I can't say that a ghost of any sort has been appearing in my room for the past few weeks, for I fear that no one would believe me. It's 1945; nobody believes in ghosts anymore, nor would they believe that specters exist either, nor ghouls, nor phantoms, nor even restless spirits. No. People are far too focused on more important things than fiction these days. Such silly thoughts wouldn't dare intrude the mind of the sane. Why, if I were to try to tell anyone that my family's new house has been inhabited by another soul, the television would most likely be to blame. "Too many ghost stories, Jenny", they would most likely say to me. I certainly couldn't tell my dear mother or my older sister that I fear our new house was not completely empty when we moved in. "Crazy", they'd call me. Although, perhaps it's not entirely impossible? After all, this house used to belong to a young man who had tragically died in a terrible fire. It wasn't until the house was restored and cleaned that my mother and my sister Margaret could move here for better work opportunities since our father had unfortunately died while he was deployed.
Ah, but I fear I must be rambling now. I've got to explain myself and this ghost nonsense that I'm speaking about.
It's only been a month since we've come to live in this house. It's a cozy little victorian-style with modest sizings and a close location to the city. It is nothing too special, nor is it anything so grand, but it allows my mother to head off costlessly to teach at the local school, and it allows my sister to ride her bicycle to the tailor shop she works at without worrying about the distance. That leaves me alone in the house to tend to the chores and to take care of the shopping while they're busy bringing the money in.
I've come to notice that every time I'm in that house alone, I seem to get this...strange feeling. It's hard to explain, but I never feel quite truly alone in that house even though I'm perfectly aware that I'm the only living, breathing soul there. The feeling especially gets worse when I lie down to rest or settle in for bed for the night. When I wake...Well, I suppose all I can say for now is that I wake feeling...hot.
I would find my heart beating just a bit faster than normal, and would I find my skin nearly burning to the touch. My face would grow flushed, the back of my neck a little clammy, my breasts just a smidge more sensitive, and I often found a strange heat growing a bit lower than I'm comfortable saying so.
Dare I say it, but it almost seemed as if I'd wake with a start because something—whatever it may be—would cause me to get terribly, terribly aroused. Any time that did happen, I would grow a little shameful to be perfectly honest. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I would often climb into bed while I'm alone in the house and...touch myself. Surely it wouldn't be so terrible if it were just a little bit, I'd often think. Surely nothing bad would come of it, and I was simply just curious. It did feel good, I was afraid to admit. Because of this, however, I feared that perhaps I'd be touching myself in my sleep, and that would be what's been causing me to wake feeling so flustered.
I couldn't imagine just how awful it would be if I were to unknowingly do that while sharing a bed with Margaret in the middle of the night. I swear on my own grave that I only masturbate while completely alone in the house, and damn my own soul if either my mother or my sister were to find out.
I digress.
One morning in late September, I was busy tending to our small garden and picking some fresh zucchini to use for tonight's dinner. Mother and Margaret were out working for the entire day, so as usual, I was left to tend to the chores. It was hot outside, barely a breeze to be felt as I wiped the small traces of sweat from my forehead. After I was finished, I took the vegetables inside to be cleaned, and after that, I tended to my usual routine; I swept the porch, cleaned the kitchen, hung the laundry, tended to a loose button on my dress, checked the mail, fed the chickens, dusted the mantel, cleaned the windows, and by the time that was all finished, I felt as if I wanted to sleep for nearly a decade. My apron had gotten a little dirty and the curls in my hair had begun to fall out of their place.
I decided that I could finish the rest of the housework later, and for now, I'll run a bath while playing a June Christy record as some background music.
I hummed to the tune as I slipped out of my dress and released my dark hair from its curls, allowing the waves to fall down my shoulders. It always felt nice to feel my hair brush against my bare shoulders, as I always keep it up in properly rolled curls and off my neck most of the time.
After brushing out the remaining curls, I slowly sunk into the warm water with a quiet sigh. Sunlight shone through a small, high window and lazily reflected off the bathwater.
I simply sat there for a little while, relaxing in the steamy bathroom while I allowed the water to soothe my skin. I hadn't had a single spot on my body, save for the small beauty mark on the corner of my upper lip; not a freckle, nor a blemish, nor even a stretch mark was present anywhere else. I did notice that my time in the garden had darkened my warm ivory skin by half a shade, it seemed.
After some time in the water, I absentmindedly allowed my hand to slip between my legs when I suddenly got the notion to pleasure myself for a moment while I had this time to myself. With a small sigh, I closed my eyes while my fingers moved circles around my clitoris, feeling how swollen it had gotten without me even realizing. I touched it and rubbed it slowly while I spread my legs as far as the bathtub would let me.
"Mmhh..." I sighed softly, feeling a small pleasure beginning to grow. I took my time to touch myself there for a little while before my fingers moved lower and ran between my lower lips. It was always fun to tease myself this way as I've found that it would make the heat more intense. This time though, I was in no rush, and I simply wanted to take my time to feel myself. These days, it's taboo for a girl to be taking part in such...lewd acts, but of course, I was alone, and no one needed to know. It was just me all alone in the bath.
I licked my lips while I slowly pushed a finger inside myself, slowly moving it in and out. Of course, a finger wasn't big enough to properly satisfy a girl if she desired to be properly full, and although it was all that I had, it still felt so good.
I did often wonder how sex felt, though. I, of course, was only nineteen, and I hadn't found a husband, nor was I planning to any time soon unless the right man came about. I still wondered how it felt to be touched by a man's hands, and I also wondered, dare I say, what it felt like to be penetrated with a cock.
I fell into a haze. Everything around me seemed to become a blur as I fell into a deep state of relaxation while I played with myself, my fingers eventually moving back and circling my clit that had become needy for a little attention. I might have been in my little state of pleasure for around ten minutes before the heat and the pleasure suddenly became more intense. My eyebrows furrowed and my toes curled, my breath coming out a little broken as I whimpered.
"Mmh...aah..." I felt a pressure growing down there, that familiar pressure that would build up before an orgasm. It felt good, and I found myself sinking into the water and letting it build.
I sighed and moaned softly when I felt a wonderful pressure on that sensitive spot inside me. In my haze, I didn't even realize that the feeling didn't match up to what I was doing. I felt as if something small like a finger were inside me, but I opened my eyes for just a half of a second to see that my fingers were still on my clit.
In my confusion, I stopped and sat up straight. When I moved, the pleasure stopped. Perhaps it was just in my head that I felt the pleasure somewhere else, or perhaps it could be for any other reason, although it was certainly strange. I decided to shake it off and think nothing of it as I settled back into the warm water.
