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Book: Puppet Masters: A Ghost Sex Story (Bizarre Erotica Stories) by Alice J. Woods
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Authors: Alice J. Woods
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Not everyone believes in love at first sight, but I do. Max and I fell in love pretty much the first time we met, in the choir loft at St. James Church, on the corner of Bedford and Livingston.
I think it was fate that brought us together; we both had our funeral services at that church. Neither of us had been very religious when we were alive and hadn’t attended very many services there, but both our families belonged to St. James, and both of them decided to have our services at the church.
St. James isn’t the first place I remember after the accident though; I remember looking down at my body in the street, at the intersection of Main and Maple, the driver of car that hit me standing over me, hysterical as he waited for what seemed like an eternity for the police and ambulance to show up, not knowing what to do with so much blood. I felt sorry for him, I wanted to tell him I’d walked in front of him on purpose, but of course, I was already dead.
I’d chosen death over the crushing loneliness of being alive, only to find there’s the potential for just as much loneliness after death.
Anyway, the church was a peaceful enough place, and I could see my mom again, at least on Sundays. I wasn’t religious, like I said, but I hoped someday, if I spent enough time here, by some miracle I’d get to go to whatever place I was supposed to go to that was hopefully better than this.
Max came to the church simply because he’d lived close by. After he’d died, from a brain aneurysm, he started returning to the apartment he’d shared with his girlfriend, Corey. He’d missed her terribly and actually thought he’d made some kind of contact with her, that she could sense him somehow.
But then he’d come back one night to find her in bed with some other guy and even as a spirit, he could see the handwriting on the wall; he’d been replaced by someone who was alive.
We usually sat in the abandoned choir loft, tucked behind a large pillar up in the rafters of the church. It was peaceful and we didn’t come in contact with too many parishioners. There were some who could sense us and it bothered them, and that bothered us. So we took sanctuary in the old choir loft.
Max seemed to understand me like no one else. We’d been inseparable now for several weeks, talking constantly, learning everything about each other. It was pretty clear to both of us that we’d fallen in love. It was comforting to have someone else in this strange place, between our past life and whatever was next.
But we soon discovered there was one major drawback to being deeply in love in the afterlife: there is no sex. It was hardest for Max; he’d had a relationship, missed the feeling of falling asleep holding someone he loved and was apparently suffering from prolonged withdrawal symptoms from lack of sex. He admitted to being a stud when he was alive. He also said he missed the alternative to sex with someone: masturbation. Even that simple way to release his sexual tension was beyond his reach. Sometimes being a spirit really sucked, he said.
I’d been alone most of my adult life, so no sex for me was the norm. But I felt such an attraction to Max, to his spirit…no pun intended. He was funny and kind and most of all, he loved me for just being me.
We were sitting in the church one day, the empty pews stretching out below us. Max had been trying to move the hymnals from their holders in the backs of the pews. There were hymnals scattered all over the floor below us. The resounding thump as another one fell told me Max was still practicing.
“Delia, I have an idea. Don’t freak out on me. Okay? Keep an open mind.” Another hymnal hit the floor. I sighed.
“Max, I have an open mind. What’s your idea?” I was hoping he didn’t want to try moving the candles holders on the altar. I didn’t like it when Max moved things on the altar.
“Well, you know how we’ve been having
I think it was fate that brought us together; we both had our funeral services at that church. Neither of us had been very religious when we were alive and hadn’t attended very many services there, but both our families belonged to St. James, and both of them decided to have our services at the church.
St. James isn’t the first place I remember after the accident though; I remember looking down at my body in the street, at the intersection of Main and Maple, the driver of car that hit me standing over me, hysterical as he waited for what seemed like an eternity for the police and ambulance to show up, not knowing what to do with so much blood. I felt sorry for him, I wanted to tell him I’d walked in front of him on purpose, but of course, I was already dead.
I’d chosen death over the crushing loneliness of being alive, only to find there’s the potential for just as much loneliness after death.
Anyway, the church was a peaceful enough place, and I could see my mom again, at least on Sundays. I wasn’t religious, like I said, but I hoped someday, if I spent enough time here, by some miracle I’d get to go to whatever place I was supposed to go to that was hopefully better than this.
Max came to the church simply because he’d lived close by. After he’d died, from a brain aneurysm, he started returning to the apartment he’d shared with his girlfriend, Corey. He’d missed her terribly and actually thought he’d made some kind of contact with her, that she could sense him somehow.
But then he’d come back one night to find her in bed with some other guy and even as a spirit, he could see the handwriting on the wall; he’d been replaced by someone who was alive.
We usually sat in the abandoned choir loft, tucked behind a large pillar up in the rafters of the church. It was peaceful and we didn’t come in contact with too many parishioners. There were some who could sense us and it bothered them, and that bothered us. So we took sanctuary in the old choir loft.
Max seemed to understand me like no one else. We’d been inseparable now for several weeks, talking constantly, learning everything about each other. It was pretty clear to both of us that we’d fallen in love. It was comforting to have someone else in this strange place, between our past life and whatever was next.
But we soon discovered there was one major drawback to being deeply in love in the afterlife: there is no sex. It was hardest for Max; he’d had a relationship, missed the feeling of falling asleep holding someone he loved and was apparently suffering from prolonged withdrawal symptoms from lack of sex. He admitted to being a stud when he was alive. He also said he missed the alternative to sex with someone: masturbation. Even that simple way to release his sexual tension was beyond his reach. Sometimes being a spirit really sucked, he said.
I’d been alone most of my adult life, so no sex for me was the norm. But I felt such an attraction to Max, to his spirit…no pun intended. He was funny and kind and most of all, he loved me for just being me.
We were sitting in the church one day, the empty pews stretching out below us. Max had been trying to move the hymnals from their holders in the backs of the pews. There were hymnals scattered all over the floor below us. The resounding thump as another one fell told me Max was still practicing.
“Delia, I have an idea. Don’t freak out on me. Okay? Keep an open mind.” Another hymnal hit the floor. I sighed.
“Max, I have an open mind. What’s your idea?” I was hoping he didn’t want to try moving the candles holders on the altar. I didn’t like it when Max moved things on the altar.
“Well, you know how we’ve been having
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