Fleeting Encounters
Introduction:
Sex worth dying for.
My name is Robert. I’m 43 years old, divorced, and all my kids are grown. I am a self-employed software designer and have worked from my home office for many years.
About a month after my last child left for college, my wife left me for another man. She had apparently been seeing him for almost a year, delaying leaving me until the kids were gone. I was, to put it mildly, shocked and devastated.
In retrospect, it was probably my fault. I neglected her needs while I built my business. My only goal was to make enough money to retire at a decent age and have enough money saved up to take care of her as we grew old together. Unfortunately, I forgot to take care of her while I was doing it.
I gave her most of the money when we split, so I had to start over, scrimping, saving and working over-time until I could purchase the house I moved in to a few months ago, paying cash.
The house is a beautiful, old, two-story structure, built in 1851. It sits on ten acres about twenty miles outside of a large Midwestern city. It needs a bit of work, and has it quirks, but I love the place. I spend most of my free time fixing it up and remodeling it, but maintaining the original styling.
When I first moved in, the house was big, empty and lonely, and I heard strange noises at night. I’m sure they were normal groans and creaks for a house this old, but I must admit, it was difficult to get used to and it took me a while before I could sleep straight through the night.
After my wife left and I was spending all my time working, I made a conscious decision to not pursue another relationship because I didn’t have the time to devote to making it work. I am, however, human, so I admit, with more than a little embarrassment, that masturbation became a frequent occurrence for me. Especially after moving to the new house, and the loneliness began to set in.
And this is where my story takes a turn.
A few days after I moved in, I had settled in to bed for the night but had a little trouble falling asleep. I keep a stock of condoms in the drawer next to my bed to keep the mess from masturbation to a minimum, so I put one on and began to masturbate. My normal routine is nothing fancy. I always sleep naked anyway, so I just put the condom on, close my eyes, and go. It usually takes about two or three minutes.
On this particular night, just as I was about to orgasm, I heard a strange noise. It is hard to describe, but was something akin to a soft whisper; a still, quiet voice riding on a breeze. Forgive my clumsy attempts at poetic descriptions, but as I said, it is hard to describe. It was almost more of a feeling than a sound.
Upon hearing it, I stopped masturbating and listened intently. I heard it again, but it was much quieter and more distant, and it quickly faded. It seemed like a voice, but without distinguishable words.
I decided it was either my imagination or maybe the wind. I finished up and went to sleep.
A few nights later, again as I was masturbating, the sound returned. This time it was slightly more perceptible. I would say ‘louder’ if I was sure it was actually a sound.
The thought occurred to me that it may be a physical problem. Maybe high blood pressure that was whooshing through my ear as my heart rate went up or something. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor; I was grasping for any logical explanation.
I decided to experiment a bit, and stopped masturbating long enough for my heart rate to settle, then started over. As I approached orgasm, I again heard the sound, this time more distinct. I was getting a bit concerned. I vowed to make a doctors appointment first thing in the morning.
I stopped again, just before hitting the point of no return, and let my heart settle again.
After restarting a third time, my testicle were beginning to ache. I decided to finish the job this time and see what my doctor had to say tomorrow. As my cock stiffened with self-induced orgasm, I heard it yet again, this time very distinctly.
“Roobbbeerrttt!”
I jumped out of bed, mid-orgasm, my cock still spurting semen and turned the light on. I’m either going insane, or I heard a voice… a female voice. I don’t mind telling you it scared me out of my wits.
I jerked myself a few items to eject the last bit of semen, removed the condom and ran downstairs, turning on every light in my path, and a few that weren’t.
My hands trembling, I turned the TV on, changing it to a 24-hours news channel and opened my laptop.
I checked my mail, browsed the news sites, humor sites, and anything else that would keep my mind off what I had just heard. I looked out the window from my chair, the pitch dark night giving me second thoughts about moving out to the country.
As the night wore on and changed to early morning, my nerves calmed down and I realized I it was probably my imagination. At least, I tried to convince myself of that.
It was almost 4am when I decided it was definitely my imagination and went back to bed. I fell asleep almost immediately. I slept until noon and hardly thought about it the rest of the day. I forgot about making the doctors appointment and promised myself I’d do it tomorrow.
As I lie in bed that night, I again had trouble sleeping. It was so dark. I can’t sleep with the light on, and normally like it very dark, but after last night, I found myself wishing for more light. I made a mental note to pick up some type of night light in town tomorrow.
As I rolled over in my bed to find a comfortable position, the house creaked and I almost jumped out of my skin.
After I calmed down, I chuckled to myself a bit. I’m a technical guy. I grew up with science and technology. There is a reasonable, logical explanation for last night and I was going to find it. I was sure it was some type of physical effect when my heart rate was raised, which once I thought about it, scared me more than the sound.
I grabbed another condom and brought myself to the edge of orgasm. Nothing happened, so I stopped, waited and restarted.
I again brought myself to the edge.
“Robert…” a soft whisper echoed in my head.
This time, and I don’t know why, I was not as scared. I stopped masturbating just in time for the orgasm to be averted. I opened my eyes and waited for my heart rate to return to normal and tried to understand what could be going on physically to make me think I was hearing a girl calling my name.
After my heart rate was down, I began to masturbate again. This time I used slower motions, hoping it would raise my hear rate more slowly. After a few minutes, I could feel my orgasm building up.
”It has been so long, Robert…” That was not in my head!
I opened my eyes and continued to masturbate. As the orgasm swept over me, I saw a faint image materialize before me. It was difficult to see clearly, but seemed to be a young female, naked and straddling me. I was initially struck by her youthful face, then became mesmerized by her beauty.
“Ohhhh, Robert! More!” she moaned softly.
As the image faded and what I had seen registered in my mind, my awe turned to terror. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my clothes and ran downstairs naked, the condom still on me and filled with semen.
I took my keys and wallet and ran to my car, still naked. The condom fell off my quickly-softening cock as I tried to unlock the car door with trembling hands. I got in the car and desperately tried to insert they key in the ignition.
Spitting gravel in all directions, I tore out of the driveway and didn’t stop until I hit the city. I found a gas station and pulled over to put my clothes on. I went inside, still shaking and bought the largest coffee they had.
I drank my coffee in the car, trying to calm my nerves. I noticed a hotel across the street, so I drove over, got a room, and laid down in the bed, TV blaring and all the lights on. I didn’t sleep a wink until after the sun began to rise.
My cell phone alarm went off at 10am. I made some coffee and tried to wake up. I recounted the events of last night over and over in my head. Am I going insane? Maybe I had a mild stroke. I looked up my doctors phone number but couldn’t bring myself to dial it. I knew in my heart what the image was, I just couldn’t get my brain to accept it.
I headed down to the main public library to see what I could learn about the history of my house. I asked a library employee how I should go about researching it. She gave me a few tips but told me she couldn’t help me because she was too busy with her other responsibilities.
I dug through shelves of books, and tried to search old archived newspapers but I was lost. I’ve not spent much time in libraries since school. I found the girl again and offered her $100 to help me over her lunch hour. She readily accepted my offer.
We found some information about the original owner of the house. His name was James L. Dawson, born 1813. He was executed in 1856. The documents did not say why he was executed.
The girl had to get back to work, so I offered her another $100 to stay an hour late after her shift was over. She agreed and told me to meet her at 4pm.
I grabbed some lunch and headed down to the county courthouse to see if I could dig up any information on Mr. Dawson. I was quite disappointed when they told me I’d have to fill out several forms and wait 3-4 weeks for the documents to be mailed to me. I filled the forms out and paid the fees, just in case I was not able to find the information through the library.
I ran a few errands, including picking up a night light and headed back to the library.
I met the library assistant and she suggested the next step was to look through the newspaper archives around the time of his execution. It turns out the information was not difficult to find. It was a major story at the time.
I paid and thanked the assistant, and spent the rest of the afternoon reading newspaper articles about the trial of James L. Dawson.
From what I could piece together, Mr. Dawson was a businessman and controlled most of the farmland in the area. When he was 42 years old, he married a very young girl, as was common at the time. Her name was Diana. Less than a year later, he shot both her and her lover as they lie in bed “in the course of their sinful act” as the newspaper put it. After a month long trial, he was found guilty and hanged..
I scoured the library for any information I could find on Diana Dawson, but came up empty. I decided to browse through the books on the history of the city but again found nothing useful.
I returned to the shelves and found a book by a local photographer, published back in 1972. It contained dozens of photographs of people and buildings in the city dating back to the mid-19th century. I flipped through the book, yawning and about to give up.
My blood ran cold when I saw her. The picture was labeled “Diana Clark” and she was a few years younger in the photograph, but it was her; the girl I saw last night. “Clark” was apparently her maiden name.
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind and my pulse quickened as the realization set in that I had seen the ghost of Diana Dawson. My logical mind tried to convince me otherwise, but there was no denying it.
I stared at the picture for a very long time. Her beauty was apparent, even as the younger girl in the photograph. As I looked in to her smiling eyes, it made my heart ache that her life was cut so short.
I made a copy of the photograph and headed back home, no longer afraid. In fact, I was anxious to see if I could contact her again.
I walked around inside the house, entering every room and calling her name. I don’t think I really expected her to answer.
I went to bed as soon as the sun went down. I lie in bed calling her name in the dark. Again, nothing happened.
Why did she appear that night? It was while I was masturbating. Could that have something to do with it? I recalled that I also first heard her voice while masturbating.
Figuring it was worth a try, I pulled the blanket off of me and began to masturbate slowly. I didn’t use a condom since I wasn’t trying to orgasm. I just wanted to contact her so I mechanically jerked my cock while looking around the pitch black bedroom and calling her name.
After about five minutes, I gave up. Damn! What am I missing?
Passion? Is that what is needed? It was worth a try.
I closed my eyes and began to masturbate again, fantasizing about an old girlfriend from high school. I tried to put Diana and this whole thing out of my mind so I could concentrate on reaching orgasm.
I felt my cock throb and stiffen and my balls retract as I approached orgasm. Suddenly, she reappeared, again naked and straddling me. I felt a warmth on my cock and took my hand off of it just as I reached the point of no return. The image of Diana gyrated her hips as if she were fucking me. Her young, firm breasts bouncing lightly, in sync with her hip movements.
I could almost… no… I could *definitely* feel her with my cock. It was faint, but had the distinctive feel of a warm, wet vagina.
“Ohhhhh, Robert!” she moaned.
I felt her muscles contract around my cock, as I began to come.
“Diana!” I shouted, ignoring my orgasm and reaching out, trying to touch her. My arms passed through her image and she began to fade.
“Think of me, Robert…” she said, her voice fading away.
“Wait!” I pleaded, as she dissipated in to the darkness.
I can’t tell you why, but I was overcome with sorrow and sobbed deeply, almost as if I had lost a loved one.
I woke up the next morning and looked for the semen to clean it up. I never had put a condom on last night; surely it must be here somewhere. I never found any.
I lie back down in the bed and started to masturbate. I desperately wanted to see her again. I thought about one of my standard fantasies, brought myself almost to orgasm then stopped and looked around to see an empty room.
Maybe it was because it was daytime?
I started to get out of bed, when I recalled her words from last night: “Think of me, Robert”
I lie back down and began to masturbate again, this time thinking of Diana. I imagined putting my mouth on her young, supple breasts and lightly sucking her erect nipples. I could feel the orgasm building as I recalled her thin waist and curvaceous hips. The unmistakable expression of lust on her face as she rode me.
Just as I began to come, I heard her voice.
“Tonight… when he’s gone!” she urged.
I opened my eyes and looked around but she was not there. I tried to stop my orgasm, but it was too late.
I got up and jumped in the shower. Leaning my head against the wall, the hot water splashing over my head, I decided I must surely be going mad. Ghosts don’t exist. But I had not only seen one, I actually had sex with the ghost of a beautiful, young girl. I felt my cock in her soft vagina, I know I did.
I spent the day browsing the Internet for information about ghosts. There was so much conflicting information and so many hoaxes that it was impossible to weed out the truth. I tried to waste the day away any way I could as I anxiously awaited the dark of night.
Night finally fell and I went to my bed, naked and lying on top of the blanket
I began to masturbate, slowly and softly. I wanted to build up gradually this time, hoping to have more time with her. I fantasized about her beautiful face, her soft, pouting lips wrapped around my cock.
At the very first signs of orgasm approaching, I again felt a warmth on my cock and removed my hand. I looked down to see her between my legs. Her head moved up and down as she massaged my cock with her mouth. It felt every bit as real as any blow job I’ve ever had. She stopped and lifted her head.
“Shame on you, Robert!” she said with a lustful smile, “Proper gentlemen do not desire such sinful pleasures!”
“Diana!” I moaned, reaching to touch her face but feeling nothing but air.
She put her mouth back on my cock, just in time for it to explode. A wave of ecstasy swept over me as I began to release my seed in to her ethereal mouth.
She never took her mouth off, continuing her gentle motions until I had stopped coming. I looked down and she was beginning to fade.
“Nor do proper ladies engage in such sinful pleasures!” she laughed, daintily wiping her chin with her first two fingers.
“Wait! Please stay!”
“I cannot….” she said, fading away in to the night.
It was still early so I lie in bed trying to figure out what was happening. This may be beyond science, but I should still be able to apply some logic to it.
It makes no sense that I can feel it if she touches me, but I can’t feel it if I touch her. Maybe she has to will parts of herself to become solid?
And why can I only see her just before and during an orgasm? That makes no sense at all. Is it somehow because she was killed while having sex? Did she die in the middle of an orgasm? I had no way of knowing and could only guess.
I finally decided I was probably just insane, but it was very real to me, and that was enough.
I woke up early the next day and again found myself wasting away the day, counting the minutes until dark.
As the sun mercifully fell below the horizon, I was already in bed and prepared. I began to masturbate, thinking of running my hands along the curves of her body. I imagined smelling the fresh scent of her long hair as I kissed her neck, slowly working my way down to her shoulders, as I cupped her young breasts in my hands.
I could feel the orgasm coming on, but had not yet felt her warmth, or heard her voice. As I was about to close my eyes to better concentrate, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
I turned my head and saw Diana lying on her back on the bed. A large, rather rotund man of at least 40 years old, was on top of her, groaning and huffing like a bull as he roughly fucked her. I could not see his face clearly, but based on the photograph from the library, I was sure it was her husband, James.
Her face was toward me, staring off in to the distance with a blank expression of resignation. She grunted in pain each time the full weight of this glob of a man smashed against her.
She looked up and saw me, then held her hand out, as if reaching for me. The sad expression on her face broke my heart.
“Den… tonight… release… me!” she said, getting one word out between each of her husbands selfish, violent thrusts.
I immediately stopped masturbating before I reached orgasm and the disturbing scene before me faded.
I spent the next hour on the Internet, looking up techniques for extending my orgasms. I desperately wanted more time to talk with her.
I started a small fire in the den fireplace, and laid a blanket on the floor in front of it. I put two pillows on the blanket, placing a single rose from the bush outside between the pillows.
I looked down and laughed to myself at the absurdity of it all. I had made a romantic palette on the floor, to make love to a ghost I was having an affair with, while the ghost of her dead husband was roaming around the house. I am clearly insane.
I waited until exactly midnight. I have no idea why, it just seemed appropriate. I lie naked on my left side, head on the pillow and began to masturbate. I imagined her lying next to me, my hips gently thrusting as my cock caressed the inside of her silky, young vagina.
I felt the orgasm coming on, then felt her soft lips kissing mine, and her vagina wrapped around my stiffened cock.
“Ohhh, Robert! Ohhhhhh!” she moaned, clearly in the throes of orgasm.
I quickened my thrusts, and tightened my pelvic and rectal muscles as I had seen on the Internet. My groin was afire with pleasure, but I kept the pressure on my muscles, holding back the orgasm for a few precious seconds.
“Ahhhhhh…” she gasped, as her body relaxed.
I couldn’t hold back any more. Semen shot out of me with a force I had not experienced before. It was actually slightly painful. I knew I had only a few more moments with her.
“Diana! Please stay!” I pleaded.
“I’m free, Robert! Thank you.” she said, beginning to fade away.
“Diana!”
“Goodbye, lover.”
“No! Please!” I cried.
“Join me….” she said as her voice and image faded away.
I dropped my head on the pillow and cried like a baby.
*****
I masturbated two more times that night, and at least once every night for the next two weeks. I never saw Diana again.
After thinking about it almost every waking moment since that night, I realized that I was either insane, or it really happened. If I’m insane, I don’t want to live any more and be a burden on my family. If it really happened, I hoped I could be with her on the other side. Either way, I no longer wish to live without her.
I can feel the poison beginning to affect me. I don’t have long to make it up to the den. I want to die where I last saw my Diana.
To my family: Please forgive me. I love you all.
