Host for a Ghost


Auntie Carol shuddered when she thought of her last assignment. It had to do with an amorous ghost, the haunting of her close friend, Ludmilla Rumpus, a sandy haired, sleepy eyed beauty and a 45 Year old virgin.  Auntie Carol was hired to eject one Homer Jessup from Ludmilla’s house.  He simply would not vacate the premises no matter how strident were Ludmilla’s objections.  The problem was Homer was a non-person AKA a ghost, a spirit or what the black people call a “shade”

He was hopelessly in love with Ludmilla.  He loved her lush, plump body, her sharp mind, and even the nervous twitch in her eye.  Unfortunately, he was cold to Ludmilla in the literal sense. He was eight inches of icy cold, dast I say it…cock.  He caused her shivers and not shivers of passion.  Oh, me, no!  A troublesome dilemma at best.

This is not to say Homer did not properly court her.  Dead roses on her pillow and little faint love sonnets written in her writer’s script note book, and the scent of eucalyptus  in the air.   He oft put a glass of chardonnay, a petit for, and a cherry filled chocolate bar on her night table.  At first she thought it was she herself who was hallucinating, or worse that she might be a multiple personality, doing all these things herself.  She was beside herself, so to speak.

Then he began getting into bed with her, timidly caressing her ample breasts and tracing little art scenes in  her Mount of Venus.  He was terrifically fond of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights.  It was then that she realized she had a spirit invasion on this occasion.  Also she began to see him  in a misty form, a  very average man in short sleeved white shirt and black pants with a Walmart badge pinned to his shirt which read “Homer Jessup”.  He was terribly thin and tall like a stalk of ripening corn, with his brown hair parted on the side like a little boy in grade school, and dolorous brown eyes like pools of maple syrup. He had a crooked smile like a grinning alligator. He lacked charm and wit, and was not at all attractive she mused, and not at all suitable aside from being a ghost.  Ludmilla wanted a more romantic lover like Rudolph Valentino or the legendary Sir Lancelot, a man who would slay dragons for her, and give her the world on a string.

She wanted such a man to beat a path to her door and sweep her off her feet. The imaginary script ran through Ludmilla’s head about every tenth thought.  It was this yearning that summoned Homer from his ghostly habitat.  Yet, there was the real fact that Ludmilla was an agoraphobic and a romance writer making a meager living.  Now she had this intruder and it was too delicate a problem for the police who would cart her off to the farm of funny if she mention their nocturnal  trysts.  Psychics wanted too much money and it always involved sacrificing a live goat drinking his blood and calling for the Lord Jesus.  “Harumph,” she thought, “I know the Lord does not make house calls!”  Ghost hunters wanted to spray her apartment with a sticky green substance resembling, and tasting like lime jello.  Our Ludmilla, though hampered in many ways, was no foul fool.

So, Auntie Carol of the Primrose Detective agency was whom she called in.  Being her dear friend and having a bare cupboard was the deciding factor in taking the job. At first, she appealed to his ego saying things like “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a situation like this?”  “And you know no gentleman would force a lady to perform sexually.” And, “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you know, for men living and dead, such as yourself.”  Then she became more bombastic saying, “You know you’re dead, why don’t you just go to your final resting place and leave this poor damosel alone?  Why don’t you Join the Lord in heaven.”

A pen began writing in Ludmilla’s note book, and need I mention only Ludmilla could see him through the mist.  This is typical in stories such as this.  Auntie Carol read his communiqués.

“Don’t want to, and more succinctly, I didn’t like Him.  Such a gladhander.”
And Auntie Carol drew back is dismay.  “How could you not like our Lord, Jesus?”
He replied, “Don’t like Father and Son but the Holy Ghost is fine by me.”
“Is that professional courtesy?” Inquired Auntie Carol.
“Yep,” he said, “Besides Ludmilla loves it when I come.” He wrote with such bragadochio.
“She’s a regular wild women and I never had better sex.  In fact, this is the only sex I ever had. Girls usually left abruptly after desert saying they had to  tend to dying parents and such.”

Reading the script, Ludmilla replied Indignantly.  “When you come it’s like an ice water douche. Haven’t I told you a thousand times to leave me alone?  Besides, I’m frigid…already.”
“Me thinks the Lady Doeth Protest Too Much.  If not why do you do all that screaming, and gnashing of teeth.  You are very orgiastic,” he further wrote.

“No, silly, I’m an epileptic. I was having seizures not orgasms.  And I do not like those naughty sex toys you stick up my derierre, and that cock ring you wear which falls off because you are like plasma.  And why do you have that life size rubber foot with a vagina on the back of it!  I think you’re the weirdest person I ever met, and I want you to leave me alone,” retorted Ludmilla.

“Homer,” queried  Auntie Carol, “Is this the first time you ever had sex with a woman?”

“Well, technically, yes,” he wrote, “if you don’t count the blow up dolls.  I quit that because it was too much like having sex with a dead person.”
“I know there’s a joke in this somewhere,” replied  Auntie Carol.  “I think I have the solution to this particular problem.  There is this acquaintance of mine, named Wanda Lust, Crack Whore, and I bring her in in my more difficult cases.  She will have sexual congress with you and you’ll be begging her to stop.  And she’s never frigid.  She doesn’t care if you’re alive or dead:  she’ll have sex with you.  There’s the matter of her fee.  $1000 per night.  Do you have any money, Homer, you hid before your “unfortunate demise?”

“Look in the shoebox under the bed,  There’s $5000  there my severance pay from from my last clerical position, and last time on earth.  I got hit by a bus, and nobody came to my funeral.  I was going to haunt all of them but decided that would be too malicious  but I do go by their houses at night and leave their refrigerator doors open at night so all the food rots.”
“Wanda Lust will solve both your problems.  Once Wanda has a man has Wanda, he doesn’t want anyone else,” Auntie Carol interjected.

“Well I didn’t like your cold intrusions into my private orifices not on little bit and now I find you been holding out on me, astardbe!”Intoned Ludmilla.
“Gold digger and cunt,” came the furious writing and many things maligning Ludmilla’s character which will not be repeated.

“Now is no time for contretemps.  We’ve got the solution.  Wanda will be by at 12:00 midnight.  A solution is at hand, and you, Ludmilla, shall find my bill in the mail Monday. Today Is Friday the 13th.  How odd. Odd Bodkins!  I just had to say that little turn of phrase,” chuckled Auntie Carol.

As the clock struck twelve, Wanda rang Ludmilla’s door bell and stood in full vampire regalia, a black see through camisole with green interlaced ribbons, a purple cape lined with red satin, black patent leather thigh high pirate boots and a cat of nine tails.  And she had a purple streak on the top of her Afro.  She rightly assumed he would like a dominitrix would thrill an inexperienced person.

Her first command was, “Spirit slime, you gone kiss mistress’s shoes and I better see a sincere effort. I wants to see my face in them boots when you done.  Then you gone pleasure yo’ mistress where the moon beams don’ shine and I demands an hour.  I gone enthrall you and transport ya to goddamn heaven.  You gone have the attentions of Miz Wanda Lust, World’s Finest Concubine.  And after we done you gone gladly pay my fee for the time of yo’ life. I aint give a shit that you a shade.  I sez come one, come all.”
Wanda Lust, ever the Whore Extraordinaire.

Share This:

About Carol Bond

I, auntiecarol69, am a poetry and prose writer. My comic Novella, CATFISH JOE is on Barnes &, & I have two other unpublished properties, a book of Noir Poems of Tainted Love, a full length novel (LA GITANA) that is about a Machiavellian 17th century gypsy who becomes courtezan to Louis XIV, the Sun King. I got my degree in English & anthropology. It has been as useful as a bullet to the head. I write The Black Orchid, Wanda Lust a & Auntie Carol. Lynda or Lady Lynda creates the Lady Lynda & Seymour Toze part of the BLOG. A brilliant person and my co-writer, Lynda got her degree in art history. We both try not to get historical (hysterical).
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.