My husband Jake passed away recently. Having to mourn the man I love was one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do. I didn’t think I would be able to live without seeing his face again.
As luck would have it, just days after he died he came back as a ghost. I was never a superstitious person, but when Jake walked through the refrigerator and honked my breast, I knew it was really him. Weird misconception about ghosts: they can walk through stuff, but they also have the ability to grope.
Over the next few hours, Jake explained everything to me. It’s actually very romantic. See, his love for me is so strong that he chose to give up his physical form and spend the rest of eternity by my side. Or at least until I die. That’s a small flaw in the plan; he’s stuck here forever, while I’ll probably be gone by 2070 depending on if I’m able to kick this drinking habit.
Full disclosure: A tiny, tiny part of why Jake became a ghost has to do with a certain unfinished aspect of our relationship. Despite all we’ve gone through, there is one territory unexplored, one frontier unpenetrated, the one thing he couldn’t rest without: my anus.
I’m not a prude—I’m no Condoleezza Rice—but anal is not something I’m particularly interested in and I never thought Jake was either. That is until he came back after death in ghostly form to tell me otherwise.
Once I had wrapped my head around all this, I realized I was stuck in a classic dilemma that every woman must deal with at some point in her life: Should I submit myself to a sexual act I’m uncomfortable with because my husband died and his spirit came back to ask for it? I really had to think this through.
First, it hurts that he waited so long to tell me. We were best friends and I thought we could talk about anything! More importantly, why didn’t he ask me for it on that surprise trip to Hawaii? Seriously, why else do you even bring someone to Hawaii if not to ask for anal?
Second, this ghost thing has really changed the nature of our relationship. Jake and I can’t socialize in public together; ghosts are pretty marginalized. Besides, he mostly likes to hang out in the basement and wail. I’m trying to be supportive of his “new thing,” but it’s not very sexy.
Finally, what does it say about me, as a woman, if I bend over for any ghost that comes my way? I have gently declined anal offers from many opaque humans and now here Jake appears, more similar to cloud than man, expecting my opinion to change. Becoming a ghost just for butt play is pretty manipulative.
Look, I get it, there is literally no greater gesture of love than haunting someone. It’s sweet. But sweet enough that I’ll put another one of my orifices up on the sexual marketplace? I don’t think so.
Now that I’ve made my decision I’m looking forward to all the anal-free time I’ll get to spend with Jake. Because of his post-death transition we’ll have years together we otherwise wouldn’t, decades to learn about each other and maybe even plant that garden we’d always talked about. It might be a little strange living with my sexually-frustrated ghost husband, but with communication we can resolve any awkwardness. I know that ultimately my Jakey really loves me and will be totally cool existing until the end of time without ever putting it in my butt.