My Christmas Spirit

Fuck. Mike was sitting at the foot of my bed, smiling. And naked.

I did what any sane person would do. I pinched myself, then I closed my eyes and waited a few seconds. Cautiously I opened them and—

Fuck. He was still there.

Then I got it. I was dreaming. But God, it felt so real.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

It was Mike’s voice. Not that this was the first time I’d dreamed of him. The first couple of years after he died, there’d been a lot of dreams.

Never one like this though. For one thing, the only naked dreams I’d had were of the two of us between the sheets. Mike sitting cross-legged, hands clasped, his elbows on his knees? This was a new one.

Mike’s rich chuckle was exactly as I remembered it. “You’re not dreaming, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” I said. “In which case, I’m talking to a ghost.” And didn’t that thought send a shiver down my back? Not to mention icy fingers trailing over my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Mike simply nodded.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

This wasn’t fair. Why my subconscious had chosen to torture me like this, I had no idea. I closed my eyes again, squeezing them tight shut. This time, he’d be gone.

When a cool, gentle hand touched my shoulder, I almost leaped out of my skin. I opened my eyes, and Mike was standing beside me, and…

Oh dear God. I could smell him. The same familiar scent that had clung to his pillowcase. I’d put off washing it for so long, desperate to hold onto a part of him. I wanted to inhale him, to fill myself with him. I gazed at his body, as toned as I remembered, not a hair on that smooth, wide chest, his abs still as perfect as the day he—

This was not fucking fair.

“Do they have a gym where you are?” I demanded, more harshly than I intended, but I was pissed off. I didn’t ask to be tortured with dreams of Mike. Not after six years. And certainly not with him looking so… perfect. Even his dick was as I remembered it. He used to call it his torpedo, for obvious reasons. That thing was lethal.

“I take it I still look good.” Mike preened, flexing, his muscles bulging.

That did it. Despite my initial fear, I started laughing. “Still as vain as ever, I see.”

He narrowed his gaze. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to look your best.” He peered closely at me. “You haven’t changed much. Your beard’s fuller, and you’ve let your hair grow longer on top. And you’re still hot.” He grasped his dick and smacked it against his palm. “I’d do you,” he added with a grin. “If I was allowed to, which I’m not.”

I almost choked. “Gee, thanks.”