The Ghost of East Hill Bridge

“Bye, Clive, thanks for the ride.” Mark waved as he headed up his front walk, mask in his other hand, his step a little unsteady. It had been that kind of party.

“Later, Mark,” I called back, watching him go. My vision swam a little, but not for the same reason Mark’s probably did. It was late, it had been after ten-thirty when I’d left the party, and I was starting to feel it. I didn’t have work tomorrow, which was good, but my dad would probably still drag me out of bed before eight to get chores done, which was bad. Three passengers down, just one to go; the blessing and curse of having a car.

When you grow up in a small town, thirty miles from the nearest mall or movie theater, having a car suddenly makes you very popular. Back in 1990, back before the internet, cellphones, or commonly accessible cable TV it made you very, very popular. When the most interesting place to hang out is the parking lot of the 7/11, the guy with the trashed Chevy is king. It wasn’t a great car: it was a hand me down, over a decade old, guzzled oil, and needed constant work. It got people around, though, and it got me invited to things. Things like the beach trip on Memorial Day, or to the city last summer to see Total Recall, or just out to the tracks to throw rocks at trains. I wasn’t a popular guy, but I wasn’t unpopular either; I was just a guy. The car changed that. The car was why I’d been at Andy Hoover’s Halloween party that night, it was why I’d been grabbed to drive four people home, and it was why I now found myself alone with Abigail Krueger. It was also why I met Maria McConnell, the ghost of East Hill Bridge.

Abigail Krueger. She was a looker and she knew it, but she’d gone overboard for Halloween. I don’t know who or what she was dressed up as, but her hair was up, her skirt was short, her legs were long, and her top was low. She was hot, she was half-dressed, and she had a reputation. We didn’t run in any of the same circles, but in a school of four hundred students you’re passingly familiar with everyone and I’d had more than a few late night fantasies about Abigail. Now here she was, all dressed up (or down), alone with me in my whipped Chevy on Halloween night.

“So, um, which way to your place?” I asked, trying desperately to keep my eyes on the road and out of her cleavage.

“Turn around, then take a right on Creek,” she responded.

I did a three point turn at the end of Mark’s street, doing my best to avoid the downed tree, and leaned forward to stare into the twin circles of the headlights on my way back up the hill. I did keep my eyes on the road, mostly, but seriously this might be my only opportunity to see that much of Abby before we both graduated next summer and what I had now would probably keep me going for weeks.

“You’re going to join the Army, right?” Abby asked.

“June, as soon as school’s out.” I hadn’t signed up yet, but I was going to. Springvale’s not a bad place to grow up, but once you’re grown there’s not a lot to do there either, either for fun or employment. There’s also not a lot of ways out, you either need money or a scholarship, and I had neither. So: the Army.

“Are you a virgin?” she asked.

I nearly hit a tree.

“What?” I stammered.

“Are you a virgin?” She asked again. I debated what to answer. I don’t know if you’ve ever been an eighteen year old guy, but whether or not you’ve popped your cherry is a big thing, huge, far bigger than it really needs to be. So a lot of people lie about it. Except in a school of four hundred people everyone talks about everyone else’s business, including who’s slept with who and who hasn’t slept with anyone.

“Because it’s okay if you are,” she went on, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s okay to be a virgin. Hell, I am.”

“You?” I blurted out in surprise. Like I said, in a school that small everyone talks about who’s sleeping with who, and Abigail, well, she got talked about. A lot.

“Yeah, me. Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not, I mean I am, because, uh…” I trailed off.

“Because guys talk? Of course they do, but what did they say? Because blowjobs and tittyfucking don’t count, and anyone who says I’ve done more is a liar.”

I stared at Abby. You have to remember, this was before the internet. Raunchy teenage boys had to learn what they knew from the Sears catalog, stolen nudey magazines, the occasional VHS tape, and wildly exaggerated stories told by their peers. Blowjobs, those I knew about. Tittyfucking, though? I had guesses, and the next ten seconds had me uncontrollably staring at her rack trying to work out if they were right.

“Like what you see?”

“Sorry,” I said, dragging my eyes back to the road.

“So are you? A virgin?”

Well shit.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Ever gotten a blowjob? A handjob?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Well, that just won’t do,” she said, “going off to the Army without ever getting your whistle wet.” What did that mean?

Then I realized we were traveling east on Creek Road, which didn’t lead into town, it led out of town. There were only a few more houses out this way, then the couple on the hill, then a couple of horse ranches outside of town, and I was pretty sure the Kruegers lived in none of those.

“Hey, where are we going?”

She grinned at me. “Wanna fix that?”

My heart hammered. “Fix what?”

“Fix you never getting a girl on your dick before you’re off to boot camp.”

Holy shit.

“What are you offering?” I asked.

She grinned at me, twisting some of her curls around one finger. “Drive us out to Blowjob Bridge and find out.”

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. My fingers tightened on the wheel and my prick hardened in my pants. Holy shit, Abby Krueger was offering to blow me.

East Hill Bridge, or Blowjob Bridge as it sometimes got called when parents weren’t around. Every town has got their legends and this one starts in 1978 on Halloween night. The story goes that Maria McConnell and her boyfriend went for a long walk out to Rockfall Turn, our local lover’s lane outside of town across East Hill Bridge. They didn’t make it all the way to the turn and instead stopped on the bridge for a little hanky panky. Then a car came and they tried to hide, but Maria slipped from the bridge and fell to her death on the rocks and the river below. The part that doesn’t get told in polite company is that she’d been giving her boyfriend head right before it happened, and the part every teenager tells is that, if you go out to the bridge on Halloween night, you’ll find the ghost of Maria McConnell waiting to polish your knob. No one believes it, or almost no one because every couple of years you hear about some guy trying it. Thing is, the bridge ended up with just as much of a reputation as Maria McConnell, and over the last decade a lot of local couples have decided that ghosts shouldn’t be the only ones having fun.

The drive to the bridge was less than ten minutes, down Creek and past the barn red house with the giant willow in the yard, then along the short bit where the road turns to half gravel. It was dark; the street lights didn’t come out this far and while it was a clear night the moon didn’t do much through the trees. I cruised over the train tracks, rolled around a blue truck parked partway in the ditch, and finally I could see the two glaring white lights of the bridge up ahead. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I felt like it was going to punch a hole in my ribs.

“Where, um…” I asked.

“Just pull over here, before the bridge,” Abby said, waving at the small cutout. I did, stopping the Chevy with a crunch of gravel and putting on the parking brake. Car off. Keys out. Holy shit.

“Here?” I asked.

Abby glanced around the car. “There’s not really a lot of room in here. How about on the bridge?”

I glanced out at the steel and wood bridge, hanging over a thirty foot drop into the river. It was at least forty years old. It was also October outside, and I could feel the chill in the car despite the crappy heater that smelled like maple syrup when it ran.

“Really?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said, grinning and opening her door. “It’s tradition, right? Getting your dick sucked on Blowjob Bridge on Halloween?” She tugged at her skirt, which had ridden up almost to indecency while she was sitting, bending over while she did it. I was suddenly staring down a deep canyon of cleavage, and a hint of something lacy peaked out at me.

“Won’t it be cold?” I asked, opening my own door.

“Probably,” she said, “but I’m guessing we won’t be out here long.” She giggled, shot me an evil grin, then walked off down the bridge, hair bouncing and butt swaying in her tight skirt.

This is a bad idea, I thought as I got out of the car to follow that sashaying butt. Holy shit this is a bad idea. Something did not seem at all right about this, Abby Krueger dragging me off to bob on my knob on East Hill Bridge? In the middle of the night? I wasn’t thinking with my head, though, at least not the one atop my shoulders, and honestly even if I had been I probably would have done the exact same thing. If you’ve ever been an eighteen year old guy, you know why.

I followed Abby..

She stopped in a pool of darkness near the middle of the bridge. There were two lights, one at either end, but the middle was mostly in shadow. She’d walked up the road, although there was a walkway on one side of the bridge, separated by a railing. As I caught up with Abby she climbed the railing, skirt riding all the way up as she spread her legs to get over, and I got a flash of neon pink panties in the moonlight just before she jumped down on the other side. Then she tugged her skirt down again, gave me a dizzying look down her top again, and all semblance of sense left me.

“You coming?” she asked, knowing exactly what I’d seen during her acrobatics.

“Hell yes,” I said, climbing over the railing.

Then I was face to face with Abby, only a couple of feet apart. She was grinning mischievously and looking amazing, I’m pretty sure I was grinning like an idiot and looking scared.

“So, um, what now?” I asked. “Do I kiss you?”

“Hmmmm no,” she said, sounding thoughtful, “it’s not that kind of night. No kissing. How about you take off your pants and I get on my knees instead?” Then she slowly, slowly squatted down, lowering herself until her head was right at crotch height.

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit. I fumbled with my belt, popped the button, tugged down the zipper, and shoved my jeans and briefs down as fast as I could with shaking hands. I’d like to say I sprang out, but nerves and cold had dampened my erection a little.

“Wow,” she said, “I’ve never seen an uncut one before.”

“It gets bigger,” I said. Not sure why I said that. Okay, I knew why I said that, because I’m a grower not a shower and suddenly things were not growing when I wanted them to be.

“I’m sure it does,” she said, staring at my block and tackle from less than a foot away. Then she giggled. “It looks like an anteater.”

Well that’s just rude.

“Now close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes,” she said again, “I want you to feel this. I want you to block everything else out. The sights, the sounds, everything except my mouth and your cock. So close them, and just feel me.”

Somehow, her saying “cock” was the dirtiest thing I’d heard all night. I almost did it. But the alarm bells were ringing again, and I glanced around. It was after eleven o’clock, no one was going to be here, no one to witness me out here on Blowjob Bridge with my pants around my ankles. But…

“Can’t I-” I started.

“Close them” she said, then gently blew a stream of air over my dick.

I got hard as a rock.

Holy shit.

I closed my eyes.

“Now leave them closed,” she said, “or I stop.”

I heard her shift. I could feel her closeness. Feel the warmth of her hands near my legs. Feel the warmth of her breath on my dick.

“Tell me when you’re about to nut,” she said huskily, “I don’t want it in my hair.”

Holy shit holy shit holy shit she hadn’t even touched me yet and I was ready to pop.

I waited, prick throbbing in the cold night air. I could hear Abby moving, then stopping. I thought I felt her breath again. Then moving, then stopping. Then moving.

“Um, Abby?” I asked.

“Shit these boards are splintery,” she said.

“What?”

“I can’t kneel on this,” she said, “do you have a jacket in the car?”

“What?” I asked, opening my eyes.

“Closed!” she snapped, and I shut them again.

“Do you have a jacket in the car?” she asked again.

“Yeah? Why?”

“I need something to kneel on.”

“It’s in the, uh, in the car.”

“Can I borrow your keys?”

“It’s unlocked.”

“Oh,” she said, and I heard her moving, “I’ll be right back, then.”

Then she was next to me, touching me, and I could feel her hand and the softness of one boob pressed into my arm. Her voice was in my ear.

“Eyes closed, and don’t move,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” Then I heard her feet walking off behind me, back towards my car. Then the footsteps were gone, and all I could hear was the rushing water, some crickets, and a very chatty bullfrog.

So I waited.

And I waited.

And it got colder.

And I waited.

Shit she’s not coming back.

Or maybe she just can’t find my jacket. Did I leave it in the back? The trunk? She’d need the keys to get in the trunk. Maybe I should have given them to her. Maybe I should go back and bring them, except if I open my eyes and start walking, then what? Is this all over? She told me eyes closed, don’t move.

It hasn’t been that long.

I can wait another minute. Or five.

It’s cold.

My prick had long since lost its vigor and was starting to cool down along with the rest of me.

Shit she’s not coming back.

I knew something was fishy, this was all a setup and now there’s going to be a dozen folks from the party sneaking up the bridge, walking right up to me with my pants down, waiting for me to open my eyes so they can laugh at me. Hey, check out Clive Fletcher, came out to Blowjob Bridge thinking he’d get his dick sucked, now he’s freezing his balls off.

Except if I open my eyes she won’t come back.

And if I don’t open my eyes no one will be there.

That’s stupid logic.

Over the sound of the water, the crickets, and the bullfrog I thought I heard footsteps. Quiet footsteps. I felt someone beside me, then in front of me.

“Hey,” I said, feeling relief rush through me, “I didn’t hear you come up.”

Then I heard a scrape of shoes, a rustling of fabric, and felt a warm hand on my leg, warm fingers on my nuts, and something hot and wet surrounding my prick.

“Holy shit,” I groaned as lips closed around the base of my shaft.

Abby sucked, softly, while her tongue licked in lazy circles. She slid her lips up to the head, then gently back down. Up, down, up, down, and I felt myself hardening, fast, filling up her mouth as I grew.

I groaned louder.

As I got harder, and bigger, Abby’s mouth could take less and less of me in. She kept sliding me in and out, in and out, but at first she was sinking all the way down, then most of the way down, then only halfway. As I grew out her mouth her hand slid up to replace it, pulling up when she drew me out and sliding down when she took me in. She was being gentle, caring almost, which was absolutely not what I’d expected out of a pity suck from Abby.

“Oh, God,” I moaned.

Abby made a happy humming noise around me and continued her slow, rhythmic slide. Up, down, up, down, up…

“Oh, God, Abby, that feels so good!”

She paused then, sliding my dick from between her lips but giving it one last kiss as she went. Her hand kept stroking, though, slipping over me from base to tip. It felt…

“I’m not Abby.”

My eyes snapped open and I stared down at the woman who’d just been greasing my pole. Except it wasn’t a woman. It was a ghost.

It was the color that gave it away, kind of hard to miss. She was pale, very pale, and I’m not just talking about her skin; her face, her hair, her clothes, everything was a washed out white with just hints of other colors. She was also glowing, or something that looked like glowing because she was easy to see even in the shadows except she didn’t seem to illuminate anything around her. I was face to face with Maria McConnell, the blowjob ghost of East Hill Road, and she was face to face with my dick.

“Hi,” she said, smiling at me with her hand still sliding up and down my suddenly softening prick.

“Uh, hi,” I said, my heart making an escape attempt up my throat.

“Not who you were expecting?” she asked.

“No, not exactly.”

“Who were you expecting?” she wondered, ghostly fingers giving up on their stroking as I went flaccid but still caressing gently. I expected her touch to be cold, like ice, but she was remarkably warm and lifelike. Her face, too; despite her paleness the look she was giving me was friendly, inviting, the kind that made me want to smile back.

She made me feel great. She also terrified me.

“Uh, someone,” I replied, glancing around.

“Abby?”

“Yeah, her.”

“Is that the bimbo you showed up with? She got into a car waiting in the woods right after she left you here. They drove off about fifteen minutes ago.” She looked apologetic. “Sorry.”

I knew it, I fucking knew it, and fifteen minutes had I really been standing here with my prick out in the cold for that long? I covered my face in my hands, wanted to shout about it, but I just let out an exasperated groan. I knew it, and I’d come out on this stupid bridge anyway.

Something warm surrounded me again and my groan turned to a moan. Holy shit Maria felt amazing but also…

“Maria?” I asked. “Maria, please stop.”

She did, even her hands slipping away from me this time. “Not enjoying yourself?”

“No, I mean yes, I mean holy shit that felt amazing but this is really, really weird.”

She stared at me for a second, then nodded slowly. “That makes sense. I’m not who you were expecting, and you’ve probably never had your pecker polished by a ghost before. That must be a little strange.”

She looked apologetic, but also a little disappointed, as she rose to her feet and brushed at the knees of her jeans. Then, without another word, she started to turn away.

I held out a hand. “Hey, wait a second.”

She paused and turned back with a quizzical expression.

I went on. “Do you want to talk for a bit?”

“Talk?”

“You know, do something… else with your mouth.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never chatted with a ghost before?”

Maria smiled. “I’ve never been asked that before.”

“Well, you have now.”

“Yes, I do. You might want to put that away first, though.”

I glanced down, then hastily bent to yank up my pants and stuff my junk back in. I expected to be freezing, I’d been getting pretty cold before Maria showed up, but I was feeling warm again. Is that hypothermia? I hadn’t been that cold. Could it be Maria? Her touch had felt strangely warm.

“So are you? Maria McConnell?” I asked, as I leaned on the railing out towards the water.

“Yup,” she said, coming to stand next to me and lean out too, “that’s me. Died on this very bridge… hmm. What year is it?”

“1990.”

“Died on this very bridge twelve years ago. Or I guess I should say under it. And you are?’

“Sorry, I’m Clive Fletcher.” I stuck my hand out sideways to her. “Pleased to meet you, I guess?”

She took it, shook with her strangely warm hand, and laughed.

“You too. God, I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had in twelve years.”

“Really?”

“Most boys who come up here want me to do something else with my mouth.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why?” she responded, smirking at me, “why do you think?”

“I mean no one stops to chat? After, before, whenever? No one asks questions?”

“Like what?”

“What’s it like being dead?” I asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I haven’t thought about it much. It’s simpler than being alive, I guess. I’m still the same person I was before, or the same person I remember being, and I want the same things I guess or I would if I was alive but a lot of it doesn’t apply. I don’t need to eat, sleep, get to work on time, or plan something for dinner tonight. I’ve got different wants, now.”

“Like, uh…” I said, blushing.

She grinned at me. “Yes, like sucking cock. I’ve always liked pleasing people, making them happy and making them feel good. So I’m dead, so what? I still want to make people feel good. It makes me feel good, and it’s worked out pretty great for a lot of them.”

I blushed more at that, remembering her warm mouth on me and how good it had felt.

Maria didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she was staring off into the night, her brow furrowed. “I guess it’s a little odd, I didn’t really have much practice at it while I was alive but when I came out here with Greg that night it was all I could think about and now it’s like a compulsion. Guys come out here and they want something from me, and I can give it to them. I want to give it to them.”

“So, it was the last thing going through your head?”

“Sure, besides a big rock.”

I winced. She looked apologetic.

“Sorry,” she went on, “it was funny to me. I haven’t had much conversation lately.”

“It must get lonely.”

“I’m not really here all the time, just for a few days around Halloween and then I’ve got company. They’re not really here for a chat, though,” she laughed. “The rest is like a really long dream I can’t remember.”

“So you haven’t really thought about it?”

“What?”

“Being dead?”

“Not…” she paused, brow furrowing again.

“You’d be thirty-one, now, if you’d been alive.”

She shook her head. “To me I’m nineteen. To me it didn’t happen that long ago.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“Being dead,” I responded, a little exasperated. “The life you missed. Didn’t you want to be anything?”

“It just sort of is,” she said, although she didn’t seem fully convinced. “Sure I miss people, a little, I guess. I miss what my life could have been, maybe, but that life isn’t here. It’s like that life belongs to a different person.”

“I thought you said you were the same person?” I pointed out.

Maria shrugged, and as I watched her something odd happened: she seemed to fade, become less colorful, less bright. I could almost see through her to the bridge behind.

“The hell?” I asked.

Maria glanced down at herself, then pointed up. I followed her finger and saw the moon. Small stretches of cloud were crawling across the sky, and one had partially obscured the glowing white orb.

“Moonlight,” she said, “I can only be seen in moonlight. Good thing it doesn’t rain too much around here.”

“That’s not weird? Just disappearing?”

She shrugged again, but she was no longer looking at me. She was staring out over the water and the calm, friendly expression she’d been wearing since I’d opened my eyes was missing. She looked sad.

“What did you want to be?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Come on.”

She shook her head again, but spoke anyway.

“A singer,” she said, as the cloud moved off the moon and she became relatively bright and detailed again. “I love music. I was terrible at it, though, I couldn’t hold a tune for anything. My brother used to stuff cotton in his ears when I was cleaning, because I sang when I was cleaning and because he’s a little brat.” She shook her head. “Was. Was a little brat.”

Then she took a deep breath, the first I’d seen her take all night, although no air moved.

“I told my parents I could take lessons, and they kept saying they’d find me a teacher, but no one teaches voice lessons in this town. Taught. And driving an hour each way seemed like a lot of work to go through for something that’s not really going to do me much good anyway. I just really like, liked, like…” she trailed off.

“Maria?”

She shook her head.

“Maria, are you-”

She interrupted me. “What did you want to be? Do. What do you want to be?”

“I want to have a restaurant,” I told her.

“Restaurant?”

“I haven’t told anyone that, except my dad. My mom, my sister, even my friends don’t know. It sounds stupid, saying it out loud, but I love good food, I love cooking and making things for people and watching them smile.”

“What kind of restaurant?”

“I don’t know,” I laughed. “My own, not a chain. Something small where I get to decide what gets made and the food is always good. Except I’m like you and singing: I’m really bad at cooking. Most of the time when I try, my folks say it’s the effort that counts and choke it down but they’re not fooling anyone.”

“Cooking’s not singing, though,” she retorted, “that’s something you can learn. If you’re tone deaf nothing’s going to help you sing, but cooking anyone can learn. As long as you’re not one of those people who puts ketchup on ice cream.”

“Who puts ketchup on ice cream?”

“Wallace.”

“Who’s Wallace?”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. “My brother, remember? He’s…” she trailed off, suddenly staring out into space, then quickly looked down at her hands like she was studying them.

“Maria?”

“What did your dad say?”

“About what?”

“About owning a restaurant,” she responded, but she sounded a little distracted, even a little panicked as she kept staring at her hands. Or maybe through them.

“He said culinary school is a thing, but I should get a degree in accounting first. He says other people can cook, but if you’re going to run the business you’ll need to manage it or it won’t survive. He… Maria?”

Just then another cloud scraped across the moon and Maria faded. This time she lost more color, more form, and I could definitely see the bridge and the railing behind her.

“Maria?”

“Clive?”

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes snapped up to mine and she shook her head rapidly. Her eyes were sunken, bright but rimmed in dark. It was a little scary.

“No,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is… I don’t… this…” she started.

“Maria?”

“What happened to my brother?” Her gaze was piercing.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully, but I almost instantly regretted it. I was scare: what if it’s not the answer she wants? What if…

“I think your family left town at some point,” I went on quickly, “not too long after you fell. I’m not sure exactly, it was a long time ago I just know they’re not in town now.”

“They left? I fell last week! How could they…”

“Maria?”

The cloud left the moon and suddenly she was right in front of me, looking and feeling very solid as she grabbed onto my arms with her too warm hands. Her eyes were blazing white, staring at me out of the deep shadows of her face. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“Clive!”

I tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron.

“Clive, I don’t… I’m… ”

I wanted to tell her to let go. I wanted to tell her she’s scaring me. I wanted to tell her all that because I was fucking terrified all of a sudden, but I didn’t. Instead I asked: “are you okay?”

She shook her head violently, ghostly hair tossing around her face. “No, I’m really not.”

Then, just as suddenly as she freaked out, she collapsed against me. All her strength was gone, her fingers weak and clutching at my shirt. I found myself wrapping my arms about her, because that’s a totally normal reaction to having a terrifying undead specter who you think is about to eat your soul dropping into your arms.

“Maria?”

Her body was shaking, I could feel it, and for the second time that night I could hear her breathing. Except she wasn’t just breathing, she was crying.

“Maria?”

She didn’t answer, just cried, and for a ghost that could disappear without moonlight she was awfully heavy. I lowered myself to the ground, still holding her, until I was sitting on the cold, wet, wooden slats of the bridge with Maria shaking in my lap. I’d never held a ghost while she cried, before. I’d never held anyone while they cried before, this was an entirely new experience for me. What do you do when a ghost girl is crying in your lap?

“They’re gone!” she sobbed.

“Who?”

“Everyone! Everyone is gone and I’m dead! I’m dead and they’re all gone and they’ve… and here I am on this bridge, except I’m not! When Halloween is here and the moon comes out I am too, but the whole rest of the year I’m gone, sleeping or floating about or just gone! I don’t know! Then Halloween comes and what happens? Halloween comes and some horny town boy or three comes out here and I suck some dicks and then what? I’m gone again! Off to wherever!”

Then her words stopped and she just cried, shaking in my arms. I pet her hair, because that’s what you do when someone’s crying in your arms. It felt like hair, but warm, like the rest of her, which was just another topping on the salad of weirdness. I pet it anyway while she cried.

It went on for a while, it could have been minutes or it could have been an hour, I don’t know. After a time the crying died down, although her body still shook. She faded out and in a few times as clouds drifted in front of the moon. I realized I was rocking slightly and stopped, self-consciously, then started again. Maria sobbed silently.

After a time that stopped, too, and I was just holding her as the moon drifted across the sky.

A long time later, Maria spoke again.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I answered. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. But I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“I’m dead.”

“Didn’t you know that already?” I asked, gently rubbing her back. It was like the hair, it just felt like something you’re supposed to do. Her blouse was soft, and yellow. I hadn’t noticed the yellow before.

“I knew,” she said, “but I didn’t know. I knew, but I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking about it, didn’t let myself think about it, didn’t have time to think about it and when I did there were distractions.” She laughed a little at that.

“Sorry to break the spell.”

She glanced up at me then, and the scary terrifying soul eater eyes were gone. Now they were just her eyes, pale and ghostly white but with a lot more blue than before. In fact, all of her seemed to have more color now.

“No,” she said, “don’t be sorry for that. I feel like I’ve been asleep for twelve years and I’m just waking up.”

Maria pushed against my arms and I released her. She sat up, brushing pale brunette hair away with one hand and wiping at her face with the other. There were still tears in the corner of her eyes, and I realized my pants were wet from her crying. Not glowing white wet, just regular wet.

“I was scared,” I told her, because I felt like I needed to say it. I wasn’t sure if I was admitting something to her, admonishing her, or something else. “You got really creepy for a little. I was worried you were turning into a flesh eating ghost.”

She smiled at me. I was surprised, and delighted, to see it.

“What?” I asked.

“I am a flesh eating ghost. Or flesh sucking, at least.”

I chuckled, a little.

“Clive, I’m sorry I scared you.”

I shrugged. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She wiped her eyes again, glancing around suddenly. “I am. Okay. Actually I think I’m better than that, I feel…” she trailed off.

“What?”

“I feel like myself.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It is. It hurts, too, though. A lot. All the things I haven’t been thinking about, like my family, and Wallace? What happened to my brother? What the hell happened to all of them? What did me dying do to them? My friends, my boyfriend, I mean we were out on this bridge snogging right before I died what did that do to him?”

“Just snogging?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Just snogging, the rest was supposed to come after, and it was exciting and scary and it was all I could think about until that car came around the corner and we ran, and then I fell. Then I was dead and for some reason it was all I could think about again.”

“And now?”

She stared up for a second. “Maybe it’s a ghost thing. The compulsion. Or maybe it was how I was distracting myself so I didn’t have to think about it all. It was enough, for a while, it was what I wanted and I was happy with that, except I wasn’t, I was just using it to distract myself. Now, though? I feel like me, again, and I want a lot more than horny boys looking for a warm mouth and la petite mort.”

“La what?”

“La petite mort, it’s French, it means the little death. Also it means an orgasm, something about losing consciousness or time or your senses, like a little death. Except for me, when guys did it, it was kind of the other way around, it made me feel more alive to give that to them and maybe that’s why I did it.”

“You’re saying sex is life?”

“Sex makes life, so why not?”

“And blowjobs?”

She shrugged, grinning, and actually blushed. I could see the blush. She had a lot more color than before.

“Thank you,” she said again, “for talking. No one has ever talked before, and I think I needed it. It made me think. It made me stop hiding.”

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know,” she answered and didn’t sound displeased about it. “I feel awake, though, and free and I think that’s important. That means something.”

“Like maybe now that you’ve realized you’re dead, you can move on?”

Maria paused. “That hadn’t occurred to me. Maybe. I hope so, this bridge has a nice view but it gets old after a while.”

I tried for a laugh, but a smile was the best I could manage. Above us, a cloud brushed the edge of the moon and Maria dimmed for a moment. I glanced up at the sky and noticed that while it was black and dappled with stars to the east, it was grey and featureless to the west; a wall of clouds was moving in.

Maria stood up, looking at the clouds as well, so I followed suit. We both watched the grey shapes march across the sky, covering the stars one by one and drifting every closer to the moon.

“Storm coming,” Maria noted.

“Yeah,” I responded. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Then she would be gone.

Maria looked at me, an indecipherable expression on her face.

“What?” I asked.

“That means I don’t have much time left.”

“Left for what?”

Her expression broke into a sly smile. “To thank you properly.”

“Tha…” I trailed off as it hit me what she was talking about. “Oh, hey, no, you don’t need to do that.”

She took a step towards me. “Have to? No. Want to? Absolutely.”

“Maria…”

“I like pleasing people, didn’t I tell you that?” She stepped close enough to me that I could feel her warmth against my skin again.

“I like making them happy,” she went on, “and you’ve helped me more than I think either of us realizes yet. You might have saved my life. My dead life. I think that deserves a reward, and besides I’ve got a reputation to live up to. It wouldn’t do for you to come all the way out to Blowjob Bridge to get your gears greased only to drive away disappointed.”

“I’m not disappointed…” I started, not entirely sure why I was arguing as I felt her take my hands in hers.

“I know,” she said from inches away, and I thought I felt breath on my face, “but I want to. Let me.”

Then she slid down to her knees, hands still holding mine.

“Can I?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Do you want me to?”

“Very much.”

Her fingers released mine, then, going to work on my jeans. I leaned back against the railing because my legs were suddenly shaking. Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit.

“Thank you, Clive,” she said as the button came free and she started to tug at my zipper. “Thank you for stopping to talk. Thank you for making me think. Thank you for making me me again.”

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, watching her.

“And thank you,” she said as she tugged my pants and briefs down.

“For letting me,” she continued as my pants landed on the bridge and my dick was bared to the air, warmed by her presence instead of chilled like before.

“Suck your cock,” she finished. Then she took me loosely in one hand and kissed me.

“Oh shit,” I gasped.

She smiled and kissed me again, and again, then started to kiss her way down my shaft as I hardened against her lips.

“What should I do?” I asked as she started to kiss her way up the other side.

She made eye contact and smiled. “First time?”

I nodded.

She made a pleased noise. “You’ll never forget your first time.”

“I never would have forgotten you anyway.”

“The time you got your flute,” she licked me up, “played,” she licked me down, “by a ghost?”

“Where do you get these?” I laughed.

“What, play your skin flute? Peel your banana? Bob for apples? Pray to the pink priest?”

“What the hell?” I asked, laughing more.

She kissed me on the head again. “I’ve been out here for twelve years. I’ve learned a few things.” Lick. Smile. “Want to see what else I’ve learned?”

Oh shit. “Yes, please.”

Then I was in her mouth again, just the tip, and then more, and then more, and then I was halfway buried between her lips while her hand held me gently.

I put my head back and groaned.

She went down until I felt myself bump the back of her throat, then she pulled back. Down, up, down, up, and I was lost in the sensations of her warm, wet mouth surrounding me. My heart was racing, my legs were tingling, and Maria was making little happy moans around my dick in her mouth.

Then I felt teeth.

“Ah, no, fuck!” I gasped and she pulled off with a laugh.

“Flesh eating ghost?” She joked.

“No, fuck! No don’t do that!” I gasped.

She laughed again, then kissed me thoroughly and apologetically up one side and down the other. “I’m sorry.” Kiss. “Let me make it up to you.”

Then she was around me again, taking me in again as her tongue slid over my flesh..

“Oh shit, Maria…”

The happy noises returned, and her hand slid up to wrap around my shaft. She started to draw up, her hand following her lips all the way to the head, then took me deep again. She went slowly, gentle but constant, the way she had when we’d first met on the bridge and my eyes were closed. Then she slipped off me, still jerking slowly.

“Clive?” she asked.

“Uh-huh?”

“Look at me,” she said, as if she’d been having the same thoughts. “See me.”

So I did, and she was beautiful.

“I want you to watch me suck your cock. I want you to see my lips around you. I want you to see and hear how much I like having you there, and… I want you to remember me. And Clive?”

“Uh-huh?” Words are hard sometimes.

“Warn me, but I don’t mind it in my hair. Although,” she paused and winked, “I prefer it in my mouth.”

I made noises. She laughed, licked her lips, and surrounded me again.

She bobbed her head up and down, up and down, slowly, with her hand trailing after and sliding over my saliva slick flesh. She continued her noises, soft, quiet moans of contentment. I put my hand on her head, ran my fingers through her now very brunette hair, and the noises became more approving so I kept going. Her hair was almost brown, now, in fact all of her still glowed but the colors had become richer and the paleness was almost gone. Her hair was brown, her skin pink, her blouse yellow and her jeans blue. Her fingernails were yellow, too, and her eyes…

Her blue eyes stared into mine, and my heart hammered even harder against my rib cage.

“Maria,” I murmured.

“Mmhmm?” she answered.

“I’m not going to last long.”

She slipped off and kissed me. “Then don’t,” she said. “I want you to feel good. I want to make you feel good. So do it. Don’t last long. Let it go. Let it go for me.” Then her warm, wet mouth was back on me and her eyes were locked to mine.

“Do it for me,” she murmured around my dick, head bobbing, and suddenly she was sucking, actually sucking on my cock and it felt…

“Maria…” my toes tingled.

“Mmmhmm?” she asked, sucking, bobbing, eyes staring into mine.

“Oh shit, Maria…” my hips tensed.

“Mmm…” she moaned happily around me, pace never changing..

“Shit I’m gonna…”

My hands gripped tight against the railing and in her hair and…

“Oh shit!” Her mouth was small, suddenly, too small like she was sucking tight or I’d doubled in size or…

“FUCK!” I shouted out, hunching over the ghost of Maria McConnell as I erupted between her lips.