Touch for Spirits

Notes: Enjoy the story! Lots of hot sapphic action, with next-level voyeurism. What is "next-level" voyeurism, you ask? Read on! (I'm probably not the first to think of it... Maybe it's a whole sub-genre for all I know.) And please excuse the indulgent Literotica self-reference. It was too fun to resist.

The sound of the impact flew into my head and made overlapping echoes, as if the speed of the sound waves could not be slowed down enough to match the immense slowness of time. The momentum carried the tiny glass cubes of the windshield forwards, and I followed closely behind these glittering missiles, flying over the driving wheel. Then, in a gust of wind that wafted me upwards, light as a leaf, I was carried over the semi truck in front, which barely even slowed from the crush of my sedan. When it passed, that impossible breeze let up and I landed on the gravel on the side of the road. I stood up and walked back to the accident along the shoulder, shouting as emergency services swarmed around the vehicles. "Hey, I'm alright! I'm over here! Hey!"

Of course no one answered. This was about fifty years ago, and I still can't find that place in my memory that would explain how I got there, what led up to the crash.

At first, the world was just so very lonely. Strange that I haven't encountered any other spirits, any other clue as to what happens after we die other than my own continued existence. Maybe it's because it was Halloween when it happened. Or maybe that's a made up human holiday. Anyway, as far as I can tell, it's just me. But about 10 years after my death, I figured out how I could interact with people. And that I could experience touch, in some ways much more intimately than when I had a body.

I spend most days now watching the living, especially couples getting together. I become part of their relationship. They don't know it, of course, but then on some level I think they might know. I'm usually femme for femme, but I like a little variety, too.

This afternoon I'm at a cafe, draped in fake spiderwebs and sycamore leaves for the holiday. It's the 15th anniversary of my ghost-birth, so definitely a day for celebration. I'm watching the cutest couple find fifty ways to say nothing while saying "I like you," to each other. A minute ago they were arguing about Marlene Dietrich--god, how cliché, but they're young still, still figuring out how to be themselves. Sometimes they need the script.

Annie reaches forward to grab Jen's hand, who trails off mid sentence. A second later Jen realizes the reaction she had, and she starts blushing, which makes Annie look at her. Finally Jen defuses by smiling and asking "what?"

But of course it's obvious "what." "What" is that each admires the other's mind, which is easy enough, but then each admires the other's body, too. And their mutual ravishment can't take place here in this cafe, though hands can hold hands and maybe later lips can touch lips... Annie traces her eyes around Jen's face, looking at her riotous bleached blond tight curls, this mane of hair that only emphasizes her willowy, feminine body. Jen just looks into Annie's brown eyes, the eyes that are looking at her. Then Jen drinks in Annie's sculpted, angular chin, her spiky black hair, the line of her bust just showing beneath the open collar of her Oxford shirt.

I was the one who made this happen, you know. Last week, I caught them both looking at each other while Annie was trying to get some work done, and Jen had ordered a pumpkin spice latte to go. Which, accordingly, she was about to go, and leave this chance behind, when I intervened.

It starts with contact. I walked up to her, as quick as a thought, and reached my hand to the small of her back. Even when nothing else is happening, this is an intense experience. Suddenly I felt Jen, what it was to be Jen, all of her.

When you live in a body, you don't really experience that. I mean we're capable of focusing attention on any one part, but it's all so familiar that usually it just fades into the background. When I touch someone, I can feel every part of them, because all of it is new. Jen's light brush of the hair on her arm against the counter, the way her loose cotton blouse swished across the small of her back when she turned (unimpeded by my incorporeal hand, of course), the warm cup of her bra and its gentle pressure on her breasts, the slight movement of her nipple against the fabric, evident to me but too small for Jen to notice, the snug contraction of her espadrilles along the edge of her soft feet, each toe touching its neighbor, the elastic of her panties gently pressing into the crook of her thighs, and the slight adjustment of the two sides of her labia as she shifted her weight from one side to the other.

But after noticing all of this, I pushed it aside and focused my attention on moving Jen toward Annie, on asking Annie out and giving her my number. Jen's number. When I do this, it's not like I have control over the person, just some small bit of imperfect influence. They just experience what I do as their own ideas. It's like hypnotism, where the hypnotized person has to at least sort of want to do the thing in the first place. It's just a push. But it usually works because people usually want to get together. It certainly worked for these two.

Unfortunately, Jen has to go now. She says so, and they start planning their next date.

I rest my hand on top of Annie's, where their fingers are intertwined. I can feel Jen's fingers lightly brushing Annie's hand. Annie isn't wearing a bra, and her nipples are perking up just a little. I feel the breath in her, deep and low in her lungs. Her nipples are pressing against the elastic ribbing of her undershirt. The bottom of her breasts shift against her skin. I can tell that she's becoming aware of them, feeling self-conscious for getting a little turned on in public, just by looking and holding hands, like she was a teenager or something. I'm not helping, since I find this feeling of physiological arousal so wonderful to experience. I'm nudging Annie a bit deeper into it. I feel Annie's nipples respond and gather together just a little more, pushing forward, and a momentary thrum of soft friction as the elastic adjusts to the changing shape. I feel the air under Annie's underwear warming as the blood flow increases, and the surface skin of her pussy growing warm with reflected heat, like a fever under a blanket. Jen lightly drags her fingers across Annie's hand, just so lightly.

They're talking about the days they have free next week. I want Jen and Annie, and Annie wants Jen, at an increasing pitch, and suddenly Annie just says "how about tonight?"

"Um, yeah, I don't have any Halloween plans. Yeah, I suppose I'm free."

"Do you want to come over and I'll cook?"

It's funny the differences between experiencing a body as your own or as someone else's. Annie is nervous, screwing up her courage to ask, even when it's clear they both like each other. Right before she asked, her heart leapt, and now it's thudding in her chest. I get to experience that, the way Annie's heartbeat feels, the slight expansion of skin where her arms touch her sides, this shifting of chest and boobs, and the pressure of her crossed legs (trying hard to be nonchalant) against the skin of her labia, articulated with every heartbeat. The physiology of this nervousness is really a fairly positive feeling, when you don't have to be the one who is nervous. Of course I wouldn't wish it on anyone, and if it was more serious I would be sympathetically worried for the person experiencing it. As it is, it just feels nice. Very physical.

Of course Jen just says "sounds great," and writes down her address. No need to have been nervous. Then they release their held hands and Jen stands up from the table.

Annie quickly says "I'll walk you out," and there on the front step of the cafe, she leans forward and pushes up on her toes (Jen is the taller one), and I quickly press my hand to the small of her back, in just enough time to feel the slow brush of a modest kiss, lips to lips. Even from just the momentary touch, I can feel the tingling of Annie's lips. Of course they're both saving the long, deep kisses for later.

Annie turns to head back into the cafe. Now I have to decide on who to follow. I could just do something else and meet up with them later, but these two are what's most interesting to me at the moment.

I make up my mind, and decide to follow Jen.

It's a beautiful day, and the sun shines down on both of us. It's been a warm October. Jen is wearing a sundress with red roses embroidered into it, and bare arms. I walk beside her on the sidewalk, and reach over to hold her hand and feel what she's feeling. The ruffles of her sundress lightly grace the backs of her calves, brushing back and forth in time with her steps. Her hair shifts a little in a passing breeze, tugging away the tension in her scalp. And the sun warming her south-facing shoulder is just exquisite.

Everyone's skin is so different. Both from inside and outside the body. Touching someone else, we feel the rich variety with our fingertips, blends of silk, smoothness, plump or thin, a hundred different textures (even scars and wrinkles are so beautiful to touch). But from the inside, the organization of nerves is completely different, too, some skins longing for interest, others for comfort, some shying away from pain, some reveling in its intensity, some skins longing for cooling breezes, others for bright warmth. I get to experience all of it. Jen's skin longs for warmth, and the warm sun flows down over her shoulder like a drop of Chardonnay over the tongue.

She's walking to the metro, and I follow her as we board the train together.

* * *

A few stops later, we're stepping out of the car, going up to street level. Downtown. Around the corner there's an office building, and we're going through the glass revolving door with brass handles that feel cold and solid under Jen's palm (I couldn't resist). There must be about a hundred tenants in this building. I follow her up the elevator to the legal office where she works, and eavesdrop as she asks her boss if it's ok to leave at 4:30.

"You already took a long lunch..."--"Oh, I'm sorry, I"--"No, don't worry. It's totally fine. I was just surprised."

I don't feel like watching her work, so I repeat the time to myself, so I can be sure to be back here before then. Then I decide to explore the building a little.

I step through the wall to the adjacent office. It was pretty disorienting to be able to do this at first, but I'm used to it now.

It's a depressingly undecorated office, small and long with bare white walls, almost more like a hallway. It seems to just hold one person, who's over at the desk by the window. She's pretty in the sunlight, huge red hair moving out into the room, with freckles on the white skin of her cheeks and arms. She's nicely curvy, with a round bust pushing at her low cut green top, through which her cleavage is clearly visible. She looks distracted, and sighs. Then she clicks deliberately on the mouse, determined to go back to work. She's shuffling data from a pdf on the browser in her right monitor to a spreadsheet on the left monitor, and every so often clicking on a different page in the spreadsheet to see how a line graph updates.

But then she clicks on a different browser tab, and there's Literotica. She must have been trying to fight the distraction. I peer over her shoulder, and she's reading something in the mother/daughter genre. Apparently Mommy's been a bad girl, and her 20-year-old daughter with B cups is spanking her, right between the thighs. Take that, mommy! Mommy moans loader. Is this still the genre if the roles are reversed like this? Who knows. It doesn't really matter.

The red headed girl is getting pretty turned on. Her pale skin does nothing to hide the flush. This particular story is not my cup of tea, but this woman, on the other hand... I reach my hand to touch the small of her back.

Now I feel her rolling her lower lip into and out of her mouth, touching her teeth with it. She's warm in her core, and the skin on her bare shoulders is cold. As she reads, she's actually squirming, ever so slightly, generating tiny, faint sensations as the sides of her labia slightly move against each other and against her legs and the chair below. Only really enough to make her want more. She finishes the sex scene she was on (it looks like there's another half of the story) and stands up to pull on the cord of the Venetian blinds, keeping away any potential prying eyes from across the street. Then she looks behind her, right through me, checking if the door is locked.

She's kicking off her shoes now, dropping her pants and panties all at once. She sits on the office chair and draws one leg up next to her, letting the other one down with her foot, still in a short white sock, resting on the floor. I'm not missing this, so I reach my hand out again, and touch the back of her neck.

I can feel the sides of the red headed girl's pussy getting slick, as the cool air from the room brushes across her opening. She tugs down one side of her blouse and pulls out one of her enormous boobs, bringing her nipple up to her mouth and sucking on it a little. I can feel the sensation of her hard nipple on her tongue, and the much brighter sensation of her tongue on her nipple. Intense. With her other hand she reaches into her cunt, slowly wetting her fingers while moving in and out. This feels amazing, a bright sensation over the sensitive surface of her lips, and a slight, slowly building energy behind her clit. Then she draws her fingers back out, moves them up her slit, wetting everything, reaching in again, and then back up, until her fingers move softly across the whole of it. The sensations I'm getting from her are increasing in intensity, sucking her own nipple in and out of her mouth, circling her clit, around, down, up, across, around again...

She thinks this is just going to be a quick release before getting back to work, but I'm there, and I have time to kill. I deepen her awareness of her sensations and make her slow down. Get into it. She stops for a second and reaches up to her desk grabbing her mouse and turning it off. She hesitates, like she's not sure what's come over her. But I know. I'm feeling quite mischievous. She leans back in her chair, drawing both legs up this time. I can feel her heart start to beat faster with what she's about to do.

She moves the ergonomic curves of the mouse against her open slit, getting the mouse slick. I can feel the hard plastic of it, the curves and the angles. She changes the orientation so the back is pointed towards her, and starts gently pushing, while relaxing her muscles.

Everyone's pussy is different. Some people squeeze tight around even a single finger, others open up to present the explorer with a wonderfully deep terrain. The red headed girl is the latter type, and the mouse slides in. I can feel the pressure of it, slightly uneven, slightly uncomfortable where the angle of the seam is, but pushing against even the red headed girl's openness, filling her with wonderful sensation.

She brings her nipple back up to her mouth and puts her arm across to try and prop it up while having both hands to work her pussy. One hand slowly moves the mouse. Her vaginal muscles push it outward, so she just holds it in, lets it come out a little, pushes it back in, holds. Her other hand is rotating on her clit, and she's rapidly building to an orgasm. I let her have it this time, figuring I can turn her on again afterwards if I want.

Her orgasm completely fills my experience, and there is only sensation and bright feeling. She shakes a little, and goosebumps form on the pale skin of her upper arms as her whole body becomes sensitive. I feel so good, experiencing all this. Just calmer and satisfied all over.

Then awareness of specific sensations comes back, starting with the corners of the mouse in my pussy. In the red headed girl's pussy. Then the fullness of it, and then the brightness of the sensation.

I'm tempted to push her to go again, but I think there's going to be a lot of intensity tonight, so I let her go. I lean back against the wall, content to just watch her now. Her pale, soft, and curvy body is really beautiful. She relaxes her pussy and the mouse slips out, and she puts it back on the desk. She looks around and finds her panties, and I'm behind her when she leans forward to pull them up, her shirt lifting up over her heart shaped ass. She tugs at the fabric to get it into place, then puts her pants back on and tucks her boob back into its bra cup, shifting the underwire to get everything back into place.

She walks out the door, and comes back a few minutes later with some wet paper towels, wiping off the mouse, desk, and chair as best she can. She turns the mouse back on, frowning at the sticky switch, and then moves the pointer up to close the Literotica tab. She hesitates. She logs in and clicks on "favorite," then closes the tab.

It's still not 4:30, but I decide to wander back to see what Jen is doing. When I find her, she's filing away some of the physical papers that lawyers always accumulate, then going through a document with a black sharpie in order to blot out addresses and other private information. I lie back on the leather couch in the middle of the office and let my memory drift over and enjoy each detail of what just happened next door.

* * *

Jen is knocking on Annie's door. I peep my head through and hear a clang and a quick expletive from Annie before she scurries over to open it. She's wearing high waisted pants and the same black Oxford from earlier is unbuttoned now, showing her small bust under a white spaghetti strap tank top. Jen is wearing a black, white, and blue patterned dress with white sneakers. It hugs her slim form, accentuated by the big poof of her curly hair.

"Hi," Annie says.

"Hi, hey, 'trick or treat,' " Jen says with a wide smile.

"Come in."

I follow her in and Annie holds the door for us, like a gentleman. Jen notices Annie's bare feet, and asks if she should take her shoes off.

"Um, yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

Looking around, the place has clearly been cleaned up a bit in a hurry. It doesn't look dirty or anything, but it doesn't exactly look like a no shoes house. I wonder if Annie just wants to extend Jen's nice bare calves with nice bare feet.

When Jen's done removing her shoes, Annie says, "Follow me to the kitchen. It's almost ready. Can I get you some wine?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

The kitchen looks like it was clean at some point, but now it has mixing bowls and cutting boards positioned randomly on the counters, with the ends of vegetables next to them, evidence of preparation. But the smell is amazing. She's cooking pasta, the universal date food. The smell of fresh basil fills the air.

They ask about each other's afternoons, get mostly boring answers. Annie tells about seeing a woman shoplifting a sponge and a store brand can of Lima beans. ("Why wouldn't she at least shoplift the organic can, you know? Same cost!"). They laugh about this and that. Jen cants her head back just a little when she laughs, and every time she does, Annie follows her dimples down her beautiful long neck and collar bones, taking in the form of her with her eyes. Annie's laughter comes straight out, but she hunches her shoulders a little forward. Every time she laughs, Jen's smile gets bigger.

When it's ready, they sit at Annie's small square table with a bottle of wine between them. "Oh my god. It's so good," Jen says. And it really must be, since when they're finished, she runs her finger on the plate, picking up a dollop of sauce, and brings it to her lips, sucking the tip of her finger. Annie watches this movement quietly and intently, like a bird of prey. Jen notices her watching, and is suddenly embarrassed.

"Sorry," Jen says.

But Annie says, low and direct and smiling, "No. Do that again."

Self-conscious, looking back and forth from Annie and her plate, Jen runs her finger along the plate, but as she brings it up to her lips, Annie reaches across the table and gently takes hold of her wrist, bringing the sauce covered finger to her own mouth. She draws Jen's finger between her lips, bringing her tongue from base to tip across the bottom of it, licking off the sauce, circling it, sucking, letting it go.

And yes, I had something to do with that. I'm sitting on a chair positioned on the side of the table, my hand on Annie's shoulder, feeling her tongue press against Jen's finger. Feeling my own thumping heart. Or rather, Annie's thumping heart.

Jen is completely flushed and speechless. Obviously thinking about a different use of that tongue, thinking of that face with its gorgeous jawline looking up at her. Her lips are slightly parted, and the two lean across the table for their first deep kiss.

First kisses are amazing, and also not so good, both for the same reason: They are a purely physical negotiation, a meeting of two bodies in an act that is never completely defined. Through Annie, I can feel Jen's lips slide open, while Annie holds hers slightly parted, both of them continually adjusting, moving lip against lip while the nape of Annie's neck gets sympathetic tingles. The tips of their tongues touch, and Jen makes wide circles while Annie is moving hers to find its most sensitive spots on the tip.

It's these little details of comportment and sensation that make a body so utterly new, that makes every one a foreign country, inherently imbued with a mystery to explore. Annie's hands are lost in the Sahara, sliding from Jen's cheek down her neck. The feel of Jen's neck under my fingertips--downy hair and silky skin. Under Annie's fingertips. In an effort to get closer to each other, they are both leaning so far forward across the table that in other circumstances this would be pretty uncomfortable.

The doorbell rings and they tense and slowly disengage. "Shit," Annie says, "trick or treaters." Jen just laughs, beaming and a little giddy.

A tiny witch and a Frankenstein are at the door, and Annie holds out a bowl of candy for them to pick from. Then Jen and Annie and I relocate to the couch in the living room by the entrance. As the children trickle by, they take turns answering the door, asking about their costumes. In the intervals between, they talk about little nothings, smiling a lot. They don't try anything too heated, but they sit very close to each other, and Jen's fingers occasionally run over the seam at the top of Annie's pants, while Annie lets her pinky touch the highest part of Jen's thigh that shows under the dress, just above her knee (although Jen starts sitting down in such a way that it rides up a little higher). They are both keenly aware of the minutes ticking off, and of what's going to happen later.

Now, it seems like maybe it is later. They're quiet, looking at each other, turned to face one another, cross legged on the couch. With the tightness of Jen's dress, it's impossible to get into this position without flashing her panties, and Annie keeps glancing down to the white, lacy square that's visible, certain she can see a shadow running down the middle. Annie's hands are following the same rules as before, but the dress is considerably higher now, so she scoops her fingers down over Jen's upper thighs, nearly touching her ass.

I'm behind Jen, holding on to her. Through her, I can feel that her breasts are heavy and sensitive with anticipation. They feel almost cold, though it isn't really a sensation of temperature. I can feel Annie's cool fingers wrapping around Jen's thighs, just brushing on the sensitive inner thigh. We're kissing Annie, and I feel Annie's more timid tongue coming into Jen's mouth and brushing the tip of Jen's tongue. Their kisses are adjusting to each other, finding their own rhythm. Jen runs her hand through Annie's spiky hair on the back of her head, feeling the slightly rough and dry texture of styling gel, and the soft black hair underneath. I can feel Jen getting wet.

They're pulling each other closer, now, hands on each other's back. They must get closer. They have to. Jen moves up on her knees, moving forward, and straddles Annie one leg at a time, pushing her crotch right up against Annie's body, while Annie holds her ass, pulling her firmly against her. Through Jen, I can feel the fingers pulling at Jen's ass, opening up her pussy. She's grinding against Annie, moving forward with her pelvis tucked up, then brushing her crotch down across Annie's, body, and I can feel the soft touch of the skin of Jen's cunt, starting at the base and moving up to her clit, the hood pulled away from it with the rolling motion. It feels sensitive and loud, like the punctuation of a cymbal, repeating over and over with the rolling motion. Jen's heart is beating low and strong, filled with need.

They stop kissing for just a moment and Annie glances to the living room window with a view of the street. They both start laughing, realizing the display they just put on for hopefully zero passers by.

"Um, hey, so... would you like to come to my bed?" Annie asks.

"Definitely," Jen says.

"I'd like that too."

They run upstairs. Literally run, as fast as they can, Jen reaching forward to hold Annie's hand. All the while they're laughing at themselves in self-consciousness.

Annie reaches over to turn on the light, then moves the dimmer to a low setting. Annie's room looks like it was cleaned, but there's a pile of about six different pairs of pants by the standing mirror. Before we came over, I saw Jen face the same dilemma, trying on a couple outfits and about fifteen pairs of panties, before settling on the lacy ones she's wearing now.

Standing, they move to kiss again, Annie's hands once again pulling on Jen's butt. Jen's hands trace up Annie's tank top and start pushing on her Oxford. Annie pushes her arms out of it and quickly throws it to the floor. Jen continues by tugging at the bottom of Annie's tank top, drawing it up over her shoulders and throwing it, too, on the floor. Annie unzips her jeans and moves her hips from side to side as she casts off her pants, standing topless in her underwear. Jen moves to match, reaching for the hem of her dress, but Annie stops her.

"No, leave it. At least for now. I like it."

I take off my clothes, too. Don't ask how that works for an incorporeal being, I really don't know. But most of the time I look like I did just before I died--young and pretty and clothed in jeans and a t-shirt. Now I'm young and pretty and naked. Not that we can touch each other directly, but it feels more appropriate.

They're kissing again, and I have my hand on the small of Annie's back, feeling Annie's naked body pressed against Jen's sheer dress, feeling the thin, smooth cotton against Annie's hard nipples, feeling skin on skin as Annie steps her leg between Jen's legs, pushing her toward the bed. Annie's getting wet now, too, but her nipples are already as hard as little stones.

When they're close enough, Annie gives a playful shove. Jen falls back onto the bed, laughing a little, holding her hands above her head where they fell. Annie takes a moment to take in the vision of her, arms up, perfect tits with the nipples poking through the fabric of her dress, her legs just a little wide, with Annie standing between them.

"You're fucking hot," Annie says.

"Thanks, so are you." Jen is beaming, smiling up at her.

Annie crawls on to the bed while Jen shimmies up to the pillows. They've reached the point where neither of them can take it any slower than sex, now, right now. On their sides, pressed together with their legs entwined, Annie is again grabbing Jen's ass with both hands, sliding under her panties this time. Jen moves her hand down Annie's chest into the top of her underwear, reaching in and rubbing her soft, wet cunt. Annie reaches her finger into Jen's pussy from the back, sliding it in with all the ease in the world as Jen releases a slow "unnnnn" that is at once both hungry and satisfied.

I'm there right beside them, naked and transparent, reaching my hands to each, alternately, feeling Jen's fingers against the slick skin and clit of Annie's cunt along with the insanely sweet sensation of the finger rushing into Jen from behind, and then feeling the squeeze of Jen's tight pussy around Annie's finger, the firmness of Jen's vulva against her knuckle, while heavenly circles are being drawn in a pool of sensation and lubrication across Annie's cunt.

They both want to take their panties off, but it's impossible to detach right now. Annie is arching her back and pressing into Jen, as Jen's hand moves faster. Pressing my incorporeal body against her, I can feel the sensations grow from a candle to a searchlight, and Annie comes then and there, as I, too, am overwhelmed with her sensation.

Taking only a few breaths to reorient herself, Annie leaps into action, pulling off her underwear first (wow are they wet), and then putting Jen on her back before slowly drawing her white lace panties up over her long legs and pointed toes.

Annie takes a second to look at this creature, wild hair in a circle around her head, little black dress draped around her modest but really very shapely tits, nipples poking through the fabric, her legs open with the black fabric hiked up like a curtain, framing her cunt, looking firm and wet, with pink skin just showing between her parted lips. I'm sitting above Jen, one hand on her forehead, feeling her racing heartbeat and her breath which is already catching, feeling the cool air sitting against her most intimate parts, feeling the ache and longing for touch behind her hard clit.

Annie crawls up Jen's legs, and I feel the kisses moving up the inside of her thighs, the tongue licking either side of her crotch. Then it brushes at the curtains of Jen's vulva, pulling them apart, finding the soft and sensitive skin underneath. Every time Annie brushes her tongue across Jen's clit, her clit tries to engorge itself just a little more, but it's already at its limit. The sensations are heavy and intense, and Jen is moaning slowly, involuntarily moving her pelvis to make complementary motions around Annie's tongue.

When she comes it's almost a scream of intensity that she feels in her entire body, a tingle released from the bottom of her lungs and spreading upward over her breasts. She pulls Annie up to her, and pulls the dress off, so they can press their bodies together. I shift my hands from one to the other, feeling the enveloping warmth of Jen's skin, and the cool silky feel of Annie's, feeling the slighter body of Annie with its thoroughly messed up hair, spiky now for a different reason, feeling the tall and beautiful Jennifer, with her body pressed all over Annie's.

It's not long before they find each other's pussies again, with inserted fingers and external strokes and light brushing and intense movement and everything in between. The night grows darker, and the walls of the room move further out, as the three of us become adrift on our little boat of sensations and closeness and intimacy, impossible to imagine something so distant and mundane as a world outside of this bed, a distant shore at the other end of a cosmic ocean. The bed is everything that exists.

After some amount of time lost in this world--really impossible to tell how much time--something happens which has never happened before. I am touching Jen and Annie, floating back and forth between them, body surfing on the waves of their sensations. Then I feel Jen's hand on my own thigh. That should be impossible. A second later it's gone. Then Annie's hand reaches over, squeezing my ass for a second, and Jen is there sucking my nipple. Again, a second later nobody is touching me--what even is there to touch?

A while later, they are holding each other tight, fingers moving in and out of each other in a world reduced to this intense sexual desire. I am next to them naked and assumedly still transparent. Then I feel Annie's finger pushing into me, angling up to where my g spot would be, if any part of my body was real. But tonight, it feels real, and pushing down on Annie's two fingers, I work my hips until the small point of contact with her fingers grows across my body like an ink stain across a sheet of white paper, consuming every part of it in color. The three of us come at once, three voices moving out into the air, and then I myself am no longer being touched, and it seems to me that I only hear the reverberation of two voices in the room.

Maybe it's because it's Halloween. Maybe the veil really is thin, and I managed to break through and touch someone for real. Or maybe it was just my imagination in the heat of the moment. Anyway, I'm making a mental note to try this again next year.

I linger for a while as they fall asleep against each other, feeling the soft warmth of skin under the covers, the quiet motion of Annie's hand in my hair. In Jen's hair. They're still a little turned on, but too exhausted to do anything about it.

They might wake up and have at it again. But I slip out of bed, put my clothes back on, and step outside to look at the stars. The stars are as bright and clear as they always are, distant worlds in a not-so-lonely sky.

Sex with these two was really something. I might hook up with them again. But usually I find the first tryst to be the most fun. The world is so impossibly full of beautiful people, each of them a new world to explore.

And anyway, the beginning is where I can help the most, when you're just standing there wanting someone, but not sure if you should be vulnerable. Then I can come over and touch the small of your back, and instill that little leap between fear and bravery where all of the sudden you find yourself acting on your desires, and you're not quite sure how you took the leap. Maybe you're just bold and intrepid, but if you want, you can blame it on me. You wouldn't know the difference anyway.