Ghost In My Closet

As a preface, while the story reflects on memories from an early age and contact between the ghost and the main character occurs, this is not sexual in nature and would more closely resemble that of siblings. No sexual contact described in this story conveys or is intended to be conveyed as occurring prior to all characters reaching and surpassing their 18

th

birthday.

Ghost in the closet

"Yes, mom, I'm good," I called out to her as I climbed the stairs to the second floor.

It had been years since I last made this trek. In from out of town, I was visiting my parents and rather than grab a hotel room, they insisted that my old room still had a bed, desk and dressers, making it available and free.

I had jumped at the prospect, hoping not to sound too eager. Not that I don't enjoy spending time with my parents, but being out on my own has drawn me towards the independence              that staying around them too much impedes.

It wasn't the money either. I have a good job and am more than able to cover my expenses and still have enough to save without looking like a pauper.

No. I was wondering if

she

was still there.

Heh.

She.

Just saying this out loud has me feeling a little crazy.

Not that I know her name, because I really don't. And not that I've ever seen her face. It's a little more complicated than that. But I've felt her touch more intimately than any person has ever touched me.

I guess I should step back and tell you how it started.

I was never really one of the popular kids in school. I was too buried in my books to really give 2 craps about what anyone else thought.

Average and invisible. Appropriate I guess.

Life consisted in its simplicity: School, chores, eating, sleeping. And my books. I was never really sure which of those led me to where we are right now. Maybe it was the invisibility of school. Who knows? Maybe it was some weird food I ate. Maybe it was my eclectic selection of HP Lovecraft and Steven King. God knows they like to play in the supernatural. Maybe it was the way I used to sleep. Or not sleep.

It was never really clear exactly when it all started. I would finish up my dinner, help clean up. I'd knock out my homework at the dinner table. Then I'd disappear to my room. Kill the lights, crawl into bed with just my little reading lamp at the headboard, and read till I fell asleep. That usually took a while as I've never slept well. There's always something more interesting than the insides of my eyes.

One day, half in, half out of sleep, I just sort of noticed it.

I was up against the wall. But my twin bed felt just a little too small.

I could feel the other side indented as if someone was laying there. I could feel the heat they were putting off, so I was sure it was my younger sister, crawling in for some comfort after a bad dream. I wasn't too concerned about it as there was no contact but as I woke further, I thought that I should at least wrap my arm around her and show some level of concern for her state of mind. She had a bit of a rough go of it for most of our childhood.

I rolled over.

There was no one there.

But more than that, the weight on the bed disappeared as I turned.

The moonlight was always coming thru my window, so I could see the room cloaked in shadows. Everything was where it should have been. Except maybe for the closet. That was cracked a little more than I remembered, but nothing that a strong gust of wind couldn't cause.

You see, in my room on the second floor, the closet ran under the slope of the house and was as long as my room was. It actually opened into attic space above the living room with normal venting to the exterior. It made the closet in my room cold in the winter and hot in the summer. This bled into my room through drafts. So, yeah, that definitely could be the reason for the door.

The odd thing about this feeling of someone being there wasn't odd.

It wasn't déjà vu. It felt normal. Like this wasn't the first time.

I remember that the normality of it all is what struck me as being odd the most.

But rather than fret about it, I just rolled back to facing the wall, pulled the covers up and conked back out.

The strange occurrence, the visitor if you will, didn't show again that night.

Shoot, it didn't happen again that month. Or even that fall. At least not that I remember.

But it did happen again.

It was one of those days when I was between books, waiting for Christmas to bring around another batch rather than spend my money buying something that someone else was likely to get for me. Tired but not. I would just lie there in my bed, eyes closed, letting my mind dream while still being awake.

I felt the bed compress as someone put a knee on it. Then I felt the sheets lift and body warmth as they settled in. I was in the middle of a good dream sequence and really didn't want to derail it. So I just didn't move. I just pretended to be asleep.

She got comfortable. Yes, at this point, I could tell it was a she. Girls bodies just put off heat in a different pattern than guys if you know what I mean, even if there was no contact.

Then she draped her arm over my chest. That felt new. Not sexual in any way, but still comfortable.

And with the little bit of extra heat and that little bit of extra weight, my mind fully embraced my dream and off to never land I went.

And then, slowly but surely, it started to happen more frequently. Not every night. Not even every week. But I could almost predict when I would have my little bit of extra warmth in the bed.

Something changed the one summer, months after my 18

th

Birthday.

Looks at the reader:

As we Constant Readers of Literotica know, this is the magic day. This is the day when we awake one morning and are suddenly aware of the other sex. This is the first day that we actually have thoughts and feelings of regarding physical bodies, including our own. Before 18, we are all amorphous and mindless blobs, never sure how we get through the day. Turning 18 is the time when we get to experience the

magic

of physical bodies, of thought and of intimacy. Or at least being able to acknowledge it. Or something like that. Now, back to the story...

It'd been a rough year for my parents. Not all was right in the house and that made me more likely to read more and sleep less. There were many nights of screaming matches filtering through my door. Money wasn't right. Politics were causing issues. The bread was burnt. Someone wasn't paying attention to what they said and the other took offense.

Based on the cacophony from downstairs over each of the thousands of nights since my 18

th

, it was looking more and more like I was going to be on my own for college and I'd have to figure out how to pay for it without help. That led to a heavy burden on my mind.

So I sat and stared at the ceiling, unmoving save for my breathing.

Then I saw it. Then I saw her. Or I

almost

saw her. Just out of the corner of my eye, the shadows shifted as the door to the closet slowly opened. They darkened as what I can only call a shadow figure stepped out and into my peripheral vision. I turned my eyes without moving my head, trying not to give any indication that I was aware.

Again, I wasn't afraid. This just felt normal.

The shadow figure moved silently across what I know to be a horrendously creaky floor. The shadows gave the impression of a female again to match what I'd long suspected. I narrowed my eyes, looking out of slits and pretending to be asleep.

She got to the bed and crawled in, just like she'd been doing for some time. This time, something was different.

I'd long be accustomed to the presence and weight.

This time, she didn't snuggle into me like she normally did. This time, she leaned over with her head above mine. This time I could feel her lips as they brushed mine.

This time, I could smell her.

This time, I could feel the delicate fingertips as she brushed... no, caressed... my face in comfort.

This time was different.

This time, the ghost in my closet knew I was awake.

This time the ghost in my closet wasn't shying away from me and pretending she wasn't there.

This time... this time...

she

let me know it was ok. I was ok. As long as

she

was there, nothing else mattered.

My eyes had opened up slightly. The wider they opened, the less clear she was. So I closed them again.

I started to move my lips to form words, but then I felt her finger move away from my hairline and distinctly touch my lips in an effort to shush before the first syllable was uttered. So, I relaxed my lips again. She rewarded me with another soft kiss. This one, I returned in equal measure.

I remember this night as clearly as this morning.

I remember reaching up to touch her and feeling nothing at all. Warmth without form. Except for where she was touching me.

The touch of her fingertips. The lips she used gracefully on my lips. All of those were just like every other girl I'd been with before. The sweet smell of mint from her breath even though there was no air movement indicating actual breathing.

And then there were her breasts. Oh yes, those were real too. Thank God that I liked to sleep in just my boxers. Apparently, my apparition did not have either the ability or the need for clothes. I'd never noticed this part before. The hand not underneath her weight made its way up to where the perk nipples were boring into my chest. I was seeking to roll those glorious nubs in my fingertips. All I found was warm air. Unfortunately, I could only feel them where she was laying on top of me, leaving my fingers aching for some unfound participation.

Wordless movement of the weight distribution left me with the impression she was laughing at my frustration.

Instead, she gave me another soft kiss. Her tender lips parted slightly to let her tongue into play. And play it did. She traced my lips before moving to my neck and below my ear. It was excessively erotic in that I was both helpless to stop the caresses and thoroughly unable to return the favors she imparted. Not saying that I had any desire for those kisses to stop.

I relaxed in the luxuriousness of her kiss and her fingertips.

The nails on her hand glazed their way down my chest, making my breath hitch in anticipation. She stopped at my waistband and then resumed at my knee, drawing the exquisite pleasure back up the inside of my leg and into the leg of my boxers.

As she was beginning to near my sensitive bits, she pulled her hand away, dropping it to my further knee to begin teasing me on that leg.

And then she bit my nipple. A shadow bit my nipple. And I loved it, even though I sound crazy saying it.

And as she began to caress my sensitive nub with her tongue, she began the delicate tracing of my testicles with the lightest touches of her finger nails. Exquisite pleasure inasmuch as it was exquisite torture in being unable to return the favors.

I've always been one to make sure my lovers are 2 to 4 orgasms ahead of me. And here I was, I couldn't even give her one.

I felt as the leg of my boxers was pulled up, exposing my cock and testicles. The sheet had been pushed off to the side somewhere in the midst of the play, unnoticed by me. I could feel as her lips traced down my belly. She licked and nibbled her way down, paying special attention to my navel while her hand and fingers continued to stroke me to an ever-larger tumescence.

She then moved the invisible head ad mouth over to cover my cock head. The duplicity of being held and not held, of being gently caressed by a mouth and tongue while not, of being both wet and dry at the same time had my mind spinning into overtime. She had completely captured my psyche, forcing the world into the shadows she'd emerged from. And then she stopped just as I was reaching my peak.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit to moaning in frustration and disappointment. So moan I did. Till I felt the weight on the bed shift again.

She swung a leg over the top of my engorged penis and held me still while she slid her body down, sheathing me in shadowy slickness. Then, my moan turned into a breathy sigh of pleasure.

She began to move up and down, slow and assuredly in her movements. Up and down, minutes on end. She leaned forward, kissing me as her movements changed to where she'd be grinding her clit at the base of my cock. Her hands grasped at my neck, trying to hold on and give herself more leverage as the smooth flow churned into a flurry of thrusts. Her velvety hole began to spasm around me, bringing my ejaculation to the forefront of my mind. My breath became ragged as my hips began to thrust upward, lifting her invisible weight and back down to let that same weight impale her again. I grasped at the sheet under me as it was the only tangible thing in reach.

My brain shorted out as I began to baste the shadow in something more substantial. One, two, ten shots it seemed. Each one bringing exquisite pleasure and release. Release in both mind and body.

Regrettably, I did not maintain full consciousness after that. I slipped back into my half wakefulness as she slipped to my side, tucking her body in tight and pulling the sheet back over us.

After that night, I began to see her more often. Or not see her I guess. It was only when I was able to calm my mind before bed that I'd see her. If I was falling in bed after work, I was seemingly left alone for the most part. But she was there.

The rest of that summer, I had a ghostly apparition visit me more times than I can count. We didn't always make love, but we were intimate in other ways. Well, any way that didn't require talking or vision anyway.

Eventually, I moved away to college. I didn't come back to my parent's house much after that, but about half the time I would get a visitor in my bed when I came for a visit.

And that's why I was looking at being back this time.

I climbed up the last step and into the old room. It looks run down due to years of no one being in except for grandkids who played and left a mess. Toys are scattered on the floor and the room is in serious need of a painting. But otherwise, it's my old room.

I drop my bag on the desk and strip down. Living on my own has opened my eyes to the wonders of sleeping without boxers and my parents are old enough I'm not worried about them making their way upstairs tonight.

I reach over to turn off the overhead when a movement catches my eye in the direction of the closet. She seems to be a little more substantial this time.

She steps over to me, not waiting for me to get into bed. I guess she's as excited to see me as I am to see her. She wraps her hands around my face, reaching up to give me a tender kiss. I return the favor, not expecting to feel anything other than the warmth of my childhood. Instead, my hands find a face, still hidden in shadows, but substantial and tactile.

I smile at her as I make clear that it's my turn to bring her pleasure.

It's been too many years and I think that I wish I could take her with me.

I do have my own closet now...

Maybe she'll come haunt it...

Memories are an interesting thing. Timelines are sometimes blurry but the memory is real. This is one of mine, only slightly embellished, and only a fraction of what all I remember. This memory actually played part in my recent life as the ghost did follow me....