Ghosted!

Samantha was used to being ghosted. Ever since high school, when Facebook was still in its infancy and social media as a whole was still a toddler. She was now 32 and had been ghosted on just about every social media platform. Not to mention every real-life stage.

At least her dark sense of humor remained intact (though most replied to this statement in pity), “I could take you on a ghost tour,” she would often to say, “Of all the men who ghosted me.”

She took comfort in the silver lining that she still had a lot of “good” years left, but based on her track record, it probably just meant many more years of rejection and heartbreak. Yet, she somehow still remained a hopeless romantic. She was simply wired that way.

Samantha was always open to new experiences and just when she thought she had tried them all, something new would come along. But nothing could prepare her for her next tryst – for lack of a better word.

Of course, it came when she had least expected it. She wasn’t even looking for anyone at all. In fact, she had just recently got rid of all of her dating apps – not just deactivated them, but deleted them completely, so that it would require a major effort to start over, which in turn would make it less tempting to get on the social media saddle.  

She was flat out tired of the “wild goose chase” (a phrase she always pointed out to her freshman English students was invented by Shakespeare) of dating life – the false leads, the bad dates, and even the good dates that mean recycling the same conversations over and over again. It was so fucking time-consuming and tiresome. She had seen so many dick pics, to the point that she couldn’t stomach the idea of ever seeing a real dick again, no matter how horny she was (though she did recently spend $100 on new sex toys – none of which resembled dicks).  For one fleeting moment, she considered pursuing a same sex partner. It was really the only frontier on the sexual front yet to explore.

She was determined to re-focus her energy on her work and re-connecting with old friends she hadn’t seen in awhile – while she was too busy chasing geese.

Part of her believed that taking a break would open up the possibility of finding the man of her dreams when she least expected it.

What Samantha wasn’t expecting to do during this time was having to move. She had been living comfortably in a rental home for the past five years. Though it was always meant to be temporary, she had never felt more at home and had planned on staying put for as long as she was allowed to. She also knew she could never beat the price. But the owners informed her that they were moving back from out of state and that she would have to move out. Of course, she didn’t bother asking if she could continue living there (though, she was certainly tempted – she spent most of her time in the guest room any way, where there was a better view with better lighting).

She had one week to move out. Did two weeks-notice even apply to housing? The owners made it clear they were in a bind, so she didn’t feel like she had much wiggle room.

And just like, that was not only desperately single, but desperately homeless.

She began searching for a new place immediately, but the pickings were slim. The silver lining was that she wouldn’t have to mull over options. She thought about moving back in with her parents, but it would have felt too much like an act of regression. She finally settled on a dwelling on the edge of town. It wasn’t nearly as nice as her previous place, but the price was comparable and she couldn’t afford much more than that. It also had just the right amount of seclusion that she desperately needed.

            The move went surprisingly smooth. She didn’t have a bunch of extra stuff, which helped tremendously. Being a recovered pack rat finally paid dividends.

As soon as the movers left, the first thing she did was order a pizza. She had a feeling it would be going to bed. When she finally did, she noticed a few odd noises that one would hear in any new dwelling, but didn’t think much of them and quickly fell asleep. She never woke up once.

 The next night, she woke up to what she thought was a loud moan, but chalked it up to a dream. She had trouble falling back asleep. She heard the same noises as the night before, but they seemed louder. Eventually, she drifted back to sleep.

The third night, she heard the moan again. Though she wasn’t certain, it sounded more like pleasure, than pain. But neither one was welcome.

The fourth night, she felt what she could only describe as a presence. She didn’t see anything, but certainly felt something. And was beginning to truly wonder if her new abode was haunted.

She tied to set aside thoughts that the house was perhaps buried on an old Indian burial ground, chalking up all of her paranoia to all the horror films she watched over the years, despite never liking horror films.

By the fourth night, she was having sex with a ghost.

Or, at least, she dreamt it. Though, it was so fucking amazing, she hoped either she would have the dream again, or the same ghostly encounter. Though, the ghost concept seemed much more fascinating to her.

She still didn’t see anything, but heard the same moan she had heard the night before at the same moment she came.

And the next night, it happened again. And she was certain it wasn’t a dream this time. Because unlike the first time, she wasn’t asleep when it began. This time, she was wide awake when the presence came to her – in her. There was no question this was a very well-endowed ghost dick. Or, at the very least, brandished a well-endowed dildo.

And to be clear, it was fully consensual because she wanted it (though she did wonder, if she refused, would the spirit abide? She hoped she would never have to find out). It felt too fucking good to pass up. And it wasn’t like she was having much luck in the physical world.

Instead of a single, powerful orgasm she had the night before, this time, she had three, powerful orgasms, accompanied by a simultaneous, ghostly moan in perfect harmonization with her . At least that mystery was solved now.

The next night, she awaited eagerly for her ghost lover, even slipping into her sexiest lingerie. But he never came. And by default, neither did she.

She gave him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he was taking a night off? Some much needed me time? Had other plans? They never established any boundaries such as seeing other people, or – in this instance not seeing.

Mr. Ghost Lover didn’t show up the next night, either. No noises. No moans.

Nothing.

In fact, he never showed up ever again.

Samantha never got the chance to know what he looked like, what its name was, when and how it died, and – most importantly – a why it chose her.

And then it dawned on her.

She was ghosted once again.

By a fucking ghost.

Some things never change.

Especially when it comes to dating.

Specifically men.

Dead or alive.