Her breathing was faint, and a thin film of nervous sweat covered her brow as she walked into the room, a cold winding closing the door behind her. Guided by an unseen force, she slipped out of her dress and laid down on the bed. Closing her eyes, she tried to control her breathing, remembering to keep in control of her emotions, the dual between fear and desire pulsating through her body. She looked up saw him looming over her, faint as the wisp of cloud, translucent, yet solid and opaque enough for her to discern his features. "Are you ready," she heard a cold, cryptic voice echo through the abandoned apartment building, seemingly emanating from nowhere in particular. She tried to speak "yes," but couldn't, and simply nodded, trying to keep her composure as she laid there naked, waiting for what she couldn't understand, but couldn't stop desiring. "Trust me," echoed the same voice, slightly warmer, but still unnatural, "you are safe with me."
***
No one ever noticed her like that. A shy girl, spending most of her time with eyes glued to 19th century novels and the books of long dead philosophers, she cared little throughout high school for the world of jocks and bimbos, football and binge drinking, parties and casual hookups that seemed to define the culture of her peers. It's not that she didn't have desires, but she fulfilled them through erotic fiction, and a rabbit vibrator delivered to her parents' home in a discrete Amazon delivery box, which came regularly for her and were usually filled with books. Where others stayed up late bonging beers and falling into bed with whomever happened to still be awake, her nights of passion and lust transported her across time and space. She shared her bed with untold lovers, from past, present, and future and never woke up filled with regret the next morning.
Things began to change when she went to university the next year. She assumed to find her dorm filled with peers of similar inclinations, especially as she was accepted to an honors program and moved into the honors dormitory. Her roommate was indeed intelligent, and even almost as bookish as her, but still would bring new bunkmates almost every weekend, leaving Andrea locked outside of her room, sitting in the lounge with her laptop or a novel, alone with her thoughts.
Or so she thought. On one such Friday evening, she heard a tapping at the window. Dropping her dog-eared copy of The Brothers Karamazov in a start, she looked out. She thought she saw a boy out there, with the rain beginning to poor down. Standing up, Andrea went to the window and scanned the surrounding field. Nothing. But she swore she saw someone out there. Assuming that a drunk hall-mate has gotten himself locked out, she walked out of the lounge to the nearest door to see if she could help the poor soul. Opening the door and peering out, cold rain blowing in at her, her rain jacket locked away in her occupied room, she swore she heard someone calling her name. Taking a step out into the rain, a burst of wind swept the door behind her closed. "God dammit," she yelled, as her t-shirt and shorts, now saturated in rain began clinging to her skin. "Anyone, help!" she pounded on the door, before she felt a hand on her shoulder.
Spinning around, she was paralyzed by what she saw. It was the boy she thought she saw at the window, but he wasn't quite there. He was about 6 foot tall, with brown curly hair, decently built, but not too bulky. But he was standing there in jeans and a sweater, looking completely dry as the deluge cascaded around them. The light above the dormitory seemed to pass through him, partially illuminating him, partially obscuring him. "Don't worry," she heard him say, or at least heard a voice, "Come with me, you can get out of the rain and dry off." Despite her fear and trepidation, she felt a certain comfort and followed him. Taking her hand, he led her across campus and then towards a series of adjacent apartment buildings to one that she could have sworn was abandoned. "Where are we going," she asked, noticing for the first time that the rain seemed to no longer be affecting her and that they had traversed campus far too quickly than they should have. "Who are you?"
"Don't worry, Andrea. You'll be safe here." He led her up a carpeted stairwell vaguely smelling of mildew and into an unlocked apartment unit. "Have a seat, I have some tea ready." "How do you know my name? Who are you?" she asked, refusing to sit down. "I know you, Andrea. I know you long to be needed. I've noticed what no one else has, and what you yourself refuse to," he responded as he ran his fingers across her wet face, moving a strand of soaked hair out of her eyes. His touch, which should have been warm flesh, instead felt like a jet of cold air. Confused and scared, she tried to slap his hand away, but found little resistance, as his body seemed to dissipate before reappearing in the doorway of the kitchen holding a mug of tea. Despite her confusion, she felt a strange calming sensation flow through her, as she took a seat on the couch, and graciously accepted the tea offered to her.
***
He became her secret. Every Friday night, she would come to his apartment, and they would talk. She would confide in him her own fears and insecurities, and he would regale her of tales of his life, and 30 year afterlife. He made her laugh, and she took comfort in his reassurances and reveled in his stories. It was like she had entered the world of one of her novels, a world of fantasy and mystery that she didn't fully understood, yet embraced. Though she should have been terrified by his incorporeal presence, something about him called to her and calmed her. In his presence, she felt almost like a different person. There she was appreciated, admired, maybe even loved. It mattered little to her that the person loving her would violate most people's definition of a person. In his eyes, she was recognized for who she was.
Her spectral secret admirer instilled in her a newfound confidence that she never had before. Where she usually slid through the crowds in unkempt hair and oversized sweatshirts, she now felt inspired to keep her hair brushed straight and smooth. Instead of the ease of leggings and sweatshirt, she began wearing dresses and skirts, fitted blouses and tight blue jeans, jewelry and makeup. She found a new pride in her body, her naturally thin shape, her perky B-cup breasts, her small but tight ass, her toned thighs and calves. She began running in little more than running shorts and a sports bra, and engaging in heated debates in classes where she usually kept her disagreements silent.
Hall-mates, who never noticed her, began asking her to lunch and joining her in the study lounge. But she never accepted their invitations to dates and parties on Friday night, usually making up some poor excuse. Her roommate, Sarah, told her suitors that she always left the dorm on Friday night at 7 and came back a little after midnight. Rumors soon swirled through the dorm that Andrea was having an affair with a professor, or was dating a townie. She smiled as herd people whispering about her. It was almost cute, how so many people now wanted to know what she did on Friday nights, when hardly 2 months ago, she was invisible.
***