Chapter Five

My phone buzzes, the name Leigh flashing up on the screen. I swipe open the call, putting it on speaker so I can keep chopping potatoes. I've been living here a few weeks, and it turns out that none of my flatmates know how to cook more than the absolute basics. Josh had his girlfriend cooking for him the last time she was over, and I had to bite my tongue before I made a comment about weaponised incompetence.

"You're actually cooking a roast?" Heath had asked me earlier as he passed by the kitchen.

"What? Like it's hard?" I'd replied, doing my best Reese Witherspoon impression, which I actually think is pretty fucking good, but it was obvious that he didn't get the reference.

"Hey!" I say now, bending over my phone.

"Hey! Look, I've got a favour to ask. I know we discussed you having one more week on doors et cetera, but Nate has a family emergency, and he's got to get back over to Aussie for a bit. If I send you the videos of his usual routine, do you think you could do it?"

"Um, I mean yeah. Yeah I can, but I'm gonna need a bigger helmet." Nate's whole thing is him being a biker, which I don't really get, because he's such a pretty boy that it seems like a waste to cover his face with a bike helmet, but the audience seems to love it.

"Yeah, I already figured that. I've got one for orcs, but it's second-hand if you're ok with that? It belonged to my ex."

Her tone is laced with bitterness. Yikes. "Yeah, that'll do. Okay. Should I grab that today then? I'm in the middle of making dinner, but —"

"I can drop it off, I've got your address. I'm about to head out now anyway. Thank you for this!"

I shrug, even though she can't see me. "It's part of the job, right? I'm happy to help."

It's been dark for hours by the time I finally make it over to Rose's place. I bring the helmet with me because it's impossible to practise in my bedroom, and I have 24 hours to get this routine right before I'm up on stage in nothing but a g-string and this thing on my head.

"I thought that perhaps you weren't coming tonight," Rose begins as she greets me at the door, her eyes roaming over my face. "I'd not blame you; my company is not all that good."

"Bullshit. I love spending time with you. Why would I tidy up this place for hours just to never come here again?" I step inside, lifting the other item I've brought along: a battery-powered lantern. I close the front door behind me, then switch the lamp on, and Rose gasps in surprise.

"Oh that's delightful, and so bright! It fills the entire room."

"It's nice right? You can keep it here, if you like. You don't have to live in the dark the whole time."

She flashes me a sad smile, her head tilting as if to say don't be silly . "I don't think I'm capable of turning it on. I can't seem to be able to interact with anything in here apart from the surface I'm standing on, and the chair there ," she says pointing to one of the wooden chairs that I righted as I was tidying today. "I tested it out earlier tonight; I can sit on it! It's the first time I've sat down in a long time, or at least I think it is. Whenever I'm here I'm usually just standing."

"Oh, right. Well, I'm here to turn yo— it on, whenever you want me to. Apart from Friday and Saturday nights; I won't be back until late on those days." I hope she didn't catch my Freudian slip there, though from the twitch of her lips I think she did.

"When you go to your dancing job?" I'd briefly explained stripping to her last night.

"My job as a male entertainer, yeah. Does it bother you?"

There's that head tilt again, though I can't tell what she's thinking. "It's hard to know how to answer that when I don't have any understanding of it in my mind. You say you dance for these people — mostly women — and that you are nearly naked… and I cannot picture it."

I figured that. "Well," I say, "today might be your lucky day, because I brought this over here so that I could practise the new routine for Friday. I hope you don't mind, but there's no room at my place. I need to learn this so that I don't make a fool of myself up on stage."

Her eyes are round as she stares at the helmet. "That's a form of head protection, yes? I've seen people wear them while riding their motorcycles past this house. Why would you wear that?"

"Because some people — a lot of people — have a thing for men in masks."

"A thing?"

Part of me wonders if I'm corrupting her, but I brush that thought away as quickly as it appears. That's some old-school puritanical bullshit right there; there's no corrupting her. There's nothing to corrupt, because there's nothing wrong with sex and sexual attraction, nothing wrong with enjoying the sight of bodies up on stage and doing all the sexual things that make us people .

She was twenty-two when she died, and I find it hard to believe that a pretty woman like her didn't experience anything, anyway.

"Attraction," I say now. "Men in masks, it turns people on."

Her eyes travel over my body, lingering on my pecs and my stomach, where I know the outline of my abs is visible through my white t-shirt. Her eyes drop lower still to my thighs, before finally landing on my crotch. When she looks back up at me, there's a heat in her eyes that I haven't seen before. "I can understand that," she says quietly. "Though it seems a shame to cover up your handsome face. I would quite gladly look at all of you."

Well damn. "All of me?"

Her smile is flirtatious and knowing, and she bites her lower lip for a moment. "Everything you're willing to show, yes."

"I'll show you it all, baby." It's such a lame fucking thing to say but she giggles — giggles — and bites at her lower lip again. She is the prettiest little elf, or whatever she is.

God, I wish she were alive. I want to see her cheeks flush pink with a rush of blood, to touch her and feel her skin under my fingertips. I want to know what delicious things she smells like. I want to taste her on my tongue.

I just want to be able to hold her.

I'm half-hard and getting more aroused by the second, and there's not really any hiding it given the fact that I am a seven and a half foot tall orc. I grab my dick through the fabric of my jeans, quickly readjusting myself, and clear my throat as I glance away for a second. "I really do need to practise this routine for tomorrow," I say, daring to look at her again.

She nods. "Please do. I would love to watch."

"Alright then."

Going through the routine is more technical than sexy, at least at first. I play the videos of Nate that I've been sent on my phone, Rose peering over my arm, her eyes wide as she watches a strip show for the first time. We chat on and off as I replay it again and again, practising each individual step, the hardwood floors creaking under my weight.

Rose sits on her chair, her elbow leaning on the table and her chin in her hand while I slowly piece together every part of the dance. Every hip roll and pop and thrust is designed to look as sexy as possible, and I know it's working on her by the way her eyes stay focused on my body the entire time. I keep the helmet off and most of my clothes on, my long hair tied in its usual half-up style with a small top-knot — one of the only traditionally orcish things I tend to do — and pretend to strip at the right moments, not bothering to actually take my clothes off. My jeans do have to go when they start hampering my mobility as I get down onto my knees, though by then I'm warm enough that I don't care that I'm down to my boxer briefs.

"You have to imagine this as a g-string," I tell Rose at one point, as she continues to gnaw at her bottom lip in that hungry way of hers.

"Is that what your friend was wearing? The little loincloth-type contraption?"

"Yeah. Like this." I pull the hem of each leg up as best I can, tucking the fabric into my asscrack. It feels uncomfortable, but her laugh as I wiggle my ass in her direction is worth it.

"You have a very lovely bottom, sir."

"Why thank you, milady." I grin at her undignified snort. "Sorry, that was the wrong century. I don't know why I went back to the Middle Ages for that one."

"Hmm." The humour fades from her face, until her eyes are sad in the way they were in those first days when I saw her. I know what she's thinking — that so much separates us still. She's here, but she's really not.

"Where do you go, when you leave?" I ask suddenly, the question spilling out like half my questions do.

"I don't know," she says with a small shake of her head, and there's a terrified look in her eyes. "I don't remember anything other than being here. And…"

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn't say anything further. "And?"

"I have no memory of any time before you. I was alive, living in this house in nineteen fifteen, and then when I was next here, I was like this, dead . I know there's more to it. When I start to go each night, I feel…" She shakes her head. "I can't even tell you what I feel because it's as if every time I go to examine the feeling it slips out of my grasp. I know there's something there but I can't explain it. Have you ever looked at the stars, when they're fading just before dawn? They're there in your periphery, but when you look at them directly, sometimes you can't see them because they're too faint, and then they're gone. It feels like that, like something is stealing half my mind, and it terrifies me." She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I don't have any more answers for you."

I shake my head. "You don't need to apologise. You're the one that's in this situation. I just want to help you, Rose. I'm not a religious man at all but fuck , I'm praying for a miracle here."

She nods. "I am too."

"I thought I saw something out my window, that evening when I moved in."

"When I first appeared here like this, I appeared in the backyard," she points. "I don't know how I knew, but I knew instantly that I was not alive in the usual sense. And everything was so different. I saw you in your room and panicked and hid."

So it was her. I smile, imagining it. "I guess the sight of an orc would have been pretty frightening, the first time."

She shakes her head, eyes wide. "No! It was a surprise for sure, but no , look at me, " she gestures to herself. "I am a ghost! The panic was over my own appearance, not yours. I was fascinated by you. You're very handsome, and you have the kindest eyes." Her expression turns thoughtful. "You were unpacking things from boxes long into the night, and you seemed so incredibly… I don't know," she adds in a rushed whisper, "you seemed lost in the same way that I felt."

There's a lump in my throat, and my eyes are burning. I nod. "I was."

"I don't think you are now. What you're doing, it's good. You're so very good at it, and when you tell me how it is for women — that they can go to your show and enjoy this, and be happy — I just think, it's a gift. You are gifted at this, but you are the gift… you are doing a good thing. I wish women had this freedom when I was alive."

"I'm not… I'm still pretty lost, Rose." My mouth works, but I can't seem to put what I need to say into words, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm not lost when I'm with you."

She nods vehemently. "You found me. You found me , Zak. I'm still afraid, but I would be so much more of a mess without you."

"Ditto," I croak. Two syllables is all I can manage right now.

After a break for some water and a snack — my excuse to allow me to calm the fuck down before I go and have a cry in front of Rose because she means more to me than anyone else ever has before and I don't know what to do about it — I'm ready to start practising again. I've run through the solo part of the track without mistakes, so it's time to add on the final part, pulling up a member of the audience, sitting them on a chair, and giving them a lap dance worth remembering.

I watched it through with Rose earlier, and now grab an old chair from the dining set, sitting it in the centre of the room. I mime to an audience member that isn't there, rolling my hips over an empty chair in time to the music, going through the motions but not really vibing with it the way I was earlier.

What Rose said about not knowing where she goes freaks me out. That she has no memory, that there is nothing between her mysterious death and now. It terrifies me that she doesn't know what she is species-wise, and that there is so much uncertainty. I hate it when she fades away every night. It scares me that I'm falling in love with a ghost.

"Zak."

Rose's feet are soundless on the wooden floor. She walks over to me, pausing for a moment as she stares up into my eyes. "May I sit?" she asks quietly.

"Of course." I gesture to the chair I've been using as a prop. "Go ahead."

I don't know why I'm nervous, but I suddenly am. It's because it's her. " Do you want me to dance for you?"

"Yes. With that thing on, too," she adds with a smile, pointing to the helmet. "And your shirt off. I want the full experience."

I think back to what she said, about women having freedom in this time. Things aren't perfect, but they're certainly an improvement on the limitations Rose would have dealt with. The fact that Rose is here, demanding what she wants, makes me happy. She's right; it is a gift to share it with her.

"Alright then."

I pull off my shirt, leaving it atop my discarded jeans, and tie my hair back completely so I can slip the helmet over my head easily. There's something about putting on a costume that I've always found helps me properly immerse myself in a character, and this is no different. With the helmet on, I'm not Zak here, just a dancer for my audience, here to give her the best fucking time of her life.

I move to the beat of the music with ease. I've always loved dancing, loved how alive it makes me feel, my body speaking in ways I could never articulate with words.

There are so many things I want to tell Rose.

She chews on her lip again, big eyes scanning over my body, as if she doesn't quite know where to look to take it all in. I don't think I've ever been so aware of how tiny she is as I am now with her perched on the chair, her fingers gripped tight in the fabric of her skirt. I grab the back of the chair with both hands, caging her in, rolling my hips in time to the music, my crotch in her face and that cool feeling I always get around her even more intense against the bare skin of my stomach. It's all part of the act, but it quickly feels like more when I hold out my hands and she places hers in mine. We're not really touching as I guide them to my chest, but I swear I feel the icy brush of her fingers as she drags them down my body, and my cock — forever betraying me around her — hardens to a stiff bar that's unmistakeable beneath the fabric of my underwear.

I'm meant to catch hands that get too grabby, but when her translucent fingers glide over the outline off my cock, all I can do is swear softly under my breath. I'm too hot beneath this stupid helmet so I tear it off, tossing it to the side with a thunk, the music forgotten.

"Zak… I…"

I swear I can feel the pressure of those fingers, just a little. I cover her hands with mine, grinding into my own palm, exhaling at the sensation. "Yeah, baby?"

Her pupils are blown wide, a darker green against the translucent glow of her face. "I wish I could touch you," she whispers, her voice forlorn and desperate all at once, and I don't miss the way her thighs press together. Fuck.

I drop to my knees, leaning into her, bringing my face close to her neck. "I wish I could taste you," I say without thinking. "I'd kiss every inch of your skin if I could. I bet you smell fucking amazing."

She makes a small whimpering sound, squirming in her seat again, her palms pressed flat against her thighs.

"You don't need my permission, baby, but if you want it, you have it. Touch yourself if you need to. Trust me, I won't mind."

She lets out a breathy laugh. "Only if you do the same."

I stare into her eyes. "It's a deal." I lift a hand to her face, wishing I could feel the softness of her skin as I trace the outline of her jaw. "You're beautiful," I add quietly as she lifts her hands to her hair, pulling pins free. They disappear into nothing and she shakes her hair loose so that it falls in waves down to the small of her back. "You're just so fucking stunning."

"It doesn't bother you, that I would quite happily do this?"

"No! Why would it?"

"Because obviously… there must have been others, for a lady such as myself to be confident in what she knows about a man, and —"

"I don't care. Or, let me rephrase that; I care about you , not some archaic ideas around virginity and experience."

The relief on her face is palpable. "You're a good man."

"I'm just a man. Everyone should be like this. But… does it bother you? What I do, I mean. Now that you've had a front-row seat."

She shakes her head. "You said it was acting. Do you mean it, when you dance for them? Do you mean it in the same way you mean it for me?"

"No. Everything's different with you."

She smiles softly. It seems only natural to close the gap between our lips. I don't understand how I can feel so much when there's no true sensation here, no pliable mouth sliding over mine, but perhaps it's the sound of her breathless little moan or the sight of her eyes fluttering closed that does it for me. My hand is on my cock, pulling it out at the same time that she grabs at her breasts through the fabric of her top, squeezing them. I lean back, still on my knees, letting her watch me stroke my cock, teasing myself with the slowest pace possible as I drag my foreskin back and forth over the head. She licks her lips, her eyes meeting mine a moment later in silent invitation, and I rise, pressing my cock to the shape of her mouth.

"Holy fuck." It's disconcerting and strange and fucking hot to see my dick in her mouth — I can see through her, after all. She pulls back with a grin after a moment, the cool sense of her on the head of my cock making me shiver.

"I wish I could taste you," she says. "But the sight of you alone is a joy." I stroke my dick faster in response, leaking precum that drips through the shape of her skirt and onto the floor, and she lets out a long exhale through pursed lips, her hands finding her breasts once more.

There's a sudden urgency in the air, accompanied by the sound of heavy breathing. Her fingers undo her buttons quickly, and soon her entire blouse is being pulled over her head, melting away into thin air as she drops it. She pulls her bra-like contraption upwards, hiking the fabric up above her tits so that her nipples are exposed to the cold night air, and fuck it's such a pretty sight, her full breasts spilling over the edge of the corset she wears underneath.

"I want you to come," I say. "I want you to touch yourself for me, and I want us to come together."

"Yes," she gasps, already playing with nipples. I drop to my knees again, and her legs spread as wide as her skirt allows.

"Show me that pretty pussy," I demand. "Fuck, I want to touch you."

She grabs at her skirt with both hands, pulling it up quickly, revealing another layer of… lace-edged crotchless shorts? I'll have to ask her about her underwear another time, because she spreads her legs wider again, and all of my attention is drawn to her centre, the star of the show, the most beautiful cunt I've ever seen. She spreads herself further again with delicate fingers, and I watch, squeezing my dick and feeling ready to explode as she traces her outer folds in a tease before finally setting the pad of her finger on her clit.

I can't take the sound of her quiet moans, not without doing something myself. It doesn't even feel silly to lean forward and lick, my tongue swiping through cool air rather than the warmth of her. She moans louder, and her hand moves faster.

"Lie down," she whispers, and at my confused look she rises, her chest heaving, drawing my attention to her breasts. "On the floor. Please."

"I don't think this is how…" I begin, doing as I'm told, but my words cut off as she climbs over me, half her limbs going through me as she straddles my hips. "Oh fuuuck ," I groan, watching her line herself up with my dick. It doesn't even matter that I can't feel her; there's something about all of this — about Rose — that makes this the most erotic thing I've ever experienced.

She continues to rub her clit as she lowers herself abruptly, my dick inside her — I can literally see it through the shape of her — and I pump my fist faster. She's not actually sitting on me — her thighs disappear into my body on either side of my hips, and I know she's holding herself in place, but it still looks fucking hot. She looks down, watching my cock through herself with an open-mouthed stare, squeezing her breast once more, her hand on her cunt never faltering.

She is a tiny thing, and my dick looks huge inside her. "Holy fuck," I grunt, too fucking turned on to be disturbed by the fact that I'm rubbing one out inside the body of my ghost girlfriend, my hand working my dick at a frenzied pace, the continuous wet fap fap fap sound loud enough to be heard over the music still playing from my phone. "Fuck I'm close," I hiss, feeling it building beyond what I can handle. "Rose —"

She cries out suddenly, back arched and head thrown back, tits thrust outwards and long hair brushing my thighs, and it's my undoing. I come with a groan, thick ropes of cum erupting as I continue to work my foreskin over the head of my dick. Watching me ‘fill' her is an experience for sure, and she moans as I keep going, until there's a huge pool of cum on my own stomach, a mess on the floor and on my thighs, and all the while Rose rocks herself as if she's grinding on me.

I let out a deep exhale, my head landing back on the floor with a thunk , closing my eyes for a moment. Her breathy laugh is such a wonderful sound, and I grin. I get the sense that she's scooting forward, and open my eyes to her caging my head with her arms, a shower of translucent green hair surrounding me.

"Hey," I murmur, staring up at her pretty face.

"Hello. I enjoyed that very much." She is flushed, I can actually see it now, the apples of her pale cheeks slightly darkened.

"Same. You're beautiful, and perfect, and I was right, you have a very pretty pussy."

"You have a very big penis," she grins with all her teeth, "and my god, a lot came out of it."

We laugh together, and I reach up to her face without thinking, trying to tuck the hair back behind her ear. It sobers the moment a little when I realise it's a futile task. "I forgot to warn you about how much orcs come. It's a thing. "

"I wish I could —" She chokes off suddenly, her entire figure growing faint in an instant.

"Hey, no, stay with me," I say, panic lacing my voice. She fades away every night, but it's not normally so sudden. "Rose —"

"I'm sorry!"

She's gone in an instant, winking out of existence like she was never even here, leaving me alone with my mess of cold cum and my phone playing the familiar beats of a song about sex.