My apologies for the delay in producing this effort. Chapter 3 will be split into three parts, two are written and the third will be shortly. As a non-writer but a builder of large buildings, my writing expertise tends towards contracts and business letters. As a sculptor my work is with my hands, mind and imagination. As a C-grade student in HS and later University, I squeaked by in English. So, I would like to thank the efforts of my beautiful anonymous editor for her patience, imagery and inspiration. This effort is to entertain and sharpen an ability I did not know I had.
Chapter 3
Drew woke later in the morning, tired beyond belief. "What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck!" he rolled over and literally fell out of bed. "Ow! Fuck." He screamed as he lay on the carpet next to his bed. He rolled over and slowly made it to his knees. He knee-walked to the bathroom door and used the handle to pull himself up and keep steady. After doing his business and deciding that taking a shower was way too dangerous, he made his way back to the bed and sat.
"What the fuck did I drink last night?" he thought. He played back all the things he did after getting off work. His walk to Steak and Main, his useless flirting with Ginny, nothing. There was nothing unusual. The walk home was a bit of aggravation, but he seemed to be too drunk to remember most of it. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. Just an itch, but an itch none-the-less.
He looked around trying to find his pants. "I must have kicked them under the bed," he thought. He slowly got on his hands and knees and swept his hand under the bed finding his belt. He pulled the pants out from underneath the bed and there sitting on top, was a wisp of lace with strands of black pearls. Drew landed on his ass as he held the sexy panties and raised them to his nose.
Cloudy visions and incomplete memories, triggered by her essence, swept through his mind. He passed out across his floor as the memories flooded back.
***
"It's been three months, three fucking months," he thought as he nursed the second glass of wine from his bottle. His favorite busty bartender, Ginny, had let him know it's cheaper to buy the damn bottle. So that became his habit as he obsessed over the apparition. He had confided in his friend, and he got a friendly pat on the back.
After friends finally got tired of the wild stories, and family became worried enough that his 84-year-old Mom called him every day, Drew went to see a psychologist. She was patient, inquired about his workload, lack of a love life, and then gave him a script for Ambien.
So, it went on day by day. He threw away the script and used wine as his self-medication.
***
He trudged through an early spring squall towards the Steak @ Main. He just pulled the Stetson down tighter to keep the errant spray out of his eyes.
"Three fucking months and twenty-four fucking days," Drew muttered. "I know it was real, I know it."
"This has got to stop," he thought to himself. He entered through the door and the old-school bell rang, reminding him of the other ghost in his past. "School bells! Fucking sweet sounding bells," he thought. He took his normal seat at the busy bar and was glad there was an open stool.
He glanced down the long bar and took in an enjoyable sight, Ginny, his favorite bartender, bent over in her normal yoga pants that were supposed to look like slacks. He enjoyed the visual with not a visible panty line and based on past discussions, he assumed she was commando. Her ass wiggled as she tried to pull more stock from the under-counter refrigerator.
Ginny was a woman with many curves, sugar-daddy bought DD tits, rounded hips of a woman entering her mid-30's and sweet tight clothes. She sure knew how to play the male ego and smaller head of every male in the bar though, plus twang a clit or two along the way. For some reason, she seemed to have a sweet spot for Drew. He may leer, and after a few drinks make a comment, but never exceptionally rude or condescending, never an overt pass.
"Drew, how are you doing?' Ginny asked. She had seriously started to worry about Drew and how withdrawn he had become. Plus, he used to be in once or twice a week but now it was almost every night.
When he did not respond right away, she asked him something that was bothering her, "I know you have been going through a lot since that 'incident' you had, but I must say that even through all of the stress, you seem to look younger. Is that possible?"
One of the local male barflies spouted out in a loud sarcastic voice, "He is just coloring his hair nowadays, trying to impress you Ginny!"
"Fuck you, you fat fuck!" Drew said trying to stand and almost falling over.
The Barfly just growled and started to rise.
"Stop! Both of you! Stop this now or I'll throw you both out of here!" The barfly settled back down and stared at his drink.
Ginny came over to the slumped over Drew and asked, "Are you going to be ok?"
"Drunk and going home," he slurred sadly. He knew he had to pass by the church, where it all began, but he had no choice.
***
Six months after what Drew thought was his psychotic episode, he sat back at his usual place at the bar, enjoying his usual glass of his usual wine. It had taken him a whole six months to know that whatever happened, while lifelike and seemingly real, was his imagination. The episode must have been something erupting from his past, or so the shrinks had convinced him. And yes, he had been back taking his Prozac...just quit since he was now "cured".
He had stopped taking the Ambien and only came to Steak @Main once a week. Here he was sitting alone, enjoying the different social feeds on his phone, just enjoying the night. He noticed a quieting of the crowd and then he felt a presence. He felt her breath by his ear.
"Hello me Boyo. It's good to see you," she whispered in his ear.
