Eight till Late15:44 Dec 03 2007
Times Read: 1,114
A story with some Adult sontent.
Having read the graphic novel, I’d seen the film, ’30 Days Of Night’ with interest. Then I’d left the theatre, hyped: surprised it had ever had ever been written of, let alone made into a feature film
I’d thought those events had been suppressed. After all, they’d not set the story when they actually took place. It was plainly inaccurate. And, to my knowledge, that town of Barrow was quite literally wiped off the map. And yet somehow a film was made of it. Amazing.
Then later, as I’d sat with a scotch before me a re-run pf the first series of ‘Angel’ on the box and I can’t help but smile with wry amusement at Josh Wheedons take on the vampire. As if his character is the only one to have a mortal soul and feel angst, for all he’s wrought: The sheer naivety of it.
Of course there are those to whom humans are nothing but cattle, yet I’m certain they’re in the minority.
Grant you, I defer to those who write well. Yet, preferring an accurate representation of them, I do find some of the stories and myths, somewhat irritating, to say the least.
I suppose that’s why I’ve put pen to paper now, to speak of that of which I understand. All of which brings me to my tale, of a night like any other, spent looking for a meal.
It was the night before last and I’d decided to eat out, out of town that is. After all, what is it they say, ‘never shit on your own doorstep.’
Well, in my case, I don’t eat in my neighbourhood, most of the time.
Although as I suggest, I do make exceptions like the girl with haunted eyes and her lower arms bandaged. I’d thought I’d do her a favour.
Not one of my better ideas really, it seems she’d wanted to live and screamed far more loudly than I’d initially expected.
Yet, I’ve gotten myself distracted, already. I’d wanted to write of that particular night.
Having left the car in the garage for the night, I’d decided to use the train and take advantage of the pre-Christmas ‘eight-till-late’ shopping policy, of the season. With my lifestyle, public transport is a novelty; and a luxury for the senses.
There’s so much to see and appreciate, the people, the passing scenery, such as it is at that time of the late evening; and, of course, ‘the people.’
There’d been the woman idly flicking through page after page of a gossip magazine with an occasional sniff. You could just find yourself imagining she’s just passing time and wondered why she couldn’t find a handkerchief, as the rapidity of the sniffs increased.
Then there’d been the larger woman, sitting across the aisle across from me and opposite her. She had long black hair and all long black clothing, nose ensconced in a romance novel, seemingly oblivious to the world passing by. And then, there’d been the young man, shrunken into his jacket; hands shoved into side pockets as he furtively swept the carriage with a nervous stare. And, from nowhere, well a bag to her side, the largish woman began to extricate and consume a crisp, then another, as she read; cheese ‘n onion, I’d assumed from the manufactured aroma.
The young man had glanced toward me, I recall. So of course, I’d stared back. How could I not? Needless to say, within less than a minute, the young fellow had been looking out of the window.
Yet, it was the dye-blonde, with dark streaks and shoulder-length hair that had caught my attention as we had neared the end of the journey.
She’d been wearing a leopard-print mock-fur jacket and seemed to have her mobile phone glued to her left-ear, with her arrange to meet her boyfriend; then with her next call, ‘score a weed’, as she phrased it, occasionally glancing at the highly manicures scarlet nails of her clenched left hand.
I’d arisen slowly, as the train juddered to a halt and stood at the doors, with the young man, just to my left, a cautious look on his face.
Then I’d disembarked and found myself amidst a large crowd of people, many of them middle-aged women armed to the gunnels with their shopping bags, and the occasional rolled umbrella, their faces made-up a little too heavily.
I’d made my way upstairs, three at a time, with a desire to be away from the throng of heavily scented bodies, smells worn to impress: the many various smells acting to irritate my heightened sense of smell.
Within five minutes I’d found my way to the town, where smiling and worn faces and the shops I’d rarely seen, since the year before.
It’d been quite surreal; to do things I hadn’t for oh-so-long, like chewing gum, buying a donut, or even a coffee at Waterstones, the bookshop I used to like to frequent.
I’d even amused myself at one point, when I’d elected to help a young pregnant woman up a flight of steps with a pram.
I’m aware there are those who would be sneering at me, but this is just as it was, so er… you know the rest?
Yet, I digress. It had been after I’d helped the young mother toward the hole-in-the-wall that I seen her. And if my heart beat, it would have beat faster.
There she had been, just as I remembered her… well, almost.
She had the same almond-shaped eyes, olive complexion and height, about 5 foot, 5 inches or maybe 6 But, she looked harder, different somehow.
It’d been the crooked-smile that gave it away. Ava. It wasn’t Lita. They’d looked alike, both wide-hipped Latin lovelies, the same age. Same father’s? No.
The story is a ship came in of Venezuelan sailors and now, there’s several young women of Lita’s age in the area. Ah, Elizabeth Maria Gonzalez. Ava shared the same name and maybe a similar hard upbringing. Yet, whereas Lita did well though, at least while I knew her, Ava had not. Getting involved with one drunk after another, having several children on the way.
Thing was, when things had ended between Lita and myself, I found it hard to look at Ava. Now, here I was in town and here she was, standing just before me.
Now I could look at her with different eyes. Time hadn’t been as kind as it could have been to her. She has a few lines in her face more than I recall. Her smile was crooked.
And, I recall a bright sunny day when we’d met in town, much like recently. She’d told me of her toothache and pointed to a hanger, growing through the gum on the left. Ava had told me she couldn’t get on dentists list, so she was going to remove it herself. She had smiled then, as she did when stood before one another, her heavily painted lips serving to highlight that crooked smile.
Ava had worn a short black leather skirt, ending thigh-thigh, dark hose and knee-high slim-fitting black boots, with a high instep and slim heel of about two or three inches. Up top, she’d worn a loose white cotton blouse and a blue-jean jacket.
She must’ve been cold, I’d mused.
She must’ve been cold, I’d mused, taking on board the passers-by, many of them wrapped up well against the weather.
“You look good,” she’d said with a smile. And maybe she’s right. I’m slim, fair-haired, a little gaunt in the face, but my green-blue eyes, beneath the ‘John Lennon’ glasses are what hold the attention. Well them and my taste in clothes: black zip-up ankle boots, with a touch of a heel; black coal black jeans, white shirt, smart waist-coat and a blue-jacket; above which I’d worn a mock leather jacket, draping loose of my ensemble. I almost forget the Ankh, worn round my neck, it’s silver; so that blows another myth; and, hangs by a black bootlace.
And, she’d smiled, a warm smile, that’d touched the lines at the corners of her eyes. ‘A sign of hard living?’ Time had passed. A lot may have happened. But, oh-boy Ava had still looked good to my eyes. Of course, she looked like Lita: after all, that was why I’d hardly been able to look at her, let alone talk to her. That’d been way back though.
“So how are you doing?” I’d asked, trying not to stare at her thighs.
But, not too hard.
Like Lita, Ava had good legs and were certainly well worth looking at.
“I’m okay,” she had replied, as the smile had slipped from her face.
“Just okay? My query hadn’t been feigned. I had been interested.
That’d been somewhat of a surprise. But, hers had been a welcome face to run into, from a time before.
“Yeah, okay…” Ava had repeated, glancing quickly to her left, then right.
Even without my cognizant awareness, I’d have realized how anxious she was. As it was, it’d been glaring to me.
“So how about coming for a quick drink, so we can talk over old times then Ava?”
Panic had flit across her beautiful face, as she’d considered my suggestion.
“No, no… sorry, I can’t,” she’d told me, using her a lot, as she spoke.
People had passed, as I’d stared at her quietly and spoke with calm assurance.
“A drink and a chat. That’s all. Just fifteen minutes out of your day.”
She’d looked over her left shoulder, anxiously and flinched a little, as I lightly caressed her cheek.
“Please, don’t?” She had said, a crack in her voice, on the verge of tears.
As a gaggle of ladies passed behind us, I’d caressed her right cheek, drawing my thumb along her lower lip, with a featherlight touch.
She’d looked up, toward me, tears welling in wide eyes.
“I can’t, I need to…”
“Need to come with me is what you want to do…” I’d said to her in a commanding low tone: and, smiled broadly, hoping it looked sincere.
Wiping the dew-drop from her nose, with the cuff of her denim top, Ava had sniffed.
“Well… maybe, for a few minutes…” she muttered, looking down and using her sleeve again.
“Good girl,” I’d pronounced, as I took her left elbow gently in my right hand and led us both to the nearest watering hole.
My choice hadn’t been the best. The décor consisted of too much chrome, plastic and ferns, for my liking.
The staff seemed to comprise of one spotty young man, an Asian teen of miniscule height, with the widest smile I’ve ever seen; and a buxom blonde, all in white shirt and black trousers.
And, of the ninety or so circular smoked glass tables either side of the central bar, only six or seven had been occupied.
Ava had sat on the padded bench seat by the window at her request.
“So, what are you having?” I’d asked, as she tucked her bag into her side.
“Vodka and coke,” Ava had answered, absently gazing out of the window
Easing my through tightly packed seating I’d made my way to the bar and called the Asians attention to me with a glance.
“Voka and coke and a double scotch, house’ll do…”
“No house,” she had apologised, with a solemn expression.
“Okay, J.D., a double,” I’d responded. My treat, to me.
She’d brightened and been all smiles once more the moment she was serving, ensuring a good service and a tip.
“Keep the change,” I’d said, leaving far more money than the drinks cost.
I’d then returned to where Ava sat and presented her with her drink, to take the seat opposite. She had smiled briefly and then I’d reached across the table and covered her right hand with my left.
“You’re edgy. Evasive…tell me, what is it? What’s the matter?” I’d asked emphatically.
“I…” She began.
“I need…”
“Go on Ava, you need what?” I queried.
“I need some money…” She said finally, looking down at her drink.
“Uh huh, what for, or is that being impolite…?”
“It’s okay,” she sniffed, on the verge of tears.
“I don’t mind telling you. I guess…”
So, I’d waited for her to expand on this great dark secret, for which she seemed… ashamed? As it seems, that’d been an astute wondering.
“It’s for Tony. He’s stringing… so, he sent me out to…” She’d said it all at once, as if that made it easier for her to say.
“So he sent you out to earn it for him?” I’d added.
Tony: the latest waster in her life. I’d known the previous one, but knew of him. As alike as two peas in a pod those two… ‘and what was it she’d said she needed?’
Not much.
“I’ll give it to you…” I’d said, recalling the money in my wallet: then offered her four times the amount, to join me for the evening and, my pleasure.
Immediately her mood had brightened.
It’s just that it’s near Christmas and no-ones out… and…” She’d exclaimed, all in a rush.
“Shush,” I’d said, squeezing her hand gently, “it’s decided then. You’ll have it and more.”
We’d left the precinct and the desolate pub, to walk round the corner onto the kerbside and rank I recalled, then got a taxi back to my apartment block near the waterfront.
As we journeyed, Ava had looked at me anxiously, her eyes filling once more.
“Please, can I have the money Tony needs?? He’s needing it and well…”
“You’ll suffer…”
She’d nodded.
Plans forming subconsciously, I’d thought on what she said.
“Yeah sure,” I had replied, “and we’ll drop it off on the way to mine.”
So we’d motored, sitting quietly in the back of the cab, stopping off just outside their home, where I’d waited moderately patiently, as she unlocked the front door and ran inside, to pay the money to Tony.
A net curtain in the front windows twitched, literally, so I knew someone was watching me.
Then, finally Ava ran back to the car. I’d opened the door and she had stepped in.
“He’s okay with me now,” she had said to me turning to me and smiling.
“That’s good,” I’d replied with a light smile on my face, which hardly belonged there.
I’d taken her hand.
“So where to mate?” The driver questioned, as he turned to look over his shoulder.
Then squeezing her hand, to offer assurance I had smiled gently at Ava and then repeated the address when we’d first got into the car.
Although the traffic was quite heavy, it took less than ten minutes to finish our journey.
“Are you sure?” Ava had queried coyly glancing at me through the corner of her left eye, as she swept her hair from her face, as the car pulled into a turn.
For a moment, I saw this girl of my past as the little girl she had been, all dark hair and wide-eyed innocence: And, I’d seen her small, sitting there in the corner of the seat, a small frame, and bare legs…
‘Bare legs, encased in black-nylon and encased in knee-high black boots, with a narrow four-inch heels – and, here to let you partake of her’ I’d reminded myself hurriedly.
“Yes, I’m certain,” I’d replied decisively.
“I’m pleased,” she came back to me, turning her head to look out the window as she brushed at her hair with her fingers.
I’d paid the driver, leaving a reasonable tip and we’d walked across the few steps to the buildings entrance.
“Nice place,” Ava pronounced, looking at the red-brick and glass edifice where I live, the river at its rear.
My bedroom look over the view costs a lot, but there are times when it’s worth the money and that night had been one of them.
And yet again I digress from the thread, most remiss of me.
I’d keyed in the door code on the pad just to the right of the door and hearing the click of the lock opening I’d pushed the door inward.
“Come in…” I’d said to her, ushering her in with theatrical flair.
I’d gestured for Ava to enter first, telling her the floor and flat number, telling her I’d follow.
“I’m liking the view…” I had added with a grin.
The boots heels had served to exaggerate a distinct sway of her hips and her buttocks had been a sheer delight to watch, as she’d led the way.
Then, when she’d been six steps ahead of me on the stairs, I’d followed, enjoying the view.
At the top of her self-supporting, lace-edged stockings her flesh was mine to see; the shape of her full buttocks; and the succulent looking peach, split in half by the gusset of a pair of white bikini briefs.
The undulation of her backside and the inviting view of her hardly covered pussy entranced me: and aroused me highly.
Yet all too soon we’d been at my door, which I’d opened with the keys already in hand.
Once inside, I’d led us through the back hall to the main room, which like the bedroom, had a fine view of the river.
Igniting the fire I had poured myself a scotch; and Ava a stiff vodka and coke; well diet Pepsi actually. She’d taken the proffered glass with a flutter of her long dark lashes.
“My, its getting warm in here,” she’d told me, long seconds after taking a quick slug of her drink.
Ava had shrugged her jacket off, to throw it over the back of the black leather couch, sitting just to the left of the television, it’s back to the picture window and its view of the river.
Her skin looked good in the warmth, as she had looked at me with dark eyes and licked her lips.
“Now the blouse and skirt?” I’d suggested, suddenly having flashes of Lita’s face, every time I’d looked at Ava.
She had looked down to the tips of her boots for a moment, then lifted her gaze to mine.
“Now?” She had asked.
“Oh yes, now…” I’d told her, as I’d sat on the comfortable black seat, to watch.
She began to unfasten the top buttons on her blouse.
“Oh no. The skirt first,” I’d begun quickly, “stand, do it slowly. I want to enjoy watching you.”
She stood timidly and walked a few paces, to stand just in front of me.
Downing her drink and setting the glass down, Ava looked warily around the room a moment, before she reached behind herself and undid the button and zip at its back.
Ava eased the skirt over her full buttocks and wriggling her hips, it slid to the floor and she had stepped out of it. She kicked it toward the sofa then turned to face me, her hands on her hips.
“Do you like my legs?” She’d asked, with a slight frown. Thighs full, with shape, clad in laced-stockings and boots?
‘They look great,’ I’d thought.
“Nice…” I’d said.
“Some people say I’ve got fat legs.” She’d continued, as she turned her back to me.
“And my ass?” Ava questioned, running her left hand up from her thigh and the rounded swell of her buttocks: “Do you think it’s too big?”
Not a white girls bottom, or a black woman’s butt, Ava had a proper Latino ass.
“Uh-uh, I think it’s perfect,” I’d told her.
And realizing a personal preference of mine, Ava had cupped as much of her right buttock in her hand and did the same with the left.
Wearing just the white blouse, over which her long black hair fell Ava looked over her left shoulder and had smiled broadly.
“So you like my…?” She asked.
“Ass. Oh yes,” I’d replied, “I like your ass.”
I actually found this exposure of insecurities, as she tried to be seductive, very erotic; and, extremely arousing. There’s no question about it, a woman in a white shirt and little or nothing else looks good.
“Do you want another drink?” I’d asked, standing and breaking the moment.
“Er, yes…” She’d answered, after moments thought.
I’d stood, hoping my arousal wasn’t too apparent, as she covered her crotch with both hands and not been able to stop smiling, as I was again reminded that she was new to this. The evening had certainly been different from my so-called normal nights.
She had stood there, looking distinctly embarrassed, as I turned the lights to dim, and then turned to the dresser and the open door to the liquor cabinet.
I’d poured my scotch, and then as I began to pour hers, spoken slowly without looking back.
“Remove your panties and sit down on the couch, and I’ll bring your drink over.”
I’d heard her answer ‘sure’ quietly, as I turned from the cabinet to the stereo.
I’d found the album Sade, by the singer; and put it on, playing it from that track that’s almost guaranteed to promote romantic sex, combined with wine, hearthrug and warming fire.
As gentle full-sound filled the room, I’d turned back to Ava, our drinks in hand.
“Part your thighs a little,” I had instructed as I’d leant forward to hand Ava her drink.
I’d walked toward where I’d sat earlier, opposite where she sat, grinning as I’d stared at her, noting her self-consciously running her fingers through her hair, as she looked nervously around.
The action that decided for me that it was evident Ava was still new to ‘the game.’
That thought amused me as I had taken our drinks toward her and I’d sat to her right. She had turned to look at me, as I’d begun to undo the buttons to her blouse, my gaze holding hers.
“I want to see the rest of you,” I’d murmured, using a hard voice, as I’d slipped it from her shoulders, and then helped her off with the half-cup bra, which barely contained her ample charms.
“Sit back,” I’d instructed.
She turned back to me and sat back a little obediently, so I could look at her properly, her breathing faster, arousal evidenced by the erect nipples on each dark aureole. Lowering my face to her right breast, I licked softly, eliciting a gasp of pleasure.
I drew away a little, my hands on her shoulders and I turned her a little, to kiss her shoulders and back.
That had been when I’d seen the small circular scars on her flesh, well over ten of them, on her upper back.
“What are these?” I asked, after kissing two of the white indents on her skin.
“Erm…” Silence.
“What are these?” I asked again, using the same hardened commanding tone of voice I had earlier.
“They’re burns…” Ava had answered quietly.
“I can see that,” I’d assured her, “who and where did they come from?”
“A customer, a friend of Tony’s.” She answered with her head low.
‘Tony, her husband? Nice man.’
I’d wanted to hurt the fellow, there and then, but there she was, her flesh alluring, her blood my nourishment.
I’d kissed her scars some more with gentle kisses, then her right shoulder.
“Turn round,” I had told her softly.
Savouring the glow of lust in each other's eyes, we had melted into a passionate and pressed together. My left hand behind her head, my right on her left shoulder I drew her lips to mine and we both leaned back onto the sofa. My tongue snaked out and opened Ava’s accepting mouth and our tongues wrestled as I pressed my lips against hers.
Then I’d drawn away a moment to look into her eyes, as I had slipped my right hand between Ava’s legs parted to allow my fingers access to her, arching her hips as my fingers sank deep into liquid warmth.
I’d brought her left hand to my lips with mine and kissed the back of her hand.
Then quicker than her eyes could follow, I’d turned it, quickly severing the veins in her wrist as I withdrew my fingers from her quivering inner muscles.
Then lifting her hand, I’d brought the open wound to my mouth and I’d drunk of her, as Ava sighed, relaxing into my arms.
I’d watched Ava as I fed. With a dazed gaze, she reached to my mouth, as I drunk her lifeblood. With a look of disbelief, her fingers traced my lips, adhered to her bloody flesh.
“What are you…?” She’d gasped through pressed lips as I grasped her left buttock, enjoying the feel; ‘her body mine. Lita was… no, not Lita, Ava.’
My mind had whirled as I drank, feeding off her. There’d been that dichotomy in my mind: one had made me, the other I’d taken to feed from.
That’d been the key…
‘Poor girl,’ I’d thought, recalling the scars I’d seen earlier.
I’d eased away from the torn flesh of her wrist, holding it gently as I held her behind her lower back to give her support.
So I’d placed my thumb down hard on her wrist and stopped the flow of blood.
I’d had an idea.
Gathering her unmoving body into my arms easily, I’d carried Ava across to the sofa.
I’d laid her down, elevating the wrist with the wound.
Her head had lolled to the side, eyes dull: breathing light and ragged.
Moving swiftly, I cut at my right wrist, which I placed to her cold lips.
“Drink,” I’d instructed.
Initially unresponsive, she had licked her lips, and then drank.
As I said earlier, that was a few nights ago. At present, Ava rests in my spare-room. Tomorrow she should be ready to go on her first hunt. I know who our prey will be, the scumbag who sent her to work the streets.
COMMENTS
-
SatinMist
05:52 Jan 15 2008
About time they let us comment..Bravo my dear friend on all your works..I love reading your stuff ..even to this day..
~Satin~