Tonight Melissa came over for a ‘quiet dinner and ghost watching.’ Despite Myrtle’s nuisances, Melissa was super chill about a ghost in the house. I didn’t want anything to make her think differently, at least not tonight. So I had a talk with Myrtle.
“Myrtle, Melissa will want to see you perform this evening, but I don’t want you showing off all night. Once dinner is finished, and you’ve done the dishes, you need to give us some space, especially when we move to the bedroom. I don’t want you distracting Melissa from our date. And none of this overflowing the toilet or turning the gas on while she’s here. You can do the lights, move stuff around, and do that cold air thing. But tonight is about me and her,” I said, channeling my dad with his “laying down the rules” voice.
Melissa arrived at about seven, and I poured her a glass of red wine.
“Where’s Myrtle?” she asked as soon as she had taken a long drink from her glass.
“Oh, she’s around. She’s always around,” I answered. “You can ask her to do something.”
“Myrtle, show yourself,” Melissa commanded.
“Oh, no, she can’t do that. I’ve never seen her,” I explained.
“What else can she do besides move plates around?” Melissa asked.
“Myrtle, do the cold thing,” I said to an empty corner of the room.
Within a few seconds, the temperature dropped 30 degrees. Melissa started shivering, and I stroked her bare shoulders to warm her.
“Wow, you don’t need A/C with her around,” Melissa said between chattering teeth.
“She can’t keep it up for long. Okay, you can stop now, Myrtle,” I ordered.
“Cool,” Melissa said, and we both had a chuckle about the pun.
“So anyway, dinner’s ready. You hungry?” I asked, ready to move the date along from Myrtle’s exploits to mine.
“Starving,” Melissa replied as she took another healthy mouthful of wine.
As Melissa sat down at the dinner table, I signaled to Myrtle that she needed to hide away in whatever place she goes when I don’t know she’s around. Probably the basement.
As Myrtle starts on the dishes after dinner, Melissa and I chill on the couch. I thought things were working great, but Myrtle was just waiting for the best moment to ruin my night.
Melissa and I moved to the bedroom. I had a good rhythm working, and Melissa seemed to enjoy it. Then I feel pressure on my asshole.
“That feels good, baby. But lube your finger first,” I whispered in Melissa’s ear.
“What are you talking about,” Melissa replied between short breaths.
“Your finger in my ass,” I answered.
“My finger isn’t in your ass,” she said.
In the middle of that activity, I didn’t make the connection right away. And then it hits me. I jump. Out of Melissa; out of the bed.
“Myrtle, fuck off,” I yelled at the ceiling.
“Isn’t that what she was doing?” Melissa asked.