TAKING POSSESSION
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
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Someone was in the room with me. I sat up, looked around. The room was dark, there were clouds over the moon and stars, only a bit of scattered outdoor lights to give me the barest impression of the room through the window. There wasn't much to see, just the gray squares of the window, the bare hint of the dresser, the chair, the closet door. There was the sound of the wind outside, a long, low, mournful moaning sound. Whoo-hoo! Hoo-hooooooo-hoo!
I lay back down, turned fitfully on the bed. It's always rough settling into a new home, and the nights are always uncomfortable at first. You have the spaces you aren't familiar with and all the small sounds that come with a new home, there's the way the house moves and all those subliminal things that you have to get used to and feel comfortable with...
"You are mine!"
What was that? A vague whisper. I shook my head, must have just been the wind. I was alone in this house after all. I was just letting my imagination turn noises into a voice, that was all it was, just the wind, which was awfully loud after all, all that whoo-whoo-whooing it was doing, I mean, I would laugh at this in the morning, when it was light again, and...
"You are mine."
Okay, that one I heard clear! "Who are you? Who's there?"
Only the wind. I shook my head. Hearing things. Shit, I was freaking myself out! Why the hell was I feeling this way, Halloween was still a week away; I hadn't even watched a horror flick yet, which in the weeks before Halloween can be a real trick! Why was I suddenly jumping at shadows and wind, just because this was a new house.
I felt it, then. A touch on my leg. Like a hand, a cold, cold hand! I reached down, but it was gone. Damn, now I was feeling things! I just had to lie down and think this through, how silly was I getting here!
Now my cheek! I felt my face, a trace of moisture like...a kiss? I rubbed my face hard. Wiping away the slight wetness there. God, what was going on here? A drip from overhead, for sure! I had a drip and it had landed on my face and that was why I felt...
Another wetness! Shit, that one was on my breast! I felt it, lips kissing my nipple and it was still there! I reached up and pressed my hand to my breast, and I touched a face! Just a touch, and then it was gone. And then the voice again. "You are mine!"
Okay, now I was freaking out! "Who are you? What is going on here? Who the fuck are you?"
"Mine. All mine!"
"No! No!" I screamed out. "I'm not yours, I'm not! Go away!"
"Ahhhhh!" that was a sound of...disappointment?
And suddenly the darkness was again only the darkness and wind was only the wind.
I lay back down on the bed, my heart beating hard. I didn't sleep much that night, but nothing bothered me. Even the house didn't make any sounds to worry about.
When the dawn came, I tried to tell myself it was only a dream. Somehow, though, I didn't believe myself.
Well, I knew one thing. My grandmother had told me when I turned eighteen that I had inherited this house. Inherited it from its former owner on account of I had been given the name he had chosen. So if anyone could tell me why I'd been visited by a ghost (because I was certain that I had been visited by a ghost), my grandmother was the one to ask. I drove out to see her that same morning.
Grandma was nearly seventy years old, and a stroke brought on by a weak heart had left her white-haired and trembling hands. Visiting her house (the one she had taken when my father passed away) was like going back in time. Old things all around her, my grandmother loved old things.
"Why you got the house?" she said as she poured me some tea. I took it, I needed caffeine of any kind after the night I'd had. "I told you, because your name is Beau Hardessey. Named after your grand-uncle, your dear grandfather's brother." And I was; I had an extra middle initial to use if I needed to.
"But why did the old guy who left me the house do it?" I said. "His name wasn't Beau, it was Clifton Montmarte. Not even a relative of ours, right?"
"Yes, one of the Stafford Montmartes." my grandmother said. "Very wealthy family, very generous in the community, very well thought of. A shame what happened to him."
I leaned forward. "So what happened to him?'
"Oh, it was a scandal, and you don't want to hear about such things." my grandmother demurred, like she had when she'd told me about the house. With a generous trust fund attached to the house to let me keep it up properly; as long as I lived in the house, that trust fund money was mine; I could even pass it along with the house to my next-of-kin someday.
"I do, Grandma." I said. "I got this huge house just handed to me to live in, and I don't even know why." I said. I was living in it because I could go to college at the university there and so on. It had taken a while to open the house up, it had been closed down for many years, and I had only taken possession this afternoon. I planned to host a Christmas party to really turn the place out for my friends and such at college (and maybe become known as a bit of a party animal, no terrible thing at my age of not-quite-nineteen).
"Now, Beau...."
"Tell me, Grandma." I said. "I got to know. Why did Mr. Montmarte leave me the house?"
"Oh, it was a scandal." Grandma said. "Wouldn't have been as much of a one now as it was then. Back in the late 1950's, you just didn't do the things that they do nowdays. You hear about gay liberation and gay pride and all that, but let me tell you, it was different when I was a girl, and oh, I shouldn't tell you this. Let the dead keep their secrets, it doesn't do any good."
"I need to know, Grandma." I said. "Please."
"Well...all right. Mr. Montmarte and my husband's brother, Beau...well, it was an unwholesome relationship they had. Mr. Montmarte laid eyes on Beau and well, as we said in my day, the love that dared not speak its name rose its head. Not that Beau was gay, or at least I don't think he was. I just know that he was a mighty handsome young man and he had Clifton Montmarte wanting to be friendly with him. He was giving Beau all kinds of presents, even bought him a car and clothes and things, while Beau was going to college. I guess Beau was playing a bit of the tease with him, suckering Mr. Montmarte along. That went on for about four or five weeks, and I guess one day, either Beau finally couldn't fool himself any longer about just exactly why Mr. Montmarte was being so generous to him, or maybe Mr. Montmarte got tired of giving Beau money and not getting anything in return."
Grandma paused while she poured me a new cup of tea. "It was about this same time of year, even, when it happened. I know that Beau and his friends paid a visit to Clifton Montmarte, and they just beat him up something terrible that night. Put him in the hospital for a week or more. A few days later, when Clifton Montmarte was back at home, Beau got a call to come visit, if he didn't want the law called in. Not that the law would have done anything if Mr. Montmarte was making indecent advances on Beau, but Beau went to see him anyway. We got the call the next morning from the police. Mr. Montmarte had killed Beau and then killed himself. Terrible."
Grandma stopped and I waited. "So where does the house and trust fund come in?"
"It was in Mr. Montmarte's will when it was read. He'd changed the will just a few days before. It would leave the house and the money to any member of the Hardessy family named Beau Hardessy. It was clear that he made the will intending to kill Beau, and his legal heirs challenged the will on those grounds, but the judge upheld the will's validity. It was too late for your grandfather and me to have any more children, but you can't blame your father and mother for wanting you to have that money, so they named you Beau in accordance with the terms of the will, to be turned over to you upon your eighteenth birthday. Same age Beau was when he was killed."
"I wonder why he did that?" I said. I had always wondered since I'd learned about the inheritance, but now I still wondered.
"I think what the judge felt, that he knew he was going to kill Beau and wanted to make some kind of amends to the Hardessy family for doing it, by arranging to have his name live on after his death. Now, dear, don't you see why it was no good learning the secret?"
"Yeah, Grandma, I do." I said. "But thanks for telling me anyway."
"It was a different time." Grandma said. "Nowdays, you got gay marriage and gay adoptions and gay parents and such all. I wonder if Clifton Montmarte would have killed poor Beau if he had been alive today. All that tension and pressure building up and no way to let it out. Only the poor, secret, benighted way like he'd tried to do with Beau and he got beat up for doing even that. No wonder so many gay men and women killed themselves back then. What did they have to live for?" Grandma went on and told me about Clifton Montmarte, the wonderfully kind man who had been so good for his community and generous, a patron of the arts, a benefactor to the poor, an asset to the entire area, until that one fateful day when his one human weakness led to his humiliation and death. My gut reaction was that Granduncle Beau had been a total prick about the whole thing! Someone gives you a car, you can give them one screw, can't you? Granduncle Beau apparently hadn't even done that, he had "defended his honor" instead and bitten the hand that had fed him.
I lay down and napped at Grandma's house after our conversation, but drove back to the house that afternoon.
I hadn't imagined that spirit haunting me in the old Montmarte house. But armed with the knowledge of why he had died (if it was Clifton Montmarte and not some other ghost), I felt ready to try to reason with the ghost. I mean, some ghosts just don't know that they're dead. You have to explain it to them. Or so they said.
It was windy again that night. A storm was supposed to break in the early morning hours, but it hadn't by the time I got home. I waited until it was time to go to bed, and did so. If my visitor came back, I was going to be as ready for him as I could.
Lying there in the dark again was just another bedroom for a while. Funny, but you really can tell when you are in the presence of spirits. There's a difference there that, once you feel it, you aren't ever in doubt about it again.
After being in bed about an hour, that feeling returned. A presence in the room, the wind taking on the sounds of more than just rushing air. "You are mine." it whispered to me once again, very softly, almost below the range of hearing. I waited a little later, for it to grow stronger. "You are mine." it said again.
"Clifton Montmarte?" I said. "This is me. I'm Beau Hardessy."
"Beau." it said. "Yes."
"I'm the grandnephew of the Beau Hardessy you knew." I went on. "You left this place in your will to any member of Beau's family who took his name. Do you remember doing that, just before you died?"
"Yes-s-s-s-s." came the sigh. "You are mine. Beau. You are mine."
Again I felt the hand on my thigh, but I was expecting it and I let it be. "I guess you wanted to set this up, didn't you?" I said. "Before you died, to have another chance at Beau. You wanted him, I mean, and he wouldn't give himself to you, even though you were nice to him and all."
"Beau, you are mine."
I plowed on. "I don't know just why you set this up beyond that, but you went to a lot of trouble, and a lot of expense, to have me in this house, another Beau Hardessy in your house, and well, I'm here. Tell me what you want me to do."
A kiss on my cheek. Had the real Clifton Montmarte done this to my granduncle? Had that other Beau had the hand on his thigh, the kiss on his cheek, and had he jumped up in rage and screaming? Ran out and got his friends to come back the next night and beat his patron horribly.
"You are mine."
And the kiss on my nipple again, this time clinging to it.
Suddenly, I knew what the ghost wanted me to do. I had only pulled the covers up to my stomach, now I pushed them down entirely, kicked them off the bed myself. "You were generous to my granduncle and he beat you up, and you killed him." I said. "Well, you've been generous to me." I said. "Very generous. So if you want me like you wanted my granduncle...okay." I said.
Now my entire body was enveloped by the spirit. I still couldn't see anything; the room was too dark. I got less than a view, only an...impression...of a man above me, in his thirties, naked, a mustache and old-style hair-do, and now my lips were matched with his. I could breathe through this kiss, though if my lover hadn't been insubstantial, I wouldn't have been able to! That let me give this apparition all he wanted.
When that kiss broke off, when the ghostly lips pushing my apart released my mouth, when I had spectral hands moving over my flesh, I said, "My family has owed you this for like a half century." I gasped. "Go ahead, take me. I am yours."
"You are mine!"
And my legs were pulled downwards and lifted upwards. I was being moved by the ghostly hands of an insubstantial lover! "Please!" I said. "I'm giving myself to you. Don't be too rough on me, please!"
And I felt then the ghost-shaft pushing into my ass! It didn't rip me the way a real, dry cock would have, there wasn't enough substance to the ghost of Clifton Montmarte's prong to tear me, but there was the pressure of my bowels being stretched outward to accommodate it. I was being penetrated for certain, even if the object penetrating me bore no physical form whatsoever!
"Oh, ah, ah, ah, God!" I gasped. "Oh, God, uhhh!"
"Mine!" the ghost sighed above me. "You are mine!"
"I am yours." I agreed. "Now fuck me, Clifton Montmarte, fuck me like you wanted to fuck my granduncle Beau, fuck me because I'm letting you. You don't have to take me. I'm giving myself to you. Yours!"
"Mine!" the ghost sighed. And that cock began to slide in and out of me. All the roughness of the force of insertion was gone. Passionate fury had gone from this specter, leaving only...passion?
"Ah, ah, yeah, come on and fuck me, Clifton Montmarte. Fuck me like you've waiting fifty years to do. After all this time, there's a man in your bed and he's giving himself to you, I'm giving myself to you, finally. Just like you hoped when you wrote that will."
"My will....yes-s-s-s-s." the specter sighed. "My hope, my desire. Mine."
"So you got me, come on and fuck me." I urged him. "You deserve it, after all these years. Times have changed. You deserve one good fuck before you go to wherever people go when they die. And I'm giving it to you."
My body was buffeted again by the ghost, but now it was the sort of movement any lover would give you in his bed...assuming he intended to fuck you long and hard and any way he wanted to. I was being bucked in bed by the hard prong plunging in and out of my ass, I was rocking as the spectral schlong rammed into me and pulled out again. I could feel what I couldn't see, the ghost of Clifton Montmarte was having the time of his life...after-life! I grinned up at him, knowing somehow that he could see me as clearly as if this were noon and not midnight (or so).
"Oh, yeah, God, fuck me, Clifton, fuck me harder, harder, oh, ah, ah, damn, yeah, harder, yeah, oh, God, yeah, yeah!" I grunted. I could feel the rapture of the spirit above me, his desires pouring out of him as he rammed into me, and I grabbed hold of my cock and I began to pump it as I was hammered by this ghost-dong, and my body was filling to bursting with delight, with desire, this was what the angels must feel in heaven when they fuck! I felt a magnificently massive climax building in me, and I groaned and roared and gave Clifton Montmarte's ghost all the sounds of a man who is being made marvelous love to, I rewarded him for his long wait here, paid back for the ingratitude of my granduncle, paid back for the mean spirited priggish phobia of the times, the times that could let a pack of college boys batter a man who had been only kind to one of their number, a bundle of kindnesses repaid with anger and hatred. Who wouldn't turn into a ghost with an onus to dissipate at that!
"Oh, God, I'm coming, Clifton, I'm coming, I'm coming!" I groaned. "Oh, ah, ah, AH, GAH-HAH-UHN-GUHHHHHH!" And I creamed myself, splattering my chest and stomach with my come.
I heard it, the ghostly cries of joy echoing alongside my own, and while I didn't feel anything, I like to think that Clifton Montmarte came right along with me.
All I am sure of is that, when I finished shooting my jizz all over myself, I was alone again in the room. I sleepily cleaned myself off, and got back into bed. "Good night, Clifton." I said. "Sweet dreams."
I felt...I think I felt...a touch of kindness on my cheek. A touch of parting. A touch of good-bye.
For that was the end of my haunting; Clifton Montmarte had finally gotten what he wanted; he had gotten Beau Hardessy (another one, but one just the same) in his bed and willing. His spirit went to wherever such things go, and I like to think it went with a smile on its face. God knows that Clifton Montmarte deserved it.
As for me, I felt like a man who had paid back an unknown but long-owed debt of his family, triumphant and happy and fulfilled. I know I'm not afraid to live in Clifton Montmarte's house any longer, I have taken full possession of the house and everything in it, it belongs to me now, truly belongs to me. In fact, I hope to spend the rest of my life here, me and my lover and however other many happy gay friends we share our lives with. I plan to host gay parties and fundraisers and everything else I can think of to make this house a gay mecca for many years to come.
I think Clifton Montmarte would have liked it that way.
THE END
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