Chapter 28: Recruitment Strategies
Tucker’s grin was a blinding, triumphant thing. He stood there, solid and proud in his acid-washed jeans, the ghost of a cocky rocker who’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “When do we start? Do we, like, put up flyers at the bus station?”
The practicality of it hit the room like a bucket of cold water.
Carissa was the first to speak, her earlier shrewdness evaporating into a blank stare. “Okay, wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “Full stop. I just realized something.” She looked around at the assembled spirits, her expression utterly lost. “At the moment, we have no idea how to recruit women to have sex with strange men. I mean, how would that even work? ‘Hey, come to our haunted house for a spectral gangbang?’”
“They’d run screaming,” Moonbeam said softly, her voice carrying a weary certainty. “Or call the police. Probably both.”
“Exactly,” Carissa agreed, slumping back. “It’s a non-starter. We don’t have a method. We don’t have a script. We’ve got nothing.”
A collective groan seemed to ripple through the very air of the salon. The brilliant, illicit idea was crumbling at the first contact with reality.
“But,” Suzy said, tapping a finger against her chin. “Luring in guys will be easier.” A slow, knowing smile returned to her face. “That, we can do. Guys are simple. They see something they like, their brain short-circuits, and they follow it. It’s basic biology.”
“Hell yeah, it is,” Tucker chimed in, puffing out his chest.
Elias rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything to disagree.
“So we need to figure out our assets,” Carissa said, her mind visibly clicking back into gear. She gestured around the room, encompassing the unseen male presences in the house. “Which of our guys have the most… desirable qualities? And I don’t just mean a handsome face. There are qualities like kindness, or tenderness, or...staying power...”
Suzy snorted. “Well, having a big dick always helps. Let’s be real. It’s the great equalizer.”
Tucker agreed very quickly. “Absolutely,” he said, a little too fast, his voice a notch too high. “Critical factor. Top of the list.”
The speed and fervor of his agreement caught Suzy’s attention. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, narrowed on him. She leaned forward, a predatory smile playing on her lips. “Tucker,” she purred. “You agree very quickly.”
He shifted his weight, the confidence seeming to drain out of him, replaced by a nervous energy. “Well, it’s just… it’s important. Like you said.”
“Uh-huh.” Suzy’s gaze dropped pointedly to his jeans. “So. Do you? Have a big dick?”
The question hung in the dusty air, blunt and unavoidable. Elias felt a flush of secondhand embarrassment, but he couldn’t look away. Moonbeam sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience. Carissa just watched, intrigued.
Tucker’s bravado returned in a defensive rush. “Yeah,” he said, his chin jutting out. “I do. So what?”
“Prove it,” Suzy said, her voice flat and challenging.
No one moved. The grand salon was utterly silent, waiting.
Tucker stared at her, a flicker of uncertainty in his blue eyes. Then, with a grunt of defiance, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his acid-washed jeans and shoved them down, along with his briefs, in one rough motion.
"Oh," Suzy said, her eyes wide.
"Does it get...bigger...than that?" Carissa asked.
"What do you mean?" Tucker replied.
Elias filled in for the stunned women. "Do you know the phrase 'Are you a grow-er or a show-er'?"
Tucker shook his head.
Elias thought for a second. He remembered he was naked, so he pointed to his own exhausted penis. "At the moment, this isn't much to write home about, right?"
Tucker paused, not sure if Elias was asking him to insult his dick. "I guess not," he said.
"Right," Elias continued, "but as you probably know, I've had a big day, and my guy is pretty worn out. Should I get all excited again, it'll get bigger than this."
The three women snapped out of their surprise at Tucker’s cock for long enough to agree with Elias that yes, his penis gets bigger when he’s aroused.
"A lot bigger," Carissa muttered."
"Thanks," Elias said before he continued, "So that's called being a grow-er, because what it looks like soft doesn't tell you much about what it looks like hard.
"But if you're a show-er," he went on, "what you see is what you get. So I'm a grower, and I can go from here" — he held his hands close together, approximating his flaccid length — "to here." He held his hands further apart. Moonbeam reached over and moved his hands farther apart from each other. She gave Elias a wink. "What we're asking, Tucker, is if, when you get aroused, you grow even more."
Tucker looked down at himself, then back at the group with a confused frown. “Oh, I get it,” he said. He paused for a second and continued, "It gets bigger."
A stunned silence filled the room, broken only by the soft, shuffling sound of Elias sitting up straighter. His writer’s brain, always observing, now focused with clinical intensity on the anatomical reality before him. He finally looked directly at Tucker’s penis.
It was a formidable piece of equipment, even at rest. Elias tried to guess the actual length and circumference in inches. It had to be a good nine inches long, and the thickness was what truly commanded attention—a solid seven inches in circumference, maybe more, like several thick rolls of quarters sheathed in skin. He wondered, with a detached, practical curiosity, if Tucker was ever able to wear non-baggy pants without creating a significant and obvious bulge.
The sheer, impossible scale of it seemed to warp the very space between them, sucking the air from the room. Carissa’s mouth opened, a soft, unintentional gasp escaping as her eyes remained locked on the spectacle. She tried to formulate a question, to quantify the unquantifiable, but her brain had short-circuited, reducing complex thought to a single, overwhelmed static hum. How much bigger? she tried to ask, but the words dissolved into a silent, breathy exhalation, her lips moving soundlessly.
A slow, supremely confident grin spread across Tucker’s face as he registered her speechless awe. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shift of his hips, a casual display of ownership that was more powerful than any boast.
“Well,” Suzy finally breathed, breaking the spell with a low, appreciative whistle. “That certainly qualifies as a desirable quality.” She fanned her face with her hand, a gesture that was only half in jest. “I think we’ve found our headline act.”
The meeting, for all intents and purposes, was over. All previous agendas had been obliterated by the sheer, undeniable physical evidence now on display. Moonbeam simply shook her head, a wry, almost maternal smile touching her lips as she looked from Tucker’s proud expression to the stunned faces of the others. Elias finally let out the breath he’d been holding, a dry chuckle escaping him as he accepted the bizarre new normal.
Elias finally let out the breath he’d been holding, a dry chuckle escaping him as he accepted the bizarre new normal.
Suzy’s eyes remained fixed on Tucker with an intensity that was equal parts analytical and lustful. “I think I need a closer inspection of the merchandise,” she murmured, beginning a slow, deliberate crawl across the faded Persian rug. Her movement was fluid, predatory, her gaze never leaving its target. “While I’m doing this, Elias, you should definitely call that college friend you mentioned.” She glanced back at him, a sharp, businesslike gleam in her eyes. “The rest of you, start brainstorming. We need a real system for how to recruit and, more importantly, screen these people. We can’t just let any weirdo in here.”
Tucker stood his ground, but a faint flush crept up his neck as Suzy closed the distance. When she was finally before him, she didn’t use her hands. Instead, she leaned forward, her face hovering inches away, and extended her tongue. The pink tip made contact with the underside of his shaft, and she attempted to lift it, to test its heft. The muscle strained visibly against the sheer mass and density, managing only a slight, unstable tilt before it slipped away. “Wow,” she breathed, the word full of genuine, impressed surprise. “That is a serious piece of engineering.”
A shaky, triumphant laugh burst from Tucker. “Told you,” he managed, his voice tight.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Suzy said, though her actions contradicted her words as she finally wrapped a hand around the base, her fingers not quite meeting. “Well, any more than it already is.”
From her spot on the floor, Carissa tapped her chin, forcibly dragging her own attention away from the spectacle. “Screening is the real issue,” she said, her tone turning practical. “We need to vet for stability. We can’t have someone who’s going to freak out and call an exorcist.”
“Or a realtor,” Elias added wryly, pulling his phone from his rumpled jeans pocket. He stared at the blank screen, his thumb hovering over the call button. “My friend Mark is a graphic novelist who’s really into weird folklore.” He let out a short, nervous breath. “Actually convincing him he’s not having a psychotic break will be the hard part.”
Moonbeam floated closer to Elias, her presence a cool balm against his rising anxiety. “The house will help,” she said softly, her gaze drifting toward the window where the morning light was strengthening. “It wants this. It will… encourage believability.”
Moonbeam’s assurance hung in the air, a fragile promise against the sheer absurdity of their situation. Elias stared at his phone, the name ‘Mark’ glowing on the screen, a tether to a world where problems were things like rent and writer’s block, not spectral dating agencies. Before his thumb could press dial, a sharp, wet noise from Suzy drew their attention.
Tucker’s shaft was now standing utterly upright, a thick, pale pillar of flesh that defied the dim light. It had to be at least a foot in length, the sheer scale of it making the air in the room feel thinner. Suzy leaned back on her heels, her eyes wide with a kind of reverent shock. “You know,” she mused, her voice a mix of awe and practicality, “the real tragedy is that ghosts don’t photograph well.” Then, without another word, she leaned forward and took the entire head into her mouth.
The meeting dissolved entirely. Tucker’s head fell back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hands came up to tangle in Suzy’s chestnut hair. His knees buckled slightly, the solidity of his form wavering with the intensity of the sensation.
Carissa watched, her earlier businesslike demeanor evaporating into pure, unadulterated fascination. “Well, there goes our productivity,” she murmured, not sounding the least bit disappointed. She absently ran a hand over her own stomach, her glow shifting to a warm, rosy hue.
“Focus, people,” Elias tried, his voice strained as he looked away from the spectacle. He gestured weakly with his phone. “We still need a plan. We can’t just rely on… that.”
“Why not?” Carissa countered, her gaze still locked on Suzy’s bobbing head. “Look at it. It’s a masterpiece of persuasive argument.”
Moonbeam floated closer to Elias, her form a calming presence amidst the sudden, intense intimacy. “She has a point, Elias,” she said softly, her eyes holding a deep, ancient wisdom. “This energy, this… vitality… it is the core of the idea. The house feels it too.” She gestured around the room, where the dust motes seemed to dance with a new, eager energy. “It is already encouraging this.”
Just then, the heavy front knocker downstairs slammed twice, a jarring, metallic crash that echoed through the foyer and into the salon. The sound was impossibly loud, a physical force in the quiet house.
Everyone froze.
Suzy pulled away from Tucker with a wet pop, her eyes wide. “What was that?”
“The door,” Elias said, his blood running cold. He glanced at the time on his phone. “It’s not even nine. Ashley’s not due for hours.”
The knocker slammed again, three more times, each impact more insistent than the last. Bang. Bang. Bang. It wasn’t a friendly knock. It was a demand.
Tucker fumbled with his jeans, his immense erection making the task difficult and comical. “Shit. Is it the cops? Did someone complain about the orgy already?”
“We haven’t had an orgy yet,” Carissa hissed, scrambling to her feet. Her form flickered with anxiety. “That’s the whole problem!”
“Everyone, quiet,” Elias commanded, his writer’s mind racing through worst-case scenarios. He crept toward the archway that led to the landing, peering down into the shadowy foyer. The grand front door, solid oak banded with iron, seemed to vibrate from the assault.
From below, a woman’s voice, sharp and clear and laced with an impatience that could strip paint, cut through the silence. “Elias Thorne! I know you’re in there. This is Abigail Vogler from the Historical Preservation Society. We need to speak. Now.”
Elias closed his eyes, a wave of dread washing over him. Of all the possible interruptions, a bureaucratic ghost from the living world was somehow the most terrifying. He turned back to the room, to the gathered spirits whose forms were now tense with alarm. “It’s the historical society,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash.
Suzy’s face fell. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What do they want?” Moonbeam asked, her serene composure finally cracking at the edges.
“Im sure it’s nothing good,” Elias said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. He looked at the phone still clutched in his hand, Mark’s name forgotten.