Everyone in this story is over 18, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
So without further ado please enjoy my little ghost story story.
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I was sick of it, just sick of it. I mean I loved my job, I got paid to write about sex for my local newspaper. Seems strange yes but sex sells and not many people wanted to buy the newspaper, so naturally they came up with new tactics to sell it and a sex column seemed to do the trick.
However, my pretentious boss likes to edit my column to make sure that men get maximum pleasure, instead of equal pleasure. Like eating pussy is bad for men or something.
I had a wonderful and I mean wonderful piece on how to perform cunnilingus properly, I even had a little diagram to show where to find the clit (it was tasteful and not a real picture of a pussy) but it still did the job. Even before I added the diagram in, I had multiple men read the column and then point to the location of the elusive clit. I was given good props by the individuals that read the column, some even stating that the spark is back in the bedroom after reading the column.
But of course, he decided he was going to change it to how to suck dick. Even though I have already written multiple pieces on that. I don't know what his deal is, but I'm done having my hard work flushed down the toilet. At the beginning I would write about what he wanted but then it became tedious, it was the same shit, suck dick this way play with his balls that way, how to make him cum.
Heaven, forbid I pitch a story about nipple play for her or him. He called it an abomination that a man would want his nipples played with, who is he to judge or even assume that a man wouldn't want that. God! He was so fucking old school. After seeing my column not show casing my amazing informative piece, I marched my ass right up to him and told him I quit! He just laughed at me and told me I would be back.
"Bitch, please like I need this job," I told him rolling my eyes and I marched out.
Truth was I didn't need the job. My parents left me with plenty of money and investment properties that if I played my cards right, I would never have to work a day in my life. But I enjoyed writing that column. I genuinely felt like I was helping all the poor uninformed people out there that just wanted better sex.
Also, the research was fun, if you know what I mean. I'm not committed to anyone, mainly because I haven't found my person yet, but it doesn't mean I'm celibate either. I'm not ashamed to say that I casually have one-night stands, even though this town has slim picking, I'm still a woman who has needs and over my dead body will I allow anyone to shame me for it.
I felt like I need a new perspective, maybe I will start writing again. Now I just need to get the hell out of this shit town. Colesville wasn't a small town or an unpleasant one, I just didn't want to see or deal with Colesville local newspaper right now I needed to distance myself. Mainly so I wouldn't buy all the newspapers and burn them. Currently I lived in an apartment my parents owned, that I guess I own now, just above a local dress shop. Which was in the center of the hustle and bustle of the town. I just felt like I needed to hibernate away from society like a bear.
I pulled out my laptop and began to search through the list of investment properties. Many of them were rented out except for a few. Clicking on the first one that was uninhabited was a small bungalow that was right on the edge of town. It was cute but the aesthetics were that of an old lady home. If I moved in there I might as well buy ten cats too.
I sighed and continued to browse through the options. I spotted a mini mansion that was about a 40-minute drive from town, it did have a tenant, but that tenant didn't live there, they were more like staff that kept the place spic and span but didn't live on the property. Looks like my parents could never get anyone to rent it out for longer than a month or two. It had an old Victorian spoopy vibe to it that I adored, it was perfect in my opinion. I picked up the phone and called the tenant.
*Ring Ring, Ring Ring*
"To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" The voice on the other end of the line questioned. From his voice I could tell he was older
"Hello, my name is Rosemary. My parents were Nicholas and Amber Donovan. I am the current owner of this house and was wondering what the state of the house was in?" I asked.
"Greetings Rosemary, I was wondering when I would hear from you, the house is always immaculate for guests. However, I do not recommend permanency as the house is," he paused briefly and then stated, "peculiar."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"It has certain quirks to it, that some may find concerning."
"Like weird noises?" I asked.
"Something like that," he said cryptically.
"Well, if it's just weird noises than I'm sure I will be fine moving into my own property."
"You are the descendant of your parents, I'm sure the house will play nice, when will you be moving in?"
The house will play nice I thought to myself, why would he say something like that?
"I would like to move in immediately, is it furnished?"
"Of course, all original furnishings"
"Great, I will be on my way once I get my clothes packed and a few different things. You don't actually live there correct?" I asked critically.
"Correct, however, I do live about 20 minutes away, in case you need me. Call me before you leave, I will meet you at the house to give you the keys."
"That would be great, thank you, I will call you shortly," I said and hung up.
What a strange encounter. He sounded like an old timey butler; I wonder how long he's maintained the home. I shook my head and stretched my arms above my head in hopes of relieving some stress in my back. With that I scooted out of my chair and went to the bedroom to pack.
An hour and a half later and I had my car loaded up with all my must haves. Starting the car, I began the 40-minute drive to my new home. I will need to call a cleaner to come clean up the apartment before I can put it on the market to rent but that can wait. I turned the stereo on and began to zone out as the drive out of town was a straight shot.
I was starting to think that maybe this place was a bit too far and that it might not be worth the hassle when the radio became staticky, and my GPS tuned on to tell me to take the next left turn. Turning down the dirt road I noticed trees became denser and I could barely see the town through the trees. Ten minutes paced and I pulled up to a large black house with pointed roof peaks with many windows. It looked like it was just built but the style would suggest otherwise.
The records stated that it was over 150 years old and that it had always been in my family, even before my parents built their investment empire. I wonder why we never lived in it. It had to be passed down from generations. Waiting on the porch was an older man with silvery hair and a long beard. He was tall and slender with this wise look in his eyes. He held out a set of keys and jingled them. I ran up to him happily to grab them but before I could he pulled them away.
