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From: j_shelbourne@yahoo.com (Jordan Shelbourne)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 9 Nov 2001 20:33:03 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} <THM> Haunted (MF) {Jordan Shelbourne}
Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2001 02:10:07 -0500
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HAUNTED

Copyright 2001 Jordan Shelbourne

This is the end of the story:

Rich wasn't looking at her as he drove over the
railroad tracks and when he did look back, she was gone
from his car, gone with his jacket: gone as though she
had never been there at all, except for her corsage.

Later, when he went to her graveside, his jacket was
there.  He left her corsage, and she was never seen
again.

                           * * *

This is the middle of the story:

She was underdressed for the cold, foggy night; this
October was damp and there might be frost in the
morning.  Rich had seen that dress at his graduation,
twenty years earlier, and she didn't seem in the least
aware that she was an anachronism.  She flagged down
his cab.

"Thank god!" she said.  "My boyfriend and I had a fight
and I need help getting home.  Can you give me a lift?"

He nodded.  She was pretty and young and vibrantly
alive.  The damp had taken some of the stiffness from
her hairspray; several locks of red-blonde hair were
loose and dangling.  "Where to?" he asked her once she
was settled in the front seat of the taxi.

She gave him the address--it was just at the edge of
town, and he remembered that twenty years ago it had
been way outside of town.

"I was afraid I was going to have to walk the whole
way."

"Well," he said, "we wouldn't want that." She settled
herself in the seat and didn't fasten the seatbelt.
They sat quietly for a while until he said, "What did
you two fight about?"

"Sex."

"Mmmmm."

"Am I pretty?"

He looked over at her and looked at her as long as he
could before he had to look back at the road, as though
memorizing her.  "Yup.  Very pretty.  Memorable, I'd
say." He wiped one of his palms on the thigh of his
slacks.

"He--my boyfriend--he wouldn't do it.  Do it with me, I
mean," and she giggled.

"Wouldn't?  Or couldn't?"

"He said he wouldn't."

Rich said carefully, "First time a woman asked me--she
was a very pretty woman, like you--we'd been necking
for hours, I think.  And she was pressing herself
against me and asked me to make love to her.  I'd been
hard an hour earlier, but I think my body had just
decided to save itself from blue balls like a million
other times and concentrate on something else.  I
begged off."

"You think he was soft?"

"Could be.  It's scary losing your virginity."

"It's just sex," she said, and sat silently for a
moment.  Finally, she said, "I was sooo horny." She
looked at him sideways.  "Still am."

Rich made a noncommittal sound.

"I don't have much money," she told him.

"Ah," he said.  He sounded only half-surprised.  The
other half might have been disappointment: that he
didn't think teenage girls did this, even though he
knew they did.

"Maybe I can pay you some other way?" She looked at
him, her violet eyes huge under half-closed lids, a
lock of red-blonde hair twisted around one finger.

He swallowed.  "Maybe." He switched off the On Duty
sign and pulled down the next side road, finally
stopping in a sheltered lane.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Rich," he told her.  It was too dim to read the name
on his taxi license.

"Buffy," she said, but he knew she was lying.

She twisted in her seat, her back against the door, one
knee drawn up.  The skirt rode up, exposed her shin,
her knee, and a smoothness of thigh.

"Tell me I'm sexy, Rich." Her voice was low and slow,
dark and sweet as molasses.

He swallowed again.  "You're very sexy, uh, Buffy."

She scraped her heel against the edge of the seat so
her pump feel off, then rubbed her foot along his
thigh.  "Are you hard, Rich?  Or are you scared?"

"Oh, I'm hard.  Even though I'm scared."

She sat forward suddenly, concerned.  "Why?  Why be
scared?" She placed her hand against his chest, and he
could feel the warmth of it through his shirt.

"Because these things don't come without a price.  This
kind of...of luck costs something."

She smiled and unbuttoned his shirt.  "Not tonight.
Tonight it's free.  It's freeing."

He leaned forward into her touch and then kissed her,
awkwardly at first, but with growing hunger.  She
tasted sweet and vivid.  When he reached to put his
arms around her, she made a small sound.  "Sorry," she
said.  "Corsage pin," and she unpinned the corsage and
threw it on the dashboard.  Then she pulled him close,
her breasts pressing against his bare chest; he
imagined he could feel every detail of them through her
bra cups, through the fabric of her bodice.

She darted her tongue into his mouth, and he tried to
catch it.  She smiled and kissed his cheek, then his
ear.  He heard her breathing, his breathing, the sound
of his heart beating.

He found the zipper of her dress, at the back, and
eased it down.  When she sat back to slip her arms free
of the short sleeves, he kissed them goodbye, as though
she would not reach for him again: bicep, inside of her
elbow, forearm, wrist, palm and a last slow kiss on her
fingertips.  She smiled at him, the dress still up
though the bodice was sagging away from her bra now,
exposing swells of peach-coloured satin.

He moved towards her, enjoyed the feeling of her leg
against his side, and he kissed his way up her shoulder
and neck, his tongue going numb where it tasted hair
spray.  He sucked on her earlobe, her earring cold and
hard against his lips, and she moaned when he moved
down her neck again, teasing the skin where throat and
shoulder met.

"Rick..." she said almost voicelessly.  He didn't
correct her, his hands on her waist; he marvelled at
the smallness of it, the firmness of her body, as he
ran his thumbs over her ribs.  She threw her head back,
exposing her throat to him, and he kissed it, nibbled
it, sucked it, then kissed down, letting his tongue
explore the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling
her pulse beat there.  He could smell her perfume, and
he kissed lower, down her sternum, letting his chin
push her bra down as he kissed between her breasts.

He reached up, then, and took hold of her dress, and
pulled it down, exposing her pale skin to the dashboard
lights.  She smiled at him, and pulled her bra around
so she could unfasten it.  It fell to the floor, and he
stared at her small firm breasts.

"Do you like them?" she asked.

He nodded, and she cupped them, holding them up for
him.  "I think they're too small," she said.  "And they
still sag."

"They're beautiful," he said.  He placed his hands
carefully on her thighs as he leaned over to kiss them,
one careful kiss on each nipple, then opened his mouth
and took that nipple into his mouth, sucking gently on
it, then more firmly.  She held his head with her
hands, twisting her fingers in his hair.

Eventually she whispered, "Show me how much you want
me.  Show me that you're hard."

He leaned his seat all the way back, first, then lay
back and eased his slacks and underpants off
simultaneously.  He heard her intake of breath when the
head of his cock showed, then concentrated on getting
his legs free.  His belt jingled each time his legs
banged against the steering wheel, but she didn't
laugh.  She laid the warm palm of her hand on the firm
line of his erection and made an appreciative sound.

"Go ahead," he said.

She held it loosely and slowly stroked it up and down.
"You can hold it tighter," he told her, and she did.
Then she leaned over him and breathed on it.  It was
cool in the car, and her breath was hot and damp.

He moaned, and she kissed the tip, and he moaned again.

She licked the length of it carefully.  "Would you come
in my mouth if I sucked you?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said.

"Then I'm not going to," she said.  "I want you
somewhere else."

"Good," he told her.

She leaned her seat back and lay down, flipping her
skirt up over her belly.  "Help me get these nylons
off.  Please."

He moved slowly, drinking in the sight of her lying
there, but finally was kneeling on his seat, leaning
over her.  He hooked his thumbs into her nylons and
skinned them down to her knees.  As she brought her
knees up to pull them off, he looked at her panties.
Peach silk tap pants; they matched her bra, and the
crotch might have been damp, it was hard to tell in
this light.  He stroked her mound; the panties were
moist and warm.  Maybe some of that had come from her
boyfriend's attention.  Some of that was from right
here, now.

She tossed the nylons to the floor and reached up to
his erection, as though reassuring herself he was still
hard and eager.

Rich ran his index finger into her panties, along the
line where her legs met her groin.  No stray pubic
hairs interrupted the smooth line; she had waxed or
shaved or something for this night.  He touched her
lower, and felt how wet she was as he slid his finger
up her center line, between her lips.  She gasped as
his finger brushed her entrance, then wiggled as he
stroked her clit.

"Yessss," she whispered, and she pushed her panties
down herself.  He pulled them the rest of the way off
and dropped them beside her nylons.  "Do that again,"
she said.

He kissed her breasts then, alternating between them,
as he stroked her, exploring her labia, her clit, her
entrance--

She lifted her hips and slid herself right onto his
finger.  "Mmmmm," she said.  "Don't keep me waiting any
longer."

"I've been waiting, too," he said, and he knelt between
her legs.  "Move up," he asked her, "Please.  I can't
get it in your belly button."

She wiggled up the car seat, pushing with her elbows.
"I hope you can get it in me up to my belly button."

"I'll try," he said and there were no more words, only
sounds, as he slid into her, and she clutched him to
her.

He tried to make it good for her: he tried to use
everything he had learned since his high school days,
every trick that might please her, help her on her way,
and she helped him, urging him on with her hands, her
moans, and her hips.  He sped up with her, keeping time
with her thrusts as they grew more frantic, still
thrusting as she tightened and trembled, and finally
she sagged there, sweat making their bodies stick and
slap together.  His face was buried in her neck and
hair, then, and he slowed, then stopped, not asking the
question he was thinking.

She scratched him lazily on his back and murmured,
"Mmmm-hmmm." She stretched under him and he thrilled to
the feel of her moving there; after a mighty yawn, she
said, "Now you."

He moved again and began a slow deliberate thrusting
that squeezed him in a way he loved; she said, "Oh!"
and moved with him again.  "I'm going to--" she began
and he did not hear her any more because he was coming,
moving without control and pouring himself into her,
giving to her until he was purged and empty.  He fell
down on her and felt her belly still trembling under
his, and he kissed her mouth hard and deep so that he
couldn't speak to her.

Eventually he softened and a chance movement let him
fall out.  She giggled and reached down between them,
stroking his damp soft penis.  He shuddered at her
touch on the sensitive head and she held it tighter,
then kissed his chest.

"You have to get up," she said.  "I can't breathe."

He made his careful way back to the driver's seat and
they spent some awkward time getting dressed again.  "I
guess I'd better take you--"

"Home," she said, and then she giggled.  "You've
already taken me."

"I guess I have," he said.  The car's windows were
steamed over, so he put the defrost on full and they
waited for it to clear.

"Listen," she said, "did I call you Rick?  Because
that's my boyfriend's name and I don't want you to
think I was thinking you were him.  It's just your
names were similar, is all."

"It's fine," he said.  "I used to be called Rick."

"Okay.  My name is really Bonnie." She sat there, the
toe of one nylon sticking out of her purse, and she
shivered.  "I'm cold."

"Here," he said, and he put his coat on her shoulders.

"Thanks for helping," she said.  "I really needed that
tonight."

"I know," he said.  "I'm glad it was me."

After that, there wasn't much to say, and when the
windows cleared they drove on in silence.

                           * * *

This is the way the story begins:

Bonnie's sister got into Rich's cab one night.  "People
are sick fucks, Rick," she told him.  She'd had a few
drinks--but then, she usually had.

"Yeah," he said.  "Why specifically this time?"

"Mom and dad have been pestered on the anniversary of
Bonnie's death by people who claim to have picked her
up and given her a lift."

"Ghost stories?"

"One pervert said he boffed her." Rich whistled.  "I
wish--" she started.  "I wish you guys had never had
that fight.  I wish she were still alive."

"Me too," Rich said.  "Me too."

AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD

I thought this contest was a pretty cool idea, and
figured I'd lucked out when I got my theme ("On The
Road"); I had a hopper story that fit just that theme.

Except the hopper story needs someone else to write it.
The characters in the story I was writing were not
going to get down to having sex, they were concerned
about racial inequality and the nature of marriage.

So about four days before the deadline I gave up on
that story.  I bashed out another one right quick --
except it had nothing to do with the them.  (It's
called "Nothing Like Ruby" and it's over on my web
page, if you care.)

Then I had another idea--I'd cannibalize that first
story and put totally different people in it--and that
went nowhere. So I realized that what I should do is
write "From A to Z in the Erotic Alphabet" because I
could do it fast--except that to make it fit the theme
it really had to be "From A to Z, an Erotic Gazetteer"
which I might write some time but not today.

So the day before the deadline I wrote this, a week too
late for Halloween; oh, well.  I apologize if it looks
rough and rushed--but that's because it is.  Maybe
after National Novel Writing Month I'll have a chance
to give it a bit more polish.

JS

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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