Halloween Special Promo Blurbs from Bebe

Ghost on Two Wheels‏

Barney comes barrelling out of the barn and leaps onto the swing beside me, purring like a motorboat. I stroke his powerful back, enjoying his warm solidity after the weird, otherworldly coolness of my previous swing companion. Realisation dawns on me, slowly but surely. For the first time since the accident, I feel hope.

I believe that dim form was Michael’s ghost. I think that he was barely able to see and feel me, just as I was barely able to see and touch him. The little spark of hope fans quickly, fed by my desperation and longing, into a blaze of optimism. Maybe he’s not gone forever! Maybe I can reach him, somehow, wherever he is now. It’s not much, but when the man you love goes from being lost to found, even if he’s a ghost, it’s pretty fucking exciting.

I pick Barney up and follow Michael’s ghost into our house. Now that I know what I’m looking for, he’s much easier to see. I find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a transparent cup of coffee. His hands are folded on the table in front of him. The mug is just a hazy outline, shimmering on the tabletop before him. I pass my hand through it and feel a hint of warmth. Who’d have guessed that ghosts liked coffee?

I sit down next to Michael and place my hand over his. He flinches, but keeps his hand in place. I sense him shiver and I hope that, like me, he’s feeling more excitement than fear. He moves his other hand and puts it on top of mine, sandwiching my hand in between. “I’m here, Michael,” I say loudly, “I’m here and I can see you. Can you see me?”

He tilts his head from side to side. “Yes!” I shout. “It’s really me! It’s Ivy, Michael!” He jerks his hand away and cradles his head between his palms. His shoulders shake. I think he’s sobbing. It must be terrifying, I realise, to be dead and all alone, and to just barely be able to see people who are still alive. The thought of him being lonely and frightened makes my stomach clench.

I rise and embrace him from behind. He feels firmer now, now that I know it’s him and he’s really there. He feels like lukewarm water, soft and yielding, inside my arms. I press my lips to his neck, careful to kiss only the surface of his phantom body, and run my hands down his arms. Even in their ghostly form, his upper arms feel muscular. Oh, how I’ve missed him.

I hold him like that for long minutes, stroking him and kissing his neck, until I feel the tension and sorrow in his body ease. My pleasure at holding him once more would be perfect if I’d never known the bliss of holding his living body in mine. This vaporous touch is better than nothing, but it pales in comparison to the real thing. I ache to make love with him again.

A fabulous thought occurs to me. “Michael, come here!” I shout. He sits up straight in his chair and turns towards me. I laugh and run into our bedroom. My iPhone is still hooked up to the television where we left it, positioned to capture all the action on our bed. I suppose I should be embarrassed that all those people in the house might have seen our recording setup, but at this moment I couldn’t possibly care less. I’m just grateful that they left it alone.

Thank God we filmed ourselves fucking. I select a recording from just a month before his accident and turn on the television. I crank the sound up so that Michael will hear it from the kitchen. He bursts into our bedroom and stands in front of the screen. His form is much clearer now. I can even make out his features a bit. The aquiline curve of his nose, the slight cleft in his chin, the lump of his Adam’s apple. Oddly, his hair seems longer than it did when he died. Now it’s a few inches long, rumpled and dishevelled. I’ve heard that ghosts revert to their mental pictures of themselves, so I suppose that Michael prefers himself with longer hair. Interesting.

He starts to reach for the power button on the television. Is he going to turn it off? “No!” I yell and grab for his hand. He pauses, his fingertip inches from the button. My solid hands wrap around his translucent phantom one, gripping it as best I can. He pulls his hand back and slumps onto the upholstered armchair beside our bed.

He leans back and watches the television. I kneel beside him on the thick wool carpet, watching our taped lovemaking unfold in high definition. On-screen, I’m stretched on our bed. I’m wearing the white lace thong and push-up bra he gave me for Valentine’s Day this year. Michael is standing by the bed next to me, naked, and holding his thickened shaft in his hand. “Come on, Ivy,” he urges in a husky voice. “Touch yourself for me.”

I remember hesitating, feeling that childhood shame at touching my pussy, but knowing that it must be okay if Michael wanted it so much. I watch myself kneel on the television screen, gyrating on the fluffy down comforter, and bring my hands between my thighs.

“That’s good,” Michael urges on-screen. He slides his fist over his erection as he watches me run my fingers inside my panties. Next to me in the chair, Michael’s ghostly form unzips his jeans and pulls out his own vaporous shaft. It appears more solid than the rest of him. It even has a tinge of ruddy colour. Michael’s ghostly hand begins to move over his cock in the same rhythm as the videoed Michael jerks off on-screen. Fleetingly, I think how ironic it is that I have two versions of my lover in the room with me and neither one is technically alive…


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