The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Contains Adult Themes







“Cute maybe, but she’s hardly needed is she? We can handle the evening…” The two men were in the kitchen, drinking tea, after preparing the dining-room and playroom.



The dining-room was laid out with the finest linen and cutlery, with crystal glasses and, a large ice-sculpture of two mermaid cavorting amongst a series of ocean waves: it was a dramatic centre piece that could not sit on the table, because of it’s size, so sat to the left of the entrance to the room.



“Hardly any use moving them effin mermaid was she?” Of the two Butlers, Mac was quite burly and assuredly intimidating when he ‘lost it;’ his colleague Leon was lithe, with eyes that darted and absorbed all he saw. Right now, he saw and heard Mac ‘losing it.’



“C’mon Mac,” the young man began, hands moving independently of his thought; “you’re letting her get you wound up. After all, she’s only here for two days…”



‘Two days!’ thought a shocked Doll that very morning, when her Master told her she’d be on loan, for a party held be his dear friend Lady Katrina, or Lady Kay as she liked to be known.



She had bowed her head and mumbled, “Why Master, did I do something wrong?”



And, her masters face had clouded over a moment, before he responded, “Are you questioning me Doll? ‘Coz if you are, you know where the door is, don’t you?”



Crestfallen, to be put in her place like this, Doll had just nodded, and then packed a bag for the weekend, as instructed.



Doll had waited by the door, wearing a coat over her maid’s uniform, ready to be picked up, holding just the bag, contained her few personal possessions.



She had stood in the long hallway, eyes downcast, feeling quite despondent, tears running down her cheeks, until her master reminded her, “You need to go fix your make-up now Doll. And remember, this is only for the weekend…”



Doll had sniffed, wiped at her cute nose; then went to the toilet off the hall, to stare at her reflection, ‘he was right’, she decided staring at the tear trail of mascara running down her cheeks.



Her skin, the colour of the finest Muka honey looked radiant, bar the panda-eyes and she had stared with baleful brown eyes, as she looked into her make-up kit.



Minutes later, long minutes later, Doll had heard called, “I hope you’re ready Doll, my friend is outside in her car…”



‘Lady Katrina?” She’d mused, ‘here? And, driving herself?”



“Yessir!” She’d responded, opening the door and skittering toward the door on heels, that she regretted wearing, this morning.



Her master had stood on her left side, his right hand on her right shoulder, “Open the door Doll and, go have an interesting evening…” Then squeezing her shoulder he had added, “And, don’t shame me…”



“Yes master,” she had muttered, opening the door. She had made her way to the large black SUV with darkened windows and, then opened the nearside door, which was when she had first met mistress Kay.



Kay had arrived at her friend’s house, enjoying being behind the wheel of her favourite car in the first time in ever-so-long.



“Sit down,” she had told the nervous Doll, patting the vacant seat next to her, “And, I’ll get us home…”



Smoothing her coat and skirt down, Doll had sat and looked at mistress Kay.



The woman had long-hair, high cheek-bones and piercing eyes and, smiled broadly, turning the ignition. The engine had kicked in and, she steered away from the kerb.



The car had been a stick-shift and, she operated it well, steering the vehicle through heavy traffic at speed, until they reached the edge of town.



Soon, they had been at her home and entering the long driveway to the large two-story building of white, fronted by six colonnades.



Mistress Kay had opened her door, then exited the car: “Come,” she had called.”



Doll had opened her door, then followed her into the house, her eyes drawn to the tight jodhpurs the woman wore, emphasising her heart shaped-derriere.



Whether she was in her late thirties, or early forties, Doll could not tell. But, the woman had real style, she thought.



And, that had been when she had met the amenable Leon and the belligerent Mac, who had stood together, to the left, as they had entered.



Eyes had looked Doll up and down as she slowly removed her coat, feeling even more nervous than she had first thing, conscious that each man seemed to be undressing her with their eyes, as she had looked to Mistress Kay, folded coat in her arms, awaiting her command.



“Leon, take this one to her room and settle her in…” she told the younger of the two men, both dressed in formal black and white; both dressed smartly and, stoic in the manner, at least in appearance.



With a quick dart of his eyes and, holding her elbow gently, Leon had then guided Doll upstairs and along the landing that looked down to the grand hallway.



“It’s not fancy,” the young man had whispered, “but it’s not the servants quarters downstairs with us…”



“I don’t mind…” Doll had answered, eyes downcast.



Leon had opened a door, and then guided her in to the small room, decorated in pink, with a large double-bed and dressing table and mirror that dominated much of a wall.



Dolls had looked round, with her eyes opening wide.



“This is all so… pretty…” she had gasped.



“Yes,” Leon had agreed, “It is a pretty room.”



The fellow had stood in the centre of the room and watched Doll put away her few things, then close her bag; and he smiled as he watched her kneel at the side of the bed, sliding it beneath.



Her skirt had risen as she pushed it forward and he appreciated the shape of quite delightful buttocks glad in Victorian bloomers, the gap of which didn’t part enough for him to see what he wanted.



Yet, if the evening carried on, as he imagined he thought, he would.

For Adults Only











Doll walked across the half-empty carpark, nervously glancing side to side, causing her two long-pigtails to sway madly.



She was wearing a cut down red check shirt, tied off at the waist and, a blue-denim skirt, with a flare, that ended mid-thigh.



Doll also wore thighhigh white socks and bloodred very highheels on the delicate feet, which proved awkward to totter on fast.



And though her exotic honey-coloured skin showed goosebumps on her bare arms, belly and exposed thigh, Doll had begun to sweat.



“Pah!” She exclaimed. Doll was annoyed with herself; she was late, again.



She had stayed talking waay too long with the fellow in the leather waistcoat, with long lank hair, muscles and a big bike. It’d been he who had her bend forward over the back of a chair, to drop her skirt and, so reveal her fill buttocks, cleaved in to by the thong she wore, so that he had access to her lower back.



Her master had chosen a simple design, lips with wings either side. But, by the time he had finishing inking the outline much of the Mall was closed, or closing, with only a few stores still open.



She was panting hard as she left the carpark and crossed the road, deciding that she’d take the short-cut home. And so, Doll entered the dark woodland at the bend of the road and, a small path that would lead to the house where she lived.



She was nervous though.



Soon the darkness fell in all around her; and although it was early Fall, Doll was sweating profusely, from her forehead, underarms and, places she’d rather not think of. Yet, still had a way to go, before she got home.



Suddenly, from somewhere behind Doll – a stick broke. And, her heart beat faster, as she stopped stock-still and, held her breath, listening intently, for something, anything.



But, there was silence and, with her heart lighter, Doll began to walk on, into the dark of the woods, to get home, to her master.



Then, a rustling in the bushes nearby her, gave Doll cause to gasp aloud, ‘it was nearer, whatever it was…’



And, what was worse, as she had turned to listen, Doll had lost all sense of direction.



‘Yet,’ she decided, ‘panicking is not an option.’ Besides, she had to get home; after all she had said she would not be late.



‘And really,’ she justified, ‘it’s all master’s fault. It was him who sent me there…’

Doll stopped walking and, as she adjusted the tops of her long white socks, furling down the top of each a little, she listened intently, to the quiet, certain their was someone else nearby: ‘Someone after me?’ She wondered, frightening herself.



Then, Doll heard the rustling of the bushes again and, she whirled round, to find herself facing a very big man, hulking over her.



The large man, his face covered by a red scarf, reached forward and grabbed Doll by the shoulders, then pushed her to the ground.



“Please don’t,” she entreated, “I’m a good girl!”



But, the fellow didn’t listen. Instead he fell upon her with his whole weight, supporting himself on his strong arms.



And the fellows eyes inches from her, his big hands on her shoulders, Doll could feel his arousal, as he pressed himself hard against her much smaller body.



He was so big and, ever-so masculine, Doll felt submissive, beneath him and unconsciously bit her lip, a sure sign of her curiosity, or arousal. She was both.



“Oh you will be good, girl…” he snickered, lifting her skirt with his right hand, as he pawed at her right breast with his left; “You’re gonna be really good.”



His lips roughly found hers and, he took possession, with his tongue.



Doll squirmed beneath the big man, as his left thumb and forefinger found a hard nipple and, his big fingers easily slid the thongs gusset aside, to find how wet with arousal she actually was: “Aw sweet,” the beast slimed with pleasure, “she’s ripe and ready for it…”



Then he sniggered, as he moved down her prone form, tracing each curve of her body possible with his free hand, as slow insistent fingers wormed deeper inside Doll, who couldn’t help but moan, with passion unbound.



He moved down further still and drew his fingers from Dolls warmth, causing her to groan with disappointment.



“Oh don’t worry girl,” he told the anxious young woman, “that wasn’t even the main course. Now that will be to my taste.”



Then, parting her thighs, the fellow eased the scarf from his face which he pressed into her shaven, heated sex. He lapped at her, tasting Doll as if she were cream and, he were the cat and to this fellow, it was obvious to Doll, he really liked cream.



The fellow found her clitoris and he nipped at it, with his teeth, then began to flick it with a rhythmic lick of the tip of his tongue, until Doll clutched at his shoulders and she cried, “That’s so nice…”



And, through halfclosed eyes, Doll watched him kneel upward over har, undoing the clasp to his jeans, to illustrate he wore no underwear, as his impressive cut manhood sprang free, already dripping, with evident desire.



She looked between her raised, splayed legs, to watch, as he used his left hand, to guide that big hard fleshy pole into her. And, as the fellow bottomed out, filling Doll to the max, she wrapped her legs round him, crossing her ankles, the heels of her red highheels digging into the man.



“So tight, so warm,” the man said, through gritted teeth, as he began his seesaw motion, causing Doll to groan, with each thrust.



“Was told not to cum in you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you a necklace… my creamy pearls…” the man crowed, as he drew from her, showering Dolls perfectly made face, with his creamy emission.



And then, as swiftly and as quietly as he’d arrived, the man left.



Doll though, just lay there amongst the leaves, the bracken and the boughs of the trees, legs akimbo, feeling quite satiated. The young woman’s face was covered and she felt wornout ‘down below’, from the sheer size of the man. Even so, Doll just lay there, eyes closed, smiling.



Yet, she did wonder briefly, on the man’s remark about being told not to cum in her, as she licked at his cream, covering her luscious red, lipstick coated lips



Meanwhile, back where Doll lived, her master sat in his favourite chair, watching the idiot box and sipping at a cold coffee, idly musing.



“I wonder if she’ll like her fantasy realized?” He mused, looking at his wristwatch: “Or, will it act as a reminder that she shouldn’t dawdle at the Mall, not when I might need a fresh coffee?”



And, his flintgrey, blue eyes glittered with amusement, as a skeletal grin spread across his face…

COMMENTS

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ariesxxPassion
19:38 Aug 21 2011

Lovely~

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Contains Adult References









Her straight black hair was in a shorter style than she was used to and, thinned out, with long bangs in the front and fell just below her neck in the back.



But she was glad of the new style, as it was waay too hot, for long hair; she had thought, as she listened to the A/C kick in again, the whirr of its motor acted as an accompaniment to the fan above the oven.



It was hot outside and would have been even hotter, as she was cooking, except that today Doll was baking naked, save for a red apron, looped over her neck and tied round her waist, with white tape.



For those women blessed with a slim figure, the apron and its bib may have hidden much, yet Doll was generously endowed and, the top and sides of her breasts were nearly spilling out from beneath the material.



Her skin, the colour of the finest Muka honey, glowed after the application of cocoa butter lotion and in places, she wore traces of the flour she had been using, on her upper arms, forehead, hands and the sides of her thighs.



She was cooking naked, knowing full well that Master would be rising soon and she so-wanted him to try one of her sugar cookies.



“Sweet biscuits.” He’d told her, when she’d told him of the recipe. And, she’d laughed at the sound of the difference, uttered in his ever-so-careful English.



She licked at her top lip, having finished licking the wooden spoon, of the last of the sweet mixture, from the bowl.



“Just twelve minutes… in a hot oven…” she mused with delight, clapping her hands together, to get rid of the white flour on her palms.



She tidied the worktop and then, Doll looked at the clock.



There was still seven minutes to wait: “Now, what can I do for seven minutes?” Doll mused, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.



Then the grin turned into a slow thoughtful smile, as she realised what to do. And, as she finished pouring his coffee, Doll wondered; ‘Will he like a warm cookie with his coffee, or something else?”



And, with that thought in mind, Doll turned to the sink, the spoon in her hand once more, as she swept at the inside of the bowl one last time. Then, she stuck out her tongue, to lick at the last of the mixture that covered the tip of the spoon.



Licking her top slowly, as she washed the spoon, she frowned briefly, before the smile returned to her face.



The cookies needed to cool and, she so wanted him to taste them at their best and, her grin returned, at the thought of ‘something else.’

Contains Adult themes







it entered the dimly-lit room, eyes downcast, heels clicking on the wooden flooring. it was wearing black and wore its long hair down to its slender shoulders and, as he liked it wore thick red lipstick, as it’s Master wanted. it knew its place. it wore a uniform that fit its curves well, too well, it had learnt to its cost, when cleaning earlier; much to the amusement of one of his day staff. And, although it had stood quickly it had become apparent to the maid, that it had been quite naked, beneath the short skirt. Briefly its face burned red with embarrassment at the memory, bringing some colour to its other pale complexion, kept so from it’s time inside, serving its Master, exactly as He chose, whenever He chose. And, thinking of His displeasure, if it were late, it looked at the wall-clock and sighed. Today it’s task was simple. Briefly, it looked to the mirror and it’s reflection and it’s heart swelled at the image before it’s tired brown eyes. it would have been described as Mulatto in times past, yet Now the term was half-caste and, he sat their awaiting and; she knew he would not wait patiently. it had learnt that, when its buttocks had warmed beneath his hand. So, it turns away from its portrayal of painted femininity, content that the image it had created He who sat in the front room. it picked up the silver tray and placed his favourite mug upon it, containing his favourite brew, before He went out, for the night. it sighed a little, realizing what it had forgotten. There would be punishment, if He was not satisfied with it’s service and, it did not want that. Yet, it was nearly seven thirty and, His drink was due at seven-thirty. And, it did not want punishment. So it had a real dilemma and it mused: ‘I cannot be late,’ it panicked, ‘But I cannot get this wrong. Should I go back to the kitchen, to get the cinnamon, for Masters Bloody Java?’

Contains Adult themes



*





Doll Waits





She adjusted her hairband to keep her long black hair away from her face, as she used artful care, to add colour to her face.



Then, having accomplished that part of her task, the young woman removed the band and, placed a tie in her hair, to hold it back, then perched her small white maids cap on her head.



Her skin, the colour of the finest Muka honey, glowed after he application of cocoa butter. And, as now she turned to look at her naked body in the mirror, Doll looked briefly at her naked body in the mirror with baleful eyes.



She hadn’t been able to him the photo’s that he’d requested of her, ‘dressed to please;’ yet here she was, in his bathroom, about to wear a collar for him, as she served him his coffee.



Doll, as he liked to call her, felt anxious and very nervous, as she ran her hands over her breasts, the nipples hardening; then down her belly and, her hips to her thighs.



She made a point of avoiding her heated sex, for despite her sexual nature and obvious good looks, Doll was a virgin.



And, readying herself for a dominant man like this was arousing, for her… to touch herself now… would be too much.



She wouldn’t want to stop… touching herself, Doll decided with a light grin. And, she had to get changed and soon: he wanted his coffee.



So she turned away from the mirror and knelt by her open holdall, to retrieve the collar, which Doll intended to wear with pride, for him.



Then, she took out the French maid’s outfit that he wanted her to wear this evening and, she smiled to herself, as she eased it over curves.



Briefly the smile widened a little, as she adjusted the petticoats, idly wondering if he’d learn that other the uniform, self-support stockings and her black high heels.



Finally as satisfied with her look, as passing time would allow, Doll placed her make-up kit in the holdall and stood.



She unlocked the bathroom door, then made her way to the kitchen, where she paused a moment, to recall his instruction: dress out as a French-maid; make his coffee; then, serve in silence.



And, within ten minute she had done all he had instructed of her, recalling that she had to put coffee-mate in the coffee, as was his taste. She placed his mug on a silver-tray, then made her way to the living-room, ready to serve, as required.



Then Doll opened the door to the dimly lit living-room carefully with her left hand, the silver tray with his mug on it, balanced on the flat of her right hand and, entered the room.



Her Master sat in his armchair, eyes glued to the wide-screen teevee, a small clock perched on the small occasional table sitting to his immediate left.



There was an air to the man of natural dominance, of quiet masculinity, that she had ever-so craved to encounter and serve.



She then closed the door and walked slowly toward her Master, eyes respectfully downcast, biting her lower lip, well aware of her state of undress beneath the uniform he’d wanted her to wear, as she served him.



Doll set his cup down on the table, then stood back a little, the tray held at her thigh in her left hand.



She waited with pleasurable anticipation, as he lifted the mug to his lips, wondering

what his reaction would be to her how she had done.



As he sipped at the brew, holding the mug with his right hand holding the mug, as he watched his programme his free left hand reached out to the back of her right leg.



Slowly he stroked her nylon-clad flesh, and then it eased up Doll’s thigh, to the flesh at the top, when she bit her lower lip harder, in expectation.



Then his hand moved further up still, to clutch at her luscious, pliant warm buttock-flesh and she heard a definite ‘tut’ of his tongue against the roof of his mouth.



And as the Goosebumps formed on her skin, his grip increased a little.



“Oh dear,” he sighed, “someone didn’t dress properly, for me…”



“I thought you might like it Sir,” Doll explained blushing madly.



Yet, he found her words dissatisfying and turned to her, glaring.



“Hmmmmm… now, do you want to make up for this Doll?” He asked



“Yessir…?” She responded eagerly, so-wanting to make up for this error of hers.



Releasing her buttock-flesh, her Master returned his gaze to the screen; “You go wash my cup then Doll and, be sure to wipe down all surfaces with the antiseptic spray you’ll find... While you’re doing that…” He paused, for theatrical effect, then added, “I’ll think… of some special, for you to do for me…”



“Yessir,” Doll responded, bended forward, to pick up the cup, displaying as much cleavage, as she thought he might want to see; ‘yet, she had been wrong before…’



He did turn to look Doll noticed, as she placed the mug on the tray and, she was certain that she saw a hint of a smile.



Turning, Doll slowly moved toward the door to the kitchen, still blushing; aching to please her Master with her dutiful behaviour.



Briefly, Kevin Doll’s Master, smiled to himself; watching her curves and, buttocks sway somewhat, with each step. Then he grinned broadly, thinking; “My-oh-my, I do so wish my watch had a movement like that…”

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
17:06 Aug 11 2011

::smirk:: What an awsome maid~

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That night, his first in the twentieth Century, Sylvester slept with the light still on and, blankets over his head, to create some semblance of dark, with which to aid rest. Yet, as a gentleman, he did leave the light on.



“After all,” he had thought, ‘She deserved her rest.’





Chapter Seven



Sylvester woke as accustomed, to a shaft of sunlight streaming through the gap at the top of the rooms drapes, where the curtains didn’t quite meet.



Wiping the sleep from his eyes with careful fingers, he idly wondered what day it was. Then, he reminded himself what year it was.



He eased the sheets off his lean, sinewy body, chest moderately hirsute, having slept in his white ankle-long, long-john bottoms… just in case Tabbi entered.



H swung his legs round then stood and walked across the room and turned on the television, having already realized that he’d slept on the remote, again.



And, although the couch was undoubtedly comfortable, as he’d been told all those months ago, Sylvester still awoke with aching knees, shoulders and lower back.



But, he had his exercises…



‘First though, the news:’ He watched ‘Good Morning’, having decided months ago that he preferred it to the informal manner of ITV’s morning show. Timmy Mallet, of the loud colours and large inflatable mallet derided hi brain cells, he thought.



And, as for Channel Four and, the levity of its presenters – well, he gave up the ghost on that one!



Having learnt that Secretary of State George P. Shultz had testified he was deceived repeatedly on Iran-Contra affair, Sylvester sighed, then turned the television off and made his way through the kitchen.



As the kettle boiled, he went to the bathroom to pass water. He then made his tea, before returning with it, to the living room and his can of beans.



In the past, in his own time, Sylvester had started his morning swinging clubs and now, since he’d begun to care for himself again, he had begun his old regime once more, after he’d watched the news ‘and, learnt of the world news that is!’



And having learnt to like doing them to music, Sylvester turned the radio on began.



As he began to swing his arms, the door opened and Tabbi entered the room, a wide smile on her face and a mug of tea in her cupped hands.



Her bleach-blonde hair was gelled and brushed hard back. She had ultra-tight blue-jeans on, big boots on her feet and she wore a tea-shirt, knotted high at the waist, so that the legend Frankie Says Relax’ just said, ‘Frankie Says R…’



Yet, it acted to highlight her flat belly and her belly buttons piercing that sported a safety pin, as did her right earlobe. Another affectation of hers that Sylvester did not understand – her dress sense, which only served to exemplify to him how little he fitted in this time.



But, Tabbi had saved him and furthermore, he’d grown to like her.



“What on earth are you listening to?” She snorted.



“It’s La Bamba by a band called Los Lobos,” he told her panting, gently swinging his arms, “they’re number one in the charts, this very week.”



“Shee-it, gimmee The Clash and White Riot… now, that’s to be listened to Sylvester,” she said slowly, as he continued his exercise.



He was breathing hard and would have to stop soon.



“And, you know that?” She asked, surprise evident in her voice; “That’s sad.”



Sitting down on the couch, Sylvester saddened a moment, then he looked up and smiled: “Perhaps…” he started, “Perhaps I’ve been to long in this time…”



“Now, about that…” Tabbi said to him solemnly as she sat on the armchair, “We need to talk…”



She looked at him a wide grin on her face, explaining; “Once I got the machine back together, I had to figure out what went wrong…”



Sylvester’s mouth opened and his breathing became slower, as he sat entranced, with his hands supporting his chin, elbows on his knees.



“You got it here? And, you got it back together?” He asked, rendered incredulous at the idea, suddenly sitting bolt upright, his mind wide-awake: now, here was news..



“I had a few friends help me bring the bits back and I assembled it down in the cellar, using the manual. And Sylvester…” she began, sounding very earnest; “I’m ready… Or, I should say… it’s ready, to use… All I’d had to do was figure out what went wrong and, I have…”



“You want to use it yourself?” He asked, unnecessarily.



She laughed briefly, “Of course silly… why else do you think I’ve been with that manual every night for the last few months, instead of a hot guy?”



‘Scandalized, scandalized, I refuse to be scandalized,’ Sylvester thought, chanting.



Still now, after all these months, her straightforward manner still surprised him.



But, he didn’t want to interrupt her flow, yet was a little irked, that she wouldn’t consider his sensibilities, sometimes…



So, he chose to ignore the remark, intent on learning what she had planned for his infernal machine.



Tabbi leant forward, her drink held in two hands, as she spoke with passion: “The only fault was the accident and, you hadn’t engaged the chrono-shield. That’s all.”



“That’s all?” He responded, stunned that his young friend knew quite so much.



“Uh-huh and now, it’s ready, to use again… H.G. Wells first working machine made for sale…it’s ready for use!” she added, her voice sounding as enthusiastic as it had moment’s prior.



“Well Sylvester, I want to know; are you coming with me?” She asked with a broad smile on her face.



“When to?” He asked curiously, left eyebrow raised.



“Nineteen seventy seven, of course!” She told him, grinning maniacally.



Running his right hand up through his tousled two-tone hair Sylvester thought hard.

He’d learnt much while he’d been with Tabbi. ‘Now, maybe it was time to continue the adventures…’



He looked to his bare toes, then looked up to her eyes of brown and blue a long moment, before answering, “Well, if I’m coming with you, I’d best get dressed…”

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
04:25 Aug 02 2011

Awwww I simply love it dear x3 Can't wait for a sequal if there is one comming~ ^^

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“Hmmmm… what’s a teevee remote? And, what’s that material it’s made of?” He queried, as snow formed within black on the television screen.



At this had Tabbi slapped her forehead exclaiming, “Oh-boy, it’s going to be a long night!”





Chapter Six



Tabbi had been right, ‘It had been a long night’, that had lasted well into the early hours of the morning, as the moving images he had seen on the television had led to so many questions, she had turned it off, then begun to try and answer his questions, as best she could.



Tabbi had begun with an explanation of the television and, how they were lucky enough to live in an area that could receive all four channels.



She had also explained the workings of her new ‘toy’, which sat beneath the large television, a VHS video-recorder, that an ex with ‘waaaay too much money’ had bought her to impress her. It hadn’t worked: the fellow had been a cheat and, she’d been grateful to be rid of him. But, she had kept the television.



That had led to a conversation about its power source, electricity. That in turn led to the merits of making a mug of tea, over the traditional method that his housekeeper had practised.



Finally, as eyelids began to close, Sylvester asked, “So, what were those four-wheel horseless carriages we saw on the roadway, that moved fast and were pumping out such fumes?”



That had led to a dialogue on the combustion engine and how it superseded the horse over a period of years.



Hearing that, Sylvester had lain back and slapped his forehead, “No more horses?”



“Oh, we have horses still. It’s just that they’re used more for recreation,” Tabbi had told him in response.



Thinking back to the news he had seen on the television he had then observed, “You have all this fine technology, yet still you wage wars; and people starve…”



As she has listened to the stranger from another time, Tabbi had drawn her legs beneath her, her mug of cold tea in her hands; “Yes,” the teen agreed with a sigh, “there are those who don’t appreciate what they have, while others fight against repression. Me? I sometimes wish this were a different time…”



Curious, Sylvester had asked what seemed an obvious question to him, “So, when would you have lived if you could Tabbi?”



She had grinned a Cheshire Cat grin before answering, “Me? I’d have been a punk, in the Seventies?”



“A Punk? … The Seventies,” the man had repeated, slowly.



“The nineteen seventies,” she had told him, sighing with exasperation: “And punks, they wanted to do as they wanted, at a time when England had a repressive government…”



And, though Sylvester had listened to her words; because he heard the passion in her answer, few of her words actually made sense to him. And, he was very tired, which made comprehension all the harder.



“But for now Sylvester, I think it’s time you rested…” She told the older man, who had begun yawning minutes earlier.



Tabbi had stood, collecting their mugs and went through to the kitchen.



“I have a question to ask young lady?” Sylvester said, as she left the room.



“Go on, I can hear you…” she responded, as she began to wash the mugs.



“Is there a reason you have one brown eyes and one blue?!”



“Yes…” she answered, “story has it, I’m David Bowie’s love-child…”



“Dave Bowie? You say that as if I should know that name…” Sylvester reminded her.



Re-entering the living-room teacloth in hand and a smile on her face, Tabbi grinned.



“Yes,” I guess expecting the Man Who Fell From the Past, to know The Man Who Fell To Earth would be a bit too much….” And so saying, Tabbi had begun to laugh.



Her laughter had proven infectious and, was soon he laughing hard himself and, it seemed neither could stop, until finally, panting, Sylvester did, “Why am I laughing?”



Abruptly she had stopped laughing herself: “You are tired Sylvester… and, so am I. We need to rest…”



“But first, tell me… who is this David Bowie you speak of?” He asked.



“He’s a singer… a pop star… he’s…” She had sought hard to find words he might understand. But, his frowns showed he did not.



“What’s a pop-star?” He asked, “You’re using words I find hard to follow…”



Almost shame-faced, Tabbi sighed and then had retorted, “I’m sorry Sylvester. I’m using terms of reference lost on you.”



“But then, she had added with feeling, “but then, I’ve never travelled in time. You have…”



Smiling wanly, his eyes heavy Sylvester had agreed, as he accepted the sheets and blankets she’d offered him.



“The couch isn’t bad Sylvester,” had assured the man, as he smiled his thanks: “Sleep well and, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tabbi had said, as she closed the door with the grey manual furled up in her left hand, leaving the light on.



Minutes later, Sylvester rose from his makeshift bed on the couch and he crossed the room, to open the door and ask Tabbi to turn the light off, for him. There had been something about electricity he just didn’t trust.



Yet, the young lady, his saviour in a short pleated tartan skirt and heavy boots had gone to bed. And, much as he wished for the dark, Sylvester was if nothing else, a gentleman. That night, his first in the twentieth Century, Sylvester slept with the light still on and, blankets over his head, to create some semblance of dark, with which to aid rest. Yet, as a gentleman, he did leave the light on.



“After all,” he had thought, ‘She deserved her rest.’

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
02:49 Aug 01 2011

Hehe~ I love it ^w^~ Can't wait for more ^^

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