The Ghost Fucker II: Possessive Husband
By Fannie Tucker
Copyright 2012 Fannie Tucker
Smashwords Edition
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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"Miss Nightingale, thank you for coming." Erin Harper opened the door and let me into the Malibu condo she'd shared with her recently deceased husband.
"Call me Katrina, please." I took her hand and gave her a warm smile.
Erin's eyes were puffy and red with grief. "I... I don't know what to do. I saw your website. Maybe you can help?" She wouldn't quite meet my eye.
I'd seen the look before. Skepticism, desperation, and a tiny thread of hope. Getting rid of ghosts is what I do. My website claims I help the tormented dead find the solace so they can slip the final bonds of this earth and move on to whatever comes next. I've been called a fraud and worse, but those who've hired me know I'm the real deal. There are plenty of charlatans who pretend to speak for the dead, but I know the truth - the dead can't speak. So I give them release the only way I know how.
I fuck them.
The vibrant energy in the condo that told me a ghost was near. I felt a warm tingle between my legs - my body knew the odd sensation meant impending pleasure. Anyone else would feel only palpable dread. I looked around at the contemporary furniture, all cold angles and hard lines. Erin Harper seemed out of place here with her soft curves and tanned skin, a corn-fed Nebraska girl-next-door type with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. She had an impressive rack on a healthy, tall frame, and an innocence that would draw men like flies to honey.
"Is this him?" I pointed to a picture on the bookshelf - Erin Harper a few years younger with a tall, square-jawed man with sandy hair bleached by the sun. He draped an arm around Erin's shoulder, both smiling and holding elaborate cocktails with those little umbrellas.
Erin nodded. "We were in Costa Rica for our honeymoon." She sounded empty, her loss still fresh. "Steve loved it down there... the natural beauty, the beaches... and the surfing, of course. Always the surfing."
"That's how he died?" I felt the temperature start to drop, and knew that Steve's ghost was with us. I kept my eyes on Erin, my voice level and calm. Ghosts scare easily - you have to reel them in like sharks. Pull too hard, and the line will break. Wait too long, and miss the chance.
Erin sniffled. "Right here in Malibu. He grew up on that beach, but the undertow..." She swallowed, unable to continue. I took her hand and squeezed it, and we sat on the couch until she was ready to continue. "It's been six months, but I can't shake the feeling that he's here, watching me."
"He is, sweetheart," I told her.
Erin Harper blinked at me. "Really? Can you see him?" She let out a rueful laugh. "God, listen to me. I can't believe I even called you."
"When he died, was he wearing blue and yellow swim trunks?" I asked.
Erin's eyes went wide. "How could you know that?"
"I can see him, Erin." I stood. "What I do is of a sensitive nature. It would be best if you left the room. Why don't you go take a nap?"
She got up warily, but shuffled into the bedroom all the same. I approached Steve Harper's ghost carefully. He looked real to me, almost solid, but the sunlight shining through the plate glass doors behind him went straight through his tanned surfer's body and cast no shadow on the thick white carpet.
As though reaching out to a frightened animal, I extended my hand, closer and closer. Steve's ghost froze, ready to bolt, and I braced myself as my fingers touched his phantasmal skin.
Steve Harper sprawled on a king-size mattress, watching steam boil out of the bathroom door. The running water stopped, and a very different Erin Harper stepped out. Her smile was carefree, a flash of perfect white in a tanned face. She was unabashedly nude, drying her hair with a towel as she sauntered across the room. Three white triangles marked the area covered by her bikini, two over her large breasts and another on the pubic mound below - freshly shaved.
When Steve saw his beautiful young wife, his arousal was immediate and obvious, a large bulge beneath his silk boxer shorts. He hopped off the bed and wrapped Erin in his arms, pressing his manhood against her tanned, flat belly.
Erin giggled. "Easy, tiger. We don't have time for that. I'm already running late for brunch with the girls." Even as she said it, her fingers raked his sandy curls, and her chest rose, pressing her breasts against him even as her nipples hardened.
Steve's mouth found her neck and kissed the smooth lines below her ear, nibbling playfully. His hands slid down her back, swept the curving lines of her narrow waist, and cupped the swell of her buttocks. He pulled her tight against him, moaning with desire. "Cancel it," he murmured. "You know how much I like it in the morning."
Erin hesitated, then reluctantly pulled away with a girlish pout. "Dammit, Steve, now I'm all horny."