Vintage: A Ghost Story by Steve Berman

whispered, Josh’s low voice surprised me and I jumped a little.
He stood in the hallway, dimly glowing, and every inch of him more beautiful than I remembered. The lines of his face, the curve of every muscle in his chest and arms, made me ache.
He turned and walked in the direction of my bedroom. “I’ve missed you,” I caught him saying.
Josh waited for me beside the bed. When I moved closer, he smiled and slowly slipped onto his knees. He looked up at me and I lost all ability to think. He took hold of my hand, sending shivers through me. I wanted us to stay that way all night, him on his knees before me, looking both strong and tender.
I broke everything by reaching out to caress his hair. It felt so light and soft that I could not be sure I even touched anything more substantial than smoke. But he closed his eyes and seemed to like what I did.
I yearned to grasp and pull him with me to the bed and leaned closer to let him know how I felt. His tongue in my mouth was like sucking on an ice cube. Nothing had ever tasted like him. As if my face was immersed in wa ter, but none of it trickled down my throat.
He put his hand over my crotch and lightly squeezed. I jumped a little and then, laid my own on the back of his neck. My pulse at the wrist cooled down, sending chilled blood throughout my body.
He kissed me again and I did not pull my mouth away until every bit of oxygen had left my lungs. I envied his not needing air; I wanted to stay locked with him forever.
Josh started to unbutton his shirt. I was captivated, holding my breath until he revealed a perfect chest. Each muscle visible beneath skin like pale ivory and a vague shadow where golden hair must once have grown around the nipples and a streak heading down to his waist. My hand trembled when it reached out to touch him. Josh remained still like a statue. I worried that once more I’d be lost to his memories, as my fingers reached his skin and went forward just a fraction deeper. Not yet solid, but coming close. It felt like dipping my hand into cool, delightful water. No ripples other than the smile he gave me. I felt relief that my mind remained clear, focused on the here and now. On my ghost.
He reached out to me and lifted up the edges of my shirt, letting his touch slide up my sides. He had taken something so simple and made it so indescribably perfect, that I lost my breath.
Josh then laid one hand on my chest and gently slid the other to the back of my head. I actually sighed when he started to slide his fingers through my hair; it felt like wind blowing against me. I was so hard now; I could feel how I had begun to leak, leaving my boxers cool and sticky.
“Touch you deeply,” he murmured.
I nodded, not really understanding what he meant or wanted, then gasped as I felt his hand push inside my chest. A moment of pain at first contact and then a gentle thrill as he explored me. I looked down and saw his arm end at the wrist against my flesh.
He made me cry out again when his fingertips began to tap like cold drops over the outside of what must be my heart. As he began to stroke me there, I started to shake at the contact, until finally I threw myself against him, hugging him tight, feeling his entire forearm now pressed inside of me. I held onto him with white knuckles and even bared teeth, and moaned.
“Yes,” he whispered into my ear.
My heartbeat slowed under his cold touch, coaxed into relaxing while I shuddered. I thought, now I know what dying is like. Beautiful Josh was killing me. But there was no fear or pain. Fuck, no. I gasped at the pleasure of being touched so intimately. Moments ago I had sprayed the inside of my pants, but the orgasm never stopped.
When I could no longer hold him, even as he became solid and whole, I collapsed onto the mattress. My flesh felt insubstantial, as if I was the ghost. Josh’s arm slid out of me and I cried out hoarsely at losing that touch.
He leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. His mouth