“Oh come on. Let me see,” he said, pleading.
“It’s not going to happen, mister.”
“Please?”
“It’s inappropriate even to ask.” She crossed her shimmering, translucent arms as she floated in the doorway.
“Why?”
“You’re a child. And I’m a lady.”
“I’m seventeen, and you’re a ghost. And isn’t it ‘inappropriate’ for you to always be in here anyway?”
“You know I’m tied to this bedroom by the circumstances of my death…”
“Sure. But what about me? What about my needs?”
She looked disapprovingly at him, then sighed. “Maybe just once.” Her ectoplasmic fingers went tentatively to her shoulder straps.
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