Apparition

by

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Consensual, Reluctant, Rape, Fiction, Humor, Extra Sensory Perception, Paranormal, Incest, Brother, Sister, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Exhibitionism, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Michael is left home for the weekend. He has plans, which immediately go awry. Haunting him is an apparition he's not quite sure is a girl, and the idiotic things he can't stop doing to himself while high on weed. The apparition, just who is she exactly, and what does she want?

Preface

Hi. I'm Angie, and I am the author of this story. You know me as Tasty Little Pop Tart. (With emphasis on the little.) I am 5'3" tall and weigh 110 lbs. I turned 35 years old April 6. I have a daughter, 11 years old. You don't get to know her name.

You know the kind of stories I write. And how I stray into issues of gender identity crisis and gay behavior in boys and girls. I grew up hating my sex and that boys could pee standing up, while I had to sit down or squat. I didn't truly reconcile to being female until Dad made me pregnant (not my dad, silly) and I began to swell up with new life. Then I never looked back.

The following story is strange. A great many won't make it past Page 1 (if you even bothered to start reading after the description), and that is why I have included this intro. I want you read this story. I am willing to spoil it for some, so that others won't abandon the story in disgust.

Emma isn't simply a hallucination brought on by pot smoking. She's the key to the story and to Michael's sprung lock.

I often get high when writing and I was pleasantly high when I started Apparition. I write weekends and evenings, whenever my daughter is safely in bed or away for the weekend at her dad's. Weekends alone I write mostly in self-defense, battling the loneliness of the empty apartment and fear that Sunday night will roll around and no car will appear, bringing my daughter home. That has happened before. Her dad's a real prick.

This story had its inception in the video described in the story. The video is real. What happened to Michael in the story, happened to my current boyfriend some weeks ago. Like Michael, he watched the video three times before discovering the truth. I knew immediately, when he had me watch it. For those curious enough to write, I will give you the address and you can watch it online to see for yourself.

I began writing Friday night around 10 p.m., in my den, with the blinds cracked, in my favorite chair, with my knees drawn up and my heels planted at the end of the seat cushion. My Toshiba netbook was propped comfortably against my thighs, and I started pecking away. I always write like this, in my corduroy chair with a pitcher of Margarita chilled in the fridge and a glass beside my chair. I get weed from a friend at work; four grams in a baggy sat alongside my chair that night, the same baggy you'll see in the story. I was not smoked up like Michael; just a few hits off a joint to begin with. I was in my bra and panties, wearing black thigh highs (which entered the story, of course), imagining being spied upon through the cracked blinds.

Girls in my stories have tiny breasts; boys are meagerly endowed. The exception being the wicked enemy girl, or the boy's best friend, typically hung like a horse. I endured a lot growing up, and I rightly afflict my characters with similar issues. Even breast-feeding, I never exceeded size 34B. Within a year, I was back to the same size 34A that I wore in high school.

Michael is not gay. Neither is Emma. Though Michael's adventures may lead you to believe otherwise, remember what I said about Emma's continuing appearance in the story. That in mind, maybe even severe homophobes won't be so put off by this story.

Angie E. 04-15-15


Apparition

I am not queer. I don't like guys. I don't want no guy's pecker up my ass, or worse yet, in my mouth. I dream about sucking sometimes, but it's no one I know, and I never enjoy doing it. Most of those dreams are fucked up messes anyway, making even less sense than a normal dream. I never let on to anyone I have those dreams.

I am 21 years old. In the story below, I was 14. I was alone in the condo, and that, in and of itself, was pretty unusual. That's like, child endangerment nowadays, I guess. As you will read, I got high on weed, swigged plenty of beer, and did things that will make your jaw drop.

My bedroom was up front, to the left of the living room balcony. Everyone else's bedroom was in the rear of the condo, with Cory and Emma in bedrooms number two and three. I was the only boy, and that meant banishment to bedroom number four. It wasn't so bad. It faced the parking lot, which I liked, and there was no fighting to use the girl's bathroom. I had my own, though with a walk-in tub and a miniature sink and mirror; it was really a guest bathroom.

Cory had applied to Dad's alma mater and had a good chance of getting in. Her grades were terrific and she excelled in athletics; she excelled at everything. Mom and Dad drove her to Pennsylvania that weekend for a tour, leaving Friday night at 7:30 p.m. They were to overnight at Grandma's house in Phillipsburg, and then spend Saturday cruising the campus, visiting the dorms and off-campus housing. I had Friday night to myself, and all day Saturday to recuperate. I planned to get totally wasted and drunk as a catfish Friday night--as my friend Peter likes to say. The flu bug had other ideas though. Cory took it with her to Pennsylvania.

I wasn't allowed out. I couldn't invite my friends over or let them know I was there; nothing to alert the neighbors that I was home alone. Fuck up, and I could forget ever being trusted again, they said. I didn't fuck up. Things fucked-up BIG TIME, all on their own.

I watched TV until 10 p.m. No being ambushed for this boy. The instant I cracked that first beer, or lit up my first joint, the phone would ring and Mom would say, Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry ... we forgot this or that, and I forgot to tell you we were headed back. Your father is running upstairs right now. Be a good boy and meet him at the front door?

Screw that. I stayed sober and watched the minutes tick by.

At 10:30, she called. "Michael, we're still not there. The traffic is just horrible. I think it was crazy driving up on a Friday night. Anyway, we're halfway there now, so no use in turning around. How are you feeling?"

The question threw me. "I'm fine, why?"

"You don't have any flu symptoms?"

Flu symptoms? "No," I said. "Do you?"

"No, we're fine, but Cory said half her class was out this week with it. Doesn't your friend Peter have the flu?"

I shook my head. "That's Kevin, and he's over it now. He came back to school yesterday."

"That's good," Mom said distractedly. "David! Please find out what Emma wants!" She returned her attention to me. "We stopped at a McDonald's for a rest stop. Cory thought she might be getting it on the way up, but it was probably just motion sickness. You know how she gets in the back seat on a long drive. Soon as I let her drive, the problem cleared up. Then your sister started complaining," she said, laughing. "It's always something. You call me right away if you begin experiencing any symptoms. Any at all, Michael. I don't want you home alone with the flu."

"I will," I promised, feeling completely fine.

"I'm serious, Michael. You call, no matter what time it is."

"OK," I said annoyed. "I got it."

"Let's hope not." With that she hung up, and I was free and clear.

I had four grams of prime weed in my bedroom closet and I lit up on the rear balcony, thanking God for the stiff breeze from the north. The smoke blew away fast as it came out of my lungs. I smelled nothing at all, and what a Godsend that was. Just like it always does, the weed gave me a raging hard-on. I knew just what to do about that.

I craved porn. In 2007, it was easy to come by, even easier than now, if I remember right. Mom had installed a content filter on our line, but that was easy to get around. (It was almost instinctive with us, the true Internet Generation.) I headed immediately for the xHamster website and started streaming videos and exercising my muscle.

You know, it's weird. Liberated and demanding as my generation is, masturbation is still taboo. Every one of us does it, we all deny it, and to even bring up the subject can get you ostracized. Which makes it especially tough for guys to watch videos together. Every time, I wish someone had the balls to just say, come on dudes, let's yank 'em out and have some fun. It just isn't done.

xHamster displays thumbs for a dozen related videos beneath whatever video you're watching. One particular video caught my eye, and I hovered my cursor atop it to see more frames. The chick looked younger than 18, and that sent my blood pressure sky-high. Of course, that was just bullshit. Videos on all the major porn sites are vetted for age, so this chick was 18 or older. She sat between a guy's legs, holding his big cock between her slender fingers. I clicked the image to watch her put that thing in her mouth and suck.

Her short hair was tousled, dark with blonde highlights. The guy was naked below the waist, but the girl wore a stylish, medium blue top with horizontal white stripes. A fine gold necklace rested against her chest, and she wore small diamond earrings. Her fingers held the dude's big cock at the base, her slender fingers overlapping. Her expression was expectant and slightly embarrassed. She was being filmed giving a blowjob, after all.

The video lasted a minute and thirty-four seconds. The guy received what could only be described as a demur blowjob, not brought to orgasm, his girl licking and kissing the head and the shaft, self-consciously eyeing the lens. I fell wholly and completely in love with her, one hundred percent, before a minute was up. Her abashed smile at the end just melted my heart like chocolate. That she was a boy never crossed my mind, until reading the half-dozen comments afterward. I almost died. I slammed the laptop closed and stalked outside to smoke a joint.

.... There is more of this story ...

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