Chapter1 – A Matter of Blood
Such gut wrenching excitement filled my body since touching down upon English soil that the butterflies in my stomach acted like birds flying mistakenly into squeaky clean windows. The nausea wasn’t from the mere fact that I had taken so many medications to render me nearly unconscious for the long flight as I have always been deathly afraid of flying, although that didn’t hurt. But instead, it had been my life-long quest to visit the lands of my forefathers.
Most people would consider such a visit nice but not wholly necessary for their mere existence. So many members of later generations cannot name their grandparents much less their great-grand parents. Nor do they care.
This mission was necessary for me as it is for most adoptees because we have this thirst for the knowledge of our 'blood', our birthright.
The system and even some of our parents complicit with the state hid the most basic information from us legally, thinking they were doing the right thing. Therefore, ancestry is something that many non-adoptees could care less about, or if they do care in the slightest, their genealogy quest occurs much later in life as a means of passing on a legacy of bragging rights to their grandchildren.
I didn’t have to contend with passing this information along to grandchildren, as not only did I bear the scarlet B on my chest for being a “bastard”, but also a Q for being “queer”. This trip was for me only.
My visit was to encompass as much of England and neighboring European block countries for any documentation concerning several blood lines that I had discovered during my research. Just getting here was half the battle as I had been adopted past 12 months after my birth. No biggie right? Since I was adopted past this time, I had to jump through more hoops in proving who I was in order to obtain a passport thanks to post 9/11 regulations. How can anyone prove who they are if the state holds the key to those documents and knowledge that we aren’t allowed to posses by law? This is why I held such information so dear to me.
I lost my way many times following the English maps during my traversing the countryside and also having to remember to drive on the other side of the road with this English retro-fitted jeep. The keepers instructed me not to arrive at the Harewell Manor after dark, but with many cemeteries to visit, difficulties in locating key gravestones, and now my vehicle in disrepair, it became difficult to meet my objective. With the sun setting in the distance, I thought it safer to walk to the manor before dark, perhaps even thumb a ride. But as I walked along the lonely road, with the last oast house no longer visible, the sounds or rather lack of sounds became unnerving. It was like the earth was holding its breath in apprehension of something inexplicable.
As the skies began to darken more than anticipated, my pace quickened to nearly an outright jog. The back pack carrying computer, camera and some books thumped heavily upon my aching lower back. The strangest sounds I’d ever heard in the night paired with a rapid heartbeat thumped inside my head to the point I could barely see the manor in the distance. Finally, the drive to the manor came in sight and I knew I was in the home stretch. My haunches and leg muscles were screaming vehemently in unison as they closed the last few yards to the front door of the manor, weaving back and forth across the drive as a drunkard.
Upon reaching the door, the written words of the elderly female keeper rang inside my head, “Don’t come after dark. It’s not safe in these parts.”
After nearly collapsing at the door and quite winded, I attempted to regain some semblance of composure so the keepers would not think I was a madman foaming at the mouth. I rapped the brass knocker on the large hand-hew wooden door at least a dozen times, evidenced by my knuckles reddened from the pounding. Then the realization set in that perhaps they had already left.
But it wasn’t that dark yet. The sun was just now barely behind the hill in the westward sky. How could I have missed them on the road leading from the manor? Surely, they wouldn’t have left this early knowing that I was on my way? But they had no phone, so I couldn’t advise them of the jeep breaking down. Maybe they will see it and return, I reassured myself.
As the darkness set upon the lonely estate grounds, the lovely scented hawthorns, stately elms lining the drive, pruned green hedges with new growth, arid dry fountain, even the statues of hares sitting at the entrance, all took on a menacing personality at this time of evening.
With a renewed urgency beckoning inside of me, I arose from squatting on the steps, turned around and loudly pleaded, “Is anyone home? Please answer!” I lifted my hand to knock once again. Tired and very disgusted at my plight, I plopped down in defeat, my head in my hands and began talking to myself: “Shit... What am I going to do? I can’t sleep out here all night until morning, and I can’t walk back to my jeep. Damn rental cars.”
That’s when I heard a creak behind me. As I tenuously turn around, the door was mysteriously opening with an invisible hand apparently behind it. I murmur to myself, “Oh this ain’t good.”
Chapter 2 - Visitations
As I slowly walk across the threshold, I place my hand against the weathered door to part it further. To my amazement, it opened fairly easily, perhaps too easily even though constructed from as thick of hardwood as I'd ever encountered before. Peering inside, pitch black darkness abounds except for some candle light in the distance, dancing around a corner. I ease my feet down upon what seems to be steps diminutive in breadth. At that moment I envision myself flying off into the darkness unaware of what I may fall into. Realizing my feet seem to be on more solid ground, I hear my shoes click across the rounded pieced flooring. Then it occurs to me that the flooring must be cold moist rock, as a chill permeates the soles of my leather mules and my body begins to shiver.
In pursuit of the illumination which beckons all humanity in the dark of night, I call out often inquiring if anyone was home, all the while explaining why I was there, as if someone would be listening. Stupid perhaps, but I really wasn't ready to be shot for trespassing, even though the front door bid me welcome. Rounding the corner of what soon appeared to be the den or library, I discover flames freshly kindled in the rock-lined fireplace.
Without nary a thought, I rambled shivering up to the earth and began warming my hands and the front side of my body. While the flames warmed my torso and the grip of the self-hug eased in which I embraced, my sight cast upwards, latching onto the site of an immense oil painting poised above the fireplace. The painting was that of a long dark-haired gentleman donning mid-1600's period garments which included dark pants, long black coat, white ruffled shirt and dark hat. As I peer closer, I pose to myself, "I wonder if that is my 13th great-grandfather Christopher Harewell..." As that spoken sentence trails off, I feel a slight chill in the air pass behind me, and then a voice nearby asks, "And who are you?"
I stammer and stutter an apology, "Umm...the ummm duh duh door was open...and my rental car had broken down. I had been expected to arrive much earlier by the keepers of the manor, but I lost time in a few cemeteries while researching my ancestry and losing my way on a few back roads.. I am so sorry sir."
I informed him of my family birth name and for whom I was ardently searching, while slowly closing the space between me and the shadowy figure seated in the corner of the library. As I reach out my hand to greet the stranger, light from the lapping flames of the fireplace illuminated the left side of his face. His skin was oddly hued, his facial structure angular and drawn. As I held out my hand, I instinctively caught myself offering it palm upward, as if allowing an animal to sniff and sense no harm. It seemed like an eternity until his hand touched mine and was nearly so icy, that the touch made me shudder. However, I did not withdraw because there was something familiar in his face.
I took my other hand and placed it on top of his hand, hoping to warm him, and to also let him know I was earnest in my reasons for being there. In an overly cordial yet perhaps curiosity-filled voice, he asked me to make myself comfortable, and he would draw a drink to bring back the pallor of my cheeks.
As I prattled on about my research, he poured brandy from a glass flask into our glasses and held one out to me. It is then I noticed his ring, quite old, wide gold band with etchings and a huge stone in the center. I couldn't make out anything else due to the poor lighting. I timidly inquire if there were books that would give me more information as to the whereabouts of my ancestors, particularly the burial places around the area. He curtly warned me that it would be best not to visit the cemeteries due to strange happenings and crimes against persons who visit. For some inexplicable reason there had been a rash of violent attacks recently. He further offered that perhaps some ruffians or robbers were to blame.
"Perhaps you may not be able to understand this, but knowing my history, my birthright is very important to me. I came all this way from America to trace them, to know of their life and who I am. I can't put into words how it makes me feel, walking the land where my fathers trod, where they tilled the earth, where they married and raised families, where they stood and fought in wars to protect all for which they had worked so arduously. I have this deep, yearning desire to touch them. I know I can't really touch them in person, but at least I can visualize where they are at rest. Am I making sense or am I already slurring due to the Brandy?" I dribble.
The sifted brandy indeed had its intended purpose in warming my cheeks and other body parts. As I took time to rest upon an antique sofa situated along the wall with high glass windows above it, I noticed a musty scent emanated from it, but it was comforting to my tired feet and legs from the journey they had endured.
After nearly viewing my inner eyelids, my most pleasant host remarked that he would prepare a room for me to stay the night. As I attempt to sit up, I remark that I did not want to intrude upon him. But he insisted it wasn't safe for me to go anywhere that time of night, which did allay my fears of asking for lodging. I watched his figure cascade up the staircase and down the long hall above the library, and I took note of his dress. Long, dark coat that had a huge yoke around it, that didn't even hit the back of his knees as he glided up the stairs. It dawned upon me that I didn't even know the name of my kind host. No sooner was he gone from sight, a knock came upon the front door, and then I really wished I knew his name.
Breaking the silence, a loud shout from two demanding gruff voices, "Is anyone eere? Anyone at omme?" Then the most chilling, hideous laughter escaped from their lips as they knocked the door open.
I shouted out, "Who is there?? Are you not aware that this is not your residence!! LEAVE AT ONCE!!"
As the figures discover me in the library, their faces illuminated by the light of the fireplace were indeed hideous. Fat, bumpy, scraggly faces that hadn't seen a razor in quite some time, missing teeth, and the ones that dared grace their mouths were darkened from lack of hygiene.
"How are ya this evening lad? Are you ere all alone? Or are the ghosts and vampires keeping you company?" taunted the more vocal of the two dangerous brutes.
"There are no such things in this house, and you both need to leave because the owner will be upset once he returns and will call the authorities", I offer menacingly.
As the figures drew closer to my personal space I backed away and began calling for Christopher, "Christopher! Please come! There are robbers in the house!!" They didn't believe there was a Christopher there and continued their mocking laughter for my calling whomever I didn't know. But it felt natural to call him Christopher, since I came there in search of a Christopher Harewell.
The taller of the two thieves came closer to me, backing me up against a cold rock wall. I turned away and drew up a fist and slung it at my would-be assailant, squarely landing upon his cheek, addling him back a good distance.
Holding his cheek he remarks wickedly, "Ohhh...the boy wants to play does he? We'll show you how to play proper-like." His unruly partner takes hold of my arms while the former punches me about the face and stomach. With the onslaught of extreme pain of each punch and the breath taken from my lungs, my body begins to slump towards the floor, but I am kept upright until my attacker takes from his back pocket, something that resembles a small club. As I view the club, it rushes towards the side of my head and my neck jerks backwards against my captor's shoulder.
I remember sinking to the rock cobbled floor and gazing up towards the steps, where I see you looking over the balcony. I must have been hallucinating as I could swear you floated over the wrought-iron baluster and sailed into the scruffy robbers. The last thing I heard was the most hideous screaming coming from all around me.
Chapter3 - Reclamation
Part of me sensed being lifted into the air like a weightless cloud. Yet, a cloud black and blue as if preparing to unleash lightning bolts and cast down torrents of rain. While struggling to maintain some semblance of sight through fluttering eyelids, I see the oil lamps lighting themselves on my approach, then extinguishing themselves as I am carried past. Ancient wall-covering with designs yellowed from time race across what is left of my consciousness. The next thing I recall is waking up with something wet and cool against my forehead and cheek. Struggling with a lump in my throat that wouldn't go down, I attempt to ask what happened.
His hand gently strokes my face with his voice softly commanding, "Sshh… Relax. They are gone. They won't be back to harm you." Exhaustion overcomes my body yet a sense of relief floods my mind. My torso informs me that it was not lying on the musty sofa. My backside drinks in the softness of the four-poster bed and the mattress cradles the aches and pains of my trunk. Something sleek comforts back of my throbbing head.
As I once again strain to see my surroundings, I sense a gentle tug at the buttons along the front of my shirt from my neck to my waist. One by one the buttons slip effortlessly leaving me slightly startled and breathless as the chill hits my bare chest. My voice murmurs some hurt or pang that registers in my brain, and I hear once again the reassuring voice, "Ssshhh, it will be alright". The top button to my jeans and zipper stubbornly loosen as their protests were duly registered. Hands gently cascade them downward along my thighs until finally free of my feet.
Gazing to the left of the room, I bring into focus a fuzzy glowing orb filling the sky. Trees limbs gently rock to and fro from the light breezes that captivate their branches. The comforter upon which my prone body is laying, wriggles under my backside, and is then placed at my feet. Something cold and slightly softened from age draws a line from my shoulder along one collar-bone to the other side, then down the middle of my chest.
Subconsciously, I writhe under the touch of the soft invader. My back arches begging more of the same. A finger lightly lances across my stomach from hip to hip, traversing my treasure trail in midstream. A murmur of satisfaction audibly escapes my parted lips as your digits continue to explore my body, visiting the sides of my haunches down the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, knees, ankles and back again. Invitingly my legs spread and once again my brain is reminded that region hurts as I wince in pain.
As if knowing where my pain is greatest, soft engorged lips cascade from my knees to stomach to the side of my head, suckling skin ever so tenderly as kisses are planted at intervals. With each successive oral brush, jolts of life-sustaining electricity rivet through my extremities.
While bruised muscles relax, my legs spread further apart, enticing the lips of the apparition to explore. The bed dips between my toned members under an invisible weight. Startled, I open my eyes and catch sight of a long dark mane adorning the head that is fervently lapping skin from bellybutton to chin.
Amidst awakening from this sensory gratifying netherworld, our eyes stare into another. I could swear the brightly burning embers of the fireplace are melting his icy orbs into blue pools of Gulf waters, and undulating a primal mating dance; daring me to abandon my reserve to become one with the flame. Involuntarily, I lick my parched lips right before another set of lips is placed upon mine. A moistened flange flickers lightly inside my mouth searching. All the oxygen of my lungs becomes drained from within its passageways.
A torso gently presses against mine, ever so lightly, so as not to hurt, but I feel my urgency desiring release from its confines, to be pressed against another throbbing mass. It had been so long. Could I be imagining this...?
The sense of protection was overwhelming while my hardened shell like that of a clam, designed to shield against invaders the most vital and sensitive to harm, was pried open. As I lay there completely naked, I watch through glazed eyes a familiar figure hover above me, placing his knees between mine, removing his shirt, revealing lily-white skin, and rigid, darkened nipples illuminated by the light of the moon.
The tie-fastened britches glide effortlessly from his torso and cast aside. Rhythmically, he grinds his hips into mine. I feel the head of his mass against mine, sending jolts of pleasure mixed with pain throughout my body. His hand slips between our entangled waists, coupling slender digits around his expanding staff and mine, rubbing ever so firmly, while his lips rediscover mine, muffling the sounds that escape from my throat.
When his lips abandon mine to map the nape of my neck, I become like softened clay in his grasp. My hands reach to clutch his back, bringing his figure closer to me no matter how much the weight hurts, encouraging our intimate union. He nips with his teeth that one spot on my lower neck that makes my hips jump upward to greet. Wantonly I cry out, "Yessssss... please... pleeeaasee!!"
He lifts his face above mine, looking deeply into eyes that are burning with desire and he inquires, "What do you want? Tell me, please."
My brain can barely bring myself to verbalize what I want. It had been such a long time since that fire has been stoked into frenzy, quenching a thirst that can no longer be ignored.
“First, tell me your name again. We never had the time to properly become acquainted,” I gasp.
“My name is the same as the ancestor for whom you search. Christopher,” he responded.
"Then please... take me... I want to feel you... inside of me,” breathlessly I plead.
In response to my plea, my legs become pushed gingerly alongside my lower abdomen and effortlessly cradled upon strong forearms. His face, once staring into mine, fades below to my waist. With his forearms still supporting my legs, his lips kiss and slather my lower thighs to my quivering buttocks. Licking, nipping, and moistening from one cheek to the other and back again. Then I sense fingers, lubricated with the oil from the floating candle, encircle my flower, enticing my bud to open to his touch.
As Christopher's teeth continue to nip at my ample cheeks, his digit prods at the entry, slipping the oily substance past my sphincter. A familiar pain fills my innards, yet it's different this time. I want this kind of touch, crave this intimacy.
His angular chin moves between my mounds, widening them and his tongue flickers at the moistened canal, which is opening further and further to the fervent onslaught. My hand reaches down to tousle his hair, pulling him gently towards me, encouraging him to prepare me for his manhood to enter me.
Sensing my urgency, Christopher brings himself to his knees between my legs once again. I look into those eyes and as if by command, my arms rest above my head, resigning myself to being pleasured. He presses the head of his cock against the entry, holding it firmly there until my pucker tires of maintaining its ground against the intruder. My body begins to take his girth inside of me little by little as he continues pressing.
I rasp with my head tossing from side to side, "uhhh, uhhhh... aruhhhh! YESSS...! PLEEZZEE...! "
Eventually, I feel his fuzzy orbs burrow against my backside. He wraps my legs around his upper chest in total submission. I bring my arms around his muscled shoulders and hold on tightly, burrowing my fingers into his shoulders, as I prepare for him to move inside of me. His hips move in circles to widen me so I am more prepared for our lovemaking. His lips and teeth once again return to my neck, shoulders, and chest. While his hips rocking slowly to and fro, I spread my legs wider to receive his internal caresses.
Sensing that it won't take much to send me over the edge, Christopher holds the back of my head in his hands, gazes into my eyes and asks, "Do you accept my seed inside of you? The seed of your kin planted deep within your belly?”
If only he knew at that moment how true that statement would be, even to our mutual disbelief.
Holding onto his body as if my very life depended upon it, Christopher plunges inside of me, forcefully wrenching my hole to tighten around his throbbing veined mass. Tremors from my hole shoot all along my inner hips and inside my belly, sending me into a frenzied abyss. My voice moans his name like a banshee, louder and louder. Whimpering and panting as his thrusts quicken and deeply penetrate his newly owned vessel.
As I come close to release, my oozing vice grip loosens around him, hoping his last thrust deep within my quivering hole will force me to convulse around his staff and milk the seed deep into my being. My gut feels as though it's on fire! My milk-filled sacs draw closer to my body, butt gasms trigger the flow of lava up my shaft, and I begin erupting uncontrollably between our compressed bodies, plastering us firmly together with my seed.
While clenching his lower back tightly, guiding and holding him in place, I sense his climax welling inside. I beg him not to withdraw. His hands cup my shoulders as he screams into the pillow under my head. I spread-eagle and clamp my legs around his waist as he chunks his fiery seed inside of me. I scream as the potent seed sharply stings my bowels.
I lay under his body upon the sweat-soaked sheet, my eyes gaze into the darkness of the ceiling and there is nothing to be seen but a myriad of shooting stars. Once our labored breathing returns to normal Christopher rolls gently from atop my body and spoons me up into his arms from behind.
While smiling I repose, "And to think my quest was only to find my 13th great-grandfather Christopher Harewell. Instead, my car breaks down; I become attacked by some repulsive robbers, and then both rescued and bedded by a relative bearing the same name of my ancestor."
In a scoffing auld English voice Christopher insists, "But your ancestor by the name of Christopher Harewell did not leave any issues. He died in the civil wars during his short lifetime. It was a long period of social and religious unrest that fully engulfed the British colonies of Europe, and he became deceased during one of the many internal skirmishes.”
I wrestle from his grip, gingerly turn over to meet his bewildered gaze, place my arms around his shoulders and speak excitedly, “But I have letters! Love letters written by his beloved Amabel Cromwell, which went unanswered. But she had a child and gave the baby boy his surname of Harewell. Her father, who was an English loyalist and military official within the government, arranged it so that the child would be considered legitimate.”
For a few brief moments, I could've sworn his gasp took all the air from the room and a cast of worry deeply furrowed his brow.
Christopher gently loosens the grasp of my arms from his shoulders as my body protests the retreat of our coupling. While his face looms over mine, he begins to speak, at first stammering then continuing with a curious smile, "I see...Well, I must beg your leave for a short time while I...complete some unfinished business. I will return this evening if you are still here? I would like to discuss these letters further. Are they in your possession?"
"Yes they are, if the robbers did not take my backpack. It contains my computer, camera, notes and the letters," I inform.
Nodding he assures, "Good. They did not take anything contained wherein this house, I promise you. I will leave a note for the keepers to not awaken you. Your body needs the rest from your travels and tonight's events. You are welcome to stay here as long as you see fit. I hope to see you for dinner this evening. It would be my privilege to engage you on these historical matters and to entertain you."
Before departing, Christopher heaps the coverlet and blankets on top of me to keep me warm throughout the wee hours of the morning. A heavy slumber that I've never experienced before comes over me. For the first time in so long, I dreamt of nothing. No troubling thoughts or nightmares to disturb a restful sleep. For once, I felt protected...
Chapter 4 - Epiphany
I awake with the sun darting through the slightly parted drapes cascading from above the iron encased window. Situated below the windows sit an antique fainting sofa adorned in velvet covered pillows all framed in cherry armature worn from neglect. The birds were melodiously singing their greetings to one another from blossom-filled trees that just a few hours ago seemed sinister. My body greeted me with a different sort of salutation as memories of last night's physical encounter scolded me to be mindful of moving too suddenly.
"OUCH..! Shit..! Uhhrrr", I bellowed as apparently one of the keepers was close by eavesdropping.
"Are ya alright in there sir?" she inquired in a more sensitive manner than I'd imagined from her letters.
"Yes Ma'am. I think so. It was just a rough night. I'll tell y’all about it when I manage to get up and find some clean clothes. And my dirty clothes are not here. Whoops. I left my other clothes in my car which is on the side of the road. Dammit..! Um, sorry Ma’am, I didn't mean to cuss."
"Ohhh, it's alright Sir! I have your clothes freshly laundered and if you need more, the Master, I mean Mr. Harewell has offered some of his for your use, which I can retrieve right fast. Henry will fetch your auto after breakfast. Which reminds me, what would you like for breakfast? We have sausage links, bacon, ham, eggs, toast, and muffins, anything you like!"
Wow..! She's very hospitable, much like people in the South. Either that or she's terrified of Christopher... Nawww... He wouldn't be like that. Although, I'm not sure the screams that are ringing in my ears from last night could be a testament to his even-temper.
"Well, eggs and toast would be fine with me Mrs. Copeland.” Little did she know I wouldn't eat pork or red meat, only poultry and fish.
"How do you like them sir?” Mrs. Copeland asks.
"Just scrambled if that's okay with you? I'm not particular." I offer.
"Are ya sure? I can fry them any way you'd like too," she prods.
"No Ma'am, just toss them in a pan and kiss them. That's quite fine by me! But thank you so much for offering.” I cajole.
"I'm gonna put these clean clothes just inside the doorway for you," I rush to cover myself in the comforter, but she sees my face and other bruised areas. "In the name of MOTHER MARY, what happened to ya!!?” she exclaims.
"I'll explain at breakfast. That is, if you don't mind seeing me like this?" I request with embarrassment.
"Mmm...Well...okay Sir. Call out if you need anything! And I'll care for your wounds, when you are up to it."
Carefully placing one foot on the floor at a time, I stretch my feet in hopes of them holding me up steadily. Having a genetic joint disorder is for the damned birds. One, two, three, oh fuck, that didn't work, and plop down on the bed. Okay, let's try that again. Shit, shit shit... Note to self: Do not spread your legs so far apart during sex.
Delicately, as I walk to the door to retrieve my clothes from the woven basket, I hear the joints in my feet, ankles knees and hips pop and crackle. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be one of my down days. I can already see that,” I manage to grit through clenched teeth.
After struggling to put jeans back on, one leg at a time while holding onto the wall, buttoning shirt, and finally donning socks and loafers, I pad softly down the hallway to locate the bathroom, since there were no mirrors to be found in the bedroom. There should be one there to inspect the damage from last night.
And damage there was. Visible even in the cob-web fractured mirror. My eye sockets black and blue from the punches my face intercepted. Goose-egg on the side of my forehead, one of the places I remember being clubbed. Reminds me of the time my head got in the way of a 90mph fastball. Even wearing a helmet, that pitch was a doozy! And where did these bruises on my neck come from? Oh yeahhh... I remember that now.
I really hope that Mr. and Mrs. Copeland don't mind seeing the majority of my visible parts painfully swollen. Walking down the long staircase was a challenge as each step elicited audible grunts of pain. While slogging across the den to enter the vestibule, I noticed everything in order and my backpack placed on the sofa as it had been before the mayhem erupted. Although my notes were spread over the long antique coffee table as if someone had been reading them methodically, a few books that were not my own were also curiously stacked beside them.
Adorning the walls on either side of the beautifully rendered oil painting of whom I took as Christopher, were very old, yet well-kept crossed swords, one long with a beautiful hilt made of the same metal material encrusted with semi-precious stones, while the other sword fashioned a serrated edge. The sun beaming in from the tall windows glinted from their recent honing. I made a mental note of how I would hate to imagine the damage those instruments of war could extract. Walking across the vestibule, I note that all the walls are made of cobble stone, and the floor is constructed of large, flat, round river rock. On the entryway wall I spy a shield with a fesse wavy sable with three hares' heads argent. To finally see this in person made sense as to why I had always loved raising rabbits and replicated this fetish in my home's decor in the states.
"Is that you Mr. Wilkey? We're ere in the dining room if you'd like to sit down and eat with us. Your eggs are nearly finished,” Mrs. Copeland announces.
As I round the corner of the dining area illuminated by a bay window, a man I presume is Mr. Copeland is captivated by a newspaper until his bald head lifts from his busy reading. He gasps at my appearance and I apologize profusely for startling him.
"Master Harewell quickly mentioned there was an incident here at the manor last night, as was evidenced by broken chairs, glass, and blood everywhere,” explains Mr. Copeland
"Oh really?” I begin to question.
"Now old man of mine, do not vex Mr. Wilkey with such morbid details," admonishes the Misses with a fake, yet nervous smile and chuckle.
"I am so sorry for arriving late. I'm sure Christopher filled you in on the details of the brazened robbers who broke into the manor, and began assailing me for no other reason than I told them to leave. I don't remember anything after being clubbed by one and waking up in the room upstairs. Christopher tended to my injuries and comforted me greatly. I'm very thankful he was here. Does he just spend the nights here? I noticed he was gone by early morning."
"Um, well, Mr. Harewell has a different schedule than most people keep. He often works at night, while sleeping most of the day until early evening," informs Mrs. Copeland while fidgeting nervously. In fact, she hands were trembling so badly that she nearly dropped the skillet of scrambled eggs. I offer to help, but she would hear none of that.
"I hope to see him this evening, so that we can share more family history with one another. And he told me that I could stay as long as I wished," I added.
"Well, um, just be careful please. As you can now testify, we have a lot of break-ins in these parts. It's not safe around here after dark. Errr, the longer you stay, the more likely some accident may befall you, like last night," Mrs. Copeland ends as she begins to concentrate on losing herself in a cup of tea.
During breakfast, Mr. Copeland and I discuss the various cemeteries, libraries and sources for information in and around Harwell. That will be for another day, when I'm more capable of driving and my appearance is not as obviously painful. Soon after I excuse myself from my good hosts to smoke and drink my coffee outside, it was offered that I smoke inside, as they don't mind since Mr. Copeland smokes his pipe indoors. Should've seen the look on their faces when I told them my skin has allergic reactions to direct sunlight, and that I appreciated their kind offer of staying indoors. I thought Mrs. Copeland was going to choke on her sausage links.
The rest of the day, I pour over the books in the den for ancestral information to support my gedcom files. Before Mr. Copeland headed out to retrieve my vehicle, he brought an extension from the kitchen into the den for my laptop due to electricity being absent in many parts of the old manor. A bit difficult to feed wiring through stone walls, I would imagine. But what bewildered me was that there was no electrical lighting even upstairs. Only oil fed sconces on the walls.
All the oil lamps were filled by Mrs. Copeland as she dusted. I could swear that the place had not been dusted in months, perhaps years even. So, I speculate the cleaning efforts which included mopping the floors were requested due to my stay. As the morning slips into the midday hours, I take a nap on the comfortable yet still musty sofa. I tell myself to be glad no perfume was applied to mask the odors, but I seriously doubt that would have occurred to her.
As the evening nears, the Copeland’s bid me farewell and safety until they see me again in the morning. Safety? I highly doubt any occurrences like last night would repeat, seeing as that I was there and soon so would Christopher. They also give me instructions on how to light the lamps for when the sun begins going down behind White Chalk Hill. When I was no longer able to read the books or notes, I went around lighting all of them. When I lit all those that were in the downstairs library, I hear rustling noises from upstairs.
"Oh hell, not again," I murmur to myself. "Who's there!?, I shout out to the darkness of the 2nd floor.
"It is I, Christopher. Do not fear. It is just the two of us here," you announce as you emerge from the darkened hallway onto the shadowed landing. Somehow knowing that we were alone made my heart race with anxiety, yet happy for him to have returned. His figure glides down the stairs effortlessly. And as he comes within viewing range, the dark blue satin ascot adorning his crisp white shirt ignited his deeply set sapphire blues.
He begins speaking as he offers a glass of brandy, "I am so happy that you remained. I had a chance to look over your notes and the letters from Amabel. I'm quite shocked at such a revelation in our ancestry. I never thought there were any lines of my... of Christopher Harewell's lineage other than those of distant cousins. This means… you are not safe here. You need to travel on your way as soon as it is light again and you have gathered your information and possessions. If you need, you may have anything you find in my library to assist you."
I open my mouth in protest, but Christopher squelches that as soon as my lips part, "You would not understand, but please trust my judgment. You are not safe here in these parts. There are those whom are not fond of me and would rather see anything I am bonded with, anything I touch, perish.”
"But why? Why would anyone want to hurt you or hurt me?” I protest.
"If these....people...sense that we are related in any fashion, or that I have an attachment to you, it would be most grievous,” Christopher warns grievously.
"You can report them to the authorities. There are laws in this land against being accosted,” I decry.
"NO. I cannot bring the authorities into this matter. They would not understand. And it would only serve to inflame these people. Please I beg of you, leave in the morning and do not return. As much as it pains me to see you leave, you must do exactly that."
"I can't say as I understand why you are sending me away, when just earlier this morning you welcomed me to stay here as long as I needed. But I will abide by your wishes, Mr. Harewell."
"Please, formalities are not necessary especially after what we shared together last night," Christopher warmly smiles. I could swear that there was a blush or tincture of color in your pallid face that flashed like a sparkler on the 4th of July.
"Well Christopher," I nod. "Considering Mrs. Copeland made dinner ahead for us, shall we eat at least? And then perhaps we can figure out what to do with ourselves for the rest of the evening?" I offer.
"Excellent proposal," beamed Christopher.
"I just hope that she didn't go to much fuss. I didn't tell her that I don't eat red meat or pork. But, I'm sure that there will be something I can inhale," I laugh.
As we sit down at the large dinner table set only for two, we both decide that the dinner setting is spaced too far apart for intimate conversation, and thus we dine at only one end of the immense table.
That's when I noticed the "meat" was bleeding out all over his plate. "Would you like me to cook it some more in order to keep it from 'mooing' and getting up and walking off the table?"I seriously implore. I do believe his hearty laughter bellowed throughout the entire house. Perhaps this ringing laughter is what startled him for a moment, as he looked around to see if anyone else caught him laughing.
While pointing his knife in my direction, Christopher counters, "You are aware that you should eat a little red meat now and then. It would put colour in your cheeks. It's not good to deny your health of what was put here for our consumption."
"I'll be fine with the robust choice of vegetables Mrs. Copeland provided. Are you sure she didn't work for the British Army?" I winked at Christopher. "I used to eat steaks just barely kissed on the grill. I loved it that way, but not anymore. Too many people dying from mad cow disease and food poisoning. I've spent my time in the hospital with the latter. Besides, I doubt it would help my skin condition." This peaked his interest similarly as it appeared to Mrs. Copeland.
"What is wrong with your skin other than you're very light skin toned?" he inquired with an arched brow.
"I just can't get out in the direct sunlight for more than 5-10 minutes without my skin burning like hell. Then brown patches form where apparently it experienced sun damage years ago, without my knowledge. And now with the appearance of my genetic joint disorder and medications, they make my skin even more sensitive to light. Doesn't help that I have the ginger gene either,” I lament.
"The ginger gene?" Christopher asks puzzled.
"I'm blonde with fair skin, but I have red undertones. You probably couldn't see that last night in the dark," I winked sheepishly. Again, I noticed he what little colour contained in his face that embodied an expression of worry that I knew wasn't a good thing.
"What's wrong Christopher? Spit it out, whatever it is,” I elicit.
"Do you ever have trouble with bleeding or taking longer to heal?" he curiously asks.
"Yeah, I do. Why?" I answer nonchalantly.
"And can you leap and climb walls pretty well?" he continues to question.
"Yes, that's been one of my issues, because I'm so limber I'm more prone to injuries. Why?" I request.
"And do you have an unusual kinship with animals by chance?” Christopher curiously examines.
"I guess so. Birds in particular like me and seem to not fear me. But WHY these questions?" I appeal.
"How many generations did you say were between you and me…I mean between you and Christopher Harewell, the suitor of Amabel?" Christopher interrogates.
"Thirteen generations, why?" I ask impatiently.
"This is not good, not good at all." he stresses.
Nearly screaming at this point I insistently ask, "WHY is this not good? Do you mind letting me in on this?"
"I need to think. Please forgive me for leaving the table,” begs Christopher.
"How about we take dessert into the library and when you feel like talking, we'll talk?" I compromise.
"Fine...fine... That's most fine,” he mumbles.
Christopher retires to the library, while I fetch the pie, saucers, utensils, cups and coffee carafe from the kitchen. While I slice the pie and serve onto the saucers, Christopher paces back and forth, seemingly taking no notice of my activity. I pour the coffee into the cups, and attempt to flag him down in mid-pace.
"Ya know you're gonna wear a hole through the rug if you keep that up. Talk to me Goose." I sarcastically announce.
"Err... Pardon me?" Christopher acknowledges
"Tell me what's going on in that head of yourns. Why all the questions? It has something to do with those who want to harm you or anyone connected to you, right?" I challenge.
Christopher looks as though he wants to say something then thinks better of it. "Come on, spill it. Tell me the truth of what's going on and how I fit into this,” I entreaty.
"I think it almost better that you don't know, Daniel,” he admonishes.
"Listen. My mother and father long ago stopped trying to tell me how to live my life. That's why you and I shared something very special last night. Now how can I help you or protect myself, if you won't tell me the whole truth?” I entreaty.
"I'm not sure you can handle the truth, honestly Daniel,” Christopher refutes.
"Okay, newsflash Christopher, I'm adopted. And for many years, I fought to know of my birth family, my roots, where I came from, and desiring to touch those who shared the same blood as I do. My parents were always honest with me. But the legal system treated us adults as if we would always remain children. So, I value honesty above anything else. I've discovered Lies can kill, but at least I have the chance to deal with Truth,” I exhort.
"As you wish Daniel," After he sits down across from me, he takes a long breath and while looking into my eyes he begins, "Christopher Harewell was chosen by the Valkyries to die on a battlefield during the mid 1600's. But as often happens during war, the battlefields become the hunting grounds for vampyres."
"Excuse me??" I interrupted with my mouth dropped open.
"Please let me finish, and then you can ask questions or totally dismiss everything as the ranting of a mad man. The vampyres fed on the nearly dying as they were still yet alive, but finish them off as there is no hope for their recovery. Christopher was one of those injured and thought of as dying. Instead, he was 'transformed'. I am that Christopher Harewell for whom you are searching. I died a long time ago, but only my soul died. My body is tortured by living on through the centuries, thinking that I had no heirs. I revisited my beloved Amabel one last time, thinking in that crazed moment that I could bring her with me. But I failed. She did not become a creature of the night as I was. I did not know that she was with child. And her child must have been a day-walker, and that has been inherited through the years. It must be why I felt drawn to you, instead of malice or fear. I am the one who let you into my house last night instead of leaving you outside for the creatures of the night to devour. I felt a special kinship. I didn't know what it was, but now I do. You are the blessed or cursed depending on how you perceive it; the 13th direct issue of me."
By that time, the cup of coffee upon which I had been sipping dropped to the rock floor and shattered everywhere. I began pacing until Christopher professed his feelings for me and I stopped dead in my tracks, peering into the fireplace as if I would find an answer deep in the flames lashing at the hearth's interior walls.
After a long deafening silence I recap, "Okay... So... you're Christopher Harewell. The same Christopher Harewell who fathered Amabel's child. Who just last night had sex with me?"
"You don't understand Daniel. Amabel was the only woman I had ever loved. I thought I was supposed to fall in love with a woman, be-wed, provide children, and live happily ever after as the fables foretold. I don't know how our lives would have been if I had not died and become a vampire. But, I do know one thing. I have never been attracted to another woman since then, or even attempted to have a relationship, romantically or physically."
"So let me get this straight, no pun intended. I had sex with my 13th great-grandfather last night? Okay, this is even weirder than...I don't know even how to describe it."
"You regret our coupling last night?" Christopher worries aloud.
"NO...It's just that it's blowing my mind at this moment," I stammer while rubbing my hands through my hair vigorously, as in attempts to process the information in the confused gray matter underneath.
At that very moment, the most hellacious sounds came from outside the westward window...
Chapter 5 - Apparitions
The sounds were akin to a teacher scraping their fingernails across an old fashioned chalk board. Instead, the screeching sound was produced upon the glass pane. Then a face appeared in the window. A very pale face with swollen red cupid-bow lips, darkened eye sockets, jagged-cut coal black hair framing an angular jaw. Then as soon as the face disappeared, it reappeared in the north window frame accompanied by the same nail scraping shrill. And the identical soul-shattering sound repeats at the next window, coming from atop the front door of the manor.
"Stay behind me whatever you do, Daniel. Keep me between you and him. We do not want him to get your scent or take with him something that contains your essence", warns Christopher.
"Not that your suggestion doesn't sound like a good idea, but WHO in the hell is HE or WHAT is he?"
"Someone with whom you do not wish to become acquainted," Christopher quickly mutters softly.
"Is ANYONE hoooome?" the screecher mockingly inquires as his dark figure casually swings around the corner of the vestibule into the library, by holding onto the cornice edging. His appearance could be described as androgynous. Soft white skin surrounding sultry green orbs encased with long lush dark eyelashes.
"You were NOT summoned nor invited to be in my presence, Aloysius," Christopher admonishes scornfully.
"Tsk, tsk, Christopher! I am ashamed of your behavior, especially after all the events in LIFE we have shared. And we've known each other long enough for you to call me Aloy. So, who is this scrumptious blond morsel, I mean mortal?"
"No one you should concern yourself with, Aloy."
"Well, you see I AM quite concerned about you Christopher, as it seems you or someone else has been playing in your domain. I thought you had abandoned blood from the living, until I came across the bloodless body of a rather portly mortal, lying in the creek. I followed the scent to you. And there are also other interesting scents here," Aloysius openly informs as he drinks a slow deep breath through his flaring nostrils.
I manage to quell my surprise as to Aloysius' information and also not to ask questions.
"One is a scent with which I am quite familiar. The other scent I am not, which intrigues me," Aloysius further explains as he attempts to sidestep Christopher in order to obtain a better look and perhaps better scent of me. Then he licks his lips.
"Who IS HE, CHRIST-opher? Is he, someone special to you," Aloysius ploys.
"He is a temporary guest, Aloy. Nothing more"
"Then we could share him for old-time sake perhaps?" Aloy playfully poses.
"NO. He is researching his family history in the area. I do not desire to incite the curiosity of authorities or worse here, as I am sure you would not like to invite that as well?" Christopher appeals.
"Does this vital young creature have a name? And does he speak for himself, or is he deaf mute?" Aloy jests with a smirk on his face.
As Christopher turns to look at me whilst keeping an eye on Aloy's stance, I give a nod that I can hold my own if need be.
"My name is Daniel. I come from America to search for connections to my ancestry as Christopher has informed you," I advise Aloy as I bow my head to him in respectful greeting.
"He has such beautiful lily white skin, with just the right amount of blush in his cheekbones, soft blond locks with a hint of red undertones. Lean, yet beautifully toned structure. Have you not bed him yet, Christopher? I am surprised if you have not. Perhaps that is the aroma which is tantalizing my senses and loins. The scent of SEXxxx. It must have been somewhat carnal as your face and neck bare bruises, however, no bite marks. What self control you have Christ-opher," suggests Aloy mischievously.
"Christopher did not harm me. He defended me from two robbers who broke into his home."
"Oh really, Daniel? How valiant and noble of Christopher", Aloy ridicules.
"Well, I sense one of those men met an early demise, which was probably the best thing for the dreadful creature. HAHA! But the other one, WAS he still alive Christopher? You could not make up your mind as to his fate because he begged for his life perchance, unlike the other ruffian? Your being too kind or indecisive will bring about your ruin. And perhaps the ruin of others. You need to keep that in check. For you ARE one of us, whether you like it or not.
For instance, CONSIDER where you live! Your old ancestral home is in HARWELL!! The poor peasants revered John Harewell, a Bishop known to actively participate in the seven sins, particularly for his insatiable gluttony, engorging himself with the fats of the land, in more ways than one. He called himself a man of God! A spiritual advisor to the Black Prince at that! And you have blazoned across your family shield, three hares? Rabbits? Oooooo... that makes me tremble with FEAR!! Aloy points at the shield in the hall while his sinister laughter rings throughout the stone walls of the manor. RABBITS stand guard on your plinths, instead of gargoyles for protectors, for Ancient gods' sake! If I didn't know better, which I do since I AM the one who turned you a few hundred years ago, I would swear you inherited his GAWDLY genes. And we won't even discuss your Sheriff ancestor. I know why he was MERRY!"
Aloysius at that moment seemingly makes himself at home as he pours himself a snifter of brandy. "Drinking brandy or any other alcohol in our state of being seems fruitless, but it does feel good going down, nevertheless." As Aloy gazes at the painting above the fireplace, "God what an awful portrait of you Christopher. You should have shot that blind and apparent starving artist to put him out of his misery. But his blood may have bore more alcohol than our life supporting fluids,” Aloy offers precociously.
"If you don't like my decor or where I live, then why do you impose yourself upon my abode and my presence?" inquired Christopher.
As Aloy shifts his attention about the room, his eyes settle upon the open books, notes, computer and THE letters from Amabel. As he pretends a mere glance over the material, his brow arches and his eyes meet mine, to which I return a naive glance.
"Well, I suppose I HAVE stayed long enough and should be returning to the hunt tonight. It was good to meet your acquaintance Daniel," Aloy bids farewell as he demurely offers his hand shake in parting.
Subconsciously, I offer my hand in return, but Christopher stops my hand in midair and pushes it down firmly behind him.
"Oh come down out of the rafters, Christopher. I was not about to harm your very charming and gentleman play-toy,” Aloy smirks.
I could tell you weren't amused as the grip you held on my hand tightened to a degree the blood flow was restricted. Thank goodness for Ehlers-danlos in this instance. Aloy departs in the same dramatic manner as he mysteriously blew in. When I began to speak, Christopher put a finger over his lips to hush my words until he was sure Aloy had completely departed.
"Okay, is he gone now? We need to have a long talk,” I strongly encouraged.
"No time. We need to get you out of here,” you quickly dismissed.
"But, but he just said..." bewildered, I object.
“Don't mind what he said. He WILL tell others and WILL be back. You can bet your life on that!" Christopher strongly censures.
"WHY will he be back? What is between you two?" I demand.
"There is just too much past to discuss in such a short time."
"I've got time," I protest as I cross my arms across my chest like a sassing pubescent.
"NO. I have time, all the time in this world, my world, but you, you do not have time,” Christopher painfully scolds.
Christopher hurriedly begins to pack my things amidst my audible and physical protests. Then as he takes flight, I hear him upstairs hurriedly packing my duffle bag of clothing.
I scream up to him, "What the fuck are you doing this for? Okay, if I am indeed a Day-walker as you say, what harm can I pose to him or anyone else? And what does being a Day-walker mean anyway?"
You return to the balcony throwing over my bag to land at my feet, "Because you are a DIRECT LINK to me. I wasn't supposed to have fathered a child while being a vampire. It's just not acceptable to have half-breeds running amuck. You're either a vampire or you're a mortal. There's no acceptance for in-betweens."
Shouting up to Christopher who was now removing my things from the bathroom and ensuring not even a spot of hair was left in common use areas, "Ohhh... so yet again, I'm not accepted over something which I had no control? I'm a bastard because I was adopted. I'm a fag because I was born Gay. I'm a geek because I have some semblance of intellect. I was labeled a jock because I dared have some physical ability. And now, I'm a Day-walker and being discriminated against by them and regular humans if they knew about it? Give me a fuckin' break! This shit gotta stop somewhere! I've embraced each part of me as I was labeled each individual piece that made me who I am. So tell me what I don't know!"
"Yes, I will explain these things to you, but we must retreat to the city. Please, don't fight me. Just wait here while I place your personal belongings into that mechanical beast that takes you from place to place. Please?” Christopher beseeches.
I acquiesce to his pleading and we begin our journey to the city together. The first moon shown brightly in the dark sky as we travel along the rickety country road. "Okay, spill it. Tell me everything from the beginning" I demand in a tired, testy voice.
"Of course, you know how it began. I was fighting for the Royalists in a battle. The particular battle is of no importance, other than I fought alongside my best friend. He was fighting closer to the battlefront than I was. When I came upon him, he was deceased, I was certain. I was heart-broken and filled with fury, a fury that fueled my strength. I broke through all the lines, slashing anyone in my way. Towards the front, I came across this huge beast of a Scottish man. I fought with him for quite some time, until he impaled me from behind. A move that I'd never learned with the sword.
As I lay there dying, I saw my best friend, whom I thought dead, looming over my body. He bent down and kissed me fully on the lips, and then I felt his teeth sink into the side of my neck. I felt the blood leaving from my body even more rapidly and my eyes closed to this world. Once I awoke, my eyes saw the world in a different light. I felt pain as I had never felt it before, but it became tolerable after a short period. That's when I realized that I was no longer of the living world. Deep within I embodied this new pang, a hunger to drink blood. He came upon me again and led me around the battlefield to choose those who were knocking on death's door, so that they would not become one of us, to help speedy their agonizing death. He taught me how to drink. It satisfied me, until I remembered Amabel.
I cloaked myself in the mausoleums during the day. I visited her house many times at night, wanting to tell her that I was alive. Yet I knew I wasn't alive and we would not have a normal life together. I wandered the countryside, not knowing what to do with myself. But I decided I would not take the blood of the living or damn them to my existence. I worked for kings and queens doing their bidding for a price. That is how I was able to regain some of what I had lost. And I sequestered myself here for so long. Every now and then I would allow a guest to stay here, and thus live vicariously through them, until I saw you. I was not apprised of your visit. And now this."
"Okay, now tell me about how I came into being and what I am, Christopher."
"Apparently, during the time of my conversion when I visited Amabel, she became with child, which started the gene for a Day-walker. I do not know if her issue was one, but I would imagine so, because she did not become what I am. Just to know that he survived without discovery is amazing. Perhaps when the family moved to America it put some distance between the masses of night creatures in Europe and the New World. Your being of the 13th generation is also of great importance. Every strength or even defect is present in you to a greater extent, the seventh and the thirteenth being more special."
"What strengths? Right now I'm plagued with so many medical conditions with strange names that are as long as my middle finger. What kind of strengths could I have?"
"Think, Daniel. What makes you different? What talents or gifts do you have that would seem out of place?” About the time that Christopher finishes his last question, something thumps the canvas top of the jeep so hard that it makes me swerve too close to the ditch on the right side of the road...
Chapter 6 - Permeations
"SHIT!! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" As I jerked all four wheels back to the center line. Whatever IT was, was clinging to the top of the roof and producing scraping sounds all along the top of the jeep's cover, as if IT was trying to open the roof like a sardine can. And if THAT wasn't bad enough, something very solid was ahead of me in the middle of the road. I look over in the passenger seat where Christopher is seated, and he squirms to loosen his coat. "And what the hell are you doing?” I demanded in a high-pitched voice.
"JUST DRIVE THIS METAL MONSTER!" Out of the corner of my eye, I see him withdraw something long, shiny, and metallic. "Ohhh YEAHH, this is gonna be good. God-forsaken rental car with a hole in the roof. And definitely not a MOON roof at that.”
I begin to switch gears to 5th and punch the pedal to the floor, making it jerk forward and race the engine. "AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" bellows Christopher.
"You take care of what's on top, and I'll take care of what's in front. Just be prepared for a nasty impact!" I solidly warn.
"Okay bastard!! Let's see what's tougher, your head or this windshield!!" While Christopher attempts to stab the intruder through the roof, jab after jab and missing, I sense the figure in front of me will catapult onto the hood upon approach, while it tries to gauge my speed. Right before impact, I stand up on the break, while pull the stick up, and swerve to the side. As the figure nails the windshield, it cracks into a spider web design. Glad they started putting safety glass in these.
Out of reflex action, I grabbed hold of Christopher's long black coat, jerking him down into the passenger seat as the jeep begins its familiar roll over onto its side. While the jeep quickly flips onto its top from the inertia, and before landing again on all 4 tires, Chris takes another stab at the clingy hitchhiker, and hits dead center when it is trapped between the roof and the road. Once the jeep stops its normal bouncing after such a tumble, Christopher climbs out on his side and heads towards the figure lying in the road. That's about the time I noticed smoke everywhere. The damned roof was on fire from the hitchhiker exploding after being stabbed. This indicates that sword had something else bonded to the metal.
I run around to the back to retrieve hopefully a fire extinguisher and finding none, I grab the towel I had used that morning that Christopher packed in my bag. "You even packed the towel that I had dried on?? Hell, it didn't help, they still followed!" Then I noticed in the sky in the direction of the manor what seemed like a swirling black cloud.
"Uhohh..! They're coming Christopher! And there's a lot MORE of themmmm!!” I scream endlessly.
"We must get to the city or some semblance of population so they will not attempt any attack," offered Christopher.
"No. Let's get out of here. I've GOT A PLAN!" I exclaim with a sinister grin on my face while running back to the jeep.
"Listen, we have to get to population!" Christopher emphasizes as he pounds on the dashboard.
"No! You told me to go with my strengths. There's one that I've always downplayed. Even tried my best to ignore or avoid. My best friend before he died told me I had this gift, and to not be afraid of it. It's time to test it!” I demand.
I search for the turn-off that I know was here at the time this vehicle broke down before I walked to the manor that long afternoon. I have to go fast, but not so fast as to miss the concrete gravel that meanders off into bare dirt road. Looking into the rear-view mirror, I see the mass of blood-thirsty vampires closing in. The cut-off up in finally in sight and I veer the wheels to the right side of the road, as we both bounce up and down in our seats. Christopher's head nearly hits the singed ceiling because he didn't fasten his seat belt and he lets out a yelp of surprise.
"WHERE are you going??!!! We can't leave the road! They are gaining ground! And where does this take us??!!” roars Christopher.
"Haven't you ever heard why the Tennessee Volunteers were so good at fighting?! They didn't do it in the open areas. They took advantage of their own landscape, unlike the British that fought out in the fuckin' open and it was just a contest of who had more men's lives to throw away. I'm not waiting for them to pick me off in the wide open. Fuck that shit!"
"Danyuuuullllll..! please tell me we're not headed to that cemeterryyyy??!!" Christopher wails like an ancient disembodied spirit.
"Okayyyy! I won't tell you that we're headed to that cemetery ahead," I yell back at him with a mischievous grin.
As we come closer we see that the gate is locked and we stop. "Dammit, it WOULD have to be locked!" I exasperate.
"I can take care of that," you smile for the first time in that fashion since our introduction and damn it looked good on you.
It was as if we were connecting on a deeper plane. Course, first we needed to survive this threat to our lives before I can even entertain what else we may experience together.
"Go for it baby!" I cheer.
You take your broad sword in hand, size up the lock and with the hilt tightly wound in both hands, you bring it down from above your head and slices through it like a hot knife through a honey comb.
"Cha-Ching! We're in like Flynn!" I shout as I gun the jeep through the entrance. Christopher catches up with me in the oldest part of the cemetery, where my ancestors rest in peace. They're not about to have any peace tonight. As I rush around to the backside, I remember a bag that I packed my aromatherapy candles. Thankfully they made it through airport security being what it is today.
"Who's Flynn, and Daniel hurry, whatever it is that you're doing?" Christopher encourages nervously.
I charge a circle around us with the candles and light them one at a time as the hungry-eyed vampires arrive, while repeating in each of the four directions, starting with the east, south, west and then ending with the north.
West Chant: Obey these words of Power!
East Chant: Watchers of the Threshold, Watchers at the Gate!
North Chant: Unbar the Guarded Door!
South Chant: Obey this command of this Servant of Power!
"The bastard is not only a Day-walker, but a fucking WITCH!" I recognize the voice as being that of Aloy, as he comes from the back of his merry band of blood suckers.
"Are you a witch Daniel?" Christopher apprehensively whispers in my direction.
"Nooo, but I need the protection for a few moments." I insure.
"I don't know what would be worse, your being a witch or a novice trying out for Hamlet,” Christopher snides.
"Oh hush it! I need to concentrate." I strictly advise.
As I look into the flames of the candles and the ancient monuments of those blood families fallen before me in life, I gather all my strength and repeat:
Spirits of darkness, spirits of old
Spirits of family I'm told
Awaken from thy eternal sleep
My Safety I trust thy to keep
Hold thy enemy for a night
until the early morning light
Then scatter them like a flood
For of the living they take blood!
so mote it be
so mote it be
Aloy took more steps towards the circle and attempted to break its line, taunting my well laid plans in the midst of his supporters. "So, Christopher, your little bitch is a witch AND a day-walker! You have a choice to make. Make it well. You either stand with your best friend for over three hundred years, or burn in hell with your necromancer mistress!"
As I repeat the purely impromptu chant, mists from the ancient hallowed soil began to rise all around, and a cold wind from the Northern Gate blew across the grounds...
Chapter 7 - Invocation
The assembly of vampires did not seem to be partial to the presence of the mists nor the winds and began hastily backtracking beyond the circle. The rallying mists drift towards the vampires' line of retreat, picking up rock, twigs, branches and anything else in their path, hurling them at the unwelcome visitors.
"Please tell me you did not conjure spirits? And how were you not aware that you could achieve this?" inquires Christopher in a low voice.
Changing the subject, "So, Aloy was your best friend who turned you in the beginning, huh? I figured that you two had more going on than met the eye. When and if we get out of this, you ARE going to tell me more, Christopher."
Hurriedly you vocally prod, "Of course, of course if it is in my power, I will explain anything you wish to know. But for the present time, how did you conjure these spirits?
"I really didn't know it would work. However yesterday, I had spent a lot of time sitting here amongst the stones, writing down names and dates engraved that I could see. I felt peaceful and accepted here, almost as if my ancestors were trying to help me. Spirits have always come to me, especially while taking photographs. I had given up photography long ago when every picture I took was composed of spirit orbs. The whole thing just, kinda freaked me out.
My deceased beloved friend told me I should not fear it, but embrace it as a gift that they would want to communicate with me. All the photos I took here yesterday once again depicted masses of spirit orbs and even some apparitions. So, when you told me to rely upon my strengths, I was reminded that vampires were not particularly fond of ghosts, from stories I'd read. I was hoping that the spirits of my forefathers would protect us."
"Interesting," Christopher mutters in amazement.
From amid the horde of bullies, I hear Aloy spewing his hate while holding his ears, "LEAVE ME ALONE YOU FORMLESS BASTARDS! YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE A BODY ANYMORE!!" Not long after those words were cast from his lips, we watch his figure fall prone in screaming agony as a long cut appears across his upper arm, as if laid open by an unseen hand.
While holding his arm together Alloy curses, "I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS CHRISTOPHER! AND YOUR HALFBREED DAYWALKER WILL SUFFER AN AGONIZING DEATH WHILE YOU WATCH! I PROMISE YOUUUUUUUUuuuu!!" Alloy then runs and propels himself into flight, with his misanthropic dominion following suit. After watching the vampires' aerial exodus and they scatter to the four winds as I had requested, Christopher and I stand in near disbelief of what just transpired. We both look at one another from the side, and I boast pointing at the souls of my kin, "They were pretty damned good weren't they Christopher?"
I step out of the protective circle to be among my kin and to affectionately proclaim gratitude, "Thank you my beloved ancestors for rushing to my aid. This night, if I ever had any doubts before, there are no doubts now that I am proud to call myself a 'Harewell'. Until we meet again, peace be among you and may you return to your restful sleep."
Following my acknowledgment, the mists began to seep once again into the grounds, mausoleums, crypts both near and far from whence they came.
"Now we travel to the city?" prods Christopher urgently.
While I lean over to retrieve the first candle, a troubled thought crosses my mind, "Yes, but what will we do with you in the morning? You can't possibly return to the manor, can you? Even though they will be scattered until daylight." Worry furrows into the lines of my face.
"No, I cannot return, at least not for a period of time. I have funds in an account to care for the keepers and the manor in the event of my absence. But it is probably not safe for me to return in so short a time. I have essentially burned my bridges, so to speak."
"I was more concerned about what you will do for a coffin or however it is you sleep during the day?" I counter.
"As long as the direct sun does not touch me, no harm will be done. And I tucked away some host."
"Alright, then we'll head in the direction of London, and discuss on the way plans for the near future," I smile although not hiding my apprehension very well.
Our first ten minutes or so of driving southward to catch the M4 to London we spent time composing ourselves deep within our separate thoughts.
Christopher's head was fraught with many questions as well. How will I make all this up to Aloysius? Yes, he is a royal pompous pain in the bum, but he was once his friend and ally. But over the centuries, time had hardened Alloy's heart not to mention jealousy over anyone whom I gave a mere glance in their direction. I can care for myself and take on Alloy if necessary, but how will I protect Daniel should the need arise again? And it will. And how could all these events transpire - bedding my own future grandson? I know he told me in the beginning he was searching for his 13th great grandfather, but it couldn't be possible. And then Daniel's theories became truths.
Similarly, my brain was inundated with ramblings as I rub my temple. Where are we going to sleep? How will my itinerary for some unknown time be vastly altered? Would he wish to come with me to the states? And visions of being spooned in my blood kin's arms once again bothered me because it did and it didn't bother me simultaneously.
Almost as if reading my mind Christopher assured, "It will be alright Daniel. You do not have to worry yourself with my safety. I have been caring for myself for over three hundred years now. My only concern is with your safety...and pleasure. You came to discover your roots here on this continent, and that you shall accomplish. There are many abandoned hamlets and allies along the way with whom will allow refuge. And at times I can travel ahead of you at night. We shall work this out."
"The problem is, I had already planned and arranged almost all of my overnight rests with friends whom I had made online. I don't feel it would be prudent to exclude your security and comfort. But, I'm not sure what to do now as I have very little money to rent hotel rooms or otherwise. "
"If it is holding currency that vexes you, please do not dwell upon that. I promise that I can furnish those needs very well. And we may visit with some of my trusted associates along the way if this puts you more at ease, or we can pay for boarding."
"Okay. Thank you for alleviating those concerns. Now all that must be done is choose a hotel for the night. Do you know much about London? We should be arriving close to 2AM in the morning.”
"One with absence of windows or having dense draperies? HAHAHA!” Christopher snorts heartily.
Smirking I respond, "Oh you're going to be a load of laughs, I can already see. After a night like tonight, the room better have a Jacuzzi. "
"What's a Jakoooooza?" seriously inquires Christopher.
"You'll find out! Woohoo!" I grin mischievously.
After stopping for a short time to reload my personal belongings in the jeep as they became disheveled in our roadside rollover encounter, I googled a few hotels with most of our comforts satisfied: smoking allowed to some extent; WIFI, scenic view of Big Ben and the River Thames; a Jacuzzi and we can't forget the lined drapes. Every bit we approach the city of London, even while considering the lateness of the hour, it remained a beacon clothed in lights. Along our route, the historical sights enthralled my child-like mind. I could barely wait until daylight to explore the museums, peruse the libraries, and tangle with overly protective records keepers. In the process of turning my head to view the other side of the street, my wide-eyed expression meets your smiling face, and I question naively, "Whaaat??"
You laugh sweetly, "I had forgotten how some venues I have known and grown tired of watching for centuries, may appear through the eyes of someone who has not been presented with the same opportunity. Experiencing this through you is good."
"I'm glad. Then perhaps you can show me nuances of this city tomorrow night, that I or anyone else may not experience during the daytime hours," I smile.
Christopher nods while smirking mischievously, "Oh yesss. I can get you into places you could not even imagine."
"Just don't get me tossed in the paddy wagon, okay?" I suggest.
"That would be interesting," Christopher ponders.
"Um, no it would not. A blond haired, blue-eyed, nerdy bottom boy from America in a foreign jail. I don't think sooo."
We both laugh exuberantly at such an idea, although I am pretty sure Christopher doesn't follow some of the innuendos. Still it was good to hear him laugh, a far departure from emotions of previous hours.
At the time we attempt to locate the Marriott County Hall Hotel, I marvel the view of Big Ben, the Thames and of course the Eye of London. My only hope is that we can obtain a room this late of night and for the next night at least. Upon approaching the hotel the valet gives our mode of transportation a bewildered gaze. I explain to the befuddled employee that we are in need of parking to check on vacancies and I inquire if it is alright if I park temporarily. Without waiting for an answer, I bash my shoulder into the door to open it and hop out in one swoop.
"Pardon the appearance of the jeep sir as we've been on an off-road adventure or two," I flash my blond smile while pointing at the incredibly dented and scratched surface. "We will return as soon as we learn if we are able to obtain lodging," I inform him while reaching out to cup his hand and I place the keys soundly in his palm and close his fingers over them.
"Let's go before he has second thoughts about us, Christopher," I giggle. Christopher shakes his head as he follows obediently.
"How may I help you sirs this morning? Do you have reservations?" kindly requests the desk clerk.
"Well, no we do not have reservations, sir. This is somewhat an unscheduled visit. I would like a room for us both overlooking the Thames and an in-room Jacuzzi. That is if you have vacancies for tonight and possibly the next night, sir."
"Ahh, very good sir. Please give me a moment to see if we have anything that would be to your liking. I believe we had a cancellation last night that may be of interest to you." As the desk clerk types in and searches the room reservations on the kiosk, "Ahh yes sir, we do. But it's only for one king-sized bed."
"We'll take it," I quickly interject.
"Oh well, jolly good sir. And for how many nights do you wish to book this room?"
"At least for tonight and tomorrow night, and if we may inform you of our travel plans tomorrow as to whether we need an extra night, would that be enough notice?"
"Yes indeed, that would be excellent sir. By the way, are you in town for a historical reenactment, sir?” he asks in Christopher's direction, motioning towards his attire.
"I uhhh... " begins Christopher shortly before I interrupt and offer explanation.
"Christopher actually is still dressed in costume from trying out for a part in a new vampire production that is to be filmed in the surrounding UK," I clarify.
"Oh YESS, indeed! I've heard about this new movie. I certainly do hope you get the part sir, as you are most convincing. Can't even tell you are wearing makeup in fact!" he laughs. "All right then, I have your room reserved and your keys coded. Let me ring someone to assist you with your bags, and our valet will park your vehicle around the front close to your room so that you may access it more easily. Have a pleasant stay and if there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please ask," the cheerful man offers.
"A hot shower and undisturbed sleep will suffice for now. We are quite tired from our journey today, as I believe you would imagine,” I suggest while yawning.
"Ah, most certainly! I can see the exhaustion on your face. Feel free to hang the Do Not Disturb sign on your door, and our housekeeping will not knock on your door unnecessarily."
As we bid goodbye to the desk clerk, our porter arrives to carry in our necessary luggage as I direct. Inspecting our room once arriving, I am amazed at how spacious our accommodations appear. A living area with sofa, coffee table, TV, sliding glass doors leading out to the balcony, a kitchenette off from the living area, separate bedroom suite with soft king sized bed in which Christopher and I will be snuggled soon, and finally the oversized bath with walk-in shower and the revered Jacuzzi. After tucking my belongings away neatly, I notice Christopher's dejected figure sitting on the sofa, having no possessions to put away.
"Ya know what we need to do tomorrow?" I softly ask while sitting down next to him.
"I have not the foggiest idea," Christopher feigns an inquisitive smile.
"We need to do some clothes shopping for you." I gently insist.
"Oh no, that is not necessary. I am fine with the clothing that I have on my body. It's not as though I sweat anymore," he informs me.
"Oh. I wasn't aware of that. But you still need some changes of clothes in order to fit in. People will notice that you have not changed, considering they are umm... dated. And besides, I would enjoy dressing you," I offer with a blush.
"In that case, how could I deny a mutual pleasure?" Christopher graciously complies.
"Great! In the afternoon, we'll go shopping. Or rather, later in the evening. Sorry, I forgot you will be sleeping in tomorrow. Would you like to shower with me, if you are able?" I timidly ask as my voice trails off, not wanting to upset Christopher.
"How could I turn down such an earnest offer? I would not miss this chance for anything in the world, my dearest Daniel."
"I'm glad. I'll be getting the water ready then. If anything, we'll be saving a precious Earth commodity," I point nervously to the bathroom suite as I walk backwards towards the door, nearly tripping on the entry.
Chapter 8 - Unveiling
Christopher hears the squeaking of the shower knobs while Daniel turns them to release the torrents of splattering water and prepare a comfortable temperature. His thoughts turn to the last occasion he had bathed. Surely, it was recently. Yes, the week before Daniel arrived. In the days of drinking human blood, it was common to wash and change clothes to walk among mortals, but not everyone did. These days, he only takes the blood of animals that were brought to him or grew up on the manor. Therefore, he normally didn't bathe anything except his face and hands as they were the only parts that would be noticed by anyone. That is if he was to meet a mortal. That rare occurrence was perhaps a year ago, maybe longer. Time seemed to be irrelevant considering who or what he was.
While Christopher commences to disrobe, he sits on the sofa to chuck his boots. Next he unties and slides his pants past ebony down-covered toned legs and removes old-fashioned stockings. Shortly afterwards, he casually unbuttons his ruffled shirt starting with the cuffs, then down the front casing. The shirt, a bit dated perhaps, yet functional, comfortable and what he was accustomed to donning. When he stands and shrugs the flouncy garment from his shoulders, he feels someone staring at his backside, perhaps even a barely audible gasp. As he pivots around, Daniel was in the entry of the privy facing the door frame.
"Umm, you might want to check the water to see if the temperature is to your liking," I suggest while nervously hiding my hands in my pants pockets and turning my flushed cheeks towards the bathroom interior. I attempt to conceal the knowledge of catching sight of scars upon his back, as they are reminiscent of the ones upon my own. The realization sets in that we will be exploring each others bodies for the first time in full lighting as opposed to feeling our way by candlelight.
"I'm sure the temperature is fine as long as it is suitable for you. Now, what are we to do with your attire? I am certain you will not want to stand under the spigot fully clothed?" he smirks. Christopher places his fingertips under my chin to lift my gaze to his. Peering into my eyes, his digits find the buttons to my shirt and wistfully begin their task of releasing their hold. In the process of his tenderly exposing my chest, my breathing halts to a degree that I become light-headed and slightly waver from side to side. My hands naturally find his broad shoulders to steady my gait.
"Are you alright, Daniel?"
"Yes, I'm fine, I think," I smile.
Christopher, while leaning against the vanity, balances my frame against his and frees the shirt from my upper torso, leaving my wrists entwined in the cuffs and cinched gently at my hips. After my fluttering vision returns, I haphazardly glance over his shoulder into the mirror as he passionately kisses my cheek, neck, collarbone and shoulder, and realize I am being held in place by an invisible force. For a moment I am startled, at the absence of his reflection.
Christopher notes the sudden tenseness in my torso, looks into my eyes and asks, "What is the matter?"
"Nothing. It's just that I noticed you have no reflection. Then I remembered that is the reason vampires do not care to be near mirrors." I softly explain.
As your hands begin to gently push me away, I reassure, "It's alright. I understand. It's not your fault. Perhaps being humans we are all too haughty in our appearance. When in fact, it's interesting to view the presence of your body against my own, yet only see mine as I feel your touch and your kiss. Does that make any sense? Does it make you feel better, that I'm okay with that?"
You speak while resuming your embrace and looking deeply into my eyes, "It only reminds me once again that I am not living. I am something caught between the two worlds of living and dead. That in itself is depressing to ponder. Even when I look into someone's eyes, I no longer see my reflection in them. Something so simple that most take that pleasure for granted."
I counter, "But, if you think about it this way, when you look into someone's eyes, there's no reflection of yourself to obscure truly seeing inside of them, becoming one with them."
"I had not ever thought of it in such manner, but perhaps you have stumbled upon some truth," Christopher affirms my notions.
Christopher's hand returns to gently stroke my face. As our eyes become locked in an eternal gaze, he firmly presses his mouth against my quivering lips. Wedging his hand between our fused haunches, he unbuckles my corded belt, releases the grommets on my jeans, and slips his palms inside the back of my knit boxers, kneading my plump, taut orbs hungrily with his balled fist. With my loins ablaze, my nails dig into Christopher's muscular shoulders while my stiffening root fervently presses against his hardening mass.
After what seems like an eternity of smoldering embers emanating from our embrace, Christopher tucks my face into his hands, and motions towards the shower, the intent of our initial disrobing. I meekly follow his lead as he opens the entry to the spacious all-glass double-headed shower. Facing one another, bursts of warm turrets cascading down our backsides begin to cleanse us from battle fatigue.
I bend my upper torso to fully drench my hair as Christopher instinctively holds onto my hips. Reaching over for the shampoo to clean my hair, he swiftly retrieves it first. Managing to pop the top off the foreign container, I motion for him to turn it over to squeeze it out into his palm. Christopher raises his hands to my wet blond locks, gently threading fingers through the wind-blown mess. At first my voice erupts into delighted giggles as this is the first time anyone has indulged such intimacy upon me. I close my eyes as he continues to massage my scalp and feathered mane.
After he pulls my hair back gently to rinse the threads clear, I open my eyes to find him motioning for me to turn towards the spigot. With discernible apprehension, I slowly turn around; close my eyes as the droplets mask any tears that may fall. I don't show anyone my back. Never. The road-map of criss-crossing scars was my personal scarlet letter for being so naive once upon a time. Putting my hand out in friendship, hoping to navigate the uncharted waters of my sexuality by dipping a toe into the waters.
Instead, I was drug under kicking and screaming by someone with an intent so opposite of mine. I hadn't wanted sex, not at that moment. Only wanted to get to know the guy and enjoy his company. He had other plans that included beating me within an inch of my life.
As the tears commingle with the drenching spray Christopher's fingertips trace each scar from beginning to end. I shudder at first, but in midstream all the muscles in my body loosen their wrenching hold and my breathing relaxes.
Christopher closes the distance from his front to my back, kissing my neck and shoulders while asking in a deep animalistic voice, "Who did this to you?"
"It doesn't matter. It happened a long time ago. I've since forgiven him and tried to put it in the past, where it belongs."
Christopher's agile paws return to deeply caressing my shoulders, spine, and lower back, leaving not a spot untouched by lathered strokes. As his eyes wander languorously down my posterior, the cleansing froth meanders down the crack where my ample buttocks meet. His digits are unable to resist the temptation to assist the runoff. One of his fingers slowly traces an outline from between my shoulders blades along my spine to the dimple at the top of my ass and channels through the twin domes of flesh. Startled, my body lunges forward and instinctively plants my hands and arms against the glass wall. Looking back into the moistened face of my lover, my legs spread in submission to permit my ardent assistant more access.
His fingers resume their former mission of separating, cleansing, and massaging my trunk. My eyes flutter close as the water beads upon my chest, sensing the tips of his fingers exploring the petals of my bud, enticing them to relax from the warming tide. After introducing his probing touch, the taut circle welcomes the intruder.
As his long digit further navigates the crevice, his free hand roves along my man-scaped scrotum, sending my body into a state resembling nirvana. Searching for something to grasp, I reach down for the handrail to wrench in my fists. While bent over, Christopher slips his hand further between my legs to grasp hold of my hardening tool, eagerly stroking up and down, while continuously breaching my hotbox with an unexpected tongue. My back arches urging his intimate affections. Sensing my frenzy, he withdraws from his passionate onslaught.
Christopher then wraps one arm around my midsection to plant a broad hand upon my pecs, pulls me to nestle my back against his front. As my head lazily reclines against his chest, his moist lips and teeth nibble my ears, neck and shoulders, one side then the other.
When I realize his indulgent lips have left my neck, he clasps each of my wrists in his hands, binding them above my head and turns me against the tile wall of the shower. As he releases his grip, my wrists remain as they were, suspended by some invisible force. Momentary fear ignites a firestorm that blazes from my head to my toes.
Our eyes temporarily cross paths, as he lowers his head further to flick and suckle my hardening nipples, and gnawing the muscles all along my chest, stomach, hips, and belly button. Not being able to touch him, my senses are more concentrated upon what his touch is doing to my body. My breathing becoming less labored as I noticed the absence of moist affections upon my torso. I strain my neck to gaze down, catching a glimpse of my lover's lips poised at the root of my swelling shaft. His tongue pointed and curled at the tip, darts outward to graze from the root to the tip of my expanding wood, artfully strumming my sensitive strings. Again and again his tongue replays the same motions, until I can no longer contain myself. Leaving to all abandon, I scream out begging for more.
At this point, I can't tell if the moisture gathering at my slit is his saliva, the dew of the shower steam, or my own fluids. Christopher as if knowing my thoughts, sticks his pointed tongue into the slit, nursing the precious salty brine, until at long last I feel the head pass his lips and teeth while his encircling tongue swathes it in saliva. My body writhes in bonded rapture, but desire my hands to be free so that I may return his affections.
Murmuring towards my wrists still as if in bondage, "Why can't I move them?"
"Think about it Daniel. You can if you will it to be. However, part of you wishes to be submissive to someone you trust. And within that state, you always have control."
Christopher returns to the sensual task at hand, engorging himself with my long swollen spear further than anyone before. Corkscrewing my tool in his hand, pushing it past the back of his throat as I thrust my hips in unison. I had to touch him, plant my hands on the back of his head and pump his tonsils like a punching bag.
I beg for release, envisioning my hands free from their imprisonment, pushing away the barriers mentally. With my wrists magically unfettered, I stare below into Christopher's eyes, a smile etched in the corners of his occupied lips. I begin weaving my newly lathered fingers through his hair, cleansing the past from his long tresses, leaving behind soft, touchable dark locks. Then I turn my attention to massaging his shoulders as he resumes feeding from my essence. My fingers interlock behind his neck to drill his orifice faster and harder, hunching his face for all it's worth. My legs quiver as I draw nearer my boiling point. Christopher, sensing this imminent event, clenches my balls in his fist to prevent my manly nectar from spilling. He gives a few more licks to the wrinkled head and arises from his knees.
I've never fancied kissing my lover after their devouring my private members, but when Christopher meshed his tongue with mine, the faint taste of my thirsty hole and man seed danced into an intoxicating elixir. While the oral parlay pressed into a feverish pitch, I nudged Christopher towards the opposite side of the shower. The rigid shower bench hit against the back of his knees, forcing him to plop down upon it. Once he stationed himself in a prone position, I fervently scattered kisses upon his face, neck, and shoulders while working my way to the floor. As he reclined against the wall tile, he invitingly spread his legs allowing me unfettered access.
My lips capture his pink eraser-tip nipples beyond my teeth, while my tongue swathes its captured prize, bathing the hair encircled tips with saliva. After numbing his nips with my insatiable tongue, my cupid-bow lips gnaw his ribs down to the bellybutton. I temporarily halt my advances because his erect manhood nudged my chin. I lean back and gaze upon the one-eyed snake as it tempts to charm me with its dance. Licking across the slit, the muscle shudders and bounces against his stomach. Tracing around the top of the bell-shaped dome with my tongue, I feel the ridges etched into the head. Soon, the helmet disappears beyond my lips as I alternate sucking and bathing before releasing it with a popping sound. My head turns to the side while I lick the well-veined throbbing mass from slit to balls, like a child's lollipop. Before his faintly haired sacs tighten, my mouth engulfs them one at a time.
After this oral taunting, Christopher tousles my hair with one hand, urging my head towards his stiff sex as he holds it down to satiate my throat. I toss my head back and forth to force increasingly more of his manhood inside of my cheeks. Christopher speaks in primal tongue, “Make my loins very wet. It will be making love to you soon, my partner of the light. I want to stoke your flame until it all but consumes you. Once again you will carry part of me deep in your belly. ” Corkscrewing his hard mass in one hand, I plunge your growing cock past my tongue, hollowing my cheeks when pulling you almost completely out but the head. With my other hand, I massage your sacs between my fingers until they withdraw closer to your heated crotch.
Christopher withdraws his cock from my lips, rises from the bench and assists me to my feet. Taking my hand, he leads me padding through the French doors out to the balcony. The light of the morning sun begins to appear in the distant foreground. As his arms envelops my upper torso from behind, he tenderly plants warm kisses upon my neck exposed to brisk air.
As I take in the London landscape Big Ben tolls the hour, the Westminster Bridge deck lighting intensifies the green color of the Thames, the Millennium Ferris Wheel creates an aurora of primary colors reflected in the fog bank, and the fragrant aroma emanating from Buckingham Palace Gardens fill my senses.
His naked torso nudges me to the edge of the banister and he instructs, “Grab hold of the rail and bend over my love. I want to take you just before the light comes through yonder trees.”
“I'm deathly afraid of heights,” I protest vehemently.
“You will not fall. I will make sure of that. Just keep your eyes on the sunrise. Don't look down.”
His hips push my moist quivering body against the cold wrought iron balusters. Instinctively I grab hold of the top railing and hold on for dear life while my feet curl upwards against the bottom rail. As I look down, my head becomes swimmy and my stomach nauseous.
“Remember, do not look down. Look upward towards the sky, Daniel,” he reminds.
My neck strains to focus upon the horizon while Christopher's cock presses along my smooth white divide. While holding tightly to the rail, my quivering pucker forgets about being nudged open by the broad head. Suddenly, my voice shrills as the pronounced lip of his cock pierces the outer ring, apparently swollen from love-making the night before. Despite the pain, my hole hungered for him to take ownership of my body, marking his territory. My legs splay further apart and my ass arches more to encourage his affections.
Sensing my discomfort, Christopher withdraws his lance from my backside but not without my discontent voiced in panted whimpers. Christopher squats between my knees, spreads my cheeks with his palms, wedges his mouth between them, and licks my throbbing hole. I whimper and moan from his oral devotion. As he bathes my winker in saliva, he slips a finger in and out, preparing me for reentry. While keeping one digit in my slippery recess, another digit attempts to gain entry. When satisfied I can take him more easily, he arises to his feet, grabs my hips and plants his snake once again. My panting escalates as I concentrate on relaxing my bottom. Instinctively, my muscles push down upon his girth as he pushes against the puckered eye, allowing me to take him within my sweltering hole. Christopher loudly grunts primal pleasure when my rings contract around his twitching pole.
When his entire length firmly stuffs my gut and his balls are strapped against my ass, I slowly breathe in the morning air and gaze into the impending sunrise.
I break the moment with a frightening realization, “The sun has nearly risen. We need to go inside, don't we?”
“Yes, but not yet. I will let you know when we need to depart and pull the shades. But right now, I want to enjoy these precious moments with you,” answered Christopher.
The palm of his hand gently pushes down upon my lower back while his other hand grasps my shoulder in order to arch my ass upwards. Slowly yet with great desire he moves in and out, drizzling saliva periodically to ease the motion. As our speed increases, my swelling shaft sways back and forth slapping my stomach and railing, intensifying the sensation of his cock plundering my ass.
Christopher moves in closer to my body to such an extent a butter knife could not be wedged between us. He whispers panting in my ear, “It's time... We go inside. “
Whimpering I protest, “But this was sooooo beautiful.”
“I agree. And it shall be again,” he consoles.
After Christopher unplugs himself from my hole, he turns me around and gathers me into his arms, carrying me back through the sliding glass doors, across the den and into the bedroom which he pushes the door closed with a foot behind him. As he gingerly lays me across the bed, I sense the pain in the disconcerting expression on his face. Mirrors. Lots of them. On the ceiling and behind the head of the bed. Usually this would excite me, but it filled my heart with disdain because it grieved him.
I reach up to take your face in my hands and reassure, “They're only mirrors. They can't hurt you, and they won't make me feel any differently about you. Let's turn the lights off, allow the natural lighting to peek around the drapes, and light some candles.”
After lighting the candles to soften the reflection of the mirrors, I retrieve the bottle of lube from my man bag. I dollop a healthy amount into my left palm and wrap his tool in my hand, stroking up and down to regain his hardness, which doesn't take much to accomplish. Christopher stacks pillows on top of one another and motions for me to lay across them with our heads pointed the foot of the bed. In this manner, he can avoid at least one set of mirrors.
In preparation to lie over the pillows piled high, I tuck my dick and jewels between my spread legs in complete submission, within your full view to do with as you desire. As I flop over the top of soft brushed cotton wrapped pillows, my shoulders are lower than my ass and firmly pressed to the mattress. I hear Christopher reopen the bottle of lube, and then a warming sensation between my cheeks soon follows. Instinctively, my hands wrench the comforter into fists, preparing for what is to come. The longest digit of his hand reenters me, while pushing more of the viscous fluid into my hole. Then another finger alongside it squeaks tightly past the outer ring, surprising me with an abrupt ripple of burning sensation. Christopher plants his knees between my sprawled legs and prepares to mount me once again.
His spread digits conditioned with the wet solution imbed themselves into both of my shoulders, fan alongside my spine and rejoin at my tail bone. Every tense muscle along my back relaxes to his touch. The mattress shifts under the pillows and my shoulders as he presses his girth into my backside. I squeeze the comforter tighter in my fists as my hole surrenders to his bulbous head. While his strong hips power drive his thick rod down into my recesses, I pant to relax my bottom muscles.
“Ah uhuh ah uhuh ah ah ah, yes pleease! Don't STOP!” I plead shamelessly. My dick springs to life against the tower of pillows as it registers the force of his cock pressing upon my prostate.
With his rod firmly in place, Christopher leans his long torso over mine so that I am pinned down, helpless to his will and it excites me with fear.
Nibbling on my neck, Christopher questions in a guttural voice, “What do you want me to do to you Daniel? Tell me.”
“I… um... I… Uhhh,” I incoherently babble.
“You have to tell me Daniel. I want to hear you SAY IT!”
“I want.... I want... youuu tooo FUCK MEEE! FUCK THE BREATH FROM ME!”
“GOOD! I want to hear you voice your desires MORE, Daniel!”
Now I am not one who vocalizes my needs and desires in the bed so easily, but I wanted to please Christopher. He's gone too long without the simplest of pleasures in life. And so have I.
“Then you better fuck me so HARD I feel IT and feel it two days from now!” I instruct.
“I assure you, you will definitely FEEL me, Daniel. If I have not broken your cherry before, I will break it this morning.”
Resuming our torrid love-making, Christopher rises upon his toes and power drives me into the bed pillows so hard that my ass cheeks send shock waves through the mattress. Thank god these beds are sturdier than normal apartment frames.
The second time he plunges his spear into my backside, I yelp, “OH MY GAWWWDD!”
“NO, no no... We can not make religious references while I am present, okay?”
“Okaayyy... I'll try not to,” I weakly assure.
Every time he buries his thick shaft deep into my gut against my gland, I bite down on the comforter that is ready at hand to muffle my exasperations. After a slight reprieve, Christopher plants his arms alongside my chest and the bed bounces up and down with increasing fervor. Wave after wave, his cock pistons against my walls, when reaching the top of the crest. His grunting alone is enough to send me over the edge, much less the rhythmic onslaught upon my tender muscle. I release the comforter from my teeth so that I can careen my neck around, hoping that he will clinch my lips into his and I am not disappointed. He bends down, enveloping his body around mine, fervently kissing and nipping my lips, neck and shoulders.
Then in one succinct motion, he rolls me off the pillows onto my side without removing himself from inside of me. Lifting my right leg into the air, cradling my knee over his forearm, he grasps hold of my cock aching for release. All the while his strong hand rubs my balls and strokes my length up and down, he continues to satisfy my hole with his meat.
Struggling for my brain to convey my urgent thoughts vocally, “I... I…”
“Do not say it. Do not reveal what I think you are trying to proclaim to me. It is not possible.”
Christopher clamps his lips down upon mine, muffling my voice with his tongue down my throat. In the course of our sensual oral play, he removes his lips from mine. While propping himself upon his arm, he leans his head over my hip to wrap his lips around my hungering mass. Amid your suckling my pole into a quivering piece of throbbing flesh, you continue to thump my backside. Midst this senses-numbing tryst, my eyes cast upward to the mirrored ceiling for the first time. Christopher's image is woefully absent, but my eyes do behold the evidence of affections he is dotingly bestowing upon me. In many ways, the sight is exhilarating; my hole stretching to something invisibly penetrating, and my cock reacting to the powerful suction of some unseen mouth. As I sweetly smile into his intense eyes staring back at mine, I would never confess this observation. It would be like stabbing his heart with an oak stake, but without killing him. A reminder that he is already dead, but not his body, memories or emotions.
My breathing approaches hyperventilation while my dick aches for release and ass craves to be sewn with his writhing seed. Christopher recognizes the smoldering desire in my eyes and the fire in my belly. As he positions himself onto his knees, he takes my right leg in his arm and pushes it over his head and rests it upon his left shoulder, while not breaking rhythm. He leans to my left, taking a couple of pillows in hand and solidly places them under my hips. Then he brings my left leg up to his shoulder, and bends down upon my frame, carefully so as not to cause me discomfort.
Gazing into his blue orbs and concentrating on nothing more, my smile is reflected back to me in his face. Nearly overwhelmed with emotion, my sight fogs over with tears. Christopher's expression changes to that of concern, “What is the matter Daniel? Is something amiss? Have I done something wrong?” In mid-sentence, I cradle his troubled face in my hands, tenderly kiss his lips and reassure; “No, nothing is wrong at all. I can't think of a time when I've been happier than I am now, with you, nestled in your protective arms. Make love to me please. Sow your seed to every crevice of my body. I want to carry you with me throughout the day. Every time I sit down to rest, I want to be reminded that part of you is inside of me.
My words renew Christopher's primal urge as he showers my lips, face, ears, neck, shoulders and even nipples with uninhibited kisses that will leave behind marks of our passionate coupling. While he sets my external body ablaze, he slowly and intently stirs the fire in my pot.
My ass boils as you continually grind your hips in circles, pull your length nearly out and then hammer your loaded pistol within my ravaged hole. As my anal spasms escalate and trigger a head-board spewing eruption, I throw my head back in submission, dig my fingers into your ass cheeks and scream, “IT'S YOURS... OWN IT... TAKE IT... I GIVE MYSELF TO YOU!”
Christopher hunches my ass closer and grinds my lily-white flesh in shorter lightning strokes until my inner thighs begin to quiver. My first juicy offerings spatter my upper cheekbone and bottom of my chin, as other gushes spray my chest and soft belly. When I can focus amid the silver fish floating in front of my eyes, I watch his head bend down to lick my face clean of the mess that is my personal essence. Then rising up, he poises his lips above our joined parts and dribbles my seed upon his shaft. Christopher, while returning my gaze, pushes himself past my clenched muscles to deliver my seed into me. Caught off guard at this sudden move, I squeal through gritted teeth until nearly all the breath has been pushed from my lungs.
He bends over again, to lick up my sperm and deposits them upon his wide slot to rejoin them with their brethren. The final time he scoops up the remainder and this time, the delivery isn't as shocking as the first. It is about this time I realize he has yet to cum.
“Now I will lay my seed with yours, so that they will dance an eternal baroque,” Christopher instructs seductively. Then he lifts my shaking legs from his shoulders and folds them around his waist, pulls me closer to him, then gingerly whips the froth at my quivering entrance. The sex is rough at first due the muscle tightening, but I need him to breed me deeply. While clinching the side of my hips, he strokes my insides longer and more intensely. I perceive the increased firmness of his balls as they increasingly pound my scrotum instead of my lower ass. Christopher leans nearly horizontal along my body between my spread-eagled legs driving him into frenzy. Once again, his arms scoop my legs over his forearms as his eyes are but a breath away from my own. His hips slam into my woven seam, tearing at the fabric of my sex, unbeknownst to us during our throes of ecstasy. A deep guttural scream unfurls from his gaping mouth as he prepares to transplant his load deep into my gut.
I pant and moan like a wanton whore while Christopher buries his hard shaft, releasing torrents of jizz, flooding every niche of my entrails.
“MMMPHH... ARRUHH… Huhu… Yeah... HARRUHH… OOOOOMMMMM… UUUAARRGG!! YESS!! YESSS!!
Laying there wasted and spent, I attempt to recapture normal breathing, while his cock twitches to rid itself of all that is left of its sweet wine into its captive vessel. As the minutes pass, my knees remind me that they've been pressed to my shoulders for a long time. “Ummp... ouch...” Subconsciously noting my discomfort, Christopher gently releases my long curled limbs, rolls my torso facing the window, wraps his arms around me from behind, and nuzzles his head against my neck. Our sweat and sex brewed a spirit sweeter than cognac.
What a way to need another shower. I ponder smiling while falling into the most restful state of slumber. Too satiated and tired to give voice to the insomnia, worries and nightmares that have plagued my conscious mind far too long.
Chapter 9 - Perception
I awaken in a few hours with the glow of midday sun edging the curtains and pecking on my eyelids to open. As my brain reconnects the neuron synapses to communicate with the rest of my body, it informs me of the absence of arms that were enveloping me when I had first fallen asleep. I gently rolled onto my back and discovered Christopher sleeping on the pillow next to mine, his arms crossed over his chest and the most serene expression on his face like that of an angel.
As the back of my hand reaches to gently brush his cheek, his eyes fly wide open with a wild, frightened look imbedded into his black coal sockets and his exposed teeth snarled automatically with a hiss spewing deeply from his throat.
I softly whisper, “It's okay Christopher. It is only me.” Once his eyes returned to their normal color, they looked as though they were tearing up for reacting to my touch in such a manner. “You're just not used to having someone sleep beside you. It will get better, I promise. I'm going to take a shower, get dressed and go out to do some research. I'll be back later so we can go out to dinner, okay?”
“Yes,” you simply answer. I pull the covers over his outstretched body and lovingly kiss lips and forehead.
After picking up my suitcase so as not to further disturb Christopher's sleep, I carefully pad naked through the darkened hotel room, nearly tripping over the coffee table on the way to the shower. As I shower the sweat and sex that became exclusively our scent, I ponder something nice I could do for Christopher for when he awakens. Flowers? Wine? No, it would require him to awaken to answer the door. Something personal that I can leave behind... No noise, no disruptions, just something heartfelt. A poem, perhaps.
I smile while gently washing the intimate parts that he deeply touched a few hours ago. Writing a poem will be tough. A rhyme naturally rolls off my tongue or fingers when I'm nervous. But it may be difficult to purposely put into words what I want to say, what I want him to remember from our time together, and what I hope will continue.
After drying away the soft water clinging to my skin and slipping into something comfortable for the day, I sit on the divan thinking to myself. I've got to do this. I must tell him the things I need to say that he won't let me say. He must know how I feel, and he's afraid of not only my feelings, but his own. Whatever I write, it must reassure him that we can enjoy this time together. That we met for reason.
Drawing the pencil into my hand, I begin to write:
When on this journey I did set sail... To discover who I am in detail... Ne'er once did I think a love would be found... upon thine own ancestral ground... A kindred soul in this world forlorn... In your arms my life is reborn...
I walk around in the sun's pure light, while you inhabit the darkness of night. Each wishing to trade time in the other's shoes, we build a bridge drawing nearer our curfews.
To others we may make quite an opposite pair, but fate put us together to share. To bring comfort to another lonely soul, adrift in this world with not an anchor to hold.
I'm deeply sorry for the trouble I've made, but my debt ten fold will be repaid. For the only passions for me are two, exploring this world and being with you.
I fold the piece of paper tri-fold so that it will stand on edge and write his name on the outside in big letters: “My beloved Christopher” Now where should I put it so that it will catch his eye... hmmm... I got it! On top of his clothes, after I measure them of course for his size. He will need clothes to go out.
I hurriedly gather the tools needed for today's short genealogical trek and head out, but not before making sure all curtains are closed and that the DND sign is still in place on the doorknob.
Christopher ponders as he hears Daniel pad around the hotel room, shower, talk to himself, and softly close the door behind him. Ever since he awakened me with his gentle touch and kiss, I haven't been able to return to sleep. I can't believe I snarled at him, but then again, I AM a creature of the night. Always on guard for those who may try to harm me. How am I to let my guard down for his sake, yet preserve some measure of protection?
Our relationship, if that is what it is to be called, is surely not a healthy one. I must avoid the daylight and he has to walk amongst the light of his peers. His kind would never understand if they discovered my true nature. Bad enough that we both lay claims to love the same-sex, much less this... this status.
I don't even acknowledge my kind because of their blood-thirsty disregard for what we once were. Daniel and I shall be alone. Not that I wasn't already alone, blissfully ignorant to companionship perhaps? But Daniel, he's a social creature. I sense he's never met a stranger. And when he has, he would hold out his hand in friendship, just as he did to me our first meeting and as he attempted to hold out to Aloy. That in itself is dangerous to him and to me also. What shall I do? If I hold him at arm's length, it will slice through his heart like a knife. And hurting him would certainly kill me. But if I allow us to become close, that may serve to both our ends. My death would be a release from these earthly bounds. But to Daniel, death to him would be a tragedy for others.
Lord, you know I cannot speak your name, but I hope you are aware that I pray to you in my mind. I am told that since I do not have a soul and damned as the fallen angels, you will not hear my prayers. I hope that they are wrong. I have at times questioned my faith because I have prayed for centuries now to be allowed to die and be at peace. Woefully, my death has not come. But now I believe I was sentenced to this existence for a purpose. And I believe you entrusted this young mortal to me for a reason. I ask this not for myself. Give me the strength to protect him. He has a good heart, a good soul, and he believes in you. Amen...
Christopher growls, “Damn, I am awake now. But if I arise, I will surely not sleep at all, which will not make me good company. And unfortunately tonight, I will also need to locate a source of sustenance to keep my strength. Perhaps I can find something to do that will soothe my mind and encourage sleep.”
As Christopher arises, he takes note of the softness of the sheets that slip from his naked figure. He makes a mental note that he must acquire some of these. Perhaps the hotel would sell them or at least inform him where he may purchase them. As he puts his feet down on the plush pile of carpet, the fibers softly wedge between his toes. He thinks to himself how different it feels than the cold clammy hard stone to which he is accustomed. “I must get some of this too, “he muses to himself. As he walks to the bedroom door, he carefully opens it in case direct sunlight is being cast into the living area from some source. Breathing amongst the natural air scattered from the vents, his nostrils find the familiar scent of Daniel. His sweat from their sexual play this morning still lightly wafting through the air and soon replaced by scents of his personal hygiene products.
Finding his surroundings safe to enter, he marvels at how every surface gleams in the soft natural lighting. When he looks about, something in the midst of the divan table with big letters summons him nearer. With eyes affixed to the object, the closer to the table he walks, he recognizes his name written on a folded piece of paper. His shaking hand reaches out for it. He fears what it may say, but seeing Daniel's belongings still present, it shouldn't be a good-bye note. And the colorful lettering of his name is much too cheerful looking for it to contain bad news. As Christopher's eyes begin to read and his newly awakened mind to comprehend, his body plops down upon the sofa like a balloon depleted of air.
The tears uncommon of his nature fall freely from his face as he reads the carefully chosen stanzas. Christopher swipes at his face and looks upward as if something foreign from the sky has fallen upon him. When he is finished reading the last line, he fingers flip closed the letter, hugs it tightly to his chest, and balls his legs near him in a fetal position on the sofa.
“Damn you, Daniel. I told you not to say these words, but yet you found a way to say them,” Christopher exasperates while swiping the flood gates now flung open from his eyes. “We have been bound together. You will be my undoing, and I will be yours,” he reserves.
Now I must write something in return to your lovely poetry. Who would think that something as beautiful could be written in this day and age? You are certainly unique.
Christopher locates a hotel pen from the armoire drawer, finds some paper that Daniel left behind, and begins writing at the dining table chair. Apparently, Daniel sat there after his shower, as it is still a little damp.
As Christopher reflects: I should have foreseen these events happening. I alone am to blame for placing you in danger. I must protect you because you are like a fawn in the woods. Innocently trusting while hunters are on the prowl wielding their weapons. A precious gem that is at the mercy of a jeweler's hand. One wrong tap of his tool and the diamond he meant to shape becomes a worthless pile of shards.
Because I am what I am, I had forgotten what it is to be mortal. My life is a never-ending monotony of immortality. Mortals live vicariously because they know they are not promised a tomorrow. They revere life, yet they make decisions knowing that decision may extinguish their flame. But they continue on disregarding this fear, because richer are the moments lived with purpose.
After his short contemplation, Christopher affixed the modern writing instrument to the paper:
My Dearest Daniel,
I should not have allowed your stay; I should have sent you on your way. But greatly to both our chagrin, my hand had welcomed you herein. I worry deeply for your life, because with me, twill be much strife. Yet when I looked into your eyes, then I began to realize. Life is not measured in sunsets, nor is it lived in the regrets.
With all my love,
Every ounce of energy Christopher embodied was expended in writing those few lines. He folds his letter in similar fashion and displays it upon the dining table. He clutches Daniel's respective letter to his chest and heads back to the bedroom, perhaps where he will now be able to sleep.
“What do you mean you cannot show this article of marriage record to me? I'm not asking for a copy, if that is too much trouble. But I'd like to see it with my eyes, so that I can write down the information and document it for genealogical purposes,” Daniel entreaties the Office of Marriages clerk.
“It's just too late in the day for such record hunting. You Americans are all alike. You think just because you come here, that we are to snap to your every whim,” snided the lady.
“I've been very polite Ma’am. I've not given you cause to treat me this way. If there is something I can do to make it easier, please tell me and I will do it. But it is only 1PM and your sign said you were closed from 11AM-1PM. And I have traveled very far to collect this information, not just for my own records, but to help others who could not afford to do so. Please Ma’am; I am only here for a couple of days.”
The gruffy old lady pretends to ponder my request as she also pretends to busy herself shuffling paper upon her desk.
“I'll tell you what I'll do young man. Be here at 8AM sharp in the morning, and I will try to fill your request. But I can do nothing further at this time. Have a good day!” she remarks with a curt smile while she leans back in her squeaky chair and twirls it around with her back against me.
I must have had the most dejected look on my face because when I exited the door, the older lady's coworker complained, “Now whya have to go and upset him like that. There was no cause in being so mean. He looked like he was going to spout tears.”
“Oh pish posh. Those Americans need to learn to be patient and not order us around as they have involved our country in all their world affairs. And to think they rejected us to form their own nation, and crawl back when they need something,” remarked the elder woman with spite.
“Oh yeah, I'm gonna remember those remarks after I leave,” Daniel promised himself.
Hmmm...What to do with myself the rest of the day? I can't do any other research until I know where it's leading. Wicked smile. I have Christopher's credit card! And he needs clothing! But where to shop? There are so many fashionable mens clothing stores here in London. I need to be frugal, but dammit he has nothing to wear that is appropriate and doesn't stand out like a porcupine's ass. I think I'll look around the major shops, get an idea of what is in fashion this fall, and fetch him to try on the clothes. “Umm, SIR you cannot bring your backpack in the shop. Please park your bag to the side as you walk in,” informed the dapper gent.
“I need some assistance sir,” I counter.
“I am sorry, you MUST park your bag,” the salesperson insisted stronger than before.
“If you'll get your mind off my BAG sir, then I can tell you I need help with sizing clothing that is IN THE BAG. I'm trying to clothe a person who lost all of his garments on the 'flight' here. But since you're more interested in inconveniencing your customers, I will go next door and see if they would like MY BUSINESS,” I curtly inform the snooty salesperson, before turning around and walking next door.
Entering the shop next door, a very gray-haired attendant greets me and before he can get a word out, “I am NOT leaving my computer and my bag at your door. It's too easy to steal. I will leave it behind YOUR counter. Secondly, this other bag has clothing in it that I need the sizes matched for a man who lost all his clothes in flight. Now may I assisted and not be treated as a criminal like the shop next door? Because I am walking back towards the hotel anyway and I can try each shop until I find one that wants my business.
“Absolutely sir! I am Alfred and I'd be most happy to assist you,” greeted Alfred.
“Thank you. I really do appreciate your help,” I smile while breathing a sigh of relief.
Alfred places my bag behind the service area and I begin to unzip my other backpack while explaining, “Okay, we have an old-fashioned gentleman who needs an updated wardrobe that isn't too far a departure from what he's accustomed.” As I show him each individual piece of Christopher's clothing, Alfred's pallor turns white. I inquire if he needs to sit down. When he lifts his face, I notice his eyes are filled with fright. “Alfred, if you aren't feeling up to this, I can come back tomorrow or later on this evening,” I genuinely offer.
Alfred places his finger over his lips as if to hush himself then whispers, “Are these clothes for a gent who is very tall? Long dark hair? Piercing blue eyes?”
“Umm, yes they are. Why do you ask?” I inquire with trepidation.
“If you would be so kind, I need to compose myself,” Alfred pleads. I follow him to a bench and after he sits down, he begins to slowly recount, “I'm so sorry for my reaction, but I saw this gentleman fifty years ago, in a shop down the street. It was my first time managing a store, unheard of for a young man. The owner of these SAME clothes, appeared out of nowhere as I was closing down my register. I told him the shop was closed, and inquired how he got in, because I was petrified. He said for me not to mind how he got in, but that he needed clothing. I was afraid that he was going to first rob me then hurt me.
But he didn't. All he wanted was a suit of clothing that was a little more updated. And he was wearing THESE same clothes that day. I recognize the long brown leather coat with double yoke, britches that tied at the waistband, shirt with ruffles billowing from the collar, and his vintage riding boots scarred from many years of use. Then after a week or so of our meeting, I began researching the style of clothing he wore. They were from the mid-17th century. And now, you bring to me the same clothing he wore that day, a little more worn, but still in immaculate condition for their age. Please don't think of me as either a senile old man or worse, someone who has lost all concept of reality.”
“I don't think you're senile or crazy, sir. Far from it. I think if someone had surprised me after closing my store, I would remember them well too. And I can assure you, this is the same man whom you met fifty years ago,” I softly assure.
“Dear Mother Mary, he must be nearing late 70's now, isn't he?” Alfred quizzes.
“Actually, he appears incredible for his 'age', Alfred. I will bring him later this evening to try on the clothes you and I choose. If that is alright with you?”
“Well sir, um I'm not sure if I will be here. But someone will be here. I am supposed to leave at 6, but perhaps my manager could be persuaded?”
“I think I would prefer you as opposed to someone else. I'll take care of that, but just don't tell anyone?” I wink mischievously.
“Are you kidding? No one would believe me! HA!” Alfred laughs and slaps his knee simultaneously.
“WHY are you sitting Alfred? Are you so decrepit that you can't assist customers standing, a male figure snapped into Alfred's face as he pompously strode into the corner in which we were privately conversing.
“I'll answer that Alfred. I was tired after a long day of walking, and asked to sit down. Alfred was merely trying to make me feel better about my pain. And while I'm thinking of it, I need Alfred to stay until closing this evening as my 'partner' will need to try on clothing we choose for him in case he needs alterations,” I insist.
“Well, his shift ends before then. We will have staff here to care for your needs...” the haughty manager suggests.
“That won't do, sir. Christopher is very particular about who sees him nude. Alfred and Christopher have history together, so I insist. If your budget can't handle one more person for three hours, then perhaps someone else might volunteer to go home?” I propose emphatically.
“But.....,” offers the manager before I cut him off.
Before waiting for his reaction, “We're good right? Excellent! Christopher will be so pleased!”
After the manager huffily storms off, Alfred whispers to me, “Cheerio, lad! You handled him well. I am quite impressed.”
“Practicing an occupation steeped in psychology helps. Okay, Christopher doesn't need much, but enough to not appear as though he sleeps in his clothes day after day. And since we need to make these three hours worth the payroll, I am thinking two pairs of nice chinos and soft cords, three button-downs he can layer under form-fitting open-neck sweaters, a nice vest, stylish long coat for the winter, another pair of high leather boots, one pair each of casual and dress shoes, sexy underwear, perhaps a couple of colorful scarves, and a suit. Whew! Are we up to this?”
“Absolutely! I prefer helping a customer much more than merely ringing up their purchases! I actually will be able to have some fun,” Alfred cheers while he transcribes the list.
Alfred and I traverse the store examining this and that. Meanwhile, his manager and young staff members stand in a nearby corner seething at our selections, knowing what kind of commission Alfred will be accumulating.
As Alfred heaps up the future purchases, I ask him to attempt to charge them to Christopher's credit card so that they won't 'disappear' before we return. I glance in the drama corner where the manager appears quite agitated on the phone accompanied by his flaming bottom bois openly gossiping. I make note that no other customers are being served.
While Alfred scans the items, the banty-legged manager approaches to rudely announce, “You realize that if these items are not approved by the end of the day, you WILL be charged back your salary for these hours AND the lost hours of the salesman I had to send home in your place, elder man?”
“What's the matter, umm I'm sorry I didn't get your name from earlier?” I sneakily inquire.
“If you must know, my name is Craig, and I have been told by the hardworking young salesperson that he is quitting if Mr. One-foot-in-the-grave is given more hours than he.”
“Hmm... If that is the case Craig, I guess you'll be doing some paperwork later this evening?” I smirk. Seriously, what is the problem here with Alfred?” I question while scratching my head.
“He's OLD, ANTIQUATED, and has no concept of the current fashion trends, if you must knowww.” offers Craig in a condescending manner.
“Well, what I do knowww, is that while Alfred has been assisting me, you and your hapless trio have yet to help a customer,” I mock.
“Hmmpph,” Craig dismisses my words in the air with a flick of an overly limp wrist.
Alfred laments, “Listen young man, I appreciate what you're doing, but he's right about some matters. I AM old, and the young crowd doesn't flock to me for feedback. Every now and then a middle-aged man strolls in here, looks my direction, then theirs, and in that amount of time, the vultures nearly pick him clean Grand total sir of £2,666.”
“Let's throw something else on there, as I do NOT like three sixes in a row,” I quip.
After tossing on a hat that I couldn't resist, along with some cologne I'd forgotten, I hand Christopher's credit card to Alfred and do an invisible Hail Mary in all hopes that Christopher contacted his accountant to have me added to his account temporarily.
“Sign here sir for the purchase. It has gone through,” Alfred winks. “And if Christopher decides he does not like some items, they can be returned.”
We laugh giddily as I sign my name to Christopher's purchase, knowing full well that all eyes are on us.
“I'll be back with Christopher in about an hour, and hopefully he will have enough time to try these items.” After retrieving my bags, I turn around to exit the front door. I could swear there was smoke billowing from Craig's ears as he realized the items were purchased with Alfred's name in the system. “See you later Craig. I'll be BAACK!” I shout across the store so that anyone within earshot can't help but notice.
Gritting his teeth, Craig returns, “I'll be waiting.”
“Sharpen those pencils. You may need them. Oh and by the way, I'm sure you'll have good news to report back to the owner.” I bow to him with a smirk etched into my face, before striding onto the street.
I think to myself after settling into a cab headed back to the hotel. I hope he doesn't look at any of the price tags. The money spent on his clothes would have bought a used car in the states. Upon arrival, I wonder if I should open the door or simple knock. I do both. I place the keycard into the slot, turn the handle with one hand, while preparing to knock and call out Christopher's name, but a hand from the other side grabs mine. My body is thumped heavily against the wall while a forearm held to my throat. “Acckk... nice to see you too honey,” I manage to verbally choke while gasping for air and feet dangling. “If you're upset about the money I spent on your clothes, we can return some of them.”
“I deeply apologize, Daniel. I thought you were the maid returning. I managed to get 4hrs of sleep before someone not speaking the Queen's English burst into the room. I know you placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, but she didn't care. I sent her away. She pretended not to know my language, but I knew hers.”
“Well, after you let me down from this wall, I'll have a discussion with the manager about this,” I squawk with my face turning red.
After allowing my feet to touch the carpet, Christopher asks, “Now what is this about you spending a lot of funds on my clothes?”
“I'll tell you about it on the way there,” I promise.
“Let me drink some sustenance first and then we shall go where you wish,” proposes Christopher.
“Sustenance? As in what? How?” I inquire with a worried expression.
“I broke into the place where human blood is kept fresh and reallocated the use thereof. Where did you think I obtained it?”
“Um, never mind. Let's just go. Here are your old clothes. I'll wait at the front desk, after I chew out another manager.”
“Another manager? You don't play nicely with others do you?” Christopher playfully suggests.
“Oh hush you. It's been one of those days, and the only bright spot was shopping for you with one of your old friends.”
“Old friend? Now I am fearful. What old friend?”
“I'll tell ya when we get out of here and catch a bus. I don't think you'd like the mirrors in a cab.”
While Christopher dressed, I cornered the manager and made a case for enforcing their Do Not Disturb signs. Why bother having them if no one minds them? After Christopher and I walk towards the shuttle, I recount to him Alfred, a man from whom he'd purchased clothing fifty years before and how the manager and others were demeaning him.
At first Christopher was only interested in how Alfred would react, knowing he had not changed in fifty years. Then he was angered that a man of his experience should be treated with such indignity.
“Let us pray that he doesn't suffer from a myocardial infarction,” Christopher expresses his worry audibly. As we are let out on the opposite side of the street from the shop, Christopher wonders aloud if Alfred will remember that he doesn't like mirrors. His worries are allayed when our wandering eyes find most of the mirrors covered.
“What do you mean this man doesn't like mirrors? What the fuck is he, a vampire wannabe?” cackles one of the young employees to Alfred.
“It is HIS preference, and we are to serve those who shop here,” instructs Alfred.
“I do not SERVE anyone. I am paid to give them my honest opinion as to what looks fugly on THEM,” the anorexic youth snaps. The actual owner of the store overhears their conversation and notes the difference of attitude and work ethic amongst his employees.
Christopher saunters into the shop as I hold the door and walk behind him. One of the young, flamboyant salesmen flanks him and asks if he can give him assistance in his purchases today. Christopher's gives him a bone chilling stare and dryly speaks, “I am not in need of YOUR kind of services. I already have an assistant awaiting me. But thank you very kindly.”
“Oh well, if you mean the senior citizen on our staff, he isn't here at the moment,” he lies knowing full well if he assists in any manner, he could get a cut of the commission.
“He IS here, I can assure you,” Christopher counters while sniffing the air.
“It's so late and we're shutting down our registers anyway. You'll have to come back tomorrow if you wish to try on any clothes.”
“My partner paid for my purchases and I WILL retrieve them and I WILL try them before leaving. May I speak to the proprietor of this establishment, please?”
Watching and listening to the conversation intently, the owner comes forth, introduces himself and excuses the employee in his perhaps thinking Alfred had left the premises. As the owner reaches out to shake his hand, he thinks otherwise when Christopher glares without a motion to return the physical gesture.
Meanwhile, I locate Alfred to warn him that Christopher had arrived and not to be shocked at his youthful appearance. Alfred does pretty well to disguise his shock, other than clutching his chest.
“Are you Alfred? Ummmm... a little more grey in the hair, but you wear it well, sir,” Christopher points with a finger at his own hair, while smiling warmly. “Thank you for assisting Daniel while I slept,” he cajoles while offering his handshake.
“I wouldn't even try the clothes on as I am secure in your knowing my size has not changed, but I would be depriving Daniel his satisfaction and the gallery would be sorely disappointed,” he winks at Alfred. “Nice fabrics, Alfred. Good seaming. I see some things haven't changed too much since the last time we shopped together.”
As both Alfred and I hand clothes over the door to Christopher with instructions, he comes out appearing dashing as I've never seen him before. The clothing fits him like a glove, accentuating every muscle and curve. Each time he unveils a new garment combination, a hush falls over the room as if everyone is captivated with his countenance.
“I think you missed your calling young man. You should be in the clothing business,” smiles Alfred.
“I can see how it would be fun, but I don't think I possess the patience required for the snobbery and back biting of this business,” I answer.
As Christopher puts on the best for last, I ask him if there are any items that he doesn't like. “No. I like it all considering your expressions. Nice selection. You two make quite a team,” he grins.
As we waltz arm in arm with our purchases, Christopher coyly asks, “So where are we going all dressed up?”
“After we take these clothes back to the hotel, we're going clubbing”.
“Clubbing? Whom are we going to club and why?”
The sales people roared with laughter, but I knew he wasn't kidding. “Somewhere we can dance, drink some spirits, and become very cozy in a darkened atmosphere.”
“Then you just have to go to Heaven or G-A-Y club while you're visiting London. And the Royal Vauxhall has Dame Edna if you enjoy a sit-down show,” quipped one of the overtly fem salesmen.
“With a name like Heaven, who wouldn't want to go? I know that I want to reside there some day,” snipped Christopher with a sexy smile.
Chapter 10 - Revelations
After leaving the hotel for our night's adventure, everyone's head turned when laying eyes upon Christopher. “Why is everyone staring at me Daniel?” Christopher whispers in a confused manner.
“Because you're THAT damned good-looking. I WILL need a slugger to keep them off you,” I taunt.
I stop in my tracks, allowing Christopher to walk ahead so that I can get a good rear view assessment. I notice he is talking to himself, then stops and looks around to see why I was walking further behind.
“Why are you tarrying behind, Daniel?”
“The view is splendid back here,” I grin from ear to ear while my dimples dance across my flush cheeks.”
“Oh pulease! Stop it!” demands Christopher.
“Well, you asked... All six foot three of you, dressed in fine raiment. You look like a model. Give yourself some credit, okay?” I keenly assert. “I wished guys turned their heads at me when I walked passed. Mostly I get the feminine gender sort of stares.”
Christopher abruptly stops, whirls around, places his hands under my arms and lifts me to his face, while I hold onto his shoulders for support, “Now you listen to what I say. You are naturally handsome and when you smile, it lights up an entire room. I've seen the way others have looked at YOU. Apparently, you do not see this. You don't believe me? We shall see,” Christopher finishes with his lips firmly planted upon mine.
While walking down the roads of Waterloo towards the National Rail system, we encounter the tourist vendors. Many of them selling the cheesy 'I visited London England' type T-shirts, but one actually screen printed them himself. I drag Christopher to the side and ask the shop owner if he had time to make one for me and its cost. The price wasn't too bad so I wrote down what I wanted printed on the T-shirt. He gave Christopher and me a quizzical look and I said, “Don't ask. It WILL be a popular saying, I promise.” I chose the font for the phrase while Christopher browsed.
“Are you also in need of clothing? I don't mind really. But this material doesn't look like it will last for more than a few years,” quipped Christopher sincerely.
“This is meant more as a souvenir, so I won't be wearing it much. I hope you'll find some humor in this phrase that a friend told me once.”
Of course the ink needed to settle a bit before I could stuff it in my man-bag, but as the air-brush artisan finished, he held it up for my approval.
Save a Life, Ride a Vampire
“I don't get it,” Christopher muses while his eyes scan the phrase left to right and back again.
“You will tonight if my knees hold out,” I assure while raising a flirting eyebrow.
Walking a few more blocks, we arrive at our departure point, with two choices at hand, the London Waterloo NR with the stop for Charing Cross as closest to our destination in the Soho entertainment district, or the Tube which is underground. The London Waterloo NR stopped service at 9PM, so we choose to ride it to the London Bridge and see the lights of downtown, while leaving the subway for the return trip.
“Which platform would you like Daniel? We have the choice of 4-6,” he asks with amusement.
“Choices, choices. I wonder which one would be best for the cars at the end? I want to be able to see the city from the best unobstructed view. How about we try platform 6?” I suggest.
Once the train arrived, we situated ourselves to grab the last car, and for some reason the other passengers chose other cars, leaving us alone at the end of the chain. The cars begin to move forward with the normal clickety-clack as the trucks are led along the rails. I ready my camera as I realize we'll be within sight of Westminster Bridge to the south of the train and Big Ben to the north along with the London Eye.
And what a view it was. The lights of London stream through the windows of the rail cars and shimmer on the Thames River. I prepare my camera to take a few shots to memorialize the trip and realize with the swaying back and forth and the river far below, that we are traveling up high. I inhale deep breaths to calm my phobia.
While Christopher hugs me up from behind, he points north and says, “Around the bend to the Northeast there stands the Tower Bridge of London. And to the east of it, lies the Tower of London. I will take you there and you can sense the tragedies that occurred within its walls. From the time it was constructed and well into my mortal life and this life, during times of social and political upheavals mainly but not exclusively, many people were tortured there. It is said that not many people died there, but rather upon the Tower Hill. But these supposed historians do not know of the countless people murdered who did not have literate families to leave an account.”
“How sad the lives of these people must have been,” I suggest.
“More than anyone will ever know. Everyone of the past and present century consider the monarchy in romantic terms, but the truth of the matter is, due to inbreeding, the solitary life of royalty, and paranoia commonplace to their political positions, they often were insane and cruelty reigned in the treatment of their own kind much less normal every day citizens.”
After our train settles into the Charing Cross station, we enter the underground station of the Tube and stand on the side of the track channel. I whisper to Christopher while staring into the dark void awaiting the next train to the Soho district, “Are there other vampires living here and where do they live?”
“You are astute in your question. There are still those of us walking amongst the living. Some who have existed long enough are wealthy and have their own private residences. And right now, I would imagine many vampires have come out during this romanticism of what most mortals view as mere superstition. Meanwhile, some disenchanted vampires live in places like this, in the underground passages that have not seen the light of day for half a century or more. London, like most other cities in human history, have built upon their former grounds as the water table has risen, leaving abandoned pockets of former escape tunnels used during times of war, with forgotten entrances and exits. They come out only to feed and to delve into the dark arts and human debauchery.
The vampires living in these hollows are definitely the sort we need to avoid. They are like loosely knitted bands of gypsies. They will take the blood of anything living, including humans if they can without detection. Still, there are ancients who remain in the oldest of cemeteries or ruins that are unkempt and desolate which translates into little human interaction and therefore little discovery. They are animalistic at times, yet the most pitiful because of their self-imposed seclusion. But do not be deceived. They are also the most powerful because of their age and destruction of other vampires.
Our transportation finally arrives at the terminal and we scatter amongst the few passengers to locate an empty car. The train begins its familiar jerky start and then settles into a hum along the track while the incandescent strips affixed to the tiled earthen walls strobe inside the cars, undulating against their metal interior as if speaking in an alien code of light.
I look down into my lap to avoid looking at the walls as our car veers into the lightly illuminated unknown. Sensing my thinly veiled discomfort, Christopher places his arm around my shoulders as I lean into and nuzzle against his chest.
“Let me take a gander. You're not overly enamoured with enclosed spaces are you, Daniel,” he intuitively pried.
“What makes you think that?” I playfully counter.
“Hmmm, it could have been your leg shaking against mine, or that your face was nearly in the floor.”
Changing the subject I quiz, “So what kind of vampire are you? Allow me to analyze. You have performed at least some activities to garner some wealth to sustain your comfort, yet you do not readily partake in the world's advances in comforts of this past century. Your humble abode isn't considered abandoned ruins, forgotten tunnels or a cemetery, nor is it the Taj Mahal either. You apparently don't feed on the living unless in defense of someone else or in a fit of rage. Therefore, you're not a gypsy, not someone to be feared, and not someone to be pitied outright. You are trying to preserve some of your past as you don't embrace the present. You are a conundrum Christopher Harewell.”
“Very astute for a doctor of the mind, I suppose?”
“Oh hush it,” I wink in return.
When the car comes to a final jerk and the conductor announces our stop, we exit and I nearly run to get to the top of the stairs, even though they are escalators. Once upon the street level, I can breathe again, and we head in the direction of the club. As we near the entry to our first stop G-A-Y, we notice a line from around the block of what we presume is the entrance. One of the entries was painted purple with neon lights, so it had to be place.
“I don't think we're going to get in there any time tonight, especially if they have a headliner playing.”
“A headliner?” quizzed Christopher.
“Yes, a headliner is a popular performer, singer, group that will usually foster such a large gathering.”
“I'll get us in,” informed Christopher.
“Um, don't do anything to get us both arrested, okay?” I implore.
“Nonsense. Just stand here with me and walk forward as I do,” he instructs.
Curiously, the people in front of us in line, begin to turn around as if they were zombies. As each person leaves the line, we progress forward until we reach the front.
“Okay wiseguy, how do we get through that front door with no pass?” I cast doubt.
“A doubting Thomas? You will see,” Christopher professes.
We reach the security person for the club, and he asks us to present passes for entering. When no one puts the passes into his hand, he looks up into Christopher's awaiting eyes. In the course of the burly guard standing frozen in motion, Christopher takes my hand in his and leads me into the vestibule.
“That was a nice trick,” I jokingly prod.
“Thank you. I have many,” Christopher admits nonchalantly.
Once inside, our eyes take in the floors and ceilings edged in rope strobe lighting, balls crafted with panels of mirrors hanging from the ceiling reflecting a myriad of colors against the blackened interior, private sitting areas flanked by velvet and taffeta curtains, people everywhere dancing to the base thumping music emanating from the speakers on the raised thrust stage.
“Do you think we can get a table in here like you got us through the front door?” I taunt.
“You doubt my abilities? Tsk, tsk.” denounces Christopher.
As we approach a suitable table to both our needs, the couple mysteriously arises and leaves without even their drinks in hand.
“Is this to your liking, Daniel?”
“Yes, indeed. It's private enough to still hold a conversation, yet listen to the music, watch the people and see the stage,” I assured.
After we sit down, I hail for a member of the wait staff to take our drink orders. The male wait bounces over to our curtained alcove, wearing very little but a skimpy Speedo and silver glitter ankle boots.
“What can I do you for?” asks the flaming young man.
“Take Daniel's order first please. It was his idea for us to enjoy the nightlife,” winks Christopher.
“Okay, what would quench your thirst Daniel,” asks the wait flittering his tongue piercing with every syllable he pronounces.
“Well, how about I take a safe bet. Does your bartender know how to make a saltydog? With crushed ice, gin, ruby-red grapefruit juice preferably, and a salt rim?” I grin.
“I'll write it down just in case there are any questions. And what would you like tall, dark and handsome?” beamed the anorexic stricken youth.
Christopher returns his smile, “A snifter of the better cognac perhaps?”
“Oooo... that sounds wonderful on such a nipply night! HAHA!” exclaims our wait while jiggling his thin chest adorned with nipple rings.
We both laugh at our wait's lame attempt at humor, but nevertheless an attempt to put us in a good mood.
“Thank you sir, you are very perky. We can certainly use that,” I blush.
“I am so happy to serve two civilized human beings for once tonight. I'll be right out with your drinks,” he exclaims.
A few moments later after the wait bounces away to another private alcove, Christopher interrupts, “Daniel, there is a scent here. Perhaps we should go.”
“What do you mean go? We sat down, just ordered drinks, and enjoying the atmosphere. And what do you mean by scent?”
“Scent of another vampire, possibly two within close proximity.”
“Are their scents familiar, Christopher?”
“No. Not quite.”
Chapter 11 - Laisons
“Not that I know every vampire in the surrounding areas, but I know most all who are of the native variety. We need to get out of here,” Christopher sternly warns again.
“So, there are other vampires in jolly ole England? Whodathunk? We can't run away from every vampire we encounter Christopher. Who knows, they might be good allies,” I optimistically suggest.
Christopher cautions, “As you learned from your experience with Aloy, you cannot determine what sort of vampire they are, what kind of past they embody or if they enjoy delivering pain upon others as compensation for their own pain or for their simple pleasure. And most importantly, you cannot verify whether or not they still feed upon the living, until they attack.”
“Well, unless we sprout wings and fly outta here, we're not gettin' through this crowd too awful soon. And being in the midst of a crowd is probably the safest option at this point, would it not be?” I propose.
As we sit at our tables prepared for the worst but hoping for the best of outcomes, we notice two figures floating amongst the throng of scantily clad mortals. One slightly taller, lean gentleman, finely kempt in high fashion clothing is leading, while the other man close behind is shorter and wearing more of the Goth/punk style. I notice Christopher averting his eyes as they pass. The two nearly stroll by, stop in front of our recessed area, and turn to stare intently.
I begin to probe, “Are they...”
“Yes. The older one looks familiar. The younger, no. Most likely, the older has turned the younger in recent years,” advises Christopher.
“Perhaps they are in love.” I suggest.
The older vampire addresses, “I can't place the name as I don't believe we've exchanged pleasantries in the last few decades, sir.”
Christopher raises his gaze from the faux velvet table covering, looks into my eyes momentarily, then shifts them to the visitors standing next to our seats.
“My name is Christopher Harewell. Nice to meet your acquaintance once again, sir?” Christopher inquires politely while tipping his cognac snifter.
“Ahhh, yes! Christopher, from Harwell. It HAS been a long time. I believe we met briefly during the time of the Great War here on this soil. Must have been half a century or more ago. My name is Stroud.”
“And my name is T-R-I-P-P, Tripp. My friends say I'm a real trip too! By the way, nice scarf draped around your lovely neck,” Tripp voices energetically in my direction.
“Very nice name, Tripp. My name is Daniel, and I just love your um... attire. Real leather I presume,” I inquire politely.
“Of course! PETA can lick my hairy asshole,” snorted Tripp.
After I nearly expel the saltydog through my nose, wipe my spit and regain my composure, Tripp invites, “Come on Daniel. Let's throw down on the dance floor!”
While sensing Christopher staring into the side of my head, I return my gaze to his face. Softly I reassure, “I'll be back. I hope. Don't worry.”
“I need to forewarn you Tripp. I don't know how to dance very well. I may be 'tripping' up on you! I was hoping for Christopher to teach me some steps tonight.” I playfully banter.
“I’m afraid the only step I could teach you is perhaps a good Baroque or Minuet, dearest Daniel,” Christopher woefully sighs.
“That's okay. I could probably benefit from a slower pace,” I reassure.
Before finishing that last word, Tripp whisks me from my lounge chair, while Stroud warms the seat in my absence. Tripp and I pass our table wait on the steps down to the dance floor. I present a nervous shrug and a discernible plea for help to the our wait's questioning eyes while being pulled into the wave of gyrating, sweaty, very inebriated, compacted torsos.
“You really can't dance can you!” he shouts into my face.
“HUH? What did you saayy? I can't hear a thing! We're too close to the speakers!” I shout back in dismay.
Tripp seems to understand our communication difficulties and moves us inch by inch away from the deafening decibels of the stomach wrenching bass.
“Is this better?” he shouts but in a lower voice.
“A lot better!” I vocalize.
“It is quite hot in here, especially in this crowd. Why don't we dress DOWN a bit, Daniel?” he provocatively offers while unfastening the pearl buttons all along his leather, long sleeve shirt.
As I attempt to look away, Tripp grapples both ends of my scarf and yanks me towards him. “You are so shy, you're blushing. How adorable!” he compliments with pouting lips. “And you're so warm too. Can I wear your scarf? I love the colour!” Tripp admires.
He whisks the scarf from my neck in circles around my head. Holding the scarf with an end in both hands, Tripp suddenly has a look of astonishment as if he expected to see something that wasn't there. Slowly, I lift the last loop from over my head and replace it over his head.
While Tripp still looks at both sides of my neck, I wrap the scarf around him and mention, “It looks very nice on you with your Goth attire.”
“Umm... well, thank you Daniel. Perhaps we should tend to our partners in crime? ” he nods.
“We haven't begun to really dance yet, and this is a song to which I can dance a little. Come on, be adventurous,” I playfully intonate while grabbing one of Tripp's hands and pulling him close to me with my arm wrapped around his lower back. We begin to Cha-Cha with popular Latin guitar artists, Julio Velasquez.
In the course of swinging and sliding past one another Tripp makes idle chit-chat. “So have you two done it yet?”
“Huh? Done what?” I address with a puzzled look on my face.
“Have you two DONE IT? Come on, I know you can't be that innocent. Surely you know what Christopher IS?” insists Tripp.
“Um, well if you mean sex, then yes,” I admit with my cheeks turning red with heat of embarrassment.
“Well, not that specifically, but that's nice to know. I mean has he bitten you somewhere that can't be seen?” Tripp hints further.
“Not per-say. But he has nibbled my ass cheeks on a couple of occasions,” I grin.
Tripp flusters, “Okay, it looks like I have to spell this out for you. Has he not TURNED you yet?”
“Turn me? Ohhhhh... We've not flipped yet. Not sure how he would feel about bottoming,” I offer.
“Satan and all his fire-fanning angels please help me!” he exasperates. Tripp roughly jerks me into his small frame with a chest thumping cathud and breathes hotly into my ear, “I mean has he not turned you into a vampire, a creature of the night like us?”
“Ohhhh... Um, that's not something that has been a topic for discussion and I highly doubt it will be any time soon,” I relate with trepidation.
“So, you haven't considered it? I mean, he lives forever and um you don't,” he affirms matter of factly.
“Right, but we've only become acquainted for about 48 hours now. There's so much to experience together first. And then there's the sticking point of his being my 13th great-grandfather,” I inform.
“He's your what? You must be yanking my chain! Now that's freaakkkyyy! HAHAHA! Getting it on the down-low with your gramps,” he laughs hysterically.
“Shhh, please don't say anything to Christopher. I don't want to upset him,” I plead with Tripp.
“He should be proud he's bedding someone of your age and keeping it in the family,” he nudges playfully.
Meanwhile, Christopher and Stroud reacquaint themselves of an era long past, one that Christopher wanted to forget, and had pushed into the far recesses of his mind.
“It really has been a long time. The last I had seen you was when the war-mongering Germans were bombing London proper. Now that was indeed a feast for our kind! Shame though, since so many mortals died at one time. Although, I don't recall you feeding from the killing fields. Instead, I remember you trying to bandage the wounded and comforting the dying, correct?” inquired Stroud.
“Yes. I saw their needless suffering and it pained me to witness their lives tossed away in such horrific events. It wasn't like the old days. Combat was chivalrous, had some element of dignity and respect to the engagement. The weapons of that war were purely destructive and only worsened over time.”
“Yes, mortals seem to be a plague upon mother earth, although they contended we were. In the beginning I was an angry man and took the life of many. Later years, I only took what was needed to survive, while the monarchies died early in years of disease brought on by their own gluttony. But you had the right idea even as far back as then. Our own kind ridiculed those like you who did not want to take another human life from the beginning. Instead, you took the blood of animals that would not be missed.
And although, it sufficed for the need of blood, it wasn't wholly satisfying to the blood thirsty throng. However, your example kept me and a few others hidden from the vampire hunters of our age and following centuries. The others weren't so lucky. They killed and turned others shamelessly, exposing themselves and their brood to the hunters. The underlings whom the elders turned were not fostered in good practices, so they either committed suicide or gave up information on their sire to the hunters in exchange for peace in death.
Thankfully for us now, the vampire lifestyle is part of the modern-day occult movement and has even has spread into the new world sub-culture, influenced by the romanticism in written form and moving pictures. With the mixture of gothic culture, we can move about fairly easily without detection.”
“I wasn't an angel by any stretch of the imagination. I took a few lives early on and turned a few as well in my madness. I noticed that your liaison, Tripp is enamoured with this dark culture that you aptly describe. How did you two chance to meet, Stroud?”
We met in the nearby borough of Birmingham at a club. He admired my attire and makeup. Little did he know then, it wasn't makeup. He was as he is today, very enigmatic and willing to talk incessantly. He kept me from being as lonely. I hadn't delved into the sexual realm in so long, that his attempts at flirtation fell on deaf ears for a while. I wasn't even sure if I was attracted to any particular gender any more. But I continued to return to the club week after week.
Then I learned he was very sick, from one of his friends. I believe their intent of giving this information was to distance Tripp and myself. To which, their plan was nearly successful; because I was reminded that mortals do not live as long as we do. Then they die and we're left alone once again. When I asked him about his disease, he was furious that someone told me before he felt it important. He began to sob uncontrollably, saying that he wanted to take his own life, because no one could be as close to him as he needed because of the dreaded human disease. I promised I would not desert him, no matter what happened. He didn't trust me at first because so many others had made similar promises that dissipated. He even went so far as to push me away, which deeply vexed me. However, I kept coming around to engage him in conversation and dance. One night when he was not present at the club, I went in search of him. He was bedridden after contracting the influenza. His health became more delicate and his breathing laboured. Tripp then intimated details of his life, like it was nearly at the end. He wished that he'd had more time to make up for the mistakes. After a few days of fighting this influenza, he was able to move again. But it was very apparent his immune system was weakened by this bout.
It was then I decided to reveal my secret. At first he laughed until his lungs hurt. Then he noticed I wasn't partaking of the laughter and no change in my expression. He asked me: You think you're serious right? To which I answered: I'm dead serious. Still he thought perhaps I partook of some blood ritual games that his compatriots played, until I took him to the very cemetery and mausoleum where my body was supposedly laid to rest. I slid back the slab to reveal no body lying there. It was I! He laughed nervously, and told me that it was illegal to remove a body from its burial place. Nearly out of ideas, I then bared my teeth to him. Once again he admonished that it wasn't nice to try to scare him with fake teeth. I invited him to pull on them, and he did. Then he remarked how he'd like to know my dentist.
When we walked back to my vehicle, I was dejected that I could not prove to him I was a real vampire, until I remembered the mirrors. I instructed him to sit in the front seat, while I sat in the back, and for him to turn the mirror towards me. He looked into the mirror and back at me to ensure I hadn't moved. Then his body slumped over the wheel. I drove him back to his lonely flat. His wits returned shortly before we arrived. I asked if I could come inside to explain. He kept asking if I was a REAL VAMPIRE. I kept reassuring that I was the real deal as people commonly say. He told me he was tired and would have to think about things running through his head.
He never returned to the club. I didn't see him again until one of his sunny day friends informed that he was in the care of hospice, and would not likely live. He had left instructions for me to visit him if he was still alive. So, I did as he asked. When I saw him, his cheeks took on a rosy pallor and he smiled weakly. It was then he asked once again if I was a true vampire and if so, would I make him well again. And if I wasn't a true vampire, for the gods to look kindly upon my soul for at least he would be taken from his earthly misery. I removed the tubes from his face and his abdomen and the needles in his arm. Then whisked him away to my private residence for the deed to be completed. I remember telling him that it would hurt and he would die for a short time. Tripp's body was shaking with fear but he was undaunted in his request. And the rest is history. His friends, family and doctors could not believe his recovery. They wanted to know how he could come back from the brink of death. I could offer nothing but some old Celtic remedies, which are similar to those of the Native Americans.”
“A very beautiful story indeed, my friend Stroud,” complimented Christopher.
“I wish it was as beautiful as it seems. Through the few years we've lived together, we've learned a most dark secret that we share. That fateful night when I took of his blood in the light of the moon, the disease that he carried within him, transferred to me, and he also still carries the disease. We noticed over time that if we took blood of any livestock or human, just enough to provide sustenance, the animal or human was felled by the same disease and gave it to others until they passed.
Initially, governments of this world created this disease by accident or purposely for warfare or to control population. They really didn't believe animals or humans would live long enough with the disease to pass it to more numbers than intended. But, in the bush and desert countries of Africa for instance, our kind laid in wait to feed on the malnourished. And then in turn these poor wretched humans gave it to one another exponentially. So, in essence our kind is unknowingly killing off our own food supply.”
“What a sobering thought, Stroud. What can be done to slow this process?” Christopher sought in a worried tone.
“Nothing really. The only way is either to allow these beings to die more quickly, or for the humans to discover a cure. But that is not likely to happen. Greed will prevent that. If there is not a disease that needs to be cured, then there is not money to be made. The powerful will make sure a cure is not to be found. The puppeteers ensure their own people live longer lives, but the overpopulated areas they throw some medical assistance to extend their lives, only in hopes that these people exist long enough to continue the deadly cycle. And our kind was thought of as barbarians and demons. We learned from the masters,” Stroud soberly reflects.
“So, nice catch you have there too Christopher,” Stroud points in the direction of Daniel shaking his ass along the other side of the dance floor.
“Yes, he is very nice. Kind of heart and gentle of nature. He has been good company for me during the short while we've known one another,” Christopher boasts tentatively.
“Tell me more. How did you meet? And have you turned him? I noted that he has an unusual scent?” Stroud trails the open-ended question.
“That's quite a story to divulge in such a short evening, Stroud,” Christopher avoids.
“Come now. I've spilled my immortal guts to you. Told of our secret. Now it is your turn,” invokes Stroud.
“As you may remember, I recounted of how I was turned by a trusted friend on the battlefield during the religious and political wars of the mid-1600’s. After that, I wandered for a few days, wondering what to do with myself. I visited my betrothed one last time. I was not aware she was stricken with what was termed as consumption. My plan was to save her and we would live together forever. She did not die however, nor was turned. Her health was regained. I could not bare for her to realize what I had become, so I hid myself for a few years. Then when I saw her at a dance, which was uncommon for her father Cromwell to approve of dancing, she had a child in her company. I thought the child was of another suitor who captured her grieving heart.
Little did I know until Daniel arrived at my manor, that her child was mine and had produced a bloodline which was carried into the new world. Daniel is of that bloodline. My 13th great-grandson. (Stroud audibly gasps) Please don't think badly of him, Stroud,” Christopher pleads.
“The Dhampir knows the Lugat? Is he being used by a hunter to locate vampires” warily implies Stroud.
“No, it's not like in the Albanian traditions. Daniel's intentions are as pure as possible in this world. His only desire for coming here was to discover his bloodline.”
“But he could be used by one if discovered he is a Dhampir, or Day Walker. You must know that other vampires may not take too kindly to him or you?” emphasizes Stroud.
Christopher laments, “Yes, I've already discovered that unfortunately. And I had warned him of that fact. But we did not get him out of my manor quickly enough.”
“Who discovered this odd liaison?” Stroud pries further.
“My former best friend Aloysius. He had tracked the human blood to my manor and found Daniel there.”
“Bloody hounds of hell. Why did it have to be Aloy? So, he tracked human blood to your manor? Whose blood?” Stroud asked with an arched brow.
Christopher admits, “Robbers who had intended to maim or murder Daniel. While Daniel was knocked unconscious, I killed the more repulsive of the two and disposed of his body. The other was nearly dead. Aloy apparently finished the job I started.”
“Oh this is intriguing,” Stroud ponders while holding his face in one hand.
“This is the only time since the second human war, that I've drunk of living blood and even longer since I killed someone in anger.”
“So, Aloy comes by knowledge of Daniel's existence. What did he do? Bring back his horde of malevolent marauders?” Stroud mocks while gulping his bourbon seemingly to dispel what he has learned.
“Yes, he did,” Christopher flatly admits.
“And??? What happened? You two are still standing and breathing. Well, Daniel is breathing,” Stroud mocks while hailing the table wait to bring another bourbon, but larger this time.
“Daniel saved us both. Finis,” Christopher resolves.
“You don't get out of telling this story that quickly. There's much more to it than that. Spill the bloody details, ole chap,” Stroud insists.
“Daniel was driving while Aloy and his devilish dominion were flanking us. He took us to a cemetery where almost all of our mutual ancestors are buried. Daniel entreated the spirits, and they chased off Aloy and his cursed crew,” Christopher spouts while hoping to disappear under the table.
“HE DID WHAT? HOW? Did he summon the spirits? Oh fuck! You realize this isn't good? Witches and Vampires do not mix. Once Aloy gets his wits about him, he'll be searching and spreading the word. Are you mad? I am sure he is a nice young man and everything. And you are quite the revolutionary, but I don't believe this relationship is something that will be accepted quite yet,” Stroud affirms.
“He's not a witch. He has a natural affinity for spirits to be drawn to him. We both would have been dead, if it weren't for his quick thinking. And we don't have a relationship. We were kind of thrown together by the wind,” Christopher wistfully explains.
“Don't lie to me. I have seen the way you look at him. If you didn't care, you would have sent him on his way, and you would have gone yours. But if it matters, I understand and support you. Although, I'm not sure how much I can support you, physically. Tripp is but a fledgling. He knows nothing of how to fight. I can't risk him being harmed, nor can I leave him without anyone to defend him.”
“Believe me, I understand those latter points very well,” assures Christopher.
Stroud continues, “I just paid for his tuition in night school for god's sake. That was one of the promises he made. Well, it was a wish of his as well. To become better educated and do some good in the world, as a vampire. Imagine that. Are we doomed schmucks?”
“Well, if you're a doomed schmuck, the company isn't half bad,” Christopher raises his glass to toast Stroud.
“So you're a vamp I take it?” I nervously inquire. “Yes, and Stroud is my sire. But we're not your run of the mill vampires. We don't take blood from the living, other than raiding the blood bank, or from one of the volunteers in the network,” Tripp discloses.
“Volunteers in the network?” I ask puzzled.
“Yes. Hasn't Christopher told you about that? Or maybe he doesn't know? But he looks like he gets out now and then by the look of his clothes. Anyway, there are people who enjoy bloodletting for others to drink. How convenient is THAT?” Tripp offers enthusiastically.
“Yes, quite convenient that is,” I pretend to enthusiastically agree.
“And ya know what else is kewl? Stroud has enough money saved up over the years that I can go to school forever! I'm having a lot of fun learning foreign languages and really don't care what grade I make, other than to graduate. I am also in the Peace Corps! How wicked is that? To travel all over the world and help people? Maybe one of these days, it will help reunite my body and soul. And if not, at least my karma won't be biting me in the ass.” Tripp rattles.
“You got that shit right. So, when you died, did you feel your spirit leaving your body?” I quizzed.
“Um, well that's something I don't normally talk about, but then again no one’s ever really asked that question before. I saw all the aura of light that everyone talks about when they die and come back to tell the tale. I remember seeing shapes of people briefly; then I was jerked back here. When I opened my eyes, I could see things I'd never seen before in the darkness. It's a totally different world.”
“Do you miss being able to walk in the sunlight? Or does the sun really affect vampires as it's been spoken of in folklore and now TV shows, books and movies?”
“No, not really. I was always a night person anyway. Never a morning person. I felt there was so much that people were missing in the hours that others normally sleep, that it fit with me. And depending on your bloodline, relates to whether you have a mere aversion to sunlight or you go POOF in an agonizing ball of fire,” Tripp snaps his fingers.
“I suppose we need to check in with our counterparts. Hope they have reaquainted themselves well,” I offer.
“Sure! And then perhaps we can convince them to watch some nasty sex in the underground with us,” Tripp provocatively suggests.
“WATCH WHAT?” I exclaim with reddening cheeks.
“You knowwww. People having sex in public, yet private club. Stroud takes me there on occasion as a treat for being abnormally good. Not that I am bad, just that I am mischievous now and then,” Tripp explains.
“Um, I'm not sure I'm up to that speed yet, Tripp. Right now, I am beginning to enjoy the simple pleasures of sex again, if I ever did at all before the last few days.”
“Don't be so prudish, Daniel. The visuals would be good for you. I get all sexed up while there and then I let loose on Stroud when we retire to the privacy of our own bedroom,” Tripp insists.
I sigh as Tripp drags me back to our private table where our vamps await our return.
Chapter 12 - Restoration
“WE have the most FABULOUS idea, my beautiful Sire!” announces Tripp, whilst I am in the background waving my arms about in a criss-crossing manner coupled and an index finger making a cutting motion across my neck to indicate a resounding NO to the idea being espoused by Tripp's lips.
Before Tripp finishes his sentence, Stroud interrupts to reveal the spoiler to his partner's notion, “I get a sneaking suspicion that Tripp is about to suggest we all visit SEX Underground, Christopher. And from the look on Daniel's face and his arms flailing about, Tripp has miserably attempted to rally his support.”
“He's just being shy and prudish. Once he's there, I KNOW he'd enjoy it!” Tripp claims.
“Public sex eh? Hmm, I've heard of such places, but never frequented. In my time, they were known as brothels or bordellos. And legal as well” quipped Christopher.
“Oh no. You don't PAY for sex at these places. You participate at your own discretion. There is of course a membership fee designed to cover maintenance. If you wish to drink, there is a limit of what you may consume, so as to protect the safety of the clientele, explains Stroud.
“And they do make a to-die-for Absinthe drink. They serve high quality, distilled natural verte Suisse and some sweeter Spanish Absentas, and the Bohemian Absinthes to warm the throat with its fire,” Tripp offers happily.
I quiz, “Isn't that the shit that made the writers, poets, artists, bourgeoisie and working class alike crazy?”
“That was primarily religious zealot rhetoric. There never has been any conclusive evidence that properly prepared, traditional and historic absinthe made a person have more hallucinations or ill-effects compared to any other alcohol. People died in the streets from alcohol poisoning long before absinthe. And no one took note that all classes regularly mixed opium with alcoholic drinks,” informed Christopher.
“You are well-versed on the topic I see, Christopher,” compliments Stroud.
Christopher reminisces, “I'm knowledgeable of particular time periods, while others I tried to repress altogether.”
“I'd like to try it just once to see what it tastes like,” I ponder aloud.
“Well, no one does it like the Underground anymore. Very reminiscent of Cafe Slavia. They bring out the silver slotted spoons, and the ice water fountain with multi-spigots so that everyone seated can louche their glasses while watching the sex-capades,” informs Stroud.
“Speaking of which, let's GO!” Tripp excitedly renews the topic.
“I don't know. Having the propensity to watch is okay I guess, as long as no one else touches me,” I conjecture.
“Oh hush it! You're a voyeur and want to watch. Admit it!” squeals Tripp.
“I'm okay with porn as long as it doesn't replace the intimacy between two individuals. There's a point when sex becomes just another addiction, another task to be completed and doesn't embody a special essence. I believe when two people share those moments, something passes between them, not just physically, but spiritually puts an imprint on the other's soul. And when a person has sex with many others, they transfer their essence to the person with whom they're having sex to the point neither knows whom they are anymore,” I reason.
“Well, that's all fine and dandy if you have a soul, but three out of the four at this table don't have one,” Tripp flippantly points out.
“Let's see if someone demonstrates a new position for us to try, love muffin,” Stroud cajoles.
“YESSSS. Come with you two! Get all horned up and ride your gramps, Daniel!” Tripp charges.
As I look down at my feet, I sense Christopher's eyes searching my body up and down for an indication of why he was addressed as 'gramps'. When I gather enough nerve to look up, his eyes are twinkling with a youthful spark, just as Tripp suggested waxing my rump may make Christopher feel. I nod to the side in the direction of Tripp and Stroud's and search for an answer in Christopher's face. He rises, takes my hand and we follow our trampy vamp tour guides.
In the course of clicking our heels along the flat stone streets of Soho London, we passed cafes, fine clothing, book stores, and art galleries with all the known styles of paintings and art media imaginable. Finally, we turn the corner from a bookstore and sex shop and head down a dead-end street past an iron and brick gated garden where two buildings appear to abut. The road seemingly disappears inside one building brandishing two large red doors and metal retracting canopy barring the egress. No business or personal signs except for the theatre and film company whose main entrance is on the front street.
Stroud knocks soundly on the red doors and steps back. The metal encased window screeches along its track to reveal an unshaven disheveled face peering out to inspect the prospective guests, “ID and password,” demands the maniacal face that would've been a dead ringer for a would-be murderer of an old horror flick.
Stroud holds up his ID and whispers the password. “And who are these two blokes with you, Stroud? Do you promise that they will abide by the rules?” gruffly bellows Johnny maniacally.
After we enter through the over-sized metal door, it closes behind us with a loud clink that shivers up my spine. Johnny stares me up and down with huge white blood-shot eyes and I drift behind the protective figure of Christopher.
“Rules are simple. Respect others. If they don't wish to play, move on. If you're into BDSM, safe words are to be established. No bruising and no blood-letting. Clean up after yourself as much as possible for the next person. Clean cum rags provided unless you use your own. No excessive drinking. Understood?”
Soon after we nod our heads in agreement, Johnny directs questions towards me through Christopher, “Is he a sub, sir? He seems to be quite introverted. Will he be alright?”
“Oh yes. He's just shy and we're observing mainly, if that is permissible?” offers Christopher.
“Ahhh, voyeurs! Of course. Just shake your head no, if someone wants to PLLAAAYY,” Johnny instructs in a mellifluous yet macabre tone.
I whisper to Christopher, “They even have security cameras.”
“You have security cameras now?” Stroud questions the guard after eavesdropping on my question.
“We had some nasty issues with a couple of patrons. One murdered the other most viciously. They were both discovered to be vampires,” informs Johnny.
“Was one of their names by any chance, Aloysius?” questions Christopher.
“I believe he went by the name, Aloy. Do you know him? If so, I hope you aren't anything like him,” Johnny seriously probes.
Christopher counters, “I used to know him. But he is not the same person I once knew.”
“Well, just behave. We don't want to have to explain dead bodies to the authorities,” Johnny admonishes warily.
“We will be on our best behavior. That is if we are not accosted. Are there any other vampires presently using the facilities?” probes Stroud.
“Not at the present time. Proceed and enjoy your evening, sirs” Johnny bids the foursome.
Johnny watches the camera monitor intently as he sees only one figure continue down the hallway towards the basement. Three vamps and one mortal. What a mixture. He won't last through the night unscathed.
I clench Christopher's hand tightly as the soft flickering glow beckons us to walk down the dark staircase and into the basement. While we trepidate the narrow steps sideways and approach the landing, our ears are filled with boisterous voices engaged in divers of activity. The mixed redolence of herbs, colognes, alcohol, sweat and raw intoxicating pheromones of sex heavily permeate the air.
We turn a left corner into the basement where we find patrons lazily reclining in tall leather backed stools at the bar. Those of the motley crew not engaged in activity check us out in regular club fashion and nod to both Stroud and Tripp in front. The bartender greets and inquires if we'd like a drink at the counter or have something brought to us.
“May we have some Absinthe for us and our friends,” clamors Tripp.
“Brandy for me please,” politely requests Christopher.
The bartender acknowledges, “Of course. Please have a seat and it will be out to you soon.”
We nod at the bartender and make our way past the recreational areas in front of a roaring fireplace with bear skin rugs and pillows strewn all around. Waiters dressed in leather cod pieces carry trays of drinks, chocolates and fruit to the patrons. Multiple circles of three oversized leather suede chairs are arranged on one side of the fireplace area while sofas end-to-end rest on the other. The occupants of said area are in all stages of rest, socializing and undress. Centered amongst each section are large ornate columns holding glass pots filled with water, smoke and tentacle like hoses spouting from them.
I shyly refrain from staring, while Christopher nudges me for an answer to my malaise.
“Those... those... people ain't got no clothes on,” I whistle through my teeth.
“And you expected less or rather more,” Christopher bemuses at my expense.
Innocently I question Christopher once again under my breath, “And what are those?”
“Those are called Shisha or Hookah more commonly. You draw the vapor through the tubes into your lungs. The substance being vaporized in the hookah varies, depending on the individual's preference. It can be flavoured tobaccos, herbs, or hashish. The liquid in the bottom that smoke is drawn through is usually water but can be juice, fruit or mint leaves added to the liquid, giving the smoke added flavor. The general apparatus has been in use for centuries by mostly Middle Eastern countries, but the popularity has spread amongst other nationalities due to its socializing affect.
“But isn't smoking banned in most indoor places?” I pose.
“Isn't sex banned in public venues,” Christopher counters?
“Um, yeah. I see your point,” I sheepishly grin.
Our hosts further acquaint us with individual sections of the secret pleasure establishment. Each segment we encounter is divided by a curtain of sort. Some segments are screened by a thin veil of light reflecting gossamer thread strung in web-like design. Therein this room, a mass of bodies strewn across the ornately carved Victorian king-sized bed were intertwined in diverse sexual positions, employing the use of the tall wooden posters, the oak rails across the top of the uprights, the trunk at the foot, and every inch of the soft mattress.
The next alcove is partitioned by fabric strips sewn together with accordion-style pockets holding various fetish magazines for the delight of the adjoining room inhabitants engaged in scat, mutual urination, douching, anal training, fisting, and the like.
Yet another room is cornered off with detachable, metal-studded leather strips hanging from the ceiling. Mirrored panels covered two walls and overhead surrounding a wrought iron bed with shackles and chains attached to the metal bed. As I glance into the activities of this room's inhabitants, a tall man dressed in black leather chaps, boots, and harness criss-crossing his chest begins to whip his apparent disobedient subordinate with a thin stick that leaves behind welts with every strike. Winces of pain register upon his grimacing face in anticipation of each strike as the whirring of the stick displaces the air around it with a high-pitched whistle.
This scene particularly disturbed my senses to a degree that my body wobbles back and forth. Christopher grabs my elbow and pulls me away from the area, walks me back to the fireplace and sits me down in a chair.
Thankfully, the waiter brings out our louche glasses of absinthe and accessories at the appropriate moment. Christopher prepares my drink by placing a sugar cube over the slotted silver spoon resting atop the glass. Then he releases the ice water from the fountain as it slowly drips over the sugar, dissolving into the absinthe below. The absinthe which formerly took on the appearance of Vaseline Depression glass began to froth and swirl into a lighter shade of pea green. Subconsciously, my eyes followed the banks of milky swirls round and round until Christopher lifted the glass to my lips and softly wafts the scents towards my nose. I close my eyes and deeply inhale the herbal mixture being released. Much to my surprise, it was very relaxing.
“Are you feeling better now Daniel? If not, wait until the green fairies visit,” giggles Tripp.
“Ha-ha... it is to laugh,” I quote some forgotten cartoon skit.
While watching Stroud and Trip louche their drinks, Christopher marvels, “Ah, you are going to cook yours?”
“Releases more of the alcohol but makes it stronger,” explains Stroud.
“One will probably be enough to put me under the table and since I've already had a drink earlier, I will be kissing the floor” I cheerfully announce while raising my glass to toast.
“Then you'll just have to exercise it off with some raunchy sex,” winks Tripp.
I burrow my lips into the absinthe glass pretending not to be able to rebuttal his remark.
“Which room would you like my sweet Sire?” Tripp entices.
Stroud playfully offers, “Any one you like, my sex kitten.”
“Can I top you this time? PLEEASSE!” urges Tripp.
Stroud poignantly admits, “You know I don't bottom well.”
“Awwww, come on. You know I'm gentle, and I want to please you,” Tripp shamelessly begs.
Stroud diverts, “You please me by my hearing your pussy purr.”
“Mmm... okay. Have it your way. Can I at least acquaint you with my finger?” Tripp waves his finger in the air.
“We'll see,” Stroud pacifies.
After the two expertly chug their drinks, Sex Kitten Extraordinaire pulls Stroud to his feet and they waltz hand in hand to peruse the rooms for a vacant and suitable environment for their play.
“Are you up to a little slap and tickle my love?” boldly inquires Tripp.
“Slap and tickle?” questions Stroud.
Tripp wickedly suggests, “I want to be bound, spanked, and sexually tortured to my limits.”
“What limits?” Tripp coyly smirks.
“Ha, Ha. I want to be kidnapped, tied, punished and forced into rough sex by my captor,” Tripp wickedly defines.
“Considering my prior servitude, I believe I can deliver,” promises Stroud. “Just let me know if it's too rough. How about the safe word of, leather?”
“An interesting choice of words,” Tripp agrees.
Stroud suddenly and without warning grasps one of Tripp's wrists and tosses him over his shoulder like a gunny sack. Coupling one hand and leg within his strong grip, Stroud carries Tripp off to the room with the leather strapped curtains. Stroud begins to spank Tripp vigorously with the other hand, making a loud popping sound against his tight clothing clad ass. Tripp taunts him while beating his unrestrained fist against his backside, “You ain't man enough to take me Stroud!”
Stroud flops Tripp roughly upon the wrought iron bed. Tripp attempts to raise himself in a defensible position, but he is shoved back down time and time again by his lover. As Tripp maneuvers onto his stomach to gain some kind of leverage, Stroud grasps his wrists and pins them between the top bars of the headboard and proceeds to bind his wrists.
“You FUCKER! You can't control me you son of a bitch!” Tripp explodes with a glint in his eyes.
“You are sadly mistaken! You have no clue who you're dealing with, but soon you will know my strength! Just watch me WHORE! You will be begging me for more when I finish stretching that tight little ass around my cock!” Stroud seethes.
Tripp miserably attempts to free himself from the binding around his wrists. Stroud places a strategic knee between Tripp and the bed, another knee forced between his legs, and a hand firmly planted upon the small of his back. While Stroud forces down Tripp's lower back, he rears his right hand into the air and solidly swings his open palm at Tripp's hunched ass with a loud POP. Repeatedly, Stroud wails Tripp's spread cheeks with such a force that Tripp's head bangs nearer the headboard with each blow. Stroud bends over Tripp's body from the side and pulls Tripp's leg under him in a frog position. For the next few slaps to Tripp's ass, Stroud cups his hand so that his balls receive their fair share of rough smacking.
Tripp spread-eagles his legs more in delight of his captor's manual flogging. “Can't you do better than that you limp-wristed mongrel??!!” Tripp provokes.
Stroud strips Tripp's lover half of clothing, leaving him naked on the bed. Stroud stuffs Tripp's scanty underwear into his mouth. While looking around the room for suggestive ideas he spies a set of serrated clamps along with a chastity cock harness strewn across the toy rack.
“Hmm, this should get you going my insatiable slut!” snaps Stroud.
Whilst Tripp makes feeble attempts to wrestle from Stroud's expert grapple, Stroud implants the bumpy urethra plug into the end of Tripp's trembling dick down into his slit and slips the cage around the head. The next segment wraps around and restrains his nut sacs to the bottom of his stiffening cock. Stroud then laces the two chains leading from the cock restraint between Tripp's legs, over his back and screws them snugly to Tripp's nipples.
“I think I'm going to like this. Your being muffled and my having dominance over your bodily functions,” gloats Stroud.
“Of course, we all know that the real power is possessed by the sub,” Stroud dauntingly whispers into Tripp's ear.
“Mmphh mm mmph ppfffttthh,” mutters Tripp from Tripp's gagged cavity.
“What were you trying to say my precious slut?” taunts Stroud as he tugs on the chain reins.
Momentary pain rivets from Tripp’s nipples into his groin as the apparatus not only pulls his clamped nipples upward, but also stretches his nuts and manacled meat. Forced into a position with his lily white ass in the air, his back arched, and his wrists bound high to the wrought iron bars, Tripp muffles through his fabric gag, “Pffeeasee!”
“What was that sex slave? You want to play more? Hmm. Perhaps, I should leave a little stinging reminder of me, and give your aching hole something to chomp while I check on the progress or regress of our guests,” Stroud teases.
Stroud withdraws a small plastic paddle from the assortment of toys and begins smacking Tripp's pucker, scrotum and ass. Lightly at first to acquaint Tripp's skin, then with more ferocity, leaving behind perfect pink splotches. After admiring his handiwork and ensuring that Tripp's ass would sting for awhile in his absence, Stroud locates an appropriate sanitized anal plug and inserts it into its strap-on. Stroud entices Tripp's hole with the black gel plug that increases in bulb circumference the farther it is inserted, relentlessly pressing down upon Tripp's prostate. Once fully inserted, Stroud snaps it securely around Tripp's waist, and then soundly whacks the end of the dildo with the paddle, sending shock waves deep inside Tripp's bowels.
“Mmm, what a lovely mess you're in. I kinda like it!” compliments Stroud as he leaves Tripp's company to check on their guests.
Stroud walks along the double sided hallway and comes upon a crowd of bystanders focusing their attention to the fireplace area. As he nears, he understands their curiosity as he witnesses Daniel's head is bent back with torrid pleasure registered upon his face and uninhibited voice. Stroud thinks to himself: It is good to see Daniel lose his modesty if but for a little while. He needs some exposure to the carnal aspects of the flesh to educate and protect him. Speaking of carnal, I'd best return to my beloved so we may finish our play and catch the finale of Christopher and Daniel's tryst. He would be sorely disappointed if we did not witness the culmination of such desire.
Stroud peaks around the corner to spy upon Tripp's anguished condition. His ass wriggles from side to side, his bowels attempt to push out and retract the plug to pleasure him without tempting the serrated clamps to dig into his nipples further or the cock restraint to painfully restrict his accumulating juices.
“I suppose you've had enough torture my love?” Stroud jeers playfully.
Tripp answers, “Mmmphh MMP MMPHH!” answers Tripp venomously.
“Now, now. That's no way for my slave to act!” admonishes Stroud.
“I awwww weef”, woefully answers Tripp.
“That's MUCH better! How about we lose the plug and try something more lively, shall we?”
Stroud unbuttons his shirt, sloughs it from his shoulders to the floor. Soon to follow are his pants. As he steps out of them, he swings his stick back and forth to Tripp’s frustration.
“Do you want this? I know you want to suck it until your lips and tongue are numb. You can't suck it yet, but you will eventually,” he announces with an evil grin.
Stroud unsnaps the dildo from Tripp's hips and slowly withdraws the black plug from his ass, allowing his outer ring to collapse around each bulge. After tossing the plug into the receptacle, he removes a strand of anal beads from the rack. He mounts Tripp's hump, takes up the reins of the wet thongs in his mouth and forcibly careens his neck back.
“Are you ready for my cock to swell inside of you, my pet?” menaces Stroud.
“YMMPPP YMP!” bellows Tripp from his gag.
Stroud methodically feeds the anal beads one by one into Tripp's awaiting cum hole.
“THIS IS MY PUSSY! You understand!!?? And I will TAKE IT!” screams Stroud as he whisks the gag from Tripp's mouth, crams his leaky rod firmly into his awaiting hole. Tripp's head is forced between the bars of the iron headboard from the reaction of his ass being stuffed harshly. Stroud adjusts his wrack against Tripp's backside and grips the top of the headboard to keep control of his slave's movements.
“Take me like the hungry-hole bitch dog you are!” Stroud bellows.
Stroud slowly removes his sheath to the tip, and then plunges straight down upon Tripp's gland once again, while rubbing his own cock across the bumpy strand of beads.
As Tripp's shoulders are pounded into the metal bars, he moans like a bitch dog in heat and incites Stroud, “FUCK THAT ASSSSS! ACT LIKE YOU OWN IT!”
Stroud continues to drive his cock in and out of him like a well-seasoned jockey as the bed rocks to and fro underneath the spirited pair. Stroud reaches for a leather strap lazily wrapped around the headboard during a previous session. He takes the strap in hand and flogs Tripp's mounds from side to side while slam-fucking his bright pink button.
Tripp screams, “LEATTHHHERRR! Get this contraption off my dick and balls! It's killing me!”
Stroud quickly releases his slave from all constraints. He drags Tripp's waist to the edge of the bed, parts Tripp's legs with his own, grabs hold of his hips and grinds his thin Goth ass into the mattress. During the welcomed fuck fest, Tripp draws his knees upon the edge of the bed, sprawls his arms as if taking flight, clenches the mattress in his fists as Stroud shimmies the springs.
“OH YEAAHHH BABYYYY, UHHMMRRRARR!,” squeals Tripp as his butt gasms spawn. His smaller, yet ample fuck stick spews his jizz onto the floor. His tightening manhole nurses Stroud's burgeoning cock. Before Stroud spills his seed, he withdraws and flips Tripp over to his back, not forgetting a former promise. He climbs atop Tripp's heaving chest and stuffs his load to the back of Tripp's throat.
“ARRGGGGG... YESSSSSSSSS... MMMMmmmm… Drink our own personal cocktail my love!”
At first the thought of tasting his own ass juices repulsed Tripp, but then the depravity of the act made him accept and crave the more. Tripp sinks his finger into Stroud's unsuspecting hole, forcing Stroud to spew violently into Tripp’s awaiting orifice. He licks Stroud's fuck rod from stem to stern and back again, downing their unique absinthe. As Stroud delivers tender kisses upon Tripp's neck, he remembers to report of Christopher and Daniel's coupling in the public arena.
“You're shittin’ me? If I can get my body to cooperate, we'll spraddle-leg in there to watch. This I gotta see!” Tripp excitedly rants.
After putting away the toys and redressing themselves, Stroud assists his bowlegged partner gimp to spy on their two new love-bird friends. Making nervous small talk while staring into my drink, “Nice fireplace they have here. And um, nice furnishings. Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?”
Christopher nods in agreement, “It's possible. Or it could be the erotic atmosphere awakening your loins. Come sit between my legs and allow me to rub the tension from your shoulders.”
After a few feeble attempts, I manage to unseat myself from the oversized chair and plop down between Christopher's long legs. Immediately, his fingers knead the knots in my neck and shoulders and I allow my upper torso to recline against his chest in response to his tender touch. His breath or something resembling breath, cascades over my shoulders to my collar-bone and his tongue soon follows a similar path; rubbing, licking, kissing and nibbling gently.
Momentarily, he removes his fingers from my shoulders to unbutton my shirt. My body registers grievances from being exposed, but its protests are soon squelched by warm palms gliding over my shoulders, nipples, chest and treasure trail.
“Let me have your shirt,” softly whispers Christopher.
“I um, am not sure about this,” I weakly contend.
“No one will see your back. I promise,” affirms Christopher.
I obediently raise my upper body and allow his hands to gently cascade the shirt from my shoulders. While sitting prone, Christopher draws a line from the back of my neck down my spine to my crack. Reaching around my waist, his fingers unbutton the fly grommets and push down the sides of my jeans. Unfettered, his thumbs dig circular puddles into my muscles from my shoulders to hips and ass. Heavy sighs and moans of pleasure escape from deep within my throat as his artistic hands finish one area and travel to another. My senses, heightened from the atmosphere mixed with the alcohol, urge the mass between my legs and man-pussy to ache for release.
I slip forward across his legs, plant my feet upon the thick carpet and turn around to face him. After kicking off my shoes, I lean forward to straddle his legs with mine and grasp the chair back on either side of his head, and bend towards his face to ardently kiss his lips. One hand strays and hones in on the buttons of his shirt and releases them one at time while our tongues dance. My tongue vacates his mouth and meanders down his neck. His body jolts in kind with surprise and excitement. My moistened snake slithers down his chest to encircle his nipples. While they harden to the touch, I glance down and notice something else hardening between his legs, begging for attention. My left hand nimbly unfastens his leather restraint, whips it from the loops and tosses it far from the area of play with disgust.
“Hmm, you don't like belts I presume,” Christopher curiously notes.
“Um, nope. One used on me in the past. Sorry,” I apologize meekly.
Christopher assures empathetically, “No need to apologize. I've been there, myself.”
I lower my knees to the floor between his feet and return my tongue and teeth to their former mission by licking and nibbling each of his ribs, lower abdomen, darting in and around his belly button. With my face burrowed in his crotch and my tongue subconsciously wetting my lips, my eyes stare up into his, waiting patiently for permission. Christopher arches his brow and nods in acknowledging my desires.
My fingers unfasten the band of his pants and begin to shimmy them from his seated torso. As he arches to accommodate, his erection becomes even more apparent in the tight-knit cotton boxers. I remove his shoes and put them neatly to one side of the chair along with the pants that collapsed around his ankles. Remembering protocol, I reach for one of the towels that were given to us and scoot it under his ass. My hands reach for the rise in his underwear, lightly stroking him through the soft, taut fabric. I return my face to his hips, breathe in his musky scent and drag my open mouth along his pronounced hardness back and forth, paying particular attention to the head of his serpent. Christopher's hips writhe in delight of this sweet torture as is evidenced by a small ring of wetness forming through the fabric.
I place my index fingers on either side of his hips and slowly pull his boxers past the head. I dart my tongue in and out of his slit weeping salty brine. Pulling his waistband further down revealing more of his curving staff, my tongue continues its onslaught. Primordial noises of sexual frustration register from within Christopher's throat. At the height of his strife, Christopher gently tugs at my hair to separate my lips from his cock. Then he whisks off the offending fabric that is obstructing the object of my oral affections. I crack a smile in amusement to his impatience.
“What?” inquires Christopher.
“Your impatience is endearing,” I hint with sarcasm.
“I am not accustomed to donning under garments. Continue, please?” Christopher urges.
While gazing into his eyes, I slowly lick back and forth across the breadth of his rod just under the head, picking up speed with each stroke. Christopher lays his head back against the chair support in tortured pleasure. As I swathe a path from the tip of his cock to his tightening balls, his hips arch upwards. In response I place my hands under his knees and push them to recline upon the chair arms.
“What are you doing now Daniel?” Christopher quizzes intently.
“You'll see. I wasn't always a bottom, you know? I spent all my time thinking I needed to be a top to protect myself. I did enjoy some things about the sexual role. So, relax,” I coax.
Once again my tongue swathes a path from the tip of his cock to his balls, suckling them one at a time inside my mouth, while maintaining a rhythmic stroke on his cock with my hand. While sucking on his sacs, my mouth is drawn to the ringlets of dark hair trailing to his love hole. Christopher's hips once again launch into the air exclaiming, “Dear Gawww... Father of light!” I wedge my face between his tight cheeks and plunge my tongue into his sultry hole while nibbling his tender skin. His intimate taste on my tongue excites my lower regions into fervor. I grasp his cock and corkscrew it in one hand while sucking on the head, taking an increasing portion into my throat, humming with delight. Each time I suck him harder, deeper and faster into my cheeks until my oral cavity begins to numb and his heavy breathing quickens audibly.
Christopher lowers his legs to the bottom of the chair and while tousling the back of my hair with a firm hand, he raises and lowers his hips to fuck my face. Beads of moisture collect upon his chest and trail leisurely to his midsection where they shower my face with each upward surge of his hips. Christopher withdraws from my mouth when both of us sense his being on the edge.
Tilting my chin upward to gaze into my eyes Christopher requests, “Allow me to return your pleasures.” I rise to my feet as he motions for me to place a leg on either side of the chair arms, poising my midsection at his face level. Christopher slowly sucks on the head of my cock and twirls his tongue all around. Paybacks are hell I think to myself. Torturously he takes my erect length slowly as he restricts my urges by holding my hips in place with his hands.
With my cheeks and lips ablaze with heat of unbridled passion, my inner thighs tremble with desire and my love hole quivers with wanton abandon, I loudly whimper Chris's name to urge him on. He draws my burgeoning meat down his oral recesses. The further the head nears the back of his throat, the more I have this sense of slipping past an infernal veil that is boiling the head from my cock as he engorges my shaft past his tonsils. While primordial guttural sounds escape from far within my throat, I toss my head and arch my upper body backward while digging my nails into the supple Naugahyde of the chair back. Taking a few moments to look into his piercing blue eyes, I gently sweep his long soft locks over the chair back, and then grip them in one hand while I pound my hips into his face, slowly at first, then build to a ball-banging-chin crescendo.
Part of me wants to explode in his gullet, feeding his stomach my sweet nectar, while the other part wants to reserve this moment for later. The latter notion prevails and I painfully pull myself from Christopher's orifice. As my cock pops from his lips, he smiles a purely devilish grin and motions for me to stay put. He slides his back flat onto the seat of the chair, positioned between my spread legs.
At the moment I look down, something wet prods my button and nibbles my scrotum, sending me once again into netherworld. I lean heavily into the vacated chair back, wrap my arms around its wings, clench its material and rock my ass to and fro across Christopher's lapping tongue while my cock smacks against the fabric wall. I whimper and moan rabidly like a fresh whore put out on the street for the first time. Christopher grabs hold of my hips and his tongue rotates and dances across my bud, flicking the folds into submission. “YESSSS! OH PLEASE YESSS!!” I hiss like a snake. His jaw gapes open to clamp down upon my tender spots while his tongue plunders my quivering hole. While I toss my blond hair, my eyes rivet to the bar patrons exchanging sexual favors while watching our scene with intensity.
I'm left breathless once again at the absence of Christopher's anal probing services. I turn in his direction when one of his hands covers mine and unclenches it from the fabric's indented surfaces, finger by finger. He places another strong hand upon my hip and softly directs, “Let's continue in front of the fireplace, shall we?”
My senses seemingly entranced, I follow with little reservation. Lying upon the pillows with every joint and muscle supported in softness, I am contented and enthralled with my newly-embraced role which compliments Christopher's need to protect and feed his ego. I find comfort in him being well-versed in pleasing me and my new role of allowing him the control and latitude to serve my needs.
Without warning, a warm liquid drops upon my back and follows the curvature of my spine until pooling into a reservoir in the dimple above my white mounds. My mouth gapes to express pure delight in this sensation. His fingertips wet themselves by navigating through the warm rivulet of oil along my spine. Responding in kind, my ass spoons upward and my legs separate invitingly. Christopher gingerly liberates my long staff from my underbelly and places it over the pillow supporting my hips. I then feel the weight of his legs straddle my raised hump as he slithers his cock along the natural lubricant. While he pleasures himself with rubbing his stick between my anointed cheeks, his strong hands deftly massage my shoulders, lower back and ass. His fuzzy orbs slap my taint with each forward motion of his cock-hardening strokes. My bowels ache for him to enter me and take me wildly into his possession. As if by psychic design, he leans forward and growls, “Are you ready for me to take you Daniel as my prize? My one and only mate? Will you allow me to take you hard so that you and everyone will bear witness to me marking you as my territory?”
“YESSSSSSSSSS! TAKE ME! I'M YOURS! ALL YOURS!” I feverishly beg.
Christopher, having retrieved a knife from his pocket cuts a small gash along the top of his cock and masks his pain with a deep growl. He mixes the oil with his blood in the dimple above my ass and allows it to drip to my hole. He pushes some of the mixture in with the head, feeding the lubricant into me a little at a time. Finally, he poises his girth at my entry and vigorously shoves his bulbous head past my ring and down upon my prostate, as I catapult my hips into the air and cry out in sudden mind numbing pain and submissive ecstasy.
After the initial shock subsides, he plants his hands upon my shoulders and starts to ride my ass, pulling his blood and oil coated cock nearly completely out of my trembling hole and forcing it back inside of my bowels. Tears of joy fall from my face as thoughts of pleasing him and taking his load inside filled my conscience. His hand grips tightly around my captured mass and nimbly strokes it while plugging my swelling hole. At this point, I could care less about my cock.
All I wanted was to hear him grunt like a Neanderthal and take my ass and chunk his molten lava in my gut. His hands squeeze around my hips so tight that I know his finger marks will remain for some time. I clamp the bear skin rug in my fists and hold tightly as his pace quickens. As his hands disappear from my hips, one appears to the side of my shoulder while the other laces through the back of my hair, pulling my head back as he pounds my pussy into the pillows. I could swear by the fluids draining down the back of my legs that I was either bleeding or my hot box was exuding its own form of cum.
From his breathing I could tell Christopher was close to his event horizon. He stops while on the edge, puts one leg between mine, grasps my right leg and gently carries it over his head to rest upon his shoulder. Likewise, he does also with my other leg. During the flipping, I catch sight of his nest as it is covered in a light red substance. Visibly vexed by the possible appearance of blood, I inquire, “Is that from me?”
“No. Please do not worry,” reassured Christopher in a soothing voice.
Christopher then hoists my ankles to his shoulders, bends his torso, presses my legs to my shoulders, and punches his rod against my hole as my sphincter vehemently protests. The lower half of my body launches upwards in response as my lungs howl out an ear-splitting scream, “OH MY GAW.....” My wailing is quickly squelched by Christopher's lips clamping down upon mine.
While Christopher's hips skewer my ass bone, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and dig my nails into his translucent skin heated by the roaring fire. As Christopher's cock begins to splatter my insides with his spunk, I faintly hear grunts and moans all around us, or perhaps it is my paranoia.
At this point, I didn't care who was watching, only that I was being taken by someone who wanted me, fully and unrestrained. Someone I feared not to be by my side in the darkness.
In the course of Christopher's cock spitting its contents deep into my bowels, my muscles convulse and clamp down around his spent snake. During which time a familiar spasm triggered by his thrusts erupts along my own mass. He grabs my tool and begins to pump it vigorously. Staring into my eyes, he easily coaxes my jizz to spray with such force that the first wave splashes across my face with the rest depositing upon my chest. As Christopher looks down at his handiwork, he licks the milky globs from my face then stows them along the back of my tongue.
While I pant to breathe and chase away the black shadows invading my eyesight, Christopher devours the evidence of our lovemaking from the rest of my chest. Cradled in his arms, my breathing returns to something resembling normal and my body temperature to below boiling.
“BRAVO! Now you two are seasoned veterans!” cheers Tripp.
Chapter 13 - Culmination
Aloysius paces angrily across the sodden floor of the castle ruins, madly kicking up stray rocks, hurling the innocent bystanders to ricochet against nearby deteriorating buttresses.
“Aloysius! I along with the counsel just do not believe you have sufficient reasoning for us to sanction nor send mercenaries to do battle with Christopher Harewell, your admitted childe. And once lover. It is obvious that this matter is one of jealousy and should either be settled privately between the two of you, or leave the situation be before exposing our dominion,” heralded the Elder.
“But he will turn an innocent into yet another vampire to live perilously amongst us and burden the resources of our already established territory, Elder.”
“I've never in my mortal life or in this life known you to be concerned with an innocent much less for the territory. However, we ARE aware of your connection to Christopher.”
“But Sir, what say ye of this innocent's deployment of witchcraft upon me and my brood? If this is not challenged, it surely will affect us all! Not to mention his being a Dhampir could lead us all into destruction should his powers of detection be employed by a hunter, with or without his knowledge.”
“We do not know beyond a shadow of doubt that this young mortal companion is aware of being a Dhampir. All we have is your own confession that you apprised him of being a Day Walker, which is not an offense. Today, there lives an exponential number of Day Walkers. Granted, many are not self-aware, while others are delusional in their thoughts of walking in our world,” Elder emphatically informs.
“But surely Christopher has informed him of this status so as to caution him,” Aloy futilely tosses allegations.
“That is not within the power or scope of this counsel, as Christopher is not in our presence to answer charges herewit. May I remind you that Christopher has exhibited an honorable reputation for the last 200 years and was the first to practice Responsible Actions of Vampires, long before anyone else deemed its importance. While others, including you Aloy, were killing for the sport of it and bringing undue attention, he was drinking the blood of forest animals that would not be missed.
So, to intervene upon your conjecture before he has committed any willful violations of our agreed code of ethics, unbinding in its form, is too impulsive for the counsel's indulgence. And may I also remind you that you are not without blemish, having committed a senseless killing last year and before that time also turned a few mortals for the pleasure of your own company, one of whom committed suicide by falling upon a stake. These actions ARE in record as your childe confessed and requested the stake to remain in his heart, so that he could be reunited with his soul.
Therefore, I assert that this concludes this meeting brought to order by Aloysius of nearby Camden. Meeting Adjourned,” announces the Elder.
“And you Aloysius, I advise you to be careful where you trod. Although we now experience a romanticism period for vampire culture, we are still tracked by would-be hunters more for that very reason. Try to befriend Christopher and his relation in earnest and there will be unity instead of discord in this dominion.
Every action that you profess Christopher did to those supposed hapless intruders and leaving the protective confines of his manor with his future issue due to your visitation and pursuit, is quite understandable. I don't believe for a moment that you and your brood followed them only to make conversation. I may be old, but I am wise. Good night Aloy,” Elder closes with his adieus.
Once Aloysius and his brood were far away from the ears of Counsel, he spouted, “That old fucking bag of hot air. They ALL have become too soft! The night belongs to the strong and dark forces, not to the weak! Christopher is a weak link. If he falls from grace or is no longer in the picture, the counsel will bend to new reasoning. MINE! And if Christopher will not be part of my reign, he will be buried amongst his ancestors, alongside his precious Day Walker, Daniel!” openly plots Aloy.
“But Sire, the Elder just said,” began one of Aloy's children.
“I don't care what the Elder said. If you recall, he did suggest this matter be settled privately, and that's what I am going to do,” Aloy sneered demonically.
Johnny hears a screeching rap upon the metal sliding window. Something pecking at the back of his brain compels him peer into the camera monitor to take a precautious. Nothing appeared. However, the rapping continued with a malevolent insistence.
“Go a-waaay! It's too late to enter the premises,” Johnny admonishes.
“Aw, come on chap! Let us in! We just want a few drinks to wet our parched throats. We promise not to stay long,” beguiles the pretender.
“If you ARE regular members, then you know the rules! NO admittance after midnight. Come back next weekend, but earlier!” scorns Johnny fearfully.
These intruders aren't showing on the camera. This doesn't feel good in my bones.
“Alright mate! We'll just wait outside for our friends inside to accompany us,” the voice baits.
“I haven't been told of anyone expecting company. You best hurry along. We don't need any loiterers here!” cautions Johnny.
“Yes! We wouldn't want to rouse the attention of authorities and they discover the activities condoned here would we?” goads the voice.
“Exactly! And no incidents need occur that would lead to police investigations. Over night's stay at the jail can be hell!” hints Johnny.
Promises the voice to itself: If you only knew what hell really is. But one man's hell is another man's pleasure. But you will know it some day personally. “Of course! I wouldn't wish that on anyone either! We're moving along,” taunts the voice.
Johnny grits in a mental note: Suurre, you're moving along. And I know whom I'll be warning about your presence, vamps.
Christopher assists in redressing my body so it's not as naked to the world. He takes care that my back is not in view while holding my shirt to put one arm through at a time. I button the front while he retrieves the articles for my bottom half. After standing, Christopher steadies my gait on our walk back to the big comfy chairs as my legs are still wobbly from our carnal endeavor. Stroud and Tripp patiently stand in the near distance awaiting our repose.
“So how was it Daniel? Did you enjoy?” provokes Tripp.
I chuckle modestly with my head down in slight embarrassment. “It was FUCKIN AWESOME!” my voice strains to whisper with enthusiasm. “Didn't you see me walking with great difficulty? Holy fuckin moly! So how was yours?” I gush inquisitively.
“INCREDIBLE! The best sex we've had thus far! It just gets better and better. Not that any prior engagement was worse. Just that it seems we are keeping it fresh each time. We crank it up a notch ever so often,” Tripp further distinguishes.
“Well, I imagine the hour is getting late and we all should head back soon. We need to put our boys to bed,” I relate while pointing to our men standing near the fireplace engrossed in similar conversation.
“Yes, unfortunately the nights are not long enough. What are your plans for the next few nights or even the future?” inquires Tripp.
“I was hoping for a couple of days to do some genealogical research. But it all depends upon whether Stroud feels we are safe here for that long. Otherwise, I suppose we move onto neighboring European block countries for the remainder of my visit. Then from there, who knows,” I speculate.
Over in the corner we eye our two beloved men-of-the-night in the midst of deep conversation.
“So, you two had a lovely evening and enjoyed an incredible and memorable romp. What happens now? Tomorrow and the next day for you two? Or do you have any plans at all” Stroud directs to Christopher.
Christopher discloses, “I honestly don't know. I'm not well-versed with Daniel's genealogical trek as he had planned before the unsettling events of last night. I imagine I will follow him in his pursuits, enjoy as much time as we have together, then I don't have the foggiest of life after that. For once in my life, nothing is written in stone. That feels invigorating to a degree and then it also leaves me fearful. If that makes sense?”
“How certain are of you that Aloy won't be nipping at your heels every step of the way?” Stroud cautiously wonders aloud.
“I am not positively certain. Aloy can be a very jealousy-driven, irrational, haughty, emotional monstrosity. But then when the mood suits him, he can make an excuse to give up a personal vendetta. It's just difficult to tell. Why the personal interest in Aloy and our safety? Just curious, not accusing,” challenges Christopher.
“Because I have always sensed you to be a good person, despite the afflictions you have suffered in the past. Take for instance the whelps splayed upon your back. Whether you obtained those shortly before being turned or afterwards, they are deep enough to have not disappeared altogether. Yet you seemingly do not harbor any anguish towards humans or vampires. You are a person whom I would defend without question. I don't want to envision a world full of Aloy’s preying upon others for his own amusement,” concedes Stroud.
“You seem to know quite a bit about Aloy. What is your connection if you do not mind my asking?” probes Christopher.
“Too much for me to expound upon here. Let's just say that he did something to someone very close to me, that I woefully cannot forgive,” Stroud painfully confides.
“Then I will not ask again, for it apparently grieves you so,” affirms Christopher.
“But do know this, if it comes down to it, I am prepared to stand beside you, should Aloy bare his poisonous fangs. I hope to the Father of Light that day will never come. Yay if the moment does arrive, I have a score to settle to wit,” avows Stroud.
“Well, it is getting late and we probably should head back to the hotel. Where do you keep residence?” inquired Christopher.
“I actually have a few residences in key areas of Europe that were, how shall I say it, bequeathed to me? So if you ever need a safe haven, you are welcome to take shelter at any of them. Currently, we're lodging at a converted medieval church southeast of Birmingham. I'll give you the list before we part company,” Stroud offers.
“Do you think we can wedge a knife between Daniel and Tripp gossiping? HAHA! Ya know I like Daniel being naive as a fawn in the woods, but then again, this outing was good for him. To give him a sense of other facets of life, good or bad,” Christopher speculates.
Stroud counters, “Perhaps some of Daniel's goodness will rub off on Tripp. Not that he's really bad. He very much wants to do good deeds, but sometimes he lacks the foresight to make that happen. And he allows temptations to derail his good intentions. We'll have to visit one another more often.”
Stroud and Christopher walk over to the gossiping duo and announce it's time to head back to respective havens. The foursome dons their jackets for the nippy fall air and bid their adieus to the bartender, “Thank you for allowing the use of your facilities tonight. Much enjoyment was had by all,” greeted Stroud.
As they reach the landing, Johnny awaits the foursome to inform them of the previous happenings outside. “I don't think you mates want venture outside just yet. There are other vampires lurking I believe in the neighboring alley. And if not, they're awaiting somewhere with a view. I thought it best to warn you before you came upstairs. They mentioned their 'friends' were here and somehow I don't think they would classify as good friends in my opinion. If I am in error, please do accept my apologies.”
“No one is aware of our whereabouts. We're much obliged to you Johnny for alerting us of possible danger,” acknowledges Christopher.
“If you need to spend the day, I'm sure the owner won't mind. Passageways also exist to the old tunnels below to many outlets that may serve as an escape route to ya sirs. The only problem is, the catacombs lead divers of places connected to rat-filled sewers,” offers Johnny. After Johnny lumbers up the stairs, the quartet discusses matters amongst themselves.
“Maybe Johnny is exaggerating. He does look like he's one fry short of a happy meal,” jests Tripp.
“He may seem a bit odd, perhaps even deranged. But that is why he can detect things beyond the veil that elude human senses,” asserts Christopher.
“So in essence, we have three choices? Take our chances outside amidst possible unfriendlies with Daniel and Tripp staying inside until we can clear the area. Second option, you and I staying put until tomorrow night while sending our partners home during the daylight and we return later in the evening. Third option of attempting travel through these unknown tunnels, not knowing if we will get stuck there until nightfall next weekend,” outlines Stroud.
“And when do we have a decision in these matters?” questions Tripp while tapping his foot.
“When it comes to your well-being, it really isn't your decision. You have not been schooled in this type of fighting, much less Daniel, I presume,” nodding in Christopher’s direction.
Christopher begins to answer but is interrupted.
“You give me a baseball bat and some balls and I can do wonders,” vows Daniel.
“You can't kill a vampire with a bat or ball,” snorts Christopher.
“You've never seen me swing and break bats before either. I'm sure a broken bat through the heart can do some long-lasting damage. Listen, we're all in this together, whether you two like it or not,” retorts Daniel in the direction of Christopher and Stroud.
“And I HAVE taken martial arts courses in college. Not to mention my experiences learned at the hard school of knocks from living on the streets of East Midlands. I'll fuck a bitch up!” challenges Tripp.
“We can't make their decisions for them, but we can severely discourage irrational choices,” acquiesces Stroud.
“And how would you propose doing that my love?” quips Tripp.
“Well, there are quite a few accoutrements downstairs that can be employed to limit your mobility,” Stroud wryly grins.
“You and what fuckin army do you intend to call to strap my ass down?” Tripp defies.
“And I for one did not travel this distance to lose someone whom I hold dear to my heart. A connection to my birthright that was denied to me without my approval,” Daniel asserts while staring into Christopher's downcast eyes.
“You won't have that opportunity to explore your heritage if you're dead, Daniel. And that is something that would weigh on my conscience for eternity, provided I don't die or commit suicide shortly after,” Christopher somberly admits.
“How about you two assess the danger outside. You can smell them out, right? And if the odds look decent, we'll accompany you. If not, we agree to go back inside. Fair enough?” Daniel proposes to the group.
“I don't like it, but at this point we must either go outside and face the possibility of fighting, or stay inside because of time constraints in order to return to the safety of darkness. Next time, granted if there is a next time, we MUST be in our havens sooner than this,” proposes Stroud as an afterthought.
After reaching the top of the stairs, we whisper to Johnny our plans to which he readily agrees and commence to prepare ourselves. As Johnny slides back the metal window Christopher and Stroud inspect the air. Christopher signifies with his digits that there were at least three vamps in close proximity, possibly more. Not good odds I ponder to myself, but much better than I'd hoped.
We walk outside arm in arm engaged in boisterous conversation as though we aren't expecting any trouble.
“Good! They appear to be unsuspecting. Christopher must be weakening in his older years. Not good for a vampire. His head has been turned by the human Daniel. Makes him a weak link that must be destroyed along with his precious Dhampir. And who else do I see? Stroud! A familiar scent indeed. This will be a joyous event my underlings! Settling a score with two enemies like killing two birds with one stone. The demons must be looking upon me with favor this night. When they draw nearer to the center of the alley, we will pounce!” Aloy growls with infernal pleasure.
As Christopher's hearing detects the low growl of Aloy, he turns around and smiles at Daniel, “Where is your scarf my love? Did you forget it inside?”
Stroud takes the cue, “Yes. Weren't you wearing Daniel's scarf most of the evening? I bet we left it in the training room. I am so sorry, Daniel. Tripp will go with you to retrieve it while we wait.”
Tripp and I exchange looks of disgust at being waved inside for our own safety, but play along with the plan.
Mutually disappointed we dismay, “Ahhh, damn. We can retrieve it the next time we're here! We don't want to leave our lovers for even one moment of this beautiful night.”
“We'll be awaiting your return,” jointly assured Stroud and Christopher as they kiss us tenderly.
As we pretend to laugh and jab one another while running back to the Underground, Aloy makes his own merriment, “Ahh, their bitches are going back inside. A purrrrfect moment which to take advantage. We can take care of them later.”
While Christopher withdraws a cigarette from his coat, exposing his weapon to easy access, Stroud reaches inside of his coat to bring forth a match to light the cig hanging from the end of Christopher's lower lip.
“Did you forget your light?” inquires Stroud.
“If I didn't purposely forget the light, it would not afford an opportunity to be obliged the courtesy,” winks Christopher.
Stroud in a low breath mutters, “Just exactly how do you want to play this?”
“We're all of about the same age, but I would gander that Aloy has more strength in that he's probably turned more and taken the lives of other vamps, unbeknownst to the Counsel. If we are also facing his underlings, they would be of lesser strength but more in number. At any rate, stay in the open as much as possible, back to back, and we go for the head, the heart and the limbs. ” advises Christopher.
Suddenly appearing from above, figures parachute with the aid of their long coats flapping in the wind to the ground below. The figures strategically flank either side of Stroud and Christopher, barring any escape from the alley.
“The fat lady begins to sing” Christopher smiles dryly.
“Let's choke the fucking lungs out of the bitch,” Stroud counters as they both pull their ready blades from their hidden sheaths.
“Ohhh, you were expecting company? I should've known that village idiot Johnny would have revealed my surprise. And you spirited away your young harlots,” pouts Aloy.
“Your reputation precedes you, or should I say, your repugnant stench. As for my preparedness, I've always been prepared since the civil wars Aloy. You should know that,” counters Christopher.
“Yes indeed! I seem to recall your last valiant fight. Such a shame that you refused to join me and ill-spent your energies on a wanton female dog whose father dutifully served up the stripes upon your back for charges of witchcraft? To think, I saved you once again by feeding you my blood so you could escape, but you showed no gratuity. And now you waste your precious seed upon a fair-haired do-gooder Day Walker. A pity Johnny didn't allow us to join you. I would've thoroughly enjoyed seeing Daniel taken by you. We could've even played together. By the way, have you apprised your new ally Stroud of your Dhampir lover's status?” Aloy coyly prods.
“Yes he has, Aloy. At least he embodies more honor than you could ever hope to be bestowed by the gods,” impugns Stroud.
Aloy deranged cackles fill the air, “HAHA, you are killing me! There are NO gods! WE ARE the gods! The gods of MANKIND! They just don't know it. We hold their precious world in our hands. Speaking of worlds, good to meet you again Stroud. I wish it were on better terms. We left things unresolved between us. Such a pity that your human lover was afflicted with mental illness that he took his own life, throwing away the eternal life that I gave to him.”
“If I recall correctly Aloy, you did not give him a choice, you forced it upon him, not gifted it. And he was not emotionally unfit, but rather his wishes to be betrothed eternally to me, not you, were denied scornfully, resulting in his suicide and being found by a counsel member. That is another reason we are never to turn the emotionally unfit who are unable to handle the life to which WE are damned. Nor are we to have sex with or steal another's childe. Both codes which you ruefully disregard at your whim.”
“Tssk Tssk, why should we live by such arbitrary rules anyway? It's not like we can ever have our souls redeemed. And it leaves no room for righteous indignation and revenge!” devilishly seethes Aloy.
“Revenge? Is that what you want from me when you could have as easily decided I wasn't worth the trouble? You sound as though you're the emotional one,” derides Christopher.
“It's a matter of principle, dear Christopher. Your Day Walker lover emasculated me in front of my underlings. That is an unforgivable sin, if that is a viable way to describe the situation that unfolded the other night,” Aloy inaccurately describes for his birthling's benefit.
“If I recall correctly, it was you who charged into my nest uninvited and then proceeded to chase us with your unholy children, Aloy,” corrected Christopher.
“Pure semantics. I only wanted to check things out. We hadn't spoken in such a long time and with the smell of fresh blood, I was curious,” Aloy feigns.
“Curious my ass. You cannot stand someone else to be happy without your will forced upon them. And you either detested someone else being in Christopher's bed or wanted to control Daniel for yourself to punish Christopher for not bowing to your advances eons ago,” Stroud poignantly rebukes.
Ignoring Stroud's insults, Aloy persists, “I'm feeling gracious tonight. I'll make you a deal, Stroud.”
“A deal with the devil? I think not,” rebukes Stroud.
“For old time’s sake, I'll spare your lover's life. However, I want one pleasure in return,” he bids.
“And what is that prey tell?” scoffs Stroud.
“To see the look of horror upon his face as my birthlings tear you from limb to limb,” Aloy hisses.
“I am not withered as you suggest,” remarks Stroud.
Aloy turns his attentions to Christopher, “But as for your lover Christopher, I will ravage him in front of your waning sight. Then you can watch while I damn him to our existence knowing I will torture him for the rest of his unnatural life as my personal slave. How's that to challenge your will to survive. Evil will triumph over the best, yet weak intentions. And to make this interesting, my two eldest birthlings will take notes of my handiwork.”
“Let the games begin,” Christopher calmly announces, trying not to show his insides boiling at the mere thought of Aloy touching Daniel. While three of Aloy's birthlings encircle Stroud, Christopher and Aloy's chosen pets shadow him, all pacing in circles like boxers psyching one another in a ring. Meanwhile, Aloy's unholy trinity spar with Stroud, “Our father has taught us a great deal about weapons. And he says that you are soft in your fighting skills,” jeers the spokesperson of the group.
“Well, your father and I have not kept in touch, so you are ill-advised. Let's hope his exaggeration is not to your mutual demise?” taunts Stroud.
The underlings fly headlong towards Stroud simultaneously as he planned, fueled by the anger his last statement incited. As he continues to dodge, parry and meet their blows, he hopes to expend some of their energy.
“You'll be the one tired, old man! And when you are weak, you will feel my blade cut out your insides!” condescends the youngest.
“NO, he's MINE to finish off!” jeers the third birthling.
“Don't count your chickens before they're hatched young childe,” chides Stroud.
As the third lunges towards Stroud, Stroud spins a complete 360 during which he bares open the third birthling's stomach, spurting blood and what remained of entrails upon the uneven pavement. As a follow-through he clinks his blade with the other children's brandished swords, shattering one. As the third falls to his knees in attempts to regain his composure, Stroud plants his blade onto the ground, flips over the third and plunges his silver gilded blade tip through his heart from behind, finishing him off. The third's eyes roll backwards and gaze towards the heaven he'll never reach.
As Aloy senses one of his underlings passing, he growls with agony from deep within his being. “ARRRAARRGGG!! I'll make you pay for this Stroud! Keep him busy until I dispense with Christopher!” he barks to his remaining duo. Aloy continues his physical onslaught of Christopher's defenses with increased ferocity.
With one foe out of the way, it should've made matters easier for Stroud, but the onslaught of the younger inflamed vamps was beginning to takes its toll. His difficulties were evident to Daniel and Tripp who spied to witness how their lovers were fairing.
“We're going to have to make a decision, Tripp. Whether or not to intercede on their behalf, and if one of us gets hurt, what our plans will be,” I earnestly query his advice.
“You mean what your plan will be? Remember, I can withstand injuries. You can't. So you need to decide NOW what you want if you get to the stage of expiring,” Tripp advocates in a rare serious moments.
“I honestly don't know Tripp. I haven't known him for very long in practical terms, but then, I feel as though I've known him my entire life. Will my life be enriched with him or without him? I don't have this burning desire to be immortal. I just want to live the life I have to its fullest extent possible. And there's no promise that I could be turned as a Day Walker. Yet, he's out there fighting not only for his life, but to preserve mine. Surely, the good Lord would not damn me for wanting to protect him and finding love. There has to be a reason I am here, otherwise, it makes no sense,” I admit.
“Well, all religious chatter aside, how about we kick some fuckin vamp boi pussy?”
“You have such a way with words, Tripp. Blunt and to the point. I like it!” I chuckle.
“Don't think you mates are going out there, WITHOUT me! I have a score to settle with that Aloy chap. He left Garen for dead after he purposely fell onto a stake. Garen was much like you Daniel, very gentle, slow to anger. Aloy's turning of Garen nearly ruined Stroud. Then he met Tripp who renewed his faith in living. Whatever you do, do not get killed. It would destroy them,” Johnny somberly portends.
“Johnny, would you mind donating your T-shirt to this cause? And since this is a garage area, do you know where I may find some gasoline and one big stick?” I inquire grinning.
“Should I ask why?” Johnny's left brow arches.
“My little mama always told me that if you can't freeze a fever, burn the hell out of it,” I muse.
“I think I would like your mum,” perks Johnny's voice as his eyes glint with mischief.
After coiling the over-sized Tee around the end of the 2x2 solid oak beam, I comment, “It's not a baseball bat, but it should suffice. Dump a vamp straight away center field.”
Johnny reappears after retrieving his war devices tucked away in the Underground; a whip and long handle axe hanging from his belt, a spiked metal ball on the end of a chain and handle in one hand, and a heavy cast iron shield in the other.
“Um, Johnny where in heaven's name did you get those?” I inquire looking over my round spectacles.
“Why, I hail from Nordic tribes and participate in Viking battle reenactments all over Europe. MUAHAR!” exclaims Johnny with a demented leer.
“And your artillery Tripp?” I fearfully pry.
Tripp sighs, “Well if you have to know, it's Goth right?” Tripp brandishes his tribal circular blade and ninja stars.
“Fuckin holy moly! Does Stroud know you walk around with those? You'd never get passed airport security. You'd need a Kotex after they performed deep cavity searches for shits and grins,” I muse.
“I've been told my ass is pretty lethal too, but that's a whole different story,” Tripp cracks nonchalantly.
“I don't doubt that a damned bit,” I dryly gibe.
As our ragtag trio takes the scene, Christopher who lost his sword some feet away is being held down by Aloy with a blade to his throat. “Well, well! Look who is coming to the party, to witness the death of their forlorn lovers!” Aloy prematurely cheers.
“You're so full of yourself Aloy! I think you need some cleansing! You remember how the plague was fought successfully, right? Kick the tires and light the fires bois,” I shout over the scene to Aloy.
As Tripp stands back to back with Stroud to assist him with the terrible twosome, Johnny and I head off to defend a beleaguered Christopher. “You take the left, and I'll take the one on the right,” I chant.
As I approach one of Aloy's illegitimates, he begins his evil rhetoric, “Human weakling, have you made your last confessions to your maker, because you will be meeting him very soon? Do you think you can elude your inevitable death wielding a mere stick?
“My maker and I are reconciled and I prayed for all of your tortured souls to be redeemed. As for my stick, David as a child took down Goliath the giant with one well-placed stone,” I allude biblically.
“ALL LIES and children's stories created to control the masses! There exists no good or evil, only weak or powerful! WE only live and die! And your body shall provide worm food!” he evokes a sinister image.
“At least my body will be doing some good for the Earth and its inhabitants,” I curtly retort. While he seethes over my last statement, I reach into my pants pocket and retrieve my trusty lighter. Sure, smoking is a nasty habit but thankfully, I always carry one.
The illegitimate lets out a thunderous growl shortly before rushing towards me headlong with such speed that I had little time to react, except to roll with my flaming baton away from the brick wall into which he slammed with force. Before coming up to my feet, he spins around and swings his serrated sword down upon my baton, solidly breaking it into two halves. He grins wickedly thinking he has delivered a resounding blow of defeat, until I point downwards to his lower legs as his clothing has caught on fire. As the flames climb higher and quickly lap the combustible threads of his clothes, he furiously fans the flames attempting to quell the rapidly expanding inferno, which only serves to expedite his demise.
“No one taught you the four parts of the fire triangle dude?” I ridicule sarcastically.
When he realizes dousing the fire is a lost cause, with fueled rage he resumes the battle to take me with him to the bowels of hell.
“I'LL SEE YOU IN HELL DAY-WALKER!!!” he screams in eternal enmity.
“Sorry, I didn't book accommodations for that version of afterlife. Enjoy the trip alone, Vlad!” I yell to be heard above the flames lapping his ears.
Leaping into the air he delivers a chest deafening blow that knocks me to the ground. As he catapults astride my chest to pierce me with his sword, I move my upper waist to the side in time for his lance to miss, while holding the lower jagged half of the baton solidly onto the ground. The metal blade meeting the pavement sends a metallic ringing through my ear mixed with his blood curdling howls, as the stake skewers his engorged chest. Feeling his substance eminate from his body, I attempt to roll his blood gushing torso from mine. He grapples my shoulders attempting to embrace me in death. With all my might, I drive the oak stick further into his chest while using it to roll him over.
After watching with horrid curiosity amidst sorrow, my ears recognize a shriek originating from the middle of the alley as Aloy screams in hellish pain as another of his brood dies an agonizing death.
Meanwhile, Johnny taunts Aloy's remaining unfettered protégé', “Come over here me lad... I'm waitinggggggggg!”
“You portly grotesque sloth! What do you think you can do against me?” disrespects the underling.
“Why don't you come nearer me lad and I'll acquaint you with a few instruments of death from centuries before your blasphemous birth,” coyly dares Johnny.
Johnny's gloating manner entices the underling to surge towards him. Conversely, Johnny stands steadfast to snare the sword with his shield, an iron door from an antique pot-bellied stove. As the blade becomes stuck in one of the slits, Johnny rotates his body to jerk the sword free from the younger's hand as he simultaneously slings the metal spiked ball and chain towards the head of his assailant. The metal grapples projected from the flailing ball embed into the side of the younger's head with a high-pitched bone-splitting squeak. Instantly, rivulets of blood pulsate from each newly uncovered geyser. Soon after impact, Johnny yanks on the wooden handle of the ball and chain, pulling out hair, scalp, and tissue from the side of the young vamp's head like a coconut being scored for its tender meat. As the younger lays wrenching, spasming and rolling upon the pavement, his bloody tresses become matted with dirt, oil, and refuse from the alley.
“They just don't make craniums like they used to, or vamps either,” Johnny adds as a final note to his fate.
Meanwhile, one of Stroud's infernal rivals manages to lance open his lower side with a nasty upward cut, uncovering a lower rib. While on bended knee, Stroud holds his side deluding his foe into thinking he is faltering prostate. Stroud waits patiently to see the shadow of his rival's blade being lifted into the air, then tucks his blade under his arm and stabs the unsuspecting youth in the midsection, twists it, pulls it out, pivots 180 degrees, then proceeds to dismember his legs at the knees in one whooshing sweep. As the rival teeters upon his knobby stubs with sword still in hand, he bows his tear filled eyes to the ground where his legs reside, bleeding onto silver buckled boots that adorned his former limbs.
The young rival softly pleads, “Please, have mercy. Don't let me die like this. Finish me.”
“I'm sorry that your life is ending like this,” Stroud repines.
“Don't be sorry. I am not. I will finally have peace. Go assist your friends. At least they truly care,” the rival sobs.
As Stroud looks momentarily to the stars in the heavens glittered by the approaching sunrise, he raises his sword above his head, brings it down swiftly to decapitate the youth, thus ending his misery. After a short thoughtful repose, Stroud looks to see how his lover is fairing in his respected battle. As both encircle one another, his ears absorb words to the likes he'd never heard spewed from Tripp's lips.
“You emaciated nellie bottom feeding used up diseased cum bucket stretched-out pussy skank! You are so pitiful in hoping to impress that bastard so that he might attempt to look at that shriveled cock of yours before dying of hysterics! I bet you're even thankful when he allows you to lick the feces from the bottom of his shoes. Good luck getting close enough to kiss him with that ass-to- mouth stench of breath you got! Something crawled up in there and died bitch! Haven't you heard of mouthwash or does that matter since you let your teeth rot from the meth addiction in your former life? Your sire must've been tripping to not have put some meat on ya before turning you. And what is it with the pants below your ass-crack? Nobody wants to see the fungus growth between you skinny pussy lips,” Tripp incenses.
Stroud winces as Skinny assails towards Tripp's spread stance. When his sword appears within Tripp's grasp, Tripp spins his tribal sword to deflect the stab, while delivering body kicks to the side of Skinny's jaw and chest, sending him reeling upon the ground.
Tripp continues with trash talk, “How's it feel that Aloy has only wanted Christopher? That must be a real ball-breaker! And since he couldn't have Stroud, he tried to convert his lover but had to settle for a stable of broken down nags! What a pity that all of you are just servants to please his whims.”
“He provides for us! What does your sire provide? LOVE? Aloy is STRONG and EVIL will live on! But you will die leaving more room for us,” spouts skinny.
I tell ya what should die, is that hair-do love. It does nothing for those big ass ears,” ridicules Tripp.
Skinny lifts into the air to attack from above.
“Oh pulease Tinkerbell, you're not an angel!” Tripp’s eyes roll.
As Skinny swoops down upon his intended prey, Tripp flicks the silver tipped ninja stars into key points of his opponent’s body; groin, femoral artery, chest and neck. Skinny resettles upon the ground while bleeding out profusely. As his acidic blood corrodes the poisonous metal, Skinny angrily yanks out the offending stars which leaks his life-sustaining energy and commences to relaunch his assault.
Tripp blocks by wielding his circular blade across Skinny's stomach. “Whoa, I just gave you a C-section so you can have that bitch from hell baby. As Skinny looks up into Tripp's eyes, Skinny's eyes smolder with hate and contempt. Tripp brings his blade once more across his body, cutting Skinny's head from front to back, and kicks his head into a drainage ditch, far from his body.
“I’m so glad I was turned before I looked like that damned ugly ass bitch,” Tripp retorts in disdain.
“I'm very impressed. Good to see that your street experiences and classes served you well,” Stroud shakes his head while tying Daniel's scarf around his open wound.
“Oh hush it. Whose ass we got left to kick?”
“Time to converge upon Aloy, and he is mine and Christopher's problem to dispense,” Stroud squelches any perceived objections by Tripp.
As Stroud and Tripp approach Aloy and Christopher's combat area, Aloy wrestles his lance to Christopher's punctured and beleaguered body, slicing Christopher's hands that attempt to prevent Aloy from cutting his throat like a razor. Daniel approaches from behind and carefully winds up to send the remainder of the flaming baton against the back of Aloy's head. Aloy picks up Daniel's scent in close proximity, turns around at the time Daniel's slugger swing makes contact with the side of Aloy's face, splintering from the point of contact. Aloy is flung to the side from Christopher's pinned body. During the time Aloy is slightly addled from his jaw being crushed into an ugly mess, Christopher rolls to his side to stand. Stroud retrieves and tosses Christopher his sword. Once Aloy regains his senses, he is faced with five opponents.
“Give it up Aloy. Walk away. You've lost your brood,” advises Christopher.
“NEVERRRR! What more do I have to lose? I can at least take one of you down with MEEE!” Aloy seethess in an unhallowed voice.
Aloy eyes Daniel with stoked flames darting from his eyes as he decides Daniel can be the sacrificial lamb for all his malaise. Defenseless and within easy reach, Aloy swings his sword towards Daniel's midsection. While Much to Aloy's amazement, Daniel bends back towards the ground like a conga line dancer to avoid contact with Aloy's serrated blade, without falling prostate.
“You really should have done your homework. Ehlers-Danlos can be a bitch, but a blessing at times,” Daniel informs.
“I won't miss the next time, you whoring witch!” spews Aloy.
“You'll have to go through me first, Aloy,” Christopher rebounds.
Christopher swings his sidearm in a circular motion at Aloy's body. Aloy blocks the strike with his blade as the edges become entangled with one another. Aloy kicks a boot in Christopher's wounded side to push him tumbling backwards. While Christopher attempts to maintain his gait, Aloy swings his sword across Christopher's unprotected strong arm, slicing the ligaments and severely disabling his fighting ability. Aloy quickly returns to the object of his warped desire. He rushes at Daniel and succeeds in thrusting him to the ground by catching him on the back of the legs with his blade.
Aloy sitting astride Daniel to behead him gloats, “I wish we were going to the same place so I could torture you for eternity, but this will have to do.”
In the meanwhile, Daniel secretly wriggles out the butane lighter one more time, aerolizes the butane into his mouth, exhales and sets the fumes ablaze into a ball of fire that engulfs Aloy's face. As his face and clothing ignite, he redraws his sword above his head to deliver a blow of death before his own impending demise. Christopher approaches from behind and slices Aloy’s arm from the elbow. Aloy's blade falls upon Daniel, cutting him across the chest and blood begins to drop from Aloy's flailing corpse. Christopher reaches out to capture the droplets and prevent them from falling upon Daniel's open wounds and then shoves Aloy off Daniel's torso.
The victors watch as Aloy thrashes about on the pavement in painful torment as the flames melt the clothing to his skin and his skin takes on a crackled blackened hue.
“Would someone please end his suffering? It's not humane,” denounces Daniel with tears welling into his downcast eyes.
Christopher looks at Stroud for guidance as Stroud weakly gives a nod of approval for Christopher to end Aloy's misery. “Of all whom he has tortured in his immortal lifetime, I find it very difficult to summon sympathy within me to alleviate his pain, but I will do it for you,” announces Christopher.
As Christopher brings his sword above his head once more, he looks into the eyes of his once best friend while Aloy's gaping exposed jaw screams demonically one last time in vehement hate.
Copyright 2012 d.l.wilkey. All Rights Reserved.