I was born and raised in a tiny village in Norfolk, England. At the age of eight I was taken by my parents to New Zealand, to make a better life for ourselves they said. We did have a good life, and when my father passed away when I was twenty four and my mother decided to return to England I stayed.

Over the next thirty or so years I visited my mother every few years in that tiny village where she had resettled. I was fifty six when mother passed away and left me a small life insurance and a cottage. My own life had had a few down turns, my wife and only child had been the victims of a stupid accident, they had died instantly I’d been told, but that didn’t help my state of mind at the time. I’d never gotten over it enough to remarry, so had been on my own for nearly twenty years. At the time of my mother’s death I’d been offered an early retirement, so I packed up a few possessions and moved back to the UK, to my mother’s cottage.

It was certainly no Christchurch, it was very quiet, just a dozen or so houses and an ancient church; not even a pub. I managed to land a part time job at a stately home a few miles away, cutting grass, arranging parking, serving occasionally in the gift shop, it didn’t pay a lot, only just above minimum wage, but it was enough.

The nearest pub was about two miles away, in the next village so I cycled over there a couple of nights a week for a pint or two of the good stuff. My natural route to the pub was along a pretty overgrown old road that served as the only way to the old church. The church, one of hundreds in the county of Norfolk, now more of a tourist attraction than a real working church. In some ways I suppose that is a disservice to the church and the local volunteers that do most of the maintenance on it. A vicar visits once a month to hold services, and other than that it seems to be popular for weddings, white weddings, Gothic style weddings, you name it, the age and ambience of the place, it’s graveyard and flint tower seem to attract all sorts.

It was one Friday night when I was on my way home that things started to happen. Just outside the arched gateway into the churchyard there is a series of potholes in the lane, in the darkness it is necessary to get off the bike to avoid them. Having gotten off I thought I saw some movement over the hedge, in the churchyard. It was quite late, well past eleven o’clock, and like nearly all these old churches there was a small history of vandalism, not a lot, but enough to anger the people who looked after it. I decided to take a quick look.

I entered the churchyard and walked around. The church itself was locked up at night, at least when one of the key holders remembered to do it. Someone had remembered, and it was locked. I didn’t see anyone but as I was leaving I got the definite impression of being watched. I’m not given to flights of fancy, and graveyards don’t bother me so I was fairly sure that someone was there.

Exactly the same thing happened the following night, Saturday, and again I saw nobody. I didn’t go to the pub again until the following Wednesday night when nothing at all happened.

Two nights later, on the Friday, I was sure there was someone in the churchyard. I once again checked that the church was locked, but this time as I turned to leave I saw a young woman, sat on one of the old gravestones.

I approached and said “hello, are you alright?”

She answered that she was fine and that this was a nice place.

As I got closer I could see her much more clearly. She looked to be about eighteen or maybe twenty years old. She was pretty, although the ring through her nose didn’t help her looks. She had what looked like dark blue or black hair, it was difficult to tell in the moonlight, she was dressed in what I think of as a Gothic fashion, big boots, fishnet tights, a frilly sort of dress or skirt and a leather jacket, all black.

I had to ask what she was doing there at that time of night, to which she replied that she came here to get away from home, to get some peace and quiet away from her family. When I asked where she lived she just laughed and said that she couldn’t tell me that, I was a strange man after all, a man she had only just met, and in a graveyard!

Fair enough I thought.

She was there again the following night. I had half expected her to be there so I had some crisps in my bag on the back of the bike. I ended up eating them myself when she said she wasn’t hungry. We sat for a little while and chatted, about absolutely nothing worth remembering until she suddenly asked if I was any good at photography?

I explained that I had never made a hobby of it but that like most people I thought I could frame a decent picture. For some reason she thought that was hilarious and asked if I would be willing to take some pictures of her?

“What sort of pictures, and where would you like them taken?”

“I was thinking right here, I always wanted to be a glamour model, and I love this place, so why not here? There are loads of good spots and it’s nice and quiet, will you do it?”

Well, I’m no David Bailey but I was faced with a very pretty young woman who was offering to pose for me so obviously I agreed. I was surprised however when she pulled an old instant Instamatic camera out of her pocket and handed it to me. To be honest, I hadn’t known that these things were still made, it was years since I’d seen or heard of them, I thought it amazing you could still get film for them.

“You want to do it now? At the dead of night in the pitch dark?”

“Sure, I can’t think of a better time to take pictures in a graveyard, can you?”

I couldn’t really argue with that so opening the camera and turning on the flash I took a few steps back and took the first picture of her, sat on a headstone sideways on to me with her face turned towards me. After I clicked the shutter the photograph slid out of the bottom of the camera and needed to be put somewhere to develop and dry. Angel, as she called herself pointed to the foyer of the church and said that there were a couple of seats in there that we could place the photos on to dry. I walked across and left the still developing picture on a seat and turned back to her.

While I had been gone she had removed her jacket to reveal that she was only wearing a leather bra under it. Again she sat on the headstone and did the same pose, this time with her jacket thrown over the shoulder furthest from me. When I went over to place this second photograph with the first she followed, and picked up the first, showing it to me. It had come out much better than I expected, very clear considering how dark it was. She was a good subject, her smile shone out at the camera, and she had a lovely figure, not skinny, but with all the right curves in all the right places.

In all I took a total of just eight pictures before running out of film. They had gotten progressively more daring, she had taken off the skirt for the fourth picture and posed in just panties and bra for three pictures before taking off her bra for the final two.

She said she didn’t have another film with her, which I have to say that with the way things were going was rather disappointing. Well I am a man!

Still, our little photo shoot had ended at a sensible point so I can’t complain. At her insistence I left her examining the pictures as I rode the rest of the way home.

I didn’t see her the following Wednesday or the next weekend, and I thought maybe I’d seen the last of her, how wrong I was!

Wednesday night she wasn’t there again but Friday night there she was, in the same clothes and sitting on the same headstone.

“You want to take some more pictures?”

She certainly wasn’t wasting any time, I’d hardly got through the gate!

“Sure, if you want me to!”

Jumping down from the headstone she walked over to an old box tomb. The tomb was about eight feet long and three feet wide, it had either started to sink or over time the ground around it had built up, particularly at one end, so it was about two and a half feet high at one end and about four feet at the other. At one time the whole thing had obviously been surrounded by iron railings but now only half of them remained, around the higher end of the tomb.

“What about on here? I think you could get some really nice shots of me on here, you could get some from over there, through the railings!”

She was pointing towards the church porch, where we had dried the photographs two weeks earlier.

It was a chilly night, but that didn’t stop her from removing both her coat and skirt. I took a couple of shots and then she took off her tights and leather bra. In just her black panties she posed on top of that tomb for a further three pictures. She was really good, she seemed able to just naturally slip into what looked like a truly professional way of moving and posing. She was ‘hot’, I think my ‘gulp’ could have been heard in the village quarter of a mile away when she started to remove her panties. I took one shot of her with the panties around her knees, she was sat on the tomb with her knees up, her feet flat on the stone top. The next shot had her with one leg raised high, the panties around the raised foot.

The final shot of that evening saw her leaning on one elbow, one knee raised, facing the camera and showing her pubic area. There was no embarrassment as she nonchalantly walked to the porch naked to look at all the developed photos.

Just like two weeks earlier all the pictures had come out remarkably well, but to be honest I was more interested in the naked young lady stood next to me, she didn’t seem bothered by her nakedness at all, she didn’t even seem to be feeling the chill that was definitely making me shiver; that’s what I was blaming anyway.

As we looked at the small square photographs all I could think about was how surrealistic the situation was, never in a million years would I have ever thought I would be stood in a church porch at midnight with a beautiful young naked woman.

She quite obviously liked the photos, she leaned towards me and kissed me on the cheek.

“Did you tell me you weren’t married?”

“That’s right, not any more, my wife died over twenty years ago.”

She smiled, not a smug sort of smile but a sympathetic one.

“Mmmm, maybe…” She didn’t finish the sentence , instead she asked if I would be coming by the next night?

I told her I would, it would be Saturday and that was my normal schedule.

“Good!”

She picked up the pictures that we had placed down on one of the benches and walked out, heading back towards the tomb where she had left her clothing. I watched for a few moments as she started to dress but then went outside the gate to my bike. When I backed up a little to try and see her she’d gone.

It was an uncomfortable ride home that night; I didn’t have far to go from there, but it had been many years since I had seen a naked woman in the flesh, and my body had reacted in the usual way of such things!

I had calmed down by the time I got home but I couldn’t get Angel out of my mind. I had to reflect on what I was caught up in; Angel, by her own admission was only just over nineteen years old, less than half my age, I had photographed her both semi naked and completely naked. She had walked with me and stood by me quite unconscious or uncaring of being naked. I still hadn’t figured out where she was coming from; I hadn’t seen her in my own village, and the next wasn’t really walking distance away, not at night anyway. I hadn’t noticed another bike or car hidden anywhere, so how the hell was she coming and going?

It preyed on my mind all the following day, and that evening, after a pint less than my usual three, I left the pub early, in the hope of catching Angel arriving at the churchyard.

It didn’t work. When I arrived at the churchyard there she was, sat on her usual headstone, a large one hundred and fifty year old granite slab, three feet high and almost a foot thick, the perfect seat.

She jumped down as I went through the gate and came towards me with a big smile on her face.

“Philip, will you do me a big favor?” She paused, then “Will you take some pictures of me having sex? I’ve always wanted to have sex in front of a camera, can you think of anything more exciting?”

Yes, actually I think I could, but I didn’t say so, I just said I would love to, and asked who the lucky man or woman was (I’m no homophobe)?

Angel looked around, then winked at me. “I don’t see anyone else around, do you?”

I looked around at the ancient gravestones, and the church, then what she was suggesting finally hit home! She wanted me to take pictures of her having sex with me!

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, you’re not married, I’m not married, what’s the problem, you’re not scared are you?”

“No, I’m not scared, I’m just overwhelmed by the thought that you would want to have sex with an old man like me!”

She had a lovely, sexy laugh, as she took me by the hand and led me deeper into the most overgrown part of the graveyard. There was a huge old monument there, early Victorian I think. It looked like an elaborately decorated sarcophagus, placed high on top of a huge decorated base. The whole thing must be twenty feet high and is surrounded by a low wrought iron fence. Between the fence and the base of the monument there is a flat, flagged area, once containing lettering, now worn away in most places. Angel led me past the little fence and stood on the flagged area, she unzipped her leather jacket and handed me that same camera we had used before.

She smiled as she continued to undress and I began to think of doing the same. It seemed fractionally warmer than it had been lately but I was still wearing a large thick heavy coat, it would make a better mattress than Angel’s leather so I took it off and laid it on the flagstones at our feet.

By the time I had my other clothes off, all except my briefs, Angel was laid on my coat, naked, and masturbating intensely! I picked up the discarded camera and as Angel smiled and opened her legs wide while also spreading her vulva I took the most intimate photograph I had ever taken. She wasn’t shaved, but seemed to be well trimmed. Her open folds gleamed with moisture in the moonlight. I started to grow an erection just looking at that oh so inviting sight.

“You’re not thinking of keeping those on are you?”

I wasn’t, and I didn’t. Throwing my briefs on top of my other piled clothes I knelt down between her feet and her bent knees and leaned in to take my first taste of her, the first taste of sex I’d had in a long long time. It was dark, but I could still clearly see in the moonlight as she opened herself to my probing tongue. That first sweet taste and the long drawn out moan she gave as my tongue brushed up her wet valley told me I had entered nirvana! Her clitoris was quite large and as hard as steel when I found it and sucked it into my mouth. I didn’t need to suck too hard as I was grabbed by the hair and had her whole sex pushed against my mouth as that young lady quite literally growled her obvious pleasure.

I lapped at her moisture, I nibbled on her intimate folds and sucked and gently bit on her hard clitoris. Angel pulled on my hair, arching her back and tried to engulf my whole head in her soaking passage.

The camera lay to my side, the photograph still attached to the bottom of it. I had to come up for air so I used that brief respite to separate the photo from the camera and take a quick look at it. It was a good shot, a very intimate shot, but it could have been any woman, so trying to hold the camera steady I took another exposure, this time making sure I included Angela’s widely smiling face.

My manhood was so hard it hurt, it was time to use it. I took hold and rubbed the tip up and down Angel’s wet slit to her obvious appreciation as she moaned like I’d never heard before.

“Put it in, put It in, do it now!”

I angled my cock and slid in, it was like sliding into set, but still warm jelly, or velvet, or silk, I couldn’t think of the proper description as I sank into her warmth. There was no barrier to break, no obstruction to prevent me going all the way in. Our pubic hair met, and I pulled out a little before driving back into her.

“Don’t forget the pictures!”

I hadn’t, well not quite, so I grabbed up the camera, pulled the earlier photo from the bottom of it and took another shot. I leaned back so that I could see my penis entrenched in her vagina, and just managed to include her face. But this was no time for stopping to take pictures; porn actors may be capable of just doing that but not me. I put the camera down and resumed making that girl squeal.

She squealed, a lot, and moaned and shivered as I released years of sexual frustration into her. She was just as vigorous, thrusting up to meet my downward thrusts as our bodies collided in a loud slapping that we both ignored.

She was incredibly vocal, much more so than anyone I had ever been with and insisted on directing me.

“Fuck me hard, get it in there, bounce your balls on me.”

I worked hard, throwing everything I had into making her writhe below me as she pulled and squeezed her breasts, nipping her nipples and arching her back upwards, altering the angle and facilitating my getting deeper and deeper into her.

“Picture, take a picture!”

I grabbed for the camera, pointed it down at her and clicked the shutter.

Then it happened, I got almost no warning as years of pent up longing burst into her. I moaned as I had never done before as I exploded my cum into her and totally flooded her passage. But it wasn’t just me, our timing was impeccable as she shuddered and screamed her own orgasm at the same time.

I have no doubt that Angel could have, and would have liked to carry on, but I was done. I pulled back and sat down, and picking up the camera I took another shot of the naked Angel as fluids poured from her open vagina. I was panting a little, she was making small yipping noises interspersed with low moans.

We rested for a few minutes and then began to gather up our clothes and get dressed. The weather was getting colder so we didn’t waste time, but as I donned my coat I lost sight of my companion for a moment and as I turned back towards her I found she had gone! There was no trace of her, I just couldn’t find her, or figure out how she had disappeared so quickly and completely. There was only one sign that she had ever been there, caught in a small crack in the paving, right in the corner of the little enclosure was a single photograph. I picked it up and looked at it in the moonlight. It was the one I took of my cock going into her, her hands pulling on her breasts as she smiled for the camera. I put it away in my pocket and went home.

The next day, Sunday, I decided to visit the church in daylight. It was the day our visiting vicar came to hold services so there were perhaps twenty or so people around when I arrived. After the service there was the usual greetings and an announcement. It seemed that the old man who had looked after parts of the churchyard and done a bit of maintenance around the place had announced his permanent retirement due to ill health, were there any volunteers?

Two of the ladies in the little congregation turned at looked very pointedly at me; obviously they were aware of my groundwork at the stately home. What could I do? I had the time, I liked the place, so I volunteered. So I became the groundsman and a key holder of that old church. I now had a good reason to hover around the place any time I felt the inclination.

And I did. For the next couple of weeks when I wasn’t at my job I was at the churchyard. The chap that had been looking after it had obviously been slacking for quite some time, there was a lot to do. I enjoyed the peace and quiet of the place and being able to more or less just do as I wished with the grounds. Some of the memorial stones were very ancient, some only a few years old, but many were broken, more through age than vandalism I decided. There was no sign of Angel for over two weeks.

Then, on a Saturday night, there she was. Smiling as ever she came bounding up to me as I went through the gate.

“Philip, I’ve missed you!” I didn’t say anything, there was no point in pointing out that I had been going past three nights a week. Reaching me she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. I melted, she certainly knew how to click my switch! As I returned her kisses she began unzipping my coat; I stopped her and taking her hand started to lead her towards the church. I explained that it was far too cold now to be taking our clothes off outside, and I now had a key!

Unlocking the door and going in I turned on the portable gas heater and we resumed our kissing. With our coats both removed Angel started on my jeans, and having got them down to my knees pushed me back until I sat on one of the loose wooden chairs. Once I was seated she pulled down my briefs, and knelt on the floor in front of me. As my cock rose to attention, without saying a word, my young lover engulfed my rigid cock with her mouth.

I wasn’t experienced in being given blow jobs. I’d given my fair share of oral sex but rarely been on the receiving end, all I knew was that Angel seemed very competent, she used my hard cock much as a child uses a lollipop, licking and sucking as if it was the tastiest lolly in the word. After what must have been about five minutes she stood and slowly kicked off her boots before reaching under her little black skirt and pulling down her tights and panties. She dropped them on top of her discarded boots before straddling me and silently lowering herself, impaling herself on me.

Her tunnel was so warm, so wet, slick with her lubricating moisture; she slid down my member until she was sat on my lap. Together we ground at getting me even deeper, our hips moving in unison to clamp us tighter together.

Angel started to moan, she put her head down onto my shoulder and just let go, talking much more than on previous occasions, telling me to fuck her, telling me she loved me and needed more. Interspersed with us grinding together, Angel rode me like a jump jockey, raising herself up and almost off me before slamming back down, trying I’m sure, to break the chair we were using and screaming “Yes” every time I felt the head of my cock slap into her deepest crevice. Her language got steadily stronger until I told her I was about to come. Her reaction was fast and very loud.

“Yes, come in my cunt! Fill me with spunk!”

I don’t think I’d heard the word ‘spunk’ since my childhood, but that didn’t stop me spraying her insides with it.

She stayed sat on me even as my cock became flaccid, her head still on my shoulder as she gasped for breath. I held her, replete, happy in our post coital relaxation. I still didn’t know who she was, or where she came from or how she got here, I didn’t care.

We stayed there, for I don’t know how long before with an unspoken agreement we rose and tidied ourselves up.

She did it again! I turned away to turn off the gas heater, when I turned back she was gone! I didn’t hear the door open, but it was ajar when I looked, so she must have gone out of it. How did she do that, move so quickly and silently?

The nights were drawing in, it was the end of November. I hadn’t seen Angel for well over a month and had concluded that she was gone. I’d wandered around all the local villages keeping a lookout for her but had found no sign. I hadn’t dared to actually ask for her, how does a late middle aged man explain why he is looking for a nineteen year old girl? And the only picture I had of her was one I most definitely could not show around. It was far too cold to be hanging about in a graveyard after dark so I was quite surprised when on my way home on Halloween Angel was stood at the gateway waiting for me.

Our greetings were enthusiastic, but Angel quickly asked if I had the key to the church with me? I told her that I did and led her towards the building.

“We need to be quiet” she whispered. “We’re not alone in here tonight, and we need to lock the door back up behind us!”

I couldn’t see anybody else, but I got that feeling of being watched. It was very cold, but somehow it always seems cold in a graveyard, tonight it felt even colder. I put my feeling down to it being Halloween, doesn’t everyone feel just a bit spooked on Halloween!

We got into the church, locking the door behind us. The church isn’t the warmest place, even in the height of summer, the gas heater doesn’t do a great job either, so there is a pile of handmade woolen blankets at the rear of the church for people to wrap up in. We placed a number of the blankets on the floor and I lit the gas heater. As we waited for the atmosphere to warm just a little in our hastily arranged nest we wandered around the church, looking at the dozens of memorial plaques built into the walls as well as the worn and frequently indecipherable gravestones making up much of the floor.

As we wandered around, Angel took pains to read as many of the memorials as she could, several of them in places I’d never noticed before. There was one, a very small one tucked away in a corner under a window that I had never seen before, as I tried to focus on the inscription she pulled me away and kissed me. I admit it, I had sex on my mind, who wouldn’t? Obviously Angel was thinking the same way because grabbing my hand she pulled me down the aisle to our cosy little love nest and immediately started to divest herself of her clothing.

As I followed suit she knelt up and with my jeans still around my ankles she took my manhood into her mouth. I’d never throat fucked like this before but Angel was expert at taking me all the way in, down her throat so far that her nose was in my pubes. She seemed to have no gagging reflex, I’d never felt anything like it. She eventually pulled off of me and knelt down on her hands and knees, Her beautiful young butt towards me. Finally naked I knelt down behind her and found her dripping hole, I pushed in, to the base, quickly and easily. She was incredibly wet, dripping almost, as I rocked backwards and forwards, impaling her on my hard member she grunted her acceptance and asked for more.

She seemed ready and amenable for just about anything, so taking a bit of a liberty I lubricated a forefinger in her juices and slowly and carefully introduced it to her little dark puckered entrance. I needn’t have been so careful, as soon as I had my finger as deep as my first finger joint she screamed at me to ram it in! As I fucked my young lover I rammed first a finger, then a thumb, then two fingers together into her sphincter. She loved it, and when she shouted for me to fuck her ass I complied. Pulling out of her sopping vagina I knelt lower and licked her, making her asshole slick with a mixture of my saliva and her slippery juices. Positioning my cock at that tight entrance I eased forwards. At first there was some resistance, but it quickly gave way and I entered that most private of domains, my lover’s anus. This was a complete first for me, anal sex was never on the agenda when I had been married, and the very few times I had ‘gotten lucky’ since then I had never tried it or been offered that experience.

My fingers had had no difficulty penetrating her, but she felt incredibly tight on my cock. Beautifully tight, the feeling was indescribable. I had often wondered why men found anal sex so fulfilling, now I knew. It was the difference in musculature between the vagina and the anus. It was tight, gripped by stronger muscles, constricting the cock as it moved in and out. The pleasure didn’t seem to be exclusively mine as Angel backed towards me as I thrust forwards. We were lost in sexual ecstasy as we writhed around on those blankets. When I pulled out of her ass I went back in to her vagina, then rolled onto my back so that she could mount me, both vaginally and anally. Time stood still for us both as we used each other to our full potential, nothing barred and everything goes.

It couldn’t last forever, and sated we both finally collapsed down into the blankets. I had come three times, once in her vagina, once in her ass, and once all over her breasts and face. I was totally done, exhausted.

“That was fantastic, intense; you are so beautiful and sexy!”

She answered in a strange way, or so it seemed to me.

“I’m fulfilled, that was what I really needed!”

We lay there, dozing, and touching each other, kissing, gently fondling, until I nodded off to sleep.

I awoke just as dawn was breaking; Angel was gone.

I tidied the place up and made my way home. I hadn’t missed the fact that the church door had still been locked, from the inside, I didn’t care.

Later the following week when I was tidying around the gravestones I left off for a few minutes and went inside the church, to the small plaque that I hadn’t had the chance to read.

To the memory of Angela Wright.

Taken from us Nov. 1980 aged 19.

A young life unfulfilled.

Two years have gone by since that first meeting. We still meet, and have our fun on average about once a month.

So my young lover is a ghost, so what?

THE END