Kyle
I walked up to the front gate of the abandoned paint factory, not sure what I was expecting it to look like. When I saw it, I wasn't sure why I had thought it would look like some sinister haunted house. It was nothing more than a shell of a building with a few broken windows – not sinister, just sad. I searched the perimeter of the fence to find the broken section that had been described to me. I hadn't been told much about the place, only how to get in and what I could experience when I did.
I found the gap and squeezed through, then made my way to the loading docks in back. When I turned the corner, I jumped, startled at the man who was back there, leaning against the crumbling wall. The man was young, well-dressed, well-groomed, and extremely attractive for a guy. I was immediately hit by an instant wave of envy.
"Hey sexy," the man said with a wolfish grin that made me squirm. "You here for me?"
I stood there for a moment, transfixed. The guy was gay and hitting on me? "Uh...no," I stammered. "I think I'm in the wrong place." I turned to leave, but paused when the stranger spoke.
"Here for the ghost, then," he said. I turned and gave him the briefest of nods. "Alright then, let's see what you got. I can tell you right here whether you'll have any luck or walk away with blue balls. Lift up that baggy shirt so I can see your pants, then turn around."
"I don't think so," I told him. "Like I said, I'm not here for you. Are you going to stop me from going inside?"
He laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it, kid. And trust me, your lack of interest in me killed my wood. I want you to spin because I know what will make the different ghosts manifest. I can tell you pretty quickly if you will get one to show up and which one you'll get."
"Wow, really?" I was definitely surprised at that. "Alright, I guess I can do that. You promise you won't touch me?"
"I don't touch guys who don't want me to," he said curtly. "I have morals."
"Sorry," I said softly. I pulled my shirt up above my waist and did a slow spin. When I was done, the man was shaking his head. "What?" I asked.
"One ghost only shows up if you have a nice backside. You're severely lacking in that department," he told me. It was a bit of a blow to the ego to hear that I was unattractive to someone, even if it was a ghost. "Two of them won't show up if you're alone. They like to work as a team. You're not dressed right for the fourth, and that's the one you're probably here for anyway. The last only goes after gay guys. Come back with button fly jeans and you'll get what you came for."
"That's really weird," I said. "Why would that be necessary?"
The man shrugged. "Because this particular ghost has a fetish. I don't pretend to understand."
I didn't understand either. "And you're sure nothing will happen at all if I go in like this? I don't own any of those, and I don't know if I'll get a chance to come back. I had to make a lot of excuses to get away from everyone."
"I have never been more positive about anything," the man said. "If you want this bad enough, you'll come back."
Something come into the front of my mind. "Why don't you go in and get the one who likes gay guys?"
"Sometimes I do," he said. "I prefer the living. If a guy comes for the gay ghost, sometimes I can be with them instead." I nodded. It made perfect sense, and explained why he was here in the first place.
"Can I give you a bit of advice before I leave?" I asked. The man shrugged, but gave a hand gesture for me to continue. "Maybe you should greet guys by asking which ghost they're here for. For those of us straight guys who are ok with your people, it's less creepy, and it will protect you from being attacked by guys who are less diversity-minded."
The man laughed. "Oh, you are definitely a product of the 90s. Thanks for the advice, but I'll be fine. I'll see you later, kid."
"The name's Kyle," I told him over my shoulder as I walked away.
"I don't use names here," he called back. "Prefer to keep it anonymous."
It was a week before I came back, but I did actually follow through with it. I was feeling desperate. It had taken a bit of hunting through newspaper circulars, and a lot of storytelling to get to the mall alone, without my 14 year old sister and her friends, or my autistic 10 year old brother, but I managed it. Getting my mom's car always came with strings attached. Once I had gotten the jeans to the car, I had ditched the Mervyn's bag and receipt, and hid them inside the emergency blanket in the trunk of my mom's car. This whole thing would have been easier if I wasn't 17 and in a very full household of busybodies. Everyone thought my business was theirs, and it was ridiculously hard to go anywhere alone. They also didn't knock when they came into my room, like, ever. It made getting off impossible. The next morning, before anyone was up, I had retrieved the jeans and stashed them in my room.
Right now, I was on my bike with a backpack on my back and two pairs of jeans on. My parents thought I was going to the library to study. The outer pair was one my mom had bought, and the inner was the pair I needed. I had to hide the new pair because she knew what I owned and what I didn't, and there would be questions I didn't want to answer. My problem at the moment, however, was exhaustion. The first time I'd been here, I'd done the 7 mile bike ride in one pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and without the backpack. On top of all the other layers, I was also wearing a button-up flannel over my t-shirt, because it went with what I was wearing and I wasn't thinking about the bike ride.
I squeezed my bike and all my things through the fence opening, making the damaged section much worse, then I walked it all around to the back of the building. When I saw the same man from before, I didn't jump this time. He looked at me and laughed.
"You're drenched," he said. "And you're dressed wrong again."
I dropped my bike over and let my backpack land on top of it. Then I sat down on a large rock. Luckily, the sun was on the other side of the building, so I was in the shade. After resting for a minute, I peeled off the outer pair of jeans to reveal the correct ones underneath, the same pale blue as the first. "Seven miles," I panted. "Seven miles with all of that on, just for this. It better be worth it."
"Holy Moley, kid," the man said. "That is definitely some dedication. You must have no way to get off outside of this, or you wouldn't have gone through so much trouble."
"Guessed it in one," I replied. "Do I fit the bill now?"
"Yeah, you're good. But I'm going to give you some advice of my own to thank you for yours last time. Rest a bit and cool off. You'll have a better time if you're comfortable before going in." It was sound judgment, so I took it. As I sat there, I told the guy my situation, how I couldn't do anything or go anywhere without being grilled about my life story, how I had zero privacy, and so zero love life.
"Poor straight boy," the man said. "If you liked men, all you would have to do is tell a gay guy. A pretty redhead like you would be snatched up in seconds. They'd take care of the privacy part for you and you'd be walking funny for a week, but your balls would be empty. Girls just don't get sex, especially teenage ones. The ones that do get it are treated like whores and trash, and it's the straight guys that do it to them. They really want a girl to sleep with over and over, but they don't admit that in public. What they tell everyone else is that they want a good girl to marry and have kids with, and then cast shame on the girls they secretly want. Morons, the lot of you, making yourselves miserable pretending not to want what you want."
I wanted to stick up for us, but I didn't have anything to come back with. "Yeah...," was all I managed to say on the topic. He didn't have much to say after that, either.
After I was rested and mostly dry, I asked him, "is there a good spot in there to go for this?"
"Dead center, directly under the catwalk. Someone set up a nice chair there," he replied.
"Thanks," I told him. I stood up and my jeans, which were a size too large, tried to slide down. I pulled the belt out of my other pair and put it on. The correct waist size was too form fitting, since baggy was what was in style with my regular friends. Plus, I liked to move around. "I hope she likes me. Wish me luck."
He gave me a quick visual appraisal. "No luck needed," he finally said. "This will absolutely happen."
The Stranger
After the kid left, the man quietly called for the ghost Kyle was after. When it appeared before him, the man grinned. "Stay invisible for him," he instructed. "He thinks you're a girl." The ghost rolled his eyes, but nodded and dissipated. The man grinned as he himself headed in to watch.
Kyle
I immediately felt better than I had before, walking around in just the one pair without all the sweat and heat on me. I tucked a small portion of the front of my shirt in to make the button fly visible. I wanted to make sure this ghost knew I was here and ready. I set my clothes and backpack down just inside the door. I planned to get changed right away when this was over, and put the jeans I was wearing into the backpack for the ride home. I wanted to change inside, and not where the stranger could see me.
Looking up, I noted where the center catwalk was and my position in relation to it. From there, it was simple to work my way around the machines and vats, over to the chair the man had told me about, in the large open space of the factory. My heart was racing in anticipation. I was scared for this to happen, but scared that it wouldn't at the same time.
I braced my nerves to take the final steps to the chair, wondering how long it would take to be sure, but I didn't wonder for long. Before I could take a step, and invisible hand touched my chest, making me jump. As it moved around, slowly, my built up lust made me exhale sharply. I started to look down to see my shirt move, but soft lips pressed against mine. I closed my eyes instinctively and leaned into the kiss. I felt her hands against my face, pulling me in harder, down toward her face more, and I was more than willing to go with it.
As the kiss went on, her hands moved down, sliding gently down my neck, then onto my collar. My breathing started getting heavier as they gently brushed their way down my chest, in the direction of my hardening member. I gave a small whimper when she touched my abdomen. Then she reached my long braided belt and stopped. She broke her kiss and I felt movement. Looking down, I saw the dangling part of the belt slip out of the loop and stretch out straight in front of me. When I felt the pull, I realized she was pulling me toward the chair by my belt. Hot.
We reached our destination and I let her guide me into place and sat down when she pressed gently on my shoulders. It was definitely more of a sturdy lounge chair than a regular dinner chair. Someone with an eye for relaxation put it there. A soft press guided me to recline back into the curve of the chair.
A soft kiss at the side of my neck accompanied the top button on my shirt coming undone. A tongue across my ear came with the second button, and a gentle bite on my earlobe for the third. I was writhing in pleasure as she slowly popped open the rest of the buttons. When my flannel was completely open, she slid it off my shoulders and dropped it on the floor next to us, then pulled off my t-shirt and put it on top. Now my chest was bare and she really started on me, kissing, touching, nibbling, anything she could do to make me squirm, and I loved it.
Finally, there was a soft brush below my belt as she touched me through my pants. Because of all the build up, the touch nearly sent me over the edge right there, but I managed to keep it in. Her hands held onto my hips as she kissed her was down my chest and stomach, finally reaching my belt. Before this, I'd never thought the act of removing a belt could be sexy, but she made it that way with her slow teasing, and it was working me up as the leather crept bit by bit past each belt loop.
That was when she started feeling me up. Her hands proceeded to stroke and caress every inch of my lower half that wasn't against the chair. I looked down as I saw the jeans moving around, seemingly of their own accord, against my legs. Every time her hands worked my bone from the outside, it looked like the jeans themselves were jacking me off. It was odd to see, but it felt really good, so I wasn't about to stop it. To keep me from shooting, she would back away from my dick periodically to stroke the jeans somewhere else. She continued like that for a long time, possibly even a half hour, though I wasn't keeping track. I was getting a definite sense of what the stranger had meant when he said the ghost had a fetish for the jeans. A regular girl would have moved on to something else after a couple of minutes.
After a while, I felt more than hands. If I wasn't mistaken, I would guess she was rubbing her face on my pants. I almost stopped her because it was so weird, but it was like she could sense my discomfort and she changed her tactic. I watched the buttons pop open one by one, and then her hands went to my hips. She tugged down at the sides and I raised my pelvis off the chair to help her. She slid the jeans and boxers down, but then did something that surprised me at the time. It shouldn't have, considering what she was after, but I wasn't expecting it. She pushed my boxers down more, but then pulled the jeans back up. I watched as they buttoned back up, with the boxers bunched up down my thighs, my ass and dick touching the jeans instead of underwear now.
Her mouth started working my penis through the jeans, and my breathing sped up again. Because they were so loose, she could wrap them most of the way around my dick, making a sort of sleeve, that she could move back and forth on. I think the was holding the jeans tightly wrapped on me at both ends as she sucked, and I watched as the denim got wetter and wetter. I squirmed as she worked faster and faster, bringing me close to the edge.
"I'm gonna cum," I told her, so she could get my dick back out. She didn't, instead focusing her attention on the head of my dick through my jeans. I was too close and knew I had to get it out myself before I shot my load. I reached down the the top button, and my hands got pushed away. I panicked. She was going to make me shoot, but my dick wasn't out...and then it clicked. That's what she wanted. I closed my eyes, threw my head back, letting it happen. The warm tingle spread through my body as I blew jet after jet of cream inside my jeans, groaning out with pleasure with every spurt.
I collapsed, panting, wet and sticky, but feeling amazing. Invisible lips met mine in what I knew was a parting kiss. As soon as I got my strength back, I made my way to the back door to get changed. I wiped my cum off my thigh with the button fly jeans, then folded them and stashed them inside my backpack. Putting the old pair back on and tightening my belt, I slung my backpack back onto my shoulders and walked out. The stranger wasn't there, so I just grabbed my bike and left.
**
The Stranger
Up on the catwalk, the stranger leaned against the railing with a grin on his face. The ghost had done a stellar job, and watching Kyle squirm under the attention of another male, thinking it was a girl, turned the stranger on like nothing else. After the teenager left, the stranger summoned the same ghost and fucked him to relieve himself.