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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Horny Ghosts {Varkel} (Mgg multMF oral fant) [2/7]
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Date: Fri, 06 Apr 2012 07:10:02 -0400
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Horny Ghosts
by Varkel
Spring, 2012


Chapter 2: _Discoveries_

_Darryl Benton Parks_

I couldn't help Kate with the problem of her young girls.  I was a 
ghost, after all, and couldn't even pick up the phone, although its 
substance had seemed faintly apparent to my palm.

I left her there, fretting and distraught as the pedo molested her 
children.  Here was an entirely new reality for me to explore.  I had 
barely been able to feel the phone, a momentary resistance to my hand.
The question was whether I could feel live flesh and would the live 
person be aware of my touch?  When my hands had sunk into Laura's belly,
I had felt a momentary obstruction, a yielding resistance in her pussy 
area.  Under her mother's eye I was reluctant to explore further, but 
now I was floating over a community swimming pool crowded mostly with 
excited kids.

A boy about eight stood on the verge.  What attracted me was a 
pronounced bulge in the front of his trunks.  He was an androgynous lad
with fleshy legs, not so gangly as most boys.  I settled next to him.  
He was eating an ice cream cone.

In life I had never been sexually excited by young children, but here 
was the chance to test the theory I was forming.  I placed my palm on his 
lower belly so that my finger bumped the front protuberance and actually 
felt a soft bulge!  Did this little boy have a hard-on?  Why not?  I 
recalled them at that age, though usually first thing in the morning.  
The boy lowered the cone from his lips, looked around and rubbed his 
groin.  He had also felt my touch!  Although I could feel the stiff 
little knob, his hand was like smoke.  My fingers gently closed.  I could 
feel the shaft enough to stroke.  Indeed it was stiff.  Did he find ice 
cream sexy?  Recalling my own youth, I decided that he needed to piss and 
was contemplating releasing it in the pool when he finished the cone.

He frowned and looked down at his trunks, which showed no evidence of my
manipulation.  The hand holding the cone came down as cover and his free
hand closed over his own cock.  I withdrew of course, but he began to 
stroke it tentatively as I had been doing.

What was this?  I could feel his cock, almost as if I were alive, 
yet the boy remained unaware that I had molested him.  Still, he had 
felt something.  He had reacted.  Had my ghostly touch been too 
_ghostly_?  That was a possibility.  But what did it portend for any 
interaction between myself and the living?

In the meantime I chortled.  I had perhaps taught an eight-year-old how
to jerk off.

I went over to a group of three young girls, eleven- or twelve-year-olds
I assumed by the dainty breasts that demurely filled their bikini tops.
Kneeling behind them I kissed the middle girl on the back of her lovely
thigh while placing hands on the thighs of her companions.  My lips felt
thigh skin but not my hands.  Stretching my neck, I licked a thigh on 
each of the outer girls.  My tongue definitely tasted skin, slightly 
chlorinated.

All three moved a step then turned around.

"I felt something," one said.

"Me too," another replied.

"It must be the wind," the third girl announced.  "I felt it on my leg."

The middle girl shook her head.  "It felt like a kiss, not the wind."

"You wish!" declared the third.  All three giggled.

Kate and I had touched each other.  We had kissed, and the sensation had
been just like that of living people.  It was obvious that the situation
was different between a ghost and a live body.  My lips could feel a 
living person quite distinctly, but the live body only experienced a 
ghostly touch, like a zephyr.  My hand had felt the boy's cock and as a
tentative conclusion, Laura's clit.  My lips and tongue had felt the 
girls' thighs.  What were the rules here?  Did it somehow involve sexual
interest?

It seemed logical that I could fuck a live woman.  But what would she 
feel?  Could I rip the hymen of a virgin or would my cock just slip 
through the small opening without causing damage?

Being dead and a ghost was a serious matter.  My condition should have 
elicited deep, eschatological thoughts.  But all I could think about was
sex, which, when you think of it, runs contrary to Darwinian science; 
how could a dead person be concerned about the propagation of the 
species?

I did not attempt to answer such a question.  I had been young, 
twenty-eight and lusty when I died.  It seemed that I had not lost the 
sexual urges of my living self.  I resolved to embark on an experiment 
to determine whether I could actually fuck a living woman.


* * *


Emily worked behind the counter of a coffee shop that I had frequented 
in life.  She was seventeen or eighteen years old, a high school senior.

She wore her blond hair short, sort of curled up in the back.  I don't 
know the name of the style, but it seemed patrician, like her attractive
face.  She stood tall and straight.  Her bare upper arms, ample but not
fat, suggested a body that was, for me, near to perfect.  One could 
imagine her sailing on a yacht off the coast of Connecticut.  Though I'd
admired her often, I had never hit on her.  She didn't even know my 
name.

Of course I had been too old for her, perhaps by ten years or more.  But
the actual reason I had never moved on her was because she was renowned
as a _deep _Christian.  She was said to seek the life of a nun.  She had
never dated, so the story went.

This was the girl I wanted.  Perhaps as a corpse I had a chance with 
her.

I went into the almost empty coffee shop then rounded the counter.  She
was busily arranging pastries.  I placed both hands on her bare upper 
arms, though I couldn't feel them, and kissed her lips.  Wonderful!  My
lips could feel the moisture.  I inserted my tongue and touched hers.

She started then said, "Yes, Jesus.  You've come to me at last.  I want
to be your bride."

Jesus?  Well, why not?  I cupped both of her modest breasts -- and felt
something, however faint.

She leaned back.  "I know you're there, Jesus.  I've been waiting for 
you.

"Amy!" she called out.  "I've got to leave."

"What's the matter, Emily?" a plump, brunette girl asked, coming to her
from across the room.

"You know," Emily responded.  "It's rough this month."

"Sure, sweetie," Amy said.  "I'll cover for you."

I watched Emily gather up her purse and coat then followed her out of 
the shop.  She appeared to be very excited.

She drove off in an old Honda Civic and I floated above hoping to score.
I had fantasized about this girl for at least two years.  My ghostly 
cock was rigid.

Her home was a modest cottage which I entered behind her.  We were 
evidently alone in the house.

I again stood behind her and cupped her breasts.  I felt them for the 
first time.  Her hard nipples poked my palms.  I kissed her neck.

"Yes, Jesus," she said.  "I surrender to you.  Please forgive me for 
having touched myself.  You have been so long in coming."

She moved to the stairs as if in a trance.  In the bed room she 
immediately tore off her clothes, almost in a frenzy.  Her naked body 
was as I had dreamed of.  Rosette nipples surmounted firm, conical 
breasts.  She was shapely and well-fleshed.  Her belly swelled just 
slightly above a tangle of blond pubic hair.

She threw herself onto the bed to lie face up, her knees bent and legs 
spread.

"I don't want to disappoint you," she said to the empty room.

I lay beside her and cupped her hairy groin.

"Yes!" she cried.  "I knew that you would come to me!"

With a finger I determined that she was a virgin.  I wanted to dawdle 
and explore her lovely body with my mouth and tongue.

"Take me, Jesus!" she called.  "I'm your bride!"

I climbed between her upraised knees then kissed her on the lips as my 
cock searched for her opening.

"I've saved myself for you!" she cried against my mouth.

I pushed my cock forward and entered her easily.  I was in ecstasy.  I 
fucked her powerfully, feeling the slippery pressure on my dick as if I
were alive.  Now she was tangible to my whole body.

She responded with her own thrusts.  Her fingers dug at my shoulders.

"You are so faint, Jesus," she said against my ear.  "I can hardly feel
you.  But you have blessed me.  Oh, yes!  Keep doing that!"

She screamed in orgasm.  I came too, spewing into the girl of my dreams.

Then I pulled out and lay beside her.  Though the ejaculation had felt 
to me as usual, apparently it had been truly ghostly.  My fingers 
informed me that she did not leak and she remained a virgin.

She sighed, a huge smile on her face.  For the next few minutes I kissed
and licked her lovely body.  She only wiggled a little.  I also sucked 
her ten toes, which produced a giggle.  Though lips and tongue could 
still feel her, she was no longer tangible to my hands.  Nevertheless I
had to say that Emily was a great fuck.

I would certainly return as Jesus.  What a scam!  I guessed that almost
any female would welcome Jesus, even if they doubted his reality.  
Unfortunately they couldn't hear me claim it.  Or could they?

"Emily," I said, making my voice sepulchral, "what else would you do for
Jesus?"

No response.

"Emily," I shouted.  "Answer me!"

With another sigh she turned on her side and promptly fell asleep.  It 
seemed that only one living sense, feeling, could react to a ghost -- at
least with my current crop of subjects.  But a whole world lay waiting 
for me.

I tingled with anticipation.


* * *


"Other than copping the idea, who gives a damn about kids fucking an old
man?"

Merrie's snicker ceased when her hand caught Jeff's erection.  She 
looked at him askance.  "I can't believe _you_ do!"

He grinned sheepishly.  "Blowjobs always flip my switch."

On the bed the older daughter gyrated atop the old man while the younger
squatted nearby, licking residual jizz off her lips.  The "old woman" 
ghost was watching in obvious horror, begging the man, Darry, to "do 
something."  His hand passed through a telephone ineffectually and he 
shrugged.

Merrie added, "I'm tickled they got you started.  Come on."

She fell back into a pile of wrinkled clothes and spread her legs.  
Nothing loathe, Jeff pitched between them and eased into the old "in and
out."

"Now this is real banging!" she declared.  "I've been building it up.  
Hang in there this time!"

"Maybe I will."  Normally a fast first shot, Jeff hoped the two rounds 
in the park before they reached the bridge had dulled his edge.  Riding
Merrie's forward-and-back roll, his long cock thumping her uterus on 
every stroke, usually brought him right off.  This time the feeling 
built gradually.  He wondered what it meant when sexual satiety survived
violent death -- that it was all in the mind?

When he finally jizzed, she stretched her elbows above her head and 
declared, "Fine, Jeff, fine!  You're the greatest!"

"So're you," he averred loyally.

She smiled widely.  "Ghost is good banging!  Now it's even comfortable 
on the floor."

He raised off her, looked down at himself and grinned.  "My knees aren't
even red."

"I've got our new names," she said with a wink: "you're a _ghist_ and 
I'm a _gherst_."

"Huh?"

"You know: dude and fox ghosts.  You could go, 'The ghist and the gherst
made out like bunnies.'"

He shook his head.  "I doubt it'll catch on."

She giggled.  Both stood up and looked around.  The older daughter was 
lying partly on the old man's torso, watching the younger play with the
half-hard cock, milking it as if trying to produce more jizz.  Kate, the
"old woman," hovered over them, wringing her hands and moaning, "Oh, my
poor girls, my poor girls!"

"Where's Darry?" asked Jeff, looking around.

The woman ignored him.

Merrie said, "Guess he took off.  Wonder if the young one got her cherry
busted?"

Jeff recalled Darry's hand passing through the telephone and conceived 
an idea.  He floated around the bed, reached through the mattress and 
felt Sophie's pussy.

"My god!" he cried with widened eyes.  "I can stick my finger in her."

"Then she's lost it," concluded Merrie.

"She has _not_!" Kate declared, finally deigning to notice them.  "Leave
her alone, you pervert!"

Jeff ignored the woman and nodded to Merrie.  "She's right.  I can feel
it."

"You can _feel_ her cherry?" the girl demanded.

"Oh, yeah.  Come and see for yourself."

Sophie may have also felt his probe; her free hand began to explore 
between her legs.

Jeff frowned.  "I can feel her flesh twisting but not her fingers."

"You can feel the living?" asked Kate in disbelief.

Jeff put out his hand to clasp Sophie's arm.  It passed unimpeded 
through her torso.  He shook his head at the woman.  "Not really.  Just
her pussy."

She grimaced.  "Must you be so vulgar?"

But apparently Merrie had lost interest.  She gestured to Jeff, tilted 
her head and floated out of the room.  He followed her quickly and 
popped out into the sunlight.

She paused for him to catch up.  "I had an idea."

"What's that?"

"Your arm just ... vanished into the mattress.  You say you could feel 
her twat?"

"Yeah, the ... what'cha call 'em? -- the lips and the clit and _inside_.
I got in maybe half an inch before I touched her cherry."

"That's interesting."

"What's your idea?"

"You know Rankin Brown?"

"That black guy always trying to jive you?  Yeah, I remember him!"

"They say he's got a ten-incher."

"Bullshit!"

"Some of those foxes ought to know."  She grinned in anticipation.  "I 
can settle it, you know."

"How?"

"If you can feel the pineapple ..."

"Damned if I will!"

"I don't mean _you_ you."

"Hmm.  What if it's flopping?"

She giggled.  "I know how to fix that!"

She darted away.  Grumpily he followed her, wondering how she expected 
to find Rankin.  After all it was Saturday and school was closed for the
weekend.  But she floated directly to her target, through intervening 
trees and houses as if they were so much smoke and into an upstairs 
room.  A husky black teenager lay nude, asleep on his back, in bed above
the covers.  Jeff recognized Rankin.

Merrie's attention was directed lower.  "Look at that!  Flopping, it's 
bigger than yours standing."

"Told you it'd be flopping."

"And I told you I could fix it."  She dived onto the sleeper, ducked and
slurped up the flaccid organ.

Jeff moved around the bed, bent close to watch her and mused, "Kind of 
surprising it ain't standing in the morning.  Mine always is."

She raised her head long enough to remark, round-eyed, "I can feel his 
balls too!"  Indeed her fingers were rolling the dark sack.

Rankin raised his head and stared at his cock, twitching erect.  "What 
the hell?"  His hand paused near his hip, where evidently he decided not
to explore further.

Merrie's head was bobbing swiftly.

"I don' know what the hell," said Rankin, "but don't stop!"  His head 
fell back and his body stiffened.

"Lucky bastard," said Jeff enviously, "he's gonna come!"

Merrie's hand shot out, obviously feeling for Jeff's cock.  He rose 
slightly and hitched his hips forward to put it in her hand.

"Uh-huh!" she uttered, eyes twinkling, without losing a head-stroke.

A few seconds later Jeff enjoyed a unique sight: although half the large
black cock was buried in Merrie's mouth, thin lines of white jizz seemed
to squirt from the top of her head.  She was positioned as if standing 
at the bedside, bent forward, so that the streaks fell on the black 
legs.

Jeff commented, "Good god, Merrie, his stuff is shooting through your 
head!"

She immediately raised up to look and smacked her lips.  "I don't taste
it."

Rankin's hand snapped to the dribbling cock and pumped it furiously.  He
groaned and heaved a sigh.  "Damn it, tol' you not to stop!"

When the hand fell away, Merrie said, "Look.  The girls were right on."

"Shit they were," declared Jeff.  "That thing's not a dick, it's a 
foot!"

The item in question, still twitching, was standing straight up.  Merrie
plopped her chin down at the base of, looking up at Jeff.  "It's eight 
inches from my chin to my hairline."  Her eyes crossed.  "I can tell 
it's longer than that."

"Okay," Jeff said grudgingly, "about another inch.  I guess it's nine 
inches."

She cocked her head thoughtfully.  "Wonder how that thing feels in your
twat."

He jumped over the prone figure and clutched her arm.  "Damned if you 
gonna find out with _me_ watching!  Let's scram."

She giggled but let herself be led out through the wall.

Behind them Rankin gritted his teeth.  "Goddam dream!  Why can't I 
remember that fox?"  Suddenly his mouth fell open.  "Sho' hope it wa'n't
no stud!"


* * *


"Why'd you want my whang?" asked Jeff as they lingered in the morning 
air outside Rankin's window.

"To see if me sucking Ranking made it hard.  And it did."  

Giggling, Merrie darted away.

"Where you going?" hollered Jeff, rushing to catch up.

Passing over the city, moving faster than the cars on the street, they 
felt no rush of air.  Nothing interfered with their ability to chat back
and forth in conversational tones.

"I'm trying to put it together," she said.  "I could feel his whang just
as good as yours."  She grinned.  "'Cept his was a mouthful!  But I 
couldn't feel his jizz."  Now she frowned.  "If we can feel anything to
do with sex, that don't make sense."

He chuckled thoughtfully.  "I think I dig it.  If you could catch jizz,
it might knock you up.  Who ever heard of a knocked-up ghost?"

"Gherst."

"Huh?  Oh.  Where we going anyway?"

"To the high school.  I remember something else I always wanted to see."


* * *


_Kaitlyn Dimmel Rendiss_

It was quiet in Bode's bedroom.  The teenage perverts, after amusing 
themselves diddling my little Sophie, had summarily departed.  Darryl 
had left even earlier.  Sophie was still playing with Bode's masculine 
equipment.  I might understand her fascination if she wasn't just ten 
years old!  Laura watched from her pose on the man's shoulder.  Bode's 
eyelids were at half mast, as Derrek used to say when his porn videos 
made me sleepy.  I was resigned to impotence, unable in the slightest to
countermand my ex's obvious defilement of our daughters.

The quiet allowed us all to hear a woman's voice calling from outside 
the house, "Laura!  Sophie!"  I recognized my friend, Alice.

So did Laura.  She snapped erect and declared, "That's Mom's homie, Ms.
Biggle.  Oh, god, we forgot all about Mom!"

She jumped out of bed, snatching up clothing.  "Quick, get dressed!  
Mom'll be home any minute."

This proof of their reverence for me was pleasing.  They threw on their
clothes in just a few seconds, much faster than on school mornings, and
dashed out Bode's back door with me following through the wall.

Alice stood in the driveway.  Her face, usually warm and welcoming, 
looked worried today.  I guessed she had rung the doorbell in vain and 
decided to call the kids, in case they were in the neighborhood.  She 
spotted them immediately.

"There you are!" she declared.  "Is your mother home?"

"I don't know," said Laura, running up to her.  She stood on tiptoe, 
peering into the garage window, and announced, "The car's not here."

"Well, where should she be?"

"She went across the river to get the laptop she left at work.  What 
time is it?"

Alice glanced at her wrist.  "Ten-thirty."

Laura's eyes widened.  "She should've been back a good while by now."

Alice frowned.  "I was talking to her on her cell almost an hour ago.  
We were interrupted by the --  Did you girls feel the earthquake?"

"'Earthquake?'" they repeated in unison.

"I guess not," said Alice.  Her frown deepened.  "May I come in your 
house with you?  I think we ought to wait for her together."

Laura shrugged.  "Why not?"

I gritted my teeth.  Surely I had taught her to be more gracious than 
that!

Suddenly I wanted to see less of my darling daughters.  Alice could take
care of them until --  Until what?  I was clearly powerless to affect 
whatever happened to them next.  I needed consolation, something to 
distract me from their behavior.  Where had Darryl gone?  At least he 
could hear me when I moaned.



_Darryl Benton Parks_

"She's just a child!"

A second woman's voice distracted me from admiring the curve of Emily's
plump ass.  I turned to observe the accuser.  It was Kate, standing 
beside the bed, arms akimbo.

"In fact she's legal," I retorted with a smile.  "Isn't she lovely?  And
I've dreamed about her for months.  I believe she's my ideal woman."

"How can you say that?  She's just a kid!"

"A kid?  Her ass is as big as yours.  Are you jealous?  Why have you 
followed me?"

"I followed you because you're the only person I can talk with.  Those 
teenagers scarcely speak English."

"We can talk, if you like," I told her, swinging my legs to the floor.

As Kate came closer, I took her by the waist with both hands.  "You 
know, you're a fine looking woman yourself.  And I don't need a hard-on
to feel you."  I stroked her flesh.

"Oh, Darryl," she said with a dreamy look.

"You want more than talk.  Lie beside me on the bed."

"That girl will wake up!"

"If she does, and I doubt it, we're ghosts.  She'll see nothing."

"Do you even know her name?"

"It's Emily, Emily Pritcher.  She's a waitress, served me breakfast for
months.  Isn't she a sweetheart?"

Kate's eyes narrowed.  "Did you, ah, have intercourse with her?"

Hell, my cock was still half-hard.  "Yes, and she came off wonderfully.
She thought she was fucking Jesus Christ."

Kate thought about that for a moment then said scornfully, "You guys!"

I grinned.  "Didn't you ever want to fuck Jesus Christ?"

"Don't blaspheme!"

"She was so happy she went to sleep, safe in Jesus' arms.  What's the 
damage?  I can't get her pregnant and she's still a virgin."

"This is very weird, Darryl.  I don't really believe you about that."

"Check for yourself."

Kate looked closer at the sleeping girl and said pensively, "Jeff 
claimed to do that to Sophie."

"The ten year old?  Do what?"

"Check for her virginity."

"It's easy.  Just stick in a finger."  Actually I wondered.  Could a 
ghost woman feel a live pussy?  Then I recalled the ice-cream eating boy
with the so-palpable front bulge.

"I think I will."

Kate got onto the bed below Emily, who was sleeping on her side with 
knees drawn up.  Kate extended both thumbs, which simply disappeared 
into the moist pussy lips.  Undeterred, she delved with a finger then 
looked at me with interest.

"I can feel something."

"How deep?"

She showed me her forefinger with the last digit marked off by her 
thumb.  Her eyes sparkled.

"You like touching her," I said.

"She's very pretty."  Kate tried to stroke the girl's thigh but of 
course her hand merely disappeared into the flesh.

Withdrawing, she looked up at me.  "Did you really ..."  She took a 
breath.  "Screw her?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then you're right.  Her hymen is still intact.  How do you explain 
that?"

"It seems ghosts have certain powers.  If you can feel her pussy, you 
can probably lick it.  I know that you want to."

"How do you know?"

"Do you deny it?"

She sighed.  "No, but I would rather have an active person.  This girl 
is out cold."

"So?  Take advantage of it."

"I'm not a man.  Females don't take that kind of advantage."

"Don't they?  You've had girls before."

"Let's not talk about that, Darry.  Let's not talk about anything.  
We're dead.  Aren't you lonely?"

"Lie down here and I'll fix that."

She obeyed, lying beside seventeen year old Emily.  It was a marked 
contrast.  Emily was barely mature, but Kate, mother of two, had been a
fully developed woman for years.  The thighs were thicker than Emily's 
and there was more flab on her belly.  Still Kate was sexually a 
splendid female.  Large breasts splayed somewhat as she lay, looking up
at me in anticipation.

"I'm already aroused and impatient," she said.  "Just put it in then 
kiss me."

We enjoyed a wonderful fuck beside the sleeping Emily.  Kate didn't cry
out, but her orgasm was announced by powerful body spasms and fingers 
scratching my shoulders.  I spewed into her with no less delight than 
would a real person.  I was interested to see none in her groin 
afterwards.  How could I feel it squirt so strongly but leave no 
residue?  Ghostliness has its peculiarities!


* * *


_Kaitlyn Dimmel Rendiss_

I have to admit: a good ... _lay_ -- using that much of Derrek's 
vocabulary (I can't quite lower myself to the level of such vulgarity as
the F- word) -- is just what a lady needs to settle her angst, even when
her partner is barely an acquaintance.  That's supposing he's what a man
should be and knows what he's doing, which certainly describes Darryl, 
even though technically he may not still be a man.  I'm feeling very 
tender toward him at the moment.  My god, I actually saw flashing 
colored lights!  Is that what other women claim when they "see stars?"
If so, they were my first.  It's disgusting that I had to die to meet a
man who could do it.

As my senses returned I recalled that I had unfinished business.  So I 
slipped out from under Darryl, interested that a man's weight is no 
longer stifling, and floated up through the roof of Emily's dwelling.  I
had something to tell the police.

I was aware of Darryl floating beside me.  When I looked at him, he 
said, "Where are we going?"

"To the police station."

He looked baffled.  "Who do you need protection from?"

"Not I: my kids."

"Aha!  You hope they'll catch Bode _in flagrante delicto_, but have you
thought how disclosure might affect your daughters?"

I shook my head.  "They won't catch him in the act.  My friend Alice 
came by after you left and called them into my house."  I stopped in 
midair; he had a point.  "No, I hadn't thought."

He halted directly in front of me -- too close except I guess now we 
were lovers.  The sun was high.  I held out an arm, expecting to feel 
heat, but felt nothing.  Leaves on the trees below us rippled in the 
breeze but I felt none of that either.  "We're dead," I reminded myself
aloud and flashed wide eyes at him.

"Gravely challenged?" he suggested with a chuckle.  Seeing my expression
he added seriously, "And almost totally restricted to our own kind."  He
pulled me against him and nuzzled my cheek.  "But I hope you noticed, 
Katie, that we could be worse off."

"I hate _Katie_!"

"Excuse me.  _Kate_."  He kissed me and added, "I only meant it as a 
term of endearment."

"My ex called me that till I couldn't stand him or it."  Pushing my face
into the hollow of firm muscle between his neck and shoulder, I began to
sob.  "Oh, Darryl, I'm so glad you're here with me!"

"That's what I mean.  We could be lots worse off."  He patted my back.

I compressed my breasts against him and felt his manhood stir under my 
belly.  I didn't have that in mind but suddenly I felt a thrill.  Wasn't
it too soon for him?  I leaned back and looked searchingly at his face 
through the tears in my eyes.

He smiled at me.  "We can also enjoy the still-living, most of them more
intimately than when we were alive.  I've made some interesting 
discoveries."

I wanted to lie down.  Standing here on thin air above a city's 
rooftops, in plain sight of anyone who could see ghosts -- if any such 
person existed -- was an unsatisfactory location for intimate 
conversation.  I looked around, espied Town Park and recalled its little
glen under the trees.

"Come on," I invited with a smile.  "Tell me about it in the park."

We swooped down under the trees, now in mid-spring full foliage, and 
stretched out in the grass.  Craning my neck to check under Darryl, who
was lying beside me, I saw that in fact we hovered just above the grass
tips, which continued to ripple in the breeze.

He propped his head on an elbow, just as if it were pressed into the 
ground, and said, "You must have noticed a few differences yourself."

I looked around and saw kids playing ball beyond the trees then 
remembered we didn't have to worry about being overheard.

"A few," I admitted, "like this grass we're lying in but not 
compressing."

"That's like how we can reach right through living bodies."  He laughed.
"I imagine we could stick our faces into one and see the internal 
organs."

"Yuck!"

"Or into a bank vault and count the money."

"Hey, we could!"  My anticipation fell flat.  "But then ..."

"Right.  We couldn't touch it.  But I'm talking about fundamental stuff,
like not needing to pee, drink or eat.  And the most fundamental of all:
not needing to breathe."

I thought about it.  Hadn't I been breathing?  I said, "I seem to take a
breath before speaking ... but you're right.  I don't.  I haven't been.
Good god!  We're _breathing_ challenged!"

He laughed again.  "You got it."

"But then how are we talking?"

"I don't know.  We can even talk normally while rushing through the air.
It has to be something akin to telepathy, except I can't read your mind
unless you want me to hear it."

"And you're right about not needing to do the other basics.  But doesn't
that ..."

"What?"

"Violate some kind of physical law?"

"Yeah, like the Conservation of Energy and the Second Law of 
Thermodynamics, for starters."  He sighed.  "One explanation occurs to 
me, but I don't like it."

"Tell me."

"We're not real."  He sighed again.  "I remember something on the 
Science Channel about consciousness being another universe, which might
explain it.  Sort of."

"Maybe to you."

He shook himself as a dog shakes water off his fur.  "I don't want to 
get into eschatology.  My discoveries have to do with how we can 
interact with the living.  I never heard of it before, but it would 
explain the tales of succubae."

"You mean sex?"

"Yes, between ghosts and the still-alive.  You can feel their sexual 
organs, as you did Emily's cherry, as I did on, ah, some people at a 
swimming pool.  And I believe living organs can feel our touch too.  
Normally we cannot feel the rest of their bodies, Kate, but I've 
discovered we can if we -- or maybe _they_ -- are sexually aroused.  
While I was into Emily I could feel her whole body.  Something peculiar
to sex transcends death.

"Good Christ!"  He sat up wide-eyed.  "What an idea!  Do ghost-fuckers 
cause so-called 'wet dreams?'  Do you suppose teenagers get hard-ons 
while riding buses because ghosts are sucking their cocks?"

I said dryly, "Not if they don't have them."

"Cocks?  Don't tell me a little vibration never titillated you.  Did you
ever ride astraddle on a horse or a motorcycle?"

To answer that was beneath my dignity.  I shrugged.  "So we can still 
... screw the living.  What difference does that make?  We're still 
dead."

He regarded me strangely but grinned.  "Well, you can indulge your 
fantasies without hurting anyone -- or yourself."

"I see.  Like you with Emily."

"Exactly.  Apparently I indulged one of hers too.  I'll have you know, 
according to Emily, that you recently had sex with Jesus Christ."

"You already told me she thought so."

"And she's kept her cherry, just like St. Mary.  So what's wrong with 
indulging fantasies?"

"Fantasies!  Why stop there?"

He frowned.  "What do you mean?"

An idea had occurred to me.  "If you can make living people feel you, 
even if only with the sex organs, then maybe you could use that for 
communications."

"How?"  He grinned.  "Communication transfers ideas.  What can we say to
genitals beyond 'Let's fuck?'"

"I don't know.  But we can't interact with the living any other way, so
it has to serve.  And I do have an issue to communicate."

"You still want to get Bode?"

I sighed.  I know I don't breathe but that's still what it sounded like.

"My girls are lost," I told him.  "My ex seduced Laura, always an 
impetuous girl, when she was ten going on eleven.  Can you believe it?
That bastard screwed his own young daughter!  And I caught him with his
male member in little Sophie's mouth, just like that pervert Bode."

"We're dead, Kate," Darryl said, shaking his head.  "It's an awful 
situation, but we can't do anything about it."

"I may not be able to help my girls, Darryl, but I'd like to cut off 
Bode's ... dick, if I could find a way."

He tried to kiss me, presumably for comfort.  I turned my face away, too
anger for tenderness, but I didn't object to his hard hand roaming my 
belly and wet-feeling tongue teasing my nipples.

I finally pushed his head away and exclaimed, "I feel so helpless!"

He cupped my cheek and smiled.  God, he looked good!  Darryl was a warm
and loving man, the kind I need.

"There may be a way to undo Bode," he said, "at least in regard to other
young girls."

"How?" I demanded, straightening up.

"I know a guy, a reporter.  He was in high school with me, although we 
were never buddies."

"So?"

"We were in the high school radio club together.  I think I know how to
communicate ideas to him using ... pressure.  He could check out and 
maybe expose the pervert as a child molester."

"What's his name?"

"Perry Bight.  He's at the _Courier_."

"Perry _Bight_?  I knew him.  We dated before I got married, even though
he was eighteen months younger than I."

"Did you fuck?"

"That's none of your business, Darryl!"  I thought it over quickly.  
This was my new love.  With a sigh I admitted, "Okay.  We did."   

"Well, that makes it even easier!  Let's make a ghostly move on Mr. 
Bight."

"That may be better than nothing, but how could we possibly communicate
with him?  Do you intend to play that Jesus scam again?"

"No, Kate, it's even better than that.  We used to tell ghost stories 
after the club let out.  Perry believes in ghosts almost like Emily 
believes in Jesus.  That's our entry.  Then there's the fact that both 
he and I know Morse Code from our days in the radio club.  We can find 
out if it's like riding a bicycle."

"Like what?"

"They say you never forget how to ride a bicycle."

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