The way people experience and express themselves sexually
POPULARITY
Truth.Love.Parent. with AMBrewster | Christian | Parenting | Family
Regardless of the current age of your children, Lord willing this will be a journey through which you'll have to help your kids walk. Join AMBrewster to better understand key truths that must be considered when choosing a spouse.Truth.Love.Parent. is a podcast of Truth.Love.Family., an Evermind Ministry.Action Steps Purchase “Quit: how to stop family strife for good.” https://amzn.to/40haxLz Support our 501(c)(3) by becoming a TLP Friend! https://www.truthloveparent.com/donate.html Download the Evermind App. https://evermind.passion.io/checkout/102683 Use the promo code EVERMIND at MyPillow.com. https://www.mypillow.com/evermind Discover the following episodes by clicking the titles or navigating to the episode in your app: Entertainment, Technology, and Media Collection https://www.truthloveparent.com/technology-topic.html TLP 61: Are There Failure Philosophies in Your Home? https://www.truthloveparent.com/taking-back-the-family-blog/tlp-61-are-there-failure-philosophies-in-your-home The Evidence of Spiritual Life Series https://www.celebrationofgod.com/evidence-of-spiritual-life.html TLP 45: The Second Most Important Question You Need to Ask Your Kids https://www.truthloveparent.com/taking-back-the-family-blog/tlp-45-the-second-most-important-question-you-need-to-ask-your-kids TLP 30: Teens and Dating | what God has to say about their crush https://www.truthloveparent.com/taking-back-the-family-blog/tlp-30-teens-and-dating-what-god-has-to-say-about-their-crush TLP 134: What Is Romantic Love? https://www.truthloveparent.com/taking-back-the-family-blog/tlp-134-what-is-romantic-love Parenting Your Kids to Adulthood Series https://www.truthloveparent.com/parenting-your-children-to-adulthood.html Sexuality https://www.truthloveparent.com/sexuality.html Click here for Today's episode notes, resources, and transcript: https://www.truthloveparent.com/taking-back-the-family-blog/tlp-611-how-to-biblically-help-your-chidren-find-a-spouseLike us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TruthLoveParent/Follow us on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/truth.love.parent/Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/TruthLoveParentPin us on Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/TruthLoveParent/Need some help? Write to us at Counselor@TruthLoveParent.com.
Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.
Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.
Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4 Finding real love, at last. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary grunted their hellos without looking up. Ah, home. I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy. My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return. I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright. Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there. I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team. I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support. Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I waited outside with Erin. "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I have." I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close. "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you." Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply. The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day. "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her. Be reasonable!" When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came. "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer." Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did. "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think." She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was finishing up her shift at the hospital. "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?" I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction. "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her." Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I'll do it." "What do you mean? "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up some shifts here and there." It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it. "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school." "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term." "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;" "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this." I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet. I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees. I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me. "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding on to the past?" When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence. "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally competent then none of us are." "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation." "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least, and then we can see." Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove fatal. The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore. Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold. I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well. When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my chest. "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again." "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin." I felt her relax back against me. "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry." "For what?" "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold." Chapter 6. Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger after they lost the hearing. "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head." Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make matters worse, Wilma intervened. "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along, so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die? It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he could even begin. "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it up." A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and life. In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the entranceway rather than leaving. "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?" I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained. "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside. "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen. "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development. "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once she sees the big fat check from the county." Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes. Leave this one with me. "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat." I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself. "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape." I laughed at the image. "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis." "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip." I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about speaking out. "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?" "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like." "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I will ever be." "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough." By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma wouldn't hear of it. "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home." Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept. Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back tears. "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye." "Is James there with you, Mary?" "I called him. He's on his way." "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive." I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck. "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided. "We should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the drive to Wilma's. "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?" Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past. She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people that she loved. She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled into Wilma's laneway. "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you." Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand. "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too." "People show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time." By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved. "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know when it's over." She just shook her head. "Where is she?" Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands. "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the asking." "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin." She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then come back up to me." "Of course, Wilma." I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over. "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?" I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we started walking. "You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently." I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo. "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest. "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?" By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five. "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do." Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before he passed. "You will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once we're gone." James and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look. "All hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that she won't have to carry that weight alone." "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me." Wilma patted my hand. "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time." Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm. After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away. "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love." She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake. Epilogue. As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it. Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state and one of the most powerful firms in the country. It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals, museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well. After James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed on. The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made. Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres. As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter. The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate. The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula. As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward with their plans to seize the land. The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.) Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day. Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were gone. Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm. When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far enough away that we can safely ignore them. On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love. After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through endless adventures together. Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance, and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be very welcome. Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust. Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for it, but she politely declined. As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new beats. He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair. And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime. I am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my good fortune with a smile. One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers' rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms. Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in the wind off the lake. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.
Want to learn how to lead the intimacy in your marriage? Are you frustrated by the lack of connection, passion, fun and sexuality in your relationship? In this episode I talk about the belief and confidence that we help men develop in themselves to be able to create and lead the emotional and physical connection with their wife or long-term partner any time they want.In our coaching, we help men get a powerful new mindset that empowers you to give, love and connect more deeply because you're finally doing that within yourself first. This mindset allows empathy, trust and connection to happen because you're confident in who you're being. We teach skills and knowledge that nobody ever teaches men when we're younger. Skills and knowledge that make you feel confident and in control even when chaos is going on around you. It's amazing what you can achieve when you make yourself a priority. Most men don't. They are too busy taking care of everyone else. Too busy minding the store and making the money. They are focused on the "outside game" of winning life. But their "inside game" of confidence and clarity is suffering badly. You can only improve your inside game with other men. We would love to help you become more calm, more strong emotionally and more confident and happy in who you are as a man. Come and join us, either through 1-on-1 coaching with my colleague Dan Dore or me, or in our group coaching program with other amazing men who are travelling the same path as you right now in our Men's Live Coaching Roundtable. There's an amazing tribe of guys in this group with us, supporting and helping each other through this process of growth and self realization. https://goodguys2greatmen.com/goodguys2greatmen-live-coaching-roundtable/ If you're facing possible divorce, we have an online course which is specifically for you - Defuse the Divorce Bomb: https://mojopolis.thinkific.com/courses/HDDB-preview?ref=a53950 What if this next year everything changed for you? That's what we want for you brother, We love teaching men these tools - how to be better, how to know who you are, what you stand for, what you want and how to CREATE it in your life through our Masculine Confidence coaching programs. Dan and I are here to guide you on this mission.https://goodguys2greatmen.com/mens-relationship-coaching/ Steve's book Straight Talk Tools for the Desperate Husband will help you to lead yourself and your relationship back to good health. Understand why your partner acts the way she does toward you and learn how to lead your life in the direction you want it to go. You CAN have the relationship you want, fulfilling all your desires while maintaining love and respect.https://goodguys2greatmen.com/straight-talk-tools-for-the-desperate-husband/ We also have a free e-book to help men learn how to lose their fear and be more bold in their marriage to create the love and connection they want. Get The Hard to Swallow Truth About Saving Your Marriage: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/ If you want to learn more about how to take a bigger step toward being a clear-headed, confident man of action, then find out more here: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/mens-relationship-coaching/ We would be thrilled to help you get there - our first discovery call is always free and always gives you a BIG boost of confidence. You WILL become a clearer, stronger, more confident man only through other men. Your woman cannot take you there - and she doesn't WANT to...trust us on that. Sign up to receive our email newsletters for lots more free tips and advice here: https://archive.aweber.com/stevemain Subscribe to be notified whenever we upload a new video: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC13h36xaBvyTPVAES4-4rXw?sub_confirmation=1 You can watch all our videos here: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/video-library/ Or read our blog articles here: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/blog/Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/goodguys2greatmen-podcast--4650431/support.
A Holiday Haunting: Part 4 A unique relationship paradigm. Based on a post by zeon 67. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. He had asked Erin what kind of food she wanted to try, and she said something new, with lots of flavor. Walking into the orange glow of the Thai restaurant and getting the scent of the food, Jack knew he had picked the right place. Erin looked so excited, her eyes darting to every plate as they got seated. "So, Siam is now Thailand?" Erin asked as soon as the waiter poured the waters and left the menus. "Yeah." Jack nodded. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask; are you okay?" "What? Why?" She lowered the menu, and her eyes widened. "Just want to make sure that you're not gonna fall asleep on me." Erin smiled and said, "I'm getting my eight hours. Can you help me with this menu?" Jack leaned over and tried his best to explain everything to Erin. He remembered her telling him that the food she used to eat in the 1880s was bland and boring. He got the idea she wanted something spicy but didn't want to scare her. He suggested Pad Thai, and picked something hotter for himself, a couple of appetizers and wine. "So, what did you do all day?" Erin asked as soon as they were alone again. "Nothing really. Replied to some emails, watched TV with my sisters, argued with my parents about politics ; a typical holiday." "What would you be doing if you were back in Boston?" "Don't know. Maybe watch basketball, gym, go on the PlayStation, hit a couple of bars with friends." "PlayStation ; that's the machine that you can play computer cartoons." "Close enough," Jack smiled, "What about you? How did you used to spend your free time?" "Working for the Franklins took up most of my time. I would be in that house for hours, sometimes the whole day. Any time I had to myself, I'd read or maybe go for a walk. Not really that entertaining. But now I can't wait to experience new things." "I know, I saw your list. What about today?" "Me and Lucy watched more movies. We watched some ones with a lot of action, which was terrifying. But I got through it." Jack wanted to quickly interject and ask what film that she saw, but let her carry on. "I tried to use Lucy's computer. But it was so hard and nothing worked. It looked so easier when you were using yours. I kept on forgetting about the Start button." "And I got this." Erin reached into her jacket pocket and showed Jack a red cellphone. It looked a little small compared to most modern phones and had some scratches around the sides. "I got from a store nearby and a prepaid plan. We can talk to each other now." "That's awesome," Jack said. He knew that there was something that he had forgotten to do for Erin. "Lucy helped me take a couple of selfies. I guess that's what girls like me do now. I created a Spotify account and I'm trying to find my taste in music. But I'm not joining Instagram or Facebook yet. Lucy said it's too early." "Yeah." Jack nodded, thinking if he should tell her the horror stories of social media. "Also, I know Beth is going to be trawling for your account and will immediately follow you." The food then arrived, and Erin's attention was drawn instantly to the plate set in front of her. Jack watched her, a mix of confusion and excitement at the various plates. He should probably try to explain everything. "These are the appetizers, that's pork gyozas ; dough wrapped around a filling. Those are chicken satays ; grilled chicken with sauce." Erin pointed to her dish and asked, "And I ordered; ?" "Pad Thai. A typical Thai dish ; everyone should try it at least once. I got drunken noodles, there are hotter." Erin reached for a chopstick; her fingers and thumbs fumbled around the utensil. But to Jack's surprise, she got used to quickly them and tried everything in front of them. Seeing her face light up with every bite, he just grinned, like he was enjoying the food through her. "This all tastes amazing. So many spices and different flavors." "I thought food was better back in your time. Fresher, no chemicals or hormones." "Maybe. But we just boiled everything. And there was no taste." Jack carefully ate his noodles, making sure not to make a mess as he listened to Erin. She talked more about her plans; she was thinking about starting yoga. He didn't see it in Lucy's apartment but now could tell she was wearing makeup and looked even better. Her eyeliner made her green eyes pop, and she had a bold shade on her lips, making it so enticing. He needed to be alone with her. Erin caught him staring and smiled. She then said, "Me and Lucy were talking. And I think we got a story I can tell people." "Okay." "We got this idea after watching a true crime television show ; Lucy loves those. So, I tell people I came from Ireland but I moved here when I was twelve. I lived with a very religious aunt and uncle. The Franklins. We lived away from other people and had a simple life." "So, you were in a fundamentalist sect?" "Yes. I didn't have a TV, no internet or modern music. I only interacted with the Franklins and other people in the community." "Okay. But why did you leave?" "The Franklins died." "And what happened between then and now?" Erin paused, looking like she was thinking of an answer. She took a sip of wine and said, "After I decided to leave, I travel to Boston and stay there, for some time? But; but it's too expensive and I meet Lucy and she lets me stay with her. I then meet you and; you know?" "That's perfect." After finishing their food, Jack ordered more wine and asked Erin what she thought about the meal. "I loved it." Erin said, wiping her lips with the napkin. "I always wanted to try something like this. Before I left Boston, there was this Chinese neighborhood. Just walking pass, I would be enticed by the aroma. But I could never walk into the neighborhood." He asked why but saw Erin go quiet and look nervous. It took Jack a moment before he understood, going to a Chinese block would be a major no-no for a white woman in 1890s Boston. "I lived in what is now called South End. Then it was a mix of Irish, Lebanese, Jewish, African-American, Greek. It was okay to speak with them and visit their stores. But the Chinese was a different story. I never understood why." "Do you miss Boston?" "Yes. When I arrived in the city, after weeks on that boat, I couldn't believe such a place could exist. So big, so many people. Visiting the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, getting lost in alleys exploring the city, having picnics at the Common." Looking at her, Jack thought about asking her something that he had been on his mind for a while. "Do you want to come to Boston with me?" "I would like that." They both leaned over the table and kissed, just a quick peck. But they stared in each other's eyes, a tension rapidly developing between them. Jack thought about asking about dessert, there was the Chocolate Bar a couple of blocks away, or that they go for another drink. But watching Erin, it felt she wanted to be alone with him. "Lucy told me something," Erin said in a hushed tone. "She will be working late and will be spending the night at a friend's." Jack nodded and flagged down the waiter. A human Copulation. "Lucy!" Erin called out as soon as they opened the door. Hearing no response, she turned and faced Jack. They both shared knowing smirks and quickly kissed. Erin moaned in his mouth as the kiss grew more lustful. She pressed herself against him and wrapped an arm around his neck. Erin wanted to feel closer to him. Jack loved every moment; having a gorgeous girlfriend draped over him would make any man ecstatic. Erin then took his hand and pulled it down to her ass. It was amazing how much she had changed in the last couple of days; the modest, sexually-na ve girl from the nineteenth century had disappeared. Erin moaned again as Jack cupped her ass. She broke their kiss and tilted her head towards Lucy's bedroom, Erin's green eyes sparkling as she grinned at him. Jack let her take the lead, pulling him into the bedroom. Erin slammed the door shut and quickly went to work on undressing Jack. She clumsily tried to unbutton his shirt but got nowhere and groaned. "You're wearing too many layers," Erin said, flashing him a half-smile. He pushed her back and immediately corrected his dress code. His jeans and the rest of his clothes then fell to the floor, and Jack then wrapped his arms back around her, kissing Erin's neck as he tugged on the zip. Her dress loosened, and Erin effortlessly slipped out of it, revealing her perky tits clad in a black bra. He didn't do it on purpose, but Jack moaned at the sight of her. How could he not? Erin stood in front of him wearing a black lace bra that just covered her bust, revealing a hint of her areolas. Below, she wore a matching lace thong. Super fucking sexy. Looking up, Erin had this smug smile on her face; she knew the effect she was having on Jack. She swayed her hips as she moved to him; Jack stayed slack-jawed as Erin pushed on the bed and straddled him. She lowered her head, and they resumed fervently kissing, writhing together. Jack reached around and unclasped her bra. Erin shimmied her body and slipped her hands out, tossing her bra away. Jack instantly grasped her free tits, enjoying the feeling of the soft flesh in his palm. Their lips still locked, he gently squeezed them, his thumb teasing her sensitive nipples. Erin responded by moaning into his mouth, egging him on. Jack pinched and pulled her erect bud, eliciting more moans from Erin. It got too much for her, and Erin pulled back. "Jack, I; I need you; inside me," she said, breathless. She rolled off him and got on all fours. There was something perverse in being fucked like an animal; Erin really wanted to feel that way again. She shuddered as she felt Jack's lips brush down her back as he carefully pulled down her panties, biting her lip and burning in anticipation. He slipped his hand between her thighs and found a very wet pussy. Erin trembled at his touch and moaned again. She begged for more and was ecstatic at having her cunt be invaded by Jack's finger. He then slid another one in, pushing them into her pussy. She gritted her teeth and hummed. Jack pulled his hand back, disappointing his panting girlfriend. His fingers oozed with her slick juices; shit, she's horny. He pressed his tip on the wet folds of her pussy and waited for a moan. Erin shook her head and whimpered as he thrust his cock in one slow push. "Oh yes;" Erin whispered, rolling her back and letting out another moan. Shuddering, her cunt muscles welcomed his cock, tightening around the shaft. Erin felt his hands on her ass, squeezing her cheeks as Jack slowly fucked, in long, gentle movements. It was just like being in the Franklin's bed, Erin going through the same electric sensations and loving every second of it. Erin threw her ass back, demanding his cock faster and harder. " more, more, more," she whimpered, matching his rhythm. Hearing her moans, Jack pumped his cock harder, watching his girlfriend's ass shake with every thrust. She pleaded for more and faster Jack went, pounding his cock. He loved how loud she was being. It was such an intensely erotic feeling, having a gorgeous woman cry for your cock. It urged him on, and the bedroom echoed with the sounds of their flesh slapping. Erin slammed her head on the pillow, stifling her cries as her body tightened, edging closer. She pressed down on the mattress and lifted her chest up, arching her back. Her right hand went for her left tit, clamping her fingertips around her erect nipple. While she pinched and pulled, her left hand slipped between her legs and found her engorged clit. "Oh; CHRIST!" She screamed. Erin dropped her mouth wide open, her limbs twitching as she hurtled to an incredible and intense climax. She inhaled sharply, gritted her teeth, close, so very close. Jack stopped and went still. He wrapped his arms around her waist and slammed his cock in slow, hard thrusts. It was too much for her. Erin shrieked, and her whole body shuddered; her fingers gripped the sheets, and her eyes rolled back into her skull, riding out an earth-shattering orgasm. "Oh; that felt good," Erin whispered, coming in down. Jack fell back, hitting the headboard. That was something. His still-hard cock slid out of Erin's drenched cunt. His throbbing shaft dripped with her slick juices. Taking a couple of deep breaths, his eyes focused on Erin and he used every ounce of willpower not to cum. She had this small, content smile on her face that looked so cute and yet very sexy. She grinned back at him, knowing what he was thinking. Her eyes drifted down to his glistening cock, and her smile went wider. She instantly regained her composure, getting on her back. Their eyes met again, and Erin wiped the sweat from her forehead before cupping her tits. Biting her lip, she pinched her nipples and spread her legs, eager for his cock, "Please." Jack quickly responded, shuffling forward with his cock in his hand. He leaned over her, feeling the heat from Erin's post-orgasmic glow. His throbbing tip brushed up against the soaked openings of her pussy. He rested his hands by her waist; she felt warm and slowly pushed his cock back in. Erin groaned and exhaled, her body vibrating, enjoying the incredibly fulfilling sensation of having Jack's cock back inside her. Intense heat rippled out from her cunt; her pussy muscles kneaded his pulsing shaft. Erin looked up at him, her eyes filled with lust and love. "Oh, yes;" Erin moaned as Jack bottomed out. She then wrapped her hand around his neck, pulling him down; Erin needed to kiss him again. The mouths instantly parted, and their tongues met again. Moaning into his mouth while twirling her tongue, Erin hooked her legs around Jack's waist, pulling him closer. She let out an animalistic grunt like she had been penetrated by another inch of cock. Erin or Jack, or both, broke their embrace and locked eyes. Watching each other's faces contort while they rhythmically fucked each other senseless. "Oh, God!" Erin screamed, getting closer and closer. She fucked him right back, meeting every vigorous thrust by throwing her hips forward, slamming her pussy at his cock. Jack pushed her up and lowered his head, nestling his face in the crook of Erin's neck. He slowly kissed down her soft white flesh, reaching her tits. He enthusiastically sucked on her nipple while slipping his cock out, waited a moment, then rammed it back into her drenched pussy. His free hand eagerly groped her other tit. "Oh, Jack!" It was getting too much for Erin. She tightened her grip around Jack's waist and went stiff. She fucked him hard, hyperventilating and shaking. Erin hissed and cried his name out as she rode through another orgasm. She frantically thrust her hips, trying to extend her climax and begged Jack for more. He replied by pressing his teeth down her nipple, and that was it. Her pussy spasmed around his raging cock and she let out a long cry. "Yes; yes; Oh Lord; Jesus Christ!" She yelled. As Erin went limp in his arms, Jack could feel the familiar tingling sensation coming from his balls. He tried to put it off, still plunging his cock furiously. Both of them moaned and gasped for air, covered in sweat, wanting more. But Jack couldn't take it anymore; he threw his head back, roared as he shot a torrid of cum into her. His body jerked uncontrollably from the needed orgasmic release, each movement causing another shot of jizz. Erin sighed and moaned, feeling Jack's cock explode deep inside her, making her tremble in ecstasy. Another rope of his jizz filled her womb, followed by another. As Jack collapsed on top of her, his brain mushed in a post-climax daze, Erin held him tightly. She had a broad grin, smugly satisfied that her pussy was filled by her lover's cum. Quietly moaning, feeling the hot cum seep down her thighs, Erin leaned forward. Her tits pressed against Jack's chest as she kissed him. Recovering from the intensity of their orgasm, they passionately kissed before breaking, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyes were closed, and they slowly breathed. "I love you," they said in unison, before exchanging more kisses. Erin smiled back at Jack. Her hands trembled, and sweat flooded her face. It was happening again. She remembered her breathing exercises, focusing on five things in the room. It didn't work, and Erin sunk through the mattress, her hands phasing past Jack's body. His mouth dropped as he watched her go. She hit the floor of the room, thankful that she didn't go any further. Jack immediately jumped off the bed and checked underneath, finding her sprawled out on the carpet. "Are you okay?" Erin stared at the underneath of Lucy's bed and just whimpered, "; no." New Years Eve. Jack tried to pay attention to the conversation; he knew it was important. It was about Erin's condition and what they should do next. But when he saw Erin walkout, wearing a black lace dress, Jack struggled to pay attention to Lucy and her friend. Erin just looked too sexy. She caught him staring, and Erin responded with a smirk. "Circe; Circe; Circe!" Lucy yelled, "We already got the dirt." Jack quickly turned back to Lucy and her phone. She had been Facetiming with a witch, who supposedly knew what was happening to Erin. They hadn't completed the resurrection ritual properly. Lucy's witch friend said they had done around ninety percent of it. The remaining ten percent involved Jedidiah Franklin's grave dirt and New Year's Eve. "Shut up, bitch!" Circe shouted at Lucy. Glancing back at Erin, she and Jack exchanged another look. This didn't sound like it was going well. Lucy and Circe had spent around twenty minutes just name-calling, bringing up boyfriends they had shared and generally being dismissive at each other. What he understood was that Circe wanted them to do another ritual, while Lucy wanted to do something different. Anything, it didn't matter. "What is it with you witches and wizards? Sex magic all the time. Sprained your ankle ; sex magic. Car won't start ; sex magic. Have to go to small claims court ; sex magic. Don't you have a book of spells?" "Aw the poor medium is stuck. God, you're so basic. You just repeat what spirits say, like a parrot with tits." "Shut up, Claire, you giant poser!" Lucy yelled. The raven-haired witch went quiet and completely still. Lucy even called out her name to check if the call had frozen. Jack got the sense that Lucy had crossed some line and should apologize. Seeing Circe's bulging eyes, he figured the apology should be sooner than later. But the call ended, and he let it go. "What do we do next?" Erin asked. "We still go out. It's New Year's Eve." Lucy said, her phone then buzzed, and she read the message. "It's Circe. She says that as Jedidiah Franklin was the one who killed you, he needs to be punished. We have to burn the dirt, evoke Frigga, you two get freaking with some mistletoe above the bed. When the dirt turns white ; we're good. Then she called me; the c-word. She called me a cunt" Erin looked embarrassed on her behalf, looking at her feet and said, "Oh." Lucy shrugged it off. "I will make it up to her later." She stood up and checked the time; it was getting close to eight, they had some time to kill. "Jack, you call a cab. Me and Erin will get ready." Erin followed the blonde in her bedroom, taking careful steps as she hadn't gotten used to wearing heels. In the bedroom, a silver bucket sat next to the window with a tub filled with dirt lying next to it. Erin had joined Jack this time, driving to a graveyard near the coast. Lucy gave them instructions while working, listening to her transparently flirt with a customer for tips while they waited to be told what to do next. Lucy opened a drawer and pulled out two sticks of white chalk. Handing Erin one, she bent down and drew a circle around the bed. "You okay with another sex ritual?" Erin chuckled and said, "It's getting repetitive." She placed the grave dirt in the bucket and set it down in front of the bed, drawing a circle around it. "Will you be there ; watching?" "I have to." Lucy laughed. "Do we have to do it today? I was looking forward to celebrating the New Year." "It has to be a special day like New Year's Day or say, February 1. Then there's the Spring Equinox, Midsummer, Halloween, the Winter Solstice. You want to wait until February to make sure you never walk through a door?" "Of course, no." Erin replied, "I want to move on with my life and forget about protective circles, sex magic, the Franklins." Wiping the chalk from her hands, Erin checked herself out in the mirror. The dress showed off a lot of her bare skin, and she didn't know what to feel about it. Seeing Jack's face, Erin knew she looked hot and loved the feeling. But then there were Mrs. Franklin's words, telling her that she looked like a Catholic succubus. At least her legs were covered; it was too cold to go without tights. Lucy then joined her by the mirror. She wore a more revealing outfit, a silver sequined V-neck dress, her large tits up for display. Seeing her like that, Erin could only imagine the reaction in the nineteenth century. This was the new normal now, and she had to get used to it. Lucy raised her phone up and took some photos, saying, "We look hot." Erin laughed and then did the same. They took a couple of photos of their reflections, then some selfies. It was kind of pointless, and no one was going to see it, but checking out the photos, Erin really liked how she looked. "You said we had to do it tonight. Should we still go out?" "Yeah." Lucy smirked, putting away her phone. She said, "One, whenever we do it, it has to happen at the witching hour ; that's like at three in the morning. Two, it's your first New Year's Eve, you gotta celebrate it." Jack then knocked on the door and said, "The cab is coming in ten minutes." Approaching Normalcy. Erin liked how it felt having Jack's arm wrapped around, comforting. They were in a bar, a busy bar, sitting alone and waiting for Lucy. There were many people around her, and it took Erin some time to get used to being in a crowd. It wasn't like she was frightened or agoraphobic. She just got anxious about saying the wrong thing, letting people know that she didn't belong in this time. Then was the whole becoming incorporeal whenever she became nervous. Finishing a glass of wine helped Erin from phasing through the chair. The alcohol also helped her make small talk. A girl in the restroom had asked about her dress, wanting to know where she got it from. They talked for a bit more, and Erin returned to Jack, full of confidence. "Hey guys." Lucy sat down in front of them and placed a white plastic bag on the table. "I got the mistletoe for Frigga. I need a drink." Jack ordered another beer and two glasses of ros for them. "So, what is the plan for tonight?" Erin asked. "Drink here then go to a couple of bars and see what happens." Lucy then glanced at Jack, who shrugged a 'that sounds good' response. "What did you do all day?" "Nothing," Jack said, "Just emailed my boss and about me moving back to Boston." "Cool. Did Erin tell you what she did today?" Jack shook his head and turned to his girlfriend. "I went grocery shopping by myself." "That's really great," Jack said. "Once this thing goes away and I'm not afraid of passing through a bed, there's things that I want to do. I already got a plan." "Like what?" Lucy leaned in, finishing her wine. "First, I need a job, something that I can do and that's not far from Jack's apartment. And I'm looking at GED courses. Then a community college course." Lucy grinned and said, "That's fucking cool. We need some tequila to celebrate." Jack and Lucy showed Erin how to take a shot of tequila. She let out a long moan as the burn of the alcohol shocked her throat and quickly bit into the lime slice. They slowed down their drinking, Jack saying that they shouldn't be wasted for the ritual. Lucy agreed, worrying out loud that she could mess up and make Erin a ghost again. They talked for a while, trying to predict what would happen in the new year, before going to another bar. Then quickly another one, eventually ending up at the Cord & Rifle. It was more of a high-end hipster bar, which annoyed Jack and Lucy, and she worked there. The bartenders wore white shirts, suspenders and each had handlebar mustaches, looking like Civil War surgeons. This just confused Erin, wondering why people were pretending to be like that. "It's just; the trend," Jack said, sighing. Erin glanced at Lucy, and she was rolling her eyes but also nodding. They ordered more drinks, and Erin moved away from wine, trying what the bartenders said were authentic cocktails from her time. They were lying to her. Her eyes flickered to other patrons; they were all ordering expensive drinks, taking photos, deleting them, then retaking them. Their lips were stretched out in the smile, but their eyes stayed unmoved. This is what modern life is? Expensive drinks and pretending to be happy. She and Lucy were then in the bathroom, touching up their makeup. Erin turned her and asked, "Is New Year's Eve supposed to be; like this?" "Are you asking if New Year's Eve always this mediocre?" Lucy said, smirking. "Yeah. It's always a massive let-down. You got this pressure to have this epic night, everything is expensive, then there's that bullshit about getting a kiss at midnight." "A midnight kiss?" "It's some bullshit. Something that Hollywood and Hallmark love. I think it's real tradition behind it, probably something farming related. But now it's been romanticized to insane levels. If someone doesn't kiss you when the clock strikes twelve, then life is over." "Really?" "Stupid, isn't it?" Lucy sighed, "At least you got Jack." "You are not interested in meeting someone?" Erin asked, "There were some men that were checking you out?" She narrowed her eyes as she spoke, wondering if she used the right word. "I wasn't feeling it." Lucy shrugged. "Too many desperate creeps and fake-ass nice guys. You know that tavern-like bar we quickly left because of the vibe? Some girl tried to hit on me in the bathroom. It's been a while since I've been with a girl;" They then went quiet and stared at each other. A group of ladies woke them up, and they quickly left the bathroom. They had never discussed the kiss at the s ance, and Erin didn't know how she could ever bring it up organically. She couldn't make sense of it herself; why did she kiss her? It wasn't like she had this attraction to Lucy. Erin just rationalized that the s ance messed with her emotions, and that was it. Jack was waiting for them at the booth. He stopped them before they could sit. "Some guy was looking for Lucy. Lloyd?" "Lloyd? Oh, snap. Where is he?" "Outside. Said near the 7-Eleven." "We should get out of here." "Why?" Erin asked. "He's got the final stuff we need to for tonight." Lucy replied. "Oh," Jack smiled and handed them their jackets. They got outside and walked to the meeting point. He turned to Erin and said, "We're meeting Lucy's weed dealer." "Weed?" Erin asked. Lucy jumped in before Jack could open his mouth, saying, "It's marijuana, cannabis. You probably heard it as hash. We need it for the ritual." "Oh. Do you normally partake?" Nodding her head, Lucy smiled and said, "Yeah. It makes things less boring. Also, marijuana has been used in so many sacred and spooky things." "I do as well." Jack felt Erin give him a quick look, knowing that she was about to ask him the same thing. "Weed is legal in Boston. I smoke it time to time. Shame we don't have any dispensaries." "Same," Lucy quickly jumped in. "They say we might get dispensaries in Portland by summer." Erin stayed quiet, giving them both a long stare. "Are we supposed to just burn it?" She eventually asked, "Or we do smoke it?" "Both," Lucy replied. Erin remembered hash from when she first arrived in America, that weird feeling block of greenish-brown that her father would take as medicine. There was also a time when she was given cannabis fluid for an illness. The idea that people now took cannabis for fun interested her. "I would like to try some." Erin said, nodding her head. Both Lucy and Jack looked at each other, silently conversing before turning back to Erin, asking if she was sure. They mention PSAs, peer pressure and not wanting to force her into something she might not be ready for. Erin replied with a blank look, nodding her head but not really listening. "Before I was a char-girl, I worked in a factory. The fumes from the vats would give me migraines. Do you know what the druggist gave me?" Erin asked, slowly smiling. Both Jack and Lucy shook their heads. "Heroin," Erin said, "They used to give that to fussy babies as well. Also, the man who owned the house before you, Jack. I once saw him inhale white powder and act loony. I feel marijuana is safer." Lucy shrugged and walked away. She was back with a baggie filled with dark brown herbs a minute later. "All set?" Jack asked. "Yeah. Lloyd was pretty nervous and wanted to know who you guys are." "What did you say?" "Just a couple I had a quasi-threesome with." Erin was still blushing by the time they got to the final bar. It had more of an old-school look about it, reminding her of Ireland and the taverns where she would be sent to fetch her father. They got in just before the countdown. While everyone started counting down and looking at the screens, Erin lost her cocktail. The glass phased through her hand and smashed against the floor. Was it nerves? That the ritual wasn't going to work, or she could say to herself that she was excited, looking forward to the new year. While everyone celebrated, Erin ignored the lost drink and grabbed Jack, kissing him hard. If this wasn't going to work, she would at least have some fun. She quickly ended their embrace and then lunged at Lucy, giving the medium a long hug. After tonight, she needed to do something for Lucy, something to show her appreciation. Lucy broke their hug and smirked back at her. "Let's get out of here. Time for you to be human." More Dark Arts. Jack thanked that the burning pot was giving him a gentle high, otherwise he would be embarrassed. He, like Erin, sat in his underwear on Lucy's bed. A sprig of mistletoe was taped to the headboard behind them while white candles circled the bed. They watched Lucy burn some incense sticks while reading out of the grimoire. But every once in a while, Jack would catch the medium look up from the book and steal glances, her eyes focusing on the bulge between his legs. Erin did the same but acting a lot more obvious than Lucy. It was this weird horny circle. Jack tried to stay unaroused, which was getting more difficult with every passing second. Erin and her lacy bra would draw him in, and his cock throbbed with every look. "Are you okay?" Jack asked. Erin grinned and said, "Yeah." Looking at her, it was clear that she was getting a buzz from the pot. It was also affecting him, that or whatever Lucy was burning. He felt warm and eager. Jack needed to move, jump off this bed and do something. He looked at Lucy; she was still reading the grimoire and glancing up at them. Was she checking Erin out? Her attention had moved away from his bulge, focusing on Erin's heaving chest and her tits. Jack closed his eyes and shook his head; all the pot and incense made him think he was in a porno. Lucy then slammed the book shut and stood in front of them. Still wearing her sequin dress, she said, "It's time." "What do you want us to do?" Erin asked. "Yeah, you're the director." Jack added, smirking. "You guys start fucking. I will chant Frigga's name while you do it." Jack turned back to Erin; her green eyes told him she was ready. He pulled her close to him and kissed her passionately. Their lips parted, and they both moaned, also gasping for air. Erin grinned back at him, making Jack chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. He placed his hand on each side of Erin's face and pressed his lips back on hers. Jack thrusted his tongue into her mouth, suppressing a groan as he felt her hand cup his bulge. There was a moan ; it may have come from Lucy as Erin freed Jack's cock. He couldn't explain it, but his cock was a stiff and hard as it ever had been. Maybe the stuff that Lucy had burned is what they make Viagra out of? Jack could feel his tip oozing copious amounts of precum and coating Erin's fingers. She broke from their kiss and looked down in amazement, drooling at the sight of his pulsating member. Erin desperately needed that cock inside her. She grabbed Jack and roughly pulled him down onto the mattress. He looked shocked at her sudden assertiveness. But before he could say a word, Erin sat between his legs and took his cock deep into her mouth. Both he and Lucy moaned their approval as Erin swirled her tongue along the underside of Jack's shaft. "Oh Frigga; Oh Frigga; Oh Frigga; oh fuck," Lucy said. She paced around the room, burning a bundle of sage while invoking a Norse goddess. She lost her focus as she saw Erin strip off her bra and bob her head on a massive cock. This was insane. Jack was stunned by Erin's drive and how badly she wanted his cock. Her naked tits bounced against his crotch, and Jack had to feel them again. Taking her perky tits in his hands, Erin moaned on his cock while Lucy had stopped speaking and just stared at them. Erin shuddered and then pulled her head from Jack's cock. She could have more fun blowing him, but right now, they needed to have sex. Erin looked up at him, replying with a big, content smile. She then stood up on the bed and wriggled out of her panties, giving Jack and Lucy a little show. She rested her left leg on the other side of his crotch and slowly sank. Erin grabbed his slick, throbbing cock and pressed against her pussy. "Jack; this is so wicked," she said with a big smile. She let out a long, deep exhale as she bent her knees and became impaled on Jack's cock. Erin's body involuntary shook as her eyes rolled back. Something was different this time, there was this raw, lewd feeling, but Erin wasn't complaining as Jack's cock pulsed against the walls of her pussy. She remained still, her eyelids down, and she breathed rapidly. Seeing Erin and Jack acting like there were in a porno, Lucy had forgotten what she was supposed to do. She stared at her friend's body or, more accurately, ogled Erin's nakedness. She looked hot. So did Jack. She didn't want to think about that now; that would be later when Lucy was alone with her vibrator. She stood in front of the silver bucket and lit a match. "Oh Frigga. Please take fortune on Erin and punish the man who wronged her," she said, looking up. Lucy flicked the match into the dirt, it burned into a bright white flame and went back to enjoy the show. Erin rested her palms on Jack's chest and slammed herself up and down on his cock. She had thrown her head back; her eyes were closed, and she hummed to herself as she forcefully rode Jack. Her tits bounced to Lucy's and Jack's delight, eager to be touched. Those herbs that Claire picked had really fucked with her head; she knew she was never this bi-like. Erin then arched her back and squeezed her tits, pulling on her erect nipples. "Oh Lord; yes!" Erin cried, nearly sending herself off to her first orgasm of the night. Seeing her moan and cry for more was an incredible sight for Jack. It was love. Seeing his girlfriend ride his cock with such passion was unbelievable. He wrapped his arms around her firm ass and raised his hips. He saw Erin appreciate the slight change, his cock thrusting deeper into her slick pussy. She was getting close; he could sense it. But then Erin slowed down, and Jack had to yawn. Turning his head, Lucy was down, sleeping on the floor. He felt weak, and his eyes were heavy. Erin collapsed on top of him ; in a deep sleep like before. Jack shook his head, thinking that it would help. He then prodded Erin and yelled her name, but nothing. He couldn't fight it anymore and slowly drifted asleep. The Attic, Again. Jack's eyes opened, and he knew something was different. This isn't Lucy's bedroom. Sitting up, he knew where he had been transported to, the attic. It wasn't was like the other week when he woke up in 1897 and watched Erin die. There was nothing in the attic this time, no lanterns, steamer trunks or the presence of anyone, just exposed brick and worn floorboards. Something had happened. Sitting up, he noticed that he had been on Lucy's bed. Looking to his side, Erin lay in a deep sleep. Weirdly enough, she was wearing the same black lace dress. To his left, he heard snoring. Turning his head, Lucy slept, also wearing the same dress she had on from earlier. Seeing her was surprising; Jack expected it would be just him and Erin transported back in time. That's what would make sense. He reached over to his right, gently rubbing Erin's arm. "Erin? Erin?" Nothing. Jack then turned to Lucy and called out her name. Again, nothing. Getting up, Jack walked around the attic. There had to be something they needed to do. Or something they did wrong. He raised his hand up; there was something different. There was a dry heat coming from somewhere in the room. Jack tried to ignore it, focusing on the door. He pushed it a couple of times, it didn't move. He slammed his shoulder against it; the door didn't budge; there's no give. "Ah; ," a female voice moaned. Jack rushed back to the bed, seeing Erin stirring. She slowly opened her eyes and said, "Jack?" Erin then sat up, turning her head, taking in the change. "No." "It's okay. It's not like it was before. Something is different," Jack said. He then pointed to Lucy, who was still asleep, "She's also here." "Lucy," Erin said, her eyes widening. She jumped to her feet and moved to the blonde medium. She shook Lucy, yelling her name. "Fuck; leave me alone. Shit." Lucy groaned, pushing away Erin. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. With one eye open, she scanned their surroundings. "Where the fuck are we?" "The attic," Jack said. "It's weird. There's a door but it's not opening. And, I don't hear anyone." "No Franklins?" Erin asked, wrapping her arms around herself. Jack extended out his hand and gently rubbed Erin's shoulder. "No. We're alone." He slipped off his blazer; it was getting too hot, and then sat back on the bed. He glanced at Lucy, waiting for her to think of something. She stood up and paced in front of the bed. "Okay. Remind me again. What happened last time? Was it the same?" Jack shook his head, "No. Not like this. I was watching the Franklins and Erin going through their day. It was like when Scrooge goes back to the past. They couldn't hear me or see me. But I could go anywhere. Not just this attic." "Same for me. I just woke up," Erin said, "And I thought everything went back to how it was. But then I saw myself; as a maid. Then Jack." "Okay, let me think." Lucy said, still pacing. Watching the blonde walk back and forth, Jack rolled his eyes and undid the top button of his shirt. He looked down at his feet, realizing he was tapping his foot. There was something about this attic; it was making him feel hot and restless. Erin joined him on the bed, and Jack quickly got distracted by her. She just looked so sexy; he was desperate to continue what they were doing back in Lucy's apartment. Looking at Erin, Jack noticed that she had the same problem. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. Her fingers drummed against the mattress and her legs jiggled. Lucy rushed back to them, her skin glossy and her face flush. "I think Frigga wanted something else. Like you have to be here for the final bit." "Yeah okay. But why did the spirits or Frigga or whatever drag you here as well?" Jack asked. Lucy shrugged, "I'm part of this." "How?" Erin said, slowly playing with her hair. "I mean you did use my body to have sex. And remember when we first summoned you? You kissed me." Jack glanced at Erin; her face was crimson. Turning back to Lucy, "Do you think the kiss had effect something." "No. I think whatever force, being, god, kept Erin in your home and then made her corporeal for real; they must think I am part of it. That's why I was taken here as well." Lucy said. Jack let out a long sigh and then said, "I'm so glad that I called you instead of that Starry guy from Dover." "His real name is Stan and he's a big piece of shit," Lucy said, rolling her eyes. She turned to Erin, asking, "I need to know more about the kiss. Why did you do it?" Erin stayed quiet. She stared at her feet but eventually looked up. "I just felt so overwhelmed when I found myself back in Jack's room." "Overwhelmed?" Lucy repeated. "Yes. Becoming a body again, there were so many emotions. Confusion, love, jealousy, lust." "But you kissed me, right?" Lucy asked, arching an eyebrow. "Nothing forced you to?" Erin buried her head in the hand, going red again. She took a deep breath and said, "No. It was me. I don't know why. I was angry at you but also, I was thankful. Possessing you ; twice! A feeling lingered." She paused and then added, "I felt you liked it." Hearing this, Jack covered his mouth, muffling a moan. "Hell yeah, I did," Lucy said, "It was like you're reading my mind ; you probably did. Haven't been kissed like that in ages. No offence Jack." "None taken," Jack said, just whispering. "Maybe that's why I'm here. Let me think," Lucy said again, her tone breathless and weak. She then sat back on the bed, next to Jack. They went quiet. The only sound that filled the room was the creaking of the bed as all three fidgeted. Lucy tightly gripped the sheets, forcing herself to stay still. Erin instead rested her head on Jack's shoulder, running her hand over his chest. He responded by slowly stroking her thigh. The sound of fidgeting disappeared, replaced with heavy breathing. "You should fuck already," Lucy shouted. She looked at them, her face flush and with deep desperation in her eyes. "You sure?" Jack asked. "It will please Frigga," the medium quickly said, "Like you complete the final ritual in the room where Erin died. So, you should do it now. I will just watch. And you should fuck." Jack looked back at Erin; she had this mischievous grin that told him yes. He kissed her, driving his tongue into her mouth, pulling her in. She moaned, her eyes shut, and she trembled as Jack pulled on the dress zipper. She went limped, letting him quickly undress her. Christ, she wanted him. Pulling the straps down, Jack smirked and marveled at his girlfriend's lingerie-clothed body. She wore that sexy lace bra again, and she looked amazing. Immediately, his hands were on her tits, squeezing them through the thin fabric. Erin then swatted his hands away and reached behind, unhooking her bra. He thought he heard Lucy moan, but Jack ignored it. He leaned his head down and gently kissed Erin's tits, his hands caressing her pale flesh. He ran his tongue around her sensitive nipples, teasing her with a quick flick. Erin pushed down on his head as Jack sucked on her tits, moaning and throwing her head back, waiting for more. Jack ignored her and pushed Erin back. He kissed down her body, loving how soft her skin felt on his lips. He stopped when he felt the hairs of her pussy. Pulling her panties down, Erin hadn't shaved anything yet; thin rust-colored strands surrounded her lips. He lowered his head and poked the dewy folds of her pussy with his tongue. Erin cried and covered her mouth. After that night with the s ance, Erin craved the sensation of his tongue driving her pussy wild. She then felt an arm wrapped around her from behind; Lucy. She was hugging Erin; the blonde medium's hands were dangerously closed to her tits. This felt wrong, completely against the teachings of the Church, but Erin didn't care. Over the sounds of Erin's moans, Jack moved his tongue to her clit. Just by giving the engorged bud a couple flicks, Erin cried and shuddered. He stopped and looked up, she was breathing heavily, and her lips were trembling. Also, she and Lucy were in this embrace that looked hot. Jack dropped his head back and kissed her clit as he slid two fingers deep into her wet folds. Erin's eyes bulged. She gasped for air. "More; please more;" Erin cried; she didn't want Jack's attack to stop. Lucy's eyes widened as she carefully watched every movement Jack made with his tongue. A deep heat quickly enveloped her. Her hand dropped from Erin's side and onto her own thigh. The couple was too wrapped up in themselves; they wouldn't notice her, right? Also, they were about to fuck in front of her, she would be well in her right to play with herself. But then Erin shuddered, and Lucy focused her energy on keeping the former spirit steady. "Oh Lord yes," Erin screamed. Her thighs clamped around Jack's head, and she bucked her hips. She let another intense cry and then went rigid. Erin shuddered on the bed as the coming orgasm thundered through her body. Sweet juices dripped from her pussy, and Jack hungrily ran his tongue over her folds, loving the taste. Erin soon stopped trembling and released her grip around his neck, letting Jack up. Erin wiped the drops of sweat on her forehead and then looked at Jack, "I need; you. Please." Jack smirked and slowly started to strip. She didn't want to relax, take a breath or stop sweating. As he fiddled with the buttons, he felt two hands on him. Turning to his right, Lucy stood next to him. She gave him an intense stare, and his mind flicked back to when they were on the sofa together. Erin didn't seem to notice or maybe didn't even care. She had a big smile on her face, giving Jack the thought that if he kissed Lucy, Erin wouldn't mind. Lucy nodded at him and gave him a small smile. She battered his hands away and quickly stripped Jack of his shirt. She ran her hand down his chest, accidentally or not. Jack helped her out by slipping out of his shoes while Lucy played with his buckle. She pulled his jeans down and looked at his bulge, then back up at him. Jack wondered if she was going to touch it or not. But instead, Lucy yanked down his boxer-briefs, joining Erin in moaning at the sight of his erection springing free. She mumbled something at him. Jack heard it as showtime, and Lucy pushed forward on the bed and back into Erin's arms. She pulled him down on top of her and into a long, passionate kiss, their tongues twisting together. Erin spread her legs as Jack centered the tip to her opening. Again, he felt another hand, this time around his shaft. His eyes were close and remained that way, not wanting to know if it was Erin or Lucy who was guiding his cock. It was hotter that way. They all moaned as Jack sank his cock deep into Erin's wonderful pussy. He heard his girlfriend whimper as he was entirely buried in her cunt. She then shocked Jack by raising her hips and wrapping her legs around his waist, constricting him. Something felt different. As Erin's pussy caressed and massaged his shaft, she felt tighter, wetter and a lot hotter. Erin looked up at him, her eyes half open and her lips pursed. She felt the muscles of her pussy ripple around his shaft. Jack hadn't moved, letting his thick cock pulsate in her cunt as she whimpered. Erin needed it; there was an aura around her, desperate and very energetic. She then loosened her grip around his waist and nodded her head, trembling at the first slow thrusts. "yes, yes, yes," she moaned. While they fucked, Lucy laid next to them. She needed to be naked. Pulling on the thin straps of her dress, Lucy stripped down to her underwear. She saw both Jack and Erin turn to her as she exposed her large tits. She gave them a wink and slid a hand underneath her panties, feeling her slick pussy. Having two attractive people fucking right in front of her was making her wet with lust. "Yeah;" Lucy said, rubbing her pussy lips with the palm of her hand. Jack held on to Erin, pinning her arms back and thrust his cock harder. He grunted while she whimpered at every stroke. Erin then threw herself at him, slamming her crotch on his piston-like cock. He then released her hands and went for Erin's shaking perky tits. With his fingers wrapped around her nipples, Jack stabbed his cock in long, sharp thrusts as he pinched "Yes! Yes! Oh Lord; Jesus Christ!" Erin cried. She could feel herself getting stiff and very hot. Her moans were overlapped by Lucy's. She turned her head and saw her friend staring at her, biting her lip and trying not to come. Her panties were gone, and she had two fingers stuck deep in her pussy while also playing with her clit. They were at the same stage. Their eyes stayed glued to one another's as Erin started to shudder. Jack held onto her waist, frantically driving his cock deep into her dripping pussy. Erin alternated from either gasping for air or groaning. Lucy was the same. Her eyes lowered to the blonde's lips, and Erin's mind threw back to when the s ance and how she needed to kiss her. Trembling, Erin pressed her lips against Lucy's full pink lips. The blonde medium moaned and immediately opened her mouth, slipping her tongue past Erin's parted lips. She and Lucy had their eyes closed as they got more into it, and quickly, their soft moans turned to muffled cries, both cumming immediately. "Ah!" Erin and Lucy screamed at each other, the sound dampened by their glued together mouths. Erin broke away from the medium and turned back to Jack. Her pussy spasmed over his pounding cock, while bucking her hips as she thrashed, prolonging her climax. Watching her, Lucy cupped her own tits, tugging her nipples with her free hand while ramming her fingers hard and deep in her cunt. She shuddered then jerked forward, letting a long shriek and writhed on the bed. Coming down, they laid on the mattress, drenched in sweat and panting. Erin looked at Lucy, ignoring her boyfriend and the fact he was plowing his throbbing cock in and out of her pussy. Lucy smiled back, and they kissed again. Their tongues outstretched and twisted together. Jack couldn't hold back anymore. All lesbian action is incredibly erotic, but when it involves someone who you love, it's out of this world, and he came immediately. He tried to warn her, but just a satisfied groan left his lips. Jack then shuddered at each pulse of his cock, his cum filling his gorgeous girlfriend. She wrapped her legs back around him and worked the muscles of her pussy, wanting more cum. His cock stopped twitching, and Jack went weak, struggling to stay upright and not collapse on top of her. He crashed back on his ass and arched his back, looking to the ceiling. The pounding of his heart had gone, replaced by a gentle beat. The same restless came over him. Looking at Erin, seeing his cum leak out of her cunt, he was desperate for another round. Lucy crawled in front of him, gripped his slick cock and said, "Let me clean you up." Her tongue probed his tip, lapping up the cocktail of his cum and Erin's pussy juices. Before Jack could react, Lucy opened her mouth and swallowed his head. She bobbed her head, resurrecting his cock back to life. Making eye contact with Erin, she just smiled; it was okay. Jack looked back down, running his hand through Lucy's hair. The blonde slid her lips up and down his shaft, mouth-fucking Jack with intense, otherworldly pressure. Lucy then ran her tongue up and down his shaft, licking the entire length. Jack stared at Erin, his eyes bulging as the medium drove his cock down her throat, his tip pushing further and deeper. She hummed in delight before releasing her grip, her teeth scraping against his sensitive skin as Lucy pulled her head back. Jack then watched her and Erin exchange looks, Lucy letting her mouth drop and biting her bottom lip. Her eyes widened, and Erin just responded with a nod and a small smile. Lucy gave his cock one last kiss and then crawled up the mattress. She laid on her back, her knees bent and thighs spread open, displaying her shaved crotch and delectable pussy. "You need to fuck her," Erin said, kneeling by Lucy, her face blank. Nodding his head, Jack shuffled forward and rested his hands on Lucy's knees. His cock was painfully hard, pointing directly to the blonde's dripping pussy. With complete ease, Jack slid his cock deep into her. She felt so tight. Just like Erin, Lucy's pussy felt snugger around his cock, also blazing hot and slippery with juices. Jack moved his hips, long deep thrusts while he grunted. He grabbed her legs, holding them together as he pounded Lucy's cunt. "Fuck; Jack; you cock feels so good," Lucy sighed. She moaned again and bit her lip, then rolled her head side to side. Erin was on her knees, in a trance, while she watched them. Lucy could see her friend's pussy, wet and needed to be kissed. They had kissed before; this is just a natural progression. Lucy reached up and pulled Erin's hand away from massaging her tits. "Get on top of me," she said in a whisper. Erin trembled at her touch, and Lucy needed to repeat herself before she understood what to do. She nodded her head and swung her legs over Lucy's head. She looked to the sky, ignoring Jack and lowered her crotch down. She shook and yelped, a very high pitch cry as her pussy touched Lucy's already parted lips and her extended tongue. It wasn't that wrong to have another woman feel her. Lowering her head, Erin made eye contact with her boyfriend and said, "Jack; she's licking my pussy!" She writhed and grounded her crotch on Lucy's mouth. The blonde kissed her throbbing lips, making her twitch with delight. Erin then felt Lucy grab onto her thighs and push her powerful tongue deep inside her pussy, her juices coating the medium's face. Erin moaned again; this felt different from Jack eating her out, a lot more wicked. Her hands reached, and she lewdly pinched on her erect nipples, moaning with a jolt of pain. Jack still held onto Lucy's legs, furiously pumping his cock as he watched Erin go crazy with lust. His eyes stayed glued on Erin, watching her squirm and whimper. He imagined what Lucy was doing to his girlfriend, exploring Erin's dripping pussy with her tongue, moaning at the taste of her hot, sweet juices. It overwhelmed Jack, and he slammed fuck the medium. Erin couldn't take it anymore. As Lucy thrust her tongue deep inside Erin's pussy, she felt something brush against her sensitive clit. That was it for Erin. She arched her back and then spasmed, wailing a scream of pure ecstasy. She could hear Lucy moan, maybe begging for more. Erin grinded her cunt against Lucy's rolling tongue, riding out her climax until she finally stopped, collapsing against the headboard. With Erin off her, Lucy gasped for air. Her face was wet with slick pussy cum. She made eyes with Jack, who had let go of her legs and was just staring back at her with a piercing look. He dropped down and licked his girlfriend's juices off her. Lucy felt his hands on her large tits, kneading them as he pounded her cunt. He then planted his lips on her neck, kissing up to Lucy's ear lobe. She shuddered as she felt Jack's breath ag
Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4 Finding real love, at last. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary grunted their hellos without looking up. Ah, home. I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy. My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return. I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright. Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there. I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team. I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support. Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I waited outside with Erin. "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I have." I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close. "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you." Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply. The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day. "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her. Be reasonable!" When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came. "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer." Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did. "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think." She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was finishing up her shift at the hospital. "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?" I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction. "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her." Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I'll do it." "What do you mean? "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up some shifts here and there." It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it. "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school." "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term." "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;" "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this." I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet. I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees. I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me. "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding on to the past?" When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence. "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally competent then none of us are." "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation." "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least, and then we can see." Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove fatal. The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore. Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold. I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well. When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my chest. "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again." "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin." I felt her relax back against me. "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry." "For what?" "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold." Chapter 6. Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger after they lost the hearing. "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head." Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make matters worse, Wilma intervened. "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along, so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die? It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he could even begin. "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it up." A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and life. In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the entranceway rather than leaving. "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?" I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained. "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside. "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen. "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development. "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once she sees the big fat check from the county." Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes. Leave this one with me. "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat." I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself. "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape." I laughed at the image. "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis." "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip." I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about speaking out. "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?" "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like." "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I will ever be." "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough." By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma wouldn't hear of it. "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home." Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept. Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back tears. "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye." "Is James there with you, Mary?" "I called him. He's on his way." "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive." I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck. "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided. "We should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the drive to Wilma's. "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?" Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past. She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people that she loved. She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled into Wilma's laneway. "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you." Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand. "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too." "People show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time." By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved. "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know when it's over." She just shook her head. "Where is she?" Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands. "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the asking." "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin." She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then come back up to me." "Of course, Wilma." I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over. "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?" I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we started walking. "You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently." I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo. "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest. "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?" By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five. "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do." Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before he passed. "You will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once we're gone." James and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look. "All hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that she won't have to carry that weight alone." "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me." Wilma patted my hand. "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time." Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm. After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away. "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love." She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake. Epilogue. As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it. Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state and one of the most powerful firms in the country. It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals, museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well. After James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed on. The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made. Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres. As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter. The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate. The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula. As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward with their plans to seize the land. The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.) Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day. Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were gone. Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm. When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far enough away that we can safely ignore them. On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love. After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through endless adventures together. Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance, and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be very welcome. Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust. Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for it, but she politely declined. As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new beats. He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair. And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime. I am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my good fortune with a smile. One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers' rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms. Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in the wind off the lake. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.
Study bros, hormone hoes and biohacking bitches vs. my orgasms.“OH LOOK A NEW STUDY CAME OUT AND NOW HRT IS REALLY ACTUALLY SAFE!” “Look at my peptide stack!” “I need all these machines and tests to tell me what's happening in my own body” “I give my blood away in an ancient ritual every month to a stranger to be DNA and data-farmed and I call it empowerment!” Not even remotely interested. I f**k and heal myself instead. In this episode: Is “biohacking” just…taking drugs? Are all the “study bros” alpha males or just beta bitches? Hire a whore/commission a “study” Pledging allegiance to the gods of “science” Hey there's a new study vindicating HRT. Are you excited?!?Internal reliance vs. external outsourcingIs taking drugs for your entire life a solution or a Band-Aid? The magical f**k rules over all
"The thought of recurrence is also a psychosocial issue for our patients. They're being monitored very closely for five years, so there's always that thought in the back of their head, 'What if the cancer comes back? What are the next steps? What am I going to do next?' It's really important that we have conversations with patients and their families about where they're at, what we're looking for, and reassure them that we'll be with them during this journey and help them through whatever next steps happen," ONS member Clara Beaver, DNP, RN, AOCNS®, ACNS-BC, manager of clinical education and clinical nurse specialist at Karmanos Cancer Institute in Detroit, MI, told Jaime Weimer, MSN, RN, AGCNS-BS, AOCNS®, manager of oncology nursing practice at ONS, during a conversation about prostate cancer survivorship considerations for nurses. Music Credit: "Fireflies and Stardust" by Kevin MacLeod Licensed under Creative Commons by Attribution 3.0 Earn 0.5 contact hours of nursing continuing professional development (NCPD) by listening to the full recording and completing an evaluation at courses.ons.org by December 19, 2026. The planners and faculty for this episode have no relevant financial relationships with ineligible companies to disclose. ONS is accredited as a provider of nursing continuing professional development by the American Nurses Credentialing Center's Commission on Accreditation. Learning outcome: Learners will report an increase in knowledge related to survivorship nursing considerations for people with prostate cancer. Episode Notes Complete this evaluation for free NCPD. ONS Podcast™ episodes: Episode 390: Prostate Cancer Treatment Considerations for Nurses Episode 387: Prostate Cancer Screening, Early Detection, and Disparities Episode 201: Which Survivorship Care Model Is Right for Your Patient? Episode 194: Sex Is a Component of Patient-Centered Care ONS Voice articles: APRNs Collaborate With PCPs on Shared Survivorship Care Models Exercise Before ADT Treatment Reduces Rate of Side Effects Frank Conversations Enhance Sexual and Reproductive Health Support During Cancer Here Are the Current Nutrition and Physical Activity Recommendations for Cancer Survivors Nursing Considerations for Prostate Cancer Survivorship Care Regular Physical Activity and Healthy Diet Lower Risk of All-Cause and Cardiac Mortality in Prostate Cancer Survivors Sexual Considerations for Patients With Cancer Sleep Disturbance Is Part of a Behavioral Symptom Cluster in Prostate Cancer Survivors ONS course: Essentials in Survivorship Care for the Advanced Practice Provider Clinical Journal of Oncology Nursing articles: A Patient-Specific, Goal-Oriented Exercise Algorithm for Men Receiving Androgen Deprivation Therapy Incorporating Nurse Navigation to Improve Cancer Survivorship Care Plan Delivery Prostate Cancer: Survivorship Care Case Study, Care Plan, and Commentaries The Role of the Advanced Practice Provider in Bone Health Management for the Prostate Cancer Population Oncology Nursing Forum articles: A Qualitative Exploration of Prostate Cancer Survivors Experiencing Psychological Distress: Loss of Self, Function, Connection, and Control Identification of Symptom Profiles in Prostate Cancer Survivors Sleep Hygiene Education, ReadiWatch™ Actigraphy, and Telehealth Cognitive Behavioral Training for Insomnia for People With Prostate Cancer Understanding Men's Experiences With Prostate Cancer Stigma: A Qualitative Study Other ONS resources: Late Effects of Cancer Treatment Huddle Card Survivorship Care Plan Huddle Card Survivorship Learning Library American Cancer Society (ACS): Living as a Prostate Cancer Survivor ACS prostate cancer survivorship studies To discuss the information in this episode with other oncology nurses, visit the ONS Communities. To find resources for creating an ONS Podcast club in your chapter or nursing community, visit the ONS Podcast Library. To provide feedback or otherwise reach ONS about the podcast, email pubONSVoice@ons.org. Highlights From This Episode "Some of the most common late side effects [are] urinary, bowel, and sexual dysfunction issues. For urinary effects, it can include urgency and frequency, some incontinence, or a weak or slow urine stream that frequently bothers the patient after treatment. Bowel effects can happen such as constipation, diarrhea, or inflammation of the rectum, which can lead to bleeding or mucus discharge. And then erectile dysfunction is another side effect that patients with prostate cancer often deal with and have to work with their physicians on, depending on what they want with that function. Fatigue, lymphedema, and skin changes can also occur after treatment." TS 1:40 "If we can catch [prostate cancer] and take care of it at an early stage, overall survival is about 90%. If the disease is localized, it's 99%. If we can take out the prostate, radiate the prostate, we can do something with that—localized, 99% survival rate. If there's regional metastasis, it's about 90%. And if there's distant metastasis, it's about 30% survival." TS 3:55 "Prostate cancer recurs in about 20%–30% of patients within the first five years of initial treatment. ... There's not a lot of research out there that shows what can reduce risk, but what has been shown to be effective is regular exercise, quitting smoking, and eating a healthy diet. ... It's really important for our patients to understand the importance of having follow-up visits so that we can catch a recurrence quickly instead of waiting years down the road. Prostate cancer is usually a slow-growing disease, so if we can pick it up quickly in those revisits, we can start another treatment for the patient." TS 6:00 "Sexuality is not something many people are comfortable discussing, but we really need to talk with patients and let them know that this is normal. It is normal that you may have some sexual dysfunction. It's normal that you may not feel the way you did before. Talk to us about it, let us know where you're at, let us know what your goals are, because there are a lot of things we can do. There are medications we can use for impedance. There are devices and implants available to help the patient to support them and give them whatever their goal is for their sexuality." TS 9:41 "Providing survivorship care plans are important for these patients—something that can be sent off to everyone else that's caring for that patient. You have your primary care physician, urologist, oncologist, the oncology nurse, maybe a navigator, and [others] who are looking into this patient. So, giving that patient a survivor care plan and putting it with their files to include a summary of the treatment received, because most of the time a patient is not going to remember exactly what they received. A suggested schedule for follow-up exams—so again, if a primary care provider is not used to dealing with a patient with prostate cancer, they have something to go off of. A schedule of other tests they may need in the future including screening for other types of cancer. Are they a smoker? Do they need lung screening? Do they need any other screenings related to types of cancers? And then a list of possible late or long-term side effects." TS 15:16 "I think a lot of people know about the long-term sexual effects, but what we don't really talk about is the effect that it has on the patient's self-image. How they define themselves, how they look, their body image, their self-image. It's really important that we continue to discuss it with patients and make them comfortable when discussing their sexuality and their goals for sexuality. They may be having these self-image issues after treatment that they're just not telling us about and that can affect their quality of life." TS 18:38
In this episode, The Thoughtful Counselor welcomes Dr. Vanessa Carlisle to discuss her newest co-authored work, Awaken Your Sexuality: A Guide to Connection and Intimacy after Addiction and Trauma. Vanessa and contributing host Dr. Theo Burnes discuss the unique barriers for women and nonbinary people in recovery as they examine their sexualities. Topics addressed include tips and strategies for counselors working with people in recovery about their desires and sexual pleasure. Drs. Carlisle and Burnes also speak about the writing and publication process for authors interested in mental health topics. For more on our guests, links from the conversation, and APA citation for this episode visit https://concept.paloaltou.edu/resources/the-thoughtful-counselor-podcast The Thoughtful Counselor is created in partnership with Palo Alto University's Division of Continuing & Professional Studies. Learn more at concept.paloaltou.edu
In this episode, Ambreia, Founder of Free Black Motherhood, delves into the multifaceted experiences of Black motherhood, exploring the societal scrutiny surrounding sexual practices and their impact on perceptions of motherhood with Sexologist Dr. Candice Nicole Hargons, author of 'Good Sex'. The two discuss the challenges Black women face in embracing their identity as sexual and human beings before, during, and after motherhood. The conversation also covers how to educate children about sex in developmentally appropriate ways, while navigating the complexities of healing for sexual shame. Join us as we unpack these layers and reflect on the diverse perspectives of parenting.
Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3 How did we ever get here? Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much that he kept me on." "But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?" "One good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so they just kind of let me slip through. "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared. "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I just kept on working." After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she did. "When did your mom leave?" I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge. The reality was so much worse. "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than pray. "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was, and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was only eight at the time. "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You can still see the scar on his arm today. "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would call the police if she ever came back. "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born." I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago. "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back. "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while." "But what about you, Davis?" "I don't matter." "Well, you matter to me." While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all. Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice. I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her face. "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing." I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile. "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you." "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee." Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they started to melt. "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast." Erin gave me a bemused look. "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together." A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak. "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you." "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always be safe with me." By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me. "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all." Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off. "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but they just don't seem to care." I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma. "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at the top of his list." Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's. Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making good progress, and that was all I needed to know. As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it. When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod, Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized stethoscope. Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice. "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a grand old time." I looked at her in amusement, before replying. "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him." Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was able. Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary. "Why don't you get your present for your brother." Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper. "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me." When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of my eyes. After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their Christmas crackers. "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her." We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture window in her living room. "This is amazing, who made it?" "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly liked how this one turned out." "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you." She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until later when you're alone." Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at a very nice hotel. New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she could invite a friend to join us. "And is this friend a boy, by chance?" As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking for her. "Do we know this boy?" "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy." I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of going down swinging. To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did, or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside. "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever make that mistake again." I had to admit that James was growing on me. Chapter 5. It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him. "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do." Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he made their position crystal clear. "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it." "What's this job going to cost me?" "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job. "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team player and that they may not want to do business with you." There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal. Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response. "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on." Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient. My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when she was done with her shift. As the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and decided that I needed a pep talk. "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city." "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans." "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit." Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger. "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you." I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out of hand. "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic." Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot. "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it." I stood there in shock for a moment. "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?" "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern. "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with Erin." Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date." The day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her. To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face. "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!" I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand. "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to the hotel before dinner and the show." Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square pop. Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of Erin's housemates than in front of her. "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to swoon when she sees you." "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself. Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me. "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;" Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak. "Do I look alright, Davis?" I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice. "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now." Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin. "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie. "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?" I could see tears forming in her eyes. "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square. "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me." I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube as I looked around. "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction. "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that." "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours." Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice. "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of them trying to take my place when I get back." "Erin, I would never;" "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight." After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits. After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was happening on the stage. Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me. "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?" I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over. It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel. "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?" "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have worried. "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest. "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I can to pay the bills." "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a development on the south side of town and was wondering;" Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to the bar to get another drink. A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away. "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?" Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a third time. "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that." His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't impressed. "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and you can come and check them out." He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face. "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a drink? And then; who knows? I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for. "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire life. "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day. "I may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied for the most beautiful, anyway." The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone. "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident. "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40 and a rag." I looked him up and down once, dismissively. "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love." I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha. "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe we should be on our way." Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay. "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight." As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?" Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening until we were on our way back to the hotel. "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?" I chuckled softly before responding. "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight." It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned against me as the doors closed. "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?" My heart started racing and my hands trembled. "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;" "Are you still a virgin?" "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, but I don't want to disappoint you." Erin tried to stay calm as she replied. "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?" "No, that's not it at all, I;" "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?" "No, I don't think that either;" "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and that's all that matters." And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully. "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done." Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure. "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry, half-lidded eyes. "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my callused thumb over her nipple. "Now some women like it when you;" I kissed her before she could finish her thought. "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you." "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I am now;" She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted it away from her body. "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby." I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long smooth cunt open at my touch. "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." It was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.
A Holiday Haunting: Part 3 Jack, Erin and Lucy deal with the final complication; Based on a post by zeon 67. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. Jack visits the Franklin Home. Jack opened his eyes. He was instantly wide awake. It didn't take him long to realize that Jack was somewhere else, definitely not his bedroom. He was in his living room; yeah, it had to be. The room had the same shape, but there were no lights, electronics or anything modern. Ornate wood and gold-framed paintings filled the walls. The room felt smaller, but Jack noticed a massive fireplace that must have been removed before his parents bought the house. He had to be in 1898. It was the only thing that made sense. An older man walked into the room, but he didn't notice Jack sitting on the chair. Again, Jack was quick to understand; he was the ghost this time around. He couldn't touch anything, but could sit and stand, like Erin after the s ance. Looking down, he found himself wearing the same clothes before the ritual. The older man looked like he was in his sixties, overweight and balding salt and pepper hair. He reminded Jack of a railroad baron in old westerns. He had these large sideburns that went down to his chin. Jack couldn't help but stare at him. He guessed that the man was Jedediah Franklin. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and stood next to the fire. Jack could hear him speaking to himself but couldn't make out what he was saying. They were soon joined by another. A woman, in her sixties, walked into the room. Stone-faced and with grey eyes, she looked miserable. She was wearing this dark blue, nearly black ruffled dress that had this deep, sweeping skirt. If the man was Jedediah Franklin, she had to be Alice Franklin. She joined her husband at the fire and said, "Where is Robert?" "In the library," he answered. "And that jezebel?" "Fixing herself supper." "She cannot stay. She talks about marriage." "We cannot just force her out," Jedediah Franklin said, staring at the fire. "What? Let her marry your only son?" He turned and glared at his wife, "You think I would allow that Irish fucking whore to be part of this family? No, she must be silenced. She cannot speak to anyone about this." Alice Franklin slowly smiled and said, "Then we are at agreement. But it must be tonight." They both nodded and turned to watch the fire. Jedediah Franklin snaked an arm around his wife's waist while she rested her head on his shoulder. It would have looked like a heartwarming moment, but they were planning a murder, and it just pissed off Jack even more. The way they talked about death, so casual and just to avoid a minor scandal, disgusted Jack. Needed to get away, Jack caught Erin walking past in the hallway. He ran after her, following her into the kitchen. "Erin? Erin?" He said, standing in front of her. She didn't respond. It wasn't the Erin he knew. She had her hair tied in a bun, her face disinterested and a little tired. She slowly washed the dishes, staring dead-eyed at the water. Jack then followed her as she went about with her chores. He had called out for Erin, his Erin, but only got silence. Going back to the alive-Erin, Jack got it. He needed to see her die, to understand what happened to her. It made sense to him. A younger man, looking like a mix of Jedediah Franklin and weirdly enough for Jack, himself. Robert. Dressed in a black three-piece suit, he didn't have his father's impressive muttonchops but a simple beard. Jack watched him stare at Erin, taking in her every movement as she did her chores. Erin was putting away a jar, leaning up to place it in a cabinet when Robert approached her. He quickly trapped her in the corner of the room. He smiled and said, "Erin." She jolted, nearly dropping the jar. Erin then turned and clutched her chest. "Oh Robert, you frightened me." "I have to see you tonight." Robert stroked her cheek and grinned. "In the attic?" "Your mother and father?" "Please," he replied. Erin nodded. Lucy's Post Coital. Lucy shook awake. She was on Jack's bed, naked and warm. Her hand slithered down her nude body, liking how it felt, stopping at her crotch. A big dirty smile appeared on her face as Lucy slid her hand between her legs. Jack's cum dripped out, coating her fingers and her thighs. The guy knew how to fuck; she'd give him that. It was a hot show. But Lucy turned her head and realized that she was alone. No Jack. No Erin. She jumped off the bed and yelled their names. It was getting close to two in the morning. Lucy ran to Jack's bathroom and cleaned herself up, she usually would take her time with post-sex cleanup, but she rushed through it. Lucy then emptied out her overnight bag and quickly got dressed. Opening the grimoire, she tried to find clues on what had happened. Sex magic and resurrecting the dead don't make people disappear. Frantically flipping through the pages, this was not supposed to happen. Lucy could feel her heart thumping, and her hands were trembling, where did she send Erin and Jack. She then heard a thud from downstairs, and Lucy stopped. This was getting weird. Jack's parents, she realized. Fuck, if they were awake, she will be in a lot of trouble. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Lucy yelled to herself and ran out of the room. An Attic Nightmere. Jack had followed Robert upstairs to the attic. He struggled to see how the space would be turned into his bedroom. A massive trunk, a decrepit dollhouse and an ancient full-length mirror covered in rust were the only things that filled the space. It looked more like a scene from a clich d horror movie. While Robert waited on Erin, Jack circled around him. He had this vibe that Jack really hated. Like he was some entitled frat boy. Jack had read about him, failed business ventures, multiple marriages, some for money. Robert finally lost it all in 1929 and disappeared from public record. They both turned, hearing someone coming up. Erin was carrying a lantern as she walked to Robert, a big smile on her face. This wasn't going to be pretty, Jack said to himself. "Robert," she said, resting the lantern on the trunk. Erin then gave him a long hug, wrapping her arms around him. Robert just kept his arms by his sides and looked away. Jack sighed, knowing that there was no point in getting angry. She then kissed him and said, "I'm so sorry. I was a fool and the drink got on me." "It is fine, my darling." Robert then rested his hand on her stomach. "Are you?" "No. I am not with child." Erin glanced at this hand and then back up, hopeful. "I want to be; with you." "I wish that as well. But soon. I; we have dealings that need to be cleared. But I wish it too. And when these deals;" Jack couldn't watch Robert struggle to pacify Erin with vague words anymore. He saw something move behind Erin. There was someone else. The figure then struck Erin in the back of the head. It took a step closer, Jedediah Franklin with a fireplace poker in his hands. Erin was on the floor, bleeding but still alive. Her eyes focused on Robert, and she called out his name. The elder Franklin aimed the poker and swung for the final blow. He had to look away. Jack couldn't watch her die; it was too much. But there Erin stood, alongside Jack; her hair undone and flowing and looking at him. Her apron was gone, and she had undone the first two buttons of her shirt like before. Her face dropping and she raised a hand, blocking her view of her own dead body. "I always hated this moment. Watching my body handled like meat," Erin said. Her tone was more of annoyance and disgust than sadness. "I'm so sorry." Erin took his hand and held it close to her. "There's nothing you could've done. This is where I was, whenever I wasn't with you. Seeing my death over and over." "Was that why you didn't want to believe in the ritual?" "Somewhat. While I couldn't touch anything, and possibly be treated as some curiosity. I would have taken being a specter than watch this again." Alice Franklin had joined them in the attic. She held on to the lantern as Jedediah and Robert lifted Erin's dead body, directing them down the stairs. Jack visibly winced as he heard the Franklins mock Erin and ask if someone should have done the last rites. "There is something that I must tell you," Erin said, taking a step closer. Their faces inches apart. "When Patrick died, he lost all our money in a card game. I was told that I've become too old to marry and I should just work. The Franklins gave me a job and I felt that was it. Then I met Robert. I felt my life had begun again." Erin gave a faint smile and carried on, "We courted for a few months, until he took me while his mother and father were in New York. Weeks passed and I thought that I was with child. I told him and he choked me." "I knew that I picked the wrong man. But still believed that I could be something more than a maid through him. That he could take me away from a bucket. Now I have you. You make me hopeful. What I want to say is that I love you. I know I am this spirit and; Jack interrupted her and said, "I love you too." He grinned. They kissed again. Erin wrapped her arm around his neck, pushing herself against his chest. She parted her lips and moaned, welcoming Jack's invading tongue. He had his hand resting on the small of her back, not letting her go, and their tongues twirled. Erin then broke their embrace. Her lips turned into a smirk; she had a dirty idea. "Let's leave. I hated this room. Well, until it was changed." She then took him downstairs. Both were soon running and laughing. Erin pulled him into the master bedroom and pushed him onto the bed. This room would later belong to Jack's parents. Thankfully for him and his erection, the room was completely different in 1898. A lot of heavy furniture, with drapes everywhere and a parquet floor. He was lying on the bed, a four-poster bed that was made out of solid wood, while the mattress was very soft and lumpy. Erin crawled and laid next to him. She quickly got on top of him and stared into his eyes, a small smile forming on her face. She pressed her lips to his, swiftly parting them and sliding her tongue out. The tips of their tongues met again, snaking over each other as their bodies grinded. They tore through their clothing, ignoring any damage as they got nude, Erin especially not caring at the state of her ripped uniform. She wished to never see it again. Jack kissed down her neck and reached her milky, perky tits. He instantly attacked them with his mouth, giving both nipples considerable attention. Erin's breathing was becoming more rapid; a deep, warm glow rippled from her crotch. She pulled Jack up, her eyes drifted down, focusing on his powerful erection. It was making her mouth water. She wanted another taste. Her delicate, soft fingers wrapped around his heavy shaft, and she looked back at Jack. Smirking at him. Just like minutes, hours or maybe days before, Erin kneeled in front of Jack's cock. She had no explanation for why he was here, in purgatory with her, but if this was to be the end, she really wanted one more taste of his cock. She made him groan as she brushed her lips against his swollen head. Erin parted her lips, ready to suck on his tip, but stopped. She looked up at Jack; he had this kind look, his eyes dilated, and he just smiled back at her. Erin could feel herself glow, and she went back to his cock, carefully guiding the head to her waiting mouth. She was scared for a moment, missing Lucy's guiding voice. But soon, Erin's cravings took over and she slurped on his tip, swirling her tongue around it. Erin then wrapped her fingers around the shaft, looked Jack in the eye, slowly bobbing her head up and down. It was easier this time. Erin felt more confident in swallowing his cock. She scooted forward, her perky tits pressing on his balls as she took in another inch of his cock. "Oh, god. Erin," Jack said, stunned. He couldn't believe the change in Erin. She was swallowing more and more of his cock with complete ease. But they both stopped and looked up; they had a visitor. Alice Franklin walked around the bed, going to the dresser, totally ignoring them as she searched the drawers. Jack pulled his focus away from her to Erin; she looked as confused as he was. She released his cock from her lips but slowly stroked it as she stared at Mrs. Franklin. Seconds passed, but there was no reaction from the older woman. Jack waved at her and even Erin called her name, addressing her formally as she used to do. But Mrs. Franklin didn't respond. She didn't just ignore them; to them, it felt like couldn't see them at all. Jack stroked Erin's chin and pointed to his cock. Erin grinned and lowered her mouth down, sensually kissing the tip. She then ran her tongue up and down the underside of his shaft before swallowing the head. Jack moaned again. Erin firmly sucked on the head, slurping on it as her hand worked the shaft. She had her eyes on him, watching Jack's contorted face. He loved it. Erin now hunched over Jack's cock, ready to take more of it. She took him deeper and deeper, his head grazing the back of her throat. She remembered Lucy's advice, taking it slow and breathe. Erin didn't gag, her throat stretched out and eagerly taking his full length. "Erin! Fuck. That feels so good." Erin was ecstatic hearing those words and moaned on his cock. She had her lips pressed against his crotch, completely buried and held him there till her eyes started to water. Slowly, Erin pulled back and wrapped her hand around his wet, drool-covered shaft, pumping her fist as she sucked on Jack's throbbing tip. With her eyes locked on his, Erin bobbed her head on his cock. She pulled her hand back and forced the rigid pole into her throat again. Jack grunted in appreciation, shuddering as he felt her tongue. He reached out, brushing strands of her auburn hair away from her face. He couldn't believe it, a teenage crush that he was now in love with, enthusiastically sucking on his cock. With his other hand, Jack grasped her perky tits, squeezing the flesh to her delight. Alice Franklin returned to the room, joined by Jedediah. But both Jack and Erin didn't care. She stayed focus on his cock, moaning on his shaft as she felt Jack pinch and pull her nipples. She actually wished the Franklins could see her, sucking a penis in their bed. "Oh god, Erin. I'm going to cum soon if you keep that up." Erin as tasted his precum, she remembered Lucy showing her videos of women swallowing men's semen. Seeing those women and recalling when she caught Lucy and Jack together, she was intrigued. She pondered the taste and how it would feel. She pulled his cock out of her mouth, beads of spit dripping down the corner of her lips. Erin narrowed her eyes and said, "I want to taste your cum, Jack." Erin then stuffed his cock back in her mouth. She frantically bobbed her head while pumping her fist along his veiny shaft. She would stop for a moment, swirling her tongue over the sore head, then going back to thrusting her mouth up and down. Erin knew that Jack was close; he was grunting and shaking, his cock wildly twitching in her mouth. "Oh, Erin. Fuck;" Jack clenched his fists, wanting to grab something as he released a torrid of cum in Erin's open mouth. Her eyes widened, but she kept on stroking his cock, filling the back of her throat with more jizz. They both groaned as more spurts erupted, hitting Erin in the lips and chin. Whatever magic that brought him here had an effect on his penis; he'd never cum that much. One more release, and Jack was done, collapsing on the bed. Erin raised her head, looking at him and swallowed his load. It tasted salty and unusual, but still, she craved more. Erin ran her fingers over her chin and lips, scooping up blobs of his jizz before sticking her finger in her mouth. She wanted to try that again. Jack pulled her up and gently kissed her on the lips. As Erin parted her lips and allowed his tongue to invade her mouth, Jack wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. She pressed her tits against his chest as their tongues dueled. Jack slid his hand down, feeling up Erin's toned ass. "That was perfect," Jack said, now kissing down her neck. "Thank; Oh," Erin replied, Jack's already erect cock. "You feel passionate," she said, stroking his cock, "We should try again? Dog-style?" Jack grinned and said, "You mean doggy-style?" "Okay," Erin laughed. Jack smirked back at her, she's so cute. He then slowly pushed Erin down, getting on top of her. His cock was already incredibly hard, painfully hard, rubbing against her thigh. He had never recovered this quickly after cumming. Jack just chalked it up to the sex magic. He broke their kiss and sat up. Reaching behind him, Jack grabbed a couple of pillows; both were very soft and lumpy. How did people in the nineteenth century sleep? Erin then gave him instant command of her body and Jack shifted her, so she was on her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder and smirked back at him. He leaned over, quickly kissed her and said, "This is doggy-style." Jack then wedged the pillows under her stomach. Now staring at her tight, pert ass, Jack could swear that his cock grew another inch. He slipped his fingers between Erin's thighs, amazed at how wet she felt. Erin moaned as Jack teased her, slipping a finger deep past her lips. He added another one, sliding them further pass her moist folds. Over the sounds of her whimpers, Jack slowly thrust his fingers. He then grabbed hold of his cock and positioned his tip at the entrance of her pussy. Erin groaned as she felt the bulb of his cock rub up against her swollen pussy lips. Inhaling, Jack slid his cock into her cunt in one long, slow push. Erin grunted and moaned as she felt Jack's hard cock invade her pussy again. "Oh, yes; Jack!" Erin threw her head back and moaned in appreciation. Remembering how tight she felt around his cock, Jack left his cock deep inside her for a while. The tightening of her cunt caressed his cock, making him shake with delight. There was a mirror in front of them; there were several around them, and Erin nodded her head. She wanted more. Jack pulled his cock out till just his pulsating head was being clutched by her pussy. He then gently thrust it back in, getting another moan from Erin. "More," Erin yelled. Nodding his head, Jack grabbed her soft tits. He tugged on her nipples, while picking up the pace of his strokes. Erin let out another cry, sounding like she wanted it faster. It didn't take her long to push her ass back, meeting every one of Jack's powerful thrusts. Her pussy tightened around his shaft, giving him an indescribable feeling as he fucked harder and faster. Erin was now trembling and shaking. She would let out a short yelp after each hard thrust. Then someone else entered the room, Robert. He must have been back after staging her accident. The hatred she had for him, her love for Jack, and the lush sensation of his cock, fueled another orgasm for the night. "Oh yes; Oh yes; Oh Lord yes!" Erin cried out in a high-pitch tone. Jack drove his rampant cock all the way into her, over and over again, just as fast as she wanted. She was breathless and quivering; her body was on fire, never been filled like this before. Jack held her tightly, ignoring her cries, and rammed his raging cock. She was getting close. Robert was now standing in front of them, facing Jack. He wished that piece of shit could see them. Erin moaned again, tightly gripping Mrs. Franklin's sheets, panting. She arched her back and gritted her teeth. Her eyes rolled back, slamming her hips backwards, the walls of her pussy clamping down on Jack's mauling cock. Erin howled in delight, her fingers ripping the bedsheet, much to her delight, as she spasmed in an orgasmic frenzy. She crashed forward, whimpering as she trembled in post-climax high. Jack held on her ass tightly, still plunging his cock in and out of her soaked, velvet pussy. His heart was thumping, struggling to hold off his own orgasm. Jack could feel the pressure building in his balls. Erin slowly woke up and shook her ass, her pussy clamped around his charging cock again, making him cum. Jack grunted and roared as he erupted. Erin sighed and moaned, feeling Jack's cock explode deep inside her, making her tremble in ecstasy. Another rope of his jizz filled her womb, followed by another. Once finished, Jack collapsed next to her, his brain mushed in a post cum daze. She had a broad grin, smugly satisfied that her pussy was filled by her lover's cum, while the people she hated the most watched them. Quietly moaning, feeling the hot cum seep down her thighs, Erin leaned forward. Her tits pressed against Jack's chest as she kissed him. Recovering from the intensity of their orgasm, they passionately kissed before breaking, pressing their foreheads together. "I love you," they said in unison and kissed again. Erin quickly fell asleep. Jack remembered this was just like last time. He jumped up on the bed, his bed. They had returned back to his room. He checked the alarm clock; it was half-three in the morning. No Lucy. Jack stroked Erin's chin; he could still touch her, he guessed that was positive. "Erin; Erin; Erin," Jack said, trying to wake her. No response. She was trapped in a deep sleep. "Fuck!" Lucy yelled, standing by the door. She rushed to the bed. "You're back?" "Yeah?" Jack replied, looking back at Erin. "Is she asleep?" "I think." "Okay," Lucy nodded her head, "Your parents are still downstairs and they're acting fucking weird." The final complication. Jack rushed back downstairs, with Lucy following. Their footsteps thundered against the wooden steps, but it didn't wake Jack's still slumbering parents in the living room. They were fine; the concoction that Lucy had given them was making them roll around in their sleep. Not too serious. Slamming the door open, Jack found Erin still unconscious. He yelled her name and gently, then roughly shook her. Still nothing. He tilted her head back, opening her mouth; Jack then leaned in and felt her breath. Relieved, he sighed but still had no idea what to do next. "Still down?" Lucy asked, crouching down next to him. "Yeah. It's like she's in this deep sleep." Jack shook Erin again for Lucy's benefit. Still nothing. Lucy said, "Shit," annoyed. She lifted Erin's arm and let it go. "Wow." "What do we do? Call an ambulance?" "What are you going to tell the paramedic? My formerly-ghost girlfriend from 1890s is now in coma?" "You got any ideas?" Lucy prodded Erin in the arm and just said, "Fuck." "Where's the grimoire?" Jack asked. She scurried to the other side of the room and quickly returned. Jack watched her flip through the pages, her unblinking gaze not giving him much hope. It was going to be morning soon, and here he was with a sleeping naked woman and a medium. What would he say to his parents when they wake up? Lucy slammed the book and shook her head. "Fuck!" Jack yelled; it was starting to get exhausting. "Of course, it doesn't say anything." "Dude, this was written by a guy who works at Outback Steakhouse and is a BTS fan." "I'm sorry," Jack said, turning back to Erin, "What do we do with her?" "We should move her." Jack nodded his head. "Where?" "My apartment is like twenty minutes away. She can crash there until she wakes." "Fuck it." Jack said, shrugging. Jack looked around for her clothes, and found that her uniform had gone missing. They quickly dressed her in Jack's old sweats, then carried her downstairs. His parents were still sleeping, something else Jack would have to deal with, but later. They sat Erin down in the back with Jack by her side. Fifteen minutes later, they were at Lucy's apartment. At 3:30 am, there was no traffic to slow them down. Jack scooped Erin up in his arms, her petite frame weighing nothing. There was no one on the streets, no one that could catch a guy and a girl carrying an unconscious woman into the building. God, if he got arrested now. Lucy's apartment was small, a one-bedroom, and messy. Clothes everywhere, Wiccan d cor and a toy cauldron on the coffee table. They put Erin on the couch; a soft moan escaped her lips as she bounced against the cushion. He watched her lips curl into a smile; if she was dreaming, she was enjoying the dream. There was nothing else for him to do. Jack just had to pray that Erin would wake up soon. He still hadn't asked himself if she was actually human and if their sex magic worked. She could disappear again. He had to stay positive. Jack turned back to Lucy and asked, "Can you keep an eye on her?" "Yeah," she said, covering Erin with a blanket. "I'll let you know if anything happens." He thanked Lucy and left. Tired but still having to deal with his parents, Jack walked home. He took a couple of steps but then stopped. Squinting his eyes, Jack bobbed his head like he was trying to work something out. "Did I fucking time-travel?" Christmas In the Old Mansion. Jack thought about ignoring his sister and staying in bed. But it was pointless. He knew that his mom would be ringing him sooner or later, demanding that he come down. Reaching for his phone, it was 10:15 am on December 25th, Christmas morning. Still no messages from Lucy. Yesterday, she told him that Erin had awoken for a moment and moved her head, and then fell back asleep. Erin didn't say a word or ask where she was. The way Lucy explained it, Erin was just slowly recovering her energy since becoming possibly human. Jack still didn't know if the ritual had worked or not. It had been like this for the last couple of days. Looking at his past messages, a lot of them were about asking Lucy if she could still touch Erin. That could look weird. She could, which Jack took as a positive. It was the only thing that he had. He knew he had to be patient; maybe something would happen, or not happen. Jack was just sick of not knowing. He heard his sister yell his name again. Walking downstairs, his parents were on the couch, holding coffee mugs, while his sisters were sitting by the tree. It was like they were kids again, tearing through the wrapping paper. He didn't really care what he got, with Erin taking over his mind, but did his best to look enthusiastic when opening his presents. Lucy finally texted Jack hours later. But he was in the kitchen, with his sisters, and away from his phone. Beth saw that he got a message from Lucy, her face lighting up as she turned to Jack. He had a good relationship with both his sisters, loved them both, but they could annoy the shit out of him. Especially when they had something over him. Like that time when Beth found out he got caught with a joint by a cop. A month of being her chauffeur drove him mad. "So, who's Lucy?" She asked, barely hiding her grin. Beth moved away from the stove and stood by her sister, checking out the message. "Mom said that you met some girl called Erin?" "Yeah." Jack nodded, effortlessly taking his phone off them. He checked the text; Erin had been away for a while and drank something. "Lucy's Erin's roommate," he said, "Erin lost her phone and she's sick right now. I was just asking how she is." Beth went aww, while Katie stayed silent. Jack knew he was lucky that it was Christmas and there was stuff to do. The onslaught would have to wait for now. When they first met Laura, Beth wanted to know everything about her, the films she liked, what music she was into and how serious it was. Katie was different, less manic, just asking if he felt that Laura was cool. If everything had worked and Erin could actually meet people, Jack knew he needed to prep her before meeting his family. It would have to be soon. Knowing his sisters, Beth and Katie would demand it the next couple of days. It would need to be somewhere where they served a lot of alcohol. "Is she really an actress?" Katie asked, now waving a knife. Rolling his eyes, he wished she was more focused on dicing onions than on him. Opening another beer, he said, "Yeah. But it's an amateur thing and that she is covering for someone and that she will probably won't do it again." Both sisters then looked at each other. Something was up; Jack could see it. Was something he said, was that it, it had to be. Beth then turned back to him and asked, "What does she do?" Without thinking, Jack said, "House-sitter," and finished his beer. He was blessed that his father yelled his name, asking for help. After fixing the router, they sat down for dinner. They talked about the usual stuff during the meal; thankfully, no one mentioned Erin. Jack felt calm, probably because he was focusing on something other than his ghost girlfriend. The Sick and the tired. Jack now walked a couple of steps behind his parents. His sisters flanked him as they walked down the empty streets to the movie theater. He had no idea what everyone else wanted to watch; he prayed that it was something easy, he didn't want to pay attention. He was barely listening to his sister as they walked. They talked about the not-so-secret Taylor Swift Christmas concert. He just said uh-huh at the right moments, walking along, with a hand wrapped around his phone in case it buzzed. It finally vibrated minutes later. Lucy had messaged him. Erin was awake and had been for a while. She even sent him a photo, Erin still wearing his clothes, lying on the couch, her eyelids barely open. Lucy said that he should come now if he wanted to see her. "Hey Mom, Dad, I'm not feeling great right now," Jack said, clutching his stomach. It was the first thing that he could think of. He hoped that he could remember his acting techniques when he used to play sick during junior high. His mom turned around and asked, "What's wrong?" "I feel like; nauseous and everything really aches." Jack told his parents that he should probably skip the movie and rest back home. His mom threw a couple of questions at him, asking what was wrong, how it happened and if he needed anything. He mentioned Erin's name, saying that she was also sick. Katie perked up in the corner of his eye when he mentioned Erin. This was all he needed, a sister playing detective. He convinced them to still see the movie, saying that he would go straight to bed. That there was no point in them breaking from tradition. Jack walked away from them slowly. After a couple of blocks, he rushed back to the house and jumped in his car. Annoyingly, he would have to drive past the movie theater to get to Lucy's apartment. "Hey," Lucy said, opening the door, "You're fast." "Yeah." Jack nodded. He was pretty sure that he ran a couple of red lights getting here. He just needed to see her quickly, see if she was okay and then leave. "How is she?" "Okay. It's like she got the flu or something. I've been giving her some fluids and Tylenol." "Has she eaten anything?" "Vegetable soup," Lucy said, shrugging her shoulders, "I have no idea what she can eat. You know when you go abroad and you can't drink the water because of local bacteria or shit? I don't know if she can handle meat or dairy." Jack opened the door to the living room but turned to Lucy, "Thank you for everything. Sorry that you had to spend your whole day looking after her." "It's nothing. I want to help," Lucy replied, "Now get in there." Walking into the room, Jack found Erin still on the sofa. A couple of blankets covered every inch of her body apart from her head. There was no color on her face, reminding Jack how she used to look like. Bags under her eyes and her hair was a mess. She clasped a mug of something, inhaling the aroma. Erin then looked up and smiled, "Jack." She was weary, and her voice creaked. She tried to raise her arms, possibly hug him but gave up. He rushed to her side and asked, "How are you?" "I'm okay." Jack said, "You sure?" With a quiet tone, letting know her it was okay if she wasn't. Erin paused, then shrugged her shoulders. "No. I feel so tired and sick. And I hate everything." "Wow. Welcome to being an adult in the 21st century. We all feel like that." "Great." Erin threw her head back, then said, "So this is what being human feels like after so many years? It's painful. There is something else. I been having these dreams. That I am still with the Franklins. They follow me through your house. But your house how it looks now." "Oh. I'm sorry." Erin shook her head and said, "Please don't. It's not your fault. I think of them and I feel myself passing through the couch and then I remember I am here." Their hands touched, and Erin quickly began to smile. She then asked, "So, tell me about your Christmas. What presents did you get?" "Oh. My parents got me a new laptop bag and a cold brew bottle. My sisters went fifty-fifty and got me a pair of Jordans." Erin blinked and said, "I don't know what that means." She then yawned, and her eyes slowly shut. "Just tell me more about how your Christmas went." Jack gave her a brief breakdown on his Christmas, trying not to bore her. But there was really little to say; he had sleepwalked through the day. Jack saw a quick smile on her face when he told her that his sisters were pestering him for details about her. But slowly, she drifted off and was back asleep. "Hey Jack," Lucy said, calling him into the kitchen. "So, I'm thinking that Erin should see someone. Like a therapist?" For a second, Jack was surprised. "Really?" "She's been stuck in the same house for a hundred years, watching herself get killed over and over. That's got to fuck you up." "No. I know that's completely true and she should have someone to talk to. Just, didn't think that mediums were pro-therapy." "If you speak to ghosts, you would be pro-therapy as well. They are always fucked up. Most need Valium." Jack smiled. He looked back at Erin and said, "Suggest it to her. It'll probably be best coming from you. The problem is who can see her? Like she needs health insurance." "I'm been thinking about that. No way Erin can function in the real world. She hasn't got a social, birth certificate or a passport. She can't just depend on you for money." "I know." "And?" "I'm working on it." Jack had an idea or half one; he still needed to ask around. "You better work on it quicker. Erin's getting antsy. She wants to explore the world, go on a plane, see Paris." Jack nodded and looked back at Erin. "Keep her calm. She still needs to walk after she can run, or the other way round." "Sure." "I gotta go." Jack said. He left the kitchen and checked on Erin again; she was soundly sleeping. "I'll be here in the morning. Now excuse me, I have to pretend to be sick." "Hey, I have something that can help. It's like diluted ayahuasca." Jack stopped and turned around. He stared back at Lucy's grinning face just before gently closing the front door. Still, he had no idea if she was just joking. Erin Tours The Town. A couple days later, Jack was called to Lucy's place. He could hear voices behind the door and the sounds of footsteps as he waited outside Lucy's apartment. He had texted Lucy earlier; she said that Erin was more awake than before and he should come around. That was good to hear. Jack didn't like to be in constant worry. Also, it was way too early in the relationship for him to have to deal with stuff like this. He just wanted to spend time with his girlfriend and not think if she would fade away or be trapped in a house. Erin opened the door, smiling instantly at him. She looked better. Erin had discarded Jack's sweats for some yoga pants and hoodie, probably from Lucy's wardrobe. Color had returned to her face, and the bags under her eyes had disappeared. She had brushed her hair, tying it up in a loose ponytail. She had her arms around his neck, and Erin quickly pulled him down for a long kiss. She felt so good to touch. Jack didn't realize how much he missed having her in his arms. He wanted to take her somewhere private. When they stopped kissing, Erin smirked back at him, and Jack knew she had the same dirty thoughts. But then Erin yawned, and he knew that they had to take their time. "How are you?" He asked, trying not to wince. He guessed that Erin was getting sick of that question. She smiled, leading him to the sofa and sat down. Erin pulled her feet up and said, "Better. I can get up and walk and bathe. I had my first shower ; a hot shower." Erin grinned and giggled to herself. Seeing that response, Jack realized he really didn't know that much about plumbing in the 1800s. "It felt so good. I feel like I'm getting stronger and have more vigor." "I'm guessing those are Lucy's clothes?" "Yeah," Erin said, blushing, "she said that I should wear something else. Her clothing looks strange but so interesting. Just disappointing that they don't really fit." Looking at her, she is right. Jack could tell that the clothes she had on were supposed to be for Lucy's curves, not Erin's petite frame. He needed to take her shopping. "I will return your clothes after I launder them." "No, no, no. You don't have to." "I want to. It was my job. And I need to know how to use these machines." The bedroom door opened, and Lucy walked in. She was dressed similar to Erin, yoga pants and a sweatshirt. She sat on the chair and said, "Morning." Jack greeted her and then asked them what their plans were for today. "I could do a coffee run? Erin could try her first latte." Lucy said. "How about we go outside," Erin replied, "I wish to leave the apartment for a while. And I'd like to see some of the city." Jack nodded and said, "Give her a tour of Portland and then brunch?" Their first stop was at the harbor. There used to be cheap apartment buildings around the docks, but the way Erin described it, they were more like slums. Her old apartment had disappeared. Jack looked it up for her, finding out that two years after she died, there was a huge fire which gutted the entire neighborhood. "Maybe I should thank the Franklins." Erin said with a wry smile. They walked a couple of blocks up and stopped at St. Dominic's Parish. It was the church that Erin used to attend regularly. She would be there every Sunday for Mass and would stop off after her shift ended for prayer. Erin left Jack and Lucy outside, knowing that it wasn't their scene and she needed to be alone for this. The church hadn't changed much; a new coat of paint was all she could see. There were a few people seated in the pews that ignored Erin as she walked to the statue of the Virgin Mary. They didn't care that she was dressed in casual clothes. A big difference from when she was alive, a woman in pants would be refused entry, and there would be talk of excommunication. Erin lit a candle and said a prayer. It was a quick one, honoring those she had lost since being trapped in that house. She could come back on Sunday and see how Mass had changed, or she wouldn't. Erin hadn't decided yet. She found Jack and Lucy both on their phones. They stopped and looked up at her, both giving Erin concerned looks. While she appreciated the gesture, she wanted something else and asked to eat. Lucy picked a place nearby but warned Erin about her choices. She, as well as Jack, was worried about what food that Erin could eat. They both suggested eating something simple, slowly get used to pasteurized milk, additives and pesticides. All Erin could do was nod her head and not scream in frustration, blocking out all the exciting food around her. "Wave-us ranch-us?" She repeated Jack's order. Erin listened to them and ordered a bowl of oatmeal. It was what she used to eat back in 1898. "Huevos rancheros," Jack said again. "It's eggs on tortillas with beans and salsa." "That sounds so intriguing. I really want to try." "Erin," Lucy said, "Just take your time. We just don't want you to take a bite and puke everywhere because your stomach isn't used to modern bacteria or something. It's like learning to drink. You start small, wine coolers and beer and build your tolerance and soon you'll be finishing a bottle of vodka all by yourself." Jack rolled his eyes and said, "Not in that way but yeah. It's a vaccine. Take a small bite of fruit or a sip of milk and get used of it." He took a sip of coffee and then shook his head. "Shit!" Jack said, but quiet enough that no one else heard. "I still haven't sorted out getting a physical or something. I mean Erin hasn't been vaccinated." "Yeah. There was this disease that you call polio and it affected people in Boston. The stories were terrifying. I really want to be protected." "Yeah, but how?" Lucy asked. "There's a way," Jack said, "A way?" Lucy repeated. "There's this guy in my building, he buys his sneakers and mushrooms on the dark web." Jack then turned to Erin and said, "The dark web is where you can buy illegal things. He said that you can buy passports, birth certificate, and socials. You can even get a high school diploma." "Really?" Lucy leaned in, "Like any school?" "Maybe," Jack replied. "I'd like to get an education by myself," Erin said, glancing at the two of them. "I know that I will have to take the fake social and birth certificate to survive. But I want to be in charge of my own future." "That's fair." Jack nodded. The food then arrived, and Erin stared at the bowl of oatmeal. It was like the gruel she used to have while growing up in Ireland. It tasted better than the watery sludge of oat she used to survive on. But looking at Jack's plate, it was not what Erin wanted right now. "So, what next?" Jack asked, putting his wallet away. "We could see more of the city? Also, Erin needs some clothes." Lucy replied. Erin finished her coffee and stared at the cup; it wasn't enough. "I would love to," she said, "but I feel so tired." Lucy nodded and said, "I think this is the longest you've been awake for." "Rest up and we'll talk later." Jack then leaned in and kissed her goodbye. *** Erin stared out of the window, watching in amazement as the plane climbed higher and higher into the sky. She was with Lucy, driving to a store, which meant going past the airport. She had remembered reading about airships and possible flight. But that was in 1898, now they have gone to the Moon and want to travel to other planets. Looking up at the plane, she was going to be there soon. Either with Jack or by herself, but definitely soon. In the last couple of days, Erin was eating more, developing actual stamina and didn't need to take frequent naps. With the increase in energy, she craved to be out of the apartment, exploring more of the city and finding out what else had changed. She had gotten lucky as Lucy's apartment was not that far from where Erin lived, and she could see how the neighborhood transformed. Lucy parked the car in the lot, and they both got out. Erin stared at the store ; Target. Since being flesh and blood again, she had been borrowing Lucy's clothes, and she didn't like it. Erin felt terrible about being a burden on her, and Lucy's clothes didn't really fit her. "What do we need to get?" Lucy locked the car and said, "Just the basics." Erin nodded, looking away. Her eyes caught a girl, mid-twenties like her. She wore an overlong emerald sweater and boots that went past her knees. Also, sunglasses. Erin wanted to ask Lucy if this was common but was worried about sounding stupid. The nineteenth-century values of modesty and pureness, and calling chicken bosoms instead of chicken breasts, was still stuck in her. Seeing women her own age dressing so casually, showing off more flesh and wearing form-fitting clothes, Erin wanted to return to Lucy's couch. There were more changes that Erin had to get used to inside the store. She had thought of Target as a department store but larger. The sheer size of it shocked her. And that all the products, clothes, groceries and electronics were out in the open. There were no large, ornate wooden counters, wall-high glass cabinets, or mustached clerks in smocks. But there are a lot more options, and it's brighter. "You're like what? Extra small?" Lucy asked. "I guess." Erin said, taking her word for it. "What should I buy?" "I don't know, probably jeans, leggings, a couple of t-shirts and some tops. Also socks, bras and panties." Lucy paused, seeing Erin blush and try not to laugh. "Oh yeah, sneakers. How do those Nikes feel?" "Uncomfortable. I'm sorry." "No worries, I think you're size bigger." Erin nodded and asked, "How much did he give you to spend?" She was in the bathroom when Jack popped over at the apartment in the morning, overhearing them talk about shopping. Erin had to rely on Jack and also Lucy to survive, she accepted that, but it felt uncomfortable. "He gave me around two hundred." "Two-two hundred dollars?" "Yeah?" "That's impossible. That's more than what I earned in a year. He's given me too much." "Really?" Lucy pulled out her phone and searched for a dollar inflation calculator. Erin nodded. She hugged herself and looked away. Her eyes caught a sign, jeans for twenty dollars. That didn't sound right. "Oh," Lucy said, "He gave you the equivalent of six dollars and some change." "Still, that was two days of pay for me." They started shopping, and Lucy instantly took her to the underwear section. It took a while for Erin to get used to buying bras and panties. A store owner would never dream of displaying woman's bloomers. She felt herself going red, which she hated. Shaking her head, Erin took a deep inhale and asked Lucy how many bras she should get without blushing. Lucy then picked up a couple of hoodies, and Erin nodded, letting her drop them in the cart. Erin was amazed at how soft and comfortable the material felt as she ran her fingers over the fabric. Not stiff or feeling like burlap. Also, how simple it is. No corsets or bustles. No spending an hour dressing yourself or helping the lady of the house. "Is this what women wear now?" Erin asked. She noticed how everyone dressed so casual, like they were going to exercise. "It's very informal," she said, not knowing if it's a good thing or not. "That's the trend now." Lucy picked up a white t-shirt and raised it to her chest. "And you are going to see models, actresses, influencers wear t-shirts like these that cost thousand dollars." "A thousand dollars?" "Yeah," Lucy said, placing a pair of leggings in the cart, "And you're going to need more clothes later. These are cool for chilling in the apartment. But what you going to do later?" "What do you mean?" "Like your plans. You going to get a job? You said you want to go to college, what you going to major in? And are you going to stay in Portland?" Erin shook her head. She hadn't given that much thought. "Hey," Lucy said, "You can still stay with me. But I don't know what that sofa is going to do to your back. If Jack comes through with a social and ID, you can get a job." Erin nodded. But then she thought about what type of jobs could she really do. "I'm guessing you don't want to be a maid again." "I was not a maid." "No?" "No. A maid would live in the house with the family. I had my own room. I was a charwoman." Erin said. She picked up a sweater, liking the pattern and dropped it in the cart. "I cleaned houses because I had to. I'm not going to go back to that. I just need to think about what to do next. I want a real job." "I mean there is an obvious answer." "What?" "You go to college. You can major in nineteenth century U S history. It will be a breeze for you." "Wouldn't that be cheating?" "Fuck no." Lucy stopped the cart and smiled. "You went through all this trauma and now you're in a time where you can go to college and be who you want to be. Used any advantage you can." Erin nodded, and they went back to shopping. She liked the sound of going to college, something that was impossible the first time around. Studying history didn't really appeal to her, but Erin could see Lucy's point. It took them another hour to get to the checkout line. Looking at the cart, Erin hoped that they had gotten everything. Two pairs of jeans, in black & blue, leggings, four t-shirts, hoodies, sweaters, socks, a pair of white sneakers and underwear; Erin really hoped that was enough for her to live on. She caught herself staring at other women and then glancing back to the cart. Something didn't feel right. Last night, she and Jack had a long conversation over the phone. Now she could leave the apartment more often and didn't need to nap all the time; Jack said he would love to take her out. They then agreed on dinner tomorrow night. "Sorry to ask again. But you said that these clothes are okay to wear all the time? Like in the evening?" "Maybe." Lucy shrugged. Her eyes then narrowed, knowing that was something more. "Like in the evening? Like for a date?" Erin paused, remembering how the definition had changed. She nodded her head and said, "Yes." "Tonight?" Erin shook her head and replied with a small smile. Lucy looked at the pile of clothes and paused for a moment; she was working something in her head, Erin could tell. "Not for date night. Let's go to the mall." She quickly paid and grabbed Erin out of the store. They didn't drive long, maybe five minutes at most. Lucy told her about date nights and the need to dress up. It shocked her. She didn't see Lucy as a type of woman who would wear an evening gown for a dance. Erin told her what Jack had been thinking of, a simple dinner at a restaurant, maybe a quick stopover at a bar. Lucy drove to a mall, which Erin roughly knew as a building with lots of stores. It was quieter than she expected and hoped. She wanted more interaction with regular people, learning to talk to them and seeing if she could successfully fool them. Lucy dragged Erin into an H and M store and told her that it's a step above Target. Flipping through a rack, Lucy then said, "What you need is a really good dress." "Okay?" "But also, it's like 30 degrees outside. So probably something like a sweater dress." Lucy said, staring at the clothes. She pulled out a navy dress and pressed it against Erin's body. "Try this on." "I don't think this is necessary. We don't know what we are going to do." "This is your first date, like ever. Don't you want to dress hot?" Erin chuckled this time, still focused on the definition of date. She saw Lucy give her a curious look and replied, "Dating meant something different in my time. Having a date meant you would have paid a whore for the night." "Now you don't have to be a whore to dress sexy and fuck your boyfriend." Erin smirked and took the dress, slowly walking to the dressing room. Inside the stall, she quickly stripped Lucy's clothes and folded them neatly on the table. It was something that she had found herself doing a lot, muscle memory from over a hundred years ago. She slipped into the dress, remarking how comfortable the fabric felt against her skin. There were positives to the changes in fashion, she slowly understood. Erin remembered how her old clothes were stiff and heavy, realizing how much she hated wearing them. Zipping up the back, Erin then turned and faced the full-length mirror. Seeing her reflection there, she just moaned, a navy-blue dress fitted to her slender body, with long sleeves and a cowl neck. It was scandalous how the dress ended above her knees. But seeing herself, Erin praised Lucy's choice. She really looked sexy. Erin ran her hands up her sides, posing against the mirror. Something then felt off. Erin felt her heart thud in her chest. Sweat dampened her forehead. She had to get away. This was too much for her. She wanted the attic again. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the side. Instinctively, Erin raised a hand up to steady herself. But she phased through the stall, her forearm disappearing. "Oh Shit" A female voice screamed. The other stall door crashed open, and Erin could hear footsteps pounding away from her. She pulled her arm back and grabbed her chest. Breathing was hard. But Erin calmed herself down. It happened again. This was getting annoying and getting more frequent. Changing back to her regular clothes, Erin walked back to the shop floor. There was no one near her, no scared woman or guards. She found Lucy, holding a black dress. It was more revealing than the blue one she picked, but it made Erin smile. It looked cute. "You should get this also." "Yeah," Erin said. Her eyes wandered, trying to find a frightened woman. "It happened again." "Yeah. I figured. Saw some lady run out, screaming about a ghost arm." Lucy shrugged her shoulders, "I'm going to ask around. Just don't think about it." She turned her head and pointed at the intimate section. "You need to pick out some date night lingerie. Something revealing." "You are really invested." "After getting kinda fucked by Jack but hearing your voice, I'm definitely invested. It was a hot show." Lucy grinned. "Let's get you some lace bra and panties and some boots then we can go." "Do we have enough? I think we spent nearly all the money Jack gave us." Lucy paused and then said, "I still have the cash that Jack gave me. You know? From the first time. When you tried to possess me and kiss him?" A teenager walked past them and gave them a long stare. Both Erin and Lucy replied back with indifferent looks. Turning back to Lucy, Erin said, "I can't ask you spend your earnings on me. It's not;" "It doesn't matter. It's cool. I'll buy it for you. Call it a thank-you present for getting rid of that stain in the kitchen." "Thank you." Erin smiled. "I want to say that I really appreciate your support and friendship." She wrapped her arms aroun
Does the Bible actually prohibit same-sex sexual relationships? And if it does, are those prohibitions binding on us today? Ashleigh, Andy and Andrew talk through some of the arguments here, the things we can agree or empathise with in those arguments, and why ultimately we believe in the historic Christian sexual ethic.Resources mentioned and relatedDid Jesus Affirm Same-Sex Sexual Relationships?, Andrew Bunt People to be Loved: Why Homosexuality is Not Just an Issue by Preston Sprinkle Does the Bible Support Same-Sex Marriage?: 21 Conversations From a Historically Christian View by Preston Sprinkle Why Do Christians Trust the Bible?, Andrew Bunt Can Christians Trust What the Bible Says on the Topic of Sex?, Andrew Bunt Does the Bible Affirm Same-Sex Relationships?: Examining 10 Claims about Scripture and Sexuality by Rebecca McLaughlin What Does Sexuality Have to Do With the Gospel?, Ashleigh HullAnd if this series is raising more questions than it answers, ask us those questions here!
Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2 Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her day with Mary. "She is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and shame. We spent most of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some people years before they can express their emotions through art; it took her about five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint splatters afterward before they stained." "Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace anything that;" "Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her." "Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting." "Being a parent doesn't mean that you know any more than anyone else, and it certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For what it's worth, I think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that you don't have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty proud of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and sisters. They are very lucky to have you." I turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked up. I couldn't remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of me. Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen with that same look of amusement on her face. "Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help that only a big brother can provide." When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed. "It seems like he is going through puberty, which can pose; some new challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated his interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly while wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at that age, and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was mortified. I think he could use a bit of brotherly guidance and understanding." I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears. "How are you doing, Buddy?" He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed. "I am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know why it started to get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then she saw me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just go home?" "Erin is a doctor. She knows how the human body works and has seen that kind of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or embarrassed. She just feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of getting older and growing up. "Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's class when I was a freshman? Miss Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at our local high school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and even though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to be invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment. "Well, I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few teachers who looked past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I developed a little crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm, physical demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask a friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took me until my junior year to live that one down." As Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his second-hand embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side. "So, what happened?" "Miss Irons was lovely and kind like she always was, but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of lightning. Things would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to the principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all." I hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling Lane this particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel drive and keep going. "Mom was mad?" "By then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my best to keep her away from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah; she was mad." "Are you mad at me?" "No, Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your embarrassment has died down a little, I will tease you mercilessly about this because that's what brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if you fall behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at you either." Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was on the table. "Are you safe now, or do you need a few more minutes." "I'm good. Thanks, Dad." After I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down to the business of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that order. It felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like. Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and Erin led off the questions. "So, how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing Grampy's favorite sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him filling it out in quite the way that you do." I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in. "If Phillip had filled out that sweater like young Davis here, it wouldn't have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you that." "Gran!" Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding scandalized. "I didn't need that mental image. Heck, none of us needed that mental image." "Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor." We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic. "I am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her boiler and then finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came in that I needed." Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my story. "He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days." Erin looked grateful but concerned. "Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You know I can help if you need;" I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply. "No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;" "Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish, turning to Mary before she continued. "Your brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the work that he did. Not even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a very nice boy but a terrible businessman." I turned to Erin for support. "I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out." Erin looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I didn't have much experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry somehow. Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to end with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't sound angry when she spoke. "Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you." "Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish, please." "That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's favorite sweater. When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap and snuggle into that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced my first dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around the living room to Moon River." "I still have that record player here somewhere, let me go see if I can find it." Erin started to protest, but it was too late. "To finish answering your question, Erin, we were here today because your Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline, but your Gran is pretty persistent when she wants to be." "That sounds like Gran. Most of the time when she makes a suggestion, it is really a command." "While we are asking questions, how is Lane's ankle?" "It's pretty badly sprained, and he will need to use crutches to walk for the next couple of weeks. You should bring him to the hospital to get some X-rays done as well, to make sure that he doesn't have any fractures." I could feel myself deflate as she mentioned X-rays. "I'm not trying to be cheap, but are the X-rays absolutely necessary? We don't have the best insurance; we got it through the exchange. I guess it's better than nothing, but the deductible is pretty high, and my other sister, Alison, her college tuition is due soon. But if you say it's important, I will put in some extra hours to make it work." It didn't usually bother me that we were poor. Heck, most everyone we knew, except the McDougals, was poor. But it hit home when you had to tell a beautiful doctor with bright amber eyes that you couldn't afford an X-ray for your little brother unless it was urgent. "Tell you what. I will be working at the hospital in Petoskey tomorrow, so why don't you bring Lane by, and I will take care of him? I will make sure that he gets a pair of loaner crutches for as long as he needs them." "You don't need to do that for us." Erin gave me another one of her looks, this one I was more familiar with; I was pretty sure it was annoyance. "So, just to be clear, you can look after my Gran, fix her boiler for free, and bring her groceries whenever you feel like it, but I can't look after your brother and make sure that his ankle is treated properly?" "Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a bit of a jackass. I'm sorry." "Apology accepted. Come by the hospital at 11 AM tomorrow." Before we could continue, the sound of a 45 playing on an old record player filled the house. You could hear the hisses and pops before Ella Fitzgerald's voice began to sing "Dream a Little Dream of Me." Chapter 3. We got up from the table and followed the music back to the living room. I helped Lane out of his chair while he half-hobbled and half-hopped along beside me. Wilma had set her ancient record player up in the corner beside a stack of old 45s, and she had a faraway look in her eyes as she looked out the picture window toward the lake. "I think it's time for me to ask the prettiest girl in the place to dance," I said, as my eyes swept across the room. "But unfortunately, it's a three-way tie. So, will you do me the honor?" I said as I held out my hand to Wilma. "I haven't danced since Phillip passed. You know, we used to dance together every Friday night. It didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, we would always make time to dance at least one song together, even if the music was only in our heads." "I imagine I will be a pretty poor partner compared to Phillip, but I will try not to step on your toes." Wilma and I ended up dancing a slow foxtrot to "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. She smiled at me as we slowly circled the living room. "You're a very good dancer, young man." "Our mother taught me when I was very young." Before she began with the drugs and men, our mother had been a showgirl in New York and then Las Vegas. When she got pregnant with me, she moved back to Mackinaw City and started teaching ballroom dancing at a local studio. By the time I was five, I was her practice partner of choice, and she always insisted that I lead, despite being only half her size. "The man always leads, Darling, that's just the way of the world." I was hardly a man at the time, but I never disagreed with my mother when she was in a good mood, because I knew it could shift in an instant. So, I learned to dance, and I learned to lead. The memories came flooding back as I guided Wilma into a soft over-sway, and she smiled with delight. "Oh my, you do know how to dance!" I couldn't help but smile back. "I can't take all the credit. I think Phillip must have infused this sweater with his fancy footwork." As the song ended, I took a step back and did my best to give Wilma a gracious bow. "It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady." "The pleasure was all mine, good sir." I turned toward Mary and held out my hand. She hesitated before Wilma declared, "There are no wallflowers in this house." Mary slowly stood but looked anxious as I took her hand. "Davis, I don't know how to dance. Mom was; she was too far gone to teach me by the time I was old enough to learn." "That's okay," I reassured her. "If there is anything that Mom made sure of, it's that I know how to lead. Just relax, and I will guide you through it." Wilma helped Lane, who had taken over as DJ, to choose a slower song so that Mary would feel more comfortable, and I heard the opening bars of "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I started to lead Mary through a slow rumba, and she picked up the steps very quickly. She was a natural. I felt a sudden stab of regret as we moved together across the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have made time to teach you to dance. But the last few years, it has just taken everything I have to keep us;" "It's alright. You've had other things on your mind. And look; you are teaching me how to dance, now." As Mary grew more confident, I guided her through a simple underarm turn, and we ended with a dip, which made her giggle and earned a round of applause from the others. Finally, I turned to Erin, who was sitting on the couch beside Lane. I suddenly felt very shy and, for the first time that evening, she looked nervous as well. "Would you dance with me, Erin?" She didn't reply but stood and took my hand. We waited for a moment while Wilma and Lane chose a new 45 and then listened to the pop and hiss as it started to play. Soon, an alto saxophone introduced the Henri Mancini version of "Moon River," and we started a slow waltz. Although there was space between us, it was bridged by an electric charge that connected and drew us together. Even though I spent most of the dance looking over Erin's shoulder, every detail of her beauty was etched in my memory, and I felt a warm breeze pass between us, raising goosebumps on my skin. We barely noticed the pause as the song ended, and a new one began until Etta James began to sing. At last, my love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song The song was in 4/4 time, so I switched to a foxtrot and Erin followed as we glided across the smooth wood of the living room floor. I was so caught up in the moment, and in Erin, that I led her through a turn that transitioned into an over sway, before I stepped backward, allowing her to gently pivot into me. Our eyes met and I was lost in them again. Before we could break the spell, a heavy gust of wind shook the house, and the power flickered out. The room went dark, which sharpened my remaining senses. Suddenly, the warmth of Erin's breath on my neck felt like wildfire across my skin. We were motionless for a three-heartbeat eternity before the lights flickered and came back on. I let go of Erin and felt all of my longing and awkwardness rush back in. "Thank you, Erin. That was;" I couldn't finish; words didn't seem enough to express how I felt. "I should check the breakers and make sure that everything is alright, and then we should go. Why don't I wash these clothes and drop them back for you later." Wilma just smiled and shook her head. "If you like them, please keep them. Otherwise, they will just grow old and musty like me." A little while later, we said our goodbyes, but I promised to bring Lane to the hospital the next morning. Wilma told Mary that she would see her on Wednesday after school and again the next Sunday. I was expecting Mary to protest, but she just gave a meek, "Yes, Wilma." I was nervous when I took Lane to the hospital the next day. The deductible on our insurance was high enough that we paid for pretty much anything less serious than a severed limb out of pocket. Erin, however, was as good as her word. After the X-ray confirmed that there were no breaks or fractures in the bones around his ankle, she re-wrapped it and arranged for a pair of loaner crutches that he could use for as long as he needed them. Before we left, Erin asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee in the cafeteria, to which I readily agreed. I gave my phone to Lane so he could amuse himself while Erin and I talked. "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you did for Gran. I do what I can, but I spend half my time at the Children's Hospital down in Grand Rapids right now and I am often on call while I am here. I just don't have the time to give her the help that she needs." "Honestly, it's no big deal. I do a lot of work around Good Hart since the bigger plumbing companies don't like to travel that far, so I don't mind looking in on her while I am there. And she seems to have taken a real interest in Mary, so the least I can do is to bring her some groceries and help around the place a bit." Erin pursed her lips and looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. "The 'least you can do' is more than the rest of our family can be bothered to do put together, so thank you." "I meant to ask you about that. What did your Gran do to end up so isolated from the rest of your family?" "The rest of my family is; there is no nice way to put it, they're snobs. None of them have any interest in spending time 'up north' as they call it, and they can't wait for Gran to move into a retirement home and die so they can get their money and forget about this place. That's why no one comes to visit Gran anymore, even for Thanksgiving; it's part of their campaign to convince her to sell her land to the McDougals. Before you came along, I thought they were going to succeed." "Well, excuse my language, but fuck them. I don't know Wilma that well, but I will do what I can to make sure that she gets to spend her remaining days in the place that she loves." "That's easy to say, but harder to do once the McDougals and their minions start coming by your place, offering you money and making threats unless you back off." "Well, if they do, they will find out what every teacher who ever taught me learned the hard way. I am bad at taking orders and even worse at following instructions. I am not afraid of the McDougal boys." My exclamation brought a smile to Erin's pretty face. I decided that I would be willing to do quite a lot to see that smile on her face again. But there was one thing I still didn't understand. "Why aren't you on board with the rest of your family? You must be under a lot of pressure to abandon your Gran like the rest of them." "My father, Gran's youngest son, Max, died shortly after I was born, and my mother moved the family to California where she remarried into a family that had a little money but a great deal of pretension and ambition. My mother picked up that insatiable need for money and status like it was a virus. "When I was a child, my mother and stepfather spent summers and holidays traveling the world, staying in places where children weren't welcome. Although they wanted nothing to do with Gran and Grampy and their 'vermin-filled shack in the middle of nowhere', they were more than happy to leave me with them while they were away. "They would put me on a plane to Grand Rapids while they jetted off to their spas and their fine dining. Gran and Grampy were the only people who cared for me, and they became my whole world. "When I was 14, I was staying with Gran and Grampy, and I caught a fever that was so bad that I nearly died. It was a pretty grim time. My parents even thought about flying home from Monaco to be with me. They didn't, but it was the only time in my entire childhood that they considered it. But I will always remember how kind the doctors and nurses were to me when I was sick. That's why I became a pediatrician and moved home." "Isn't California home?" "Home is where the people that you love are, and so this will always be my home. Or it will be until Gran passes on, anyway." We sat in silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Before long, it was time for me to go. "This might sound crazy, but since the rest of your family aren't going to be here to celebrate Thanksgiving with your Gran, how about you and I try to give her one more Thanksgiving to remember." Erin brightened at the idea, and the smile returned to her face. "That would be amazing! Why don't I give you my number, and we can figure out how to make it happen!" Chapter 4. For the next few weeks, Mary continued to meet with Wilma on Wednesdays and Sundays. I would often take the opportunity to bring her groceries or other supplies while I dropped Mary off and, if the weather was agreeable, do some fishing. Once he could walk without crutches, Lane came along as well, in quest of another monster steelhead. Unfortunately, all he caught was some yellow perch and rock bass, but it was nice to spend the day with him down on the dock. I saw Erin a few times at Wilma's as we made plans for Thanksgiving. She seemed to particularly enjoy talking with me while I split firewood out by the shed. It was hard work, and I was often drenched with sweat by the time I was done, but she didn't seem to mind. And she worked while we talked, helping to stack the larger pieces and collecting the smaller ones for kindling. The one point of contention in our plan was how Erin would get to Wilma's on Thanksgiving Day. She was slated to work a 12-hour shift the evening before, ending at seven in the morning, and she worried that if she went home to rest, she would sleep through the entire day. Her solution was to drive out to Wilma's after her shift and catch a few hours of sleep when she got there. I thought that driving that far after working all night seemed like a terrible idea, so I offered to give her a ride instead. She did not like that one bit. "I don't want you to make an extra trip when I am perfectly capable of driving myself." It sounded like she was digging in for a fight, so I tried a different tactic to convince her. "I need to stop at the hospital anyway, to return Lane's crutches. I can kill two birds with one stone and pick you up at the same time." She didn't buy that rationale either so, reluctantly, I resorted to the truth. "I am sure you're a great driver, but if you drive yourself, I will be up that morning anyway, worrying that you are safe. I know it doesn't make sense, but I have been looking after my siblings for so long its second nature for me to worry, and I can't seem to turn it off. So please, let me pick you up. But for me, not for you. And do you know how rarely I get to be gallant these days? I will feel like your knight in shining armor." That finally got a laugh from Erin. "Alright, you win. Why don't you pick me up at 7:15 at the hospital? You can sweep me up onto your trusty steed and carry me away to Gran's house." "If by trusty steed you mean rusty old GMC truck, then it's a deal." The morning of Thanksgiving dawned chilly and gray, with a cold wind blowing in off the lake. I was up early to make sure that I made it to the hospital on time, and I was listening to the local AM country station as I drove when the DJ started his break. "A happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners. If you're on the roads today, be aware that there is a severe weather warning in effect for the area north of Cadillac and into the upper peninsula. We're expecting a combination of high winds and lake-effect snow to make driving hazardous, and you should be prepared for possible power interruptions and outages." I was relieved that Erin had agreed to let me pick her up and that I had invested in good snow tires for my pickup. The snow had already started by the time I reached the hospital, and I pulled my jacket tightly around me as I went inside. I dropped Lane's crutches with the duty nurse and waited for several minutes before Erin arrived. She looked exhausted, and the gentle smile that I loved was nowhere in evidence. "Hey, Erin. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I just had a long shift, but I am ready to head out." She came up to me and gave me a hesitant look. "Actually, I could really use a hug if that's alright." Without a word, I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried her face in my sweater. Hidden from the world by the folds of my jacket, I felt her body start to shake. The tremors lasted for a minute before they gentled and then finally stopped. I looked out the window at the falling snow to give her a moment to compose herself. "Let's head to Gran's house. This weather isn't going to get better any time soon." With that, we got in my truck and started the drive up to Good Hart. Erin sat in silence and looked out the window. "If you want to talk, I probably can't help with doctor problems; but I am a good listener." It took Erin a minute before she opened up. "Most of the time, I love being a pediatrician. Kids come to me scared and in pain, and I help them to get better. But sometimes, it's just too much. Around midnight last night, an ambulance brought in a mother and daughter. Her boyfriend had been drinking; and he got violent. The little girl tried to protect her mother and; and; "It's one thing to treat a grown woman, you know. I mean it's still pretty bad, but; that little girl. Fuck. One thing I've learned from this job is that monsters are real." I wanted to give Erin another hug, but since I was driving, I just reached over to take her hand. "I'm sorry." My words seemed so incredibly inadequate; considering what she had just dealt with; but she squeezed my hand. "Thanks for listening." We drove on in silence, and by the time we pulled into Wilma's laneway, Erin was gently snoring with her head against the window. I stopped as close as I could to the house before lifting her out of the cab. She tucked her head into my shoulder, and I carried her inside, where Wilma was already busy in the kitchen. She came out to greet us, and I spoke to her in a low voice. "Erin had a very tough night. I think some rest will do her a world of good." Wilma helped Erin out of her boots and coat and then showed us through to the guest bedroom, where I laid Erin on the bed. The room was filled with pictures of Erin from when she was younger; standing on the dock with an older but handsome man who I guessed must be Phillip, curled up in a ball on the sofa, book in hand, and smiling in her cap and gown as she graduated. In each picture, I could see hints of the beautiful woman she would become. By the time I returned with the rest of my family, the storm had begun to pick up. Snow drifts were accumulating against the house and shed, so we brought everything with us into the house that we might need for the evening. It took some convincing, but Sharon and I took over in the kitchen while Wilma, Alison, Mary, and Lane started a game of Scrabble in the living room. Once the preparations were well underway, I laid in as much wood for the fireplace as I could. With the high winds and heavy snow, I was worried that we might lose power, and I wanted to make sure that we prepared, just in case. The radiators and boiler would provide almost no heat if there was a prolonged power outage, but the fireplace had a high-efficiency insert that would keep the house warm, as long as we built up a good bed of coals. Lane insisted on helping me with the firewood, and after a half dozen trips to the woodshed and back, we both looked like live-action versions of the abominable snowman. Wilma showed some sympathy for our plight, while our sisters had a good-natured laugh at our expense. By the early afternoon, dinner was almost ready, and Wilma sent me to wake Erin. She had barely moved since I had tucked her in and seemed so peaceful in her sleep. I leaned over and spoke softly to her until she opened her eyes. After a moment of confusion, she broke into a shy smile. "I guess we made it to Gran's." "That we did, we got here close to six hours ago." Her eyes flew open, and she tried to get up until I reassured her. "We've got things under control. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Take your time; and maybe give yourself a few minutes for that pillow line on your cheek to fade." I turned to leave, so she could have some privacy, but she reached out and took my hand. "I just wanted to say thank you again for earlier. I am not used to having someone I can talk to; someone I can trust. It's only been Gran and Grampy, and me for so long, and I didn't want to burden them. But I shouldn't have dumped my troubles on you like that, we barely know each other." "I was just glad that you felt comfortable enough to share how you felt with me. Today was probably the worst day of that little girl's life. I am sure she was terrified, confused, and in a lot of pain. But what she'll remember is the angel who comforted her and treated her with kindness and love. "I need to get back to the kitchen, or I will burn something. Fair warning, this is my first time cooking a Thanksgiving turkey, so you may want to load your plate up with fixings and sides, just in case." As it turned out, the turkey wasn't perfect, but it wasn't that bad, and the gravy was tasty as heck (probably because Wilma made it.) We had mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and peas as sides, with the obligatory cranberry sauce (from a can). The conversation at dinner was a chaotic mixture of laughter, stories, and the kind of teasing that you only get when you bring five siblings together over a hearty meal. It didn't take Erin long to choose a side in the battle of the siblings, and soon, it was the four girls against Lane and me, with Wilma as our impartial referee. I don't know how Lane felt, but for me, it was worth being ganged up on just to see Erin and my sisters smiling and laughing. Although he tried to hide it, it was clear that Lane still had a bit of a crush on Erin, so I imagined that he was just fine with making her smile as well. For dessert, Erin brought pumpkin and apple pies that she had bought at the bakery in Petoskey, which we ate with some vanilla ice cream from the local creamery. I was sure there would be some dessert left over, given the amount that we all ate for dinner, but somehow, we finished it all. Everyone pitched in with the dishes and then we moved to the living room where we played cards and some more board games. As we played, Mary asked Wilma about some of her more memorable Thanksgivings, and she got a faraway smile. For the next hour, she regaled us with stories of humble times with the kids by the lake and, in later days, fancier celebrations with some of the families that Phillip befriended while they sat for portraits. As our last game of Scrabble ended, Sharon looked at Wilma with a mischievous grin. "Mary was telling me about the dance party that you had a few weeks ago here in your living room. Rumor has it that my big brother can dance! I was hoping, if you asked him nicely, that we could all see him in action." Wilma got up from her chair and started to move toward the hall closet. "Lane, come along and help, please. I am far too old to be carting around a heavy record player." Lane hopped up and went to help Wilma, while the rest of us began to move the furniture out of the way. As Lane set up, Wilma admonished the rest of us. "Remember, there is only one rule about dancing in my house: no wallflowers." With that, Lane started the first song, and I asked Wilma to dance. Alison followed suit, asking Lane to dance, and soon she was teaching him how to lead. Finally, Erin stood as well and gave a deep bow to Mary. "It would be my honor, enchanting lady, if I could have this dance." With a laugh, Mary stood, and soon we were all moving around the room, trying not to bump into each other or step on each other's toes. For the next hour, we danced, laughed, and pretty much forgot about the world outside. Lane even got up the courage to dance with Erin, although he stayed so far away from her that you would have thought she was radioactive. I took a couple of turns with Erin and was amazed at the way she melted into my arms. When we danced, there was a wave of knowing smirks from my sisters and a pleased smile from Wilma, but I didn't care. I could have danced with her all night. Unfortunately, during my third dance with Erin, the real world decided to interrupt our festivities. Erin and I had just started a turn when the power went out. I instinctively pulled Erin into my arms to protect her, and then I leaned in through the darkness and kissed her. She returned the kiss, ran her hand through my hair, and let out a small moan. "Do you think the power will come back on?" Lane's question cut through the fog of my lust and longing. "Probably not until sometime after the storm has passed. So, we should all plan on spending the night here and then figuring things out in the morning." With Wilma's agreement, we got settled in for the evening. After some protest, Wilma agreed to sleep in the guest room since it had a direct line of sight to the thermoelectric stove fan that helped circulate the heat from the fireplace. My three sisters slept in Wilma's bed, both to share body heat and because it was the larger of the two beds in the house. Lane slept on the couch, while Erin and I slept on the floor in front of the fireplace. Erin laid out an older sleeping bag, for comfort, with some bedding and blankets on top. In deference to Lane, she waited until she was under the blankets before she shimmied off her pants, while I stoked the fireplace. I made one more pass through the house, to check on Wilma and my sisters, but it seemed they had already fallen asleep. Even Lane had passed right out, despite his proximity to the pants-less Erin. I set a quiet alarm on my phone for two-hour intervals so that I could get up and add wood to the fire, ensuring that it would last all night. Looking down at the makeshift bed where Erin was watching me, I suddenly felt incredibly shy and anxious. I took my sweater and pants off as quickly as I could and set them on a chair before crawling under the blankets next to her. I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I stayed as far over to one side as I could. I had just settled in when I heard Erin's soft voice from behind me. "You can come a little closer. I won't bite, you know." My brain froze with indecision, but my heart knew the score and it started beating at a furious rate. I heard her shifting behind me, and I felt an arm wrap itself around my chest. My senses were on fire. The faint scent of lavender from her hair washed over me like a field of wildflowers. "Was everyone safe when you made your patrol?" I slowly rolled over so that my forehead was lightly touching hers, and I could see the flickering of the fire reflected in her eyes. "I know it's silly, but I can't sleep until I know that everyone I love is safe. Even when she is away at college, Alison texts me each night to let me know she is okay. I will make another round later after I stoke the fire." "It's not silly at all; I feel safe when I'm with you too. Why don't you tell me your story, Davis Crawford." She must have felt me stiffen, and she started to lightly brush her fingertips through the hair on the back of my neck. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with me yet, but I would like to hear it someday when you're ready." We sat in silence for another few minutes, while the tension slowly drained from my body. It had been over 15 years; since before the drugs and alcohol got too bad with my mother; since someone had touched me with kindness and love, and I was helpless before the gentle onslaught of Erin's fingers. Eventually, I started talking. "Things weren't always bad with Mom; I remember there being more laughter than anger when I was little. She was very beautiful, and there was a procession of men in her life, even back then, but most of them treated me well. I guess they wanted to make a good impression on her. When I was four or five, though, she took up with a man from a rougher crowd. She started in with the drinking and drugs, and they never really stopped. She got pregnant with that man, and Alison was born. From there, it was like a rock sliding down the side of a hill. It starts slowly, but soon it's rolling downhill in leaps and bounds. "After Sharon was born, fewer men came around. My mom was still beautiful, but how many guys are interested in a single mother who has three kids from three different men? I had just turned ten when she left me in charge for the weekend and flew down to Vegas with some friends from the club where she waitressed and danced. A bit more than nine months later, she had Mary. "The one thing I can say for my mom is that she mostly managed to stay clean while she was pregnant. But once Mary arrived, the hill got steeper, and the rock started plummeting downwards. As fewer men showed an interest in her, Mom had to blame someone, and we kids were handy targets. That's when the hitting started. I learned pretty quickly that she didn't much care who she hit, so I made sure that I was always close at hand, to try and spare the little ones. If she was going to throw plates at someone, I figured it had better be me. "By the time I was 12, I was the only one caring for my siblings. When Mom came home drunk or stoned after her shift at the bar, I would steal enough of her tip money to buy food for my sisters' lunches. That was the worst of it, and I didn't think that we would make it through. I am not sure we would have without our landlord, Mr. Johnson. "He lived in the apartment below us and would take us in on the weekends when my mother was out with her boyfriends, feed us dinner, and let us watch a little television. I never found out why he lived such a lonely life, but he helped me keep our family together until I was old enough to handle things myself, so I will always be grateful to him." I could see tears starting to pool in the corner of Erin's eyes. "You don't need to hear the rest of this;" Erin stopped me mid-sentence by kissing my lips. "You never got to be a kid, Davis. My whole life I felt sorry for myself because my parents didn't want or care for me, but at least I had Gran and Grampy. You had no one." Even though we were lying on an old lumpy sleeping bag on a rough hardwood floor with only a fireplace for heat, I had never felt safer in my life than I did with her right then. To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.
A Holiday Haunting: Part 2 Jack and Erin deal with new problems. Based on a post by zeon 67. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. Jack's mouth painfully stretched open. He then released a long gasp, and his eyelids pulled back; he was now forcibly awake. Turning to his side, he found himself partially alone. Lucy was still there, deep in sleep, but no Erin. He called her name, but there was nothing. Putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, Jack searched the house for her. He yelled her name and again there was no reply. It had never worked like that before, but Jack was desperate. He questioned himself, Lucy, the s ance and everything else. Worried that he had caused her banishment, Jack needed to interrogate the medium. But then the doorbell rang, and there was a knock at the door. Opening it, Jack saw a delivery man with a clipboard and a massive box. Annoyed that the new dryer he bought on Black Friday, had finally arrived a week late, he signed the paperwork but felt cold. Jack turned around but saw nothing. Terrified that he was losing it, Jack turned back to the delivery man. The delivery man wheeled the dryer in and took the clipboard off Jack, thanking him. The man then looked past Jack and said, "Morning, Miss." Behind him, Erin stood. Her mouth ajar and stood still, but wasn't her typical ghostly self. She looked like she did last night, her skin a pale pink while her hair was an auburn shade. Erin had the same clothes that Jack had seen for the previous fifteen years. But something was off. Erin had lost the white apron that covered most of the front, and the first two buttons of her collar were undone, possibly scandalous in the 19th century. "He saw me. He saw me." Erin said, walking towards the open door. She ignored Jack and edged closer to the outside, the fresh air, sounds of birds and something new to see calling her. Erin turned back to Jack and said, "Come with me." She then took one step outside and immediately disappeared. "Fuck!" Lucy screamed from upstairs. A post-S ance exam. They sat around the coffee table, all struggling to think of anything to say. Jack and Lucy had run some basic tests on Erin. She could be seen but not be touched, but cameras could capture her. She couldn't feel anything, but could sit in a chair without phasing through it. Should she take a step outside the house's confines, Erin would instantly vanish and reappear in the attic. But Erin could change her appearance, though only subtly. Like she could roll up her sleeves, undo a button or two and play around her hair. That was a relief to Erin; she had only worn hair in a bob because Mrs. Franklin demanded it. "So, what now," Jack said, taking a sip of coffee. "I; I don't know," Lucy shook her head, "This is way out of my area of expertise. Honestly, I didn't even know that this could happen." "Would it be so wrong if I stayed like this?" Erin said, "I can speak and I can be heard." "But you can't touch anything." Lucy said. "And my parents are going to be back soon. Then it's Christmas and the house is going to be filled with people. I can see my mom and my aunts instantly freak out if they saw you float. And, I have to go back to Boston. I can't leave you like this." "I know." Erin then looked at Lucy and asked, "Can we not do the s ance again?" "Hell no." Lucy shook her head, emphatically underlining her point. "What we did and what happened, it's not the same. Jack was supposed to talk to you and help you move on. Nothing about sex. We did something, maybe something wrong, maybe something right. But it pulled you into this plane. If we do it again, who knows what happens to you?" "Then what next?" Jack asked. Lucy pushed her chair back and stood up. She madly scrolled through the contacts on her phone. "I need to speak to someone. Be back in a sec." Erin followed Lucy out of the room with her stare. She paused for a moment, then leaned in towards Jack. "We should talk." "Yeah." Jack said, trying to hide his nervousness. "I never thought that I would be here. I'd be a banshee, roaming this house until the Last Judgement. I accepted that. Now I can be seen by anyone. I can be spoken to and listened. I am lost and scared. What happens to us?" Jack rested his hand on over hers, sinking through her tangible form and said, "I'll work something out. Don't worry. My dad did say he is thinking about selling the house. Maybe I take it." Erin dropped her head down and said, "I cannot let you do that. Live your life with a spirit. It will be dull. And there is so much I want to see." Leaning back, Jack smiled back at her. This was the first time he could find out who Erin really is, as a person. "Like?" "I want to be in the sky, flying across the ocean. To travel to places that I have only seen briefly in those windows. The Grand Canyon, swim in an ocean and visit Kinsale." "Kinsale?" "It is where I was born. I left when I was twelve. I always wished that I would see the village again." "Anything else?" Erin looked away, like she was thinking; then turned back to Jack and said, "I want to eat food that hadn't been boiled. Wear something luxurious. I want to see a movie. And to kiss you again." She smiled. Lucy walked back into the room. She glanced at Erin, then at Jack, realizing something was up, but began talking. "Okay, I spoke to a friend. She knows a lot of left-hand path rituals, some chaos magic. You know, maybe sigils and secret names?" she said, nodding as if they knew what she meant. "She knows a couple of necromancers." "Necro-mancers?" Erin asked. "They talk to the dead. My friend's going to reach out and get us a name. Hopefully, one who just wants to talk to the dead and nothing more. A necromancer will know what to do." "So, we just wait?" Jack asked. Lucy nodded. Home Alone. Days later, Erin stared at the TV. She was alone as Jack had to deal with the headache of Christmas preparations. He didn't want to leave her by herself, but Erin insisted that it was okay. This was something that Erin knew she had to get used to. She thought back to how difficult her life was before the s ance. Erin could easily take her current form as a constantly visible ghost, than that hell. One plus was now she could spend time with Jack. Last night, they spent hours talking. Jack told her everything that had happened to him since they last spoke. Erin was confused by his job, working as an engineer but with computers and clouds. Jack also showered her with questions about her own life. Her eyes widened after each question, and she grinned madly back at him. She told him about her life in Ireland, traveling across the Atlantic and working in Boston. Jack showed her current photos of how the city changed. She was amazed and saddened, seeing some of her favorite places of the city disappear. There was one question that Erin wouldn't answer. Jack had asked her where she would go, when she wasn't haunting the house. When he used to see her, it was only for an hour at most, then Erin would just fade away, and Jack would have to wait days or weeks to see her again. Erin couldn't say anything; she just looked away. She finally said it was difficult and Jack quickly changed the subject. The channel that Jack left the TV on was now playing another documentary about the World War. He told her it was a good idea for her to get used to the twenty-first century, but Erin couldn't stomach any more documentaries about the war. She understood Jack's reasoning; the other night, she cried in happiness that Ireland had become independent. A knock on the door turned Erin's head. There was no way it could be Jack. She could hear keys rattling and the door slowly open. Someone then called her name, a female voice. Erin phased through the walls to see who it was. She found Lucy standing outside, darting her head in and out. "Fuck!" Lucy stumbled back as she saw Erin appear, covering her mouth. She took a couple of deep breaths and then said, "Hi; Erin," Lucy nervously smiled, "Where's Jack?" "He has gone to a store called Walm Art. He will return in two hours' time, I hope." "Oh." Lucy paused. "Err, can I come in?" "Sorry," Erin stepped aside and allowed Lucy to enter. "Did Jack give you a key?" "Yeah," Lucy said, removing her jacket. "He swung by and said that I should have it, just in case." Muscle memory dictated her to ask for Lucy's coat and offer her a drink. Erin tried to hide her embarrassment while Lucy just smiled. Erin then followed her into the living room, trying to think about why she was here. She didn't like the idea that Lucy could enter the house whenever she wants. Erin knew the psychic was attracted to Jack; experiencing Lucy's feelings during the second time she possessed her. Erin couldn't help herself but checkout the medium's curvy frame as Lucy walked into the living room, hiding her disappointed face. "I have some news, but I will wait until Jack gets back. It'll be easier to explain. But it's good." Lucy grinned. She sat down on the sofa and asked, "What are you watching?" "A documentary about World War 2?" Erin said, not entirely convinced. "They call it World War 2 but do not say anything about a previous war." "Yeah, I can't remember what World War 1 was about. Might watch Wonder Woman again. Do you mind if I change the channel?" "Please," Erin replied, "It's depressing." She then joined her on the sofa. "So, how are you dealing with the modern world?" Lucy asked while flicking through the channels, stopping on at E. "It's pleasant. Yesterday, Jack showed me around the house and I was amazed. A dishwasher, a washing machine and an automated carpet cleaner. Those were most of my duties and would take half of my day. He showed me um moving photograph on his phone of places he has been to. I want to see them with my own eyes." "I'm guessing back in the 1880s travel was impossible." "Only by train or steam. Now you can fly anywhere," Erin smiled. "But what I'm most astonished by is being a woman. I died before I could vote and now a woman can run for President. I could only be a maid or work in a factory. Now there's so many possibilities." "That's really cool," Lucy said, smiling. Erin felt herself being distracted by the TV. She turned her head and saw a dozen of scantily-clad women grinding against men, who were topless and had bodies like circus strongmen. Her mouth dropped, watching as a woman sing to the camera. Lucy saw Erin's stunned expression and quickly changed the channel. "Sorry." "It's fine," Erin replied, "There is so much that is different. I need to adjust. It's just that if I were to go to a beach, I was expected to wear bloomers that covered my limbs. It is difficult to get used to being in an age were flesh is allowed." "I understand. It's okay to take your time." Lucy said. She then leaned closer and asked, "Sorry if this sounds idiotic. But you okay with me in general? Being a medium, the drinking and the sex before marriage?" Erin smiled and said, "I have lived in this household for over a century. My eyes have been open to many strange things. At first, I prayed for my soul and I thought my impurity was the cause of this life I was to live. As the years passed, I found myself losing that idea of sin. Families lived here, they indulged in vices that I found wicked. But they were still loving and moral people." "Wow," Lucy smirked and said, "One day, you must tell me what you saw over the years." Going back to Lucy's words and all the things she experienced got Erin thinking. In the hundred-odd years she had been trapped in this house, she had caught numerous couples screw late at night. Some were unmarried, others were of different races, which shocked her, but Erin found them loving, which just compounded to her jealousy. Erin had also seen couples have different types of sex, none like the ways she was told or experienced. Her fianc had been drunk during their entire courtships; she doubted he would have been sober enough to cock-stand. Robert just pushed her down on a billiards table and had his way with her. Erin thought she had enjoyed that, but it was nothing compared to what Jack made her feel the other night. It felt unusual, but she loved every moment of him touching her down below. "Um," Erin looked away before opening her mouth, "Lucy, can I ask you something? It is delicate." Lucy shrugged, "Sure." "Jack. He laid me down and used his tongue; on my quim." Erin said blushing. "Is this normal?" "Yeah," Lucy blurted out. "Sorry. Most guys do that now. If you're lucky." She smirked at Erin, who remained nonplussed. "Has sex really changed that much?" "One sec," Lucy stood up and skipped to the kitchen. She returned ten minutes later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "If we're having girl time, we need wine." Lucy popped open the bottle and poured, then stopped. "Shit, I forgot. I'm sorry. Are you okay if I drink?" "Please," Erin replied, smiling. "My church said it was a sin. They encouraged to be teetotal. The man who I was supposed to marry died due to it. When I tasted wine and became hysteric. I thought that was the reason I was stuck in this house. Now I'm not sure. But I would love another taste." "Hopefully soon." Lucy then took a long sip and said, "Okay ; sex. Sex is nothing like you have experienced in the 1800s. There are handjobs, blowjobs, anal, bondage, choking and group sex. What Jack did to you ; I admit I'm jealous. Because most guys won't do that, but still expect you to blow them." "Blow?" "You put a penis in your mouth and suck on it." "Oh Christ," Erin muttered. Lucy then lifted up her phone, and loaded up a website. She then stopped herself, glanced at Erin and typed something else like she had changed her mind. She clicked on a video thumbnail and scooted closer to the spirit. "This is sex now." Erin moaned, watching a young blonde who looked a passing resemblance to Lucy, on a bed. She was nude and smiling at a tattooed man. She quickly stripped the man of his clothes, and then the couple kissed, rolling on the bed. Erin noticed that the woman was completely bare in the between. The man then kissed the woman in the cunt, just like Jack had done to her. "Wow," Erin moaned, "She looks like she is really enjoying herself." Erin felt the need to shift her weight on the sofa while she continued to watch. "Well, she's an actress. I should tell you that this is fake. But you need to know that it's okay to like sex and how you can enjoy it." Lucy then paused as they both watched the blonde actress get on her hands and knees. "That's the doggy-style position, very popular and feels great." Erin pursed her lip like she was trying not to laugh. Everything she had been taught, from her mother, Sunday School and the church, told her that premarital sex was an affront to the Lord. And sex in marriage was only for procreation. Now she could enjoy it. "I have to admit something, Lucy," Erin said, trying to look away from the video, "When me and Jack um fucked. I drew on your thoughts to make it more enjoyable." "I've been meaning to ask you about that." Lucy paused the video and took another sip of the wine. "Jack told me about the first time you possessed me and tried to kiss him." "I'm so sorry." "That's okay. I really just want to know how you were able to possess me? I've talked to spirits before, some probably fake, some hundred-percent real. But I've never been possessed." "I can't explain," Erin said. "It just happened and then I felt pain, you fighting back and mine own struggle. But I can tell you about the other time. It was easy. I just drew on your attraction to Jack." "It's like a tulpa," Lucy said, slowly smiling. "It has to be a tulpa!" "Tulpa?" "A tulpa is a being or an object created through intense thought. You have created something like this, linking you with Jack. When me and Jack were on the sofa, were you just haunting the house or were you drawn to this spot." "I just appeared here and saw you two." "Yeah," Lucy grinned, "This is great. I've got an idea on how we can help you." Erin nodded and looked away. She should apologize. Erin saw the blonde medium less of an adventuress, a strumpet who would seduce Jack, and more of a real person. And someone eager to help her. Erin knew she still had to adjust her 19th century way of thinking to the modern world. "Hey," Lucy said, getting Erin's attention. "Don't worry about me and Jack. I can tell he only wants you, especially now he can actually be with you. You know, have conversations. And I like you and I don't want to mess with a 19th century Irish ghost." Erin chuckled and covered her mouth. She wanted to believe that Lucy was genuine; she disliked being this jealous woman. When she was alive, with a body and everything, she had few friends. It was mainly due to her betrothed and the need to move cities for work. "What happened to you? When I possessed you?" "Hmm," Lucy paused and then said, "The first time I felt nothing, I was like asleep. When you did it again, it was like watching TV. I was standing in a dark room. Watching two screens and I could hear my voice, but it didn't sound like me. You leaned in and kissed Jack and it felt so weird. I'll be interested to try it again. Hell, if you ever want to have some fun with Jack, you can use my body." She grinned. Again, Erin blushed and went red, thinking about floating away from this conversation. Left Hand Magic. Jack opened the door and made a beeline to the kitchen. He ignored the dulled sounds of music being played and talking in the other room, assuming that it was just the TV. After stocking the fridge, he had to check on Erin. It was a weird relationship. She was like his girlfriend but also his patient. Jack just tried to focus on Lucy coming through for them. Walking into the living room, he found Erin and Lucy both on the sofa. The blonde medium was playing music on her phone while Erin nodded her head over the beat, her eyes closed. This was good. Jack knew that Erin would need someone else to talk to. Like with any other relationship, his neurotic side flared, and Jack was worried that he was suffocating Erin. It helped that Lucy knew what Erin was going through, wouldn't freak out and is around the same age. "Oh, you're back," Erin said, smiling. She stood up and walked through the coffee table to be at his side. "Did you get everything?" "Yep," He nodded, "So, what have you guys been up to?" "I'm just showing her what music is like now, and Instagram. And some other things." Lucy said, smirking at Erin. Jack caught the smile and glanced at Erin, who had gone red. Ignoring their feminine secrets, he sat down and asked, "So, do you have any news?" "Yep," Lucy replied and went for her bag. "You ever heard of a grimoire?" They both shook their heads, which Lucy had suspected they would do. She then gave them a brief explanation of a grimoire. It meant a book of spells, but more accurately, it was a textbook of magic. She had underlined certain pages, focused more on left-hand path magic, which went over both Jack and Erin's heads. The grimoire that Lucy had been given, had instructions on how to resurrect a body. "From what I read, resurrecting the dead is near impossible. Especially when the dead has been dead for over a hundred years. You need to evocate the person's spirit from wherever they are, say Hell or Heaven. That takes a lot of energy, and like it takes forever with like a zero-point-one chance percent of getting it right. But since Erin's spirit is still on Earth, we have a shot." "Fuck." Jack said. He then glanced at Erin and quickly apologized. "No, you are right," Erin nodded, dumbfounded as he was, "So, I can be human?" "Possibly," Lucy said, walking closer to the couple, the dirt-brown book of spells in her hands. "We need some things. Dirt from your grave, for one. Some other stuff, like salt, candles, herbs. Also, there might be sex magic involved." "Sex magic?" Erin said, "How? What?" "This is left-hand path magic!" Lucy yelled, "There's always stuff involving sex." "So, when do we do this?" Jack asked, pouring himself a glass of wine; he needed it. Glancing at Erin, she looked like she wanted one as well. "We need to pick the right date. A date real important." Lucy then got in front of Erin and asked, "What do you remember about the day you died?" "I um; it's hard," Erin said, "I can't. No." "The diary doesn't say much. All I know that she died on December 21st." "December 21st?" Lucy repeated, "The Winter Solstice usually falls on 20th or 21st. If Erin was murdered on the Winter Solstice, it can explain a lot. Tulpas. Midwinter. This is getting weird." Lucy told him that she will explain later. But there was a plan, and all they had to do is get some materials, research more into Erin's life and wait a week. Jack remembered that the ritual would probably happen with his parents around, maybe his sisters. He needed another drink. Nudity Norms. Erin felt comfortable, sitting in the living room with Jack, watching a Christmas movie. It was a pleasant feeling. Jack was supposed to be working, but he told her that he was now in the holiday zone, so he was expected to do the bare minimum until the new year. When she asked what his boss would say, Jack replied that he's probably doing the same right now. If this was what the modern world truly is, then Erin knew she would love it. She glanced at Jack, and he smirked back at her. Last night was still replaying her head. They were in bed, and had finished watching another Christmas movie. Some of the jokes Erin didn't get, also the ending was confusing. Frozen orange juice and future markets. Overall, she enjoyed the movie but was curious about the amount of nudity in some shows, and asked if that was normal. "Depends on the time and what you are watching," Jack said, "When you see actors and actresses naked, sometimes its just as is, like they're waking up or taking a shower. Over times, it's sexual and they might even pretend to have sex." "You mean fucking?" Erin grinned. "What?" Erin explained that she picked up some modern words. Jack immediately guessed it had to be Lucy. There was literally no one else. "I have only had sex twice in my life. Well, once when I was alive," Erin smiled, "What happened with us was unexpected and I had to tell someone. And she taught me some new words." Erin then moved closer and shocked him, "Lucy even showed me videos. Porn." Jack stayed still, not believing what he had heard. He had tried to work out how and why Lucy showed Erin porn. For the last couple of days, he had tried to be protective of her nineteenth-century mind, slowly exposing herself to the modern world. He looked at her, seeing if she was embarrassed. He couldn't tell. No, she looked more curious. He had to ask Erin what she was shown, intrigued at what she thought. Erin then described the scenes in vivid detail, telling the actions of the porn actors, her own emotions and what Lucy said. A man and woman slowly undressed, she was eaten out, then she gave the man a blowjob and then they had sex. Pretty vanilla. "Can I ask you something? Were you watching porn that night?" Erin then asked. That night. It felt so long ago to Jack; his life had changed so much. He told her yes, and wasn't surprised when Erin asked what type of porn. Lucy had really provided her some tutoring as Erin began rattling off porn genres. "Do you want to see what I watched?" Erin blushed but nodded her head. Jack set his laptop on the bed, directly in between them. He told her what he usually liked, amateur, lesbian and Point of view. Looking at Erin, her face was red, but she had this eager look on her, still curious. He played some videos, letting her watch for a while before asking her opinion. "It's. It's something," she said, sounding breathless. Erin watched each video carefully, amazed. One was through a man's eyes, bedding a young woman with many tattoos, which confused her as tattoos only belong to wealthy males during her time. Her eyes would drift to the right side of the page, suggested scenes. The words they used shocked her, anal, stepmom and orgy. Jack then played another movie; this time, it was two women. Erin had this initial disgust, but it slowly disappeared as the women sensually writhed together. It quickly got too much for her. She turned to face Jack, seeing a large bulge in his pants. She didn't know why, but Erin asked if Jack needed to sort himself. She insisted. He nervously pulled out his penis; her eyes flared at the sight of it, hard and veiny. With his dominant hand, Jack then slowly stroked his shaft. Erin quickly became entranced by the action, wishing that she could touch his cock again. But she became distracted, heat from her groin rippled up to her brain; Erin wanted to touch herself. Her eyes glued on him, she hitched up her skirt and slid her hand underneath her bloomers. Both Jack and Erin forgot about the Female-female-male scene that was playing and just stared at each other. Jack's hand became a blur over his cock, while Erin had slid two fingers deep into her pussy. There was little resistance from her Catholic upbringing; all those years she had been told that self-pleasure was a mortal sin were forgotten. Jack then cried out her name as ropes of cum shot out his cockhead. He grabbed a tissue and quickly caught the other spurts. Erin came immediately after him, also crying his name. There was no awkwardness between them as they settled in bed, watching each other as their breathing went back to normal. Jack then said something that made Erin's heart thud, saying that he wished that he could kiss her. She didn't want to think about that as they watched TV. She was still this spirit, telling herself that this could be her life until the Last Judgement. Still, Erin couldn't believe that she would ever try something like that with a man. Glancing at him, he was more handsome than her previous men. It was no contest with Patrick, her forty-something betrothed. With rotten teeth and shaking hands, Erin had hated the thought of touching him. Jack was more like Robert. Not physically, Jack was taller but didn't have Robert's square jaw and his lighter brown hair. Since seeing his naked body during the s ance, Erin noticed that Jack was more athletic than her previous lover. But Jack had Robert's charming and intelligent personality. He was also honest and aware of his limitations, unlike Robert. Whenever they were away from the Franklins, Erin would see him turn into an almighty braggart after a drink. They heard the front door opened then quickly closed. Lucy Prepares for a Resurrection. "Erin? Jack?" Lucy yelled. "In here," Jack said back. She was carrying a big tote bag as she walked into the living room. "Hey guys," Lucy smiled, "You okay?" Both Jack and Erin shrugged and then nodded their heads, saying fine at the same time. "What are you guys watching?" Lucy asked, facing the TV. "I don't know," Erin then turned to Jack and asked, "Which movie is this one?" "It's the Mistletoe Connection." "I've been watching a number of these Hallmark Christmas movies." Erin said, then shrugged her shoulders. "I do enjoy them, but I am finding a pattern. Struggling family business, a woman from the big city, a father with a young child and a lack of minorities?" She glanced at Jack to see if she was correct. He smiled and nodded. "We've been watching Christmas movies non-stop. If this ritual goes like it should, then Erin's going to be out in the world with no pop culture reference point. We watched Gremlins earlier and I figured that she needs a palate cleanser." "I was streaked," Erin said, looking back at Lucy. "She means scared." "For once, I was glad that I am a spirit. Those monsters would have made me cascade if I had a body." "She means puke." Jack then turned to Erin, and they exchanged grins. "You need to switch to Netflix Christmas movies. There's more variety." Lucy said. She took a seat and pulled the grimoire. "I need to ask you some questions, Erin. I want to make sure that we can get everything right for the ritual. Also, I can't find where you were buried." "Of course." "Why don't you guys take the living room. I probably should do some work today." Jack said, standing up. "Do you want some coffee, Lucy?" Lucy said yes, and they quickly settled around the coffee table. She booted up her laptop and asked Erin about her past, trying to squeeze information out of her last days alive. Erin gave vague answers back to her. She had been asked about this before, she hated thinking back. "What's going on?" Lucy asked, lowering her notepad. "What do you mean?" "You keep looking away and you're repeating yourself. What's going on?" "It's just," Erin said, but then stopped. "Lucy, I just need to tell someone about what had happened." Erin then leaned in, wanting to make sure that there was no way Jack could eavesdrop on them. Erin then told her how she and Jack watched porn, first describing the videos she saw. She caught Lucy's eyes widen as she went on. Erin then did a long exhale and told her that the evening ended with her and Jack mutually masturbating. Just like a move from a sitcom, Lucy did a spit take. Wiping her mouth, she turned back to Erin and said, "Sorry. But that's really hot. I didn't know that you can do that." "Nor did I," Erin replied, "I just can't control myself around him. I want to feel him again. To kiss him." "Just kiss?" Erin blushed and dropped her head. "I do have some other carnal thoughts." "Let's see what happens tomorrow. If I'm reading this thing right. You might get to have some fun tomorrow." "If only," Erin said. "So, you going to do it again?" Lucy asked grinning. Erin said nothing, trying not to laugh. "Hey, I'm a pervert," Lucy said, shrugging her shoulders. They went back to their research. Finding Erin's burial was difficult. Her death certificate was nonexistent. Either the hundred years that passed since her death made it impossible to find, or it was another insult by the Franklins. "O, space, then C-E-A-L-L-A-C-H-A-I-N," Erin said, spelling out her last name. "I'm not going to pretend to try to pronounce that." Lucy typed in the search bar and then asked, "I thought your last name is O'Callaghan?" "It is. That's just the Irish spelling. Jack said that if we are successful, I'll need identity papers. I may shorten it to Callaghan." Erin shrugged and looked away. With that done, Erin helped Lucy find her grave. She learnt that the Franklins had her buried in a Potter's field-like cemetery in a town near the border with New Hampshire. She also told Lucy more about her life, traveling across the Atlantic from Ireland, Boston and being forced to move to Portland due to Patrick. They were in deep concentration, but quickly looked up, hearing a car door slam shut. Then some voices that sounded like there were coming from outside. Parents Pop In. The front door opened, and a deep-sounding voice yelled, "Jack?" Jack jumped out of his chair; he was already prepared. He had been going over this moment since morning. He had to distract his parents while Lucy and, more importantly, Erin had to exit without drawing too much attention. His mom will probably faint if she saw Erin phase through walls, his dad would definitely spend an hour asking Erin to do tricks. He met them by the door and quickly lobbed questions at them. While his dad went upstairs to use the bathroom, Jack marshaled his mom into the kitchen. He showed her what he had bought for Christmas dinner, and asked about other things that they might need. In the living room, Lucy frantically piled her notes, her laptop and the grimoire back in her bag. She bounced from different spots of the room, trying to tidy up without being caught. Erin followed her around the room, not knowing what else to do. "Shit. Shit. Shit." Lucy said out loud but to herself. "Please be calm," Erin said, resting a hand on Lucy's shoulder though both could feel nothing. "We can say that we border together. But that we have to go now." "That's not a bad idea." Lucy replied. She paused and stared at Erin's clothes. "Can you do yourself up. Like how you used to look." Erin had her sleeves pulled up to her elbows, her hair down and her shoes were under Jack's bed. It was this weird quirk that she could change her appearance briefly, but it would just reset itself to how she always looked. Sometimes it was random, or if she just thought strongly enough. She nodded her head, and then Erin pressed her chest like she was doing the pledge of allegiance. With a quick flash, every bit of her clothing and her hair was back in its place. "Let's go," she said. While Jack was distracting his mother, they walked to the door, both looking at the kitchen. As Lucy opened the door, she waved at Erin and pointed to her mouth. Erin got the hint and said, "Bye Jack. We have to go." "Thanks for your help," Lucy added. They watched as a woman in her late fifties walked out of the kitchen. She was then joined by Jack. He looked like he was biting his lower lip. "Well, hello," she said. Her face had this inquisitive look like she was quickly judging them. "Hello, I am Erin," she said, "This is Miss; umm Lucy." "Hi, I'm Mary. Jack's mom," she replied, "That's umm interesting dress that you are wearing." Erin stayed quiet, her face frozen and her eyes stretched wide. "Oh, Erin's just shy," Lucy said, "She came from a rehearsal." She then turned to Erin and asked, "You're playing Scrooge's maid, right?" "Yes," Erin replied, not sounding anywhere convincing. "I'm sorry, but we need to be leaving." Jack left his mom's side and walked to the door, blocking her view of Erin just in case. "See you guys later," he said loud enough for his mom to hear him. He then leaned in and whispered, "Hide in my room, I'll be up soon." Both Lucy and Erin nodded. Jack slowly closed the door, watching Erin fade away as soon as she stepped outside. Lucy twisted her head left to right; he guessed that she was checking if anyone noticed a nineteenth-century maid disappear. Jack then locked the door and turned around, seeing his mother giving him a sly look. She suspected something. She was going to ask him so many questions, he knew it. Inconvenient Parents. Erin stared out of the window, bored. She realized that she had never really checked out the change in her surroundings. That was interesting for a while, but after two hours, she needed something else to do. Erin had tried to see if she could focus all her energy and press the TV remote power button but got nowhere. She attempted not to think about the ceremony tomorrow. Thoughts of her future, of Jack and life would occasionally creep in her head, and Erin had to ignore them. She trusted herself, knowing that if it went wrong and she would stay like this, that she could survive. But what about Jack? There was a knock and Erin turned her head. "Erin?" Jack said before opening the door and poking his head in. "Jack?" "Sorry, I had to leave you alone for so long. Mom and Dad really wanted to know what I've been up to." Jack then climbed onto his bed and switched the TV on. He flipped through the channels before settling on ESPN. He looked at the door as he played around with the volume. "I understand." Erin then joined him on the bed. "Oh yeah. Mom really likes the tree. I told her that you helped me decorate it." "Were they upset that I didn't fully introduce myself to them?" "No. Not really. But over dinner, Mom wanted to know about you. I had to think of something to say. I told them that I met you recently and we've been seeing each other. Also, you're crashing at Lucy's." "Seeing each other?" Erin replied, "Is that what modern courtship is?" "Something like that," Jack said, smiling, "What was courtship like in 1800s?" "Courtship was not for people like me. Especially for someone from Ireland. My Dad worked with a man and the fellow said he was looking for a wife. My Dad then brought him home one night, I may have said five words to Patrick during dinner. Two weeks later, we were engaged." "Whoa. Is that what you wanted?" "I never had a say. My parents said I was to be married and that was it." "What did you think about Patrick?" "A drunk," Erin said, rolling her eyes. "I could tell the type of husband he was going to be during that dinner. I was to be a nurse for him, bring him whiskey, wash him and clean off umm vomit from his mouth." She blushed again, still not comfortable with some modern words. "But when he died. How old were you? Couldn't you marry someone else?" "I was 25. A different time. One that I am so happy to be out of." Erin smiled. "There is something I want to ask. Is courtship similar to dating?" "Dating?" "I've heard that word spoken so many times in this house. Back when I was alive, dating meant buying a night with a whore." Jack tried to explain what dating meant now. The use of apps, having coffee dates or low-key ones like going shopping. Also, casual sex and friends-with-benefits. The dating stages, how couples usually go from casual acquaintances to dating, boyfriend and girlfriend, moving into together and finally getting married if they like. He saw Erin's shocked look when he explained that divorce was so common and accepted. Jack carried on, saying how some couples don't use labels to describe themselves; some do while others have their own thing. Embarrassed, but Jack had no choice to use experience from his own life. "We have had sex." Erin said, slowly smiling, "I guess we're more boyfriend and girlfriend." "Probably." Jack replied, smirking at her. Jack's phone then started buzzing and interrupted them. Reaching to the nightstand, Lucy was calling him on Facetime. He turned to Erin and said, "Lucy's video-calling me." "Video-calling? So, she can see us? Wow." Jack answered and said, "Hey Lucy, what's up? Where are you?" They could see Lucy in a dimly lit storeroom. There were boxes of Budweiser beer and whiskey stacked behind her. Her clothes also looked weird for her, wearing a white shirt and a black leather apron. There was no make-up on her face, and her hair was tied back. "I got a shift at the Cord & Rifle. Anyway, how you guys doing?" Erin looked at Jack, he shrugged, and she turned back to Lucy saying, "We're good." "What happened to your mom & dad?" "They had some questions. I told them that I've been seeing Erin for a while and you guys came over, so I can help you with your laptop." "And. I am uh, crashing; at your home," Erin said, emphasizing any modern words. "Cool, cool." Lucy looked passed her phone, then there was a knock and a muffled voice. She nodded and said, "They need me back behind the bar. There was also one thing. Tomorrow, it's just us and your parents, right? Like your sisters aren't going to burst in while we're burning sage or nude?" "Nude?" Erin looked at Jack, squinting her eyes. He shook his head and turned back to Lucy, "No. You don't have to worry about them. Katie and Beth will be flying out on 23rd. They got tickets to Taylor Swift tomorrow. Unless LA gets a plague of spiders, they are going to be there." "Okay then," Lucy nodded, "So, we need to drug your parents," she said, so casual. She then looked away, mouthing 'what' at someone. "Shit, I need to go." "What do you mean, drug my parents?" "Yeah, we need to drug them." Lucy stood up and looked like she was moving. "Why?" "They have to be drugged," Lucy replied, "Bye guys!" Jack glanced at Erin, then back to his blank phone screen. Tomorrow is going to be a long, stressful day. *** In a couple of hours, the Winter Solstice would happen, and Erin sat on Jack's bed. She watched him paced in the room, on the phone with one of his sisters. He said that he was helping her out with a computer problem, but as he talked to his sister, Erin only heard half of the conversation and it made no sense to her. She never really interacted with anyone else in the house. Before Jack and his family moved in, Erin tried to keep to herself, always in the corner of the eye of the house's occupants for a quick second, then disappearing. She didn't even want to be seen by Jack initially but had no choice as her attic became his bedroom. Few times, she would find herself in his sisters' rooms and would see them. Erin struggled to remember their names. What was she supposed to say whenever she meets them? Erin clenched her eye shut, hating herself. It was wrong to think about the future. There were so many things that could go wrong. Jack ended the called and turned to Erin, "I hate being the family's I T support," he said, rolling his eyes. "I T?" "Never mind." He settled on the bed next to her and slipped on his boots. "It'll be weird when I introduce you to them. Katie will be anywhere from cool to disinterested. I know for a fact that Beth will be asking you non-stop questions. She's a pain like that." Erin smiled and said, "You're being too confident. It might not happen. And if this ritual fails, I will accept it with grace." "Really?" "I need to. Just so I can stay sane." "I've got a text from Lucy. She's outside." Jack stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I have faith something will happen. Something good," he said, smiling back at her. "It's like a 40-minute drive to the cemetery. We will be a while. Try to stay here until me or Lucy come up." "Good luck," Erin replied. It was getting too much for her. Erin knew how she was feeling over him. She loved Jack. It terrified her. If the ritual fails, what would happen to Jack, Erin asked herself. He had this single-minded focus on helping her. She was worried that if it doesn't work, he won't be able to move on. Lucy pulled her Ford over and cut the engine. Jack wasn't going to say anything to her, but her car should not be making those types of sounds. It was like a Transformer was having a heart attack. Looking out of the window, he didn't see anyone. They left the car and slowly walk to the wall; it looked low enough for them to climb. Jack didn't know if there was some kind of night guard but said to Lucy that they should sneak in, just in case. She agreed, and soon he was boosting her over the wall. Climbing over, Jack landed on frozen grass that crunch with every step. They were lucky with the wind howling, making enough noise to cover their movements. "You ever been in a cemetery before?" Lucy asked, flashing the torch at a gravestone. "No. Have you?" "Yeah," she replied, "Loads of times; its part of the job. When I started hearing voices of the dead, I was like a goth goddess. Every Friday, someone was dragging me to a cemetery or a graveyard. Guys would hit on me all the time. I gave my first handy at a grave." "I got my first one during a school trip to Bangor," he said, looking at a gravestone, "I'm pretty sure that I told Erin about it." "How's Erin handling it?" Lucy asked, "Is she freaking out being a real woman again?" "Not really." Lucy stopped and Jack did the same. "Have you guys said anything about the future?" Jack sighed and shook his head. "Where's she going to stay? You're going back to Boston; is she going to follow you or stay here? She will need help with ID and social security." "I know. But Erin just doesn't want to think about the future. Talking about Boston, what she wants to do with her life and everything else, it will fucking hurt if tomorrow she's still a ghost. She's protecting herself." Lucy nodded and said, "I understand." Jack looked around, feeling that they were lost. Realizing that there was no guard and they were definitely alone, Jack and Lucy walked to the entrance. From there, they methodically worked their way up, finding Erin's grave after thirty minutes of searching. Lucy bent down and jammed a trowel into the ground. The frozen soil being too hard for her and Jack quickly took over. It took a couple of jabs to loosen the dirt. He scooped it up and funneled it into a sterilized container. Jack did ask why the box had to be sterilized. "You ever seen the Fly?" Lucy replied, tightening the lid around the plastic box, "You don't want her DNA mixing with something else. Turning her into a hybrid." "Really?" "Nah. It's just what it says to do in the grimoire," Lucy grinned, "Okay's let's get the hell out of here and roofie your parents." The Resurrection at Solstice. Jack searched the pantry for marshmallows, knowing that they were there somewhere. Lucy was upstairs with Erin. She was surprisingly easy to sneak into the house without his mom and dad noticing. While she was keeping Erin company, Jack was making his parents cocoa. Lucy had given him some weird smelling liquid to mix into the cocoa. It should make them fall asleep. He had to hide his look of glee when his dad said yes when he asked. If he didn't, they would be in trouble. He handed them the cocoa and settled down on the sofa, away from his parents. They were watching some Holiday cake show, and Jack would occasionally look up from his phone; they were still awake but getting quiet. Five minutes, he caught his mom closing her eyes and his dad doing that move of falling asleep, then jolting back awake. Ten minutes later, they were both deep asleep. He knew that they would be pissed at him in the morning, letting them sleep all night on the sofa. Waiting another ten minutes, Jack checked that they were still asleep and texted Lucy. It took just seconds for Erin to suddenly appear in his living room and the sound of Lucy running down the stairs. Both also checked if his parents were out cold; he guessed that they were also scared of being interrupted. "What did you give them?" Jack asked, staring at his snoring parents. "Oh, Valerian root and CBD oil," Lucy said, "We should get ready." "How long do we have?" Erin asked. "We got time," Lucy replied, looking at her phone. "The solstice is at 12:34am. This ritual has to happen during that time." "So, what do we have to do?" Jack said. They went back into Jack's room. Just like the s ance, they had to use the bedroom to host the ritual. Jack pushed everything to one side again, leaving a large empty space. Lucy made another circle, this time out of salt. There was something wrong with this; Jack had seen horror movies that use rings of salt as protection from the Devil. He wanted to ask if they're technically practicing Satanism. "This is just to make sure that we contain any kind of magic that we've created," Lucy said. After the circle was done, Jack placed seven black candles around the ring. They smelt funny, like someone could get high from the fumes. Lucy then put the grave dirt in the circle, making a pile with her hands. Directly opposite the soil, she positioned the silver bucket they had used before. While they worked on the preparations, Erin stood next to the door, silently watching them. Once Lucy said they were ready, they headed downstairs and to the kitchen. There was still some time to go, at least forty minutes. They could have waited in Jack's room, but both he and Lucy were too scared to touch anything and ruin the ritual. With Jack's parents snoring in the living room, they settled around the kitchen table. "Do you want something to drink?" Jack asked, breaking the silence between them. "Oh, god yes." Jack reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Dad got a bottle of Maker's Mark from my uncle," he said, pouring glasses for him and Lucy. They both quickly finished the bourbon and refilled their glasses. But Jack paused before taking another sip. He looked up from his drink to Erin and said, "Sorry about this." "Me too," Lucy said, hesitating as well. "But, if this works. I'm going to take you to a bar and we'll get hammered." Erin looked away and chuckled to herself. "Today, is it really that special? The Winter Solstice." "Yeah," Lucy said, "There's so many things that happen today. Yule is celebrated today by pagans and Satanists. Then there's the whole life-death-reborn symbolism of it, being the shortest day." She took another sip of bourbon and asked, "If this ritual works or doesn't, you're still going to experience a modern Christmas. How was that like back in 1890s?" Erin let out a quick smile and shrugged her shoulders. She said, "It was the same. There was Father Christmas ; Santa, Christmas trees and presents. When I was alive, I'd go to church number of times before Christmas. My mam and my nana would give me presents on 6th December. How about you two? What are your traditions?" "Mine are really boring," Jack said, "Typical Christmas. Exchange gifts, eat too much, drink too much. But it's the only time my sisters do all of the cooking. Like Christmas dinner is their time to shine. Later in the evening, we go to the movies. Lucy?" "Pass," she said, "With this talking to dead people, I never really celebrated Christmas. Normally out getting drunk with friends or strangers." Lucy then checked her phone and then said, "We should probably stop drinking. It's getting near midnight and I probably shouldn't be swaying when I start reading the grimoire. And if you drink too much, it might affect your plumbing. And we need a good, sexy, show." Jack rolled his eyes and stood up. He said, "I don't know anything about sex magic and what it does. But I really think you just want to watch us fuck." Erin stood next to him, blushing uncontrollably. She covered her face and looked away. "Maybe," Lucy grinned, "You guys go to your room and I'm gonna get changed and we'll start." Jack and Erin were in his bedroom, standing inside the circle. They stayed quiet, not even keeping eye contact with each other. Jack would open his mouth from time to time and try to say something, probably some reassuring words to Erin. He had none, though; so he kept his mouth shut and waited. His bedroom door swung open, and in walked Lucy. She had changed, replacing her jeans and sweatshirt with an ankle-length black dress. It had long sleeves and fit snugly around her curves. She also pulled her long blonde hair in a ponytail, wearing black lipstick and eye shadow. She could see them staring at her and said, "I'm trying to match what they were usually wear for this kind of thing." "So, should we get started?" Jack asked. "Yeah. You start lighting the candles. I'm going to start the fire and burn the sage." It was just like as Jack thought, the weird-smelling candles that he placed around the circle started exhaling a strange odor. It smelt like weed, but some cheap, disgusting weed. After that was done, he joined Erin back in the circle. Smoke from the sage filled the room, but it wasn't overpowering like the night of the s ance. Lucy held the grimoire tightly and rounded the circle, standing in front of the dirt. "I'm going to start reading the grimoire. When you can, start kissing and do you-know-what." "Are you okay?" Jack asked as he stood in front of Erin. "Yeah. I'm calm." Jack dropped his eyes to her hands. She was trembling. "Okay guys, let's get weird," Lucy said before she began reading. "Our good being. Bear this night lights open this fruit female. Set the Cork grass light. Her fruit diminished. Days gathering seasons said air together for every day lost. Given her wherein dry replenish. Light her subdued wings." Lucy lowered her head, facing Jack and Erin. They both looked puzzled. Lucy rolled her eyes and said, "Just, kiss now!" Jack tried to take Erin's hand, but his fingers went through hers. She widened her eyes, scared at what was not happening. She was still non-corporeal. Something had gone wrong, and they could be out of time. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Lucy said to herself, frantically flipping through the grimoire. Jack kept eye contact with Erin and asked, "Lucy, can't we do this another day?" "No. Today is the day Erin died and it falls on the Winter Solstice. We might have to wait another year or two for the right time to occur, again." "If we wait," he said, still looking at a scared Erin, "There is no way Erin could go unnoticed by my parents. Even if I stay here." Lucy jumped into the circle and stood in front of Erin. "You have to possess me." "What?" Erin said, nearly yelling, "Why
Why is it that the person you love most can also trigger the fears you thought you left behind? What if your partner's most irritating habit isn't really about them at all, but a faint echo from your childhood still asking to be healed? And what if that same repetitive fight about laundry or tone of voice isn't a sign something's wrong but actually a sacred doorway, a classroom, for your deepest growth? In this episode of The Language of Love Conversations, I sit down with Dr. Alexandra Solomon, clinical psychologist, Northwestern professor, author of Taking Sexy Back, host of the Reimagining Love Podcast, and the beloved voice behind Relational Self-Awareness. As two “talking doctors” who have been married for a combined 52 years, we ditch the theory and dive straight into the real, messy, sacred work of modern love. We explore why today's relationships demand so much more from us than past generations ever had to navigate, and why true intimacy now requires a “soul to soul” connection rooted in deep self-awareness. We also delve into: The surprising reason relational self awareness is the real heartbeat of modern love How childhood wounds secretly script your adult conflicts without you knowing Whether some healing must happen alone or can truly happen inside the relationship How to tell when it's a trigger… and when it's genuine emotional danger What to do when a partner can name their wounds but refuses to change the pattern The exact moment your trigger gets activated and how to catch it in real time The hidden story your emotional pain is trying to tell you Why tone is often louder than words and how it shapes safety Alexandra's go to regulation tools for coming back to calm fast How shorter, slower conversations create deeper intimacy The power of conscious pauses to stop spirals before they start How to truly witness your partner's feelings so they feel seen and safe Why certain tones feel like danger and how to talk about it without blame Fast, body based tools to steady your nervous system in the middle of conflict How to offer a real, repair focused apology that actually rebuilds trust What it really means to be a relational leader and how to step into that role Alexandra's five micro moments that instantly strengthen connection and bonding Remember to check out her groundbreaking book, Taking Sexy Back, for a deeper dive into moving from performance to presence in love and life. You can also explore my book, Quantum Love, for the science and spirituality behind using energy to transform your relationships. For workshops, teachings, and her wonderful podcast Reimagining Love, visit alexandrasolomon.com. Find Alexandra on Instagram @dralexandra.solomon for daily wisdom. And if this conversation opened something in you, if you saw your own “relational ghost” in our stories, I'd love to hear about it. Email me anytime at languageoflovepod@gmail.com. Your story matters. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
We live in a polarized world today, and one of the hallmarks of that polarization is the tendency to fight what we are against. That's sometimes necessary, of course. But often fighting what we are against distracts us from clearly understanding and simply saying what we are for. That tendency shows up in our conversations about gender and sexuality. We are pretty good, or at least pretty loud, at saying what we are against, but not as effective at articulating a coherent vision of gender and sexuality that is not merely combative, but also convincing. Elizabeth Urbanowicz understands that our children are watching, and that's one of the reasons I found her book Helping Your Kids Know God's Good Design to be so helpful. It's a book designed for parents – and grandparents – who want to speak into the lives of their children and grandchildren in formative, constructive ways. This book is not a bunch of do's and don't's, but is full of how's and why's. I've got to confess that I've been a fan of Elizabeth Urbanowicz for a few years now. I first met her when I was at the Colson Center. That was probably seven or eight years ago. Her small business, Foundation Worldview, has grown steadily over the past few years, providing curriculum material for Christian schools and homeschoolers. She has a lot of videos and other resources online, and I recommend them to you. We had this conversation via zoom. She spoke to me from her home in Georgia. The producer for today's program is Jeff McIntosh. Until next time, may God bless you.
Mike Fuller joins Natasha on this episode of the Natasha Helfer podcast to share his "Compass" framework for healthy Sexuality. You can find out more about Mike by visiting his website: fullercounselinggroup.com You can check out his previous episode on the podcast, "From LDS CES Instructor to LGBTQ+ Affirming, Life Transition Therapist" here: https://www.natashahelfer.com/the-natasha-helfer-podcast/episode85 For Therapists and Counselors, visit: learnreligiontherapy.com The upcoming, "'Sinner' and 'Saint' as Trauma Responses: Understanding Religious Coping Through a Trauma-Informed Lens" will be January 16, 2026. Go here to sign up: https://learnreligiontherapy.com/course/sinnersaint Other resources shared in this episode: Blog post by Mike Fuller: What I Wished We Learned About Sex: A Compass for Healthy Sexuality: https://www.fullercounselinggroup.com/blog/blog-post-title-four-drfz3-wfsfk The work of Al Vernacchio: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Al-Vernacchio/author/B00JE5300E?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true&ccs_id=3cf11c0e-4cde-4b34-aaa0-6de7a122ac0c The work of Emily Nagoski: https://www.emilynagoski.com The work of Doug Braun Harvey and the Harvey Institute: https://www.theharveyinstitute.com/about-us/doug-braun-harvey Ejaculate Responsibly by Gabrielle Blair: https://www.amazon.com/Ejaculate-Responsibly-Whole-Think-Abortion/dp/B0B5YHG14Q/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2HZIFS9HYVZAV&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.hY_XQU7U6FCSkdTZNP5Iqck3UTUDfRe5qGuY_vpEH00K5M8pWaRwab0TX7dQMJxV.63enJxmsekW3bywQ2iEq_MGlNt9PzbKZHmOFEtzPKaQ&dib_tag=se&keywords=ejaculate+responsibly&qid=1764982421&sprefix=ejaculate+responsibly%2Caps%2C122&sr=8-1&fbclid=IwY2xjawOu83ZleHRuA2FlbQIxMABicmlkETF0N0RDWlRDbktMS1NVMzVjc3J0YwZhcHBfaWQQMjIyMDM5MTc4ODIwMDg5MgABHqQGrU8UP7nqBpLZQcAHp-ybwdHDvtBgKl8YS0kyi0Uc0fb9KWuA73dvQ5aN_aem_noSItRK4Z0jdy0FWIbyPdA To help keep this podcast going, please consider donating at natashahelfer.com and share this episode. To watch the video of this podcast, you can subscribe to Natasha's channel on Youtube and follow her professional Facebook page at natashahelfer LCMFT, CST-S. You can find all her cool resources at natashahelfer.com. The information shared on this program is informational and should not be considered therapy. This podcast addresses many topics around mental health and sexuality and may not be suitable for minors. Some topics may elicit a trigger or emotional response so please care for yourself accordingly. The views, thoughts and opinions expressed by our guests are their own and do not necessarily reflect the views or feelings of Natasha Helfer or the Natasha Helfer Podcast. We provide a platform for open and diverse discussions, and it is important to recognize that different perspectives may be shared. We encourage our listeners to engage in critical thinking and form their own opinions. The intro and outro music for these episodes is by Otter Creek. Thank you for listening. And remember: Symmetry is now offering Ketamine services. To find out more, go to symcounseling.com/ketamine-services. There are also several upcoming workshops. Visit natashahelfer.com or symcounseling.com to find out more.
This episode is part of the special series Empowered Intimacy: Getting Your Sexy Back After Breast Cancer, where getting your sexy back is about reclaiming confidence, connection, and desire after a breast cancer diagnosis. Melissa Berry sits down with Chelsey Pickthorn, a patient advocate living with stage four triple-negative breast cancer, and Dr. Don Dizon, Chief of Hematology and Oncology at Tufts Medicine and a national leader in sexual health and inclusive cancer care. They explore the challenges LGBTQ+ individuals face with intimacy, dating, body image, and relationships after a cancer diagnosis. Chelsey shares her experiences navigating disclosure, reconstruction, caregiving, and connection, while Dr. Dizon highlights gaps in healthcare for LGBTQ+ patients. This honest and hopeful conversation offers guidance, empowerment, and advocacy for inclusive care. Thank you to Lilly, Merck, and Novartis for making this episode possible.
The infamous book burnings of Berlin were actually carried out by students and civilians across all of Germany. They were only backed by the Nazi government, not instigated by the same. The Holocaust Encyclopedia admits: “In May 1933, Nazis looted Hirschfeld's Institute for Sexual Science and destroyed much of the archives in the Berlin book burning.” In another entry: “These student-led book burnings were organized by pro-Nazi university students, not by the Nazi German government. “The ISS was responsible for pushing every manner of perverse and niche sexuality, gender ideology, and pornography onto the public, including children. Their speciality was transgenderism and sex-change surgeries. We find something similar happening today. The United States is reportedly the number one user of OnlyFans (official report), a company run by a modern Hirschfeld named Leonid Radvinsky. In the 2025 search-result report from Pornhub, run by another Hirschfeld named Solomon Friedman, content like “femboy,” general LGBTQ, and transgender all exploded since the company takeover. Hentai remained number one overall. According to the data: 'Trans threesome' up 67 per cent. 'Trans amateur' rose 49 per cent. 'Queer' increased 132 per cent. 'Bisexual' saw an 88 per cent jump.Are we heading for another Berlin book burning?*The is the FREE archive, which includes advertisements. If you want an ad-free experience, you can subscribe below underneath the show description.WEBSITEFREE ARCHIVE (w. ads)SUBSCRIPTION ARCHIVE-X / TWITTERFACEBOOKINSTAGRAMYOUTUBERUMBLE-BUY ME A COFFEECashApp: $rdgable PAYPAL: rdgable1991@gmail.comRyan's Books: https://thesecretteachings.info - EMAIL: rdgable@yahoo.com / rdgable1991@gmail.comBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-secret-teachings--5328407/support.
In this powerful episode, host Gary Scott sits down with Eve Hall — sexual health expert, pelvic physical therapist, and the charismatic host of Please Me!, the #1 Sexuality Podcast in the USA and globally. Together, they explore Eve's transformative journey from childhood sexual trauma to a life rooted in liberation, healing, and embodied empowerment. With over 20 years of experience as a Physical Therapist, now specializing in Sexual Health, Eve supports individuals navigating erectile dysfunction, decreased sensitivity, vaginal dryness, pelvic floor dysfunction, intimacy challenges, and the emotional barriers that prevent full sexual self-expression. She leads the global Orgasm Revolution, a movement dedicated to closing the orgasm gap, dismantling shame, and helping people reclaim pleasure as a birthright. Eve speaks directly to those who have felt unseen, unheard, or disconnected from their sexual identity, offering insight, compassion, and a path back to self-trust and pleasure. Her work is saving relationships.Her message is transforming sexual wellness.Her voice is igniting a revolution. This conversation offers raw and honest insights into healing shame, improving sexual connection, cultivating body confidence, and embracing pleasure as a human right. Eve's journey from trauma to sexual liberation The truth about the orgasm gap — and how to close it Why shame harms sexual wellness How communication, curiosity, and kink helped shape Eve's identity How to join the global Orgasm Revolution What it takes to reclaim pleasure as a human right Connect With the Host — Gary Scott YouTube Channel: What If You Could PodcastWatch this full episode: YouTube Link Connect With Eve Hall Website: pleaseme.onlineSocial Media & Contact: pleaseme.online/contactsSubstack: https://pleaseme.substack.comPatreon — Extended Episodes & Bonus Content: https://patreon.com/PleaseMePodcast Be a guest on Please Me! Podcast: Apply via PodMatch Commercial Mentions / Affiliate Links Parlor Games: https://www.parlor-games.com/shop/?AFFID=571343 LifeWave: https://lifewave.com/PleaseMe Bonnie's Herbals: https://www.bonniesherbals.com/?AffId=3 Eve's Toy Store: https://pleaseme.online/vibrators-and-toys/ Shameless Care — At-Home Sexual Health Testing: Use code PLEASME for $15 off: https://shamelesscare.com SDC.com — Free Trial Membership: Use code 37340: https://www.sdc.com/ Mentioned Resources / Causes World Vision — Philippines Disaster Relief: https://worldvision.org Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices
Many Christian parents want to protect their kids from sexual confusion, pornography, and cultural pressure—but waiting too long to talk about sexuality may be doing more harm than good.In this episode of Calibrate Conversations, Brady sits down with Elizabeth Urbanowicz, founder of Foundation Worldview, to discuss how parents can teach kids God's good design for sexuality early, biblically, and without fear or shame.They explore:Why kids are encountering sexual ideas far earlier than most parents realizeHow to prepare children for pornography and cultural messages before exposure happensWhy “the talk” should be replaced with ongoing discipleship conversationsHow to teach kids biblical sexuality while leading with truth, grace, and the gospelPractical, age-appropriate tools parents can use starting as young as four years oldIf you're a parent, pastor, homeschooler, or Christian educator navigating today's culture, this conversation will equip you to shepherd your children with confidence, clarity, and compassion.Timestamps:00:00 – Why parents are waiting too long03:10 – The problem with “the talk”07:40 – Kids encounter sexual content earlier than you think12:55 – Teaching kids to think biblically, not fearfully18:20 – Preparing children for pornography in the culture26:40 – Age-appropriate conversations starting at 4–635:10 – Sexuality as a good gift from God42:00 – Helping kids process shame and curiosity49:30 – What to do if parents feel hypocritical57:45 – Protecting kids from sexual abuse1:07:10 – Loving family members outside God's design1:15:30 – Teaching truth with kindness1:22:40 – Foundation Worldview resources1:26:30 – Final encouragement for parents
Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.
Have you ever thought to yourself "I'm afraid my wife will never make me happy" and then considered some unwanted possible paths of action? In this episode I talk about the way we put our happiness onto other people's shoulders and then get sad, frustrated and resentful that they don't do everything in their power to make us happy - plus I talk about why that's the wrong approach and how to change it so that your marriage returns to fun, laughter, passion and playfulness again.In our coaching, we help men get a powerful new mindset that empowers you to give, love and connect more deeply because you're finally doing that within yourself first. This mindset allows empathy, trust and connection to happen because you're confident in who you're being. We teach skills and knowledge that nobody ever teaches men when we're younger. Skills and knowledge that make you feel confident and in control even when chaos is going on around you. It's amazing what you can achieve when you make yourself a priority. Most men don't. They are too busy taking care of everyone else. Too busy minding the store and making the money. They are focused on the "outside game" of winning life. But their "inside game" of confidence and clarity is suffering badly. You can only improve your inside game with other men. We would love to help you become more calm, more strong emotionally and more confident and happy in who you are as a man. Come and join us, either through 1-on-1 coaching with my colleague Dan Dore or me, or in our group coaching program with other amazing men who are travelling the same path as you right now in our Men's Live Coaching Roundtable. There's an amazing tribe of guys in this group with us, supporting and helping each other through this process of growth and self realization. https://goodguys2greatmen.com/goodguys2greatmen-live-coaching-roundtable/ If you're facing possible divorce, we have an online course which is specifically for you - Defuse the Divorce Bomb: https://mojopolis.thinkific.com/courses/HDDB-preview?ref=a53950 What if this next year everything changed for you? That's what we want for you brother, We love teaching men these tools - how to be better, how to know who you are, what you stand for, what you want and how to CREATE it in your life through our Masculine Confidence coaching programs. Dan and I are here to guide you on this mission.https://goodguys2greatmen.com/mens-relationship-coaching/ Steve's book Straight Talk Tools for the Desperate Husband will help you to lead yourself and your relationship back to good health. Understand why your partner acts the way she does toward you and learn how to lead your life in the direction you want it to go. You CAN have the relationship you want, fulfilling all your desires while maintaining love and respect.https://goodguys2greatmen.com/straight-talk-tools-for-the-desperate-husband/ We also have a free e-book to help men learn how to lose their fear and be more bold in their marriage to create the love and connection they want. Get The Hard to Swallow Truth About Saving Your Marriage: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/ If you want to learn more about how to take a bigger step toward being a clear-headed, confident man of action, then find out more here: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/mens-relationship-coaching/ We would be thrilled to help you get there - our first discovery call is always free and always gives you a BIG boost of confidence. You WILL become a clearer, stronger, more confident man only through other men. Your woman cannot take you there - and she doesn't WANT to...trust us on that. Sign up to receive our email newsletters for lots more free tips and advice here: https://archive.aweber.com/stevemain Subscribe to be notified whenever we upload a new video: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC13h36xaBvyTPVAES4-4rXw?sub_confirmation=1 You can watch all our videos here: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/video-library/ Or read our blog articles here: https://goodguys2greatmen.com/blog/Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/goodguys2greatmen-podcast--4650431/support.
A Holiday Haunting: Part 1 Jack returns home and reconnects with his old ghost crush. Based on a post by zeon 67. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. Oh. Shit! She's back. Jack had to drop everything and run to the living room; he needed to see her again. His coffee mug shattering against the kitchen floor meant little to him. Jack followed her out of the room, stumbling into the den and crashed into a chair. Any pain that he felt was instantly ignored; he just had to see her face. But she phased through the bookcase, leaving him disappointed. Ten years. It had been ten years since Jack had last seen Erin. Just a brief peek of her ghostly form, and Jack was a teenager again. The first time he met Erin, he was thirteen. Jack's parents had dragged the family from Boston to live in a stock horror mansion outside Portland, Maine. He hated everything about it, feeling depressed, isolated from his old life. Then he saw her. She appeared late one night as Jack attempted to fall asleep. His eyes widened as this woman floated in front of his bed. She wore a bulky, dark shirt with a lighter collar, a long apron over a skirt that reached her ankles and sensible shoes. Pale skin and white hair held up in a professional bun. She stood translucent and hovered a foot off the ground. Jack was freaking out, shaking under the covers and trying to release a scream. But watching her body float, her head crooked to the side with a curious smile, Jack felt an eerie calm. He sat up in his bed and examined her further. She was beautiful, an oval face with dimples, full lips, and wide, expressive eyes. He tried to guess her age, but it was impossible due to her intangible form. "Hello;" Jack said. His voice was hoarse and unconvincing. She smiled again at him before disappearing. "Fuck." Jack immediately fainted. He awoke late in the morning, still shaken. Jack ran down to his family, yelling at them in the kitchen at what he had just seen. His parents responded with blank looks. His sisters both snickered, cracking jokes about Jack's nighttime activities, and how it must have affected his brain. But as he continued, the jokes stopped, and soon Jack had weekly sessions with Dr. Miller. It was like a month until he saw her again. Jack was alone in the house and found Erin standing in between his bed. He screamed this time, but Erin just replied with a smile. She looked amused by his actions. She disappeared, and Jack had to wait another month before catching her on the stairs. But he had a plan, knowing what he should do the next time he ever saw her again. "Jack!" His mother yelled from upstairs. "What Happened!" Jack rolled his eyes. "It's nothing. I dropped my mug." He shouted back up, praying that his parents won't come down. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and Jack had returned home early, hoping just to relax and forget about Laura. Retreating into the kitchen, he ignored the mess he'd left behind. He wasn't that heartbroken about the end of the relationship; he just needed to get out of Boston for a while. Jack filled up a glass of water and took a couple of gulps, trying to steady himself. The plan was to drink, eat loads and watch football. But now, Jack was instantly consumed by the need to see Erin again. Erin's Further Revelations. Jack rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He guessed that it was probably two in the morning. He should be asleep, but restless energy had overpowered him, just like when he was a teenager. The weeks after her second appearance, Jack woke early in the morning and saw Erin staring out of the window. She turned to him and then disappeared. Every couple of weeks, he would see Erin around the house, mostly in his room, but always when he was alone. Whenever Jack saw her, Erin would disappear, fade into nothing in front of him. After a dozen or so appearances, Erin and Jack got used to seeing each other over the year. He would see her, and they would exchange brief smiles before would Erin dissolve. Jack got used to finding her in random places, occasionally pretending that she was never there when Erin materialized during family dinners. Though she mostly appeared in his room. He was also sure that he was the only one who could see her, which developed a special bond as he aged. It was just a shame they couldn't talk to each other. Whatever break in the dimensions that brought her here didn't allow them to speak or hear one another. Over the years, Jack and Erin relied on non-verbal communication, making up their own sign language while also writing out words on paper. Jack's parents were weirded out one Christmas when he asked for a dry erase board. He would come home from school and rush to his room, wondering if that day was the day she would appear. If he found her there, Jack would tell her about his day, what had changed since they last spoke, and random thoughts in his head. She would eagerly listen to him and try to respond in her own way. She had become this nonjudgmental friend that he could bounce off from as he dealt with his new surroundings and the horror of puberty. It took two years for Jack to know Erin's name. They were together in his room; the house was empty apart from them. It felt that Erin had trained herself to emerge only when he was alone. Jack sat on his bed, talking to Erin. For the hundredth time, he had asked her name. She led him to the bathroom and pointed to the faucet. Running the hot water, he saw Erin smile as the bathroom mirror started to fog up. She clenched her jaw and pressed a finger up against the glass. Erin's face strained as her form became clearer as she wrote 'ERIN' in the mirror. The smile on Jack's face then quickly vanished as Erin faded into nothing. He wouldn't see her for another two months. Jack rolled onto his stomach, feeling his cock throb against his leg. Without any prompting, his mind cast back when he turned 18, and Erin gave him a special present. It was one of the few times that Erin appeared, when there were other people in the house. He was half-asleep, playing on his PlayStation when she materialized. Jack shuffled back and collapsed on the bed. There was something off about her that night, her body was trembling, and her face was stone-like. With great energy, her lips curled into a smile, and there was a flash. The clothing that Jack had always seen her in the last five years had disappeared into nothing, leaving her naked. A loud guttural groan escaped Jack's mouth; it was the first time he had seen a naked woman. Her body was slim, graceful, like a dancer, and perfect. He stared at her small but firm tits; Jack assumed they were B-cups and wished he could have his hands over them. Her skin then began to change, turning from a clear white to a fair skin tone. He noticed rusty-colored freckles dot around her angular nose framed by long reddish-brown hair. Then two bright green eyes stared back, overwhelming him. "Fuck," Jack whispered. His mouth dry, his stomach twisted into knots, and all the blood drained into his penis. He was in love or lust; it was all the same back then to him. Jack rolled off the bed and waddled to the bathroom, holding out the used tissue as far away from him as if it was toxic. He was only exposed to her for a few moments before she vanished. Still, Erin's naked form had been seared entirely in his brain, giving him special comfort during lonely nights. Dumping the balled-up tissue in the toilet, he started washing his hands. The general feeling of self-disgust hit him, but this time with more power. He was fantasizing about a long-dead woman. It's not right. He crawled back into his bed and reached for his laptop. Opening the browser, Jack thought to himself for a moment before going to incognito mode. He might need some privacy should anyone have a look at his search history. In the search bar, he typed 'Medium Psychic, And Portland, Maine.' Ophelia's Services. The doorbell rang, and Jack quickly set down his coffee and rushed to the door. He briefly checked himself out in the hallway mirror; he looked normal. Jack wanted to make sure that he pulled that off, a navy oxford shirt, black jeans, and white sneakers, that all screamed normal to him. Jack then mentally thought about what he was going to say to the medium. It wasn't like he had a lot of experience in this. He could tell her about Erin, maybe use her name. Also, he could say where she usually appears and does. Probably shouldn't mention Erin getting naked as some kind of birthday present. He then wished that the medium agreed a later time just so he could rationalize having a drink. During Thanksgiving dinner, Jack told his family that he wanted to stay in Maine for a while, maybe until after Christmas. He had exaggerated the effects that the disintegration of his relationship with Laura had on him. It was a blatant lie; his parents knew it, his sisters didn't care, but no one really questioned it. He prayed that none of them would ever find out that he booked a medium. This Ophelia from Portland, Jack didn't know what he wanted from her. From movies, he had been told that ghosts that roam around usually have unfinished business. If somehow the medium was legit and could talk to Erin, he didn't know if it would be best if Erin moved on. Opening the door, a young woman stood, waiting impatiently. Their eyes met, and Jack was stunned to find his assumptions shattered. He was expecting a woman in her fifties, heavy makeup, and lots of necklaces, someone like that Long Island psychic. Instead, a woman stood in front of him who looked like she was in her twenties, with blonde wavy hair and a curvy figure. She gave an impression of an Instagram influencer with tight high-waisted jeans, a simple tee, and a suede jacket. "Jack Taylor?" she said, pinching her mouth shut and curving her lips upward. "Ophelia?" Jack arched an eyebrow without thinking. She nodded and walked past him, taking in the house. A Victorian-style mansion, built in the 1860s, with five bedrooms, a parlor, a giant fireplace that could fit a body, a near-constant fog-covered backyard, and a bloody-red painted door. She looked unimpressed. Ophelia raised her hands and fluttered her fingers, doing a sort of jazz hands while slowly spinning. Jack had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling, but she's young and hot. Was this a con? Did he want it to be one? "Do you want anything to drink?" Jack asked, trying to get a read of the situation. He then glanced at the clock. His parents should be home in a couple of hours; he had time. "I'm fine." She replied, flashing another smile. "Should we deal with the money first?" Taken back, he slowly reached for his wallet and pulled $150 in cash. He looked at the money and felt grateful that he would only pay an extra fifty if the reading exceeded the hour. Handing her the folded bills, Jack felt a breeze. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Erin. He had been sensing her a lot, recently. "Nice house. Really Stephen King-like." Ophelia gave another forced smile. "Can you give me a tour?" Jack nodded and he took her to the home office, explaining what he had seen the other day. Ophelia took a quick photo and hummed; she felt nothing. Jack then led her around the house, describing where he had seen Erin and what she would do. Ophelia stayed quiet for most of the tour, her phone in her hand, occasionally checking it. He then explained his relationship with Erin. Jack recounted every meeting he had with her, including how he found out her name. When Jack said that he was the only one in the house that had ever seen Erin, he noticed a quick change in Ophelia's face. She definitely assumed that he's psychotic. As they climbed the stairs to Jack's bedroom, Ophelia suddenly became talkative. She put away her phone and asked several questions at rapid-fire speed. "So, who previously owned the house before you moved in? Erin, do you know her last name? Where she's from? Was she born here? Has anyone called Erin lived in the house before?" Jack knew nothing. He had known Erin for ten years and yet knew nothing about her. The house must have been her home or where she worked. He now knew what he had to find out, but Jack had no idea how he would research such things. Speak to a local historian, maybe? He should go to the library tomorrow. They entered his bedroom, a familiar feeling of cold hit his body again. Jack eyed the psychic; there was no change in her body language. Maybe she's a fake. Ophelia wandered around the room, doing the jazz hands again and calling Erin's name. His eyes narrowed on her chest, then to her slim waist, and then to her tight ass; she looked cute. It had been some time since Jack had anything close to sex. It ended with Laura over two months ago, and since then, a brunette ghost was the only thing he had to female company. Ophelia reached in her jeans and pulled out a velvet pouch. Opening it up, a nub of chalk fell into her palm. She then bent down and drew a circle just in front of Jack's bed. The circle was about three feet wide. Ophelia then drew four smaller circles inside the ring, north, east, south, and west. Jack watched her place crystals in each circle, wondering if he would be able to clean the chalk off his floor. "What are you going to do?" Jack asked, trying not to stare at the medium's ass. "I am going to summon Erin. I am going to see if we can talk to her and find out her unfinished business." "What would her unfinished business be?" "It could be anything," Ophelia said, looking around the room. "Some want revenge, especially if they were like murdered. Others are looking for missing rings, lockets or whatever. With my help, Erin could be able to move on." Jack nodded. She was right. It was fun seeing her again, he missed talking to her, but there had to be some conclusion for Erin. After Christmas, he will be back in Boston. Maybe it was best that she moved on, got closure from this world. The psychic then took off her boots and stood inside the circle. Kneeling, Ophelia raised her arms, praying to the ceiling. "Erin; Erin; Erin;" she chanted, raising her head, "Speak to us. Speak; Erin, come to us; come to Jack and me." She sang Erin's name a couple of times with no change in her composure. "Yes, Erin, I hear you. How can we help you?" Ophelia said, lacking any emotion. "How can we help you move?" Ophelia then went silent and very still. Her back was arched, and her head pointed up. Leaning in, Jack realized that her chest wasn't moving anymore; was she even breathing? Beads of sweat flowed down her face as the rest of the body began to tremble. Something was wrong. Ophelia then shuddered and Jack could see the color disappear from her face. She then slowly stood up. Looking at Jack, she gave him a warm smile. "Jack!" Ophelia then said, emphasizing the wrong parts of the name. Jack walked around and stood in front of her. Her body language was weird, not so closed off as it was before. Her eyes then focused on her left hand, marveling how far it was extended. The tips of her fingers then ran down Jack's chest. The broad grin on Ophelia's face got even wider as she felt him up. "It is me, Jack; Erin." Ophelia grinned. "No." Jack shook his head and took a step back. This had to be some weird psychic con. Was Ophelia going to sleep with him? "Ophelia, I think you should get out." "I am Erin." She closed the distance and reached for his hand. "I can prove it. You told me everything and I listened. Once you were overly excited in your classroom by a teacher. You frequently enjoy lobster rolls. And once I removed my clothing for you on your birthday." Jack whimpered, trying to collect his thoughts. Before he called Ophelia, he had read up on cold reading, but she knew things that he had never shared with anyone. Jack hit his bed frame and toppled over, hitting the mattress. He tried to compute what was going on, justify Ophelia's insider knowledge of him. But then the blonde climbed up on the bed, her body floating as she straddled him. This was real. "Jack; I missed you." Ophelia or Erin then leaned in and kissed him forcibly. Quickly sneaking her tongue into his mouth while she rubbed her body against his. Moaning as his tongue dueled, Jack was lost in a world of teenage lust. He had dreams about this, spent countless hours awkwardly pleasuring himself to the fantasy of having sex with Erin. But as he opened his eyes and remembered the blonde hair that flowed above him, this wasn't Erin. Maybe in spirit, but not in body. He pulled his face away and sighed. "Erin; no." Jack said, trying to push the possessed medium off him. "Not like this." "What?" Ophelia screamed. She shot back up and glared at him. Her eyes became demonic and bloodshot. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, breaking his skin. She began to shake and wail. "No; No; No!" "Erin; Erin!" Jack tried to get her attention. He reached up and gently touched her face. "I just want to talk to you. Please leave Ophelia." Ophelia's face contorted into a smile. Jack could tell that something was pushing back against Erin. Maybe it was the medium's spirit wanting to regain her body. She thrashed around on top of him, going from sweating to shivering to back to sweating again. Jack snuck out of her convulsing frame and watched with concern. The medium then slammed into the mattress, bounced high up in the air, and then back down. Jack watched her breathe slowly and rolled onto her back. She looked confused and tired. "What the fuck happened?" Ophelia asked as she sat up, her frazzled hair covering her face. Researching the Franklins. Jack ended the call and rubbed his eyes. The pains of working remotely, struggling to stay productive while also being forced to over communicate just so he won't be called a slacker was too much. The only good thing about his job was that he could move back to Maine and still collect a paycheck. But yet, he hated taking calls from his bosses when it's technically his day off. He knew he shouldn't be cursing his luck. Last night, his parents gave him some excellent news. They needed to go to Springfield and help out Jack's aunt with something. Jack wasn't listening, just focusing on the part when his mom said that they will not be returning until Christmas Eve. Yes, it meant that Jack would have to prepare the house for the holidays, put up the tree, buy the food and sort out the presents. But it also meant that he would be alone in the house; he could plan and try to talk to Erin. Maybe even help her. Finishing his latte, Jack looked up the address for the library and the closing time. Since Ophelia's possession, Jack hadn't sensed Erin's presence. It was worrying. He tried to focus on absorbing as much information about the house. Jack learned that the house was built in 1860 for the Franklins. For more information, he had to drive into the city. As he walked into the library, his heart was thumping in his chest and sweat coated his forehead. Why was he so nervous? Yeah, he had created this pubescent fantasy, and Jack wasn't sure how he would react if that was cracked. What if Erin was an awful person; her death could have been just, and that she was using him. But he still had to find out. Jack sat down at the computer and entered his address and the Franklins in the search bar. Skimming through the records, he got a brief understanding of the family that built his home. Jedidiah Franklin was a local lender who had moved from Boston to Maine due to some unpleasantness. He was followed by his wife, Alice and their two children, Robert and Emma. Franklins lived a dull and typical life and died in the 1900s. "Nothing about Erin," He went through local newspapers and again found nothing odd. Going through the search results, Jack quickly realized that he had been wasting his time, and it was pointless. By the time he reached the fourteenth page, he was about to leave. But instead, he clicked on the link about a stagecoach accident involving the Franklins. Jedidiah, Alice, Robert, and their maid were returning late one night. Their stagecoach collided with a rock, and the maid was thrown out. She died instantly. The article gave the maid's name as Erin O'Ceallachain. Letting out a loud sigh and rubbing his face, Jack then searched for Erin O'Ceallachain. There was little about her. A short obituary that stated she was born somewhere in Ireland and died in 1898. She had been a maid for the Franklins for close to a year. There were no descriptions of her or any clues of her past. Jack leaned back and stared at the screen. It could be her. He had checked; there were no other women called Erin that lived in the house. This could be her. But, if she died on the road, then why was she haunting his home. The loud sound of his phone vibrating against the desk pulled him out of his thoughts. Jack saw that he got a text from Ophelia. She really wanted to speak to him. Ignoring her, Jack continued his deep-dive on the Franklins, trying to find anything. Even a morsel of information about the family would help. After another hour of research, he ended up on the website of an antique bookstore in Bangor. They had Alice Franklin's diary and it was for sale. Tomes of Inquiry. Two days later, Jack sat in the home office and stared at the five-hundred-dollar book. It was too much; he should have tried to haggle them down. Jack wasn't even sure if the diary would be useful; it could be another Alice Franklin or just a list of mundane observations. Jack finished another beer and opened the diary. His hands were trembling with every turn of the page. Either he was nervous or just drunk, he couldn't tell. The pages were filled with fine late-twentieth-century cursive writing that was hard to read. Jack slowly read out each entry, making out every second word. The diary covered the time Erin had already started working for the Franklins to her death if it was the same Alice Franklin. He skimmed through the journal until stopping at an entry made on January 28th, 1898, where Alice mentioned hiring a new maid called Erin. March Twenty-first, Eighteen Ninety-eight ; I saw Robert engaged young Erin in the library. How I wish we do not have the same story as in Boston. August Fourteenth, Eighteen Ninety-eight ; That green-eyed temptress was with my son again. The Roman whore has plans for him. Jedidiah sees nothing. He pushes his son. Then reacts in fury when Robert is in strife. November Sixth, Eighteen Ninety-eight; Constable Standish and his ghastly son shared supper with us. He has eyes for Emma. A boor. My darling daughter would never fall that low. Robert is forlorn. I see his glances at young Erin. When I call for her, the freckled-face jezebel smiles innocently. Jedidiah will end her services in the new year. Jack paused from reading, and tried to make sense. Green eyes. Freckles. It had to be Erin. Jack skipped ahead a couple of weeks, getting closer to the time when Erin died. December Twentieth, Eighteen Ninety-eight ; The Irish whore created a scene. Late in the evening, we found her under the influence. She screamed for Robert. She said she is with child. He is the father. She wants to be wed. That boy has ruined us. December Twenty-first, Eighteen Ninety-eight ; A clear-headed Erin spoke to us in the morning. She lies that she is not with child. The Catholic loves Robert, or it seems. Jedidiah and I agree to end her service. We will send her to Bangor tonight. It is clear to us. December Twenty-ninth, Eighteen Ninety-eight ; My heart is gone. Losing Emma is a great blow. They are to be wed in the next Spring. My son now lives in Boston. I pray his temperament is strong. Erin is gone, a life stopped by a stagecoach. Now I have an empty house. A lost daughter and a dead maid. Jack closed the diary and ran upstairs to his bedroom to grab his notepad, then came back down again. He needs to do more cardio. The two flights of stairs had destroyed him. He knew he had seen the name Standish somewhere. There at the family tree. After Erin's death, Emma married Nathanial Standish, son of the town constable. It made sense now; the Franklins murdered Erin and used the constable to help make it look like an accident. In return, they married Emma to his son to keep his silence. He knew what happened to Erin, but Jack wondered how he could help her. But; like what Ophelia said before, does he want her to move on to the next stage. It probably would be best for everyone. But if he could talk to her and discover her unfinished business, how could he help her. What if it meant getting vengeance on those that murdered her? What if it was on Franklin's living ancestors? The sound of the doorbell ringing jolted Jack from the thoughts of homicidal spirits. He checked his phone; it was nearly ten. Finishing another beer, Jack left the den and shuffled to the front door. He prayed that it wasn't his parents, that their stay in Massachusetts ended early, and now they wanted to talk about his future. "Ophelia?" Jack asked, opening the door. Ophelia's Admissions. She stood there in the light rain, looking like another person. Far removed from the bored, unimpressed medium he saw days ago. She looked nervous, worried, but still attractive to Jack's eyes. The skirt she had on gave him a good view of her slender legs and made Jack think. Again, it had been two months since he last had sex, and he was now feeling it. "Hi," she said, barely audible. "Can I come in?" Jack nodded and let her pass. He tried not to look at her like that anymore; he needed to stay focused on Erin. "Look, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm a fake-ish. I go to people's houses and pretend that I feel something. I do a bit of cold reading, call out the spirits and then lie that they're talking back to me." Ophelia admitted. She paced back and forth as she spoke, nervousness flowing out from her. "Oh," Jack said, looking away. He didn't know what else he was supposed to say. "So, what are you doing here?" "Also, my name isn't Ophelia, it's Lucy. I felt Ophelia looked better on the website. Make it look real." She nervously smiled. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because;" she stepped forward, "what happened that day was real. I felt it, I really did." "Yeah?" Jack noticed that she was holding on to his hand like she was pleading with him. "I used to hear voices. I thought I was going crazy, but then I found out that I was hearing the dead; and I could talk to them. But I don't know, a mix of vodka, and my own cynicism; the spirits don't want to talk to me anymore. I want to feel like that again. I want to help you." Jack paused. Again, not knowing what to say. He felt that she could still be conning him, that she was going to ask for money. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure that Ophelia or Lucy was genuinely possessed by Erin. Then again, they could have had sex, which would be a weird move to pull when conning someone. Jack needed alcohol. "Do you want anything to drink?" He asked. "Please." Lucy nodded. Jack returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. It was the only alcoholic thing left in the house. After completely filling up both glasses on Lucy's request, he grabbed the diary and his notes, and they settled in the living room. He observed the psychic read the journal, his thoughts becoming more and more concerned about her looks. She had removed her thick coat, revealing a slinky tank top that gave him a glimpse of her bra. "So, you think Erin had sex with Robert Franklin; may have gotten pregnant; and the Franklins decide to murder her, to prevent a scandal?" "Yeah," Jack said, leaning in. There were both sitting on the sofa, awkwardly close together. "I don't know much or really anything about hauntings. But I only see Erin here. She must have been murdered here, and they faked the accident." "Erin being an Irish maid, the family are rich, and you got a friendly cop who is willing to help, if he gets a favor, that's a straightforward cover-up." Lucy smiled, patting Jack on the knee. "There is something we can do. I know people in the psychic and magic world. There's one girl who told me about this ritual-like thing. It's like a s ance on steroids. We can make her appear and we can talk to her. Then we can help her." "What's the catch? There is always a catch." "Not really. The s ance is a bit complicated and there is a shopping list, also it will be for a couple of hours only." "Sounds like a plan," Jack replied, raising a glass. They quickly finished their wine and poured some more. Lucy asked him about his family and if they ever believed him. He told her about Dr. Miller, and how his dad would make the occasional jokes. When asked about their absence, Jack explained, and without realizing, underscoring that he had the whole house to himself. Jack then turned the attention on her, quizzing Lucy what happened when she first talked to a ghost; and what was the weirdest shit she had seen. As Lucy went through her backstory. Jack started picking up subtle clues about her. She was touching him more and getting close as she talked about hearing spirits when she turned thirteen. He tried to guess if Lucy was flirting with him, or was this some alcohol-induced delusion. After she finished her story about being asked to communicate with a woman's dead cat, they realized they were out of wine. Jack asked and quickly got another bottle on Lucy's insistence. "So, about you and Erin." She said, playing with the stem of her wine glass. "You were the only one to see her? What relationship did you guys have?" "Like a friendship. Growing up; Erin was like my confidante. I would talk to her about every insane thought that was going through my head that day. I didn't know if she could hear me or not. It was comforting. I miss it. Guess that's why I'm here." "That's sweet." Lucy ran her hand down his thigh. "Sometimes I have some weird creeps that want to speak to their old teenage crushes, like teachers or neighbors that they used to jerk off to. It's nice to have a guy who just wants to reconnect to an old friend." Jack groaned. Looking at Lucy, his mind was made up, and he was sure that she was flirting with him. He should tell her the truth and see how she takes it. "I should tell you this. I have seen her naked." "Really?" Her eyes widened. "Yeah. On my 18th birthday, Erin appeared in my room and then flash, she's nude. She stood there for like a couple of seconds and poof, gone." Jack smiled, "That was the last time I saw her." "That's some present. Making me jealous." Lucy whispered, holding her gaze. "Really?" Jack said, leaning in. Lucy looked up at him, her tongue running over her pink lips. She craned her head forward and pressed her lips against his, her hand on the back of Jack's head, pulling him into her. Both were still holding their wine glasses, and Jack awkwardly pushed his mouth down on hers. Lucy's tongue shot out of her mouth and instantly snaked into his. They both softly moaned as Jack guided her body down on the sofa, nearly spilling her wine. She then suddenly stopped her tongue movements and pulled back. "Hold on, Ghostbuster." Lucy smirked, as she pushed Jack back upright. Taking the wine from his hands, she placed both glasses on the coffee table. With a shit-eating grin, Lucy grabbed Jack and resumed her mouth attack. Jack ran his hands down from her sides to her ass, pulling her on top of his lap. Lucy reached down and pressed her palm on Jack's bulge. She moaned into his mouth, sounding like she appreciated his size. She pulled her lips away, her attention now just all on his cock. Lucy fondled the turgid shaft through his pants, prompting it to throb in her hands. Jack leaned his head and slowly kissed down her neck, feeling her tremble in his arms. "Yes," Lucy said, closing her eyes and grinning. With a single-minded focus, Lucy unbuckled his jeans and yanked out his erect cock. Jack grunted, stunned by the blonde's eagerness. No other girl he had ever been with, was like this. They kept eye-contact as Lucy softly grasped his warm rigid shaft. Their lips met again while she stroked his cock, smearing her fingers with his oozing precum. While their tongues dueled again, Lucy's hand became a blur over his cock. They broke their kiss again, and Lucy lowered her head down, kissing his deep reddened tip. He watched in unbearable anticipation as she opened her mouth, but then instead of engulfing him, Lucy looked up and smirked. "Yeah, I'm bit of a slut," she said. "Just a bit? Jack grinned. "Okay, I'm a deeply deprived slut." She chuckled. Her very pink tongue then slid out of her mouth, and she licked up of his oozing fluid. Lucy took a moment to taste his precum, loudly humming and smiling at him. She then parted her lips and engulfed the bulging head in her wet mouth, firmly constricting, once his glans ridge was encased. Her tongue rubbed his frenulum, just under the tip. She bobbed her head up and down, her firm round tits jiggling freely on his thighs, as she mouth-fucked him. "Oh; Fuck!" Jack grunted, taken by surprise by Lucy swallowing on more and more of his petrified cock. Lucy looked up and grinned at him again, before opening her mouth and engulfing him again. Her bright pink glossy lips slid up and down his shaft as she fucked him with her mouth. Then she sank til her nose rubbed his curly pubes, her teasing tongue gently caressed him as her throat muscle massaged his shaft, pushing his cock deeper. She hummed while she swallowed him, the hum of sucking filling the room. Her hands tightened their grip around his thighs as Lucy furiously pumped her lips up and down his cock. Once in a while, she would slowly pull his cock out, ever-so-gently running her teeth on the underside of his shaft while leaving huge trails of spit behind, then swallowing him again. It drove Jack mad in sexual bliss. She then wrapped her fingers firm around his meat again, lashing her tongue against his swollen cockhead, slurping up all the saliva and precum. Jack's balls were now sending messages to his brain, telling him that within seconds, he was going to cum; soon in big, bold letters. He also felt cold suddenly, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing. He ignored that and watched the medium jerk him off, kissing his head as she worked the shaft of his phallus. Lucy stuck her tongue out and swirled it around his cock tip. But then he saw a figure near the TV. "Erin?" He said. She was right there and looked like she was in tears. A mix of fear and guilt hit him, destroying his previous horniness. But he still came, shooting thick loads into Lucy's face, hitting her in the lips and cheeks. She released her grip, but more jets of cum landed on her face. She raised her head and looked at Jack, the muscles in her face tensed, and her jaw clenched. "What the fuck, man? Give me some warning!" "Erin?" Jack said again, staring at the spirit. "Erin?" Lucy repeated. Her expression turned into an instant glare. But she followed Jack's gaze and looked over her shoulder, finding that they weren't alone. "Oh Fuck!" "No!" Erin screamed, deafening their ears. Her face was scrunched up in murderous intent. She lurched forward, and a force of wind cleared the table, sweeping the diary and notebooks off the surface. Jack and Lucy were pushed back by Erin's invisible energy, hitting the back of the couch. Erin raised her hands, maybe to strike, but felt her power evaporating. She looked at Jack, tears rolling down her cheeks, and then disappeared. Holiday Trimmings. Jack opened his eyes minutes before the alarm. It was Saturday and around ten. He sat up in his bed, his head still woozy from last night's drinking. He couldn't sleep and figured whiskey would knock him out. Also, he wanted to block out Erin's screams from replaying in his head. That face. Her expression dripping with anger and hurt. How Erin tried to attack them. He needed to say sorry. Erin probably won't believe him, Jack knew. But he had to try. Then there was what Lucy said, finding comfort so Erin can crossover. He hated thinking about that but realized that he couldn't be selfish. It wasn't about him. Jack's phone buzzed; he had gotten a text from his dad. It just said, 'Tree!'. Jack groaned, but he slipped out of the covers and took a shower. After getting dressed, Jack forced himself to eat something. He couldn't feel her. Usually, in December, he would see Erin more often than the rest of the year. Knowing that it was coming up to the day when she died, he expected to feel her. Two hours later, and overspending on a fir tree, Jack pulled into the driveway, confused. Lucy sat in front of the door, waiting for him. With a scared look on her face, she raised her hand and gave him a forced smile. Was she looking for him or for Erin? Jack climbed out of the car and slowly approached the young blonde. He never thought how she would take it, seeing Erin like that. After Erin faded away, Jack sat in silence while Lucy grabbed her stuff and bolted out of the house. "Hey," Jack muttered. "So, I have been waiting here for an hour. I walked away twice. But I really need to know. What the fuck did I see last night?" "I don't know," Jack said, looking away from Lucy's glare. "I've never seen her like this. She has never been this scary before. "Until;" "Until what?" Lucy stood up and got close. "You need to tell me." Jack sighed. "When you first came to the house, you tried to talk to her, right? Do you remember what happened next?" Lucy shook her head. "She took over your body and err; kissed me. We nearly had sex. But I stopped her. Telling her that it was wrong," Jack said, " to use your body like that." He quickly added. "Erin started shaking and going all Linda Blair. Then you woke up." "She gets rejected. Then she sees us on the couch, doing you-know-what, and takes it like a cheated-on girlfriend. That explains all the throwing." "I never knew she could do that." Jack smiled. "Can I ask you something?" Lucy stared into Jack's eyes. Jack shrugged and nodded his head. "What are you two? Is she your ghost girlfriend? Are you in love with her? What? Does she know what you are to her?" "Like I said, yesterday. Erin is my friend. Maybe there's more. I don't know, because I don't put labels on relationships with ghosts. But if I can help her, I will help her. Are you still in?" "Fuck it, yeah." He looked around, seeing his neighbors staring at him and Lucy. "Let's go inside. Can you give me a hand?" He asked, pointing to the tree. Lucy groaned but nodded her head. After undoing the bungee cords and dragging the tree off the car roof, the two of them awkwardly hauled the ten-foot fir inside the house. With Lucy leading, they pulled the tree into the living room, where the blonde suddenly stopped. Jack was about to open his mouth, but he saw Erin standing in the middle of the room, and he went quiet. Erin raised her hands to her face, covering her eyes. Her breathing short and quick. She was freaking out. Erin then dropped her hands, clenching her fists as she glared at them. Her form floated to them, but unlike last night, there was no rush of force. Erin's face dropped, shifting into a scared expression. Dropping the tree, Lucy ran to her. She raised her hands up with open palms facing the spirit. "I am sorry. I am here to help you." She said, out loud. Erin didn't react. "He wants to help you. He wants to talk to you." Lucy pleaded with the spirit. Again, Erin stayed motionless. Lucy paused and looked over her shoulder at Jack. She mouthed 'trust me' at him and turned back to the ghost. "You can take over my body and speak to him. He would love that." Erin frowned, then faded into nothing. Jack walked past Lucy, trying to sense Erin's presence. There was nothing. He glanced at the medium; she had gone stiff, just like before. Jack's eyes bulged, realizing what was happening. But it was different. There was no sweat, no change in color, or fear on her face. Lucy just let out a small pleasurable moan. "Erin?" "What?" The woman barked back at him. "I just want to tell you that I am sorry. It was a mistake." "Liar. I saw you," Erin said, with no emotion in a unique tone. "Ye enjoyed every moment with the bonnie lass. I do not wish to intrude in your relationship with that adventuress." Her voice slowly morphed from Lucy's Mid-Atlantic accent to a faint Irish brogue. Jack sighed; he knew he had to deal with this. A simple apology wasn't going to be enough. "I'm so sorry about that. It's just that for a long time, there was this small voice in the back of my mind, saying that you weren't real and I was having a psychotic episode. When you saw me and Lucy, it was just an extension of that. I doubt it will ever happen again. But I did all this research so I can help you." "Help me?" "Yeah. I want to help you deal with whatever unfinished business you have. Lucy as well. That's why she's here. So, please don't be angry with her." "Unfinished business?" the voice then went quiet. She leaned in and kissed Jack on the cheek. Lucy's body went limp and she nearly collapsed. Jack reached out and slid his arms under her. He yelled out 'Erin'; then 'Lucy'; but got no answer. He dragged the unconscious blonde to the sofa. Carefully setting her down, Jack then prodded her cheek, trying to wake her up. She groaned and opened her eyes. "So, what are we going to do?" Lucy said immediately. Business Gets Busy. Jack looked at his phone as he walked through the front door. It was another email from his bosses in Boston. He had way too many people questioning his work. Being a cloud support engineer, he should be focused on the job. But since talking to Lucy about the s ance, Jack had been doing the bare minimum, and people were noticing. He figured that after he got closure with Erin, he could move on. Dumping the sage and wormwood on the coffee table, he saw her. Erin had been appearing more and more. Jack could actually count the times that she wasn't haunting the house. But he didn't get why; it was never this frequent back before. And she wasn't just haunting if you could call it, Jack's room. He had found her in the living room, kitchen and even the bathroom. Right now, Erin was floating near the Christmas tree. It was completely bare, left alone as Jack focused on work and the s ance preparations. There was some judgment he felt he was getting from Erin, like she still hadn't forgiven. Jack needed to remediate that, though he didn't really know how to regain trust with a ghost. He hunted for the Christmas decorations, taking longer than he hoped. Jack was desperate not to call his parents and deal with an endless conversation about how things were going in Springfield. Losing an hour to find them, Jack started decorating the tree, hoping that this will help him get back on Erin's good side. She carefully observed him as he decorated the tree, coating it in tinsel, lights and baubles. It appeared okay to Jack, the colors matched, and the string lights were all working. But looking at Erin, he was sure he had done something wrong. She wasn't that impressed. Jack first thought that she was still pissed at him, but then something hit him. While he saw her a lot during December, it was never on Christmas. This could be her first experience of Christmas in over a hundred years. With that, Jack opened his laptop and googled '19th century Christmas trees'. Getting an idea of what Christmas looked like in Erin's time, Jack grabbed his keys and told her that he will be back soon. Two hours later, Jack returned, and Erin looked like she was happy to see him. That's a positive sign, Jack said to himself as he emptied out his shopping bags. He bounced around a couple of stores before finding them, candle-like tree lights. Using real candles was a fire waiting to happen. And Jack didn't want to explain to his parents that he burnt the house down to impress a ghost. He then pulled out a ready-made popcorn and cranberry garland he got from a pop-up Christmas store. Looking at Erin, she approved by smiling back at him. He then added tinsel and icicle-like ornaments with Erin guiding him, pointing which branch needed something or if it was too much. Taking a step back, Jack admired his work. It looked old fashioned but still good. Seeing that Erin was happy was enough for him. He grabbed a beer from the kitchen and toasted, "That's one good-looking tree," he said, smiling at Erin. She rolled her eyes at him but then disappeared. That was getting Jack scared, her fading away just as they were bonding. It didn't look voluntary, like Erin really wanted to go to her void. She had this horrified look whenever it happened. Jack would then find her somewhere else in the house, an hour or two later. This time it was in the kitchen. He opened and closed the refrigerator door and found her there. Taking a moment to recover, Jack went back to making himself dinner. Erin hovered around him, curious at what he was doing. Jack guessed that she must have been shocked, that not many men cooked back in her time. He was also making pork chow-mein, and Jack wasn't sure how widespread Chinese food was in the 19th century. His phone began to buzz, and it was Lucy. Jack could see Erin's face turn. "She's probably asking about you," Jack said, putting his phone on speaker, "Hey Lucy." "Hey," she replied, "I got some news. We have to move the date of the s ance to the 12th. There's a full moon and it will go well with Hecate." "Hecate?" "Don't worry about it. Have you seen Erin since the other day?" Lucy asked, "Well, she is right here," Jack grinned at Erin, "She's in the room with me." "Whoa," she said, "How's that going? Wait shit, can she hear me?" Erin nodded. "Yeah." "Fuck. I mean shit. I mean I'm sorry," Lucy said, sounding like she was getting out of breath, "Anyway, I also need you to get some bundles of ash to burn. And candles, preferably black." "What is actually going to happen during the s ance?" "Hopefully, we can summon Erin properly and you guys can talk. Then maybe work out why is she here and if we can help her, somehow." Jack looked at Erin again. Her eyes were elsewhere. Jack started to doubt himself; was this something that she wanted him to do. "I will talk to you later, Lucy," Jack said, ending the call. Looking up from his phone, he saw that Erin had disappeared again. If the s ance actually works, Jack needed to ask where she goes whenever she vanishes. It didn't feel like a good place for her. Opening another beer, Jack sat down to eat and tried not to think about Erin. It was really hard. She still looked so sexy, and Jack was back replaying his eighteenth birthday present. Jack admitted to himself that with Erin randomly appearing in the house, he was feeling pent up. Redhead Videos. It was close to two in the morning when Jack knew what he had to do. He had been rolling around his bed, got up twice and tried to dull his brain by checking the news on his phone. He still couldn't sleep. The only prescription that always worked for him was either whiskey or porn. As he couldn't be bothered to go all the way downstairs, Jack powered on his laptop and went straight to Porn. Jack checked out the video thumbnails, hovering over them as he tried to decide what he was in the mood for. Sometimes, he'd be craving blondes with double D-cups, getting plowed by massive cocks. Other times, it would be two lesbians slowly seducing each other. Milfs would be a good choice, but Jack felt that the algorithm would always then suggest stepmom porn, which he wasn't in to. He searched for amateur porn with Eastern Europeans, preferring their slender body shapes and lack of bad boob jobs. Jack sat up in his bed and pulled down his shorts, slowly stroking his cock to full, rigid life. He skipped the initial setup and forwarded it to the redhead pulling the guy's dick out. She grinned at the camera then kissed the man's purple head. Her tongue swirled around the tip before she quickly swallowed the man's cock. Jack shifted his weight as the redhead stripped off her top, revealing her decent-size tits. As the action turned to straight fucking with the twenty-something waitress bent over a park bench, Jack pumped his cock. He imagined himself there, in Prague, having hot, passionate sex in public. But then he felt cold. Looking up, there she was. Erin just appeared by the wall. She was confused and pressed the back of her head. It looked as if someone had just woken up, but in a different room than they were in before. She rolled her head around before stopping, and stared at Jack, her mouth agaip. He was illuminated by his laptop, so he knew that she could see what he was doing to himself. "Oh, fuck," Jack groaned, but he didn't stop stroking his cock. He thought she would float away, or scream, or do something, but Erin just stood there and watched. She even moved closer, standing at the edge of the bed. Her eyes focusing on his throbbing cock. Jack's heart was thumping as he frantically stroked his cock. His eyes darted back and forth from Erin to his laptop; the redhead had been replaced by a different model. She said that her name is Petra and is a med student, but what really turned Jack on was how Petra resembled Erin. Reddish-brown hair, slim body with perky tits, though she had tattoos and pierced nipples. His eyes bounced from Petra being fucked in a stall, to Erin's eager look. It was getting too much for him. His imagination then brought him to Prague again, but with Erin this time. He fucked her from behind, his cock pumping her hot, wet pussy, cupping her tits and making Erin groan in deep pleasure. Jack's balls were aching, then suddenly stopped, and he intensely climaxed. His tip exploded, and shot after shot of cum raced from his cock. Jack struggled to catch all his flying cum with a tissue. After cleaning himself, Jack and Erin exchanged looks. She was embarrassed, he could tell, staring at the ground and doing her most not to make eye contact. He wanted to say something, but Erin left the room. She didn't fade through the wall or vanish into anything, just walked away slowly. Jack then instantly fell asleep, not knowing what else to do. A S ance. Jack opened the door, letting Lucy in. It was half two in the morning, and he was getting scared. A small sliver of thought wondered if she would let him down, or at least ask for $500 to proceed. For the s ance, Lucy had gone all gothic, wearing a black velvet dress and knee-high boots, also in black. She was carrying a large tote bag. There was panic in her eyes. She apologized for her lateness, saying that it took a while to get a cab. Jack was instructed by her, to get bundles of sage and wormwood for burning, plus ash. Lucy herself handled the weirder and harder to find items. She pulled out a knife that she called an athame, a ceremonial dagger Jack guessed. She also had a black bowl that she said is a water scry. It was going to help them talk to Erin. Jack led her to the kitchen and they quickly got ready. While she cut the sage and wormwood with the athame, speaking in Latin, Jack got the idea that this wasn't a con. It was real for her. That gave him hope. "So, where should we do this?" Jack asked, taking a steel bucket that she had handed him. "Your room." Lucy said, pulling more stuff out of her bag. "I've been thinking. You said you're the only one who saw her. And you normally see her in your bedroom, right? I think that's where she was murdered. By you sleeping there, a psychic link was created between you and Erin." Jack nodded. It made sense. They went to his bedroom; and with Lucy's help, he pushed his bed and everything else to one side, giving them space for the ritual. As they're going to make a fire, he opened the windows. Jack looked at the smoke alarms; if they go off, will his parents get an alert? Lucy got down on her knees and drew another circle on the floor, this time, a simple one without any other symbols. Jack lit the candles, twenty-four of them and placed them around the circle. Following her instructions, he then sat the bucket in the middle of the ring and lit the fire. Lucy took command of his bedside table and placed the porcelain bowl on top of it. She filled it with water from a special-looking bottle and dropped a crystal in it. "Take this and put it in the fire. Also, say her name in your head." Lucy said, handing him the sage and wormwood. Jack nodded and shuffled to the fire, trying not to drop the herbs. 'Erin, Erin, Erin,' he chanted in his head. He threw the herbs into the fire and was immediately overwhelmed by the aroma. It tasted sickly sweet, unnatural like. He then retreated behind Lucy; she was kneeling on the floor and speaking into the bowl. It sounded like Latin; Jack could make out the occasional word. She was calling out for Erin. The fire grew larger and smoke billowed from the bucket, looking like a volcano erupting. The smoke turned black, then blue and finally into grey. Jack took a step forward, in a trance, his mouth wide open and his hands trembling. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Lucy with her eyes clenched shut and was now calling Erin's name. Her fingers dug into the table and she frantically said 'Erin' over and over. He saw the smoke begin to clear and a body appeared above the fire. Jack gasped. Erin! She looked stunned, her hand covering her face. He opened his mouth but couldn't say a word, shocked. Color poured into her clothing, turning the transparent household dress into black. Her skin returned to its ivory color, while her hair became reddish-brown just as he saw ten years ago. Lucy had stopped chanting; she also was staring at Erin. She looked shocked, maybe a little scared. Lucy stood up and slowly shuffled towards Jack, resting a hand on his shoulder; but she kept her distance from Erin, using Jack as a possible human shield. Erin was just as surprised as the two of them. She reached out her arm, amazed by it. This was real. Erin moved forward but awkwardly stumbled as if she missed a step going downstairs. She then took a couple of more steps and touched the floor, a new sensation for her. Taking a deep breath, Erin became dazed with the menthol-like odor of burning sage. Her eyes lit up and a smile beamed from her face; she could smell. She then turned her head, focusing on the two, who had resurrected her. Her clogs banged against the wooden floor as she walked to Lucy. The psychic was trembling in her presence. Lucy flinched as she touched her arm. "Thank ye," Erin whispered. She then leaned in, and kissed the surprised blonde. Lucy moaned, instantly enjoying the kiss. Jack watched on, shocked. He didn't know if he should be terrified or turned on. Lucy wrapped her hands around Erin's waist and pushed herself against the resurrected maid. Overwhelmed by a sudden desire, Lucy slid her tongue deep into Erin's mouth. She felt good, but so tired. Erin then released the medium and watched as Lucy collapsed onto the floor in a deep sleep. She turned to Jack and grinned. "Erin?" Jack asked. His hands were trembling and he felt that he was going to sink into the floor. This is it, right? This was what he wanted, but he had no idea how to respond. "Is it really you?" He eventually spat out. "Hi, Jack," Erin smiled. "Fuck;" Jack said. He reached out and touched her hand with his. Wasn't this just supposed to be a s ance? "I can't believe I can touch you." "Me too," Erin said. "How are you?" Jack asked in a deeply sincere tone. "Confused. It felt I was being called by an unknown force. Then it took me." "I'm sorry, but I really wanted to talk to you." "I understand. Oh, it feels good to be heard and to speak with my own voice." "I need to tell you something," Jack said, "The reason we're talking is because I wanted to help you. But I never asked if you actually needed my help." She went quiet, looking like she was thinking something over, in her head. "You said about unfinished business. Bu
EVERYONE who signs up wins a FREE toy or gift card! https://www.bboutique.co/vibe/emilymorse-podcast Try Timeline today! Text “EMILY” to 57237 and claim your FREE 3-day Trial of Gummies. Your cells will thank you! Join the SmartSX Membership : https://sexwithemily.com/smartsx Access exclusive sex coaching, live expert sessions, community building, and tools to enhance your pleasure and relationships with Dr. Emily Morse. List & Other Sex With Emily Guides: https://sexwithemily.com/guides/ Explore pleasure, deepen connections, and enhance intimacy using these Sex With Emily downloadable guides. SHOP WITH EMILY!: https://bit.ly/3rNSNcZ (free shipping on orders over $99) Want more? Visit the Sex With Emily Website: https://sexwithemily.com/ Episode Description In this Sex with Emily episode, Dr. Emily sits down with Chelsey Goodan—the teenage girl whisperer whose new book "Underestimated" is revealing what happens when we actually start listening to the demographic we've been underestimating for generations. The surprisingly simple question that gets teenage girls to open up after years of shutting everyone out—and why the adults in their lives have been approaching these conversations completely backwards (hint: it's the same reason your last "how was school today?" got a one-word answer). Why teenage girls can spot your hidden agenda from a mile away, and the radical honesty approach that creates trust faster than any parenting book you've read—even when you think you're being subtle with your "protective" white lies. The age that girls start dieting that will make you rethink every compliment you've ever given a child—and the unconscious behavior women are modeling that's sabotaging the next generation's relationship with their bodies before they even hit puberty. That thing you keep saying is "fine" when it's absolutely not fine, and how the people-pleasing patterns you picked up as a teenage girl are still running your sex life, your relationships, and every dinner party you've ever thrown. The connection between your relationship to sex and your actual power that nobody talks about—and why embracing your "weird" might be the permission slip you need to stop performing and start feeling. Plus: why giving girls agency doesn't mean abandoning your role as a parent, and the one body-related comment you should never make to a teenage girl, even when you think you're being helpful. Timestamps: 0:00 - Intro 2:24 - The Power of Radical Honesty in Building Trust 7:00 - Why Perfectionism and People-Pleasing Start in Teenage Years 11:44 - Sexuality, Consent, and the Double Standards Girls Face 18:14 - Slut-Shaming: How It Wounds Girls and What We Can Do 21:04 - Teaching Girls Their Anatomy: Why "Vulva" Matters 24:20 - Breaking the Cycle of Shame Around Sex 29:04 - Gen Z Friendships: Girls Supporting Girls Instead of Competing 32:35 - Healing Your Inner Teenage Girl as an Adult 38:43 - The Performance Trap: Why Girls Can't Get Out of Their Heads During Sex 43:09 - Overcoming Sexual Anxiety: Practical Advice for Women 46:24 - Body Image Wounds: How Moms' Self-Criticism Impacts Daughters
It's time for something new! In episode 152 of Overthink, Ellie and David take a deep dive into Michel Foucault's The History of Sexuality, Volume 1. From the repressive hypothesis to the role of confession in producing the truth of sex, your hosts get into all of the juicy content of this seminal book. They also talk about the difference between “ars erotica” and “scientia sexualis,” two key concepts in Foucault's treatment of sexuality.Why does Foucault reject the view that sexuality has been repressed? What is the function of power in sexuality? How does the desire for truth about oneself produce various discourses of sexuality? And, when all is said and done, are Foucault's reflections on power in this work too homogenous? In the Substack bonus segment, your hosts discuss the pedagogization of children's sexuality and Foucault's problematic treatment of a historical case involving the sexual abuse of a minor.Works Discussed:Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality Volume 1Enjoy our work? Support Overthink via tax-deductible donation: https://www.givecampus.com/fj0w3vJoin our Substack for ad-free versions of both audio and video episodes, extended episodes, exclusive live chats, and more: https://overthinkpod.substack.com/See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.
Send us a textIn this powerful episode of The Way of Valor, host Angie Taylor sits down with author and teacher Laurie Krieg for a courageous, hope-filled conversation about teaching kids God's design for sex, marriage, and identity in today's culture.Laurie who serves alongside her husband Matt through their ministry and podcast Hole in My Heart opens up about her personal journey with same-sex attraction and how God's love transformed her understanding of sexuality. Together, Angie and Laurie explore how parents can lead with grace, truth, and compassion while equipping their kids to navigate complex cultural messages about gender and identity.You'll learn:How to start healthy, age-appropriate conversations about sex and identity from early childhood.Why parents not schools or media should be the primary voices shaping their children's understanding of sexuality.What it means to “anchor” your kids in the truth before culture defines it for them.How to respond when your child experiences same-sex attraction or gender confusion.Practical tools and resources to guide your parenting journey with empathy and conviction.Featured Resources:Hole in My Heart Podcast by Laurie & Matt KriegLaurie's new book: Raising Wise Kids in a Sexually Broken World: A Gospel-Centered ApproachCenter for Faith, Sexuality & Gender – Resources for ParentsFind Laurie on instagram @laurie_kriegConnect with Angie Taylor on:IG: https://www.instagram.com/mrsangietaylor/?hl=enFB: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090424997350
Between the Sheets: Sexuality, Classified Advertising, and the Moral Threat to Press Freedom in France (Cornell UP, 2025) by Dr. Hannah Frydman reveals a space, hidden in plain sight in Third Republican Paris, where deviant sexualities and lives could be experimented with and financed, despite republican attempts at growing and norming the population through the heterosexual family. That space was the newspaper, which was not simply a tool of normalization and a site of "dominant discourse," as it has frequently been imagined. Reading between the lines, Dr. Frydman shows how, through the Belle Époque classifieds, the newspaper became a tool for living lives otherwise as information flowed from it not just vertically but also laterally, facilitating person-to-person communication. The sexual relationships, exchanges, and services enabled by this communication were far from utopian: Surviving and thriving outside of social norms often required exploiting others. Yet by attending to the lives and livelihoods enabled by the classifieds, ethical or otherwise, Between the Sheets demonstrates that, thanks to new innovations in media technologies, queer and nonnormative lives in this period were lived in the center as well as on the margins. It was this centrality, however, that inspired efforts to place new (moral) controls on mass cultural forms and technologies. After World War I, in an interwar moment often characterized as one of sexual liberation, the press's queerness was subjected to ever-increasing surveillance and control, with repercussions for press freedom writ large. These repercussions echo into our age of social media, with its promise of unfettered connection, which inspires repressive legislation to keep sexuality (and with it, freedom) in its crosshairs. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network
Join Hecate in this episode of 'Finding OK,' a healing podcast for survivors of SA and abuse, as they delve into the concept of "the male gaze", how it's internalized, its role in objectification, and its intersection with sexual healing post-trauma. Inspired by Margaret Atwood's poem from 'The Robber Bride', Hecate explores how societal beauty standards and the male gaze have influenced their self-perception, sexuality, and share reflections on their journey toward authentic pleasure and intimacy. This episode aims to provide strength and resonance for women, femmes, and AFAB individuals. Listen for powerful personal reflections on noticing and dismantling internalized patriarchal views. and a call for embracing radical self-love (it's a process). Episode Notes: The Male Gaze:https://media-studies.com/male-gaze/ https://theconversation.com/half-a-century-of-the-male-gaze-why-laura-mulveys-pioneering-theory-still-resonates-today-256875Miss Representation: https://therepproject.org/films/miss-representation/It's a must watch! Finding OK: https://www.finding-ok.com/Hecate's Links: https://linktr.ee/FindingOK Support the Podcast and become a Patreon member! https://www.patreon.com/c/CrossroadsCrowStudiosFinding OK is funded entirely by generosity of listeners like you!https://www.finding-ok.com/support/Music is "Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of Your Fist" used with the personal permission of Ramshackle Glory. Go check out their music! https://open.spotify.com/artist/0qdbl...00:00 Introduction and Poem Reading 02:00 Podcast Introduction and Trigger Warnings 04:11 Understanding the Male Gaze 06:45 Personal Experiences with the Male Gaze 11:36 Internalized Male Gaze and Self-Objectification 13:53 Intersection with Sexuality and Body Image 23:08 Healing and Moving Forward 29:22 Closing Remarks and AcknowledgementsSupport the show
Kyle invites veteran youth pastor John Kidd to join the podcast to discuss teaching about sex to students. John recently taught a series to his students on the topic, which he titled "Cheap Sex." John gives us insight into how he prepared for the series and some of the resources he turned to. He also helps us understand some of the differences between temptation and desire. They also tackle the idea that love is not affirmation as opposed to the cultural narrative that love is love. John also reminds us to know our audience, know the influences they are facing, and to know the parents of our students, so that we can tailor our teaching accordingly while always remaining anchored in God's Word.
Between the Sheets: Sexuality, Classified Advertising, and the Moral Threat to Press Freedom in France (Cornell UP, 2025) by Dr. Hannah Frydman reveals a space, hidden in plain sight in Third Republican Paris, where deviant sexualities and lives could be experimented with and financed, despite republican attempts at growing and norming the population through the heterosexual family. That space was the newspaper, which was not simply a tool of normalization and a site of "dominant discourse," as it has frequently been imagined. Reading between the lines, Dr. Frydman shows how, through the Belle Époque classifieds, the newspaper became a tool for living lives otherwise as information flowed from it not just vertically but also laterally, facilitating person-to-person communication. The sexual relationships, exchanges, and services enabled by this communication were far from utopian: Surviving and thriving outside of social norms often required exploiting others. Yet by attending to the lives and livelihoods enabled by the classifieds, ethical or otherwise, Between the Sheets demonstrates that, thanks to new innovations in media technologies, queer and nonnormative lives in this period were lived in the center as well as on the margins. It was this centrality, however, that inspired efforts to place new (moral) controls on mass cultural forms and technologies. After World War I, in an interwar moment often characterized as one of sexual liberation, the press's queerness was subjected to ever-increasing surveillance and control, with repercussions for press freedom writ large. These repercussions echo into our age of social media, with its promise of unfettered connection, which inspires repressive legislation to keep sexuality (and with it, freedom) in its crosshairs. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/gender-studies
Send us a textChanging and evolving is an important part of life, and an important part of the lifestyle. The times change, and if you aren't willing to change with them, you're going to get left behind.Chad and Jo talk about what makes it hard, and what makes it important to them.Support the showOld music (
On this episode of After Hours Sessions podcast. D Rock welcomes a newcomer to the Session Industry Amazon Alexa!! Amazon Alexa talks about her journey into the Session industry and how that lead her from Europe to the United States. Amazon Alexa chats with D Rock about her journey into being a Sexologist and being a Tantra teacher. Alexa chats about what she has learned and how she brings that experience into the Session wrestling world. D Rock and Alexa chat about hang ups we have about Sexuality and being comfortable in our own skin. All this and more on this episode of After Hours Sessions!!! #AmazonAlexa #SessionGirls #MixedWrestling #BDSM #KinkWrestling #SexWrestling #SessionWrestling #SexualityPodcast
If you are interested in learning more about the resources Mona offers you can check out her website here. If you would like to buy lifetime access to all 31 video sessions from the 2025 Neurodiverse Love Conference click here.————————————————————————-During this session from the 2025 Neurodiverse Love Conference, Clare Bates talks about how we can better support autistic people with their relationship and sexuality needs, based on what they have said matters most to them. Clare shares key findings from research and highlights the challenges autistic people face when it comes to relationships, as well as the type of support they want. She also talks about the training that she and colleagues have developed for social care staff to help them provide more meaningful, person-centred support. You can find more about this work in the Autistic Loving section of the Supported Loving Toolkit.Bio:Claire Bates, is a neurodivergent researcher and leader (and founder) of the UK's Supported Loving Network, which focuses on improving how social care supports people with sexuality and relationships. Through the network, she's created a space for sharing best practice, training, and resources to help staff provide more person-centered and rights-based support. Claire is also an active researcher in the field of sexuality and disability, looking at the barriers people with learning disabilities and autistic people face when it comes to building and maintaining relationships. Her work brings together real-world experience and research to push for better support and to make sure people's voices and rights are at the center of everything.
Between the Sheets: Sexuality, Classified Advertising, and the Moral Threat to Press Freedom in France (Cornell UP, 2025) by Dr. Hannah Frydman reveals a space, hidden in plain sight in Third Republican Paris, where deviant sexualities and lives could be experimented with and financed, despite republican attempts at growing and norming the population through the heterosexual family. That space was the newspaper, which was not simply a tool of normalization and a site of "dominant discourse," as it has frequently been imagined. Reading between the lines, Dr. Frydman shows how, through the Belle Époque classifieds, the newspaper became a tool for living lives otherwise as information flowed from it not just vertically but also laterally, facilitating person-to-person communication. The sexual relationships, exchanges, and services enabled by this communication were far from utopian: Surviving and thriving outside of social norms often required exploiting others. Yet by attending to the lives and livelihoods enabled by the classifieds, ethical or otherwise, Between the Sheets demonstrates that, thanks to new innovations in media technologies, queer and nonnormative lives in this period were lived in the center as well as on the margins. It was this centrality, however, that inspired efforts to place new (moral) controls on mass cultural forms and technologies. After World War I, in an interwar moment often characterized as one of sexual liberation, the press's queerness was subjected to ever-increasing surveillance and control, with repercussions for press freedom writ large. These repercussions echo into our age of social media, with its promise of unfettered connection, which inspires repressive legislation to keep sexuality (and with it, freedom) in its crosshairs. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/french-studies
Between the Sheets: Sexuality, Classified Advertising, and the Moral Threat to Press Freedom in France (Cornell UP, 2025) by Dr. Hannah Frydman reveals a space, hidden in plain sight in Third Republican Paris, where deviant sexualities and lives could be experimented with and financed, despite republican attempts at growing and norming the population through the heterosexual family. That space was the newspaper, which was not simply a tool of normalization and a site of "dominant discourse," as it has frequently been imagined. Reading between the lines, Dr. Frydman shows how, through the Belle Époque classifieds, the newspaper became a tool for living lives otherwise as information flowed from it not just vertically but also laterally, facilitating person-to-person communication. The sexual relationships, exchanges, and services enabled by this communication were far from utopian: Surviving and thriving outside of social norms often required exploiting others. Yet by attending to the lives and livelihoods enabled by the classifieds, ethical or otherwise, Between the Sheets demonstrates that, thanks to new innovations in media technologies, queer and nonnormative lives in this period were lived in the center as well as on the margins. It was this centrality, however, that inspired efforts to place new (moral) controls on mass cultural forms and technologies. After World War I, in an interwar moment often characterized as one of sexual liberation, the press's queerness was subjected to ever-increasing surveillance and control, with repercussions for press freedom writ large. These repercussions echo into our age of social media, with its promise of unfettered connection, which inspires repressive legislation to keep sexuality (and with it, freedom) in its crosshairs. This interview was conducted by Dr. Miranda Melcher whose book focuses on post-conflict military integration, understanding treaty negotiation and implementation in civil war contexts, with qualitative analysis of the Angolan and Mozambican civil wars. You can find Miranda's interviews on New Books with Miranda Melcher, wherever you get your podcasts. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/journalism
Juliane Maxwald is a licensed psychoanalyst, AASECT-certified sex therapist, and the author of the upcoming book Psychoanalytic Sex Therapy: Exploring the Unconscious Life of Sexuality (Routledge, Dec 2025). She specializes in exploring how trauma shapes adult sexual expression—manifesting as dissociation, shame, compulsive patterns, shutdown, or fear of intimacy—and how healing can emerge through depth psychology, attachment work, and somatic attunement. Juliane brings a unique lens to the intersection of trauma, sexuality, and the therapeutic relationship, highlighting the body as both a site of injury and a path to recovery.In This EpisodeJuliane's websiteBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-trauma-therapist--5739761/support.You can learn more about what I do here:The Trauma Therapist Newsletter: celebrates the people and voices in the mental health profession. And it's free! Check it out here: https://bit.ly/4jGBeSa———If you'd like to support The Trauma Therapist Podcast and the work I do you can do that here with a monthly donation of $5, $7, or $10: Donate to The Trauma Therapist Podcast.Click here to join my email list and receive podcast updates and other news.Thank you to our Sponsors:Incogni - Use code [traumatherapist] and get 60% off annual plans: https://incogni.com/traumatherapistJane App - use code GUY1MO at https://jane.app/book_a_demoJourney Clinical - visit https://join.journeyclinical/trauma for 1 month off your membershipTherapy Wisdom - https://therapywisdom.com/jan/
In this episode of 'Own Your Pleasure', Whitni Miller and Dr. Lex Brown James continue their conversation and explore the intricate dynamics of relationships, trauma, and pleasure. They discuss the importance of understanding personal values in relationships, navigating trauma, and expanding the concept of sexual pleasure. The conversation emphasizes the need for community, curiosity, and joy in the face of societal challenges, while also addressing the significance of self-care and training one's social media algorithms to foster positive connections. Dr. Lexx Brown-James, LMFT, CSE, CSES is a premiere sexologist centering pleasure as a connective tool for shame free sexuality education and building intimate partner connection. As an AASECT certified sexuality educator and supervisor, Dr. Lexx lectures, trains, and does therapy for academic, professional and general audiences. As a multiple time best seller, Dr. Lexx is an international sexologist. Featured in prominent media like CNN, Essence, It Gets Better, Scary Mommy, and Therapy for Black Girls, Dr. Lexx's goal is to educate others about sexuality from womb to tomb. Through her practice, The Institute for Sexuality & Intimacy, LLC, Dr. Lexx has: developed a curriculum that creates interventions to interrupt racism in sexuality created a therapeutic framework to decrease sexual shame, provides professional training, and has resources for Sex Positive Parenting. Dr. Lexx breaks down the most complicated and taboo topics to create easily digestible information and actionable change. Learn More From Dr. Lexx:https://lexxsexdoc.com/ Follow Dr. Lexx at:@lexxsexdoc across all platforms no youtube or X Dr. Lexx's Gifts to you:Free Resources Gifted by Dr. Lexx → https://lexxsexdoc.com/shop Learn More From Whitni:https://www.bde-moves.com Follow Whitni at:IG - @bde.movesFB - groups/bdemovesYouTube - Podcast Channel = @BDE-Moves Old Channel = @BdeTalksTikTok - @bdemoves
Showing the political importance of play in postwar French literature In postwar France, authors approached writing ludically, placing rules and conditions on language and on the context of composition itself. They eliminated "e's" and feminized texts; they traveled according to strict rules and invented outright silly public personas. The Politics of Play: Oulipo and the Legacy of French Literary Ludics (2025, Northwestern University Press) is a comprehensive examination of how and why French authors turned to these ludic methods to grapple with their political moment. These writers were responding to a range of historical upheavals, from the rise and fall of French feminist and Third-Worldist groups to the aftermath of international socialism both at home, in the former Parisian Belt and in France more broadly, and abroad, in post-Yugoslavia Balkan states and elsewhere. Juxtaposing an array of case studies and drawing on cross-disciplinary methodologies, Aubrey Gabel reads three generations of the formalist literary group Oulipo, including Raymond Queneau, Georges Perec, and Jacques Jouet, alongside writers not traditionally deemed ludic--or sometimes not even conventionally known as novelists--such as the lesbian activist-writer Monique Wittig and the editor François Maspero. Gabel argues that literary ludics serve as both an authorial strategy and a political form: playful methods allow writers not only to represent history in code but also to intervene creatively--as political actors--in the fraught social fields of postwar France. Author Aubrey Gabel is Assistant Professor of French at Columbia University, as well as an affiliate with the Institute for the Study of Sexuality and Gender (ISSG) and the Institute for Comparative Literature and Society (ICLS), and currently a fellow with the Institute for Ideas & Imagination. She has also published a number of articles and chapters in edited volumes on literary play and constraints, but also on bande dessinée and other comic genres. Host Gina Stamm is Associate Professor of French at The University of Alabama, with research concentrated on the environmental humanities and speculative literatures of the 20th and 21st centuries, from Surrealism to contemporary science fiction and feminist utopias, in Metropolitan France and the francophone Caribbean, with a book manuscript in progress on posthumanist ecological engagement in the surrealist movement. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network
Showing the political importance of play in postwar French literature In postwar France, authors approached writing ludically, placing rules and conditions on language and on the context of composition itself. They eliminated "e's" and feminized texts; they traveled according to strict rules and invented outright silly public personas. The Politics of Play: Oulipo and the Legacy of French Literary Ludics (2025, Northwestern University Press) is a comprehensive examination of how and why French authors turned to these ludic methods to grapple with their political moment. These writers were responding to a range of historical upheavals, from the rise and fall of French feminist and Third-Worldist groups to the aftermath of international socialism both at home, in the former Parisian Belt and in France more broadly, and abroad, in post-Yugoslavia Balkan states and elsewhere. Juxtaposing an array of case studies and drawing on cross-disciplinary methodologies, Aubrey Gabel reads three generations of the formalist literary group Oulipo, including Raymond Queneau, Georges Perec, and Jacques Jouet, alongside writers not traditionally deemed ludic--or sometimes not even conventionally known as novelists--such as the lesbian activist-writer Monique Wittig and the editor François Maspero. Gabel argues that literary ludics serve as both an authorial strategy and a political form: playful methods allow writers not only to represent history in code but also to intervene creatively--as political actors--in the fraught social fields of postwar France. Author Aubrey Gabel is Assistant Professor of French at Columbia University, as well as an affiliate with the Institute for the Study of Sexuality and Gender (ISSG) and the Institute for Comparative Literature and Society (ICLS), and currently a fellow with the Institute for Ideas & Imagination. She has also published a number of articles and chapters in edited volumes on literary play and constraints, but also on bande dessinée and other comic genres. Host Gina Stamm is Associate Professor of French at The University of Alabama, with research concentrated on the environmental humanities and speculative literatures of the 20th and 21st centuries, from Surrealism to contemporary science fiction and feminist utopias, in Metropolitan France and the francophone Caribbean, with a book manuscript in progress on posthumanist ecological engagement in the surrealist movement. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literary-studies
Showing the political importance of play in postwar French literature In postwar France, authors approached writing ludically, placing rules and conditions on language and on the context of composition itself. They eliminated "e's" and feminized texts; they traveled according to strict rules and invented outright silly public personas. The Politics of Play: Oulipo and the Legacy of French Literary Ludics (2025, Northwestern University Press) is a comprehensive examination of how and why French authors turned to these ludic methods to grapple with their political moment. These writers were responding to a range of historical upheavals, from the rise and fall of French feminist and Third-Worldist groups to the aftermath of international socialism both at home, in the former Parisian Belt and in France more broadly, and abroad, in post-Yugoslavia Balkan states and elsewhere. Juxtaposing an array of case studies and drawing on cross-disciplinary methodologies, Aubrey Gabel reads three generations of the formalist literary group Oulipo, including Raymond Queneau, Georges Perec, and Jacques Jouet, alongside writers not traditionally deemed ludic--or sometimes not even conventionally known as novelists--such as the lesbian activist-writer Monique Wittig and the editor François Maspero. Gabel argues that literary ludics serve as both an authorial strategy and a political form: playful methods allow writers not only to represent history in code but also to intervene creatively--as political actors--in the fraught social fields of postwar France. Author Aubrey Gabel is Assistant Professor of French at Columbia University, as well as an affiliate with the Institute for the Study of Sexuality and Gender (ISSG) and the Institute for Comparative Literature and Society (ICLS), and currently a fellow with the Institute for Ideas & Imagination. She has also published a number of articles and chapters in edited volumes on literary play and constraints, but also on bande dessinée and other comic genres. Host Gina Stamm is Associate Professor of French at The University of Alabama, with research concentrated on the environmental humanities and speculative literatures of the 20th and 21st centuries, from Surrealism to contemporary science fiction and feminist utopias, in Metropolitan France and the francophone Caribbean, with a book manuscript in progress on posthumanist ecological engagement in the surrealist movement. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/european-studies
This message takes us deep into Jesus' revolutionary teaching on sexuality, desire, and the protection of the vulnerable. We discover that Jesus isn't simply repeating the command against adultery—he's dismantling an entire system of double standards that existed in first-century culture. The sermon reveals how coveting differs from normal, healthy desire: it's the movement from seeing to desiring to taking what doesn't belong to us. This pattern, traced back to Genesis, shows us how unchecked desire leads to destruction. What makes this teaching so radical is that Jesus addresses men directly, holding them accountable for their own hearts rather than blaming women for temptation. In a world where women were considered property and religious leaders taught that female beauty was dangerous, Jesus declares that His kingdom will be a place where women are safe. The hyperbolic language about cutting off hands and gouging out eyes isn't literal—it's Jesus using the teaching style of his day to emphasize how seriously we must take the battle against disordered desire. We're challenged to move beyond surface-level morality into the deep work of heart transformation, recognizing that sexual desire itself is God's good gift, but when it turns into coveting, it has the power to destroy individuals, relationships, and communities.
Today is a traditional Q & A episode, answering listerner-submitted questions. For those wondering how to submit a question, just shoot me an email: andystumpf212@gmail.com Here is what I covered: -Sexuality and Military Service -Advocating for your parents' medical health/treatment -Advice for battling burnout as a Law Enforcement Officer -Imposter Syndrome and creative ways to practice tactical scenarios Enjoy! Today's sponsors: Spartan Forge: https://www.spartanforge.ai Pique: Feel the holiday magic and unlock your healthiest glow with the most exciting offer of the season: 20% off sitewide FOR LIFE, plus a complimentary exclusive holiday bundle. Go to https://www.Piquelife.com/clearedhot
© 2020-2025 Ivy Podcast Discovery LLC
