CHAPTER ONE
I’ve been scared to have sex with Stacy ever since I discovered her vagina was haunted.
When we first met, I didn’t notice her vagina was haunted at all. It seemed perfectly fine. Better than fine. It was great! At least, for the first year. But after we got engaged, and she moved in with me, I noticed odd sounds coming from her while she slept.
At first, I just thought it was her snoring. Then I thought there was a television left on somewhere in the house. I heard voices in the dark—whispers, then laughs. Then cries. Then howls. The sounds were muffled, but seemed to become clearer and clearer with each passing night.
“Where the heck are those noises coming from?” I asked Stacy one evening.
She blinked herself awake. “Huh?”
“I hear voices. Coming from the walls,” I said.
“Oh . . .” she said.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“That’s not coming from the walls,” she said. “It’s coming from me.”
“From you?”
“From inside me,” she said, pulling off the covers and pointing at her crotch.
I snorted at her.
“Listen,” she said, pulling my head into her lap and pressing my ear against her vagina.
It was like listening to the ocean in a hairy flesh seashell.
“You’re playing!” I said.
She giggled. It was all a joke.
But then I heard it . . .
A voice, inside of her.
I couldn’t understand the words. A woman crying, babbling in a deranged language. Then she screamed into my ear and I jumped out from between Stacy’s legs.
My girlfriend laughed at me, squinting her dark brown eyes.
“What the hell!” I screamed.
“Told you!” she said.
“What is that?”
“A ghost,” she said.
“What!”
“I’m haunted,” she said, touching her vagina and smiling.
“How did a ghost get in there?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s been in there for a long time now.”
“Why don’t you do anything about it?” I asked.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know . . . call a priest?”
“What’s a priest going to do? Stick a cross up there and cast the spirits out?”
“Maybe . . .”
“It’s really not that big a deal. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“How . . .”
“Actually, I kinda like it.”
I frowned at a sailboat on the wall behind her.
“Yeah,” she said, spreading her legs across my lap. “Who else has a haunted vagina?” She flattened the bush of pubic hair and spread the lips to examine it. “My other boyfriends thought it was kind of sexy.”
I shook my head at her as she smiled. I found it repulsive. But the fact that I was scared of her vagina seemed to turn her on.
She made love to me after that. For her, it was the wildest sex we ever had. She had me pinned down underneath her, sucking on my crusty lower lip, sliding my penis into her ghostly regions and getting off on the terrified look on my face. But for me, it was the most awkward sex I’d ever had. I swear I could feel strange things inside of her that night. Ghostly breaths against the tip of my dick.
But we were madly in love! I didn’t even consider leaving her because of her ghost vagina. She meant everything to me. I loved her this >< much! (That means infinitely).
I’ve been consumed by her ever since the day we met. We were strangers who somehow passed out on a city bus together, my head in her lap, her curly brown hair encasing me like a blanket, hot breath on the back of my neck. When we awoke, she said “That was cozy,” and I smiled at her. She was very tall, especially for an Asian girl. Almost a foot taller than me. With silky curled hair and tiny oval glasses.
Then she said she had a snugly bed at her place if we wanted to continue sleeping. I agreed. I thought she wanted to have sex. The whole walk home my eyes were glossy at her, trying to hide my hard-on under my coat. But she really just wanted to sleep. It was late. Both of us worked the swing shift. We went into her studio apartment, the floor covered with laundry that she insisted
I’ve been scared to have sex with Stacy ever since I discovered her vagina was haunted.
When we first met, I didn’t notice her vagina was haunted at all. It seemed perfectly fine. Better than fine. It was great! At least, for the first year. But after we got engaged, and she moved in with me, I noticed odd sounds coming from her while she slept.
At first, I just thought it was her snoring. Then I thought there was a television left on somewhere in the house. I heard voices in the dark—whispers, then laughs. Then cries. Then howls. The sounds were muffled, but seemed to become clearer and clearer with each passing night.
“Where the heck are those noises coming from?” I asked Stacy one evening.
She blinked herself awake. “Huh?”
“I hear voices. Coming from the walls,” I said.
“Oh . . .” she said.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“That’s not coming from the walls,” she said. “It’s coming from me.”
“From you?”
“From inside me,” she said, pulling off the covers and pointing at her crotch.
I snorted at her.
“Listen,” she said, pulling my head into her lap and pressing my ear against her vagina.
It was like listening to the ocean in a hairy flesh seashell.
“You’re playing!” I said.
She giggled. It was all a joke.
But then I heard it . . .
A voice, inside of her.
I couldn’t understand the words. A woman crying, babbling in a deranged language. Then she screamed into my ear and I jumped out from between Stacy’s legs.
My girlfriend laughed at me, squinting her dark brown eyes.
“What the hell!” I screamed.
“Told you!” she said.
“What is that?”
“A ghost,” she said.
“What!”
“I’m haunted,” she said, touching her vagina and smiling.
“How did a ghost get in there?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s been in there for a long time now.”
“Why don’t you do anything about it?” I asked.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know . . . call a priest?”
“What’s a priest going to do? Stick a cross up there and cast the spirits out?”
“Maybe . . .”
“It’s really not that big a deal. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“How . . .”
“Actually, I kinda like it.”
I frowned at a sailboat on the wall behind her.
“Yeah,” she said, spreading her legs across my lap. “Who else has a haunted vagina?” She flattened the bush of pubic hair and spread the lips to examine it. “My other boyfriends thought it was kind of sexy.”
I shook my head at her as she smiled. I found it repulsive. But the fact that I was scared of her vagina seemed to turn her on.
She made love to me after that. For her, it was the wildest sex we ever had. She had me pinned down underneath her, sucking on my crusty lower lip, sliding my penis into her ghostly regions and getting off on the terrified look on my face. But for me, it was the most awkward sex I’d ever had. I swear I could feel strange things inside of her that night. Ghostly breaths against the tip of my dick.
But we were madly in love! I didn’t even consider leaving her because of her ghost vagina. She meant everything to me. I loved her this >< much! (That means infinitely).
I’ve been consumed by her ever since the day we met. We were strangers who somehow passed out on a city bus together, my head in her lap, her curly brown hair encasing me like a blanket, hot breath on the back of my neck. When we awoke, she said “That was cozy,” and I smiled at her. She was very tall, especially for an Asian girl. Almost a foot taller than me. With silky curled hair and tiny oval glasses.
Then she said she had a snugly bed at her place if we wanted to continue sleeping. I agreed. I thought she wanted to have sex. The whole walk home my eyes were glossy at her, trying to hide my hard-on under my coat. But she really just wanted to sleep. It was late. Both of us worked the swing shift. We went into her studio apartment, the floor covered with laundry that she insisted
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