The Ghastly Girlfriend

Mick ran his hands through her hair, and watched it to change to a dark, full, richly colored brown. He'd seen that color before, years ago. He remembered it belonged to one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, a woman whom he had never successfully taken to bed. No, that woman from long ago was looking for someone else.

That hair, that body, belonged to Xavier Tonsin's long-faithful girlfriend, Gina. How many years had she spent looking for him? Is that how she ended up in this house, the same one Mr. X said he had used for his sabbatical? And who had coated her with the gray dusky film?

"You're Gina," he said, "Tonsin's girlfriend."

She looked at him, and her face flamed with embarrassment. She turned her head to the side and tears welled from her eyes. She turned away so that her back was to him. He placed his arms around her, and cupped her voluptuous breasts with his hands. His hands felt enormous, as though he were wearing heavy gloves. He kissed the sides of her cheeks. Soon the only places that were still covered were her mouth and her pussy.

She turned to face him again, trying to pull him closer. She opened her legs. Her hands were warm on his cock as she stroked it and guided it toward her.

"Wait," he said. "Why are you here? What kept you in this house? Why are you so eager to fuck?"

She moaned as though she needed an intense sexual release. But Mick wanted answers. He kissed her on her chalky lips, then watched as her lips turned a luscious, moist red. Her tongue darted in and out, tasting her lips from side to side.

"I can speak!" she said. "For the first time in years, I can say what I want." She embraced Mick and he saw that she was weeping again. He tried to speak to her, but his own words were blocked. His tongue was blocked from clearing his lips.

"I don't want to make love to you, but I must. Will you forgive me?" she asked him. Her hand was tight on his penis and stroked it suggestively. She positioned herself so that he could enter her easily.

Mick felt his need increasing. He wanted her. He had never made love to a spectral figure, and doubted anyone else had either, despite what Tonsin had said. He knew now from her actions that she wanted to fuck. Her words were ambiguous, but he heard that she needed to make love to him. Women were sometimes like that — afraid to acknowledge the sexual desire that built within them. They wanted to make love but had the reservations that had been instilled in them by their mothers or by their churches or by society as a whole. Fucking was always crossing a boundary. Once women had engaged in lovemaking, their lives would never be the same. Women knew it, they feared it, but they desired it.

"Will you make love to me, even if it means you can never leave this house?" she asked.

Mick had no idea what she was talking about. He saw how lovely she looked as she lay next to him. Her legs were long, lithe, and slim. Her breasts were full and pointed; it was easy to see that she was aroused. Her full lips parted. Her tear-moistened eyes were warm and inviting.

"Are you willing to risk your freedom?" she asked again.

In answer, Mick rolled over on top of her. He plunged into her, and felt her warmth and tightness. She moaned in complete satisfaction, then wrapped her arms and legs around him, drawing him closer into her. He felt a unity with her that he seldom felt with other women. As they rocked back and forth, his thrusts became stronger and deeper.

"Yes," she said. At first, it was a small, breathy word, but as they continued, she said it louder more forcefully, until she was screaming her consent. "Yes, yes, yes," she shrieked.

When he came, his entire body trembled with the orgasm. He emptied himself completely and collapsed upon her. She squirmed beneath him, enjoying the effort he had expended. He wanted to say something to her, but words escaped him.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for sacrificing yourself. I hope that you find someone who will come and make love to you, and release you from this place, too."

Mick rolled off her, still unable to speak. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ask the question that his mouth could not form.

Gina got up from the bed, and looked more beautiful than he had remembered. "I was the one who offered myself so Xavier could be free. He promised me that he would return with someone to take my place. I was very happy and also sad to see it was you."

Mick grunted, but could not speak. He tried to scream but it was stifled in his throat. He reached out to grab her so that she would not leave him, but his body was thick, and his hands were unable to flex. He felt as though he were covered in wet cement, and when he looked at his body, it was the color of gray sand.

By the light of the full moon, he could see the entire street. Gina sat on the open window sill, watching the street. Near morning, on the sidewalk near the bar, he saw a man holding clothing. Gina saw him, too. He waved to her, and she waved back. Then she blew him kisses. Mick realized with complete certainty that she was the gray nude he had seen in the window yesterday. Now she was fully alive and animated, and would downstairs to rejoin her lover. He recognized Xavier Tonsin, who had returned to claim his girlfriend. They would embraced in the faintest of morning sunlight, even before she slipped on the clothes that Mr. X had brought.

Mick ran downstairs two stairs at a time. He crossed the foyer in five large steps, and pulled at the jug handled door. It would not budge. He screamed silently again.

Behind him, Gina floated down the stairs. Her long, dark hair streamed over her shoulders and lightly caressed her naked breasts. Her hips rocked gently from side to side as she walked calmly past Mick. She reached the door and slid it open with ease.

Mick tried to bolt through the portal, but he found he could not leave. He hurled himself toward the opening, but bounced back onto the foyer floor.

Gina shook her head sadly. "You must find someone to take your place. Someone willing to love a gray ghost. But you're a handsome devil. I'm sure you'll have someone here in no time. In the meantime, feel free to explore the many dimensions in this house. You'll find them fascinating."

Gina tootled a wave with her fingers, and walked naked into the early morning. Xavier held out his arms, and caressed her. He kissed her deeply and for a moment it seemed as though they might never quit their embrace. Eventually, he opened his arms, and gave her the black dress he held for her. It was the only piece of clothing she needed to become decent. Arm in arm they walked toward the forest to catch the train back to the city.

Mick pounded with all his might on the door. Apparently, they could not hear him or chose not to hear him. He collapsed on the floor again, holding his head in his hands. He felt the walls closing in on him, making it difficult to think.

But he was Mick Newhart. He was the master of his own universe. If Xavier was able to escape this trap, then he could also. He just needed someone to come and make love to him. But who? And how could he contact her?

One name kept popping into his head — Grace Penning. They had formed a connection in the south of France and she was crazy about him. The way she had followed him back to the office proved that. The way she had so easily shed herself of Andrew Granger, her fiancé, showed that she was more interested in continuing her dalliance with Mick. She was the contact.

His phone was dead. He had no idea if there were WiFi or an internet connection, but he doubted it. He had no paper to write her a letter, although there might be paper in some of the other rooms or dimensions. The idea of exploring other dimensions frightened him, though. There was only one thing to try. He would try to contact her by using his mind.

Rationally, he knew that was crazy. But he had a great mind — a world-class mind. Who knew what it might be cable of if he set himself to properly use it? Before they were discovered, who imagined magnetic waves, radio waves or television? He just had to believe hard enough.

He went upstairs to the highest window, and sat cross-legged on the floor. He cleared his mind of all thoughts except communication with one person, Grace Penning. She was out there and she was looking for him; he knew it. He sent out packets of cerebral information to her.

"Grace Penning. It's Mick Newhart. I want you. I need you. Come to me and we'll make wild monkey love." He repeated the phrase thousands of time in his mind, willing it to be sent to Grace Penning.

He tried not to think how crazy this was, how remote the possibility that she would connect with his thoughts. Even more remote was the possibility that she would act. And what action would she take? To follow the path he had taken, by subway train, through the woods, upon little-traveled paths and a two-lane roadway, to the sidewalk in front of the bar, and to his haunted prison.

He concentrated all day and into the gloaming. He tried not to think in terms of success and failure, only that he had to keep sending out his message.

"Grace Penning. It's Mick Newhart. I want you. I need you. Come to me and we'll make wild monkey love."

A full moon rose that Halloween night. Mick did not tire. He sat cross-legged and sent out his messages.

An hour before midnight, he looked out the window. A shadow slid down the street toward the bar. He stared at it until he saw that it was attached to a small woman with white gold hair grazing her chin. The woman he recognized — Grace Penning.

Grace walked as if in a trance, slowly, one foot in front of the other. She looked straight ahead, without moving her head. As she approached the bar, she turned to look at it while fishing a piece of paper out of her pocket. She compared the paper and at the bar's address, then folded the paper and returned it to her pocket.

Then she made a 180 degree turn and faced the large gray house. Her eyes glanced from the door to each window. Mick stood in the highest central window and waved to her but she acted as though she couldn't see him yet. He pounded on the glass and silently screamed but she didn't seem to hear him.

Grace Penning took a step toward the house as though she were sleepwalking.

From behind her, the shaved-headed barman with the full red beard came out carrying a glass of Irish whiskey.

"Missy," he called to her. Grace turned to face him, a smile finally animating her face. "Have a drink on the house."

She smiled a sweet, innocent smile. "I don't drink, sir. But thank you."

"You wouldn't be t'inking about visiting that accursed house across the street, now, would ya, missy?"

Mick realized that he had stopped sending his thoughts as he pounded on the window. He sat down again, cross-legged and focused.

"Grace Penning. It's Mick Newhart. I want you. I need you. Come to me and we'll make wild monkey love."

Grace turned as if she heard something from across the street.

The barman thrust the drink at her. "No time like the present to start drinkin' if yer set on goin' in dere."

She grasp it absent-mindedly, and took a dainty sip. It caused her to shiver down to her shoes. She gave the barman a full smile and downed the rest of the drink in one gulp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand like some kind of Old West cowpoke, and pushed the glass to the barman.

"Thank you kindly, sir."

Grace stepped toward the house again. The barman shrugged, shook his head, and returned to the bar.

Grace trod carefully on the uneven paving stones. The three rickety stairs caused her to test each one carefully with a dainty foot. Once on the porch, she shook her hair, and wiped her face to remove unexpected moisture. Her clothes hung on her, almost as though they had been soaked in sweat by the action of approaching the door. She unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off. Then she removed her skirt.

"I'm coming, darling," she said. "Remember our time at the beach?"

She slipped out of her panties and stepped out of her shoes and nylons. She was completely nude in the moonlight and reached for the jug handled black door.

"Grace!"

A voice called to her from down the street. A figure raced toward her, his arms outstretched.

"Grace! Wait! I love you."

She turned toward the running man, her head cocked as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Then she turned back to the door, and put her hand on the handle.

"Wait, Grace. Wait. Let me at least say my piece."

She crossed her arms and cocked her leg as she waited for Andrew Granger to run to her.

"Well," she said, "what is it?"

He bent over to catch his breath. "You're... you're naked."

"And?" she said. "I've grown to like being naked. And what concern is that of yours?"

"Grace, I love you. I don't care if you're naked or dress like an Eskimo. I love you."

"How did you find me?" she asked. "Are you stalking me?"

Andrew took out a slip of paper.

"Xavier Tonsin told me he had given this address to you, and that I should hurry if I loved you."

Grace's lips twisted as she listened to Andrew speak. "You just love me for my fortune."

"No," Andrew said, "Give it all away. We'll find a beach where you can live without any clothes all the time. I love your pale blond hair. I love your sweet lips, your blue eyes, your pert figure. Now that I see you naked, I love a lot more parts of you, too."

Grace blushed. "You really love me and my white, thin body?"

"I'll fatten you up if you like. And once you're on the beach again, those red sunburn patches will turn luscious brown."

"But, I went with Mick Newhart to France. He talked me into swimming and sunning at a nude beach. I loved it, but it should have been you I did it with. You can't really forgive me, can you?"

Andrew held his arms out. "I forgive you for wanting to try something different. Perhaps I was a bit too stiff. Let's face it — I was a prig. It took a Mick Newhart to shake us both out of our usual habits. Can you forgive me for ever doubting that you loved me?"

"I do love you, Andrew, I do." She flung herself into his arms, pressing her naked torso against his suit. He reached behind her and grabbed her ass, pulling her even closer to him.

"No!" screamed Mick silently. "Grace Penning. It's Mick Newhart. I want you. I need you. Come to me and we'll make wild monkey love."

But the two lovers turned to face the bar. Andrew picked up her clothes and offered them to her. Grace refused them.

"I don't think I'll need those things. Let's go across the street for a drink. The barman's very pleasant, and from what I see, the joint's empty. And so what if anyone sees me? I'm proud of my body. It's my Cap d'Agle, French Riviera Halloween costume. You like me like this, right, darling?"

Andrew kissed her. "Very much so, my dear. Very much so."

Mick pounded on the glass, and silently screamed, "No!"

In the over-sized window across the street, the red-bearded barman raised a glass of fine Irish whiskey in toast and downed it in a single gulp.