of much use without the recently installed software, I can assure you," said Mrs. Sanchez. "Speaking of which, the young man did mention something this morning about a strange dream he had last night. Maybe she paid him a visit. Oh, I can't wait to look at the video disk."
"Let me know if you got anything," said Mrs. Hatterly. "I wouldn't mind a peek myself. Anyway, I'll stop by later. Thanks again for the coffee."
Later, after Martin had left the house, Mrs. Sanchez pressed upon one of the wood panels at the side of the staircase and entered the secret room behind. After switching on the light over the computer, she brought up the surveillance program on the monitor. Then, she carefully unlatched the panel on the opposite side and entered the other half of the duplex.
She had disguised the "spook" sensors as smoke detectors and now checked each for the green indicator light which showed its recent activation. Neither the one in the living room nor the one at the top of the stairs were lit. She entered the bedroom and immediately spotted the small point of green glowing high upon the wall which faced the foot of the bed. She closed the door and hurried back down the stairs and into the room beneath.
The disk in the DVD drive whirred as she opened the most recently listed file. The image on the monitor showed the sweep of the sensor coming to rest on the closet door, then slowly panning toward Martin's bed where it froze. Mrs. Sanchez saw the cover being drawn from his sleeping form by some invisible force. Her breathing increased as she caught sight of Martin's nakedness. He stirred in the bed, his arms flopping to his side and his feet pushing against the sheets. He appeared to be having some sort of dream. Then, his flaccid penis lifted itself and began swaying from side to side. By stages, it lengthened and swelled, rose higher then pointed straight up.