Ghoststory Ch 3

She left Steve asleep in her bed as she went for a shower and to try and think about what had come over her. In the last twenty four hours she'd brought home a total stranger named Mike for a one night stand, and now she'd seduced an old boyfriend who'd come over to help fix up her new Victorian home. Why? She usually wasn't so horny, and certainly not so forward. But try as she might she couldn't feel bad about it. Indeed, as she stepped into the shower she realized she felt great, never better even. But even that was a little strange, as she'd just wore out her ex-boyfriend and left him asleep in her bed. She should be exhausted, beyond worn out. They'd done a nearly complete tour of the house, alternately screwing each other and fixing up the room they happen to be in. There was no logical way she could have done all of that and not feel tired, sore and ready for a nap at least. Yet, here she was, feeling better now than she did when she started. It didn't make sense.

More than anything, she was curious now, not worried. Whatever had gotten into her hadn't done any damage, just the opposite for her at least. And nothing a nice long nap won't help Steve from recovering from. The fact that she'd, for the first time, had worn him out just struck her. She had to admit, she felt a bit proud of that. Only, now she was the one who was ready to keep going, and he was out cold. And a part of her did want to keep going, and she knew if Steve woke up anytime soon she might see if he was up for some more. Then again, she didn't want to hurt anyone, and it was possible to hurt the guy if she only felt more invigorated after each orgasm and he only felt more worn out. No, best to let him rest up, regain his strength.

Still, she couldn't believe her train of thoughts, nothing but sex! Whatever happen to her belief in relationships? In something other than just the physical? She knew something was happening, and wondered if her current concerns would be drowned the next time she thought of some guy she wanted to sleep with. It was kind of scary, and yet at the same time, thrilling.

She got out of the shower and stared at the steam covered mirror before wiping away a space for her to see herself. She had to admit, she looked as good as she felt. It's my new diet plan, she thought to her self, loads of sex and a couple of showers a day. Slipping back into her bedroom she grabbed her robe before heading out of the room. She didn't want to disturb Steve, convincing herself that it was simply so she wouldn't be rude and wake him, and not admitting it she also thought about him regaining his strength.

Realizing she'd not eaten all day, another wonder considering how much of a work out she'd had, she took the back stairs down to the kitchen. In the doorway she paused. The table was cleared off of the light fixtures, Steve had in fact installed most of them in between them having sex in each of the rooms where he worked. Now a single tupperware container sat on the table. She didn't remember leaving it there, or even pulling it out of the box of kitchen supplies that stood open beside the refrigerator. That alone was a little strange, but the truly odd part was that the container had held her small collection of magnets for her fridge, including a promotional pack of refrigerator poetry magnets, a word or portion of each word on the magnet. Now the whole collection was on her fridge. The center of her freezer door was covered with a random scattering of words, except the exact center. There, someone, it had to have been Steve was Diane's first thought, had arranged a poem for her:

today you please him driving wild entertainment little did he ask how

now tonight we dance for I'm hungry to show you how I can feed your need

to live on love

But, if it had been Steve who wrote it, why would he have written this? And who besides himself did he think she'd been pleasing today? She was starting to consider that the poem was from someone else, and that this someone else must have something to do with what she'd been experiencing, when the doorbell rang.

She headed down the hall to the front door, wondering who this could be and at the same time trying to recollect the limerick she'd composed when she came to answer the door for Steve. Failing at recalling the limerick she was surprised to find a young lady holding a casserole dish.

"Maggie!"

"Um, hi, my mom wanted me to bring you a housewarming."

Diane stepped back, inviting in her friend and co-workers daughter, "How's our suicidal sky-diver doing?"

Maggie smiled back, "She's getting better, but she still can't get around with her cast up to her hip."

Diane closed the door behind Maggie, "Well, you'll have to tell her thanks," she said as she took the casserole dish. "So how's school?"

Maggie shrugged in a manner that Diane knew to mean her answer was only a facade, "Well enough, grades are fine."

"Uh-huh, look, why don't I put this in the kitchen and you make yourself at home. Give me a chance to give you the grand tour."

"Sure," Maggie made a point of looking around the living room, "It's a great place," she said, smiling back at Diane.

"It certainly has done wonders for me," Diane headed back to the kitchen, "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, not right now, I'm fine."

Diane paused in the doorway to the kitchen again, looking over at the fridge. Only this time, instead of the poem, her eyes were drawn to a grouping of words just below the poem. She tried to remember if those same words had been there before. She couldn't. For all she knew these same words had been sitting there, innocently enough, while she stood reading the poem for the first time. She couldn't tell. All she knew was this new message was as clear as day to her now:

kiss her she wants you

Diane crossed to the fridge while glancing around the room. She was alone, felt alone, but still she wondered if she was, in fact, alone. She put the casserole in the fridge as she stared at the message. She, Maggie. The freshman daughter of her friend and co-worker. In her living room. Wearing a light flowing summer dress and sandals. Brown curly hair down to her shoulders.

Diane traced a finger down the words again. Kiss. Her. She wants. You. "How do I know I can trust you?" she whispered to the magnets. She didn't want to hurt anyone, herself or her house guest, but something was certainly at work here, and Diane knew if she just walked back into the living room she was likely to do just what the magnets said even though she'd never been with a woman before and certainly hadn't considered it before that moment. Even now the thrill of uncertainty, what it would be like, how it would feel, how did Maggie taste, the very unfamiliar of it all was what caused Diane to suddenly want Maggie. Now. Naked. Laying out on Diane's sofa in the living room. With Diane's robe laying discarded beside Maggie's dress. With Diane feeling another woman's smooth skin for the first time. Maggie's fingers twisting in Diane's hair. Diane lowering her mouth to Maggie's...

Diane swallowed.

She took a deep breath. "Answer me this question," Diane closed her eyes as she tried to think of the right way to ask the question. She didn't want any loop holes, and certainly didn't want to make a mistake. "Will you ever cause any harm, physical, emotional or mental, to any guest or resident of this house?" She jabbed her thumb down against the freezer door. Before she opened her eyes she realized that she was far more likely to have missed a magnet than to have hit one. But she hadn't, she could feel a small smooth magnet under her thumb. Slowly she opened her eyes, and just as slowly she moved her thumb off the magnet. One word. One answer. And she felt a wave of reassurance as she read it.

Never.

"Alright, I'm holding you to it." In the back of her mind she realized she was only talking to a bunch of magnets on a freezer door, but another part of her, the more vocal part at the moment, felt she'd come to an arrangement with something, or someone.

As satisfied as she could be about the current events Diane grabbed two beers out of the fridge and headed back to the living room. "Sorry, had to make space in the fridge."

Maggie looked up from a book she had open on the coffee table before her, "Oh, that's ok. I didn't know you were into poetry."

Diane nearly dropped the beers, "Excuse me?"

Maggie held up the book, "Poetry," she sounded skeptical.

"Oh," Diane remembered picking up some books when Steve had come in, but she hadn't realized that one was an old collection from her own college days. "I'm finding myself getting drawn back into it." She put the beers on the coffee table and sat besides Maggie on the couch, "Beer?"

"Um," Maggie looked a little surprised, "Thanks."

"Hey, I went to college, I know I was drinking by your age."

Maggie smiled bashfully at Diane before turning back to the book. Diane resisted the temptation to simply lean forward and kiss Maggie's cheek. A lock of curls swung down across Maggie's face.

Maggie glanced up, aware of the silence. Diane was suddenly nervous herself, feeling a mixture of uncertainty and desire that she'd not so intensely in years, if ever. "Find one you like?" she asked, motioning to the book.

Maggie gave that same half, non-committal, shrug that suggested she had something on her mind, "I was just reading this one by Elizabeth Bishop," she lifted the book to show it to Diane.

"Read it," Diane managed a mix of encouragement with challenge in her voice.

Maggie smiled and glanced at Diane before reading, "One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop;

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the flutter of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

– Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it) like disaster."

"I liked it," Diane couldn't help but think how she wanted to loose her own robe. Or for Maggie to loose that dress. For both of them to loose themselves in exploring each other. Lost in the scent of each other, the feel, tasting each other for the first time. Lost in each other laying together on the couch.

"Yeah, kind of like the way it make losing something so rewarding."

Diane licked her lips, stopping for replying, Like losing control? That same curl of dark hair fell back across Maggie's face. Gently, Diane took her arm off the back of the couch and brushed aside the lock of hair, all the while admiring how cute and sexy it was at the same time.

Maggie tilted her head, not quite away from Diane's touch. She lowered her eyes as well, as the color rose to her cheeks. Diane traced her hand down, around Maggie's ear, as she leaned forward. Lifting Maggie's chin Diane slowly brought her lips closer to her house guest's lips. Maggie didn't move, her eyes half closing, as Diane's lips touched her's.

Soft.

And warm. Diane followed up the initial touch with a further kiss, using her thumb on Maggie's chin to open her mouth a bit more. Maggie responded in kind, and Diane found herself lost in the sensation of kissing another woman. The warmth, the sensuality, the feel of their tongues first touch. The kiss was long, passionate, and left both of them near breathless.

Diane leaned back from Maggie silently praying that whatever force was behind the magnets, and her current heightened sexuality, hadn't been lying, or just her own hyperactive imagination.

She needn't have worried. Maggie's hand traced it's own line down Diane's cheek, under her chin, and continued down Diane's neck. Once in contact with Diane's robe Maggie turned her hand, and pulled open Diane's robe.

"I'm, ah," Maggie stared into Diane's eyes.

"Shh," Diane leaned forward again, snaking one hand around Maggie's neck as she pulled loose the knot holding her robe shut, "Let's just get lost in it."

With that Diane pulled Maggie close, losing herself in another kiss. Next Diane lost her robe. It lay under her as she lay back across the couch. Maggie found her way down Diane's naked body. With Maggie, still in her summer dress, laying between Diane's spread thighs, Diane lost herself in her first orgasm between them. Once Diane was able to take a breath again, she pulled Maggie up and across her body. Once again they lost each other in their arms and kisses. They both enjoyed the sensation of kissing and making out, Diane naked, Maggie in her summer dress. Then Diane lost herself in undoing Maggie's clothing, revealing inch after inch of smooth skin. Lost in the sight, the feel of her cheek against smooth skin, the wonderful scent of another woman. Eventually Maggie lost the dress and sandals to the living room floor. Diane pulled away her robe before laying Maggie down on the couch. She tossed the robe on top of Maggie's discarded clothes before losing herself in the exploration of the young woman's body. Down. Feeling. Smelling, licking, kissing, finding herself laying between smooth thighs. Tasting, fingers twisting in her hair, getting lost in the sensation. Losing track of when she no longer lay between, but over. Losing sense of who tasting whom, and even who is on top. And totally enjoying getting lost in it.