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Someone just posted a long, FAKE story about having sex with some ghostly chick in his dreams who left a rose on his pillow, blah blah gayness. Just in time for Halloween, I'm here to tell you that this is actually happening to me and believe me, it is NO JOKE.
I moved into my apartment in August. It's a very old building in Murray Hill, a converted brownstone. My studio is pretty sweet - cool, old details, really pretty. I got the place for cheap, no fee -on Craiglist of course. The thing is, the girl moving out couldn't wait to get out of there. I was a little suspicious and looked around for something wrong, but didn't find anything bad about the place - until later....
I had a really hard time falling asleep in my new apartment. I chalked it up to stress, or unfamiliar surroundings. When I did finally doze off I began having really active dreams that are always about the same thing - a young man kissing me passionately. He has blond, tousled hair, and strong arms - I can't see his face, but sometimes he speaks or murmurs. he's pretty hot for a ghost or whatever the heck he is. (sad, isn't it? I need to get laid.) It feels very very VERY real - I can tangibly feel this person. I wake up freaked out that someone was in my bed with me or is in my apartment just hanging out. The weight and warmth of his body is palpable, on top of me, holding me down. Sometimes he is lying next to me in bed, sometimes carrying me away in his arms as if we're flying. sometimes we're in the woods or at the beach. It is always night in these dreams. We never do anything besides kiss - he just holds me tenderly and firmly, and strokes my hair and my skin. As I'm waking up he gets up from my bed and walks away, and I swear I can see him out of the corner of my eye wearing khakis and a golf shirt.
Cool you think, right? WRONG. here's the scary part. A couple of times I've spoken to "him" as I'm waking up. Once I looked in his face lying next to me and said, "This isn't real." At that, the "face" I was speaking to or kissing or whatever melted into a dead, ROTTING SKULL. I screamed and it blew away to dust, and I woke up. Another time I thought he was in the apartment, in the bathroom. I called out, "hello? where are you?" At that I heard a raspity voice that sounded....indescribable, just howling. Like the sound of a train screeching to a halt. I opened my eyes, frozen, terrified. When I turned on the light, my cat was on the floor with her back arched, staring at the bathroom, hair standing on end.
My cat is thoroughly freaked. Every now and then she'll just look at the headboard of the bed all weirded out, like she's stalking something, just slowly putting one paw in front of the other and quietly meowing. Whatever it is she's feeling, I feel it too.
So last week, scary skull moments notwithstanding, I decided it was time for Mr. Ghosty McDeadguy and I to take the next step in our relationship. We were hanging out in a cabin in the woods. Looked like upstate new york. I could tell it was cold outside, but inside we'd built a fire and were making out. So I (forgive me) took it upon myself to, uh, perform oral sex on my dead date. At first it felt normal, and the murmurs gave way to flat out moans of pleasure...until suddenly, I looked again at what I was doing, and discovered I was fellating a black, rotting CORPSE.
cut to me at 3 am, all the lights on, watching curb your enthusiasm on in demand until the sun came up, rocking back and forth. I've determined that it's time to address this head on. Obviously this dude has got something he needs to take care of in Murray Hill before he goes on to eternal life. Maybe he got takeout from the dirty chinese place, ate salmonella and got a call on the bone phone. Maybe he ripped the showerhead out of the wall because the water pressure was so bad, and gave himself a nice heart attack. Or maybe he bought it because he couldn't make it on the singles scene and now he just dates chicks who move into his place. How convenient. Wonder how many other babes he got with before me who've lived there. He really needs to move on. If that's the case, Hot, Dead Guy, hear this - it's your very own missed connection. Maybe now that you've finally gotten one you can go in peace.
You: Dead, in my apartment. Blond hair, no face, about 6'0 and athletic build.
Dude, we've made out about 57 times now but you still won't give me your contact information or your name. While it's definitely hot - I'm getting a little scared. You obviously have problems with intimacy to be freaking out the way you do every time we try to talk. What was up with the cabin the other night? You can't eternally hang out in my little apartment - I need my space too, you know. So let's figure out what's wrong and move on...because I'm really losing a lot of sleep over this. see ya -