The Veil

Miles was not a frequent customer of prostitutes. At least, he didn't consider himself to be-he visited them, but not all that often. He lived a few hours from one of the counties of Nevada in which it was legal, so he never found himself on the wrong side of the law. And he didn't consider it an emotional problem either-he only visited when he was between relationships and needed some release. It was better than dating a woman just to have sex with her, he supposed. On average, he ended up visiting them only about once or twice a year.

Because of the infrequency of his trips, he planned them carefully, weeks in advance. It was a moderate financial splurge too, so we wanted to make sure it would all be worth it. He did his planning using several websites devoted to the discussion of women who worked in the area and it was through these websites that he met Andrew.

Or course, Andrew didn't initially use his real name. His screen name on the forums was x_Attitude_x. But after several long discussions about sex and specific sex workers, he opened up to Miles. They actually grew to become fairly good friends, over the course of a few years. Well, as good of friends as you can be with someone you have never met in person.

And so it wasn't much of a surprise when Miles received a text message from Andrew, gushing about a new brothel that he had discovered.

"You gotta check this out!" he had typed. "This shit's like nothing you have ever experienced."

Miles wasn't dating anyone at the moment and it had been a while since his last trip, so he was intrigued.

"What's it called, so I can look it up?"

"Oh, there's no looking it up," Andrew replied. "This place is kind of underground."

"It's not illegal, is it?"

"No, no, it's all legal. It's just, well, it's kind of a unique experience."

"This isn't some BDSM fetish stuff, is it?"

"No. Well, kind of. I mean, no bondage stuff, but it's definitely not vanilla."

Miles was starting to get annoyed.

"Cut the shit, man. What's the deal?"

There was a pause in the conversation as Miles waited for Andrew to reply.

"The chicks are all ghosts, man!"

Miles didn't understand. He wondered if autocorrect had somehow muddled things up. What could the word 'ghost' have been instead? Or was this some fetish community term for women with albinism?

"Ghosts? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking ghosts, dude! Specters. Phantoms."

Miles pictured the corniest haunted house he had ever been to, but with naked women in thick white makeup. It didn't really appeal to him.

"Isn't it a little early for Halloween?"

It was February.

"Listen, you might not believe me, but I'm telling you it's real. REAL ghosts! You've GOT to check it out!"

Miles began to feel like this might be an elaborate practical joke. As he tried to formulate a response, Andrew sent another message containing an address in Elko County and a phone number.

"The place is called The Veil. They don't have a website, so you'll have to call to schedule a visit."

"I'll check it out sometime," Miles replied weakly. He had no intention of doing so, but wanted the conversation to end.

"You won't regret it!" Andrew promised.

And that's all there was to it. At least, for a while. The next week, they had a similar conversation and Andrew continued to gush about The Veil. In fact, he started bugging Miles on a weekly basis about the place.

Miles thought about lying and saying that he had been, but he figured that the deception would fall apart pretty quickly. He had never been a particularly good liar.

Andrew's badgering finally got to him and, a few months after their initial conversation, Miles picked up the phone and put in the number that Andrew had sent him.

"Can I help you?" said the voice on the other end of the line. It sounded like a man and had a definite tone of annoyance to it. It didn't seem professional at all.

"Oh, I might have the wrong number," Miles said apologetically. "Is this The Veil?"

There was a pause.

"Yes, this is The Veil. Visits are by appointment only. Would you like to book a time?"

Miles rattled off a date during the coming weekend and a time in the early evening.

"Our sessions are $500 for an hour. Non-negotiable. Cash only. Everything included."

Miles took this in. $500 was a little steep, especially considering its location. Places closer to Vegas were the most expensive, but Elko County was pretty far away, at the northeastern corner of the state. 'Everything included' was weird too. There were normally different rates for oral sex, sex, half-and-half, or other more specialized services. He reminded himself just how abnormal this all promised to be.

The man on the other end continued.

"We don't have a line-up when you enter like other brothels. You have to book your courtesan ahead of time. Do you have a preferred lady you would like to be with? If this is your first time, I could select one for you-they are all excellent."

Even though it was his first time, he had heard Andrew describe just about everyone who worked there, although his descriptions were always rather vague. The name Delia had somehow stuck in his mind.

"It will be my first time, but a friend recommended Delia to me," Miles stated confidently.

"Very well. If you have any questions, I could answer them now. Otherwise, I will see you this weekend."

Miles had very many questions, chief among them being something along the lines of 'is this shit for real?' But he held his tongue and concluded the conversation.

He trusted that Andrew wouldn't be sending him into an actually dangerous situation, although he wouldn't be surprised if there turned out to be an element of practical jokery to it, in some way. All he could do was wait until the weekend.

***

The building was on the outskirts of Elko, the largest city in that part of Nevada. It was a compact, nondescript building. Its sign was very small but it was hard to miss, since there was nothing else nearby. Miles parked his car and walked up.

When he entered, he was greeted by a young man seated at a computer behind a front desk. The reception area was well-lit, but hardly decorated at all. A few fake plants and cheap still-life paintings hung on the walls. It felt more like a hotel lobby than a brothel.

"Are you here for Delia at 8:00?" The young man asked him. His voice was familiar-probably the same man who he had spoken with over the phone. But his tone was completely different, warm and inviting instead of brusque.

"Yes," Miles replied, still trying to take in the whole scene.

"I apologize if I sounded rude, over the phone," the employee explained. "We get a lot of callers who aren't serious or just want to prank us. So, I'm happy to see you here today. As I said, it's $500. Although, I'm afraid we don't have an ATM..."

"I have the money," Miles explained. The whole situation was getting more and more atypical. "I do still pay afterwards, right?"

"Certainly. I just wanted to make sure that you remembered the terms. Please, come with me."

Miles followed him through a doorway from the lobby to a long hallway. The similarities to a hotel continued as they made their way past door after door.

"You said your friend told you about Delia, right?" the man asked. It was strange that the employee remembered so much about their conversation. Maybe he had a really good memory. Or maybe they just didn't get all that many customers.

"Yeah, but he didn't really say much in the way of details."

"Well, allow me to fill you in. Delia was a poor farmer's daughter in Wales, back in the late 1600s. Making her technically the oldest cortesan working here," he added with a smile.

Miles had almost forgotten why he was here in the first place. The details reminded him of the situation's strangeness.

"She died in a tragic carriage accident, plummeting off a cliff. She haunted the sharp turn of that road until we found her and brought her here."

"Brought her here?" Miles asked before he thought better of it. He figured that this was all just an elaborate backstory to what would end up being a woman in white makeup, so the answer didn't matter.

"Many ghosts inhabit a distinct object associated with their death. A Fetter. In her case, it is a wedding ring, lost for centuries at the site of her demise."

He cleared his throat as he stopped himself from continuing.

"But to say any more would be to give out some valuable trade secrets. You understand, of course."

"Yeah, yeah," Miles replied skeptically. If this was a joke, the guy was a pretty committed actor.

They had arrived at a room at the end of the hallway, which the man opened and gestured for Miles to enter. He offered some final instructions.

"You might want to disrobe yourself before lying down on the bed-it makes things easier for her. I'll be back in an hour's time, although you are welcome to come back to the front if you are finished before then."

Miles thanked him and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He took a quick survey of his surroundings. It was like he had stepped into a completely different world.

The most prominent feature of the small, windowless room was, of course, a bed. He had expected a plain hotel-style bed, to match the rest of the building, but he was happy to be wrong. It was a massive piece of furniture, carved from dark wood, canopied and draped in deep red and purple cloth.

The floor was similarly ancient-looking-hardwood or, at least, convincingly fake hardwood. The room was lit by several oil-burning lamps, giving the whole scene an eerie feel to it as the flames flickered.

There was a nightstand on one side of the bed, with a box of tissues resting on it. It seemed very out of place, but he supposed that there was no way around it.

He wondered if this was actually what a pre-industrial Welsh bedroom would look like, but he quickly decided that he didn't care. They had obviously put some work into establishing a setting, which he appreciated.

The only other piece of furniture in the room was a narrow wooden table against the wall, near the door. He emptied his pockets onto this side table and carefully disrobed, setting his clothing on the table as well.

He made himself comfortable, resting in the center of the bed. The mattress was a little lumpy, but not bad. The canopy was a nice touch. He kind of felt like a Welsh king, luxuriating among the room's ancient fineries.

A minute or so passed by as he waited. He could see why Andrew had spoken so highly of the place, at least from the standpoint of atmosphere. He was still fully expecting a woman in thick white makeup to walk in. He tried to picture what a Welsh farm girl would look like and began to get hard as he casually fondled himself.

He stopped when he felt a cold breeze move across his body. The air conditioning unit turning on? He looked around the room but couldn't see any vents. He noticed the cloth of the canopied bed swaying as well. They must be hidden very well...

He then felt a tingling sensation in his shoulders.

It wasn't painful, but it startled him enough to make him sit up. His erection quickly subsided. Was there something built into the bed itself?

He decided to just go along with it and leaned back into the soft, velvety pillows at the head of the bed. The sensation returned, although it was less shocking this time. It was a slightly cold, tingling feeling that was actually somewhat relaxing. Like a menthol rub, or something like that. It worked itself across his shoulders and upper back.

Then, the pressure came in. This didn't startle him as much, but was certainly perplexing. His speculations about how the bed itself could deliver the sensation disappeared as he simply enjoyed the experience. It was like a massage, but strange because it managed to work at all of the muscles of his back at the same time.

The tingling massage worked its way over his shoulders and to his front. Looking down, he noticed that all of the hairs on his chest were raised. The feeling made its way to his arms and then down to his fingers. He let out a sigh of relief. It was easily the best massage he had ever had.

His relaxation was interrupted by a troubling thought. He had assumed that the bed itself had somehow vibrated to massage his back and shoulders, but how could the mattress possibly affect his chest?

He sat up in a mild panic, surveying the room once again. Could it be that there was an actual ghost in there with him?

He felt a pressure guiding him back to the bed. It wasn't a violent push, so he didn't feel as if anything were against his will. But he somewhat reluctantly leaned back to his supine position. He might as well see things through and worry about the existential crisis later.

The tingling massage continued down his body, avoiding his crotch but working at the large muscles of his butt and thighs. By the time it made its way down to the tips of his toes, Miles was fully relaxed.

Then the pressure worked its way up his inner thighs and to his taint and balls. By the time it reached his penis, he was fully erect. It was unlike any sort of handjob he had ever experienced before. A normal woman only had two hands, but this sensation applied gentle force to all areas at once. It was a uniform pressure, unlike that of a hand. There was no wetness to it, but there didn't need to be-the unseen force stroked and caressed in a way that was smooth and frictionless.

It was natural to tense up in a situation like this but Miles felt only relaxation mixed with his pleasure. He realized that the massaging pressure had returned, working at the muscles of his body simultaneously as it stroked his cock.

He closed his eyes to focus on the feeling of it all. At first, he thought it was the sound of his own breathing but he soon realized that there was a soft, whispering noise in the room. The sound grew louder and he began to recognize it as female moans of pleasure.

Miles opened his eyes, in vain. There was nothing to see except for his own erect penis, throbbing with pleasure. Was this a ghostly handjob? Or blowjob? Or sex? Or, perhaps, something that could only be likened to all three, simultaneously.

As the sex act, whatever it was, continued, his instinct was to touch her, to feel a thigh, shoulder, breast, or whatever was within reach. He raised his arms but, of course, there was nothing visible to grab. But as he lowered his arms, he felt a soft pressure against his palms. It felt almost exactly like a smooth, firm breast resting in each of his hands.

He closed his eyes again as the pressure on his dick intensified, as did the kneading at his balls and taint. He felt a trickle of pre-cum slide down his shaft and knew he wouldn't last much longer.

The ghostly cries of pleasure grew louder. Miles opened his eyes as he came to orgasm and briefly saw the spectral form of a petite young woman straddling him as his ejaculation shot up through her.

And then she disappeared. The room fell eerily silent as the moans, the rustling of the drapery and all other noises ceased. Miles felt the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears and slowed his breathing as he tried to calm down.

He was just about to make his way out of bed when the door burst open and a short, elderly woman stormed into the room.

"What have you done to her?" she shouted in an unidentifiable Eastern European accent.

Miles quickly grabbed a pillow and covered himself from her.

"Where is the ring?" the woman continued. "The ring!"

Before Miles could reply, she got down on her knees and scrambled underneath the bed. She was surprisingly agile for a woman of her age and quickly emerged with a small wooden box in her hand. It was fastened with a lock and she eyed him suspiciously as she saw that it was undisturbed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally managed to get out.

At that point, the man from the front desk burst into the room.

"Gramma, what are you doing?" he shouted.

"She's gone!" the woman said to her grandson as she fumbled with a keychain and opened the lock. She withdrew a thin silver ring.

"What are you talking about?" the young man asked.

The woman's anger began to subside. She breathed a deep sigh.

"I mean, she's gone. Departed from this world. I know you can't feel the spirits like I can, but you can trust me when I say that her presence is no longer here."

"I don't understand," the grandson said. "Why?"

The woman's anger suddenly flared up again.

"Oh, stupid stupid..." she continued in a string of loud insults in a foreign language as she punched her grandson in the arm.

"What is it? What did I do?" he yelped in pain.

"He's a Merrick, you idiot. You forgot to ask him about his name, didn't you?"

The young man trailed off, avoiding answering the question, although his guilt was apparent.

Miles finally entered the conversation.

"My grandmother's maiden name was Merrick," he admitted. "But nobody ever asked me about it. What does it mean?"

"He didn't tell you the full story of Delia, did he?" the old woman asked him. Miles shook his head.

"She was a farmgirl who, implausibly, won the heart of one of the sons of the local nobility," she explained. "The two were wed but the young man was called away on urgent family business right after the ceremony concluded. A storm was brewing and, for the safety of his young bride, he left town without her. And without consummating the marriage, if you know what I mean. The storm ended and Delia left to follow him the next day. But the road conditions were muddy and her carriage fell off a cliff at a sharp turn in the path. None survived the crash."

"So, her unfinished business was having sex with her husband?" Miles concluded.

"Ah, look at this one," the grandmother said slyly. "What are you, some kind of ghost expert? Yes, that's exactly it. Maybe I should employ you instead of my braindead grandson."

"Listen, they hate when I ask about their last name," the man said pleadingly. "They think we're trying to scam them or something. They probably lied most of the time anyway. So I stopped asking."

The old woman paid no mind to him.

"So, I'm the great-great-great... so I'm the ancestor of this noble?" Miles asked.

The old woman sighed and nodded her head.

"He was a Merrick. And if you have a Merrick in your family tree, it's likely that you are a distant relative of his. So her romp with you just now was all she needed to conclude her business on this plane of existence and depart to the next one."

Miles leaned back against the pillows at the head of the bed, trying to wrap his brain around it all. It was a lot to take in.

The woman and her grandson soon left, apologetically. As he cleaned himself up and re-dressed, Miles wondered if the interruption would result in a reduction of the cost. As he checked out, the man at the front desk didn't mention it and he didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Considering the rest of his experience that day, he gladly paid the $500.

Miles returned to The Veil a few weeks later and again a month after that. These visits were nice, but paled in comparison to his first. Nothing could come close to the evening with a woman whose whole purpose in this world had been to pleasure him. His ancestral bride. Delia.