The Ghostwriter's Words

Sammy: Gravity

Sammy dragged himself over and collapsed with overwhelming relief and gratitude on the relatively flat surface. These were short-lived before he sensed the relativity of that flatness beneath him and the continued pull of gravity that hadn't yet released him. Sprawled on his stomach, as flat as he could force himself, his arms spread as wide as they could reach, his fingers instinctively walking outward, attempting to stretch out even further, and his feet desperately sought whatever purchase they could find.

He was too exhausted and shaken to trust his legs so near the edge, still only inches from his feet. The rational part of his brain tried to convince himself that the surface beneath him was level enough to rest a moment. But icy adrenal surges continued screaming for him to move further from the edge. The rock where he lay was too hard on his knees to crawl, so he squirmed forward on his belly, abrading any uncovered flesh except his hands, but with any attempt to lift his body enough to avoid it, he felt that pull of gravity from behind.

Once he felt safe enough to rest, it took him quite some time to recover the strength to stand. His legs were still unsteady, but he gained confidence with each step he stumbled further away from the edge behind. The far side of the promontory had a gentler downward grade than the nearly vertical rock face that he'd just been foolish enough to climb. There were several easy paths to The Truth from there, and the only gravitational pull he felt was that of his loneliness, the promises given if ever he was, and the needs for which he'd done his best to repress the past few years.

It was more than a decade since he'd last opened his door to find some unknown woman waiting for him to invite her in and at least a century since he'd given in and spent the evening with one of the unmarried women of The Truth for more than conversation alone.

He'd never asked any unexpected guests to share his bed. He'd politely offered a place to spend the night to any who remained late enough or shared enough Scotch that he felt his obligation as a host. Nearly all had declined the guest room offer; that wasn't why they'd come. Most, in truth, hadn't waited until it was time to retire for the evening. They'd stood in the gazebo and discarded their clothes without ambiguity of their intentions since he somehow remained oblivious to signs of female interest that were less than explicit. Some not bold enough to shed clothes so dramatically had straddled his lap, or the shyer among them gradually edged their way close enough to pull his arm around them.

Was that an invitation? He was unsure until there'd been some removal of clothing, that first passionate kiss, or the warmth from those straddling his lap causing anatomy other than his brain to scream, Hey, Asshole! Or: She put his hand on her breast. Hint! Hint! Hint! Did she need to say the magic words? Even when his own words crushed themselves against the constraints of his larynx, he could rarely force himself to ask more than: Can I kiss you? Even when they seemed to beg him to ask or to just fucking do it! He never made the first move. Not even with Eve. And certainly not Sara.

Of course, Magick Hats helped. Explicit images shared did not require words to be vocalized or clothes removed in the Real. And sexual acts initiated in Virtuality needed no more than physical proximity to carry over unless his guest didn't appear ready to play in the Real.

Sammy had been honest with every one of his guests with eventual benefits. He was married. He told them before anything progressed beyond that first kiss, except for those whose moves he was too slow to anticipate before the act had nearly been consummated. He told those as soon he regained enough composure to speak, which he forced himself to do before continuing to any second rounds. He told every one of them about Sara, who was not home, who was gone but had promised that she would return and always had, except that he had no idea when that might be. But some night, if they remained, they would likely wake to find another body in bed with them, naked and anxious to play.