Emma wondered, as Saturday night approached her personal witching hour of eleven, if her friends and family weren't right-- maybe she did need "professional help."
What was it about eleven o'clock on a Saturday night? Why did she keep checking the time? And-- worst of all-- why did the approach of that hour begin to make her feel more and more aroused?
Emma was thirty-seven and officially "separated." "Separated" was apparently what they called it when your husband of twelve years announced he was in love with someone else-- while bringing out his already packed suitcase.
Her first reaction was "really? When did you ever find the time?" Tim was always working, which included: meetings, business trips, power lunches and golf outings. Emma genuinely wondered how he had managed to squeeze any additional pussy into his packed calendar.
Tim had apparently been planning his departure from their marriage for a while. They would sell the house, he informed her, which was worth a fortune, he claimed, and split the profits fifty/fifty-- right away, long before any official papers were filed.
She shouldn't have done it-- and her ever helpful friends all agreed. But the unexpected infusion of cash into her bank account from her half of the house sale, opened up all kinds of possibilities.
Her grandmother's house was sitting empty and neglected. It was not officially up for sale according to all of the unofficial websites. However...
So many memories! Fresh-baked cookies, curled up with Grandma gaping at impossibly old photos.
("They didn't have cell phones back then??")
Grandpa died when she was only twelve. Emma became Grandma Jennie's sole source of comfort, her unofficial therapist, and her very best friend.
Jennie died when Emma was twenty-five and she was inconsolable for weeks.
Tim didn't get it, even back then: "Well... how old was she??"
Should've been a sign of things to come.
Emma bought the old house for a song. The place was a wreck but she had the money. There was just something about being back in that house; it was as if time was only an illusion. She kept expecting to see Jennie peeking in on her:
"How are you doing, love girl?"
But now it was getting closer to eleven. Emma took a shower, fixed her hair, put on minimal makeup... he hated too much makeup.
By 10:57 pm she was naked under a sheet and a blanket. She felt a warmth in the room-- the people who talked about "cold spots"? -- Jack was anything but cold!
She turned to her right to avoid seeing him materializing... that was creepy. Bones, blood vessels, then finally skin and hair.
The bed sagged comfortably next to her. She turned:
"Jack!!"
"Emma! It's still you!" The grinning, dark-haired broad-shouldered man reminded her of a young Tom Selleck-- down to the mustache. Except, Tom Selleck was still kicking it as the longest-lasting fictional NYC police commish. Jack was quite dead.
They snuggled up as usual. "As usual?": this was only their third time, their third hour together. She felt his beautiful, pleasantly hard penis press up against her belly; it felt as if it belonged there-- until it was time to aim for her belly from the inside.
"Did you... look into me... on your light-up number box?"
She smiled and shook her head. Jack died in 1933 and refused to accept that her iPhone was actually a telephone.
"I can't," she playfully punched his arm. "You use your powers to make me forget."
He got so serious. "I don't have any powers. Whoever took pity on me, while I'm under this curse, they make you forget."
Jack had "materialized" eight times since he was shot by his crazed lover in this very room. Each time, he appeared in the bed of a woman who was exceptionally lonely or in despair.
His curse was that he loved women unconditionally. He was a 'ladies man' (more a womanizer) in life and that had led to his death. In death, women seemed to be able to summon him out of their loneliness. He was no sex god, but his love nearly always had an unconscious effect on each new lover's psyche.
His first lover was here to commit suicide in 1939, after the house briefly became an inn. That one, Emma was able to find on Wikipedia. She became one of the first full female professors in Applied Mathematics and wrote one of the standard textbooks.
Then there was a young war widow in '43; a neglected housewife in '55-- and then, Grandma Jennie.
In 1957 or '58-- Jack wasn't sure-- Grandpa Sam temporarily ran off with another woman.
"How many times did you... visit her?" Emma had asked in disbelief.
