The events described here are imaginary, the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living person.... ***************************** The laundry of my ancestors’ house is now my workshop. I’m a potter and good enough at my trade to make a reasonable living from it. The main attraction of the laundry room was Martha, the resident ghost. I was aware of her from an early age. I would sit on the scrubbed table and ask Martha to tell me a story. She. "You must be making the big bucks," she laughed. "What can I say, I get by," I said, unlocking my back door. "Come on in, make yourself at home!" We ate dinner, a delicious chicken Caesar salad homemade, and then sat on my couch to talk a bit more. She was very flirty, and would often out her hand on my leg playfully when she talked. I was nervous she would touch my cock by accident, but also excited at the prospect. I could only imagine how she would react if she did. I assumed Miranda had to. More

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