There are two Shrimper’s restaurants in town, one on the lake and one adjacent to an old graveyard. Waiters and bartenders call the restaurant on the lake Lakeside, the other Graveside. An orange moon peeked through damp clouds, the parking lot empty as I entered Graveside. It didn’t matter because I only wanted to commiserate with a double vodka.
Except for a young woman drinking alone at the bar, the place was empty. She smiled when I grabbed the stool beside her. She was a knockout, her slinky white sleeveless dress riding up over dimpled knees for more than a peek of black mesh hose. Her high-heels were red, matching the color of her lips. She had dark eyes so limpid, you could almost go swimming in them. I only had to look once to know I was ready to take the plunge. She stroked a strand of short brunette hair that highlighted ringlets of gold dangling from succulent earlobes.
The bartender’s words shattered my momentary fantasy.
“Afraid to tell you,” I said, awash in a sudden testosterone dream.
“Double Grey Goose?” he asked.
“And a drink for this lovely lady,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said. “Mind if my girlfriend joins us?” She motioned to a gorgeous woman that had walked up behind us. “This is Kathy. And you are?”
“Eric,” I said, trying not to stammer.
Kathy was dressed identically to Marsha, except her slinky dress was black. Her lips and nails were also red and I could almost smell pheromones oozing from her lovely pores. I felt like a male dog must feel when he encounters a bitch in heat. In this case, two bitches.
Sliding off my stool, I let Kathy sit by her friend and moved to the one next to it.
“You sit in the middle, Eric. I can talk to Marcia any time.”
Marcia and Kathy were both gorgeous, one dark, the other radiant flashes of reflected light every time she smiled.
Neither answered when I asked, “What do you do for a living?"
When they went to the ladies room I motioned for the bartender.
"You know those two?”
“Seen them before.”
“No way. I’ve never seen them leave with anyone. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen them leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“They just sort of disappear.”
“Walk their tab?”
“No, someone always buys their drinks.”
“Hmm!” I said.
Marsha and Kathy returned before I could question the bartender further.
“Miss us?” Marcia asked.
“You bet I did,” I said as they smothered me in a group hug.
“The moon if full tonight,” Kathy said.
“Beautifully full,” Marcia added.
Kathy put her arms around my neck. I could almost touch her lips with my own. “Would you like to come outside with us?”
The bartender nodded when I said, “I’ll be back.”
The moon had turned to cheddar cheese as I followed them out of Graveside. Kathy stopped beside a silver Corvette.
“Gorgeous car,” she said, backing against the curved vehicle.
When she opened her arms wide, I grabbed her. We were soon sprawled on the hood of the Corvette, Kathy’s skirt hiked up over her waist and my pants down to my ankles. Marcia finally broke our enraptured spell.
“I haven’t seen a show like that in forever. You two okay?”
Kathy grinned. “I don’t know what’s hotter-my pussy, or my bare ass on this hot hood.
Pulling up my pants, I tucked in my shirt and glanced around the dark parking lot to see if anyone other than Marcia had witnessed our bawdy performance.
“You go, girl,” Marcia said, giving Kathy a big hug. “Next time, it’s my turn.”
“This your car?” I asked.
She just grinned. “We walked.”
I peered across the dark parking lot lighted only by a single street lamp.
"You live near here?"
“Then I'll drive you home.” I said.
Kathy just shook her head. “Walk with us if you want.”
I followed them to the entrance of the nearby graveyard.
“Spirits are out tonight,” Marcia said, squeezing my hand.
“Ever see a ghost?” Kathy said.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Would you like to?”
“Probably scare the daylights out of me.”
“All ghosts aren’t frightening,” she said. “Come with us. Maybe we’ll see some.”
“Don't be frightened by death.”
They grabbed my hands and led me through the wrought iron entrance, fairly dancing as we raced to the top of a gentle hill surrounded by polished gravestones. We stopped at an ornate crypt constructed of gray marble. The face of the crypt appeared blue and alive as it reflected muted light from the full moon. Marcia and Kathy pulled me toward the grave.
“Now it’s my turn.”
Kathy watched as Marcia lay on the ground in front of the headstone, pulling me on top of her. I was powerless to resist as a strange and erotic force took control of my loins. We were soon rolling atop the grave in the throes of moonstruck lust. After howling like a banshee when I came, I looked up at the moon as wispy clouds began cloaking it.
Kathy joined us, rolling on the ground, laughing and hugging both of us, unmindful of Marcia’s naked breasts that glowed and pulsated in muted moonlight.
“Close your eyes and count to ten before you open them,” Marcia said.
I counted to three before opening my eyes and finding myself alone. They didn't answer when I called their names.
I left the graveyard, returning alone to Graveside where the bartender handed me another drink.
“Where are your two ladies?”
“Went home without me," I said.
I returned to the cemetery the following day. Not yet open, the main door was locked so I entered through a maintenance gate. Rain had fallen just before dawn and a rolling mist hung over damp ground and water-dimpled gravestones. I climbed the little hill to the gravesite where I had last seen Marcia and Kathy. When I read the inscription, I had a start.
Marcia Hanson, the inscription said. Died too soon in a tragic car accident. Born July 6, 1967. Died October 31, 1991. The adjacent gravestone was a virtual twin. It also said, Died too soon in a tragic car accident. Kathy Benson, Born November 10, 1969, died October 31, 1991.
I started to walk away but turned to reread the inscriptions. As I stared at the polished gravestones, gentle rain began falling, evaporating almost as soon as it touched my shoulders. Leaving the graveyard, I wondered if I would ever believe my vivid memories, or relegate them in my mind as a fading wet dream.
Born near Black Bayou in the little Louisiana town of Vivian, Eric Wilder grew up listening to his grandmother’s tales of politics, corruption, and ghosts that haunt the night. He now lives in Oklahoma where he continues to pen mysteries and short stories with a southern accent. He is the author of the French Quarter Mystery Series set in New Orleans and the Paranormal Cowboy Series. Please check it out on his Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iBook author pages. You might also like to check out his website.