For the past few years, I've had a... Well, not a problem, per se... It's more of a manifestation, though the word sounds unnecessarily harsh. It started three years ago, when I was in the seventh grade. It was a mid-February evening, and I was just getting home from the Drop In (officially HOME Youth and Resource Center). I threw my backpack carelessly behind my doorway and hung my jacket up like usual. I was aware of my psychic abilities, precognitive dormancy and legodormancy (the ability to "entice" others and, while they are in a dormant state, accurately read their pasts, like watching a scrapbook of pictures taken as if their eyes were a camera). But I didn't know I was able to see ghosts.
My mother was shot and killed when I was less than a year old, and my father went to jail behind it. Approximately a month before that, my twin died suddenly, and nobody ever knew why. My maternal grandmother suspected a foreign entity, but she never told anyone. Apparently, it tried to kill me too. Maybe that's why I'm able to see them.
Something cold swept over me, and I got goosebumps. My paternal grandpa, who I live with, usually kept the house at 73 degrees Fahrenheit. The digits had just switched places. It only lasted a few moments, which struck me as odd. Sure, it was winter, but both of my windows were locked shut, my door was closed, and both fans were off. That night, I had went to bed after doodling for a while. The next morning, I woke up, and the papers had been spread about my desk. On the topmost page was written Japanese text. At that time, I couldn't read Japanese. I disregarded it and went to school like every other day.
After a few years, I'd gotten used to having a ghost around. He was quiet, respectful, peaceful. One night I got into bed, and as soon as I touched the quilt, something cold laid its hand on my groin. By then, I'd learned the entity's name. "Bailey," I said, "what are you doing?" That's when I first heard his voice. He had a beautiful tenor voice, which responded: "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." I was instantaneously robbed of the ability to speak. I started to harden as the friction added warmth to the odd sensation. Half of me regrettably wanted to stay. The other half was creeped right the hell out. But I stayed put as the spirit coaxed me closer and closer to orgasm.
It's now been almost four years. This year I'll be a sophomore. Bailey seems to age with me. In seventh grade, he looked like a seventh grader. Tonight he looks just as old as I am. As I look up at him from my keyboard, he smiles his cute uke smile and I can't help but smile back. This is the boy I can honestly say I love, the boy to who I gave my virginity, the spirit who I've had sex with many times.
It sounds like a bunch of bullshiat as I read what I just typed back to myself. Am I crazy? Clearly not - there are a bunch of other stories just like this. But still I wonder if I'm an idiot for loving a ghost. Every day, I fear I might come home and he's not there to welcome me. My brother Saxton and I are the only ones who can see him. My maternal grandma passed away in 2010. I never knew if she could see him or not. My brother pretends not to see him, because everytime he DOES see him, we're usually either sleeping together in the literal sense of the phrase or... You get it. Arr arr arr.
It doesn't make sense to me, though. Usually, ghosts aren't that vocal and really aren't that physical. Why is this one so unique, and why am I blessed to have him?
(Haha, wooow. You should hear him for yourself: "Tell the nice Internet people I say hi!" By the way, Bailey says hi...)