Bite.09:55 May 02 2026
Times Read: 50
This blog contains some adult and possibly unsettling themes. I wrote it over several hours here and there over the past few days, and it encompasses a range of emotions.
Usual disclaimers, a little fact, a little fiction, a little something else.
There's a place I visit. I call the people within it my family, although we're not related by blood.
And when I arrive at their door, I feel like I've been tied to it with an elastic band, because no matter how hard I try to stay away, how hard I try to say goodbye, how hard I try and do something different with my life, and no matter where my path in life takes me, or how long it takes, my eyes, inevitably, come to rest upon their door time and time again.
The door is a simple door, a simple door made of wood, like many of the other doors across the world, yet it’s not really just a door to me.
In a perplexing way, I feel that the door is me.
That door is me meeting myself once again when I cut out the bullshit of trying to be things I constantly fail to be, and I knock on that door and say yes, I am simply standing before you in my purest form. My most honest form.
No facade.
My true face.
No light.
No God.
Just me. Stripped away from all the shit I disguise myself in when trying to live in ways I pretend to believe are best for me.
And when I knock on that door, I'm bowing. I'm accepting. I'm saying to myself, I'm back. I’m back to being myself.
If this was a vampire film, the house would probably be surrounded by mist, and the door old and creaky, and yes, the house is old and beautiful, but this still isn't a vampire film, and when I pay a visit I have to travel through the world, and I have to say, by the time I've dealt with traffic, irritating drivers and other everyday issues, it kind of knocks the spots off arriving.
I set off from home after dark. To my mind, it's never the safest time to be traveling, but God is still shining his heavenly flashlight into my eyes at present, so not only have I pissed my Holy BFF off, I’m sun blind during the days as well. I haven’t apologized to Him yet for going on a blood bender recently, so there's that to consider.
Anyway, I left home feeling like I was fulfilling a great destiny, heading to meet my family, to feed the way vampires should feed. By our teeth.
And in previous days, I’d started to feel quite free of my pissy and pontificating way of shunning vampirisms, online and offline, and my endless moaning about why vampirism isn’t all that. Yet by the time I arrived at my family's home, after fairly empty roads and meeting the one driver who couldn’t drive in a straight line, I felt rather deflated.
And rather than knock on the door feeling pumped up and ready to party, all I really wanted to do was unpack my bag and have a cup of tea, and moan about how crap my trip was.
When shit drivers and traffic lights can knock your bloodlust down, you have to wonder just who is in control of this shit show? Satan and the legions of hell? Or some dude who got pissed and shouldn’t be driving?
Bloodlust is the wrong term. I went past that days ago.
I needed to bite.
I wanted to bite.
Because sucking blood out of a bag, fucking .... Sucks!
It's an alcohol-free beer, it's sitting in a car and never driving, It's adding pen to paper and never writing, and while bagging and sucking my wife's blood took the edge off, I really needed to bite, like a smoker needs cigarettes and nothing else sufficed. No option, no compromise, no settling it with soothing music or meditation, it was in me, and it stayed in me until it came out into the world, met the world, fucked the world of every last fuck, and for as long as it wanted to fuck, until it decided it was time to un-fuck me and leave, to sleep, to vanish. And I was along for the ride.
I wanted a neck.
One.
One.
It’s only ever one.
I’ve never needed, wanted, or thought of more. I only ever want and wanted to dance with one neck. I’ve danced with many different necks throughout my life, but each one has been the epitome of beauty to me. Beauty to my eyes. We all have different tastes and I taste the ones that I like.
It has to be a nice neck. It has to be the right neck. I have to like it. It has to fit me. I have to find it sexy, alluring and visually appealing, no not appealing. I have to be mesmerized by its beauty. It has to look exactly right.
It has to be the exact shape to fit the exact hole in my mind that it has to fill, like a jigsaw piece fitting into its puzzle.
The neck must complete me, become me, fit me and love me.
It must make me feel that I never want to let it go. That once bitten, becomes a part of me.
I have to take in its scent, feel its wonderful soft texture, let my lips dance on its skin, let my teeth hold its life in my bite and eventually, eventually, a long eventually, gently squeeze down, slowly ever slowly, because I never want it to end. And I know I can’t stop its end, but I still want to savor every moment of living through it, like a tiny pilot in my brain, removed from the whole experience, yet still observing and living through it regardless.
Just a slight increase in pressure hardly registers at first, a little more, and more, and a little more. I start salivating at that point and various parts of my mouth start tingling. The tingling is the best thing of all. It's like an incomprehensible thirst in my mouth. While my brain knows I’m not actually thirsty at all, I bite slightly harder. I know the skin will give way soon, I’m a little past self-control now, and squeeze my jaw with more urgency. I’m past the point of ever being able to pull back, and I know the skin is about to give way, my teeth are meant to puncture, that's what they are designed to do, and just then, I relinquish control to my teeth alone. I’ve done my work, now my teeth can do theirs, I’m simply a passenger within my own mind, I’m simply a witness, watching and experiencing, I taste blood, and as always, it still surprises me. I’m still a little scared of it appearing in my mouth. It’s not my own. It scares me. I’m afraid of it.
Until I swallow it.
And it has to be an occasion.
In the past, when I needed to bite, I'd just bite, no preamble, no build-up, just bite. But those times have been a bit of a waste. I got satisfied that way, I guess, but I don't know, it's like watching a theatre play rehearsal where the actors are not dressed in their costumes. I felt something was missing, and I never enjoyed biting as much as I do if there is time to lead up to the occasion.
My family trip was an occasion.
And I wanted to savor every single moment.
Whatever fucky little bit of biological chemistry keeps me into vampirisms, it has its own needs, like a whining little inner devil.
First it pesters me to think about feeding, drinking blood, and gets worse and worse until I can't bear it any longer and I just fucking give in. It overwhelmed me. I lost. I feed. Feed. What a fucking stupid term. I hate it. I give in and drink blood. Oh, I chug that motherfucker down. Chug. Like a keg of beer.
And my inner devil? Sure he goes quiet for a while. For five minutes quiet for a while. And then he says, quietly, real quietly, so I can barely hear him, he says, ....... Bite. It's like a fucking command and all I can think about is that! Annnnnnnd then I'm in full on vampire mode and all I can say is thank fuck I have family and some necks on offer, otherwise I'd probably end up in a mental institution or shot dead.
I mean I can bite my wife, but it feels like I'm pissing on royalty. How the hell can I, who has spent more time by her feet than in her bed, lowly and often in chains? And I don't mean that figuratively. I mean full on: "Husband, I'll buy Smith & Wesson wrist chains and ankle shackles for Christmas, would you like that?" I'm like, "What? I wanted an Xbox!" Anyway, full on, on the floor, in chains, at her feet, lowly ... pet! I said lowly. I didn't say I wasn't happy, Lol :D
How the hell do I raise to her neck???????
I'll tell you. I have tried, it has been offered.
And I can't.
Full. STOP.
I nibble in other places, but VR doesn't do sex blogs. Shame coz, I've got some rocking tales, man I could be up all night typing. Oh, wait ... Lol.
You know, I should put some pix of my chains in my portfolio here on the VR, I’m as proud of them as some men are of their suits, and I’m not just talking chains, I’m talking steel shackles, shit you’d die in before ever escaping, but I know, it's not really that kind of site despite vampers being ALL about domination.
When was the last time you read a book about a vampire or watched a film where the vampire politely said Oh, excuse me, would you mind if I took over your life a little and bled you and owned you? Nope. Doesn't happen.
IRL, you get marked and then you get owned. And stay owned. I know a lot of pets like me and a lot of owners, both male and female, and not once have I ever seen a breakup. Not once. Not ever. I absolutely believe unions are made to last forever. How long is forever? Until death. Death comes to all. My forever only has to last long enough to meet it. Unless my wife's death comes first and then mine right after. It's planned. She goes? I'm out of life too. And all the rest of it, all the people I know, all the people I love, I know they will grieve, but I can't live without my wife, I just fucking can't.
I have a lot of 'cannot's' in my life and, since I 'cannot' bite my dearest, I set myself off on grand plans to visit those I can.
And while I'm planning those trips, I get absolutely obsessed with every single little detail involved.
It's like having a sweater and thinking the whole thing will come unraveled if I don't attend to every little thread sticking out, yet in truth the only thing unraveling is my mind.
Why do I need a plan to get in my car and go bite someone?
There's just too much to type, too much to list,
I want my girl, not the wife, someone else, oh yes, it is like that — OVER THE AGE OF CONSENT VAMPIRE RAVE BLOG POLICE — who is someone I've known a long time, and loved a long time, looking just right. I want her to look sexy, not super-sexy, just nice, you know? No jeans and all that shit. Skirts and blouses, nice shoes, always that kind of thing. And I want her to smell good. Pre-bite - perfume, and during - sweat and pheromones. And I want her not to have eaten a curry beforehand. I want things just right. And why not?
So I have a huge shopping list I have prepared by hand. I used to write on notepads, and now I type lists on my phone. I'm obsessive, and I hate to miss the tiniest detail before a bite because all of those details matter to me immensely, even if I can't remember what they all are beforehand.
These days, I have a firm idea of the bigger things, but the devil is in the details, and by the time I’m ready to bite, the devil is in me.
I often view biting as an operation. Surgery. Yet in some ways, I'm the patient. And the girl is the surgeon. Because I feel like I'm booking myself into the hospital — her house." And we talk about the 'procedure', which is pointless because I've lost count of how many times we've bitten each other. But what else are we going to talk about pre-bite but biting? And then eventually we moved into the operating theatre — her large shower room — you don't really think vampires drip blood all over the soft furnishings, do you? Get the plumbers in, tell them you want a wheelchair-accessed shower room.
Why wheelchair access?
Do you want a cubicle or a place you can circle your prey? It's not all about biting.
Is this blog getting a little too heavy?
Not sure, not ready to pull back on it yet, I think there's some more leeway.
Let's add:
ALL ACTIVITIES ARE WITH CONSENTING ADULTS.
Not only consenting but chomping at the frigging bit consenting. Never mind the films where girls run through eerie forests screaming to get away from vampires. In my experience, they jump on me first. Scares me to death for fucks sake. I'm like, girl, dude'ette, I've not even had my cup of tea yet.
I was going to type chapter and verse of setting up the pre-bite routine, but even though it's essential irl, the idea of typing it just numbs me. I could cut and paste the entire to-do list. But I don't want to. Just how much dirty laundry do I want to air?
The shower room/ bite-room, whatever is given a once over and hosed down. Out of ritual more than anything. Those little details super bug me. I don't want to smell anyone else who previously used it. I just want to smell my dance partner.
And I want her to go into the shower room looking clean and well presented clothing wise. And then I like us dirty, I like us sweaty, and I like us messy.
______________________
I’ve removed this section of my blog. I’m just not adding it to the VR.
______________________
I often wonder who is dominating who because she - nameless girl, my occasional and mood dependant dance partner - and I'm not always the one taking the lead - holds far more power over me than I do her. It's me on that floor after biting, not her. Me. It's me in tears, not her. It's me that needs more aftercare than she ever did. It's my broken soul that needs picking up, and it's me that gets comforted by her. There’s no power in those times for me. I’m a shallow little wreck, being comforted by the girl I’ve just bitten, and that is why random biting never works. You need someone who loves you, who can take care of you afterward. Who can comfort you, and unlike the films where the victorious vampire gloats over his victim, in my world, I’ve pulled my knees up to my chest and feel like I’m two steps away from a nervous breakdown — I’m talking full on; Casino Royal, Vespa in the shower scene, fucked up! - You need someone right for you in those times. You need to be loved. You need to be pulled back from a really dark place, and you need someone to make you feel human again, even if it's just for a little while. And more than anything, you need someone with the inner strength and character to be those things for you.
And, of course, after typing 'Vespa' I had to go and find the scene on YouTube. That scene, that music, just broke my fucking heart. I repeatedly keep fucking myself up. I'm an expert at it. I'll admit, I do it on purpose. Do I like to fuck myself up? Yes. Do I NEED to fuck myself up? Very definitely yes.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuiIae59dwo
Who is she, the girl I bit?
I have written about her before. I called her Red Riding Blood in other blogs. Now? Writing this? I feel too emotional to give her silly names. She’s just her, just her. This is making me cry.
Anyway, I got my bite finished and then wondered why I ever needed to do it in the first place because my little inner demon had masturbated all over my brain the moment I bit her and then went back to sleep. I was left wondering pretty much why in hell I was sitting in a shower room smelling blood and being cuddled by the girl I’d just bitten. I knew in some ways, but I did not in others.
After the bite, everything connected to it had pretty much evaporated from my mind and I didn’t want anything more to do with any of it.
Where else were we going to end up but in bed? It wasn't a horror film with a body on the floor. Just two people who needed each other after going through something together. Post bite — my brain feels like it's been rubbed raw and soaked in lemon juice. I needed to be looked after, she knew how to. How do you look after a post-bite vampire with a pickled brain? Kisses work. Cuddles. Snuggles. I'm not a particularly awesome vampire, I'm more a 'hold me' vampire.
I'm back at home, and she is at hers and I ache for her now. Ache. I bled her, yet she took something from me too. She took my heart. Does that mean I don't love my wife? It means I’m capable of loving more than one person. I feel like a train has run through me. I'm overwhelmed with emotion. And why, because all I want to feel is her kiss on my lips again.
I entered that bathroom with a darkness inside me, yet I'm always saved by the light inside her.
I bite, yet she ripped my heart out.
This is so hard.
When a woman has the power to remove my heart with a kiss, with a look, with a breath, with a warm simple embrace, there is nothing in the dark that can compare.
I sent her a song before I went to see her. I'd found it on the Vampire Rave a couple of weeks before, and it's nice to see it's still doing the rounds now.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0rVapau2Us&list=RDI0rVapau2Us&start_radio=1
I listened to that song while sending it to her a few days ago, and I was at a point then where I felt as alive as I could possibly ever get. My every atom was balanced on a knife edge, wanting to take her and I felt utterly irresistible.
Yet listening to it now, listening to the words, she should have sent that song to me.
Because she wasn’t my prey.
I was hers.
And now all I feel listening to that song is submission and upset that we're apart.
I'm so weak, I don't know why I just didn't put my heart in a parcel and mail it to her. I could have saved myself the trouble of visiting her. I needed to deal with my biting thing. I accept that, otherwise it's like pretending a boulder on your back isn't there and until you shift it, you carry it around forever, but right now? It's the last thing on my mind, all I'm thinking about despite blowing off in this journal about biting, is her.
Now I'm back in lovesick teenager mode, back to pining, back to messaging, back to phone calls, back to tears, and how does my wife feel about all of this? Accepting.
I feel like my heart is being burned alive on a grill. I call it post-bite fatigue, yet all it really is, is missing somebody I really need. Is she as fucked up emotionally as me over this? Yes. Am I in love with her? Yes. Does she love me? Yes. I could go back to her. I could. But it won't help either of us. We won't feel better by being together now. Because we're not together. We'll never be together. And in time, like all the times before, because her and I have danced that dance a 1000 times before, sooner, or later, we'll dance for the devil again. And right now, I really think I'd trade my soul to re-live our last dance, despite my tears afterwards or in my purest truth BECAUSE of them. BECAUSE OF THEM. Fucking sobbing. The comfort she gave me. I'd die to live through that again.
I used to hide my face in shame from God after biting her. Now all I want to do is show her my face in pride.
The darkness burns people alive within it. And not through pain. It burns so deep because it makes you feel a level of love that utterly consumes you, asks for everything, takes everything, and when everything you have is gone, keeps you alive to continue to feel the depth of that love until eventually all that is left of you, is love. Pure unbridled stinging, ripping, thrashing, scratching, biting, tearing, needful tearful love.
In God's light there are boundaries. Safe. Boundaries.
In the dark there are none. You just fall.
Sometimes I just never seem to stop. Not once have I ever been in control of this. And my wife? Does she support me? In a way. In a way if you fall off a cliff, the ground will support you when you hit it. She's always looking at the bigger picture and in a week, most likely, she knows I'll be back to walking in the light and having coffee in the city I adore and being really happy and chatting to her on Bluetooth about the latest book I bought and how happy I feel, because that's the way it always goes.
Until the darkness comes for me again. And I only have to think of it right at this moment to want to run headfirst back into it. Yet it's not only the darkness I care for. It's the girl living inside it.
I wish the love burning inside my heart was as easily quenched as my bite.
Or do I?
Do I really want to kill what I feel?
No. Because I adore every single tear falling from my eyes, Every single tear. I love each and every single one.
My tears mean the absolute world to me, because of what caused them to fall from my eyes.
Because of who.
Because of her.
And even, because of what.
My tears are stinging my eyes as I write this yet my sadness is only in knowing they will have to come to an end.
No matter which way I travel through the darkness? In the end, all I'm left feeling and thinking about, is love. Connection. Beauty. And hope. I might not be able to handle its depths, but I know in truth to myself, I don't want to live without it. And if God gave me a choice, to start all over again, to be something else, I couldn't. I wouldn't. I want to feel the way I feel. I need to. And when I open my eyes wide and stare into the darkness, when I'm as truthful as I dare to be to myself knowing God listens, I understand, and accept, that I am in love with the darkness, and I always have been. And I can see, and accept, the darkness loves me.
It surrounds me. Like a blanket. And I'm at peace within it.
COMMENTS
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Zulgorath
11:38 May 02 2026
Very nice
Adain
12:20 May 02 2026
Thank you. For all kinds of things.