A Ghost of a Chance

by Meador, Minnette

  The apparition put her hands out to her sides and floated above him. Sliding her mouth in a slow, even progression, she moved down his shaft until it disappeared into her throat. Keenan could feel it give way to his engorged muscle. His hips, suddenly free, moved to her rhythm, and she let him thrust his cock deep into her throat. It was incredible.

  The apparition finally moved away from him, sticking out a long tongue that wrapped around his cock twice. If it wasn’t so erotic, he probably would have been scared shitless, but the thought didn’t even enter his mind; Keenan knew he was too far-gone by then.

  Bringing a breast to his mouth, she ran a swollen nipple against his lips until it pushed them open. Keenan didn’t hesitate. He pulled the long bud into his mouth and sucked it forcefully, biting it from time to time, and running his tongue over the rough skin. The sensation of that warm flesh in his mouth sent shivers down both arms. He ached to touch her, but his arms were lead weights at his sides.

  She pulled the nipple from his teeth and settled her knees on either side of his hips. Lifting up on her haunches, she forced his cock to lay flat against his stomach then slid the soft petals of her pussy along it all the way to his balls, saturating them with moisture. Keenan wasn’t certain, but he could have sworn her pussy lips were squeezing them. She moved up to the head of his cock and slowly widened them with his shaft. She was soaking wet.

  Careful not to take him inside her, she rubbed the soft folds of hot flesh up and down, slowly, back and forth, all the while squeezing her nipples and wrapping that long tongue around them one at a time.

  A soft distant moan sounded everywhere at once inside Keenan’s bedroom, as if the room itself sighed in pleasure. In a split second, he saw her eyes; they were black opals shining in the dark, but they clouded over immediately.

  Finally, the creature slid all the way forward until Keenan’s cock stood straight up. She lifted herself onto her knees and allowed the bloated muscle to linger for a few moments against the tiny bud of her ass then the dripping wet creases of her pussy.

  Without stopping, she thrust her hips down on his cock burying it deep inside her body.

  She was so tight when he slid into her. His muscles pulsed, sending tremors to his hands and feet. The feeling was unbearable, and Keenan thought he would pass out soon if he didn’t cum. But he couldn’t. The agonizing pleasure forced air out of his lungs and fireflies spiraled in front of his eyes. Keenan had to concentrate to take a breath.

  The creature placed her hands on either side of his head and crushed his mouth with hers, softly biting, running her tongue against his teeth, and sucking his lips into her mouth. Moving her hips and rubbing her clit firmly against his pelvic bone, she impaled herself on his cock over and over again until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  The climax exploded so intensely he lost all sense of time and place. He could hear screams far away. It took him a moment to realize they were his.

  He came a long, long time, somewhere between eternity and no time at all. The woman’s pussy gripped his cock like pulsating iron until she sucked every last seed from his body, leaving him dry.

  When everything was empty, Keenan passed out.

  Chapter Three

  Imbibing Spirits

  Keenan’s eyes fluttered open expecting to be in his bed. Instead, he had his face buried in the porcelain altar, throwing up his guts, listening to Reggie cooing encouragements.

  “There you go, old bugger. Get all of it out. That’s the lad.”

  Coughing until he thought his lungs would come up, Keenan tried to figure out what had just happened. All he could focus on was the splattered white inside of his toilet, his splitting head, and a persistent ringing in his ears. The sexual encounter was very fuzzy.

  “What the fuck?” His voice was sandpaper against his throat.

  He pulled his head out of the toilet and drew as much air into his lungs as they would take. Sitting on his haunches, he held his stomach and rocked, giving Reggie the dirtiest look he could muster. The shining specter smiled down at him, floating nonchalantly by the sink. Everything else was black. A random thought scampered through Keenan’s addled brain. I wish I glowed in the dark.

  “Are you better, my friend?”

  “What the fuck?” Keenan repeated more forcefully and lurched to his feet.

  “You asked that already.”

  Keenan stumbled to the sink. Turning on the tap lighted only by Reggie’s ghostly glow, he put his head under the water and tried to drown himself in it.

  The cold made the ringing and the muddle go away, but his head still pounded like murder. Keenan grabbed the towel from the shower curtain rod and ran it violently over his head and face, hoping the weird sickness would saturate the towel instead of his brain.

  He felt dirty, violated, as if someone had pulled his pants down in front of cheerleaders. Yet, there was another part of him that wallowed in fulfillment, satisfied, satiated. It made him want to puke again.

  Keenan threw the towel through the specter, stomped into his bedroom, and then stopped with a jolt. Reggie almost ran “into” him.

  In the soft light from his window, he could see the bed. The mattress tilted sideways and touched the ground like a beached whale. Everything not otherwise tied down was on the floor. Three pictures looked like someone had pitched them against the wall. Worse, except for the window, there was not a single piece of glass in the room that had not been shattered including the screen to his rabbit-eared TV. The fragmented remnants covered everything.

  “I think you need a drink, my friend.” Reggie pirouetted across Keenan’s path and glided to the door, but Keenan only blinked at him.

  “What?”

  “A drink. You know…ice, booze, perhaps soda or a wedge of lime.”

  Keenan shook his head long enough to get the daze out of it then tip-toed through the minefield of glass to pull on his coat and step into his sneakers. He didn’t even bother to untie them. Miraculously, the shoes were glass-free and the coat was right side out, though, in his state, it probably didn’t matter.

  It dawned on Keenan as he followed Reggie out to the living room that the familiar disembodied noise was back. Arguments, low conversations, whispers, and even a little song flitted in and out of the air around him. It was reassuring.

  The group of visible ghosts was light: three screamers Keenan couldn’t see very clearly, a Hindi named Nihar who was standing on his head amongst fake flowers on the windowsill, and a crowd of loggers dancing on the kitchen table. Three of them were swilling pale mugs of beer. The stringent smell of faded incense and warm beer made Keenan’s eyes water.

  Keenan searched the room. “Constance?”

  Reggie spun around and gave him a ghostly wink. “Sorry, old chap. Not here tonight. Besides…” He floated over to the door and made a grand gesture with his arm. “…for this, you’ll need a gentleman’s perspective, I think.”

  “What do you—”

  “I’ll explain all of it after you’ve had a drink or two. Off we go.”

  Keenan’s head throbbed enough to make him not care where he was going. He lifted one numb leg after the other. When the front door slammed behind him, it sent a cartoon sound wave that should have caved in his skull. It must have been very cold outside…he could see his breath come out in solid clouds…but he was warm. Thank God for small favors.

  He stumbled after Reggie who was whistling a happy tune just to torture him.

  The haze around Keenan’s brain didn’t get any better the further down the block Reggie led him. He wondered what time it was; would the bar be open this late?

  When they rounded the corner, the neon blue and red Taps blinked in and out, boring into the headache under Keenan’s right eyebrow. The white OPEN sign underneath looked misty in the late night fog. The heat that blasted his face when he opened the door smelled of cigarettes and humanity. It was one of his favorite sensations; nothing better in his mind than local color mixed with cold micro-brew. The
flashing Terminator Stout signs always reminded him of happier days.

  Once inside, Patrick eyeballed him briefly without comment and went back to chatting with the drunk at the end of the bar. Patrick had been here when Keenan moved in years before, but Keenan still didn’t know if he was the owner or just the bartender. They were on a casual head-bobbing basis.

  Keenan didn’t feel like lively conversation, so he just pointed to the tap. Patrick nodded once, yanked a glass from the stack behind him, and filled it. Keenan disregarded the twenty or so incorporeal customers that Patrick didn’t see. The chatter from the group was smoky, bouncing dully from the dark oak rafters.

  It was only then that Keenan realized he was naked under the long coat.

  No pants.

  No shorts.

  No wallet.

  He froze and sweat followed the jolt of realization down his armpits.

  Can anyone say flasher?

  Cramming his hand into his coat pocket without hope, he touched the soft crumpled surface of a bill and several coins. When he pulled the ten out, the sight sent momentary relief through the tight muscles in his neck, followed by a chill that rippled just under his skin. He slid it over the bar and took his beer, hoping to God that the two men staring at him didn’t notice his bare legs. Neither said a thing when Patrick passed the change to him and went back to cleaning glasses behind the high bar.

  The dead patrons laughed their asses off.

  When Keenan settled into a booth at the back of the bar, he downed half the beer in a single gulp and came up breathless.

  “Steady, man,” Reggie said softly, sitting across from him. “You’ll need your wits.”

  Keenan ran one shaking finger around the rim of the glass and curled his lip. “What just happened to me?”

  Reggie lit a mirage cigarette and blew billowing clouds into the ether. “You’re not going to like it.”

  In reply, Keenan snorted irritably and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear him talking to himself. He didn’t need psychosis on top of public indecency tonight.

  “Spill it,” he hissed.

  Reggie flicked the cigarette into the air where it disappeared. “Have you ever heard of a succubus?”

  “Sure.” Keenan sat back and tapped on the beer mug absently. “Don’t they suck out your life when you’re asleep or something?”

  “Not exactly.” Reggie’s smirk deepened and the ghostly light in his eyes intensified. It was obvious he was enjoying this. From time to time, Reggie showed a spark of something that bothered Keenan and even frightened him a little. His eyes were now so bright Keenan sat back a bit and put one foot outside the booth.

  “A succubus is a type of female spirit that lives off the sexual energy of men. They visit you in your sleep, stupefy you, and then…well, have their way with you, not to put too fine a point on it.” A mischievous grin split his lips and another cigarette appeared between his teeth. “How was it?”

  Keenan snarled and took another drink. “Dandy,” he replied, looking back at the bar again. “I feel like shit. What did she do to me?”

  An eerie laugh escaped Reggie’s mouth. It was almost gleeful. “Actually, you are lucky to be conscious at all. I’ve known men who can’t walk for a week afterwards.” He gave Keenan a lascivious wink and leaned against the table, pulling his elbows back when they slid into the wood. Heat traveled through the table and into Keenan’s hands, warming the icy condensation on the mug. Reggie was the only ghost, as far as he knew, that gave off heat instead of cold. “You must have some endurance, my lucky friend, to go so long with one.”

  The suds in Keenan’s mug laced into dark liquid as he watched. “So, is she a ghost?”

  “Not really.” Reggie pulled a long draw on his cigarette.

  “A demon?”

  Reggie tilted his head and regarded Keenan for several ticks of the grungy clock hanging above the booth. The smoke coming out of his nose gathered in a wreath above his head and lingered there for a long time.

  “No, not a demon either. She’s…very unique. I don’t know of many still practicing, so to speak. Not in the U.S., anyway. You find them in Germany and parts of Italy, of course, but they don’t travel over the pond much. You are quite lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Keenan hollered. When Patrick and the other man shot looks at him, he lowered his chin and tilted the beer toward his chest. “You call this luck?” he mumbled.

  Light shone from the pale face and that spark ignited a second time. “Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy it?”

  Keenan opened his mouth, but shut it just as quickly. Fact of the matter was he had enjoyed it…very much. He wasn’t going to tell his misty friend that, however.

  “So, if she’s not a ghost and she’s not a demon, what exactly is she?”

  When Reggie pulled the equivalent of air into his lungs, the cigarette fumes disappeared into his nostrils and came back out as fog. “I’m not an expert, mind you, but I’ve heard things here and there.” He made a show of steepling his fingers and looking intellectual. “The myth tells us the original succubus was Lilith, Adam’s first wife…”

  “Adam’s first wife? Adam’s wife was Eve.” Keenan wanted the words to be adamant, but they came out plaintive instead.

  Reggie leveled a condescending leer at him and raised one eyebrow. “Honestly. The ignorance of you modern living could drive one barmy. In a nutshell, God created Lilith when He created Adam. She decided that since she came out of the same clay, she had the same rights as her husband. Apparently someone disagreed since she was turned into a succubus by Lucifer.”

  “All right, so what exactly is a succubus then?”

  Reggie leaned back into the bench and floated his arms over the worn red leather seat back. “As I said, it is a hapless creature that lives off of sexual energy, i.e. the arousal of men. The incubus is the male counterpoint and seduces women…and sometimes men, depending. Think sexual vampire, and you’re halfway there. They must roam the world in search of new prey to stay alive. Most hate it; it goes against their natural instincts, but there is nothing they can do about it. The only difference between a succubus and say, a demon, is she is not endemically evil, despite all that two centuries of Christian propaganda have convinced people otherwise. These poor creatures are usually a seraph enslaved by a demon and then forced to become what they are.”

  “A what?”

  “Seraphim angel…part of the choir of angels. Pretty close to the Big Man, from what I’ve heard.”

  Keenan blinked at Reggie. “You trying to tell me this…thing is an angel?”

  “Well…” Reggie tapped his fingers against the backrest and gazed up at the murky faux Tiffany light above the booth. “Not anymore.”

  “So what does it want with me?”

  Reggie shrugged and rubbed his nose with a long forefinger. “They are drawn to powerful men…psychics.”

  “That’s horseshit, Reggie. I’m no psychic.”

  Reggie nailed him with a cold gaze and chuckled under his breath. “Let’s see…you see dead people. Not only do you see them, but you talk to them as well. As a matter of fact, some of your best friends are dead. Sounds rather psychic to me. But what do I know?”

  Keenan licked his lips. “Oh.”

  “May I continue?”

  Keenan nodded miserably. He had never considered himself psychic and the idea left his chest tight. But it made a certain kind of sense; he had to live with the fact that his whole life had been a magic bag of paranormal bullshit. Wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Psychic was as good a word as any.

  “Anyway, given your history, it’s not surprising she would select you. Maybe she wants a child…”

  “Angels can have kids?”

  Reggie drummed his fingers twice against the greasy oilcloth. “Not in the strictest sense. The succubus seduces a man, collects his seed, and transfers it to an incubus who changes it and delivers it to a human female. Seems to me that would just produce y
our garden-variety human offspring, but apparently not. The child born to the woman is called a cambion.” A shadow of a warm smile touched his cold lips. “Now, these little fellows are really something… ugly as sin when born, no breath or heartbeat, but it runs around like the very dickens for the first seven years or so. Then it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate one from a human. A cambion eventually becomes devilishly cunning with the face of an angel. Persuasive too. Can talk a saint into dropping his drawers on Sunday and a nun to give up her habit.”

  “So what the hell am I supposed to do?” Keenan’s senses turned to melting marshmallows the more Reggie talked.

  “Haven’t the foggiest.”

  “Great.” A cold breeze snuck in between Keenan’s legs, shrinking his already shriveled privates. He smashed his knees together and adjusted his coat. “Why didn’t you guys warn me? Where the hell did you all go?”

  “Ghosts are not omnipotent, you know. They are human,” Reggie said, lifting his chin. “There are certain spirits that scare even the dead. Ghosts usually flit away before anyone can say, ‘Bob’s your uncle.’ Not me, of course,” he added, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t even there at the time. Checking the twins out again, you know.”

  Anger was beating the hell out of Keenan’s better judgment and the earlier warmth was turning into a deep chill. He wasn’t sure which feeling was making his knees shake when he leaned across the table.

  “So what do we do about it?” he whispered.

  Reggie inspected the nails of his right hand. “Dashed if I know. Let her do it again and see how it goes?” he asked hopefully.

  “Fuck you.”

  Reggie smiled and rose to his ethereal feet. “Sorry I can’t be more help, old cocker, but I have to hurry off to a previous engagement.” A pair of gloves appeared out of the air that Reggie slipped onto his hands in a blink. Tucking a walking stick under his arm, he tipped his head to Keenan. “I know I’m coming across all mouth and no trousers, but I wouldn’t worry about it any. It’s probably an isolated incident, never happen again. You survived. That should bring you some comfort.”