The Ghost of East Hill Bridge

"Bye, Clive, thanks for the ride." Mark waved as he headed up his front walk, mask in his other hand, his step a little unsteady. It had been that kind of party.

"Later, Mark," I called back, watching him go. My vision swam a little, but not for the same reason Mark's probably did. It was late, it had been after ten-thirty when I'd left the party, and I was starting to feel it. I didn't have work tomorrow, which was good, but my dad would probably still drag me out of bed before eight to get chores done, which was bad. Three passengers down, just one to go; the blessing and curse of having a car.

When you grow up in a small town, thirty miles from the nearest mall or movie theater, having a car suddenly makes you very popular. Back in 1990, back before the internet, cellphones, or commonly accessible cable TV it made you very, very popular. When the most interesting place to hang out is the parking lot of the 7/11, the guy with the trashed Chevy is king. It wasn't a great car: it was a hand me down, over a decade old, guzzled oil, and needed constant work. It got people around, though, and it got me invited to things. Things like the beach trip on Memorial Day, or to the city last summer to see Total Recall, or just out to the tracks to throw rocks at trains. I wasn't a popular guy, but I wasn't unpopular either; I was just a guy. The car changed that. The car was why I'd been at Andy Hoover's Halloween party that night, it was why I'd been grabbed to drive four people home, and it was why I now found myself alone with Abigail Krueger. It was also why I met Maria McConnell, the ghost of East Hill Bridge.

Abigail Krueger. She was a looker and she knew it, but she'd gone overboard for Halloween. I don't know who or what she was dressed up as, but her hair was up, her skirt was short, her legs were long, and her top was low. She was hot, she was half-dressed, and she had a reputation. We didn't run in any of the same circles, but in a school of four hundred students you're passingly familiar with everyone and I'd had more than a few late night fantasies about Abigail. Now here she was, all dressed up (or down), alone with me in my whipped Chevy on Halloween night.

"So, um, which way to your place?" I asked, trying desperately to keep my eyes on the road and out of her cleavage.

"Turn around, then take a right on Creek," she responded.

I did a three point turn at the end of Mark's street, doing my best to avoid the downed tree, and leaned forward to stare into the twin circles of the headlights on my way back up the hill. I did keep my eyes on the road, mostly, but seriously this might be my only opportunity to see that much of Abby before we both graduated next summer and what I had now would probably keep me going for weeks.

"You're going to join the Army, right?" Abby asked.

"June, as soon as school's out." I hadn't signed up yet, but I was going to. Springvale's not a bad place to grow up, but once you're grown there's not a lot to do there either, either for fun or employment. There's also not a lot of ways out, you either need money or a scholarship, and I had neither. So: the Army.

"Are you a virgin?" she asked.

I nearly hit a tree.

"What?" I stammered.

"Are you a virgin?" She asked again. I debated what to answer. I don't know if you've ever been an eighteen year old guy, but whether or not you've popped your cherry is a big thing, huge, far bigger than it really needs to be. So a lot of people lie about it. Except in a school of four hundred people everyone talks about everyone else's business, including who's slept with who and who hasn't slept with anyone.

"Because it's okay if you are," she went on, "it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's okay to be a virgin. Hell, I am."

"You?" I blurted out in surprise. Like I said, in a school that small everyone talks about who's sleeping with who, and Abigail, well, she got talked about. A lot.

"Yeah, me. Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not, I mean I am, because, uh..." I trailed off.

"Because guys talk? Of course they do, but what did they say? Because blowjobs and tittyfucking don't count, and anyone who says I've done more is a liar."

I stared at Abby. You have to remember, this was before the internet. Raunchy teenage boys had to learn what they knew from the Sears catalog, stolen nudey magazines, the occasional VHS tape, and wildly exaggerated stories told by their peers. Blowjobs, those I knew about. Tittyfucking, though? I had guesses, and the next ten seconds had me uncontrollably staring at her rack trying to work out if they were right.

"Like what you see?"

"Sorry," I said, dragging my eyes back to the road.

"So are you? A virgin?"

Well shit.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Ever gotten a blowjob? A handjob?"

"No," I admitted.

"Well, that just won't do," she said, "going off to the Army without ever getting your whistle wet." What did that mean?

Then I realized we were traveling east on Creek Road, which didn't lead into town, it led out of town. There were only a few more houses out this way, then the couple on the hill, then a couple of horse ranches outside of town, and I was pretty sure the Kruegers lived in none of those.

"Hey, where are we going?"

She grinned at me. "Wanna fix that?"

My heart hammered. "Fix what?"

"Fix you never getting a girl on your dick before you're off to boot camp."

Holy shit.

"What are you offering?" I asked.

She grinned at me, twisting some of her curls around one finger. "Drive us out to Blowjob Bridge and find out."

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. My fingers tightened on the wheel and my prick hardened in my pants. Holy shit, Abby Krueger was offering to blow me.

East Hill Bridge, or Blowjob Bridge as it sometimes got called when parents weren't around. Every town has got their legends and this one starts in 1978 on Halloween night. The story goes that Maria McConnell and her boyfriend went for a long walk out to Rockfall Turn, our local lover's lane outside of town across East Hill Bridge. They didn't make it all the way to the turn and instead stopped on the bridge for a little hanky panky. Then a car came and they tried to hide, but Maria slipped from the bridge and fell to her death on the rocks and the river below. The part that doesn't get told in polite company is that she'd been giving her boyfriend head right before it happened, and the part every teenager tells is that, if you go out to the bridge on Halloween night, you'll find the ghost of Maria McConnell waiting to polish your knob. No one believes it, or almost no one because every couple of years you hear about some guy trying it. Thing is, the bridge ended up with just as much of a reputation as Maria McConnell, and over the last decade a lot of local couples have decided that ghosts shouldn't be the only ones having fun.

The drive to the bridge was less than ten minutes, down Creek and past the barn red house with the giant willow in the yard, then along the short bit where the road turns to half gravel. It was dark; the street lights didn't come out this far and while it was a clear night the moon didn't do much through the trees. I cruised over the train tracks, rolled around a blue truck parked partway in the ditch, and finally I could see the two glaring white lights of the bridge up ahead. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I felt like it was going to punch a hole in my ribs.

"Where, um..." I asked.

"Just pull over here, before the bridge," Abby said, waving at the small cutout. I did, stopping the Chevy with a crunch of gravel and putting on the parking brake. Car off. Keys out. Holy shit.

"Here?" I asked.

Abby glanced around the car. "There's not really a lot of room in here. How about on the bridge?"

I glanced out at the steel and wood bridge, hanging over a thirty foot drop into the river. It was at least forty years old. It was also October outside, and I could feel the chill in the car despite the crappy heater that smelled like maple syrup when it ran.

"Really?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, grinning and opening her door. "It's tradition, right? Getting your dick sucked on Blowjob Bridge on Halloween?" She tugged at her skirt, which had ridden up almost to indecency while she was sitting, bending over while she did it. I was suddenly staring down a deep canyon of cleavage, and a hint of something lacy peaked out at me.

"Won't it be cold?" I asked, opening my own door.

"Probably," she said, "but I'm guessing we won't be out here long." She giggled, shot me an evil grin, then walked off down the bridge, hair bouncing and butt swaying in her tight skirt.

This is a bad idea, I thought as I got out of the car to follow that sashaying butt. Holy shit this is a bad idea. Something did not seem at all right about this, Abby Krueger dragging me off to bob on my knob on East Hill Bridge? In the middle of the night? I wasn't thinking with my head, though, at least not the one atop my shoulders, and honestly even if I had been I probably would have done the exact same thing. If you've ever been an eighteen year old guy, you know why.

I followed Abby..

She stopped in a pool of darkness near the middle of the bridge. There were two lights, one at either end, but the middle was mostly in shadow. She'd walked up the road, although there was a walkway on one side of the bridge, separated by a railing. As I caught up with Abby she climbed the railing, skirt riding all the way up as she spread her legs to get over, and I got a flash of neon pink panties in the moonlight just before she jumped down on the other side. Then she tugged her skirt down again, gave me a dizzying look down her top again, and all semblance of sense left me.

"You coming?" she asked, knowing exactly what I'd seen during her acrobatics.

"Hell yes," I said, climbing over the railing.

Then I was face to face with Abby, only a couple of feet apart. She was grinning mischievously and looking amazing, I'm pretty sure I was grinning like an idiot and looking scared.

"So, um, what now?" I asked. "Do I kiss you?"

"Hmmmm no," she said, sounding thoughtful, "it's not that kind of night. No kissing. How about you take off your pants and I get on my knees instead?" Then she slowly, slowly squatted down, lowering herself until her head was right at crotch height.

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit. I fumbled with my belt, popped the button, tugged down the zipper, and shoved my jeans and briefs down as fast as I could with shaking hands. I'd like to say I sprang out, but nerves and cold had dampened my erection a little.

"Wow," she said, "I've never seen an uncut one before."

"It gets bigger," I said. Not sure why I said that. Okay, I knew why I said that, because I'm a grower not a shower and suddenly things were not growing when I wanted them to be.

"I'm sure it does," she said, staring at my block and tackle from less than a foot away. Then she giggled. "It looks like an anteater."

Well that's just rude.

"Now close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes," she said again, "I want you to feel this. I want you to block everything else out. The sights, the sounds, everything except my mouth and your cock. So close them, and just feel me."

Somehow, her saying "cock" was the dirtiest thing I'd heard all night. I almost did it. But the alarm bells were ringing again, and I glanced around. It was after eleven o'clock, no one was going to be here, no one to witness me out here on Blowjob Bridge with my pants around my ankles. But...

"Can't I-" I started.

"Close them" she said, then gently blew a stream of air over my dick.

I got hard as a rock.

Holy shit.

I closed my eyes.

"Now leave them closed," she said, "or I stop."

I heard her shift. I could feel her closeness. Feel the warmth of her hands near my legs. Feel the warmth of her breath on my dick.

"Tell me when you're about to nut," she said huskily, "I don't want it in my hair."

Holy shit holy shit holy shit she hadn't even touched me yet and I was ready to pop.

I waited, prick throbbing in the cold night air. I could hear Abby moving, then stopping. I thought I felt her breath again. Then moving, then stopping. Then moving.

"Um, Abby?" I asked.

"Shit these boards are splintery," she said.

"What?"

"I can't kneel on this," she said, "do you have a jacket in the car?"

"What?" I asked, opening my eyes.

"Closed!" she snapped, and I shut them again.

"Do you have a jacket in the car?" she asked again.

"Yeah? Why?"

"I need something to kneel on."

"It's in the, uh, in the car."

"Can I borrow your keys?"

"It's unlocked."

"Oh," she said, and I heard her moving, "I'll be right back, then."

Then she was next to me, touching me, and I could feel her hand and the softness of one boob pressed into my arm. Her voice was in my ear.

"Eyes closed, and don't move," she said. "I'll be right back." Then I heard her feet walking off behind me, back towards my car. Then the footsteps were gone, and all I could hear was the rushing water, some crickets, and a very chatty bullfrog.

So I waited.

And I waited.

And it got colder.

And I waited.

Shit she's not coming back.

Or maybe she just can't find my jacket. Did I leave it in the back? The trunk? She'd need the keys to get in the trunk. Maybe I should have given them to her. Maybe I should go back and bring them, except if I open my eyes and start walking, then what? Is this all over? She told me eyes closed, don't move.

It hasn't been that long.

I can wait another minute. Or five.

It's cold.

My prick had long since lost its vigor and was starting to cool down along with the rest of me.

Shit she's not coming back.

I knew something was fishy, this was all a setup and now there's going to be a dozen folks from the party sneaking up the bridge, walking right up to me with my pants down, waiting for me to open my eyes so they can laugh at me. Hey, check out Clive Fletcher, came out to Blowjob Bridge thinking he'd get his dick sucked, now he's freezing his balls off.

Except if I open my eyes she won't come back.

And if I don't open my eyes no one will be there.

That's stupid logic.

Over the sound of the water, the crickets, and the bullfrog I thought I heard footsteps. Quiet footsteps. I felt someone beside me, then in front of me.

"Hey," I said, feeling relief rush through me, "I didn't hear you come up."

Then I heard a scrape of shoes, a rustling of fabric, and felt a warm hand on my leg, warm fingers on my nuts, and something hot and wet surrounding my prick.

"Holy shit," I groaned as lips closed around the base of my shaft.

Abby sucked, softly, while her tongue licked in lazy circles. She slid her lips up to the head, then gently back down. Up, down, up, down, and I felt myself hardening, fast, filling up her mouth as I grew.

I groaned louder.

As I got harder, and bigger, Abby's mouth could take less and less of me in. She kept sliding me in and out, in and out, but at first she was sinking all the way down, then most of the way down, then only halfway. As I grew out her mouth her hand slid up to replace it, pulling up when she drew me out and sliding down when she took me in. She was being gentle, caring almost, which was absolutely not what I'd expected out of a pity suck from Abby.

"Oh, God," I moaned.

Abby made a happy humming noise around me and continued her slow, rhythmic slide. Up, down, up, down, up...

"Oh, God, Abby, that feels so good!"

She paused then, sliding my dick from between her lips but giving it one last kiss as she went. Her hand kept stroking, though, slipping over me from base to tip. It felt...

"I'm not Abby."

My eyes snapped open and I stared down at the woman who'd just been greasing my pole. Except it wasn't a woman. It was a ghost.

It was the color that gave it away, kind of hard to miss. She was pale, very pale, and I'm not just talking about her skin; her face, her hair, her clothes, everything was a washed out white with just hints of other colors. She was also glowing, or something that looked like glowing because she was easy to see even in the shadows except she didn't seem to illuminate anything around her. I was face to face with Maria McConnell, the blowjob ghost of East Hill Road, and she was face to face with my dick.

"Hi," she said, smiling at me with her hand still sliding up and down my suddenly softening prick.

"Uh, hi," I said, my heart making an escape attempt up my throat.

"Not who you were expecting?" she asked.

"No, not exactly."

"Who were you expecting?" she wondered, ghostly fingers giving up on their stroking as I went flaccid but still caressing gently. I expected her touch to be cold, like ice, but she was remarkably warm and lifelike. Her face, too; despite her paleness the look she was giving me was friendly, inviting, the kind that made me want to smile back.

She made me feel great. She also terrified me.

"Uh, someone," I replied, glancing around.

"Abby?"

"Yeah, her."

"Is that the bimbo you showed up with? She got into a car waiting in the woods right after she left you here. They drove off about fifteen minutes ago." She looked apologetic. "Sorry."

I knew it, I fucking knew it, and fifteen minutes had I really been standing here with my prick out in the cold for that long? I covered my face in my hands, wanted to shout about it, but I just let out an exasperated groan. I knew it, and I'd come out on this stupid bridge anyway.

Something warm surrounded me again and my groan turned to a moan. Holy shit Maria felt amazing but also...

"Maria?" I asked. "Maria, please stop."

She did, even her hands slipping away from me this time. "Not enjoying yourself?"

"No, I mean yes, I mean holy shit that felt amazing but this is really, really weird."

She stared at me for a second, then nodded slowly. "That makes sense. I'm not who you were expecting, and you've probably never had your pecker polished by a ghost before. That must be a little strange."

She looked apologetic, but also a little disappointed, as she rose to her feet and brushed at the knees of her jeans. Then, without another word, she started to turn away.

I held out a hand. "Hey, wait a second."

She paused and turned back with a quizzical expression.

I went on. "Do you want to talk for a bit?"

"Talk?"

"You know, do something... else with your mouth."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I've never chatted with a ghost before?"

Maria smiled. "I've never been asked that before."

"Well, you have now."

"Yes, I do. You might want to put that away first, though."

I glanced down, then hastily bent to yank up my pants and stuff my junk back in. I expected to be freezing, I'd been getting pretty cold before Maria showed up, but I was feeling warm again. Is that hypothermia? I hadn't been that cold. Could it be Maria? Her touch had felt strangely warm.

"So are you? Maria McConnell?" I asked, as I leaned on the railing out towards the water.

"Yup," she said, coming to stand next to me and lean out too, "that's me. Died on this very bridge... hmm. What year is it?"

"1990."

"Died on this very bridge twelve years ago. Or I guess I should say under it. And you are?'

"Sorry, I'm Clive Fletcher." I stuck my hand out sideways to her. "Pleased to meet you, I guess?"

She took it, shook with her strangely warm hand, and laughed.

"You too. God, I think this is the longest conversation I've had in twelve years."

"Really?"

"Most boys who come up here want me to do something else with my mouth."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?" she responded, smirking at me, "why do you think?"

"I mean no one stops to chat? After, before, whenever? No one asks questions?"

"Like what?"

"What's it like being dead?" I asked.

She was silent for a moment. "I haven't thought about it much. It's simpler than being alive, I guess. I'm still the same person I was before, or the same person I remember being, and I want the same things I guess or I would if I was alive but a lot of it doesn't apply. I don't need to eat, sleep, get to work on time, or plan something for dinner tonight. I've got different wants, now."