Chapter 7: Evelyn

"Aleeeeeeeeex."

I looked around, startled from my contemplation of the idol by the voice, a female voice, whispering my name; soft, sweet and enticing.

"Aleeeeeeeeex. Come to me."

Breathy and sexy, it seemed directionless; all I knew for sure was that it wasn't any of the men around the table calling me; they couldn't even hear it; they all remained absorbed in Johanssen's narrative. He had closed out his Bridge night adventure with Evelyn and was now explaining how Adley had confided his wife's love of erotic fiction and how their Bridge night had slowly morphed into Storytelling Night; where the men would take turns to tell an erotic story while Evelyn hid beneath the table, eavesdropping and voting on the quality of the stories with her hands and her lips.

"Use the idol, Aleeeeeeeeex. Come to me."

That disembodied voice should have been terrifying, but it felt calming, even soothing. I wanted to ask its owner where she was but clearly I was the only one who could hear her, and speaking up – especially in my own voice – would definitely NOT go unnoticed around the table.

Following her instructions, I leaned over to touch the idol and felt that familiar erotic warmth once again flooding up my arm; I tipped my head back, nostrils flared, revelling in the ecstasy that buzzed through my body.

I leaned harder against the table and with a weightless, roller-coaster lurch, it became insubstantial beneath me and I... slipped ... that's the only way I can think to describe it; I slipped INTO the table; it's oaken surface penetrating the middle of my stomach, painless and bloodless. With the ghostly table now no longer responding to my touch, I threw out both hands to arrest my slide and they both passed through its surface as if through smoke; and with nothing to hold me up, I spilled forwards and fell to the floor with a sickening sense of vertigo as the table passed harmlessly through my head.

"Hello Alex."

Disoriented and gasping with fright, I cast about with wild eyes so see a young woman with chestnut hair kneeling next to me in a long evening gown. Her full, ripe breasts; the slim curve of her waist; her tiny, round bottom perched on her heels; all were all lovingly outlined in sleek, clinging, black satin. With delicate features and glowing, flawless skin, she was every bit as beautiful as Johanssen had described.

"Hello Evelyn," I smiled, making the connection instantly and sounding far more casually accepting than I felt.

I expected some kind of response from the men; if not to my dramatic fall through the table, then at least to the sound of my voice – my woman's voice – from beneath the table. Staring into Evelyn's luminous eyes, I listened to Johanssen's deep, sonorous tones as he described yet another sexy tryst with the woman kneeling beside me. Were they so absorbed that they hadn't noticed?

The impossibility of the moment was breaking into my thoughts; my eyes saw a beautiful woman, surely no older than thirty-five and radiant with youth; but my ears listened to the story of her deeds; adventures of more than fifty years ago.

"Who... ?" I began, unsure what I was asking. Who was she? I didn't need that one answered; I knew this was Evelyn; I could feel it. But how could she be so young, so beautiful?

She understood my question with the same intuition that told me the truth of who she was, and by way of an answer, she passed a hand in front of her face; her image shimmered like a heat haze and for a moment I saw the features of an old woman, still beautiful in a stately, elegant way; but with deep lines down her cheeks and around her eyes, her glorious hair still long and vibrant but now silver rather than the glossy chestnut of her youth.

The shimmering image stabilised and she was young again and full of radiant life. In the darkness beneath the table, the legs of those seated around us were all colourless shadows; but Evelyn was vibrant with soft, milky skin and red painted lips; she simply shone; not a luminous inner glow like a ghost in a movie, but as if from an external light source that didn't exist. The table legs and the pattern in the carpet beneath her were shrouded in gloom, but Evelyn was just ... simply ... visible!

Looking around at the unbroken circle of chairs and legs, some important piece of information was trying to assert itself on my consciousness, but it was like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can't remember. I cast about again, trying to orient myself; which seat was mine?

Got it! There are NO EMPTY SEATS! Holy fuck, I'm a ghost! Am I dead?

I turned back to Evelyn with a constricting feeling of panic building in my chest. "Where am I?"

It was another stupid question, but as before, she understood my meaning as though telepathically and in answer, she reached out to touch the person behind my left shoulder. As she did, I felt a soft hand close around my own calf and gently squeeze the muscle there. I jerked my leg in fright, but the sensation persisted even though I could see that there was nothing touching me.

Oh my God! That's my chair! Those are my legs!

The figure in the chair was me and Evelyn was stroking my real body; the ME beneath the table was just my consciousness, and studying my body more closely, I saw that I glowed with the same light as Evelyn. I felt my face; the fake beard and eyeglasses were gone; I was no longer dressed in a man's suit and tie but in the pencil skirt and blouse I had worn to work earlier that day. And joy of joys; I was wearing a comfortable bra instead of that painful strapping to hide the swell of my breasts.

I watched as Evelyn stroked higher on the motionless form at the table and I shivered as the soft sensation of her touch crept invisibly past my knee and under my skirt. I had only ever been mildly curious about the idea of intimacy with another woman, but my heightened arousal combined with the sublime beauty of the woman stroking her way slowly up my thigh washed away any reluctance I might have felt. She paused and looked into my eyes questioningly; as if asking whether I wanted this. My tongue darted out to lick my dry lips and with a breathless nod I parted my legs and bid her to continue.

The ghostly eroticism was captivating; I was watching Evelyn touch the form in the chair (I couldn't yet think of that person as me); but to feel her every touch on my own thighs whilst crouched beside her left me dizzy with passion and mounting desire.

I held my breath as she moved her thumb to the junction between seated Alex's thighs, and then gasped with mingled disbelief and passion as her ghostly fingers passed straight through the trousers and panties to touch the wet entrance of her (my?) womanhood.

I couldn't see what Evelyn was doing with her hand, but I could feel the effects as she stroked the tip of her thumb slowly through my steaming slit, avoiding direct contact with my clitoris for the moment as she teased apart my soft inner folds with her thumb tip.