Ghost · Part 2 (2/2)
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; "No! What do you want to do? I'm sure as hell not having you hang around my apartment all the time as some kind of love slave." "Mabe I'll go out and look around the town." "What'll you wear?" "To go out?
I don't see much point in wearing clothes around the house. We're the same size, you know. I'm not used to wearing men's clothes, but these days, I guess I could. Do you mind if I borrow some of your clothes?" "What about money and identification? Nowdays, you can't very well run around town without money. Don't get me wrong, you're very pretty, and so far, you've been lots of fun, but you're a legal non- person, and that poses problems." "Don't worry," she said. "I have a few letters to write and that'll be all taken care of. Let's get dressed." I backed into my bedroom and pulled out a pair of jeans for her, then hesitated. "I don't have any girls underwear." "That's OK.
Last time I had a body, they hadn't invented modern underwear yet. Quite frankly, I don't see much point to wearing it anyway." She stepped into my jeans and pulled them up. "What about a shirt," I asked, admiring the way my jeans looked on her. "With my dark skin?" she asked, and then paused. "Here, I'll show you," she said, stepping into my closet and pulling out a white short- sleeved shirt. It was a knit shirt, pullover style, with three buttons at the neckline. "How about this?" "OK," I said, and then it struck me how odd it was that she knew what clothing I had in the closet. She really had been watching me for a long time.
As she pulled the shirt on over her head, I began to have second thoughts. "Beryl, are you sure you want to wear that?" "Why?" she asked, adjusting the collar. "Well, it's not very modest." "What do you mean?" "With your dark skin, your nipples show, look at yourself." She looked at herself in my bedroom mirror, and then turned to me and grinned. "Don't you like the effect?" "Well," I said, looking at her. Her dark areolas were visible through the thin fabric, and the lumps of her nipples stood out clearly. "I won't say I don't like looking at you." "Then OK. You should have seen the dresses I wore two centuries ago during the Greek revival craze.
Come on, as you said, you're in a hurry to get to work."
Before I left for work Monday morning, I left the spare key to the apartment with Beryl along with forty dollars. I half expected her to disappear with both before I got home from work, but as I walked up the steps to my apartment, I heard music coming from my sterio. "How was work?" Beryl called as I opened the door. "OK," I said, closing the door behind me. Actually, my day hadn't been very productive; I'd spent too much time thinking about Beryl. "Sit down," Beryl said as she came out of the bedroom. "When was the last time you went out to dinner?" "It's been a long time," I said, looking at her.
She wasn't wearing the clothes she'd been wearing when I left her in the morning; instead, she wore a short white skirt, perhaps fingertip length, with a silver camisole top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a row of four rings in each ear. "Like it?" "I'm not sure," I said, staring. "You're awfully sexy looking dressed like that." The colors set off her brown skin nicely, and the fabric of the camisole draped gently over her small breasts, hinting at their shape instead of frankly revealing them the way my knit shirt had. "Did I give you enough money to buy all that?" "I spent a few of the dollars you gave me on fabric, then spent a bit of time sewing.
The earrings only cost four bucks a pair at that Indian import outlet in the mall." "But ear piercing, they don't do that for four bucks a pair." "I did that myself with a sewing needle." I must have blanched a bit at that, because she walked up to me and gave me a gentle hug. "Don't worry, I've got enough magic left that it wasn't any problem." "Sounds like you went to quite a bit of effort," I said, trying to collect my feelings. "Where'd you get a sewing machine." "I did it by hand," she said, looking down at herself as she stepped back to pose for me. "I've never used a sewing machine, and I grew up sewing my own clothes. Anyway, these modern styles are pretty easy." She smiled.
"Come on, let's go out to dinner. I know you haven't been out socially in the year I've been following you, and you need it." "OK," I said. "Where?" She had a place in mind, and I didn't seem to have much choice. I drove there, and it turned out to be a bar, not a dive, but a place with food that looked decent and a dance floor. There was evidence that a band would be playing later, but as we walked to a table, the only music was canned, and that wasn't too loud to prevent conversation. We sat at a small table, and after we'd ordered, Beryl leaned forward on her elbows to look at me. I enjoyed the way her camisole hung, almost but not quite exposing her nipples as she faced me.
"I guess we've got some talking to do," she said. "You're not kidding. Where do you want to start." She took a deep breath. "I don't know. I've never done it like this before. I always either completely hid my true nature or played it up all the way, you know, appearing from a burning bush and making like I'm some kind of angel." "So? I'm glad you want to be honest, but is that the problem?" "Not really." "What is?" "In a way, I guess it's modern times." "What's the problem?" "Freedom.
I guess you can see that I like the idea of being able to express my sexuality, and I like the idea that a girl who likes a guy can just move in with him, but, well, there are some things you can't take for granted these days." "Like?" "In the old days, a girl could expect men to support her without much trouble. She'd keep house and keep the bed warm, and her man would earn the money and deal with the world. It's not like that now." "Right, and it's worse. To get a job, you need a social security number, and to get a number, you need proof of legal residence and employability in the United States." She grinned at me. "I know, I haven't been asleep all these years.
The first thing I did this morning was buy a postal money order and write for a copy of my birth certificate." "What? I thought É" She shushed me, then continued in a low voice. "I was born in Wyoming 22 years ago and I'm half American Indian. My folks named me Jenny Smith, but I've gone by the name Beryl since I ran away from home." "What about school records, things like that." "I'm self-educated, and damn proud of it!" "Do you have relatives?" I asked as I realized what she was implying. "And what about friends? They could really mess things up." "They're all dead.
Don't worry about it." The waitress delivered our food, and soon after that, the band started to play, drowning out any effort at continued conversation. I looked at Beryl while I ate, unsure about what she'd done. It certainly didn't sound legal, but at the same time, I couldn't imagine any legal way for a spirit, if that's what she was, to get a legal identity in today's world. Had there been a Jenny Smith? How had she died, and how did Beryl think she could claim her identity. I wasn't sure I wanted to know, and in a way I was glad that the music was loud enough to prevent me from asking.
The food was quite good, and the music was good enough that even though I'm no dancer, I was tapping my feet and gently nodding my head to the beat of some of the pieces. My knees touched Beryl's under the little table, and after she finished her small meal, she slid her hand down under the table and rested it on my knee, smiling as she touched me. "Want to dance?" she asked during the first lull in the music after we finished eating. I hesitated. "I'm no good." "So? I haven't danced in years, come on." The evening passed in a whirl. She may not have danced for a century, but she did know how to dance, and better than that, she was a good teacher.
After a short while, I forgot my awkwardness and began enjoying myself. Beryl was fun to watch as she gyrated in front of me, and I could tell that she wanted me to watch her. As the music slowed, I wanted to hold her, and judging by the way she danced in my arms, she wanted to be held. Her fingers gently traced the curve of my back, and she felt warm and soft as she moved against me with the beat of the music. As the piece ended, she whispered in my ear. "Let's go home." "OK." I said, and followed her to the door. Following her was fun. Her short skirt seemed awfully short when seen from the rear, barely decent but very fun to watch.
It was almost disappointing as we left the lights of the bar and went out into the dark parking lot. "That was nice," Beryl said as we walked into my apartment. She took me by the waist and kissed me, holding the kiss for a long time, stroking my back with one hand while she held her other hand on my chest. I felt a bit awkward, unsure what I should do with my hands, until I realized that it must be reasonable for me to do with my hands what she was doing with hers. "That was nice," she said, breaking the kiss. "I like the way you touch me." An uncomfortable thought struck me as I looked at her. "Do we have to worry about, well, birth control? I mean É " She smiled.
"No, but if you want children someday, we can have them. Would you like to dance some more?" "OK," I said. "What kind of music?" "Something long?" I put on a tape, and then she held my hand and we began to dance again. She was a sensuous beauty, and it wasn't long before I was sexually aroused by the way she touched me and moved with me. "Don't get impatient," she whispered as I fondled her breast through the thin satin of her camisole. She pushed away my hand, and for a few minutes, we danced, facing each other but not touching. Beryl danced gracefully, back to me, and I wanted to hug her to me, but she shrugged off my arms and began to undo my shirt.
Her touch was gentle as she pulled my shirt off, but she never stopped dancing, and when my shirt was off, she flowed into my arms once again. "You can undress me, if you want," she whispered as I slid my hands over her body. I felt clumsy taking off her camisole, but she smiled as I set it aside, and then she stepped back from me and danced, letting me watch the gentle swing of her long black hair and the bounce of her small breasts as she moved. "You're beautiful," I whispered as she came back into my arms. Her breasts pressed softly agains my chest as we danced, and I could feel the four earrings in her ear against my cheek.
She didn't answer, but slid her hand down my back and slid a finger under the waistband of my pants. "Keep dancing, don't say anything more," she whispered, kneeling in front of me, still swaying with the music as she kissed my belly and undid my belt. She gently pulled off my pants, and as she freed my erect penis, she gently kissed it before standing to hug me and kiss me on the lips. My penis pressed agains her as we danced, and she smiled down at it and petted it before stepping back and pulling my hand to the buttons that held her skirt. I knelt to undo the four buttons, and then kissed her belly as I set the skirt aside.
Unbuttoned, the skirt was little more than a band of fabric a yard long and a bit over a foot wide, and she wore nothing under it. She pulled away from me when I tried to hold her, but she kept dancing, letting me watch the erotic motion of her body for a few minutes before she finally pulled me to her and kissed me. Our dancing had degenerated to just swaying together, and as I kissed my way away from her mouth, she hugged me by the back of the neck and directed my attention downward, first to her soft breasts and hard nipples, and then lower. I knelt to kiss her belly, and then hesitated about kissing any lower.
She knelt to face me, her knees to my knees and her hands on my buttocks, kissing me again as we swayed to the music. My penis pressed eagerly into the space between her legs, and after a minute, she pushed me gently back into a sitting position on the rug and then straddled my lap and worked herself down over me. As I entered her, she kissed me, hard, and then leaned back, holding me with her hands behind my neck and smiling at me as we rocked to the rhythm of the music. She looked down at where our bodies joined, and I looked down, following her gaze and feeling a bit awed. I slid my hands from her fanny up her sides, and her smile turned to bliss as I began to gently touch her breasts.
I lost track of time as we rocked to the music. My attention was focused on the moist warmth of her body surrounding my erect penis, and then an intense look came over her face as she pulled me to her and began kissing. Her hips rocked in my lap, and I could feel waves of muscular contraction rippling through her from within. She gasped, and then I was gasping myself, feeling the pumping within me as I rocked my hips in a desparate effort to thrust myself even more deeply into her. We held each other for a while after that, still rocking gently to the beat of the music, but relaxed and happy in the warm afterglow of what we'd done. "You're fun," I eventually whispered. She smiled shyly.
"You too. Let's get into bed and I'll teach you some more ways to do it."
Ghost · Part 2 (2/2)
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