Welcome to this year’s Halloween Blog Train! As you know, I’m a huge fan of the entire month of Halloween, for several reasons, but the spooky erotica tales has to be right at the top of the list. You just came from Ms Charlotte and the Things That Go Bump In The Night, and I hope you’re well rested because now the Ghost Lover is gonna get you. Or maybe you’ll become a Ghost Lover! Only one way to find out: keep reading.

The Ghost Lover

When my buddies all got together and said they were gonna go ghost hunting down at the local supposedly haunted hotel downtown, I was so in. I mean, c’mon, that shit’s so fun! Yes, let’s go ghost hunting, let’s do the ghost tour, and find out all that weird creepy shit and then get a little scared. Perfect way to spend a weekend, right? When I agreed to go on the weird adventure with them, I couldn’t have said one way or the other about whether I really believed in ghosts or not. But you know what they say ‘one foot in, one foot out’, and don’t let skepticism get in the way of a good time. So, ghost hunting with the fellas. Why the fuck not?

Haunted Downtown Tour

You gotta love any haunted tour that starts with a goddamn liability waiver. I guess, since we were going to be looking at some dubiously structural buildings and uninhabited places, a little caution would be smart, but they included a bit about how I can’t sue them for mental, spiritual, or paranormal “injury”, and what sort of wacky shit is that? Of course I signed, because in what world can a ghost actually touch you? Yeah, I was an idiot and obviously that waiver was worded like that for a reason. Put my name down all bold, Taylor Smith, full consent and everything, like ghosts and haunts ain’t shit.

Ghost Hotel

Our tour guide did a really good job of being completely creepy and a little off putting. He was dressed in some sort of mix of vintage housefrau chic and scavenger from the donation bin slash homeless dude with bad eyesight. I mean, you can obviously express yourself however you want, but this fella was dressed like he’d forgotten about modern fashion entirely; pink and white floral dress over khaki pants and canvas tennis shoes, with an unzipped hoodie in brown with green stripes. Yeah, it was a look alright. He also grinned with all his teeth out when he told us to “sign into the hotel register, if you dare”, and told us a tale about how if you check in you might not check out in the morning, because something about the handsy ghost will get you.

Of course I signed in, I’m not a sissy.

A Private Room

When the tour guide handed me a room key, he smirked full in my face and told me that since I was so brave I could go ghost hunting all on my lonesome in the Bride’s Room. And yeah, you could hear the capital letters. Weirdo then told us all about how there was a Bride who’d booked the hotel for her honeymoon, only her wedding was cancelled due to the groom running off with a bridesmaid, and then there was a tragedy and a mess and now she’s a ghost in the honeymoon suit. And if you’re brave enough, you can go in that room and meet the Bride.

The Honeymoon Suite

The whole hotel was pretty decrepit and run down, I guess from decades of neglect and various internal fires and the like. But the Honeymoon Suite, that room was weird, because it was clean and all put together nice. No fluff coming out of the mattress, in fact, sheets and fluffy blankets, and nice pillows all arranged pretty. Red roses, dewey and fresh in a vase on the dresser, too. But, it’d been a long ass week, and it was getting on to 3 in the morning, and I was tired. So I sat on the bed, and waited for the Bride, and when this wave of lassitude came over me, like a wave, overwhelming, pulling my eyelids closed and lulling me to sleep, I didn’t really resist too much. The low pitched humming, like a lullabye, that was just my mind cueing up a dream.

Like a Dream

I dreamed. She was so beautiful and young, and gave so much up to have the perfect life. All her dreams and desires, all her wants and wishes, she put aside so she could be a good girlfriend, a good fiance, a good wife. She wanted the perfect life, and she worked for it. She tried. When it was taken from her, stolen, ripped through her fingers, by that ungrateful FUCK, by that WHORE of a former-friend, she burned. She was ice and flame and hate and rage and the water pulled her under, under the bridge, under the ice, into the dark, and she still wanted. She still desired. She still was so determined to have what she wanted, what she deserved. What she earned. She kept trying. Each failure, she learned from, and got better at it. At stepping in. At sliding through the web of the mind still attached to the body. At taking over. After all, they took from her. So why shouldn’t she take from them?!

Waking?

After such a refreshing little nap in the very nice hotel room, I woke, completely refreshed. Sadly, I’d misplaced my pretty clothes, but that was no real problem for a smart gal like myself. Too bad the lovely young man who’d taken the challenge I’d laid down for him was so typically masculine, but I could overcome any obstruction between myself and my goals. Nothing would stop me now, not the stubble on my new chin, not the distressingly flat chest, not the terrible clothes. At least this latest vessel was more easily overcome than my last, who even now I could hear screaming and crying down behind the reception desk. Honestly, some men are just weak, and if they can’t find enough spine to stand up for themselves they deserve to be guided by the strong willed women in their life.

I was done being the good fiance, the sweet girlfriend, the little wallflower who watched life pass her by while waiting for a nice man to betray her on her wedding day. No more of that, no, now I’d be Taylor Smith, newly cracked trans egg, and I’d fucking OWN this entire town by the time I was done. But first, I did need to break in my new body and shake the cobwebs out. Surely at least one of the erstwhile ghost hunters could be down to fuck, right? All that lustful energy would refill my reserves and more. I bet one of Taylor’s ‘buddies’ would be willing to screw him/her/ME, just right.

Want To Go On A Ghost Tour?

Would you be Taylor, screaming inside your mind, and begging to be freed, or would you be the new Taylor, contemplating who you’re going to seduce and fuck first? Or do you think our original ghost hunting fella might learn to really LOVE being the new Taylor, with long hair and pretty dresses, and a much better fashion sense than the tour guide? Maybe the Bride is a better fit with Taylor because he had some deeply hidden, repressed desires. Should I continue the story for you? Well, in the meanwhile head to Ms Blaire’s blog, get your Kink or Treat goodies, and enjoy the rest of the Halloween Blog Train!

Your Ghost Lover, Harper