Author's Note:To any readers of these twisted humorous stories, I advise you to not take these too seriously, and no I've never smoked any hard drugs in my life before.
(Dark Comedy) Harry's Deathly Orgasm
Harry had just turned on the tap to the bathtub that he used seventeen years ago when he lost his virginity with a nonexistent entity in this god-forsaken Hogwarts bathroom. His psychologist had recently reproved him for allowing his mind to be replete with so much false imagery to prevent those hostile, unwanted real traumatic images from taking center stage horrifically in his mind. There was no magic, no brooms, no charms; these were all illusions. Then, why does Harry feel this unshakable reminder, as he lies in the cold water of the filling tub, of the vulnerability of some stray, forgotten tragedy that happened on this night.
The female poltergeist, aptly named Moaning Myrtle had a tinkling laugh and her moan was a sonorous groan of death. Her hands fondling his erection were more chilling than the water surrounding him. He had felt such a rich sense of pleasure, as Moaning Myrtle's ghostly hands rubbed that sensitive area so tenderly. As he was about to reach orgasm, he heard her abrupt moan, while he remained stubbornly silent. For, he never reached orgasm. Cedric had insinuated that he would see an egg once he reached that point. Being a bit of prude, Cedric also neglected to directly state the type of egg it would be. Would he really see it? Or would he grant something precious to that egg, and have some sacred part of himself disappear entirely?
Repetitiously, the ghost with the greyed, olive hair and the raggedy incorporeal clothing kept rubbing his penis, until both she and the touching suddenly vanished just before he reached orgasm. He was beginning to get more desperate. Harry was feeling sexually frustrated for the first time in his virginal life. There was nothing he rather have then full satisfaction, if only he could reach orgasm. This was the source of his trauma, his impotence on the night of what was either imagined, or a very tangible event. If magic really existed though, he still had impotence issues. His marriage with Ginny had recently ended miserably in an unresolvable divorce. What did he have to do to finally receive some much sought-after satisfaction?
The shrink's advice was nonessential at this point, as he fell into the cold, sweeping waters of the bath. With his eyes closed, he thought of that phantom with that delightfully erotic name "Moaning Myrtle" once more. Her diaphanous form shone in the dark depths of the waves, as she outstretched her ghostly hands and wrapped them around Harry's more mature body. Harry felt his erect penis enter into her ghostly vagina, and he begin to vigorously make love with her till he finally reached orgasm. Except, he remembered nothing distinctly after the pleasure washed over him and all life within him completely disappeared. Only a few bubbles rose to the surface and Harry's body was never to be found again, thus one wondered whether he really reached orgasm at the end of his insufferably chaste life.