I Got Fuced

I got fucked by a ghost.

Yes, I know you all think I'm already crazy. I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't lived through it. But I was fucked by a ghost. The ghost of a man who was murdered 10 years before I moved into his house.

It was more than 40 years ago and I can remember it like it was yesterday. I had just graduated from the University of Indianapolis with my degree in journalism. It was in the late 70s and the world spun a bit slower than it does today. I had accepted a job at the Martinsville Daily Gazette newspaper, about 30 minutes away from downtown Indianapolis. I was just going to rent an apartment or take up a room and board arrangement because I wasn't planning on staying there long. I wanted to get my feet wet writing for a local newspaper and make my way up to a bigger one, like the Indianapolis Star, or Chicago Tribune.

Luckily, I had the chance to buy this old run-down English Tutor on the far edge of town. The house was worn and needed some TLC, but it was modestly priced. It sat on almost 1/2 acre of land, was not too far from where I was working and was within my budget. The local kids must have used it for a party house because there were holes in the wall, spray-painted initials everywhere, and broken-out windows. But I didn't care, it was all cosmetic and I had the time, money, and resources to fix it.

After moving in and starting my new job, every time I told someone that I lived at the old Holecome place they would look at me funny; or changed the conversation topic. It was always like it was taboo to speak of the place like it was the devil's den. Remember back in those days there was no internet, no cell phones, only a few TV channels, and the only way you heard local gossip, was from the locals.

I slowly, but surely fixed up the place, adding new fixtures, painting, cleaning, replacing broken glass on the windows, and started to bring the old run-down house, back to life. But in that process, I must have brought the spirits that still lived in it back to life.

Odd things started occurring while there during my time there. The TV would change channels by itself after I'd leave the room. Lights would turn on and off by themselves, and floors would creek when I was lying in bed at night. At first, I chalked the activity up to an old electric system, a faulty TV shorted out by that failing electric system, settling of the house on those cool fall evenings. But nothing had prepared me for what happened next.

I awoke one morning, naked from the waist down. I was taken aback as I came through that I was lying in only a T-shirt. That my underwear was off, my crotch sticky and sweaty as if I had cum on myself. My sheets tossed and tangled, my ass feeling like I had been probed. It took me a while to come to my sense and just accept the fact that somewhere in the night, I must have had a weird dream, or a vivid sexual dream and had taken care of business by myself. But things got stranger.

About twice a month this would happen to me. I contemplated hard on what I was doing in my sleep. Was I missing having someone in my life, or being back home with family? Was I dreaming of a co-worker, a very early morning repetitive sexual fantasy? Was I sleepwalking? Was this house or this place too much? But no thought could answer the question. That is until I spoke with the old town librarian, Mrs. Byers.

I happen to be in the library one afternoon researching an article I was putting together when I started speaking with Mrs. Byers. She wasn't familiar with me, and she being one of the oldest residents of this town wondered who I was. I introduced myself to her.

"HI, I am Nathan Bingsley. The new editorial man for the paper." I spoke

"Oh yes." She replied. "I heard the paper hired a new writer. Welcome to town." She added.

"Where are you staying Mr. Bingsley?" She asked.

"I'm out at the old Holecome Place Ma'am." Was my reply.

"The old Holecome place." She gasped. As if I told her I was staying in a pig barn.

"Yes Ma'am," I replied.

"Oh, you know the rumors of that ole' Holecome place." She touted, as she looked down returning to her work.

"No, I don't know the old rumors of the Holecome place, Mrs. Byers. What rumors?" I asked.

"The murder!" She whispered out.

"The murder?" I inquired shockingly.

"Yes." She replied as if I was the only person in the world who didn't know.

"John Holecome was murdered inside that house, more than a decade ago."

"Murdered by whom?" I asked.

"They never solved it." She replied.

"Never solved it?" I touted.

"No, the police never did find who did it. But he had it coming to him anyway." She answered.

"Had it coming to him?" I inquired.

"Yes, John Holecome was always a bit light in the loafers, so I suspect his behavior caught up with him." She explained.

"Light in the loafers? Mrs. Byers?" I asked.

"You know Mr. Bingsley." She said as she stared at me as if I should have known.

"He was different." She spoke. "You know, Feminine. Girly." Shrugging her shoulders and lifting her hands as to hint to me by her body language.

"He was one of those homo people Mr. Bingsley," she whispered as she leaned in closer to me.

"Or at least everyone thought he was, and they didn't like it." She followed up.

"So, they murdered him?" I asked.

"Well, someone murdered him. People around here don't like those types of people Mr. Bingsley. She advised.

I was at a loss. I was dumbfounded and concerned that someone or a group of people in this town murdered a man inside his own home because they thought he was gay. I was sickened by the thought. And even though I wasn't gay and really didn't know many people who were. I was smart enough and educated enough to know, those actions were unjustifiable. Over the next few weeks, I researched this further. I spoke with the town sheriff, a few town elders, my neighbors, the waitress at the only restaurant in town, and even looked through some old newspaper articles in the library.

No one ever wanted to talk about it, everyone just kindly declined my offer when I asked them what they knew or remembered. In my own research, I discovered that on a hot late August night in 1967, police discovered the badly beaten body of John Holecome inside his family's house, after conducting a well-being check. Seems that John had not shown up for work in three days and his supervisors at the factory were concerned. Police found John on the floor of the front room with his head bashed in, blood everywhere, and signs of a struggle, but could not locate any evidence to suggest who his killer or killers were except for some faintly visible bloody footwear impressions on the porch leading way from the scene. No one ever came forward and no one was ever accused of the crime.

Now at the time, I wasn't one to believe in ghosts or spirits, but some of the weird things happening inside the house started making sense. I began to wonder if the spirit of John Holecome, was still living at home. Many nights I'd lay awake late at night listening for noises, voices, creeks, or groans and when I heard them, I would start talking to "John" in hopes I could vanquish him out of the house. Nothing ever seemed to work. Yet still, on an occasional morning, I'd wake up naked, soaking wet, cum on my stomach, on the sheets, or around my crotch.

I started to piece this all together. I began to believe I was being haunted. I was being sexually molested and ravished by the ghost of a gay man beaten to death for his sexual preference many years ago. I tried staying up later than usual, I tried summoning him, I tried to make peace with his spirit, but nothing ever helped. That is until the spring of 79.

I was in bed one very early morning when something woke me. I felt the warmth and comfort of being seduced. I knew I was alone and I knew I wasn't dreaming, but I felt like someone was there with me. In my semi-lucid mind, I felt my underwear being pulled down my legs. At first, the thought and feelings scared me, but I realized this was the evidence and the contact I had been seeking, so I didn't fight. I felt the warm, wet sensation of someone's mouth covering my dick, as it went from flaccid to fully erect.

The pleasure of someone blowing me, without visibly seeing someone in the room was troubling and unusual. A sense which was very unfamiliar to me at that time. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. A slow, tight, erotic feel for the senses, having my cock covered and pleasured by this strange unseen, spiritual phenomenon was invigorating. I laid back still half asleep feeling the pleasure of being sucked off, with no obvious person under the sheets. My hands were at my sides, so I knew it wasn't me that was pleasuring myself. My hips began to thrust slightly backward and forewords, shifting up and down as someone or something was pleasuring me.

I reached up to place my hands on the back of the head of whoever was pleasuring me but felt nothing there. Yet, I could feel a warm, wet mouth sliding up and down on my shaft, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm.

I started moaning out his name, "John. Oh, John. Yeah, suck it." Grumbled out of me time after time as I began getting closer and closer to cumming. And even though I had never thought of or participated in homosexual sex before, calling out his name, feeling his spirit sucking me off, made me feel at ease.

"John I'm going to cum." Spewed from my mouth seconds before I felt my orgasmic blast. I knew I was getting a blow job. I knew I was cumming, yet visually there was no one was there sucking me off. I felt the cum, hit my lower stomach and the area above my cock. I felt the sensations of warm hands sliding up and down my outer thighs. I felt as if I had just made love to a beautiful woman and I was releasing every bit of myself into her. I released a big load of cum all over myself and felt my chest glisten with sweat, as I lay there reeling. I fell back asleep quickly after the incident but was awoken by my own recall of the events several hours later.

As I awoke from the memory, I sprung upwards, pulling the sheets up high, looking underneath, to find myself naked from the waist down. Dried cum stuck to my stomach, my dick still partially hard, my heart racing, and my breath heavy. I realized this wasn't a dream. I had been sucked off by a ghost. John's ghost and as troubling as it was to digest. I actually liked it.

I didn't mention the event to anyone for a long time. I didn't know if I was crazy, or if it actually happened. How can an abolition of a man long dead, come back and seduce me in my sleep? Was I supposed to feel it, was it a dream, I had enhanced it because I knew he was gay and had died there.

Nothing happened again for weeks. I kept trying to summon him, to reach out to him, to be part of that experience again. But time after time, I was disappointed. That is until the first full moon of April shined through my bedroom window. I fell asleep as usual almost giving up on being part of something again, like what happened many weeks ago. But this time, John returned. And John took me.

In the wee hours of the morning, I was summoned awake by the feeling of someone in my room. I felt the same as I had the previous time. Like the earth had stopped turning, I felt love and connectivity. I felt the need. More importantly, I felt him with me and I whispered out, Take me, John." As I looked around my room hoping to see him.

I felt the sensation of someone being in bed with me, next to me, touching me, seducing me. The moon shined through my windows as I kissed the open air, hoping his lips would meet mine. I didn't care if he was the ghost of a man, I had an over-heightened passion to be with him. I felt his warmth all over my body, I felt time stand still and I felt my underwear being pulled from my waist. I lifted my hips and helped shimmy them down and off. I felt that same warm sensation come over my dick as if someone had kissed their way down my body and slid my partially hard cock into their mouth.

This time I wasn't scared or concerned, this time I wanted all of it. I just wished I could have seen him or touched him. Slowly the warm wet mouth slid up and down along my shaft getting me harder and harder. I moaned in pleasure, as he was blowing me again. "I want you, John." I moaned out as I felt his suction get tighter.

The pleasure was immeasurable as he was sucking me off. The thrill of getting a blow job, so early in the morning by a gay man's ghost was beyond my imagination. I felt his mouth leave my shaft as a warm hand-like grasp squeezed my shaft. A hot almost warming feeling came over my balls as if he was sucking on them both at the same time. The hand stroking me up and down. I had never even considered sleeping with a man before this, but the absolute power he had over me, coupled with the pleasure had me seized.

Before I knew it, I felt warm hands sliding up and down in between my thighs, which shortly after, lifted my legs up from the mattress, placing them up around my stomach. I felt a warm swirling sensation on my asshole as if he was licking my ass. It was a feeling I have never had repeated on me. It was beyond erotic, beyond taboo. It was hot. My cock was rock hard and throbbing as I was receiving pleasure, I had never had before.

Without warning, my body was pulled further down the mattress, as my legs were pushed further up and into my chest. I felt something slide into me, deep into my ass and I gasped for air. The sensation of something long, hard and thick forcing its way in or out was incredible. I could feel the body weight on top of me, yet I could see no one in the room with me. My legs were plastered to my chest as a hard cock was ramming in and out of me, yet I was - in all essences - alone.

I was being fucked, and fucked hard by John, and to be honest it was incredible. I wanted more. I wanted to see him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to see his cock shooting cum. But here in the dark, I was the only living soul. John continued ramming his cock in and out of my ass for a few more minutes, bringing me to pleasured heights I had never experienced before.

I was moaning and groaning, my mouth hanging wide open, my head swinging from side to side as his cock continued sliding in and out. My cock was rock hard, my hands pulling clumps of sheets into the fists I was making.

I begged him, "Don't stop John. Don't stop.

His pace quickened and my breath thickened, as I felt him driving his dick deeper and deeper into me. With a few fast, deep hard pumps, he stopped pumping. I could swear I felt his cum shoot inside of me, as he was getting off. The sensation was so overwhelming that I started cumming all over my stomach and chest without touching myself. I was getting off being fucked by a ghost and being as fucked. And I loved it. I didn't want it to stop. I wanted more.

I felt his dick slide out of me, as my legs started to come down off of my chest. I was still looking for someone to be hovering over me, a body I could feel, touch and see. Lips I could kiss, arms I could hold onto. But there in the still of the night, there was no one but me. As I put my head down, I started to whisper to John, but I couldn't get words out before falling asleep.

The next morning, I awoke as I had several times before, naked from the waist down, cum stuck to my body and my ass feeling like it had been fucked. I was so enlightened, so relieved and so happy that I had been awake and experienced sex with him. I thought about it for weeks, of how I wished I could see him, taste him, kiss him, suck on his dick. Waiting night after night for him to return, until the nights he did. It changed my life. And no loves since have made me so enthralled as he did.

I never mentioned this to anyone until now, mostly because back then no one would have believed me, and two I surely wasn't going to come out and tell everyone I liked getting fucked in the ass. Ghost or not. Especially in that small town in that era of time. And I surely didn't want to end up like John. I had several experiences with him over the next year that I lived there. But eventually, I sold the place after taking a new job elsewhere, leaving the gay sex, the memories, and John behind.