The Sidecar Tales 07 - Jenny 01

I had plenty of gas, and, in early summer, the weather was warm, but my GPS was down. I was lost in the back roads of Kentucky, around Sassafras.

It was evening and I knew that I had only about half an hour of effective light left. I'd by-passed a grimy mom-and-pop motel about an hour ago, and now I wished I'd stayed there, even if it was a dump.

I'd followed what looked like a state road, but which had dead-ended into a county road, and then into a township track, which had turned into hard-packed gravel. My Burgman + sidecar were just not off-road vehicles, and I got to thinking that I'd have to just find a couple of trees to tie my hammock to, when the track dead-ended in a brush-enclosed 'short-dumping ground,' full of trash, a couple of burned out cars and old mattresses.

The smell told me something largish had died a few days before, and it took only a minute to find the road-kill deer carcass, which I knew would attract bugs, birds and bears. No place for me to hang around.

I'd just started wrestling the scooter and sidecar around in the narrow space, when I saw, directly ahead of me, a narrow, two-lane track. I thought to myself, maybe there's a house at the end, or at least a hunting cabin or shelter.

So, I flipped the power button on the scooter with my left thumb, and cautiously eased forward down the track, in simulated 1st gear. It was one of those paths that are spaced about the width of a left and right set of Model-T Ford car tires, with weeds and small bushes growing between, and my scooter and sidecar just fitted. The track—you couldn't really call it a road—led around a curve, between two masses of rock that left little but the track between them, and surely prevented me from turning around, so it was forward or nothing.

I came out on a small clearing ... and was disappointed. There was no house, shack, shelter or anything. A lonely pile of roughly-shaped stones to my left announced that, at one time, there had been a chimney there, and probably a cabin, but I couldn't even make out the size out of what was left. The ground fell away on three sides of what looked like a little acre platform of earth-covered rock.

But, there were two trees positioned just perfectly for a man to swing a hammock, and I wasted no time in doing that, in the fading light. Six minutes, and I was set to sleep out. The air was still warm, and there weren't many bugs out. I heard a small splashing, and quickly discovered a small spring, flowing out of the rocks behind the tumbledown chimney. There was a largish, flat rock a few feet from my hammock setup, and I discovered quite a bit of dry, fallen wood on the ground, just to one side of a large bramble bush.

Off in the far distance was evidence of a strip-mining operation, with what looked to be a large dragline, but I had to use my monocular to see it.

Minutes later, I had a small fire going, and a few minutes after that, I was heating canned stew and munching crackers from my small cache of emergency breakdown foods, washed down with hot tea made from the spring water. Dinner followed, as I lounged back in the hammock, which served as a chair. The twilight faded to dusk and then to dark, and the stars came out in their tens of thousands, clear and cold.

I filled the stew can with water, three times, to ensure that all bits of my fire were out, and cold. I tested the ashes with my hand to make sure.

Easing back in my hammock and pulling the quilt under and over me, on the foam pad, I thought I spied a very faint glow inside the brambles, but, truly, I was very tired, and it could have just been the reflection of the sliver of moon on a bit of water there.

I'd rigged the tarp over the dark-green hammock, so that a nightly shower or the morning dew wouldn't soak me, and I'd put a dull, black cover over the Burgman and the sidecar. I knew that I'd have to leave an LED light on, if I had to get up in the night to pee, 'cause if I'd have gotten turned around, I'd never find my setup again in the dark.

Animals never bothered me, and—unless they could see in the dark—I was protected from any 'two-legged' predators, too.

I doubt if I lay awake more than five minutes before falling deeply asleep.

The dream that night had a surreal quality. I was surrounded by shadowless, soft light. Looking up from my hammock, I could see the cabin that was there, and the chimney was intact. There was a small trickle of smoke coming out of the opening.

I got out of my hammock and stood, looking.

The cabin was a shack, and I estimated about 10' by 15'. The large flat rock I'd cooked on was the front-door step. The ground around the cabin was cleared, and I could hear chickens somewhere, clucking and scratching.

I was me in the dream, and I looked around and saw my hammock, still attached to the trees. The bramble bush was gone, though. Over to the middle distance, there were roughly-cleared fields and what appeared to be a corn crop ripening. But, surrounding the whole area was a wall of mist, about a half-mile distance. This left the cabin, the spring, some woods and the crop visible, but the distance was totally obscured.

I heard a moan, and looked up. Standing in the doorway of the cabin was a young girl, in what appeared to be a cheap dress of gingham, with a scrap of a cap on her head. She was a sort of brunette, with intensely black hair, but green eyes, an odd and not unheard-of combination. She was slender, small but not tiny. She was barefoot and distinctly grimy.

She was holding one arm in her other hand, and I could see, even from thirty feet away, that her right arm was broken, and she was in a lot of pain.

We looked at each other for a few moments.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Tom Cattus." I added, "Uh, I'm not from around here. I needed a place to sleep."

She didn't say anything for a little time, and then smiled gently, and said, "Ah be Jenny. That thar be yar sleep sack?"

Looking back at my hammock, I smiled gently, too, and said, "Yeah."

She looked up at me, and then smiled a bit more, saying, "Come you in, th' latch-string's out." She turned and entered the cabin, and I followed her inside.

The shadowless light was inside, too. I couldn't tell where it was coming from.

The interior of the cabin was pretty bare. There was a small table, a couple of rough wood benches. There was a small iron kettle set onto a swinging arm, set into the side of the fireplace. The fire was small, and it looked like it was going to go out soon.

My damsel-in-distress genes reared up, as I said, "Jenny, do you need more wood?"

She nodded over in the direction of the stone hearth, where there were some chips and a couple of leaves, and she said, "it's all done now. I got no tea, neither."

Still standing, I said, "I'll get some more wood." I went back outside, and gathered up several armloads from around the property, and put them on the hearth. Jenny put the small logs on the fire and soon it sprang back up, alive and dancing.

Continuing to be worried, I asked to see her arm, which she placed on the trestle table. I reached out to touch her skin ... and my hand slid right through her arm and landed on the table.

Forcing down the urge to jump, I turned to Jenny, who was looking at me, eyes crinkling in what I thought was sadness.

"Uh," I thought frantically. Finally, I got up the nerve to say, "Jenny, give me your other hand."

Her pale hand floated through mine.

I fought down the urge to run away screaming

"Uh, one of us isn't real, Jenny. I'm pretty sure it isn't me. I, uh, think you're, uh, a ghost. I hope you don't mind if I think that, 'cause you're very pretty, and, uh ..."

I was babbling, and managed to shut my mouth, as her substance-less hand reached up to caress my cheek and face. I thought I felt a coolness, but couldn't be sure.

I heard her voice, clearly, but now that I was listening and watching, I could see it wasn't coming from her mouth. I just heard it, somehow, in my mind, as she said, "That thar haind be ghostly but it be mine. You be still hair, an' I bless thee for it. You be th' firs' who dain't run."

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"We be in thar dream as one, yea."

I looked at her arm, and asked, "How can I help you?"

She looked up at me, still sitting at her cabin table, and said, "I mus' be havin' sometin' of yars, somewhat alive, so's ah kin put m'ahm t' rights."

I looked at the lovely ghost, and voiced a fear, saying, "blood?"

She smiled again, more boldly, and answered, "Naht blood. Nevah blood. Sometin' tat be yars, yars a'lone."

She laughed, showing white ghostly teeth, which I now saw were a little transparent, as was the rest of her.

She added, smiling more broadly, and, reaching over with her other, whole arm and hand, flipped her ghostly gingham skirt up and away, displaying a bare, ghostly length of milky-transparent leg up to the hip.

"Thar white cream, from thy hard manhood," she laughed.

Standing, I opened my zipper, and reached into my pants for my hardening cock. When it emerged, my ghostly girl looked directly at it, and smiled even more broadly.

"Yah sure you dain't bring yah horse w' yah?"

I started the circular, pumping motion of masturbation, and looked at my ghostly lover-to-be, asking in a gasp, "Your dress?"

She laughed out loud, never taking her eyes off my red and dribbling cock, as it was encased in my pumping hand. Her dress just evaporated in mist, leaving her pale, slenderness bare.

Transparent and ghostly, yeah, but infinitely desirable. The jism built up in my cock. I stiffened, and, barely having a moment to aim, shot my month's worth of load directly onto her arm. The gray-white spurting stream shot into the transparency of what had been her flesh. It spread out, and slowly disappeared.

Jenny, my ghost lover, lifted her arm, and let me see that there wasn't a trace of semen on the ghostly cabin table.

I watched, as the ghostly bruised flesh of her ghostly transparent arm knit back together.

Looking down, I saw the last few drops of my semen dripping from my now-limp cock, into Jenny's up-turned palm, which somehow captured all of it. She raised that hand, and caressed my face. I could have sworn that there was a moment of contact, with the ghostly coolness.

I staggered a bit, as I tucked my depleted manhood back into my trousers. She smiled again, and said, "You go back thar to yar sleep sack. Stay hair with th' sun. Look at thar brambles. Come t' me next night."

Her dress re-formed around her, as I staggered back to my hammock, fell into it, and slammed into a totally deep sleep.

I woke the next morning, refreshed, in the mid-morning. There was no cabin. No fire. No Jenny. But, though I searched and sniffed, no evidence of spilled jism.

I'd jacked off on and into a ghostly woman.

Buried deep in the bramble bush, I thought I spotted a grave.

Digging out the emergency camp saw (so much more useful than a hatchet) and my old machete, I attacked what appeared to be a century of brambles. I cut and I hacked. I got punctured and slashed with the thorns. I hacked and slashed some more, and then sawed through what seemed to be miles of springy, thorny branches.

I rested in the middle of the day, had lunch of canned chili-con-carne and crackers and then attacked the bramble bush again, getting the upper hand by dusk. I did enough so that I could haul away most of it, pulling the mass of branches and thorns down the slope, beyond the mist-wall boundary of my dream.

I'd uncovered a rough grave, bounded by a few dozen rocks, and with a limestone headstone, one that had been broken into many pieces, many years ago.

I knew what I had to do. First, I re-arranged the rocks to form the elongated oval of the slightly-mounded earth. Then I gathered as many of the headstone pieces that I could find, before the light began to fade.

I had one can of pork and beans left and some crackers, and I ate those, with several cleaned cans of water to make more tea. I pissed, and fell into bed, having worked myself into exhaustion.

I awoke to the same shadowless light. I rose from my hammock and walked to the cabin door, where Jenny sat, swinging one foot. Totally nude. Stiil a little transparent. I knew what she wanted, and I wanted to give it to her. Badly!

Acting as if she could read my mind, she said, "Yea, ya'all kain gi' me yar white cream. But let us palavah a while. The latch-string is out for you, forever more. Come inside an' set a spell. Use yar eyes an' look at that thar girl y' see."

She walked nakedly into her cabin and I followed. I had no clothes, remembering that I'd stripped bare before falling asleep in my hammock. I was hugely erect, and Jenny looked at my rigid manhood with ... well, ghostly delight.

Her arms were healed and intact, although it was hard to tell as she was, after all, about ten percent transparent. I thought about all the jism I could pump into her, one night at a time.

She sat on her cabin's table, one leg drawn up, hands clasping her knee, and I sat on the bench, in front of her. It was not an innocent pose, but one of the most seductive, provocative poses a woman could do. I saw the slightly darker patch of ghostly fur—still partly transparent—that framed her pussy opening. Her opening that my questing hand simply slid into and landed on the table.

The analytical part of me asked, how can I not touch her but can touch the table, if all of this is a ghostly dream?

She looked down at my mortal hand, vainly trying to touch her, as I groped, and failed. She laughed a little sadly, as she said, "Thar canna be, yet. We be in thar dream as one, yea, but na as one flesh. Ahh, I be wantin' to be one flesh wi' thee, an' that is truth. If'n yah stay an' gi' me the white cream, ah'll grow strong, an' soon'r ah'll feel thar manhood. Ah sweah that thee wi'll as well, fer ah wants thar manhood. Ah wants that thar reah bad."

Trembling with what I was going to say next, I gathered my courage, and trembled out, "Jenny, why don't you just come into me and take what you need. I think I have enough extra for the both of us. Merge with me."

I saw her ghostly eyes widen, as she dropped her leg to the cabin floor and gracefully stood, holding her pale and see-through arms out to encircle me. I felt her flow toward and then into me, as my body settled into a mild chill.

Strangely, I felt nothing much, and was surprised when a still-nude ghost girl flowed back out. I was still hard and rigid, my balls pulled tight to my crotch, and my cock was forming pre-cum. She settled back on the table surface, in her former pose.

"Ah felt thar manhood. Ah did. But, nah, ah wi'll nah take yer powah from you, thar way. Though ah caint feel it, ah say, thee mus' give me thar spunk with thy hand. Ah wi'nah hav' it any othah way."

She lay back on the table, with her legs drawn up, and then spread open in the missionary-position way, and I grasped my hyper-sensitive cock, starting and quickly accelerating the pulling and wanking. I was so full and so sensitive, I couldn't last. I shouted and screamed as I directed my blasting jism into my ghostly lover's cunt—or, at least, where it should have been, if I could have felt anything. I shot and I shot and I shot. It felt like my balls had turned themselves inside out, and I'd been vacuumed of sperm.

Every spurt, every drop disappeared into Jenny's transparent pussy area. I held my softening cock inside her insubstantial body, until the last drop was taken by her.

Gasping, I fell back on the bench, and looked at her pussy area, as she resumed her previous position. No cream-pies for this ghostly maiden, as not a drop of jism was in evidence. She taken it all, and I was exhaustedly glad to give it to her.

As my breathing rate slowly returned to normal, I saw that, every few moments, she was changing position a little, so that, even as a see-through spirit, she was appearing new and fresh, constantly.

I said as much. She laughed aloud, and said, "Thee has eyes. Thee likes to look, so's ah kin make thee more pleased. Ah likes pleasin' thee."

She added, looking directly at me, her face suddenly serious, "An' when ah grow strong, if'n ah do, an' thar manhood touch me in any way, ah'll please thee in all ways."

She gracefully stood, and she beckoned me out the cabin door, when she walked around to the front. In the daylight, this was where the grave lay. In the soft, shadowless light of dream, I could see the grave was fairly new, and the headstone intact.

She pointed, and gravely said, "Thar do I lie. Leave it, I cannot."

I told her of my efforts to clear the gravesite in the sunlit world, and she smiled. "Thar be a good man. Ah felt the return of more strength, and thar be why, now yah'll tells me of thar's doin's."

"Jenny," I asked, "when I go into town for more supplies, can I bring back some things of my own time—from the daylight world—to fix your headstone. I'd like to make a rubbing of what might be carved there."

I had to explain what a rubbing was, but then she laughed, though without much humor. "Ah knows wh't be written thar. Mah name. My birth year, an' it be 1821. Mah death year, it be 1843. An' th' words. It say, 'Ah whore she was born; ah whore she lived; ah slut she died; here th' slut lies til' another slut cries.'"

She turned to me, and said, "Thar be no otha sluts around har nevah no more, an' none to cry, so's ah canna evah go. Nor do ah want thar, so's long as thee comes to me in thar dreams," and she encircled her substance-less arms around my neck, and pressed bare breasts that I couldn't feel into my chest.

My cock started to rise.

Damn't, it wasn't fair.

Jenny looked down and saw the stiffening evidence, not hard to do as we were still both naked. Wordlessly, she pulled me down to the grass, near to her dreaming grave. She whispered into my ear, "Now, lovah, now!"

Knowing that I was going to fuck grass, I aimed my hard evidence of manhood into the 'V' of her suddenly spread thighs and ...

Got the shock of my life, as my questing cockhead felt the slightest of touches. I felt her un-real hand cup and partly enter my ballsack, and I started into penetrating my spectral fuck-buddy. I thrust and shoved, shamelessly screaming out, 'Ah, you slut,' and 'fuck me, fuck me' at her, knowing that the term 'fuck' for sex wasn't in use when she lived, but not caring.

I held myself up by my rigid arms, and looking down, watched my mortal cock dive into and pull out of her see-through flesh.

I pounded, and then I came, screaming and shouting, and stabbing downward, pumping more white jism into my semen-craving ghost.

When I collapsed, there on the dreamlike grass, I felt her misty body just slip away from mine, and re-form, a foot or two from my gasping form.

Regaining my breath, I just asked, "How?"

Smiling broadly, she said, "Ah don' rightly know, but ah jus' knew, somehow, that thar cunt would be strong enough fer yah tah touch ... an' it be true."

She added, still nude, and still looking down, "Yar manhood is big. Ah dearly wan' more, if'n an' when yer mortal body's ready. Ah did do a bitty ting, an' ah helped y'along."

She made to help me up, but, of course, her hand and arms slid through mine, so I had to lever myself up and stagger toward the shadow of my hammock, flopping in and pulling the quilt over me.

She looked at my closing eyes, and smiled softly, bending and kissing my lips with hers, and me not feeling much of anything.

Because I was out like a light!

After getting up at mid-day, I ate my remaining crackers, then worked on the GPS some, and discovered that the problem was a broken wire in the power cord. I jury-rigged it, and got enough power, after re-boot, to get a high-precision 'fix' on my present position, so that I could program the system to find this place again.