Jerry, Gina and Paul all broke out laughing at Barbara's discomfort. It always amused them to see how shy and reserved their sexy friend was in public while knowing just how really hot she was in private. There was nothing fake about it, Barb just really did think it was bad taste for people to have big public make out sessions. She knew it made others uncomfortable and she was naturally respectful and empathetic of other people's feelings.
The rest of lunch hour was taken up by sharing out her birthday cake and acknowledging the well wishes of everyone who stopped by the table. Then the October Gang headed off to the only class they all shared -- Senior Study Hall.
They were supposed to be working on their various Senior Projects or term papers or college searches, but today the only subject on their minds was Halloween.
"I wasn't sure they were going to say yes," Barb was relating to the others. "'Why do you want to see that weird movie again?', my mom asked." The town tradition among Silverton High students was to watch 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' on Halloween at the town's small Bijou theater before heading off to whatever parties were happening.
Mrs. McCoy had never seen Rocky Horror, but she'd heard the tales of freaks in costumes reciting all the lines, throwing things at the screen and other strange behavior. The rumors of drug and drink abuse associated with watching the movie were really what had Barbara's parents most worried. In the end, however, they gave in to their daughter's wishes; acknowledging that she actually was an adult now and most importantly that she'd never done anything to make them fear she didn't have the sense to keep away from bad situations.
Now, if they had seen her last Halloween, holding hands with Gina across a casket in Thompson's funeral home as Paul and Jerry took them from behind they might think differently about letting their daughter go out again. To be fair, however, Barb had only had one glass of champagne that night, so she really was sensible when it came to avoiding stupid decisions based on drugs and booze.
"Is it true what they say about O'Reilly's?" the curvy redhead asked.
"Which part?" responded Jerry.
"Yeah," added Paul. "The ghosts, the possessions, the abuse...?"
"It's all true," insisted Gina, with a glint in her eye. The statuesque blonde leaned forward, resting her elbows on the library table, which squeezed her small, round breasts together in her low-cut sweater. "O'Reilly's Sanitarium: go there because you're crazy or go crazy because you're there?"
O'REILLY's SANITARIUM - 1922: "Patient Jane Rostick has recurrent episodes of psychoneuroses," Dr. Gabriel Franck dictated to his secretary Frances. "These episodes are marked by high levels of anxiety and manifested by uncontrollable desires to masturbate." The doctor noted that the woman's cheeks reddened as she took down his notes. He took it as a sign of the woman's natural embarrassment with the subject and mentally applauded her for her reaction; if only Mrs. Rostick could learn to have the same healthy dislike for the self- destructive behavior of self-pleasuring.
Frances Redmond felt herself flush at Dr. Franck's words and forced herself to concentrate on getting his words down in the Gregg shorthand she had learned working for the Army in the Great War. However, it wasn't her "natural embarrassment" with the patient's "sick" behavior that made her blood rise; it was the memory of watching through the window in the door of Jane Rostick's cell as the voluptuous mother of two played with herself.
Jane was a young mother, pregnant with her second child when her husband Charlie left for England to fly with the British against the Germans. He had learned to fly from Orville Wright himself, and then went on to train other pilots. Knowing those skills were critical to the nascent military aviation efforts he had left his family behind to join the Royal Flying Corps and train new pilots while also flying reconnaissance missions over the trenches of France.
Jane was angry, scared, and hurt that Charlie had abandoned them. That, plus her strong libido caused her to stray after he'd been gone almost two years. The betrayal of that dalliance ate at her; beginning cycles of nervous anxiety from guilt that could only be calmed by the passionate outburst of taking an illicit lover.
When the Americans finally created their own flying units, Charlie, like many other U.S. pilots traded their British and French uniforms for American ones. It was then, in 1918, during the final summer of the War to End All Wars that Charlie's biplane was shot down. The skilled pilot managed to put the damaged craft down in a field and survived the crash landing, but two of the bullets that had disabled his plane had also disabled his manhood.
So even after her husband returned from the war Jane's strong urges went unfulfilled and again she found herself in the arms of other men, continuing her cycles of guilt and passion. It became a vicious loop, feeding on itself and increasing Jane's day to day anxiety.
She eventually found that climax through masturbation provided the necessary release for her nervous energies. This allowed her some control in staying away from other men, but her need to relive herself sometimes reached manic proportion and she would suddenly find herself rubbing her crotch at the dinner table or would have to excuse herself to the privacy of the bathroom while visitors were over.
When she unconsciously began jerking herself off during a Sunday church service her poor husband had no choice but to check her into O'Reilly's Sanitarium in the hope they could cure his disturbed wife.
Jane's addiction to masturbation was becoming more tragic. She was so desperate for the explosive release of pent up anxiety that came with orgasm that she rubbed harder and longer, which made her painfully sensitive and sore while simultaneously increasing her feelings of guilt. So it was becoming harder and harder for her to reach climax, which made her masturbate more, which made it harder to climax...it was a vicious cycle leading toward a complete breakdown.
Unfortunately for Jane the doctors at O'Reilly's Sanitarium prescribed treatments that would probably make things worse rather than better. Fortunately for Jane, O'Reilly's also had one of the world's best sex therapists on staff -- although the doctors didn't know it.
Jane was just what Molly needed. When the sexual energy in the house she inhabited was extremely high Molly could almost be conscious of herself. When it waned she also faded. Of course the asylum always had a pretty high level of sexual energy running through it, but it had been a long time since anyone so focused on sex had been a patient and Jane's arrival had been like the first bright sun of spring prompting the flowers to bloom after a gray winter.
Molly was just what Jane needed. At first the spirit simply absorbed and reflected the passionate energy from the frazzled housewife, but as her continued exposure to Jane stabilized Molly's ephemeral hold on this plane she sensed that her "energy source" was not running as efficiently as it could be. Molly was not a parasite, draining energy from hosts, but more of a symbiote, gathering her host's energy in, then magnifying and reflecting it back.
Molly wasn't consciously diagnosing Jane's problem, she wasn't thinking about it and considering a course of treatment, in fact even calling the spirit 'she' was giving it too much credit for being a ghost in the traditional sense. There certainly was a tangible feeling of femaleness to the entity, but it was really just responding and reacting like a simple organism. But its response equated to a diagnosis and its reaction to a treatment.
"Dr. Molly" realized there was no true pleasure behind her patient's passion; it was lots of smoke with very little real flame. Life energy that should have been fueling real gratification was being wasted in nervous paroxysms of guilt and anxiety. As Jane slept, helped by a large dose of Laudanum from Doctor Franck, Molly comforted her, held her, hugged her, spiritually stroked her hair and sang lullabies softly in her ear.
As the artificial calmness of the opiate wore off Jane's anxiety level began its daily climb, but not so fast and not so high. When her hands reached into her crotch, falling into what had become her daily habit to start the day, something made her stay away from her abused, oversensitive clitoris. Instead she gently stroked the petals of her bruised flower, feeling their softness and pliability. She untied her hospital gown and reached under the blouse section to massage her heavy breasts -- something she never normally did.
