Beetlejuice woke to the sound of a cloth being pulled off something. In a second he was upright in bed and blinking. He hadn't changed from his suit, or even removed his boots. He jumped up and ran to the mirror.

The black oval was turning on the Other Side. Slowly, it revealed morning in Lydia's Deetz's bedroom.

Aaand….she wasn't there.

Delia Deetz was.

"AAA!" yelled Beetlejuice, and immediately dropped to the floor.

"What on earth? Lydia! Did you just scream?"

"No, Mother," came Lydia's voice from down the hall, sounding as if her mouth were full. There followed the sounds of water running, and spitting.

"Charles?"

"I haven't tasted breakfast, dear," came Charles Deetz's voice from downstairs, "so I haven't had a reason to scream."

"Ha ha. Lydia, why did you have the mirror turned to the wall? And the cashmere shawl I got you from Gianfranco Ferre's over it?"

"Mother, get out of my room!" There was the sound of hurrying, slippered feet.

"Yeah, get the frick outta her room," Beetlejuice breathed angrily.

"Charles, it's a three hour drive to Hartford, so either eat now or starve till we get there."

"Starving might be preferable," said Charles.

"You're the one who brought us to this godforsaken hamlet of nothingness for peace and quiet, with no Thai restaurants, no delicatessens." Beetlejuice could hear Delia poking and prodding. "Didn't being in civilization again make you realize that's where we need to be? Lydia's going to be in Bronxville; if we moved back to Manhattan, it'd be only a few hours' drive to—"

"Mother, get out of my dresser!" Beetlejuice heard a drawer slam.

"Lydia, where do you keep getting such unusual jewelry? If Bitsy Menkin saw this spider brooch, she'd demand to know where you got it. Is it that antique shop in the village? You could collect a Finder's Fee for hooking Bitsy up, dear."

"It was a gift from a friend! Put it back!"

Yeah, I gave it to her! Keep your crummy hands off!

"Looks like pure silver with maracite, from the Forties. Well, I'm sure I don't know any of your little friends who can afford an antique piece of this quality."

"Lydia has friends?" said Charles.

"Look, once I'm at Sarah Lawrence, you can paw through my room all you want. Will you just leave me alone till then?"

Whoa, thought Beetlejuice. I've never heard her talk like that to her folks before. Or anyone else.

"Still cranky from the drive, hmm? Well, spare us the adolescent angst, okay? You've got the whole house to yourself for two days. Don't even bother thinking of me, trying to find something to do in Hartford while your father dumps foreclosed McMansions on the unwitting."

"I'm so glad my tuition is being paid with the misery of others," said Lydia, sourly.

"If you want to go to some radical community college to become a Photojournalist, well, don't let us stop you. We'll just tell the Dean and his son that, oopsy, we made a mistake, our daughter would rather earn her tuition by flipping hamburgers, so she doesn't have to feel guilty about getting the best education money can buy—"

"Delia, breakfast!" yelled Charles.

The Dean and his son? thought Beetlejuice.

"All right!" yelled Delia. "You might eat with us, Lydia, unless you're just so exhausted."

"I'm not hungry, and I want to change."

"Whatever."

Beetlejuice waited as the door closed, and Delia's heels clacked down the stairs. Slowly, he peeked through the bottom of the mirror.

Lydia's hair was pinned up. She wore black, red and green plaid flannel pajamas and matching slippers, which looked new and expensive. She stood at the window, her right hand holding back the curtain. Her face was shaded.

"Babes?"

Lydia started. "Oh." She hesitated. "Hey."

"So. Two days with th' 'rents away, an' Lyds can play! Yeah?"

"Um," was all she said.

"Um," echoed Beetlejuice, his brow furrowing. "Where'd ya get th' new 'jams?"

"New York City shopping spree. Delia was in Heaven. I was her own personal Dress Up doll. I got a whole new wardrobe, whether I liked it or not." Lydia slowly ran her hands over the baggy pajama top. "She didn't ask me what I wanted; she bought what she thought I should have. What a young lady of money and pseudo breeding should wear at Sarah Lawrence."

"That's th' name of th' college, right?"

Lydia made a small laugh. "It's nice to talk to somebody who doesn't know a thing about it. Delia trotted me out like a show dog. 'My daughter's going to Sarah Lawrence this fall! She's going to stay at the best residence, and we've had dinner with the Dean and his family ever so many times, and…'" Lydia sighed. "I was trapped in a bad modern version of a Jane Austen novel." The girl's voice dropped as she murmured, "As for Mr. Darcy…"

"He yer Dean?" asked Beetlejuice.

Lydia laughed, this time full and joyful, the way Beetlejuice was used to. He perked up.

As she looked at him, Lydia's expression melted. It became unreadable. It was as if she were reassessing something after thinking about it, very hard, for a long time. It made him uncomfortable. It was the first time anything having to do with her had made him uncomfortable.

"Did you even try callin' me when you were there?" said Beetlejuice, petulantly. "We were gonna find out if it works long-distance."

"I didn't want to be distracted," said Lydia, fingering the top button of her pajama top. "Going to university…it's the most important thing in my life."

The ghost tried to sound as if he were joking. "I thought meeting me was th' most important thing in yer life."

Saying nothing, Lydia went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Beetlejuice noticed she didn't look at him, though their faces were only a foot away from each other. She took out a dark purple, long-sleeved shirt which buttoned up the front, and, from the drawer beneath that, she pulled black jeans.

"So why don't ya start at th' beginnin'," said Beetlejuice, desperate to break the silence.

"I almost don't know where that is anymore." Lydia turned her back to the mirror. "Okay, we got to Bronxville, New York, and I went to Admissions." Her hands were doing something.

"Uh huh," said Beetlejuice.

"And then we met the Dean, who Dad knows because of some Real Estate or business connection I don't care about…"

"Uh huh," said Beetlejuice.

"And we were given a personal, insider's tour of the college…" Lydia's pajama top fell to the floor.

It took Beetlejuice several seconds to register the black strip of cloth horizontal across the girl's back. Lace, with black hooks.

A bra? A BRA?

Lydia turned around. "My residence room's really nice."

Beetlejuice's eyes bulged.

A black lace bra…with tits?

"I haven't met my roommate yet. I was told the selection committee tries 'very hard to match compatible tastes and temperaments.'"

Tits? When did Lydia get TITS?

"Beetlejuice?"

His wide eyes traveled down Lydia's shape. And a waist! And HIPS! And thighs!

"Are you listening?"

When did my babes turn into a babe?!

"Pardon me if I'm boring you," said Lydia, sarcastically. She stuck her thumbs in the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms and pulled them down her hips.

Black lace….panties. The response below Beetlejuice's own waistband was immediate.

Lydia paused as she bent over and picked up the black jeans from the floor. She squinted at the mirror. "Are you all right?"

"eep," squeaked Beetlejuice. Beads of sweat poured down his temples.

"What's the problem? You actually look red in the face. I didn't think that could happen. It's not like you have a working circulatory system anymore."

Oh, don't I? Holy crap, thank god she can't see me below the waist… Yeah. She can't see me below the waist…

"It really is beautiful there." Lydia turned from the mirror, put a knee on the mattress, and stretched for her socks on the other side of the bed. She turned around, sat with her legs wide, and pulled on a sock.

Ooohh, don't sit like that…yes, YES, sit like that…

Lydia looked up. "What are you doing?"

"Whaaat?" blurted the ghost. "I'm scratchin' an itch!"

"Pretty hard."

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty hard. I mean, it's one bad itch, I mean… Lyds, I'll get back to ya inna few minutes. Somethin' big's come up."

"But I was about to call you. Don't you want to come in?"

"Babes, you have no idea how bad I wanna come in."

"Your voice is cracking," said Lydia, irritably. "It's difficult talking to you in the mirror. Come over to this side."

"NO!"

"Beetlejuice…"

"Not right now!"

"Beetlejuice…"

"I need a little alone time in th' shower! Well, I don't shower, but there's a first time for every—"

"Beetlejuice!"

When the thunder and flash of light ended, Beetlejuice was in the air above Lydia's bed. Immediately he yanked his shirt tail over his open fly and crossed his legs. He landed with a thump on the mattress, grabbed a pillow, stuffed it over his lap, and leaned forward with his elbows planted on the pillow and his chin resting with feigned nonchalance in his palms.

"Soooo…" Beetlejuice smiled and cleared his throat. "Tell me th' rest."

"Why are you all sweaty?" Lydia asked.

"I ate a Bombardier beetle," said the ghost. "It was a mistake."

"Anything new happen while I was away?" Lydia zipped her jeans.

"Nothin' worth mentionin'. Sooooooooooooo….did you pick out th' new underwear, or did Delia?" He swallowed with difficulty, and pressed down firmly on the pillow.

"You wouldn't think I'd wear something lacy, would you?"

"It's not so much th' laciness, as th'…bra-ishness. Th' fact that yer wearin' one. A bra." Beetlejuice blinked, trying to keep his concentration on Lydia's eyes. Her eyes… when had her lashes gotten so long, thick, and midnight black? He shook his head as if something were crawling in his ear.

"I've been wearing a bra for over a year now."

"Oh? Really? I, uh, hadn't noticed," he said, honestly.

"You haven't noticed a lot of things." Lydia pulled on the shirt and buttoned it.

"Huh? Like what?" Mashing the pillow angrily down on his crotch, he added, "How was I supposed t' notice anythin', since you've spent th' past year bein' busy, studyin', takin' tests, an' volunteerin'? An' ignorin' me!"

"I would've let you help me more, if you could take things seriously for fifteen minutes."

"What's that supposed t' mean?"

Lydia said, in a voice Beetlejuice couldn't place as sad or angry or confused, "I don't think you take me seriously."

"What? Lyds, we've been best friends fer years!"

"And you never noticed that I wear a bra, until today."

"It's not like ya sent out a memo! 'To Whom It May Concern: I, Lydia Deetz, Now Have Tits.'"

Lydia smiled. "I can't believe you said that word."

I can't believe I said it, either. And in front of you. "Look, it's not like I'm around when yer undressin', or takin' a shower. An' I wouldn't look if ya were. An' ya only swim at school, or when yer on vacation someplace else. Ya always wear baggy, comfortable clothes. How was I t' know that… that happened?"

"The fact that I'm almost eighteen might have been a clue."

"Ya are? When? C'mon, ya know time doesn't have meanin' fer me anymore. I only remember stuff like holidays an' yer birthday cuz you write it on a calendar."

"I'll be eighteen in a month," said Lydia, pointedly, "and I'm going to be a freshman at Sarah Lawrence in September. Does that get you up to speed?"

"Sure, sure." She seemed angry about something. Between the pressure of the sudden and mind-blowing realization that Lydia had physically developed, seemingly overnight, and the pressure in his groin, and the girl's inexplicable snappishness, Beetlejuice felt frazzled.

"Do you want me to tell you about the rest of what happened, or not?" Lydia walked over to the dresser, opened a drawer, paused as if trying to remember why she'd opened it, and pushed it shut with more firmness than necessary.

"Sure, sure. Fire away." The pressure was going down. But the ghost's feeling of unease with Lydia's uncharacteristic behavior was rising.

"So, I saw my room. And all the campus."

"OK. Good."

Lydia sat, crossed legged, on the bed, her back to the ghost. "And we spent a lot of time with the Dean and his family. They think Dad and Delia are just the most special people. And so does their son. They've got this son, Chad. He's eighteen."

"Sure. Yeah. Not surprisin'."

"And Chad asked me out."

"Uh – whut?"

"We dated for three and a half weeks."

"What?"

"We became lovers."

"WHAT?"

Lydia looked over her shoulder at Beetlejuice with those large, dark eyes.

Black smoke spewed from Beetlejuice's ears. He leapt off the bed and stood in the center of the room with clenched fists. His body and head expanded, lavender scales rippling down his face, neck, and his hands. Red, serrated claws stabbed through his fingertips. Flame, real flame, blasted in his eyes, and his hair became a seething mass of waving graveyard moss and hissing, venom-spitting serpents.

"HE TOUCHED YOU?" roared a voice of avalanche and thunder and tsunami from between the ghost's acid-dripping fangs and lashing, multiple striped tongues. His body bulged and writhed inside his striped suit, until he grew so tall that his head banged against the ceiling.

"Stop it!" said Lydia, jumping off the bed.

Lava erupted from the ghost's nostrils, while beetles, worms, and maggots oozed from inside his suit. "WHERE IS TH' SLIME-SUCKING BASTARD? I'LL RIP HIS LIMBS FROM HIS TORSO! I'LL CLAW HIS FACE OFF AN' EAT IT WHILE HE SCREAMS FOR MERCY!"

"You're overreacting!" yelled Lydia.

The smoke alarm went off. Beetlejuice's talons snatched it from the wall above the door and crushed it in his scaly palm. "THAT'S WHUT I'LL DO T' HIS BALL—"

"Lydia!" Charles and Delia cried, their footsteps pounding up the stairs.

"Calm down!" Lydia whispered desperately. "Get out of sight! For god's sake, pull yourself together! Do you want them to know about you?!"

The flames in his eyes snuffed. Beetlejuice vanished in a cloud of noxious black smoke.

The door flung open. Delia and Charles ran in, halted, and looked around.

"What is that smell?" Delia covered her nose and mouth.

"Um, new incense!" said Lydia.

"It smells like…brimstone?" Charles coughed.

"Yeah. Bad choice, wasn't it? I was always curious what brimstone smelled like, and, well, now I know!"

"Charles, go get that grapefruit and lilac candle from the second guest room." Delia hauled open two of the room's three windows. "It's Spring, Lydia. If we're going to be stuck out in the wilderness, we may as well enjoy the scent of flowers!" She waved her hands, trying to direct the stench toward the open windows. "I'm getting out of here before the smell sticks in my hair."

Lydia closed the door after her. Beetlejuice appeared at the end of the bed, scaly and fanged, huffing like a werewolf, his talons digging into the blankets.

"Did you call the police?" His voice was a rasping wind in a graveyard.

"No! It wasn't like that!" Lydia sat on the mattress.

The ghost came around the corner of the bed, small asps whipping in his moldering hair. "He drugged ya!"

"No!"

"He smooth-talked ya, poured ya glass after glass of wine till you were too drunk t' think straight—"

"I was not coerced!" Lydia looked the ghost dead in his slitted, burning eyes. "I knew what I was doing! I said yes!"

Beetlejuice visibly deflated. His eyes cooled to their characteristic yellow. His fangs reformed into a green, chunky overbite. His hair faded back into long, dry yellow locks.

Beetlejuice took a few steps backwards. His brain wasn't operating. His mouth opened, hesitated, then silently shut.

"Well, say it," said Lydia.

"How could ya?" It was a whisper. "Yer just a…a.."

"A kid? I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a young woman. And I feel what a young woman feels. I have for a couple years now. It's called puberty. Maybe you remember it."

"You're only…"

"Seventeen? Right. I'm not supposed to have sexual feelings until after the preacher says, 'You may now kiss the bride.'"

Beetlejuice flinched. "You? You have...those kinda—"

"Yes! Yes, I do!" The young woman jumped off the bed, and stalked towards Beetlejuice with her hands above her head, her fingers curved in an imitation of claws. "How horrible! How twisted! Lydia Deetz actually experiences horniness! Wooooo!"

Horniness? Did that word come from my babes' mouth? The ghost backed away. "This isn't you, kid!"

"Dammit, Beetlejuice, I'm not a kid anymore! This is me! The me I am, now! If you weren't so immature and self-centered and egotistical, you would have noticed—"

Beetlejuice spat, "So yer all grown up, an' ya got feelings! Is that an excuse to hop inta bed with some snot-nosed, stuck up jerk ya only knew fer three weeks? What, was he so handsome an' popular that you just couldn't resist?"

"He is handsome, and popular, and wealthy, as it happens!" Lydia grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at the ghost. It hit him in the chest and fell to the floor. "And it wasn't bed! It was his car—" She stopped herself.

"His car?" Beetlejuice shook his head, as if too much information was cramming in, and he couldn't begin to comprehend the half of it. "My Lyds…smarter than anyone I know…did it fer th' first time in some jerk's car?"

"The second time was in a bed." Lydia chewed her lower lip. "A very nice bed."

"AAAAAA!" The ghost's head spun so fast hairs flew from it. He grabbed it with both hands, halting it with a jolt. "You did it more than once?"

"I suppose the first time you ever did it you were at a five-star hotel, with rose petals and the stereo playing romantic music!"

"Hey, we are not talkin' about me!"

"We never do!" Lydia grabbed the pillow off the floor and brandished it at the ghost. "Okay, Mr. Pure! How old were you when you first did it?"

"Don't ask about Before!" said Beetlejuice, backing away.

"That's every ghosts' excuse!" Lydia said, in a whiny voice, "'Don't ask about Before, nobody talks about Before!'" She continued, her voice normal and angry, as she advanced on Beetlejuice, "That is such a cop-out! I want to know how old you were when you first did it! And where you did it!"

"It's none of yer business!" he yelped, retreating up onto the bed.

"It's my business, if you're going to stand there and judge me!"

"Judge? Me? Lyds, I'm not in any position t' judge anybody about anythin'!"

"Exactly!" Lydia leapt onto the bed and batted the pillow at him. Beetlejuice jumped to the floor, gripped one of the bed's posts, and kept it between himself and the young woman. "But you get literally burned up just hearing that I'm a normal, healthy girl," she swatted at him with each word, "with normal, healthy desires! Who do you think you are, you creep?"

"I'm not a creep!" he yelled back, ducking. "Well, yeah, I am, but not that way! I don't think what ya did was dirty," he ducked, "or filthy," duck, "but, but it was you! And until twenty minutes ago, I never saw you as anythin' but a kid!"

Lydia stopped. Her hair had come undone. It was longer than Beetlejuice remembered, now reaching past her shoulders.

"That's what I mean." Lydia's voice was colored with hurt. "Why couldn't you see I was changing?"

"Because," said the ghost, cautiously, speaking for the first time of what he only just realized he knew, "I'm past change. I'm dead. Th' world I'm from, we don't change. You lost yer leg from diabetes, that leg doesn't grow back. If you were a screwed up moron when ya died, yer a screwed up moron for eternity. After a while, you forget what change is. One of th' reasons I liked being with ya is…I got t' experience what it was t' see things as new. T' experience life."

Lydia slowly sat on the edge of the bed. "Then why couldn't you notice that I was changing?"

"Hell," Beetlejuice said, quietly, "I've heard even parents don't notice. They look up one day an' their daughter says, 'Hey, Pops, I wanna buy a bra,' or 'Mom, will ya take me to th' clinic t' get birth control?', an' they have little heart attacks." Beetlejuice swallowed. "You're a – you were a kid t' me. I never saw ya…that way. I may be a letch, but I'm not a pervert. In fact, pedophiles are the only people automatically condemned to being fed to Sandworms when they Cross Over. Usually by their former victims. It's about the only form of justice in the Neitherworld everybody agrees to. I could never see ya as anythin' but a talented, sweet, smart kid."

"I know." Lydia hugged the pillow, gently, as if it were alive, and might scurry off if she demonstrated too much affection for it. "I always knew I was safe with you. You were my best friend, like a crazy uncle the rest of the family tells you to stay away from, but who's more interesting and more fun than anyone else. And who treats you like a person, not a child. And who would never, ever hurt you."

Beetlejuice sat down in the small armchair across from the bed, his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped between his knees, drowning in the flood of new emotions. He'd never dealt with this kind of thing in his life. The Afterlife had certainly not prepared him for it.

"How did you die?" Lydia asked.

Beetlejuice held up his hand, which was trembling. "Don't. Seriously."

"Okay. I respect that." Lydia hesitated, then spoke as if deciding to ask something which had been on her mind for a long time. "Do ghosts have sex?"

"Whut?" said Beetlejuice, startled.

"I know you still feel pain. And pleasure. Do ghosts have sex?"

His throat constricted. The words came out reluctantly. "Yeah. Yeah, ghosts still have sex. There's no sexually transmitted diseases, no pregnancies, so, with that gone, a lot of people who didn't much Before do After."

Lydia asked, quietly, "Do you?"

Beetlejuice blew air with a loud, nervous pfffft! "Babes, you've seen how popular I am in th' Neitherworld."

"Do you," the corner of Lydia's mouth twitched, as if she were fighting back a grin, "touch yourself?"

"Lyds! Jeez!"

"Well, do you?"

"I am not talkin' about myself!"

"I know that ghosts look the way they did at the moment of death." Lydia set her chin on the top of the pillow she was hugging. "Do you have all your body parts?"

Beetlejuice's nostrils flared indignantly. "I'm all present an' in workin' order!"

"You can change your shape. Can you change," she looked down towards his crotch, "that?"

At that moment, looking at Lydia looking at him, Beetlejuice's psychological reality shifted with an earthquake.

She's thinks of me. That way .

"Maybe…" Lydia's voice was as soft as the down in the pillow. Her half-lidded eyes gazed directly into Beetlejuice's widening ones. "Maybe I don't want to be safe anymore."

The door opened. Lydia gasped. Beetlejuice vanished in an instant.

He reappeared under the bed. It was alarmingly clean – Delia hired a cleaning brigade to scour the entire house once a week—and there were only Lydia's slippers and a cardboard box with no lid.

Lying on his stomach, peering up, Beetlejuice could see the dresser mirror. Reflected in it was Lydia, patting the pillow in place at the headboard, and Chicken-livered Chuckie in a green business suit, holding a large, pink-yellow pillar candle.

"Are you okay, pumpkin?"

"Sure, Dad." Her tone lacked conviction.

"Here's the phone number where we'll be staying, and…"

Charles Deetz's voice faded from Beetlejuice's distracted attention. "Lydia Deetz actually experiences hornines!" The idea of Lydia feeling desire, feeling passion, was impossible…except that she had made it quite clear that, not only was it possible, it was inescapable truth.

She's thinks of me. That way .

Naw! This is me we're talkin' about. And this is her. She's talented, smart, funny, confident, and sticks by her principles, even when the kids at school, and adults, give her hell. So naturally the guy she picked is nothin' like me. "He is handsome, and popular, and wealthy, as it happens!" Beetlejuice gritted his teeth, trying to rid himself of the mental image of Lydia with this guy, in his car, in some "very nice" bed. The curse of his vivid imagination was to very clearly see in his mind whatever he thought. He imagined a tall young man of eighteen, naturally blond, probably from hearty Anglo-Saxon stock, with deep blue eyes, fit from all the sports he excelled at, with new, clean clothes which fit him perfectly, opening the door to a Mercedes for Lydia, in order to drive her away to some secluded spot, and-

"AA!" yelled Beetlejuice, pulling his own hair in an attempt to make it stop. The ghost slapped his hand over his mouth.

He saw Charles Deetz's loafers jump. "What was that?"

"A crow," said Lydia. "Flew by, going 'caaaw.'"

As Beetlejuice slid further back under the bed, his elbow bumped the box. He froze, but neither Charles nor Lydia seemed to have heard. Out of curiosity, the ghost looked in.

A hand towel? He took it out of the box. It was wrapped around something long and hard. Beetlejuice unwrapped it.

Into his palm fell an object made of silicone, approximately six inches long, which was a detailed replica of a prominent part of the male anatomy at fullest sexual attention.

"EEE!" Beetlejuice dropped it.

"What was that?" yelped Charles.

"A…a kestrel!" Lydia cleared her throat. "Gosh, Dad, you're the one with the bird watching hobby."

My Lydia uses one of these? Beetlejuice peered suspiciously at the object, lying on the floor in front of him. He poked it. Where th' hell did she get it? No place in Peaceful Pines sells this kind of stuff. He turned the box over and squinted at the shipping label. VIP Very Intimate Pleasures dot com, Hartford CT. Huh. Parents should really keep an eye on what their kids do on the Internet.

He snorted derisively. So you're my competition? HA! He crammed the object into the box. I can do better than that.

Waitaminnit. Does this mean…that I'm thinking.. His heart kicked. …that I want to replace the snot-nosed kid, and the hunk of plastic? Am I really allowing myself to think that? Slowly, a toothy smile, licentious, hungry, and eager, spread across his face. His eyes literally glowed.

There was a Rule about the living and the dead that originated further back in time than anyone could measure. It was that, with the exception of the perimeters set for a haunting, a ghost couldn't enter the living world, or come into contact with a living being, unless a living being invited her or him in. Additionally, in Beetlejuice's case –probably because his powers were so potent—his restriction was that his name had to be spoken in the eternal threes. But after that had been done, the other way was to speak intent. To speak permission.

Maybe I don't want to be safe anymore.

Lydia knew the Rules. She knew he knew that she knew the Rules. Permission was being granted, and she knew he'd know it.

"…do you really want this candle?" Charles Deetz was asking his daughter.

"I'm not a grapefruit and lilac kind of girl," said Lydia. "The incense smell's gone now, anyway."

Charles sniffed. "Every now and then, though, your room smells like sweat socks. You don't wear sweat socks, do you?"

"I pretended to have mange in order to get out of gym, remember?"

"Right. Smart girl. Wish I'd thought of that in high school. So, here's the contact list, and some cash. Treat yourself while you're away from Delia's cooking."

Lydia giggled. "Thanks, Dad. Um…just one more thing."

Beetlejuice stiffened. The young woman's tone had become serious.

"We've never had a…a Father-Daughter talk."

Beetlejuice heard Charles gulp.

"About?"

"About when children grow into young adults, and start looking at each other in a certain way."

Beetlejuice saw Charles' right foot step on his left foot. "Weren't those books a help? And that class at Miss Shannon's?"

"It was all dry facts. I need to talk about…feelings. Sexual feelings."

"Feelings." Charles' loafers stumbled over to the window. "Look. Birdies. Birdies like flax seed. We need flax seed."

"Dad…about Chad Lowell..."

"DELIA!" Charles' loafers scrambled to the door, which he yanked open. "LYDIA WANTS TO TALK TO YOU." He dashed down the stairs.

Lydia sighed.

Beetlejuice, lying on his back, poked his head out from under the bed and snorted at Lydia. "What'd ya expect from him?"

"If you can't keep quiet, I'll call you back to the Neitherworld!"

"Guess you won't be lonely if ya do." Beetlejuice waved the silicone object as if it were a puppet. "Who's yer little friend? 'Hi, Lydia! Let's play!' Oops, not so little."

"OH!" Lydia tried to grab it, but Beetlejuice kept his hand out of reach.

"Does Chaaaaaad measure up?"

They heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Get!" Lydia grabbed Beetlejuice's hair and shoved him under the bed.

The door opened, and Delia walked in with a dramatic sigh. "Your father's hyperventilating into a paper bag, so I assume you tried to talk to him about sex."

"I thought it'd be worth a try."

Another theatrical sigh. "I was so hoping you'd be gay. It'd save so much bother." Delia came over to the bed and sat down. Beetlejuice could see she and Lydia in the mirror. "Lydia, here's all you need to know about heterosexual men. They only think about sex, and they'll jump on any female who shows even an atom of interest. They'll risk their jobs, their marriages, their family life, their reputation, just to get some. If men aren't already sniffing around you like the dogs they are, they will be. They'll say they love and respect you, that you're the only one, and after they get what they're after, they'll dump you like a used Kleenex. But they earn more money than we do, and they can be kind of fun if you're in the mood. Got it?"

"But, what about love?"

"What about it?"

"Well, don't you and Dad love each other?"

The sound Delia made could best be described as snurfle. "I'm not sure what you'd call what we have for each other, but it works. Your father's still-waters-running-deep. On the surface, placid as a paper towel. But underneath, he likes a life of action. And I provide it."

Beetlejuice gagged silently.

Lydia's voice was tighter. "Then why'd he and my mom divorce?"

"Because your mother ran off with her yoga instructor. Wait till you're forty, dear, and you'll understand."

"You're saying no man is loyal and loving and faithful?"

"Of course they are. Until they get tired of you. That's what Pre-Nups are for." Delia paused. "Oh please; you're not in love with Chad, are you?"

Beetlejuice felt a cold chill down his back.

"No! We only dated!"

"Lydia, spare me. You've slept with him."

"How do you know?" said Lydia.

How does she know? thought Beetlejuice.

"I am a woman of the world. I spotted Chad drooling after you even before you did."

"I…I," Lydia stammered.

"Don't be embarrassed, for god's sake. So. Was he as lousy in the sack as I bet he was?"

What? thought Beeltejuice.

"Um," said Lydia. Beetlejuice felt her weight shift on the bed.

"Between us girls, Lydia. C'mon."

"Well….probably." Lydia's voice became a little louder. "Not lousy so much as…really, really dull. And really quick. Well, I guess that is lousy."

Beetlejuice beamed.

"Well of course, Lydia. He's eighteen. Boys that age think they know everything about sex, when all they know is how to please themselves, and that doesn't take much. I don't suppose he even asked what you like?" Delia paused. "You do know what you like by now, don't you? I let you order that VIP toy on my card."

WHAT? Beetlejuice mind boggled, which was a bit painful. DELIA knew Lydia ordered that thing?

"Yes," said Lydia, still speaking a bit louder than normal. "I know what I like. And no, Chad didn't ask."

Why is she talking louder? Beetlejuice realized, suddenly, that Lydia wanted him to hear.

"For heaven's sakes, you should have put on your clothes and walked away! Why waste your time? Please tell me you're not one of those idiot women who's just interested in pleasing the man!"

"I'm not like that! I just kept thinking, 'Maybe this will start being sexy, maybe he'll stop being so clumsy,' and it was over."

"You mean, he was over."

Lydia sighed. "Yeah."

Beetlejuice silently snorted. Teenagers. No stamina.

"Quite obviously your heart wasn't into it," said Delia.

Lydia said, softly, "I didn't want my heart to be into it."

What? The idea that Lydia would let some guy touch her just for fun didn't register with what Beetlejuice knew about the young woman's ethical code.

"Oh. Right," said Delia.

"What do you know about it?" Lydia sounded ashamed and suspicious.

"Stop looking at me like I'm an ancient crone. I was your age once. You wanted to know what it was like to have sex, but you didn't want to do it with someone you actually cared about, in case it went wrong. And Chad is absolutely not your type. God knows what your type is, but Chad isn't it."

Beetlejuice's breathing intensified.

"And that's why Chad picked you," said Delia. "Hope that doesn't hurt your feelings."

"No." Lydia's tone said that she sincerely wasn't hurt. "He picked me because, while his parents think you and Dad are special people, they think I'm a freak. Dating me was his way of getting at them, for whatever reason. Chad has Issues." Lydia shifted on the bed again, right above where Beetlejuice lay on his stomach. "Chad's been with other girls, but they were always the Right Kind. He kept flattering me, saying I was so different from the girls he knew –which is so true—and I was unique and alluring."

"When all he wanted was to get into your pants." Delia clicked her tongue. "God, men never change. And no, the Lowells don't think we're special people. They think we're rich, influential people. Which your father is. The Lowells are stuck-up little shits. But who cares? They're giving you preferential treatment, and that's all that matters. You have to take the upper hand in this world, Lydia."

Man, thought Beetlejuice, impressed in spite of himself. Delia's not as stupid as she's seemed.

"So it's not wrong that I had sex with him, just to…find out?"

"Did you use protection?"

"He wasn't getting within a mile of me without it."

"Good girl!" Delia paused. "Both times?"

"Mother! How'd you know? Wait, wait, I know: You're a woman of the world. Yes, both times."

"Was it any better the second time?"

"No. Just more comfortable. Whoever thought having sex in a car is comfortable…"

"Men think it. Because they usually make sure they're comfortable."

"Chad thought being in an expensive hotel room would impress me. It didn't. He was just as dull, and quick." Lydia paused, then added, "Ever yawned in the middle of it?"

"I plead the Fifth, dear."

They both giggled like schoolgirls. Beetlejuice's mind boggled so much his eyes crossed, and he had to violently shake his head to set them right.

"You didn't invite Chad to come down while we're gone, did you?" Delia asked.

"God, no. I don't want to ever see him again. I didn't even give him my phone number. Besides, I'm pretty certain my lack of enthusiasm and gratitude made him never want to see me again. He'll probably find some nice, blond, blue-eyed Cabot girl, and marry, and have two-point-five insufferable children."

Delia stood up. "Next time, pick someone who actually gives a damn if you enjoy yourself. 'Kay?"

"Thanks, Delia." Beetlejuice could hear the two women hugging. "Mom."

"Delia!" yelled Charles from the landing. "Time to go!"

"Well, kiss kiss." Beetlejuice heard lips smack the air. "We'll call when we get there, though don't hold your breath, because Arnie's wife is such a chatterbox, and god knows where the hell we'll go for dinner, it'll probably be Italian and loud, knowing them, but there's something in the freezer, and here's money," there was the sound of crisp bills, "in case you want to order out to the pizza place, but god help us don't go to the Dew Drop Inn, we've got to maintain some sort of reputation in this village—"

The car engine gunned in the driveway. The horn honked, twice.

"Your father, subtle as a brick through a window." Another kiss sound, and Delia left.

Beetlejuice slowly pulled himself out from under the bed, on the side opposite where Lydia was sitting. Kneeling, he put his hands on the edge of the mattress.

Hesitantly, perhaps even a little frightened, the young woman looked at him over her shoulder.

"How can anybody know about these things, if nobody ever tells you?" Lydia's voice was uncharacteristically shy. She turned away. She hugged herself, as if she felt alone and afraid. "Maybe a person does something with someone they don't care about, because they really want to do it with someone they do care about, but that person doesn't seem to feel the same way."

Beetlejuice got up on the bed, squatting down on his thighs a few feet behind the young woman.

Lydia's head and voice dropped into her chest. "And you're afraid if you ask the person you care about, that person will laugh at you, and call you a child. Or say no, he doesn't feel the same way, he could never feel that way, and it ruins your friendship."

Beetlejuice swallowed, hard, as he looked at the back of Lydia's bowed head and slumped shoulders.

"Or if he says yes," she whispered, "and you do it for the first time, and you're horrible at it, and…maybe he's more experienced, and he'll be disgusted, or laugh, and that ruins everything, too. Maybe, you want more…but you don't want to lose what you have." Her shoulders began to tremble. "Maybe that's why a person does something stupid."

Lydia turned and looked at Beetlejuice. Tears were running down her face. She looked utterly miserable. "I was stupid. I was so completely stu—"

Beetlejuice grabbed her face in his hands and locked his mouth on hers. He inhaled sharply, then retreated.

Lydia didn't spit and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She didn't punch him in the nose, or kick him off the bed. Instead, her glistening eyes widened.

In an instant, Lydia's arms grabbed around Beetlejuice's neck and her mouth was on his. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as close as was physically possible.

She was so incredibly warm. His body seemed to take heat from hers. His fingers gloried in the softness of her thick, black hair. The tip of her tongue nervously played with his lips, and he let her in, and let his own tongue have free reign. Her hands were actually gripping his dry, yellow mass of hair.

They were on their knees on the bed, clenched together. As they devoured at each other, Lydia's hand left the ghost's hair and tentatively moved down his face, feeling his chin, then his neck, then slipped inside his open collar. Her fingers tugged at his tie.

Panting, Beetlejuice gently separated his mouth from hers, and pulled back, his hands holding her hands. Lydia looked confused and fearful.

"Babes," he breathed, "look at me. Okay? I want ya t' take a good, long look." He swallowed and steeled himself. "I'll tell ya one thing…just one…about my death. I was thirty-seven. Right? A middle-aged guy. I'm still thirty-seven. I'm twenty years older than you are."

"You died," breathed Lydia, "how long ago?"

"Aw jeez, do ya really wanna -"

"You kidded once that you'd lived through the Black Plague." Lydia's right hand was holding Beetlejuice's thin black tie, wrapping and unwrapping it around her shaking fingers. "You said you died six hundred years ago. But when I asked you about the Black Plague, you couldn't tell me anything about it. You didn't even know about the American Civil War."

"With ghosts," said Beetlejuice, sheepishly, "there's a kinda one-upmanship. The guys who've been dead a long time, ones who've seen more history, are more impressive."

"Why'd you lie to me?"

"Because…I wanted t' impress ya. It was great, havin' a smart, talented kid think I was cool."

"The word 'kid' is officially not to be ever spoken again." Lydia's fist tightened on his tie. "You are such a moron. You know I love history. Did you think I couldn't tell, from the way you talk, from the way you dress, that you hadn't been dead all that long? That you've only been dead since about the nineteen forties?"

Beetlejuice couldn't help but smile, shakily. "That's what I love about ya, babes. You are so damn smart."

"So that makes you…thirty-seven plus about seventy-eight… a hundred and fifteen years old. Sort of. I'm kissing a hundred and fifteen year old dead guy. That's really twisted." With his tie, she drew his face close. "And don't call me 'babes' anymore. Say, 'baby.'"

"Baby," he breathed.

"I've…got a confession to make." She bit her lower lip.

It was Beetlejuice's turn to look worried. "Anything ya say, it's okay."

"I undressed in front of you…on purpose. I wanted you to see. And I…wanted see to how you'd react."

A grin slid across the ghost's face. "You sneaky minx. I've rubbed off on ya."

"I'd rather," she said as she entwined her arms around his neck, "you rub…in me."

Beetlejuice swallowed, shaking. He stroked his hands up and down her back. "Okay….. I know I'm th' handsomest dead guy around. But this is all about you. I can look any way ya want me to, like any famous actor hunk, or rock star, alive or croaked. Or I can be anyone ya think up. I can be made-to-order, just say what ya want."

Lydia pressed a forefinger on his lips to shut him up. "If you change so much as a nose hair, you'll never kiss me again. Got it?"

"Oh, I have so got it." His mouth was on hers in a second, his tongue circling hers. Beetlejuice sank his left hand into her hair, as he fought to remove his tie with his right. Lydia's hands were frantically unbuttoning his striped jacket. The damn knot of the tie refused to loosen. His right hand became scissors, and cut the tie off.

"Your arms," huffed Lydia, trying to pull off his jacket.

"I..yeah, it's…" The jacket was not cooperating. Lydia giggled and kissed Beetlejuice's neck as his arms struggled in the sleeves. "Just a sec…Goddammit!" He snarled, and the jacket disappeared in a flash of flame.

"Aw," said Lydia, "I loved that jacket."

"It's just down in my Neitherworld closet, no harm done." He grabbed her again, this time his mouth caressing her neck, his tongue stroking, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt and flinging it aside. Lydia bent her head back with a small, breathy sound, while she undid his shirt. He gently nipped at her neck and shoulders. She made a deep, throaty sound and slid her right palm down his stomach and towards his crotch.

"No, no, baby," said Beetlejuice, in heaving breaths, carefully halting her exploring hand. "This is about you. Don't worry 'bout me; I'm damn fine. It's all about what you want."

"Okay." The warmth of Lydia's whisper indicated she was sincerely moved. "One of the things I want to do is…is this." Her palm headed for his zipper. "Unless…if you don't want me to, I respect that, I wouldn't…"

"Ooh god, Lyds, you have no idea… Your wish is my command, baby."

To keep from groaning loud enough for all of Peaceful Pines, Connecticut, to hear, Beetlejuice mouthed Lydia's shoulder, his hands finding inside her bra, and carefully, luxuriously, fondling, as her hand unzipped his fly and slid inside.

He heard her giggle. He blinked. His heart sank.

Beetlejuice muttered, "I can make it anyway ya want it—"

"Don't you dare. I'm just happy that…I guessed right."

"What?"

Lydia pulled back. Her heavy-lidded eyes were twinkling. "My not-so-little friend has a name. B.J."

The ghost's eyes bugged. "You mean…"

"I got it thinking of a particular someone. Sometimes when we were sitting, watching TV, the inseam of your trousers was pulled up high enough for me to…guesstimate size. I know you didn't do it on purpose, it's just something that happens sometimes when guys sit down. And I know you didn't know I was sneaking a look. I'm just very happy that my guesstimate was right. And that I've been…practicing…with your namesake." She blinked, blushing. "You're perfect."

"That makes two of us," Beetlejuice breathed, and dove into her again. His eyes rolled back in reaction to her hand. "Oh god, baby, oh..." Her hand closed, tightly. Beetlejuice's eyes popped. "Lyds! Nails, NAILS."

She let go. "I'm sorry! I'm so clumsy—"

"No, no problem, I love yer enthusiasm!"

Kissing, panting, the young woman and the ghost moved towards the headboard. Beetlejuice, eyes closed, mouth working, one arm around Lydia's back and picking at her bra closure, yanked off first his right boot, then his left. He threw it across the room, and it bounced off the armchair. Lydia was panting as his teeth grabbed the front of her black lace bra and pulled it off, then moved to what had filled it. Lydia wrapped her arms around his head, shuddering as his lips played, as the ghost pulled off his trousers and briefs. He reached blindly behind and grabbed the two large pillows, stuffing them upright against the headboard, one in front of the other.

"C'mere…" Wearing only his open magenta shirt, Beetlejuice leaned back against the pillows, his legs apart. Carefully, he turned Lydia and maneuvered her between his legs, so that she was leaning her back against his body, her head beside his.

Slowly, savoring every inch, Beetlejuice opened her zipper. Lydia raised her hips, and his shaking hands slipped her jeans, and her panties, down to her thighs. She lowered them to her ankles, then tugged them off, throwing them to land on top of Beetlejuice's boots.

Caressing her hair, he had her lean back on him. He whispered in her ear, "Show me what ya like. Teach me what ya like."

With her right hand, she guided his. She placed his thumb and forefinger. She carefully demonstrated the movement. He followed, damp with sweat. Her head fell backward, her cheek against his chin, her eyes closed.

"Am I doin' it right?"

Pressing her cheek against his face, eyes shut, she nodded vehemently. Her mouth fell open. Her breathing became more rapid. She started to reach behind her, for what was pressing urgently against her.

"No baby, don't worry about me, I'm good, I'm soooo fine." Beetlejuice was, in fact, on the verge. Watching this young woman, his Lydia, pink with pleasure, stretched over him, would set him off immediately if her fingertips so much as brushed against him.

Lydia's hand indicated that he should increase the pace. She grabbed his left hand, and placed it a little further below his right. His fingers knew what to do, and Lydia's wordless gasping indicated he was right.

Beetlejuice mouthed her neck, trying to concentrate so he wouldn't explode. His striped tongue snaked down her, tickling, stroking, all over her breasts. Lydia's back arched; her breath became jerky, catching. Her fingers gripped his thighs, then moved up and dug into his hair.

"Beetlejuice…" she moaned, her hips moving faster.

"mmmm," he groaned, his tongue retracting, his own hips moving.

"Oh god…Beetlejuice…"

"Yeeaah, baby, my beautiful baby…"

"Beetle—"

"Waitaminnit. Lyds! Don't say—"

"-juice."

A crack of lightning and clash of thunder.

He appeared on the floor of the Roadhouse's Common Room, wearing only his open shirt.

"AAAAA!" Ginger shrieked.

"Sacre bleu!" screamed Jacques. "And moi with no eyelids!" He covered his eyes with his finger bones, but could still see, so he covered his face with his beret.

"Lyds!" Beetlejuice yelled, trying to cover his crotch with his shirttail, and crossing his legs. "Call me back! CALL ME BACK!"

The End…for Now.