O'REILLY'S -- 1872: Lee and Ying Ma were unbuttoning Jacob's vest and shirt, but his original feeling of guilt at taking pleasure with another woman so soon after Molly's passing had returned. Had he really felt the beautiful Irish girl's presence out in the saloon or had he been deluding himself to try to justify his disloyalty?
When the crowd in the saloon had started to break up and its members to head off to private rooms to continue their sexual healing Molly had stayed with Jacob and the girls at first. But then her new sexual/spiritual barometer or thermometer or whatever it was registered that another couple was not functioning at peak efficiency, while this threesome was, so she left them and moved to the others.
Having just died, Molly's spirit was at the most life-like that she would ever be in terms of understanding what was going on around her and connecting her new existence to her old life, but in reality her new nature was now firmly in control. If you could ask her she might claim she was making these decisions about where to go and what to do, when actually she was simply responding to the stimuli around her. Sexual energy invigorated and supported her being so she automatically acted in ways to encourage and strengthen that sexual energy like a perpetual motion machine.
O'REILLY'S -- PRESENT DAY: Molly's "life force" was at its lowest ebb ever so she wasn't doing any reflecting or magnifying now, just absorbing. Only the residue from having spent the first 30 years of her spiritual existence in a whorehouse and then 40 more in a very sexually active insane asylum had left her with the energy to last this long. As it was, one night of passion among these four teens was only going to be a glass of water poured on a desert. Molly's spirit was about to lose its ability to move on, instead it would simply fade into the void as her body had faded into the earth. But at least there was one last glass to enjoy.
The four friends were sitting on the picnic blanket and Jerry was pouring out glasses of chilled white wine while Paul tuned in an oldies station on the portable radio. "Ooh," Barbara said in a shiver, scrunching up her shoulders in a huddle. "I can't help but think about some poor patient strapped down to that horrible contraption."
Jerry put a glass of wine in her hand and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought you back there, baby," he soothed. "I just wanted to spook everybody a bit, not completely creep you out."
"Hey, Barb, tell us what your grandfather said about this place when it was a fancy hotel," urged Gina, trying to get the party going back in the right direction.
The lovely redhead took a sip of her wine and thought. "Well, coincidentally enough, Grandpa Patrick said that O'Reilly's was famous for its Halloween parties."
"Not its St. Patrick's Day parties?" chuckled Paul.
"Yeah, those too, I guess," she replied with a small smile. "But every Irish place does St. Patrick's, doesn't it? But on Halloween here they apparently had big costume parties and bands and some kind of special celebration in remembrance of someone named Mary or Molly, who might also have been a relative."
"Might have been a relative?"
Barbara smiled crookedly, "Grandpa Patrick is 92 years old and I'm afraid his memory is not always that clear. So let's just say this Mary O'Reilly was another great-great-great-cousin. Anyway, something happened to her and then she became the patron saint of Halloween here in Silverton and they partied in her honor every year."
O'REILLY'S -- 1872: As she trailed her cousin Seamus and his long-time paramour Erin into one of the empty hotel rooms she registered what was interfering with their pleasure -- their minds were skipping ahead instead of letting their bodies lead. Seamus knew that Erin wasn't interested in anal sex, but couldn't help thinking of how he might change her mind. And Erin was so ready for a good, hard fuck, but couldn't help already wondering when Seamus was going to try and violate her backdoor. "He's going to violate it tonight," Molly purred into Erin's spiritual ear. "And you're going to love it," she assured the fearful woman.
In Seamus's mind's eye she could see his stiff cock pounding and pounding into Erin's taboo hole. "No wonder she's scared," she berated her cousin. "You want to jump right to the end with no preparation and she's supposed to like that?"
Erin and Seamus looked at each other oddly, both shaken by Molly's "imagined" comments on this sensitive subject. Funny how memories of Molly could be turned into conversations by a grieving mind, each thought. "Quit thinking and kiss her/him!" suddenly leapt into both their heads and they took one another in their arms and kissed with the warmth of long years of friendship and trust and sorrow in their shared loss.
The warmth of the kiss swiftly became heat, the heat of knowing just how perfectly pussy and cock fit together and simultaneously enjoying and suffering through the anticipation of feeling that fit again. Molly reminded Seamus that he was a mature man, not a frantic boy, and the hotel owner went much more slowly and gently than usual in peeling the layers of clothes off his number one girl. The younger whore helped the older whore understand that Seamus didn't usually just rip her clothes right off because he was thoughtless; he did it because she still excited him more than any other woman. As she'd gotten older and her body changed as nature demanded Erin had grown less comfortable displaying it in full. But now as more and more skin was exposed she reveled in the unmistakable look of desire in her lover's eyes.
Molly had always liked Erin and respected the many things the older woman had taught her about being a prostitute when Molly had gone semi-pro and started getting paid for all the fucking she was doing anyway. Now she was going to teach her a new trick of her own about how to have a long staff go the wrong way up your 'out' hole and enjoy it. The first step of course was to just keep stoking the fire beginning to burn from the 'normal' sex the two were starting.
That part was going fine, with the lovers' initial concerns about future maybes already melting away from the heat of current reality. Molly was also receiving similar energy flows from other rooms in the hotel where various couples, threesomes, and foursomes were in different stages of lovemaking. If Erin or Seamus had looked over to the side of the bed where they were passionately wrestling they would have been able to see a redheaded ghost pulsing with that energy. Molly paused, sensing that one of the incoming energy flows was merely a trickle even though it held the potential to be a torrent. The sex elemental traveled back along that trickle to find the problem.
O'REILLY'S -- PRESENT DAY: The problem was she just couldn't shake the image of someone suffering on the electro-shock table. Even after a glass of wine and relating her grandfather's raucous stories about this place being a grand hotel instead of a terrifying asylum, Barbara was still having trouble relaxing and responding to Jerry's advances. Gina and Paul on the blanket next to them had done some kissing, but even they seemed to be catching Barbara's mood.
Something had to be done Molly knew. But wait, what was happening here? The spirit had barely been a tiny ember in a cold fire and there hadn't really been any sexual energy released into the room, but still she was flowing easily into Barbara's mind, looking for ways to overcome the girl's obstacles to pleasure. Out of the blue Barb was suddenly positive that the shock therapy equipment had never been used. It had been installed by a doctor who thought it would work, but no one else did. Then the hospital had been closed soon after and the shock therapy table just gathered dust like everything else.
Her friends watched curiously as the look on Barbara's face suddenly changed and she held out her wine glass for a refill. In the girl's imagination the picture of the white-tiled treatment suite was replaced with an earlier version of the room; some sort of low stage with a mattress on it - like the padded room. No, more like an oversized pedestal bed where six, hell, eight lovers could comfortably stretch out and enjoy themselves. "You know," the teenager mused aloud, "I bet an Old West hotel like this, in a wild silver mining boomtown, had a whorehouse attached."
