Shameless in Poughkeepsie - with fianaturie8

Mostly lost among the shadows the old Victorian home weeped from loneliness. Shadowed by the oaks and hemlocks and the memories, but dead is dead and there are no witnesses to the missing corpse because the shadow is my ghost. No time for hysterics. Even ghosts are insomniacs dripping into insanity playing musical chairs and listening to someone else's calliope...perhaps, steampunk's steam roller. The house said nothing. Never complained until the owners wanted to replace the old coal furnace in the bowels of the cellar and modernize the water closet. It was losing its charm.  
   
The old Victorian house took on many personalities of schizophrenia waiting for me for twenty years. A dream house, and fixer-upper in Poughkeepsie, NY. Yet! I didn't know that at the time. Perhaps! Digging up bones. It felt jilted. I recently joined the Fraternity and Sorority of Ghosts pledging to haunt caught between the wheels of a Bus for senior citizens. A widower who had lost his soul mate and was accused of having dementia...but I knew better. Opening the front door,* which had recently felt the splatter of human blood. "Sweet silence drips from its breath, always, you and I." Whispering, as a moth wing fluttered in my ear.  I didn't think. too much of it...it was time for my meds. However, the gargoyle door knocker picking at its nose shed a bad light on the neighborhood. Sort of reminded me of DUP, Deep Underground Poltergeist. There was something strange about this whole refrain. Something smelled decadent like a dead mackerel...It was me. "A walking advertisement for the Pro Bass Shop."    
   
*In earlier times, it was, opening the friggin' sash.  
   
Stepping into the foyer, a tiny mouse thinking it was Speedy Gonzales came screaming through the room. "Arriba arriba, andale andale, 'get up get up, lets go lets go!" Where was a chainsaw when you needed one? Four naked vintage old hags were dancing around a MayPole in their ectoplasm attire. "Twelve days of Christmas came to mind," but they sure weren't singing birds. I used the Electrolux sweeper but could hear them banging, on the inside of the canister. A loud "plopping" sound came from the kitchen faucet tap...echoing. "We're little embryos who have gone astray to a place..." The drain was stopped, but a caravan of roaches with human faces walked across the surface of the kitchen counter. Some had baggage and portmanteaus on their back disappearing between the baseboard and floor.    
   
Walking further into the old house, I heard humming coming from upstairs. Putting down my bag and going to the sound, I felt a little trepidation. The humming had a note of sensuality to it. It has been a long time since I heard something that stirred my blood. A ghost doesn't have blood, but it's my 10-cent novel. So piss off.    
   
Reaching the top landing, I went towards the third door. Looking at it more closely, I can see that a shimmer of plasma coating gives it the feel of sheer drapes. I pushed open the door to see, oh! a woman staring at nothing at all in the mirror and humming a tune. She was clad in bloomers suiting the time. I took it that she wasn't Bo Beep. Maybe Stormy Daniels on a bad hair day with implants that defied gravity. She could use her tits as a coffee table.    
   
“Excuse me what are you humming?” I asked waiting for her to turn around and answer me. Instead, she stopped the music and stood very still. My heart started to break even though it didn't beat any longer. I took my heart and double-checked. I was dead as Will Rogers.  
   
“You are new here.” She said in a French accent.  
   
“Yes, ma'am,” I replied  
   
She finally turned around, and the sight of her aroused even the dead part of this man. Beautifully golden hair flowed on the breeze that didn't exist. Eyes of blue I looked through them and saw a deep sadness. And her lips… what is coming over me?  
   
“You have walked into my room, and I will graciously welcome you to my boudoir*.”  
   
*Fancy talk for bedroom...I think.  
   
Is this happening? Looking down to see what I was wearing and realizing I was wearing my best rhinestone cowboy suit made me feel confident.  
   
I looked back up and saw that she was right before me. I was about to say something when I felt her hand caressing my cock. I had to look and make sure I had one. Some phantoms are toolless. I was shocked because women normally are not this bold.  
   
“You seem to be awake. Let us go to the bed so I can say hello.” She smiled and something was very off with that smile. I went with her to her bed, and I lay down on my back as I watched her hover over me. The best thing about being dead is that the mind controls the outcome. She had no resistance pulling down my pants and realized I was wearing my pink tights to keep everything in its place hiding my varicose veins.  
   
Once she pulled out my galvanized cock. I felt her lower herself onto me. Cold, wet with slight tension, she began to ride me like a Foghorn Longhorn Rooster on that crazy dog. Closing my eyes I heard a strange laugh. I had an audience of characters from my childhood. Bugs Bunny was there eating popcorn and pointing, whispering in Elmer Fudd’s ear, and they both seemed to agree, that something wasn't copasetic. Where was Peter Pan?... PETER!  
   
I looked up at the woman and realized it was Lola Bunny. I was shocked. Parts of her anatomy were falling starting with her jaw. "I guess a blowjob is out...right!"  
   
“Don't be surprised; I am the welcome committee.” As she continued to ride me, I kept wondering, “Did I take my medication and have a V8?" Hearing the banging from the vacuum canister.