Rediscovery
"So, what did you do?"
"What any self-respecting male would do. Threw them out on the street, of course." Michael chuckled, remembering. "Actually, I did absolutely nothing. I just sat on the floor, laughing at them as they hurried to dress. Frank - he works with Erica - he ran out of the house like a scared rabbit. I found his tie on the floor later. Erica tried to explain, but I just shook my head. I think I was still grinning like a madman. She took her boxes and left."
Angel shook her head, bemused. Michael had seen her several times over the last few weeks, the last being just before Erica came into the picture. He was still hoping that she could learn more from her mother, but so far he was still in the dark. It still disappointed him that Angel was now no more than a friend, but as friends, they had become close. They sat at an outdoor table at the coffee shop.
"So it's over?"
"Erica, or the house?" queried Michael. "It was over before it started with Erica. That's what first struck me as funny, that I hadn't wanted her in the first place, and couldn't think how to resist the house's influence for long enough to dump her. Then once I started laughing, it struck me how ludicrous the situation was. And when I saw who she was with, I completely lost it."
"Why?"
"Frank's, like, the office gigolo. He has been hitting on Erica for as long as I've known her. She loathes him. He'll take anything from sixteen to sixty. Remember how you felt when you were away from the house? Now imagine you're Erica, you just slept with the biggest jerk in creation, and you have to work with him every day. All that coming crashing down on you as you walk out the door." Michael's chest convulsed in silent laughter again.
"You're evil," said Angel, grinning. "Vindictive."
"Hell, I didn't ask her to move in."
"And the house?"
Michael sobered. "Well, that's another story. I think as long as I'm there, I won't get away from its effect. I have to get out. I hate to have to sell it, I love the place, but I can't live there anymore. I'm just not strong enough to resist it. One thing, though, the Frank and Erica episode has absolutely convinced me of my suspicions."
Angel stared off into space for a time. She seemed distant. When she spoke, her voice was strained. "What if I told you I could have helped you to understand this, perhaps a couple of weeks ago?"
Michael was puzzled. "In what way?"
"Background, something that might confirm that there has been strange stuff going on with that house. I could have told you this before you got involved with your ex."
"I don't know. It might have made a difference. I might still have gotten in trouble." He shrugged. "It isn't as though I didn't enjoy it. Quite a l . . ."
"Alright, don't go into details," she said, exasperated. "I guess I deserved that. I haven't told you everything. I persuaded my mother to talk. It's . . . some of it is very painful, and I've been having trouble dealing with it myself."
"I see. I'm really sorry I got you into this."
She shook her head. "No, I'm glad I know. I'll try to tell you what I've learned."
She took a deep breath. "The house was owned by a woman called Anna Lerner. She inherited a lot of money from her father; she may have inherited the house. My mother didn't know how long it had been in the family. This was around the turn of the century.
"Anna did cocaine. Shooting up. She was wild. She had a baby girl, though she wasn't married. When her daughter, Margaret, was fifteen, Anna died of an overdose. Her brother moved in to look after Margaret until she turned twenty-one. It seems that he did much more with her than an uncle or a guardian should, especially at her age. Remember, my mother has all of this at second-hand, maybe third. Her mother's mother was one of Anna's servants, and Margaret after, and her daughter, my grandmother, was born in service.
"Well, whatever they had done, Margaret threw the uncle out as soon as she turned twenty-one. As soon as she had control of the house, she started up with her own wild parties. This would be nineteen-twenties, when flapper parties were all the rage. More on the east coast than here, of course, but Margaret was a trend-setter. My grandmother was with her, then, a young girl."
Angel's voice shook. Michael was surprised to see tears in her eyes.
"Michael, they used her. She was a girl, a young teenager, and they used her as a party favor." She took a tissue from her purse to wipe her eyes. "She was pregnant at sixteen with my mother's sister. Then came the depression, and even if she had tried to leave, how could a single black mother feed her kid?"
Angel was crying openly now, quietly, but tears were running down her face. Michael moved to sit on her left. He tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away. "No, don't, I'm not through. It gets worse."
She waited until she could continue. "My mother was born in nineteen-thirty-eight. She left the house when she was nine, but she remembers being groped. God. And she remembers her mother . . ." she choked up. Michael took her left hand in his. She gripped his fingers. When she could speak again, she pitched her voice low, angry, trying mechanically to hold back the tears. "She remembers her mother giving herself to men so that they would leave her daughters alone. Her father was white, one of the party-goers. She has no idea who he was. And in spite of her mother's efforts, she remembers her sister being raped at about seventeen."
She paused again. "This isn't only about my family, it's about what was happening then, or I don't think I could bring myself to tell you this. Michael?"
"Yes?" he asked, quietly.
"I'd like that hug now."
He grinned and held her. After a moment, her face buried in his shoulder, she spoke again. "My mother told me that her sister killed herself not long after they left the house. Her mother raised her beyond her teens, then wasted away. So you can see why she isn't very happy talking about it."
Michael nodded.
Finally, Angel drew back. Wiping her eyes again, she continued in a stronger voice. "Anyway, that's the kind of place it was. Two generations of party animals." She smiled weakly. "Which brings us to your problem."
"It does?"
"It might, if you're willing to accept the weird stuff we already believe. It happened while my mother was still at the house; it was the reason she left.
"After the war, when the GI's came home, oversexed party animal Margaret set her sights on one. Of course, he was already married, and ten years younger than her, but that didn't bother her. She wooed him away from the wife who had been waiting for him to come home. In nineteen-forty-seven, wifey took a shotgun and went over there for a confrontation. She found them . . . well, let's say if she had sat on the floor and laughed at them, like you did, things might have been different."
Michael was pleased to see that Angel's sense of humor was surviving.
"So, she shot them, umm, at the very moment, umm, well, when they were looking for a different kind of explosion." She grinned. "It isn't funny, I know, but it seems ironic, especially with the hell Margaret put my family through. My mother remembers the noise, and with the position they were in when they died, there wasn't much doubt what was going on. She remembers men trying to separate them after rigor mortis had set in. She didn't know what was happening at the time, of course, but it stuck with her because it looked so funny."
"That's why your family left?" he asked.
"Everyone left. No-one wanted to stay in the house. They said they could still feel her. Margaret. I guess she had some unfinished business." She was grinning openly now. "What I think is that she still does. Or the house itself, I guess, being the center of debauchery for so long, and having it taken away right at that point . . . Maybe it is a ghost, maybe it isn't, I don't believe in them anyway. But it seems to be trying to recreate the moment that was lost, don't you think."
"You're right, you have to believe in the phenomenon first for that explanation to make sense," he said, "but since I do, yeah, it rings true. I'm sorry that the discovery has been so painful for you."
This time Angel took his hand. "I'm glad I know," she said. "It answers one question I've always had: why my mother married so late. She must have been traumatized. I feel that I've learned something about myself."
"What happened to the woman who shot them?"
"Nothing. Margaret had a daughter who took control of the estate. Money changed hands, I guess, a trial would have been embarrassing, and round here she might have been a hero. My mother thinks she even took money to go away. The daughter was the one who owned the house since the forties. She seems to be completely different from her forbears. Mother has seen her occasionally."
"You know that no-one else will ever believe this."
"Does it matter? It's your house. What do you plan to do with it?"
"Move out," replied Michael. "I'll move into a motel while I find an apartment. I can afford it. I hate to put the house back on the market. Apart from being impossible to sell, I like the place."
"And you can always take girlfriends there to visit," she teased, squeezing his hand.
He shook his head in the negative. "I won't do that again. It's too close to rape. And I don't think I'll meet another girl who lives up to . . . to what I'm looking for."
"Another? If you've already met one, why would you need another?"
"Because I don't think the one I've met will have me. I've treated her very badly."
"Yes, you have," said Angel, "but it isn't entirely your fault, is it? Perhaps if you're considerate, and you don't expect her to accept everything immediately, perhaps you'll find she wants you as much as you want her."
Michael's heart was pounding.
"And perhaps you're a little spoiled," she continued, "with women stepping through your door and into your bed. Perhaps now it's all over, she would like to be romanced, to be courted. Perhaps she thought making love to you was one of the high points of her life, but now she feels that she missed some important steps, flirting in public, going to the movies, candlelit dinner for two, dancing, walking in the moonlight, sharing a strawberry sundae and a kiss. Perhaps if you ask her on a date, you'll find she's ready to respond to gentle seduction."
"Is she?" breathed Michael.
Angel nodded. She played with his hand. "I'm sure she is," she said, "but I'm also sure she wants you to prove that what happened between your sheets was not simply the result of your old house, that the magic is really there between you and her. So I'm sure that from time to time, you'll need to go to her place and prove it to her." She looked into his eyes. "You never know."
Michael felt queasy. "Angel?"
"Yes?"
"Where can we find a strawberry sundae?"
Her smile spread. She held out her arms to him, and, oblivious to the people around them, their lips met.
They stood in the doorway of Angel's house, a comfortable suburban one-story. They had found their sundae, and had followed it with a movie. Michael was still thrilled to find that he hadn't driven her away. He felt that he was getting to know her all over again, and still liked what he found.
"So, are you going to come in?" Angel seemed unusually shy.
"Do you want me to?" he asked.
She nodded. "I'd like that."
Inside the house, they were as nervous with each other as a couple of teens. Angel poured them each a soft drink, and they sat together on the sofa. She held his left hand in her right.
"This is strange," she said. He nodded agreement as she continued. "I feel as though this is our first date, but then I think about that night, and I get butterflies."
Running the fingers of his right hand over her stomach, he asked "Right here?" She jumped as he tickled her, and covered his hand with her own, holding it to her.
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Part of me is very scared."
"About what?"
"About whether it could ever be as good between us as it was then. And about whether you would be comparing me to all those other women. If we're going to disappoint each other, I'd rather not take this any further, because I'd always have that time to compare it to."
"I think we could be whatever we want to be," replied Michael, "and I want us to be wonderful. When we're ready, I'm sure we will be."
Angel said something he could not hear.
"What was that?"
"I'm ready. But I'm still scared."
Michael's heart skipped as she turned her face to his. They kissed gently. After a moment, she released his hands, putting her arms around his neck.
Angel stood, took his hand, and led him into the bedroom. Then she faced him, put her hands behind his neck, and pulled him to her. Her kisses were fierce, her tongue exploring as she firmly gripped the back of his head. He unfastened her blouse and her jeans. She allowed her pants to fall, but didn't release him to take off her blouse. Instead, he kneaded her butt, squeezing her against himself.
When she finally drew back, he slipped off her blouse, then removed his own shirt and pants. They closed the gap again, their bodies in tight contact. Michael stroked her back, then slipped his fingers under her bra strap and around, pressing gently on the edge of her breasts.
Angel pulled away from him, and reached to turn off the light. He took her hand. "No," he said. "I want to see you."
With that, he moved behind her. Wrapping his arms around her stomach, he kissed her neck, then slowly he pushed her panties down until they slid to the floor. Stroking her thighs, running his hands over her hips, he explored her skin, carefully avoiding the soft hair which beckoned to him from beneath her navel.
Then, nibbling her ear, he unhooked her bra. Her firm, angular breasts trembled as he pulled the fabric away from them. Dark skin gleamed, velvet nipples barely seen from this angle. Angel turned her head back, mouth open; he covered her tongue with his own as she moved her face against his. His erection strained his underwear as he cupped his hands around her breasts.
Her nipples hardened as he stroked her breasts. She leaned back into him as they devoured each other. She laid a hand on top of his, holding it to her breast, reaching around with her other arm to tousle his hair. Michael's free hand drifted down, slowly, exploring her stomach, approaching the soft triangle.
She sighed as he pressed his palm to her pussy. She wriggled against him. Slowly he stroked, working two fingers inside her. She was already very wet. His fingers worked slowly against the moistness as she breathed heavily.
She pulled away from him and turned to face him. Peeling off his underwear, she ran her fingers along his eager cock. Then she gestured to the bed. Michael lay down, and she squatted over his thighs.
Michael felt excitement fill him as she slowly enveloped his cock. She rested, running her hands over his chest, desire glowing in her eyes. He stroked her arms, then ran his fingers over her breasts.
Angel leaned over him, pressing her breasts into his eager hands as her tongue sought Michael's face. His mouth met hers, and he squeezed his breasts as he sucked her lips. The contact of their bodies, the small movements against his cock as she leaned into him, were enough to feed the fever that was his desire for her, and he sighed as the strength of the stimulation shook his nerves.
Releasing her breasts, he drew patterns on her back with his fingernails as she opened her mouth wide against his. He squeezed her ass, kneading her cheeks, and pushing her slightly into him.
After a time, she sat upright. Her breasts bounced as they started to move together. Her eyes were soft, looking into his, as she brushed her hair back from her face. She smiled, warming him. Michael squeezed her nipples, which hardened, violet-black domes on ebony aureole.
Lowering his left hand, he stroked her pussy, pressing her clit against his erection as they moved. She blew through her teeth, and he felt her tighten and quiver around him. Her breathing became heavier as he continued the motion.
Without warning he felt powerful contractions in the softness cradling his cock. Angel groaned as the strength of her climax bit into her body. Her forehead glistened. "Push," she urged him, and as he pressed into her, the power of her passion infused him with excitement. He felt the pressure of his own stimulation climbing, climbing - he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, trying to postpone his release. He was a razor-edge away from coming, fire along the length of his erection, tingling through his groin, his cock even twitched slightly as his body tried to breach his defenses, but he held back, wanting to give Angel everything.
No longer in danger of coming unexpectedly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Angel's arms and lips welcomed him. She stretched her legs behind him, holding him close as he used his own hands to grip her breasts. With thumb and forefinger he pinched each hard nipple, squeezing with the rest of his hand. She groaned, deep in her throat, mouth locked to his as he felt her tense around his shaft. She caught her breath as he felt the tremor of her next orgasm.
Releasing her breasts and her kiss, he put his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he took her in with his other senses; her distinct, seductive scent, the salty taste as he kissed her neck, the feel of her hard nipples against his chest and welcoming moistness around his cock, the small sounds she made as she took pleasure in him. They rocked together. Occasionally he could feel her tense and hear her breathing quicken as she slipped into another passionate incident.
His own release was long delayed but not avoided, nor did he want it to be. Feeling her pleasure turned him on more than anything she could have done to him. Eventually, his body refused to defer the moment, and he felt his senses overload, the fire in his cock begin to consume him. He lowered his head to her breast, sucking roughly on her nipple, driving her towards a triumphant finish. She cried out, hungrily, as she thrust herself against him.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "oh, God. Oh, oh, I want you. Oh - oh - oh - oh - ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-OOH. Now. Yes, now."
Michael felt his need overcome him, and his cock contracted violently, spurting into her. She had not reached her own moment of glory, so he sucked hard on her breast, squeezing her ass.
"Ah-ah-ah," she cried, as she drew closer, slowing down as her tension built, "ah ... yes! ah ...... ah .......... yes! Ohhhhhhhhhh." She lowered her head, kissing his neck, shoulder, ears, as he felt her spasms. He lifted his face to hers, and their tongues danced as they rode out the moment together, sharing that most intimate possibility when his being was filled with nothing but her presence, and the knowledge that she experienced him in the same way.
They leaned against each other to relax as they descended from the delirium of passion. Michael felt as though for a time he had lost his own self to their union, the isolation as he calmed almost disorienting.
Wordlessly, they separated.
After a time, Angel said, "I think we answered my question."
"Which question was that?" Michael asked, weakly.
"Whether we needed the house."
Michael grinned.
"It would have been different at the house, wouldn't it? We would have been driven, not able to take it easy."
"Perhaps there's room for both," said Angel. "Driven might be good for a change, but this was wonderful."
Michael reached for her hand. "What I said . . . all those weeks ago . . ." He lapsed into silence.
"I remember," she said quietly.
"I . . . I still feel that way," he continued.
"Let me hear you say it," she said, her voice barely audible.
"I love you," said Michael.
"Thank you, you idiot."
They kissed for a long time.
"Well," he said, "if it took the time in the house to get us to this point, perhaps it was worthwhile."
"So what will you do?"
"I don't know, yet. Sell it, I guess. I won't allow myself to be there with anyone else. Except you, if you want to be there."
Angel rolled onto her stomach. Michael stroked her back as they continued to talk.
"You want to stay here until you decide?"
"I thought we were taking things slowly," he commented. "Moving in with you doesn't seem like gradual progress."
"Sleeping with me doesn't mean you can stop romancing me. I can always make you sleep on the couch."
Michael lay on top of her, his mouth close to her ear. "I guess I'll work to keep my place here."
He slid his hands down her sides, squeezing the edge of her breasts. She lifted herself slightly so that he could cup his hands around them. He felt the desire for her begin to grow in him again.
"I don't like the idea of selling the house," she said. "The history is dreadful, but the setting is lovely. I have an idea that whatever is happening there is fading. My mother said they could still feel Margaret's presence. I couldn't. I couldn't feel anything specific." She giggled and looked back at him out of the corner of her eye. "Except you, and you felt just fine."
"You felt the effect, but not the presence."
"Yeah, I think that would describe it well. I knew I couldn't trust my feelings, I just didn't know why." She shifted under him, turning her face to his. "I have a confession to make. I couldn't say it until I knew that it was really me feeling it." Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "I love you, too."
Elation surged through Michael, and he squeezed her. "Hey," she said, "careful! I talk of love and you strangle me! Imagine that on the nine-o'clock news."
He covered her mouth with his, and she stopped complaining. His happiness spawned desire. He felt himself hardening as her tongue probed. Then her eyes widened, and she pulled back.
"Oh," she said. "Is that what I think it is?"
She parted her legs, then reached underneath, taking the head of his cock between her fingers. It hardened more as she stroked it.
She brushed her pussy with him, sending small thrills along his shaft as his erection solidified. Arching slightly, she pushed him inside her, then wriggled against him. He had not penetrated far, but he felt the nub of her clit pressing gently under the head of his cock, stroking him as she slowly tensed and relaxed.
"Oh," said Angel, sharply. "That's nice."
Michael grunted agreement, feeling the tingle of pleasure in his shaft as it continued to swell.
"It deserves to be shown," said Angel.
"What does?" asked Michael, confused.
"The hou . . . oooh . . . the house. With that lovely pond, the grounds, the old styling, the . . . " She broke off, breathing heavily. "The pond . . ."
"You said that?"
"I did? Ohh . . . Perhaps I did. It should be a hotel, or an expensive bed and . . . breakfast . . . hooohhhh . . . with extra bed, of course . . ."
Michael's erection had hardened more; he had been slipping further inside her as they talked. He wanted to start pushing, but Angel was clearly intensely aroused by this, and he knew his chance would come. Besides, the sensations as she tightened and pulled around his sensitive shaft were amazing. He nibbled her ear.
"So we need to set up a bed and . . . and more bed . . . aaaahhhh . . . for . . . that feels so good . . ."
She lifted herself on her elbows. Michael used the position to pull himself further inside her. She rocked against him, now, still slowly; tight around him, she drew him along with her to joy. She turned her head, and they kissed again. Angel's forehead was moist and her breathing heavy. He closed his eyes and allowed her to set the pace.
Suddenly she stopped moving, broke their kiss, and lowered herself to the bed. Her breath was catching in her throat, small, quiet sobs. She tightened around him, small shivers surrounding him, her body beginning to tense.
"I . . . have an i . . . an idea," she gasped, "but I don't think I can . . . tell you . . . just yet . . . oh . . . OH." She had stopped moving completely, but he felt her tension as her voice rose. She panted, the momentum they had already built apparently enough for her. "Oh-oh-oh-oh-Oh-OH-Oh, God-OH-OH" Absolutely stationary, but for the continual small twitches of her muscles, she tightened around him relentlessly. The strange sensation was exhilarating, unbearably erotic; Michael's arousal a fire which tore through every muscle in his body.
"OH-OH-OH! OH! . . OH! . . . . OH! . . . . . . . . OHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
Angel's body shook with the force of her climax. The strong quaking of her orgasm around Michael's sensitive cock pushed him into a frenzy of need. He grabbed her shoulders, using the leverage to shove himself into her. She was painfully tight around him, so tight it prevented him from coming as he thrust and thrust, ears singing and neck throbbing with the effort. He groaned as he pushed, each stroke getting him nearer to the point that he could overcome the resistance to his release, until finally, on the edge of overcoming, he slowed, savoring the overwhelming intensity, driving himself right up to the crest, then propelling himself into free-fall. Angel moaned as his cock began pulsing, and as his senses started to clear, he was again aware of her body's climactic quivering.
Moving now slowly, her shuddering tightness an acute stimulation stopping just short of pain, he shared her passion. Her body continued to tremble after he was spent, but as her internal movements subsided, he felt her start to shake, and realized that she was crying.
Michael kissed her neck. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, you idiot. I'm happy. I'm just overwhelmed with relief. I've got you back. And . . . do you know how many times I just came?"
"Ummm . . . I can't say I was paying much attention. At least twice."
"Nope." She smiled through her tears. "Once. Or perhaps dozens of times in a row, I couldn't tell. I just kept flying. You just wouldn't let me go. I think I almost blacked out towards the end. It was awesome, but it can sure screw up a girl's delicate emotional balance."
Michael kissed her salty cheek. He recalled briefly Alicia's tears, warm against his shoulder while they made love, and thought to himself how much he didn't understand women. Angel turned her face and caught his mouth with hers. Her soft lips joined his for a time.
Exhausted, he pulled himself away from her, and lay beside her. She rolled onto her side, facing him. Michael drank in the sight of her; flawless milk-chocolate skin, smooth breasts, thick dark nipples, black hair now disheveled. Rich, intense eyes studying him as she dabbed her damp face with a tissue.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?"
Her smile glowed. "Yes, you have, and you made me believe you. I've seen the thought in your eyes."
"Before you, ummm, went into overdrive, you said you had an idea."
"I did?" She frowned. "Oh, I did, didn't I? I guess I got a little distracted there. Honeymoons."
"Sorry?"
"Well, first of all you tell the world about the house. Let them do all their ghostbusting crap. There will be people swarming over the site. The skeptics won't find anything. The psychics will think it's a phenomenon. Both sides will find reasons to explain their lust.
"Then, when the reputation is sound, you open it to parties and wedding receptions. A package deal, with the happy couple hosting the reception and staying on afterwards. Everyone wants to believe in great sex on the honeymoon, you'll be sold out months in advance."
Michael thought about this. It was intriguing. "But I don't promise anything. I let the publicity from the supernatural studies sell the place."
Angel nodded. "Exactly. And if we're right, and the effect is wearing off, eventually you'll be able to close the doors and retire there. I suspect that you won't need outside influences to enjoy being intimate. With the right woman, of course."
Michael grinned. "I think you may be right. What do we do about cleaning, and catering? Hire eunuchs?"
"I don't know. We have a lot of things to work out. We'd need to work on the house to get it ready to be a bed and breakfast. Using workers may be hard. We'd have to do most of the work ourselves, but I'm quite good. I could help you. Other than that, we may need to spend some time there and test the limits of the influences, see what we can do to work around it. Even if the idea doesn't pan out, at least we can enjoy the preparations."
Michael studied her again, her sensuous, intelligent face and delicious body. He ran a finger over her breast, then stroked her cheek. "Yes, I think we can. And, perhaps, one day, we may be our own first customers."
He drew her face to his own.