Diary of a House

The Life Not Lived – 2000

Michelle Houston

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413 Remembrance Lane

Also by Michelle Houston

Kinky Girls Do

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Chapter One

November 28

With purposeful strides, Natasha crossed the room to the closet and pulled open the door. Digging around behind her shoe shelf, she found the old diary and pulled it out. Several quick steps took her from the closet to the bed, where she flopped onto the soft suede comforter.

Pulling the key out of her pocket, she opened the leather-bound cover and looked at the first entry.

Taking a deep breath, she flipped to the middle, where the diary sat empty—waiting. Clasping her pen so tightly her knuckles were white, she wrote:

I never knew what to think about the entries in this book. I didn't know if the previous owners of the house were all nuts, or if someone with too much time on his hands wrote this whole thing, trying to make it seem legit.

I never intended to add my own entry. After all, I never believed in vampires and ghosts—until three weeks ago. I also never believed in anything that science could not reasonably speculate existed.

Until several months ago, if you had asked me, I would have said my life was perfect. I was content with my husband, both of us professors of science at the University. College sweethearts and colleagues, as well as friends. Then he dropped a bombshell on me—he wanted a divorce.

He had found someone else, someone who loved him, whom he felt destined to be with. I guess I should have seen it coming, after all, how late can you really stay with a grad student grading papers? But I told myself I was okay with his indiscretions, that I welcomed them, in fact.

Sadly, it's true. In my heart I have lusted, regretted past chances that I never took.

I never knew how deep the regret went, however, until three weeks ago, when the package arrived. Now I find myself about to make my wish 223

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upon the diary, and I hope that I don't come to regret the consequences—

and what I will be giving up.

Although I believe in my heart that if I can turn back time and do things all over again, that it will be worth whatever payment is required to keep the balance.

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Chapter Two

Three weeks ago

Natasha Armstrong tossed her keys on the table beside the front door and slammed it shut. She found the sound of the door smacking against its frame oddly refreshing after her day. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on relaxing her jaw, it was sore from smiling politely all day, while inside she'd wanted to scream.

The conference at her university would have normally been pleasant, but with her recent divorce from Andrew, and the fact that they were both tenured professors in the same department, it had been a headache from beginning to end. Everyone seemed to be either pretending there was no tension, or so aware of it that it made it worse.

It didn't help that he had shown up with his "perfect woman" on his arm. Several of their colleagues had made snide remarks about the very obvious age difference between her ex and his grad student girlfriend, as if that helped things. Most of them didn't seem to understand that the divorce was amicable—she got the house and he was able to take anything out of it he wanted.

Striding down the hall, she retreated into the newly remodeled kitchen. After the divorce, she'd started refurnishing the house with antiques, trying to bring a spark of its old life back with items such as the claw foot tub in the master bath and a wood burning stove in the kitchen.

She was just reaching for her teapot, an antique itself, when the doorbell rang.

Ignoring it, she pulled out the tea canister and selected a bag of Earl Grey.

The bell rang again. Sighing, Natasha debated what to do. She could continue to ignore it, and hope whoever it was would get the message and go away, or she could go answer it and have to deal with polite pleasantries when she really wasn't in the mood.

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Her decision was made when the bell's usual dribble of ding dong, ding dong, took on a prolonged melody. Whoever was out there was not going to take no for an answer. Frustrated at having her temporary solace disrupted, Natasha stormed down the hallway and flung the thick wood door open to find a rather cute, petite courier waiting impatiently outside.

"Professor Armstrong?"

"Yes," she snapped.

"I have a package to deliver. If you'll sign here."

Natasha accepted the clipboard, even as her mind raced, wondering who was sending her a package. With everything involved in her divorce, she had decided to take the semester off, and fall term didn't start for another month. It couldn't be her texts; she had to pick those up herself.

"Thank you," Handing the clipboard back, she accepted the package the carrier had tucked under her arm and stepped back. Resisting the urge to shake the bread-loaf-sized box, she politely inclined her head in thanks.

"You're welcome, ma'am, have a nice day." Natasha had the door closed before she even made it off the porch. Suddenly, eager as a child on Christmas morning, she had to know what was in the package.

Ignoring the voice that was telling her it wasn't like her to be this impatient, she tore open the tape to find a jeweler's box nested within packing peanuts.

She set the box aside. Curiosity piqued, she couldn't wait a moment longer and flipped open the lid. Inside, on a bed of velvet, sat a necklace.

A large oval pendant, the stone a strange swirling blend of ivory and onyx, hung on a delicate gold chain.

Intrigued, she picked up the necklace, feeling it grow warm in her hand. Without being able to control the urge, she donned the necklace, feelings the pendant's weight settle in the valley of her breasts. Digging around in the packing peanuts, she searched for a note, but found nothing. She retrieved the package and looked it over, but the only label on the package itself was her address.

She reached to take the necklace off, uncertain what to do with it, when she remembered a letter from her sister she had gotten. It told of a package that should be coming soon, after customs passed it through, from her sabbatical to Italy.

Shaking her head, she headed back to her kitchen and the waiting teapot. After turning on the stove, she fingered the pendant while the 226

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water heated, stroking her fingers over the uneven surface. Strange bumps marred the edges. But, they weren't pronounced enough for her to be able to tell what they were.

She still couldn't believe how sweet her sister was, sending her a present, especially one so nice. It had to be a knock-off of some kind.

As the teapot whistled, she let the pendant settle between her breasts and continued about her planned evening, after making a mental note to send her sister and thank you.

* * * *

Several hours later, freshly showered she stepped out of the steamed up bathroom and crossed to her bedroom. Pausing to admire herself in front of the mirror on the closet door, she couldn't help stroking her hand over her naked flesh, exhilarated at being able to walk naked around the house without her husband making a snide remark of her teasing him with something he couldn't have.

Grabbing a gown, she quickly shimmied into the soft blue silk and pulled on matching panties. Ready for bed, she climbed between the sheets and settled against her pillows, the lamp beside the bed casting a warm glow about the room. Opening her nightstand drawer, she pulled a well-worn book out and flipped to her favorite passage. As her gaze trailed over the words, a familiar warmth began between her legs.

Running her palm over her breasts, she read the author's description of a Sapphic sixty-nine, the words vivid and fairly springing from the page.

Slipping her hand past the band of her panties, she softly stroked her moist flesh, dipping her finger past her pouting lips to wet it, then slowly circling around her clit. As the characters reached their orgasm, she set the book aside and closed her eyes, letting the sensations of her hand between her legs wash over her.

Ever since she found out about Andrew's affair, she had questioned her life, and her choices. Back in college when they met, he'd seemed like the key to the perfect life she had longed to have. Her dreams of being a professor were suddenly attainable. Even in the advanced day and age of the seventies, with all of the movements beginning and ending, the professional world was still leery of women, especially as college professors, in the science field. A lesbian professor just wasn't heard of.

So, she forced down what she'd always been told were unnatural urges, and had married her friend. The first few years weren't too bad—

he hadn't made many demands of her. It was towards the middle of their 227

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thirty years together that he had showed signs of wanting more than she felt she could give.

Her pussy was on fire with needs only a woman could truly fulfill.

Natasha couldn't help wondering if she had done them both a disservice by marrying Andrew. She knew she had left her only true love heartbroken, when she had told Lydia that she couldn't be with her the way the blonde had wanted.

Frustrated at the way her thoughts were intruding, she forced them aside and stroked her finger over her clit, ruthlessly manipulating the ball of nerves into a shallow orgasm. Gasping at the sparks that flickered to life within her, she continued her motions, running her finger along her slit and delving past her puffy lips. Cupping one breast with her other hand, Natasha rolled her nipple between her thumb and index finger, pinching it hard enough to sting.

Breathless at the delicious tingle it sparked, she pumped her fingers faster, grinding them hard against the thin veil of skin that covered her pelvic bone beneath her clit. As her inner muscles clenched tight, she withdrew them, returning her attention to her clit. Swirling around the taunt bud, she stimulated it to the point of pain before she was ready to allow herself another orgasm. Pinching her nipple hard, she arched her hips, allowing her body to crest.

She pulled her fingers from her panties and curled onto her side. Her body sated, while her mind was turbulent with conflicting emotions. She hugged her pillow to her chest as a cascade of tears flowed.

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Chapter Three

Natasha shifted, not wanting the delicious sensations to end, but her mind demanded she wake up. It definitely ranked as the most erotic dream she'd ever had, including the night after her one and only visit to a strip club.

Shivering at the feel of a hand running up her inner thigh, Natasha's eyes fluttered open, unwillingly banishing the phantom remnants of her dream.

Shrieking, she sat up. Frantically, she pulled away from the strange woman in her bed. With her lush features and flaming red hair, she was attractive in a deeply sensual way. There was nothing subtle about her, and Natasha found herself responding on a deeply primal level.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, in her best "don't lie to me"

professor tone, giving her words a strong bite. Realizing how stupid her actions were, she rolled over and grabbed the phone. She moved back, watchful of her intruder. The woman was gone, vanished.

Looking around the room, she saw the red-haired woman seated on her dresser, mile long legs crossed at the knee. There was no way she could have moved that fast—no mortal could. The medallion resting between her breasts suddenly grew warm.

"Forget who. What the hell are you?"

With a puff of crimson smoke, the woman disappeared, only to join her in bed. This time, she sat cross-legged, Indian style, at the foot.

Completely naked.

Natasha licked her suddenly dry lips. Her mind fought the realization that reality was suddenly spinning away from her clear cut world of science. She had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation for what was happening.

A nagging reminder at the back of her consciousness screamed about the strange diary she had finally found the key for a few weeks earlier; the diary that told of all the paranormal exploits of the inhabitants of this very house. Shrugging off the incessant reminder, she confronted 229

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the woman in front of her with the same single-minded determination that had gotten her tenure before many of her colleagues, including her husband.

"I had better start getting some answers here, before I come to my senses and call the cops."

"Your mortal police have no power over me. I will be gone before you get the number dialed, and you will have lost your chance to find the answer to the truly important question you need answered."

Knowing how Alice would have felt as she fell down the rabbit hole, Natasha struggled with the science she chose to believe in and the curiosity that prompted her to question the existence of things science hadn't yet explained.

"Ok, I'll bite—what question should I be asking?"

The woman shook her head, sending her cascade of red tresses swirling in a riot of curls. "I can't tell you the question."

Natasha ground her teeth together in frustration. "Fine. Let's start with what are you?"

"My kind is called succubus, but the stories made up about us are grossly exaggerated."

"How so?" Natasha cocked her head to the side. Her gaze trailed over the luscious curves of the creature before her. She was dreaming, so what did it hurt to look? All the while, the amulet continued to pulse with each beat of her heart.

"Calling us witches, damned to suck the souls out of men, for starters. But really, Professor, do you want to talk about me all night long?"

Natasha blinked and the woman was gone. Moments later, the feel of fingers trailing up her thighs returned and the sheets lifted, covering the form of the creature as she settled herself between Natasha's legs.

Grabbing the edge of the covers, Natasha ripped them off, baring the creature's back to the cool air and to her gaze. The succubus lifted her head, her eyes strikingly blue with desire. The bed dipped slightly as the woman-thing moved up her body, her curves brushing against Natasha's, igniting needs she had long suppressed.

Natasha barely registered as her nightgown and panties were removed. Her normally analytical mind had been short-circuited, and she was riding out the waves. She could feel every slight shift of the nimble body covering her, each brush of skin lightly sprinkled with hair sliding 230

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against hers. Moist, warm breath whispered over her skin as the creature spoke. "Relax, Professor. This is a dream, right?"

Natasha nodded, more to convince herself than the woman pressed against her.

"Then just let yourself enjoy it." As the creature's lips pressed against hers, she closed her eyes at the sudden explosion of need. If the myths were true and the creature could suck out souls, she could well understand how humans would willing succumb to them.

Threading her fingers through the creature's red hair, she pulled her closer and they slid down onto the bed together. Wrapping her legs around the succubus' waist, she settled her into the curve of her body.

She wept at the intense sensations rushing through her body with just the simplest touch of flesh against flesh.

Her breasts felt heavy with need as the creature's skin brushed against them, so soft and delicate compared to what she was used to.

Urgency raced through her at the unexpected opportunity—she could finally stop denying that part of herself.

Relaxing against the creature, Natasha let her hands explore where they would. Stroking along the woman's back, down to the curve of her ass, she pulled her tighter into the V of her thighs, craving the contact of flesh against her pussy. Grinding into the succubus' groin, she gasped as tiny shocks surged between them, igniting a fire of need within her pussy.

The crackle of electricity and the tiny hairs on her arms standing forced her to open her eyes. When her gaze adjusted, she saw tiny sparks dancing between the succubus tresses, like static electricity to the nth degree. A strand landed against her nipple, sending a jolt of pure lust coursing through her.

"This is what you feed on, isn't it? The energy created between two bodies in motion, two sweaty, needy, lust-filled bodies."

"Yes," the creature hissed before leaning down, pressing her lips firmly against Natasha's. Parting her lips, Natasha allowed her tongue entrance, delighting in the feel of the velvety heat rubbing against her own tongue. Closing her eyes again, she focused on the feel of the woman in her arms.

Cupping the succubus' firm breasts, Natasha explored the nipples, rolling them between her fingers, until the creature tore her lips from hers, a moan escaping past them.

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"That's it, relax. Just feel," she coaxed, her long fingers stroking over Natasha's body, sliding slowly down to the valley of her thighs.

Arching her hips, Natasha welcomed the touch, her pussy wet with need. As a long digit slipped past her puffy pussy lips, Natasha rocked into the movement, driving it deeper.

"More, please," Natasha gasped, her core clenching around the finger, aching for more friction. In answer, another finger slid past her lips, quickly joined by a third. Gasping in response, Natasha stroked the creature's arms and shoulders, her fingertips tracing over her breasts, until the succubus shrugged them off.

"Touch yourself," the woman ordered, her fingers pumping hard and deep.

Unwilling to disobey, Natasha caressed her own breasts, pinching her nipples. Her knuckle brushed against the amulet and she jerked her hand away from the heat.

While still driving her wild with need, the succubus trailed her long hair over Natasha's body. Everywhere it touched sent a spark throughout her body. Nerve-ending overloaded, Natasha shrieked as the strands landed against her clit.

The hard pebbles of the woman's nipples pressed against her stomach as she moved lower. The wet heat of the creature's tongue licked at navel, then drifted slowly lower until it flicked against her clit.

Jerking at the sudden stinging pleasure, Natasha arched upward, silently begging for more. Another flick had her whimpering in need.

The succubus settled between her legs, her hair almost alive flowed around them, brushing here and there over her body without any distinguishable pattern, driving her out of her mind.

Warm lips wrapped around her clit, sucking it hard and deep as a fourth finger was driven into her, rubbing against her slick inner walls.

Natasha felt her cream leaking out, damping the sheets beneath her.

Undulating against the succubus' movements, her body winding tighter and tighter, she finally realized that what was happening was real. She wasn't dreaming—she was being seduced by a succubus. Just as the thought registered, a hard suck pulled on her clit and Natasha's pussy clenched tight. Screaming, she climaxed, her body pulling tauter than the strings on a violin.

She wasn't sure how long she drifted there in a euphoric limbo, her body warm and sated, before her mind clamored for her attention. As her 232

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eyelids fluttered open, she caught sight of the creature removing the now glowing amulet and clasping it around her own neck.

"It that my soul?"

The woman chuckled and her sapphire eyes widened. "No. It's extra sexual energy you released, trapped in the stone for later need. Your soul is still where it was, trapped deep within you, held in a cage of your own making."

Floating on the cloud of her desire, it took a moment for the meaning of the woman's words to register. "Why me?"

Without the expected coyness, the creature responded, "Because I was you once. Succubi and incubi aren't witches, damned to hell. We are women and men locked in a prison of our own making."

A brief flicker of memory teased the back of her mind. The diary was important, but at that moment she couldn't remember why. All that mattered was the gift that this woman was freely giving her.

"So why tell me?"

The creature shrugged, her hair falling into a crimson veil around her body, covering her curves from Natasha's view. "You asked. Most simply enjoy what we offer, and then try to pretend it never happened.

They only realize their mistake when they die and their souls join our ranks."

Holding out her arms, Natasha welcomed the woman into her embrace. As the succubus settled herself, a strange warmth awakened within Natasha. Softly caressing the succubus' now static-free hair, she sought to process the information she was receiving. Her analytical mind searched for some logical error, even as it registered the improbability of the whole evening.

"So I can still change my fate?"

She could feel the woman nodding against her body. "Yes. You have within your power and the ability to change. Everyone does. But you have to figure out how for yourself."

Continuing to stroke the woman's hair, Natasha turned over the facts, piecing it all together. The diary. One wish. Could it allow her to undo her life and live it all over again? Searching her memories, she found what she thought was the exact moment she went wrong.

Lydia had just come to her home with tickets to a concert, and plans for them going out of town together, including sharing a hotel room. The blonde had haltingly spoke, baring her soul, as she admitted she wanted to take things to the next level and move in together.

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Vivid as the day it happened, Natasha remembered the hurt in Lydia's brown eyes as she told her that it was over between them, that they had to forget everything they had shared and move past it. None of it meant anything.

Her heart aching at the memory, Natasha didn't, at first, feel the woman in her arms disappearing.

As a cloud of red smoke swirled about the room, she tightened her hold. "What's going on?"

"The sun's rising. It's time for me to leave."

"Wait! We have to figure out how to free you, too."

A strange glint entered the creature's gaze as it met hers. Her features slowly shifted, her hair changed color. Her mind unable to process the speed at which the changes were taking place, she blinked and the succubus' hair had lost the red gleam, melting into a golden blonde. Her blue eyes had darkened into a rich chocolate brown.

"Lydia!" Natasha gasped. Soft lips pressed against hers, and then her lost love was gone.

"Wait? Lydia!" Natasha screamed, but knew it was too late. Raising her knees, she wrapped her arms around them, despair flooding her heart.

She had just figured out the question—how do I turn back time?

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Chapter Four

Three weeks later, the morning of November 28

Natasha tossed her pen aside in disgust, unable to focus on the grant proposal she was writing, and past the point of willing to try. Ever since the strange dream of Lydia, she hadn't slept much and had eaten less. She was too restless to pay attention to anything. Only a week left, and classes would be starting, and she still hadn't gotten a single lecture planned.

Aggravated and completely fed up, she tried to block out the memory of her dream, but once again failed. Her body could still remember the touch of the creature/Lydia as she licked her way down to her core, her slender fingers thrusting hard within her.

Closing her eyes, she clenched her legs and rubbed them together, generating a slight friction on her pussy. If she tried hard enough, she could feel ghostly fingers brushing over her skin, softly caressing.

Groaning, she opened her eyes and stood up. She crossed the room before she could change her mind. Opening the closet, she pulled the diary from its hiding place and traced fingers over the soft leather cover.

On the back, the cutlass embossed into the leather winked at her, catching the sunlight streaming into the room.

She carefully opened the book and read each of the entries, searching for some clue as to the mental instability of the writers, other than the fact all mentioned some paranormal experience. Analyzing the entries, she tried to find some common links that hinted at the same writer, but to her frustration she couldn't find any. Each entry was written by a different person, without any common factors other than details of the house dating back several centuries, which the historical records she'd dug up in the last three weeks confirmed.

The thing seemed to be legit. Completely improbable, but legit nonetheless.

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Her mind racing with scenarios, she tried to figure out just what she would be giving up if she gave in and made a wish upon the cursed thing.

What was a second chance at happiness worth? Her chest grew warm, at the exact spot where the amulet had rested. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to relive the tension building there.

She tried to track down who had sent the amulet, but the delivery company had no record of a delivery to her on that date, nor did the delivery man remember her. She had managed to get in touch with her sister, who had no clue what she was talking about. The amulet, more than likely, was a figment of her imagination. Yet she couldn't fight the impulse to believe that what happened wasn't a dream.

Even if it meant that Lydia had become a succubus, more than likely because of her. Even if it meant accepting that she has wasted half her life, casting aside her one true love, for her love of science. And if it wasn't a dream, then her very soul was in danger; after her death she would be trapped as Lydia was. What would she give up to escape that fate? To free the only person she had every really loved from it?

If only there was some sign that it had happened, and that she wasn't suffering a nervous breakdown, it would be easier to accept.

Something to act on.

Closing the diary, she put it back in its hiding place and slid the closet door closed. She shivered at the click of the latch, feeling like someone has just walked over her grave.

Shaking off the morbid image, she headed downstairs to put the key away. She was halfway down the stairs when she remembered where she had seen the amulet before. Back in college, she had taken Lydia, who was in her archeology phase then, to a museum and they had looked at several artifacts from the Greco-Roman period. The amulet was one that had been attributed to a strange cult that had worshipped Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

She had bought Lydia a rather well done copy of the original in the museum gift shop. Lydia had been wearing it the last time she had seen her.

It wasn't a dream.

Her mind reeled. Natasha turned on the stairs and headed back up.

Entering her bedroom, the warmth between her breasts magnified, until it felt like hot wax had been poured on the spot where the amulet had sat, branding her.

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With sure purposeful strides, Natasha crossed the room to the closet and pulled open the door. Digging around behind her shoe shelf, she found the old diary, and pulled it out. Several quick steps took her from the closet to the bed, where she flopped onto the soft suede comforter.

Pulling the key out of her pocket, she opened the leather-bound cover and looked at the first entry.

Taking a deep breath, she flipped to the middle, where the diary sat empty—waiting. Clasping her pen so tightly her knuckles were white, she wrote.

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Chapter Five

Natasha parked her car and turned off the ignition. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she opened her door and climbed out. Lydia's call scared her at first, until she got her calmed down enough to explain she wasn't hurt, she just needed her to come home. As soon as she reached the walkway, the front door flew open and Lydia rushed out, her pixie-like features pinched with anxiety.

"Natasha," she exclaimed as she threw herself against her. Natasha wrapped her arms around her slender lover and pulled her close. Running her hand through her lover's blonde hair, she whispered soothingly as she coaxed Lydia into the house.

As soon as the door closed, Lydia sprang into action. She clasped Natasha's hand and pulled her down the hall into the library, talking a mile a minute. "I figured out where the key was this afternoon. It was in the pommel of the old cutlass over the fireplace. I couldn't believe it when I opened it. Natasha, you have an entry in it."

"Whoa, slow down, hon." She tried to follow what her love was saying, but she wasn't making much sense. "The key to what?"

Lydia took a deep breath and bent over the back of the couch. As she picked up the leather bound tome they had found months ago in the top of the master bedroom closet, recognition set in. Lydia had found the key to what they had long suspected was a diary from a past owner of the house.

"The diary, Natasha. I found the key. And it isn't just a diary of one owner. It's them all!"

Natasha guided her lover into taking a seat on the couch and dropped down beside her. After taking a moment to stretch and work out the kinks of standing all day in front of a bunch of high school students and trying to get them to concentrate on their studies, she focused her attention on Lydia. "So what does it say?"

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flipping through the pages until she reached whatever she was looking for. "It isn't what the entries say so much as who has an entry in it.

Natasha, you wrote an entry in the diary."

Natasha blinked several times as she tried to process what Lydia was saying. It was impossible. She had never been in this house before she and Lydia moved in two years earlier.

"Look, right here. It says:

"'I never knew what to think about the entries in this book. I didn't know if the previous owners of the house were all nuts, or if someone with too much time on his hands wrote this whole thing, trying to make it seem legit. I never intended to add my own entry. After all, I never believed in vampires and ghosts—until three weeks ago. I also never believed in anything that science could not reasonably speculate existed.'

"That's your handwriting, and it sounds like you, too. I read the whole thing, and in each entry the owner gave up something for their wish, something dear to them. Your entry mentions me, Natasha. The replica amulet you bought me—" Lydia pulled the necklace from where it rested between her breasts. She never removed it, not even to shower.

"And it says that Andrew proposed, and he did. But that's where it strays.

The diary entry says that you broke up with me, married him, and went on to become a college professor. You found a new species of butterfly and had it named after you. Oh, Natasha, if this is true, you gave up so much to be with me."

As she spoke, the amulet in her hand started to glow. Both Natasha and Lydia looked down as the chain broke apart and the charm dropped into the diary, where it melted into the pages.

Natasha leaned over and brushed her fingers over the page, feeling the slightly raised surface of the image. Looking into Lydia's eyes, she saw the same fear and wonder that filled her own heart. Cupping her lover's chin in her palm, Natasha pressed a soft kiss against her lips. "I have a wonderful life with you, and even if I could, I wouldn't trade it for anything, let alone a butterfly named after me.

"Now tell me what else it says, from the beginning." Wrapping her arm around Lydia, she pulled her back into her embrace as her lover turned to the first page and started reading aloud.

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