The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Charlies Memories
14:05 Mar 31 2008
Times Read: 1,082

“The site address is mem4u,” mark told me over a vodka and coke. It was his third and the overflowing ashtray paid testament to the amount we had smoked between us: and Johnno on the couch, was well out.

“So what is it?” I’d quizzed.

My glassey-eyed friend grinned at me.

“Something different,” he assured me, in a conspiratorial aside.

“Porn?” I’d enquired.

It was a reasonable assumption: it was a site that had my friend enthused, so it had to be porn; the fellow was truly obsessed.

Mark finished his drink and passed me the mirror. I lifted it with my left hand and picked up the small tube with my forefinger and thumb, as I surveyed the last two lines left.

“Are you sure?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “go ‘ead. Enjoy!”

Zappa was playing and they’d just got to the pickaxe in the forehead.

I snorted mine, and then passed the remainder to Mark, as I drew in a breath and held it. As the tingling began at the back of my nose, I slowly exhaled.

“Nice?” My friend asked.

“Oh yess,” I sighed, as my eyes widened and pulse quickened.

“Straight off the block fella,” Mark confided, just prior to finishing his own line.

Well, I got home a few hours later, having caught the last bus.

Yet knowing I’d not sleep for several hours, I went into the back-room with a whiskey and a well-laid smoke. I switched the pc on and found the website that mark had been telling me about and sipping on a long glass of the real thing, I read the blurb at the top of the front-page.

‘By using a digital recorder set into stylish shades, (readily available) each person uploading onto the site is able to share their memories with others. A monthly prize will go to the clip with the most hits.’

The list of memories available seemed endless. I was fascinated.

The first page you came to had twenty-four small thumbnails on it, with descriptive text below, acting as a link to the uploaded clips. Some were short, seconds only, just a few mb; while others were up to 700 mb, the length of a feature film.

It transpired that if you wanted to view more than two minutes of a clip, you had to join the site. Membership was free, for the first thirty days, so I’d joined the site.

Checking out the search functions on the top line, I’d found the drop-down menu, giving you a choice of, ‘member’, ‘subject’, or ‘district/area’.

“Very interesting,” I’d mused, bringing up the menu for ‘subject’. The list seemed endless, ‘abseiling’, ‘bricklaying’, ‘canoeing’ and so on. Alphabetical and extensive.

Time passed easily, as I trawled through page after page of thumbnail images of one subject, then another.

Still flying high from the Charlie, I took pleasure in abseiling down a dam; standing firm before a charging bull elephant and, running from a raging fire.

As I continued my search, through one clip after another, I was captivated by what I’d seen and hours passed quickly.

Then I went trawling, the memories of others.

The picture of a hand reaching out to a child caught my eyes: and soon I’d been holding that child, as it were, as it looked up at me and gurgled.

Although it hadn’t lasted long, the clip had touched me greatly.

“What was that?” I wondered, looking at the text beneath the thumbnail.

“Ah, ‘F’, for ‘Father holds child’, that explains it…” It’d seemed from the clip, that there’d been a real connection between the two. The light in the child’s face, as it reached upward, toward loving arms. There’d been a genuine bond there.

Then I got to ‘G’, for ‘Girl on Train’, to find myself on a train, looking between the seats ahead of me.

Drawing her fingers back from her covering her eyes, the young blonde in a pink top exclaimed, “Eyeee see!” to the young child in the pushchair before her.

With eyes of blue, the child looked like his mother I thought, as he looked at me with evident curiosity. I saw ‘my’ hand wave and was delighted to see the child grin back, at ‘me’.

It was touching to see such warmth and to share it, just for a moment, albeit vicariously.

I re-lit the smoke, sitting in the ashtray and sat back. Slowly it dawned on me that through some sort of morbid fascination, my curiosity had led me to looking at the memories of others I could relate to, or wished were mine.

But, it was still early in the morning and with hours to go till I’d feel tired, I’d continued my trawl through the sites pages, curious to see what else there was.

I went back to the search engine and pressed for district/area and went local, just to see what I might see.

There were escorts locally and several members, one of which I’d not expected to see, a profile pic of Virginia the Latina. I knew her as Virginia Elizabet Diez.

We’d been together four years, till the younger model came along; and like the ex before her, she’d told me, ‘I don’t want to have kids.’ But I had.

I felt like a voyeur, going to see what she’d put up. But she knew me so well and till this moment, I’d thought I had known her well. Even if her and the young-un proved I hadn’t known her that well, at all. But, I still had to look. I just had to.

So, I pressed a button, for ‘show all video’ to bring up a list of all she had uploaded.

The list had been quite a long one: and before I clicked onto any of the images, I read the details beneath each of them.

‘Alan, forty, married and seeking a divorce, he says’; ‘Brian, twenty-two, single and a proper lads lad’; ‘Colin, loving, but boring’; there were several more, like these, and then I came to ‘Kevin, lives with his parents, needs mothering.’

That’d made me stop. It was me. There was a video of me. Let alone all the others, she had me there, a memory for others to share.

Would I look to see what was there?

‘Hitcher’s Angel’ ~ In Full
14:07 Mar 29 2008
Times Read: 1,099

Some Adult content.



*





It was late afternoon and the sky above was grey with the promise of rain, as Stephen Machin shoved his hands deep into his blue denim jackets side pockets and looked at his trainers.

‘Why?’

He was dumped, again.

He was feeling despondent and very alone

And. Here was somewhere in the middle of the Styx and no traffic in sight.

He ran a hand upward, tufting his hair and sighed, as he looked to his left, then right.

The road seemed to stretch on forever in either direction, with nothing but fields either side.

‘Why did I have to meet someone who lives so far from…’

He paused in his thought and once more looked to his left then right:

“…everything!” He said aloud.

‘Yet, hope prevails,’ he mused, sticking his thumb out, prepared to wait.

Ten cars passed.

One stopped, an open-top red sports car; it’s sole occupant a woman in her mid to late thirties in a tight black dress, bare legs, red courts; and a slim waist, cinched in by a bright shiny red belt.

All this he saw quickly, before noticing her vivid red lips, as she turned to him and smiled. Then he took in her long dark hair and deep brown eyes, with flecks of green.

After his wait, her presence held his attention.

She leant across the passenger seat and opened the door, for him and an accented voice asked lightly:

“Are you okay? Or, do you want a lift somewhere?”

Stephen grinned before responding.

“You’re an angel for stopping…” He told her.

She glanced toward him and smiled broadly, showing teeth that were whiter than his.

“Well that’s serendipitous. That is my name…”

‘Angel’ gestured for him to sit.

Stephen got in the car, closed the door and turned to look at his saviour.

“Angel?” He queried. “You mean, like in the television show?”

“And like where I come from, The City of Angels, L.A.”

“Ah, that explains your accent…” he observed, trying his best not to stare at her shapely calves.

And failing.

“My names Stephen. Stephen Machin.”

He watched every move Angel made, as she released the handbrake and worked the clutch and accelerator.

“So where to, Stephen?” Angel queried.

He loved hearing her accent and the way his name sounded, said by her.

“Right now, anywhere!” He declared, fastening his safety belt.

“Anywhere?” She smiled, a smile he couldn’t quite fathom. Yet, he didn’t care, for he had company and that mattered a lot just now: he needed that. Company.

They drove for two miles, before reaching a tee-junction.

She took a right turn, dropped a gear then after awhile turned the radio on.

“Another Day In Paradise...” Sang Phil Collins, as they continued their journey.

“So, you said ‘right now anywhere’, what’s the matter?” She asked Stephen, staring ahead, at the road.

As he began to speak, Angel dropped from third gear to four, allowing the car to just cruise onward, as she listened to him talk. Rambling about Sascha, who he’d known for six months, who he loved: and dumped him, for another.

He explained to Angel that a similar thing had happened just over a year previously.

She listened.

He’d needed that.

Stephen had needed someone to listen.

Finally he stopped talking, long enough for her to interject.

“I don’t often stop for hitchhikers, but this evening was different… so…”

Silence reigned, for several miles.

They reached a second junction.

“I do like the way you drive,” he said as they approached it.

“So you like a woman in control, do you?” Angel grinned, after asking the question.

Countryside passed by fast, as they drove.

“The sky suggests rain…” She said.

“This is England,” he reminded, “what can you expect?”

She laughed.

“Rain, I suppose…” Angel expressed, with a long sigh.

A tractor abruptly pulled out of a gap between the hedges to her right and pulled onto the road.

Stephen watched, as she made a smooth gear change, before overtaking the old blue Ferguson tractor.

Having accomplished the manoeuvre, she accelerated, casting a quick sidelong glace at the young man by her side.

His gaze was fixed, on her legs.

She smiled lightly: she couldn’t help it.

Then, she tutted her tongue against her front teeth, as she drove on, gaze fixed ahead.

“You may have noticed, but this car isn’t built for your weather…

She paused, gauging his reaction.

“Oh,” Stephen responded quietly.

He didn’t want to be on his own, not now.

Angel heard the tone in his voice and placed her left hand briefly on his thigh.

“You can come with me…” she said softly.

“Oh yes,” he threw in quickly.

“…as long as you’re good.”

“Oh, I will be!” Stephen assured her hurriedly.

Once though the suburbs and into the town, Angel found a hotel to her liking, small and black and white, obviously old.

She had parked the Lotus in the car park out back, while he booked them in.

Stephen had told the old woman at the desk they were ‘Mr and Mrs Robinson.’

Angel had smiled as she wondered just what he was thinking.

‘Whatever it is,’ she mused, ‘it won’t be anywhere near what he’s thinking.’

And, as he’d signed his name Rafe Robinson, as he liked the name, he looked around himself at the hotels interior

There weren’t too many people sitting at the small round copper-top tables and the roaring log-fire was a nice touch. He looked at the clock over the bar and noted the time, six forty-five.

‘Time for a drink.’

Stephen marched to the bar, digging his right hand deep in his pocket.

He had enough and twenty pound in his wallet.

Safe.

“Whiskey please..?” He asked of the black croptop wearing Goth, with purple and white hair, behind the bar, looking somewhat incongruous in the oak-beamed environment.

She wore a tight short skirt and leggings with red and black horizontal stripes and held his attention as she turned to the optic, to pour his drink.

“Do you like the bar?” He heard Angel ask, from behind him, as he watched her the barmaid stretch at the optics.

And Stephen blushed, feeling a little like the lad with his hand caught by his Mother as he stands with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’ll have a whiskey as well please Miss!” Angel said from where she now stood at his side.

She was almost a foot shorter than him and smelt divine, he thought.

“Did you get the room okay?” Angel asked Stephen.

“Yes,” he answered, accepting the drinks, from the smiling barmaid.

There was her voice and that accent again.

His heart was hammering.

“So lead on,” she announced, indicated a free table by the bay window to the right of the fire.

Stephen took the drinks to the table, feeling better than he’d felt all day.

“That was one of my favourite films you know,” Angel told him, as he pulled her chair out a little, for her to sit down.

“Huh?” He quizzed.

“The Graduate.”

Stephens mind whirled, as he wondered where this was leading.

He knew of the film, he’d had to study it as part of his media studies course and had immediately knew the term of reference when she had told him that he should register them as ‘Mr and Mrs Robinson.’

“Quite nice here,” Angel stated simply, picking up her drink and sipping at it idly, staring out the leaded windows, as the promised rain began to fall hard, leaving trails on the panes of class, as raindrops hit the glass.

Stephen looked around round at large beams above him, then at the open fire.

The pub simply oozed ‘olde world’ charm: and the company was pleasant.

“Yes,” he agreed as he sat: “I like it.”

“An I wonder, are the rooms are as nice?”

Stephen blushed, surprised at himself.

He was with a woman, not a teen like he’d been used to: and Stephen hesitated a moment, before answering.

Yet his blushes had not gone unnoticed and Angel smiled.

She reached across the table and touched thee back of his left hand with her right: and a spark of electricity seemed to flow from the touch, up his arm and down his spine.

Feeling him quiver beneath her touch, Angels mind raced with possibility.

She finished her drink, drowning the dregs and handing the empty glass to her young paramour.

“Another please?” It’d been a command, rather than a question: and Stephen didn’t mind. He liked her decisive manner and stood, having emptied his own glass hurriedly and walked across to the bar.

As he approached the bar, Stephen missed Angel say softly to herself, “A good boy.”

“Two more please?” he said to the overly thin Goth; having got her attention with a cough.

“Stephen,” Angel called, as the drinks were poured; “Will you find out if I can have an early alarm call. After all we might need it, after…”

She didn’t finish saying it.

Angel didn’t need to; the way he blushed again was enough.

The Goth smiled at Stephen as she accepted a tip.

“Of course you can have an early call…” she told him.

“Do you know what time, you friend, would like?” The smiling Goth asked Stephen, further adding to his embarrassment.

“Erm no,” I’ll ask, he assured the barmaid and moved from the counter-top, as fast as he could, back to his Angel, of the night.

Turning from the Goth behind the bar, Simon turned back and walked towards Angel.

Once back at the table he said to her, “What time do you want the morning call? She wants to know.”

“Seven…” she told him in return.

Stephen nodded and returned to the bar.

“So what is it?” the barmaid asked brightly.

“Seven.”

“Okay, seven it is.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“And have a good night,” she said in response, looking from Angel to him twice, grinning as he blushed.

“Yeah ta,” he muttered, turning to walk back to where Angel sat.

“Okay that’s done,” he told her.

She smiled and stood.

“The rooms are that way?” She quizzed, indicating a sign at the far end of the room above a door: ‘residents only.’

They stood and Angel led the way to the door, between several small dimpled copper-top tables.

He halted abruptly behind her, as she stopped at the juke-box and took the time to select a track of music.

Delighted by the way events had transpired since he’d left Donna’s that afternoon

Stephen stood patiently to Angel’s right, as the track began to play: as he listened to The Sutherland Brothers singing, ‘In The Arms Of Mary.

He smiled watching her lean on the juke-box with both hands moving to the music and learnt that he appreciated her humour, as he heard the lyrics..

“..she took the pains of boyhood and the turned them into feel good.”

She stopped dancing, stood and looked at him with a gentle smile.

Briefly caressing his face, Angel told him, “Time for bed, lover.”

Then Stephen followed, as she led him upstairs, smiling as he as he watched her buttocks sway within the confines of her little black dress.

As they walked down the hallway to the room, Stephen studied her calves; and her red high heels, with every step, a fixed grin on his face.

“Okay, we’re here.” She told him, placing her key in the lock and opening the door.

He followed her into the room, suddenly nervous: after all, she was older than him and obviously more worldly-wise than he.

“I’m going to freshen up with a shower,” she told him, placing a light kiss on his left cheek: “Why don’t you watch teevee while I do?”

“Uh-huh, okay.” He muttered, suddenly finding a fascinating spot on the tip of his right shoe.

Stephen turned on the television and sat on the end of the double bed, to watch some cartoons, for awhile.

“Stephen,” she called from the bathroom after a few minutes: “Will you come here.”

He stood up and walked to the bathroom door, butterflies dancing in the pit of his stomach as he opened the door, to face her.

Stephen could see perspiration running run down between the valley between her breasts and felt sweat rolling down his own back: suddenly very hot, in that small white-tiled room.

Then his gaze fell to the tattoo on the top of her left breast, the bottom of which was covered by the towel she had wrapped around herself, reaching from her armpits to mid-thigh.

She allowed the towel to fall, revealing her body to his widening eyes.

Her breasts were full, yet not too large, but perfectly shaped and the pert little nipples stood proud against the darker flesh of her aureole.

His eyes were drawn momentarily to the tattoo on her left breast, of a heart pierced by a rose as she walked toward him and his shallow breathing became faster.

He looked to her slim waist and the slight swell of her belly, then downward to her shaven vagina.

Her legs were slim yet, shapely; her feet small and delicate.

In the quiet of the room, the tension of the moment was palpable.

With little trace of modesty, Angel walked toward Stephen, a determined expression on her face.

She walked a few steps toward him, one hand holding the towel in place, her wet long black hair clinging to her shoulders.

Then Angel moved her free hand over to his and placing it on his right cheek. Her hands were soft to the touch and it sent goose bumps up his spine. Stephen looked directly in the eyes.

She did not flinch.

"O-boy, this is such is so intense!” Stephen said to himself, lost in her eyes and feeling more aroused by the second.

She fixed him with a stare, reaching out with her right hand toward the bulge in his trousers with her eyes alight with passion.

Angel drew his zip down and gently pulled his hard flesh into the open.

Stephen watched all of this as from afar, feeling her touches as if it were his first time with a woman, as the depth of Angel’s almond-shaped brown eyes held him, as she began to ease his trousers down.

He reached down and caressed her face gently with his right hand, breathing hard.

“Ahhhhhhh…” he sighed, momentarily closing his eyes.

Then Angel knelt, and licked and kissed along each of his inner thighs, teasing his ever growing, hardening cock.

Then, looking up at Stephen, she gave a broad smile as they stared into each other’s eyes.

Stephen watched Angel open her mouth, extending her tongue slowly and lick the head of his shaft and he grasped her right hand and squeezed it.

She squeezed back, as she licked the head of his throbbing cock.

Then without hesitation, she opened her mouth, eyes closed in delighted anticipation, as she took in the head and first inch or two of his cock.

And then for him came the unbelievable sensation of a hot mouth and silky wet tongue, bringing him towards heights of pleasure.

It was like nothing else - Stephen loved it!

Angel began to swirl her tongue around and over his cock head, slowly moving her head from side to side, sucking harder and harder on Stephen’s shaft.

"Mmmmmm.." She began moaning around his shaft.

"OH YEAH!!" he said loudly, now unable to control anything he did.

In response Angel slid more of Stephen into her mouth and down her throat, as she held his buttocks tight.

Stephen’s hips begin to move back and forth, as he fucked her willing, wet, wild mouth and throat.

He loved the sensation of her mouth on his throbbing, aching hard cock and Stephen again moaned, louder now as she began to bob her head up and down the full length of his swollen member.

The sensation made Stephens's legs begin to jiggle uncontrollably, as if they had turned to rubber.

"OH GOD!" He cried. A mass of sweat, he started to writhe, quite uncontrollably as a tightening in his balls began, as it seemed they were going to get sucked all the way up into his stomach.

Then Angel drew away from Stephen and she grasped his hips, as pre-cum oozed out of the tip and started to trickle down the shaft.

She sat back on her haunches and smiled as ejaculate shot forth, only to be swallowed by her again as her mouth again latched onto Stephens thick shaft.

Angel was eager to take Stephen over the edge and all the way into a hot churning orgasm, before she fed.

In seconds, she could feel his cock engorge further in her silken mouth, savouring Stephen, lost in the desire, to taste him.

As orgasm continued to sweep through Stephen his flesh slowly began to wither, upon his bones, and his eyes turned glassy, as he sighed his last breath.

He crumpled to the floor, his clothes too large on his drained body; and Angel stood, wiping at her lips with the back of her right hand.

She walked back into the bedroom and across to the bed and lay down, stroking her warm body, her demonic hunger sated, for now.

Dark Writing – An Angel Story
15:33 Mar 23 2008
Times Read: 1,115

Not seen previously, in it's completed form ..

it seems ~





Dark Writing – An Angel Story





Introduction:



He found it difficult to explain the compulsion that drove him.

It was impossible to describe to another, yet through his many journals he had tried, countless times.

There was a desire within that he needed to communicate to another, who understood.

His writings had been part of that endeavour; scribbling down words that told of his passion, that few could understand; and those few who could, rarely read.

He wanted to explain, why he did as he did: existing, rather than living, always on the periphery of everyday life, finding it hard to reconcile his present existence with that of his past life.

Then he had been human.

But, that had been before he had been made.

So, he had gone to the trouble of finding an old typewriter that suited his needs.

There was much to say and he knew this.

Angel sat for hours before the typewriter with his fingers dancing over the keys, telling his story, only referring to his journals when his memory would not recall certain dates:

he remembered faces; he’d always remembered their faces – his victims, his food.

So, he poured all that he knew into his fingertips and they told of everything he had learnt, since encountering she who had made him into what he was.

But, man is by nature a social animal and no matter how we seek our own company, there are occasions when we might find that we need the company of others.

He had the soul of a man; and no matter how much he tried to ignore his compulsion to seek their company, the feeling grew, until one night, he found himself drawn to a bar.







* * *





















His elbows on the beer-slick surface; right hand clasping the left, he rested his chin upon his hands, as he sat on the stool at the end of the bar, facing the entrance.

“A whiskey,” he asked, with his voice and taste in drink still betraying a hint of his Irish heritage, even after all these years.

Briefly, there was urgency to his gaze, as he looked round the room, to ensure he was safe.

‘Each of us has our demons within and for some of us there will always be an inner-turmoil, of which is good, or evil.’

This was his curse, he considered, not that he possessed a soul and so by definition he was part of humanity: rather that he had the capacity to dwell on that.

With a look of sadness he looked at his whiskey, muttering,

“Everyone wants to be understood…”

His glass was half empty, but he wanted it to be full, so drank what was there and then asked for another.

He sipped at this drink, before setting it down, musing; “I came here, to be alone and be around people, yet I sit here in silence. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

After he’d considered this, he ordered his second drink, his eyes drawn to the long-legged brunette who served him: she was fast and efficient he noticed, always chewing gum; and, constantly on the move, hardly still for more than a minute.

The young woman, whom he’d heard called Jane, fascinated him.

Although mildly androgynous at first glance, she was, he quickly concluded, decidedly feminine.

She interested him, from her long slender neck, which initially attracted his attention, down the long, curved line of her back, leading down to where the denim she wore fit the tightest.

“There is a sight to behold,” he said softly to himself, admiring the woman’s derriere and watching her walk away to serve another customer, thinking to himself:

‘Some women are truly meant to wear blue jeans.’

Angel had a third drink, as he watched patrons enter the bar; mostly burly men, tarnished by brutal city life; and a few ladies, some white, some black, some half-caste; wearing ultra-tight denim shorts and little up-top, but, what there was, was brightly coloured.

He noticed that Jane had a pierced navel and when this began to interest him, he decided to look for other things of interest, to stop him thinking of himself; like, the two dimples at either side of the base of her spine, just above her jeans waistband.

Angel observed all that happened: and as hours past, little by little, he found a modicum of acceptance from the bar’s clientele.





* * *











The next night he left his motel room, to walk the back streets, to locate the same bar he’d chanced upon.

He entered with his coat-collar drawn up and his hands sunk deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, as if against the ills of the world.

Angel he walked into the bar his body became a little less tense; and he lifted his head.

Again eyes watched him warily at first, as he sat staring forward, seemingly into nothingness, his gaze fixed- aware of all that happened around himself, whilst maintaining his guard against possible threat.

This became a pattern. Angel would finish his writing for the day with the shutters drawn against the light; then, come evening, as the twilight passed into night-time, he sought the bar once again.

He’d sit on what had become his stool and over the nights, then weeks, until he became a fixture in the bar.

One Friday evening, as he surveyed his surroundings, Angel continued to watch the slim brunette, with flicked and layered shoulder length hair.

Finally she threw her hands to her sides, crying out to the crowd before her, of five faces, “That’s it, I can’t take anymore!”

Although it was difficult for Jane to stomp in heels of more than two inches, she stomped from one end of the bar to the other.

She clenched her fists at her sides, roaring aloud her frustration;

“Aaarrgghhh…”

Then gripping the counter tightly, Jane looked at the customer in front of her, saying, “Sorry, I had to…”

She turned to another customer, to the right of the first and asked, “Have you got any gum?”

He shook his head.

“I’m bored,” she declared, walking up and down the bar.

“And, when I’m bored, I want chewing-gum, a weed, or wild sex.”

Jane knew a weed was out of the question, as she was working;

she knew wild-sex also wasn’t an option – as she was behind the bar, it’d be inconvenient, especially if someone wanted serving.

“Aw c’mon,” She begins, looking to either side of the bar, “anyone got any gum for me? I’m cracking here!”

She looked to every customer, including Angel, to ask if they had gum, when a young woman, wearing tight tie-die jeans walked up to the bar, a pack of Juicy Fruit in hand.

“Here sister, take one, I know the craving.”

The remark brought a splash of yellow to a world normally black, causing Angel to smile briefly: someone understood ‘the craving.’

Yet this was unusual, for although he had found a measure of acceptance in the bar, Angel was still a curiosity to most of its clientele, simply because of his generally dour expression.

But, this night, the few regulars who knew his face acknowledged his entry – two with a nod of the head; and, one with the flick of a match against his front teeth. In return, Angel had given a nod of his head as he had mounted his stool, to watch and learn.

So he had sat, watching, as Mandy had walked in.





Mandy, looked like a Navaho Indian, he thought, with her long-dark hair, parted in the centre, reaching half-way down her back.

She had just walked in, to join Jane, for the Friday late-shift, which was in theory very busy, yet hadn’t been this night.

“Sorry I’m late, buses and a fella, you know how it is?”

She was dressed in tight–fitting, ribbed, black-tee shirt, coal-black jeans and heavy boots. In comparison to her work colleague, she was dressed sombrely.

Jane was dressed in a simple, but garishly pattered, lime-green and bright yellow waist-coat, over a pea-green tee-shirt cut short, so the lower swell of her breasts were more that hinted at as she busied herself sweeping a damp rag over the bar-top.

She had been working since three that afternoon and now her tiredness was beginning to show a little.

“No, I don’t know how it is…” The brunette muttered, staring briefly at her toe-nails. Being on her feet most of the time, she wore sandals, with toe-nails that were painted blue, this Friday: they made the standing up bearable, at least.

“These double shifts are killing me…”

“Yeah, I suppose the pay packet’s too heavy at the end of the month, isn’t it?”

“Ha, in my dreams!” Jane expressed, laughing mockingly.

She had been working one day less a week and a double shift on a Friday since term-time begun. Sometimes she wondered whether it was worth it.

“So, how is the world of Media Studies?” Mandy asked, as she stashed her personal belongings on a shelf below the long bar; “Have you decided to stay on?”

Jane lifted the counter-flap to access the other side of the bar.

There she stood, the hatch lifted, cigarette in her mouth.

She drew the acrid smoke into her lungs and held it there, for several seconds, before exhaling: “Lord, I needed that…!”

Briefly she looked at the No Smoking sign over the bar, musing whether the owner was actually a sadist, or not.

Then as her colleague began washing glasses, she saw who was in the bar and smiled:

“I see laughing boy is in.” Mandy sneered, noticing his intent gaze, fixed on Jane.

Jane looked to where she was staring, frowned momentarily and hissed to her: “Shush, he might hear you.”

“Doubt it,” the brunette espoused, “he’s got that faraway look in his eyes, that says, ‘Hey folks, I’m not on this planet!’”

For the first time that day Jane smiled.

“That’s cruel,” she whispered, turning the stereo on.

“Ah, cruel but true…” Mandy responded in a knowing, sing-song voice, drying one of the six glasses before her.

He had been drinking there for several weeks now; always arrived as the sun had set and always sat so that he could see the entrance to the bar.

Both women found him a cause for amusement.

He watched everything, spoke little; drank a lot, yet never seemed to get drunk.

There was something very strange about him, they’d both decided, at different times.

They both turned to look at him, staring down at the double-malt, held in two hands.

“He is interesting.” Mandy told Jane, walking to the end of the bar nearest the stairs and away from his hearing, she thought.

“Yeah,” Jane responded smiling, “In a dark and mysterious way… But…”

“But? Go on, what’s the ‘but?’”

“Well…” Jane thought. “He’s…” She began.

Then thinking of how often she had heard him talk, she said, “He’s so introverted, I’m surprised he’s out at all…”

“I think he’s spooky.” Jane stated simply.

“Why?” Mandy asked.

“He sits there… staring… sort of… well, brooding…”

“I used to know a fella like that,” Mandy told her, smiling.

“Like what?” Jane asked, distracted, noticing that he appeared to be listening to every word spoken, even though he was at one end of the bar, they were at the other and between them there were a few people talking.

‘No-one’s hearings that good,’ she thought: ‘it’s impossible, isn’t it?’

“Brooding… No, it was broody. He was definitely broody… Not at all like mister talkative over there…”

Angel was sat where he usually did, on his stool facing the entrance, his brow furrowed.

A large man, dressed all in denims, walked down the stairs.

He appraised the stranger to the bar, before his gaze returned to the two women.

“He’s looking at you Jane…”

“Don’t say that.”

“He is…”

“Ladies, don’t wanna spoil your conversation, but any chance of a beer?”

“Yeah, sure John,” Mandy told the customer, going to the pumps and pouring one for him, leaving Jane standing alone, feeling vulnerable.

“An ‘ave summat fer yerself.”

“Cheers John.” The young woman responded, turning to face Jane again.

“It’s them eyes,” Jane expressed, right forefinger and thumb together, forming a circle and held over her own right eye;

“They just seem to follow me everywhere!”

“He’s looking over this way, again.” Mandy told Jane, who noticed that he was.

“Well, go on…” she goaded Jane.

“Go on, what?”

“Go and ask him how he is…” Mandy dared.

“Well, I…” Jane began, turning and taking a couple of paces toward where Angel sat.

“Hi!” Jane said brightly, “How are you doing?”

He looked to her, from the nothingness he’d been staring into.

Yes, she was talking to him.

“Oh, hello.” He responded lamely, looking up slowly from his drink, to the woman before him that he had learnt was called Jane.

“You’ve been coming her several weeks now and I’ve been meaning to say ‘hello.’”

As she spoke, the brunette swept a damp rag over the bars surface by where he sat, as if to suggest that was why she had walked over in the first place.

“Why?” He asked.

“To be sociable. You know sociable?”

He wanted to tell her that he didn’t any longer. Instead he just looked at her.

“So how are you?” Jane continued, just as cheerfully, although she wondered why she was doing this. He seemed such hard going.

“How am I?”

“Yes, how are you?”

“I am well,” he answered, adding, “Thank you for asking.”

“That’s okay,” she told him, then asked, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“You seem a nice person,” he told her, “you don’t want to know>”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked, now would I?”

Then she offered her hand, saying very formally,

“Hello, I’m Jane.”

“I know… Jane Bresnen. I’m Angel.”

She appears querulous at his use of her surname.

“I overheard someone use your fist name and another time I heard someone use the surname, so…”

“I get it.”

“Hmmm… Is it right that you do Media Studies?” He asked Jane absently, considering that as she had spoken to him, perhaps it was acceptable to do so…

“Yes,” she replied hesitantly, her curiosity piqued.

“Tell me,” she asked, “why mention Media Studies?”

“Your friend mentioned your course,” he answered.

“Hang-on, we were at the other end of the bar. How did you hear what she said?”

“Well, I suppose that there would be some who night say that I have extra-ordinary hearing, for a human.” He smiled, almost, at what to him seemed a funny joke.

“Would you say literature is still part of the media, even now?” He asked, with genuine curiosity she sensed: this wasn’t a line.

“Er… yes,” she replied, a little hesitantly.

“Well I have written something, would you look at it?” He queried of her, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t know,” she responded, “I don’t know you.”

“I know, he replied, that’s the beauty of it. You don’t know me, so who better to ask what they think of my work than someone who doesn’t know me?”

“Hmmm…” she considered, thumb and forefinger gently supporting her chin, the elbow supporting the palm of her other hand.

“Yes, okay then,” she told him after a little deliberation, “I’ll read it. But, you only recently started coming here? So tell me, why are you here?”

“For company,” Angel replied, already having thought of the same question and its answer.

Then he added, “Sometimes I find I need to seek out humanity.”

She was puzzled by this and somewhat intrigued by his response.

“Strange sort of place to choose…” She said in response, looking around.

“It’s just a place, like any other with people in it…”

“It seems like you’re talking about the nature of existence?”

“I don’t know about that,” he responded. “But, I am talking about my own.”

There was a silent pause and then she asked, “So, when do I get it?”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” he told her, finishing his drink and leaving the bar.

The next night he took her his manuscript, which he had been working on for so long and handed it to her nervously.



* * *



Then, the night after he did not go to the bar, hesitant of facing her while she was looking at his piece, instead chose to walk the dark streets, aware of all that could be lurking in the shadows.

He could’ve walked toward the main thoroughfare but he didn’t,

Instead, Angel had chosen to take the side-alleys, where the shadows were the darkest.

He hated waiting: but he had to, there was no other option.

So he walked, listening to every little sound, whether it be a rat scurrying, or a dog nosing for scraps amongst the trash.

All the sounds were rendered louder by the quiet of the alley and its distance from the crowded streets; and, heightened further by his aural sense.

There was nothing in sight, or within earshot; that was reassuring he had thought, as it meant, there was no threat to him and for a moment, he could almost imagine that his curse was something of the past.

Then, from ahead, to his right, came a noise, that didn’t belong, not in a quiet alley – the gasp of a woman, perhaps young; but, definitely scared, very scared.

Angel stopped walking and stood still, his head to one side, as he listened to the sounds intruding the quiet.

“C’mon give it here and ya won’t will get hurt!” A mans voice.

Then there was a second voice, again male and again it sounded aggressive: “So, hand it over will you?!”

Angel didn’t want this: didn’t want to feel compelled to intervene – but, he knew that he would.

After all, he reasoned quickly, ‘If you have a human soul – and you have, then you’ve got to be prepared to relate to the needs of other humans.’

The thought took seconds, the action several seconds longer.

Angel ran ahead, turning right, to find himself standing in the mouth of another alley, looking at two men threatening a young woman for her shoulder-bag, which she clutched tightly.

“It’s got the shop takings. You can’t have it!” She yelled at the man approaching her, as if ignoring the other, who had a knife to her throat, one arm round her waist.

The bloodlust rising within, Angel thought of Darla’s rancour at his choice of victims.

He could feel his aspect changing, which he did not want.

Yet, his options were few. There were two of them and he could see the fear in her face, as she struggled to get free.

“Enough,” Angel hissed, his appearance not what it had been and he looked at his adversaries, a smile on his face.

Now he would kill, if he needed to.

The thug who had spoken second was still approaching the couple, knife in hand. He turned as Angel spoke – just in time, to see him leap through the air, his right foot and fist weapons.

The foot hit the man squarely in his chest, the fist landing on his jaw and then he fell to his knees and crumpled to the floor, many of his bones broken.

Angel snatched the knife that the other man held, his movements a blur, hissing at him, “Now, go… or, die… I don’t mind.”

Snarling, the young man cast the woman to one side, so that she landed on some cardboard boxes, groaning loudly.

He heard the noise she made, turned to face the ashen male and smiled broadly: “You shouldn’t have done that!”

“Why? You pug-ugly…” Mock bravado sounded hollow coming from him, so Angel ceased his words, as he brought both hands down onto the man’s collarbones, shattering them instantly.

For a moment he held the limp form, by the windpipe, in one hand, before dropping him and turning toward his victim.

Angel walked across to the woman and offered her assistance in standing. She took his hand and stood, looking closely at his face as she did. Then she screamed, “You’re not human.”

Angel looked at her – she was all right.

Then, as he walked away he looked back at the thugs, both quite unconscious and he reminded the young woman, “But, they were!”



* * *



Angel entered the bar after two weeks later sat where he had, soon becoming oblivious of his surroundings, as fresh thoughts entered his head; thoughts that confused him with their simple complexity; such as to why was he there?

And, what was he seeking?

All these were thoughts that he could not answer immediately. But, that did not matter. He was here now and he wanted to know what she thought of his work, which was important to him.

And he waited, fairly patiently; pleased that she had smiled when she’d noticed his face.

As usual, she had been serving a customer, turned round… and then, there he was…

As he asked for a whiskey she was entirely unaware just how nervous Angel actually was.

Although he had encountered much in over two hundred years, here he was, facing a truly harsh enemy – invited criticism.

Finally, when the few customers in the bar had been served, the lithe brunette walked across to the customer, sitting on his own: “Hi Angel.”

In response to her greeting, he looked down, sweeping his left hand through the tufted fringe he found in his eyes.

Angel looked up to face the young woman slowly, then fixed his gaze on her.

“A whiskey please and then tell me, what did you think of it?”

“Of it?” She asked, teasing.

“The story, my story…” He responded, feeling very uncomfortable.

“Oh, that?” Jane said in a light voice, turning to the stand of optics, to pour his drink, asking, “I assume it’s a whiskey?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, almost quietly.

She turned, placed his glass on the bar, smiling warmly.

“You surprised me, y’know?”

“Why?” Angel responded.

“Well, you wrote of being a vampire?”

“Yes and?”

“Well, that can’t be true, can it?”

“Did you read it properly?”

“Yes, of course!” She replied, a little affronted that he had needed to ask that.

“So, you know?” He said, slowly.

“But, it read like fiction?” She asked, doubt in her voice.

There is a pause, as Angel thought of a suitable response.

Finally, he said, “Don’t you think that sometimes life is stranger than fiction? Come to that, I’ve heard it said, often…”

With her right fore-finger resting on a lightly-dimpled chin, Jane thought carefully about this for a moment: “Yesss… perhaps! But, it’s all so incredible, all of it…!”

“For instance?” He queried.

“Grief, right from the start. I mean, a vampire… that’s… unreal!”

Angel smiled.

“Just think Jane, a hundred years ago man wrote about walking on the moon. Now he’s done it. A hundred years ago there were those who would have said that Jules Verne’s story was, unreal!”

The brunette persisted, “But what about all the stuff about stakes and coffins and stuff like that?”

“Part of it is myth; some of its fact,” he stated simply.

She thought a moment, then asked, “A stake through the heart?”

Angel smiled: “A stake through the heart will kill anyone!”

“And the other stuff?”

“Other stuff?”

“Y’know,” the young woman queried, “stuff… Like, sleeping in a coffin. Stuff like that!”

As if he were a teacher and she a child, Angel slowly explained,

“There are vampires who believe in the legends, just as there are humans who write of them.”

She smiled at his response: that sounded reasonable.

Then a thought occurred – “All you wrote, it was really real?”

He smiled, “That’s what I’ve been telling you…”

“Yes, I know. But, it all sounds so…” Momentarily, she was silent, looking for a suitable word, that wasn’t ‘unreal.’

Jane thought back to all that she had read in the manuscript –





* * *



Liam, known as Angel - and later, as Angelus – had been made in Galway, Ireland, in 1753.

A friend and Angelus had been thrown out of an inn; and as his friend lay drunk on the cobbled streets, Angelus had looked with bleary eyes toward a stone archway, where he saw a beautiful blonde lady.

“What’s a lady like you doing out on a night like this?”

He had asked her, in a cultured Irish brogue.

“I can show you the world,” She’d responded.

Then seductively asked him, “Do you want to see?”

He’d told her, “I want to see.”

They had embraced and she bit his neck, drawing his lifeblood.

Then she etched a talon-nail across the flesh of her breast-bone, drawing a line of blood which Angelus drank from.

Once he was as she, Darla showed Angelus ‘her’ world, teaching him her ways and of the hunt. To impress her, he killed his family, his father last.

It was his younger sister who had greeted him, prior to this killing, who had named him Angel, ‘her Angel.’

This was also how she had greeted him at the door, prior to him committing bloody fratricide.

Very soon Angelus had been introduced to ‘The Master’ of The Order Of Aurelius, Henrich Joseph Nest.

It was he who made Darla in 1609 in the Virginia colony, as she had lain dying, riddled with Syphilis.

Angelus had scorned The Master for his ways – living in squalor, in the sewers and Angelus had taken Darla away from that.

Then for 150 years they had existed together, taking the lifeblood of whomever they chose.

In 1898 Darla had brought Angelus a present, which he’d found waiting for him, lying on the carpet, before the open fire.

He’d pushed up her long skirts and pressed his teeth into her thigh and taken the girl, only to find out awhile later that she’d been a Romani gypsy of the clan, Kalderashe.

A curse had been issued from her family that rendered Angelus a vampire like no other, a vampire with a human soul.

Considering he stank of humanity, Darla had chased him away.

Then, in China, in the year 1900 during the chaos of a religious war, Darla was calmly packing, whilst outside fighting took place, when suddenly she had felt hands on her face.

Angel had surprised Darla, seeking redemption from her.

“You never could resist a religious war...” He’d said.

“Is that why you’re here? So I can end it all, remove that stinking soul? I can still smell it you know. And, that’s not all… You reek of vermin. Is that what you’ve been living off. ”

She had said, as she stood in front of him, a sharp blade to his throat. Then she’d asked, “What do you want?”

“A second chance.” He replied, adding: “I want things to be like they were, you and me together. I want the view.”

“Impossible. You have a soul.”

“I’m still a vampire.” He assured her.

“You’re not,” Darla replied:

“Look at you. I don’t know what you are anymore.”

“You know what I am. I’m Angelus. You made me.”

“You almost made me believe you.” She replied.

“Believe me…” He’d told her, “We can have the whirlwind back.”

They’d embraced and kissed.

Awhile later, Angelus, now Angel, was out on the streets, amongst the fighting.

He saved some missionaries, then met up with Druscilla, Spike and Darla.

She had scorned his choice of victims, being mindful of the fact that since the curse of humanity bestowed on him, he had only taken the lives of those he considered unworthy of life.

“Since the curse,” she had to him, “you have only drunk from… evil doers”

The she alleged:

“You said if you came back you’d prove yourself to me.”

“And I will,” he’d replied.

“Good,” she had told him; “Now’s your chance.”

Darla revealed her present, a young baby, the child of the dead missionaries that Angel had attempted to save.

“I went back before dawn… they were still praying… not knowing their only saviour was down on the waterfront, dining on rats!

I won’t be made a fool of Angelus, not by you… While Spike was out killing a Slayer you were saving missionaries, from me!”

“Sorry.” He had told her.

“No, no more words…” Darla responded.

He had looked intently at the child, as it looked back at him, with wide innocent eyes.

Angel stared at the child, then at Darla.

Then she had told him to ‘Act’ and he had.

Darla had offered Angel the life of an innocent, wanting it to be Angelus who took that life.

Realising he could not be what he was not, Angelus had taken the child with him, as he’d left Darla, again.



* * *



Jane thought long and hard about all she had read and having served another customer, she returned to where Angel sat and said to him, “Much of what you’ve written is about regaining lost humanity, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he replied simply.

“Tell me,” Jane began, “Is that what you feel?”

“Yes,” he answered, then swiftly added, “But, anyway, it’s my problem, not yours…”

“Hey, don’t say that…” She snapped: “You say it’s your problem… But, when your problem affects others, it becomes theirs…”

Angel looked at the young woman intensely for a moment, before saying,

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“I think you do…”

Angel peered into the nothingness ahead, before turning to look at Jane.

“So, how do my problems affect others?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“In your manner and the way that affects others.”

“And?”

“Well, look at it this way, you came here to be around people, didn’t you?”

“Hmmm… yes.”

“Well, knowing what I’ve seen of you, why?”

As he considered the question, the brunette was called away to serve another customer.

Smiling, she returned to face him, saying, “Go on then, why?”

Finally, he spoke: “Recently I’ve found a restless spirit within, a need to communicate – as if there’s a desire, or compulsion… to connect… If you know what I mean…?”

Jane looked hard at him, she knew what he meant: “Like I said, I’ve read it. I know what you mean. You want to, well, validate your own existence.”

“Hmmm… maybe,” he considered.

“Well… yes. And that explains why this is so important to you.”

“And you did like it?” He asked, seeking further reassurance, over her opinion of his work.

“Oh, I like it…” she told him, “but, if you want to know more about the style and quality of the piece, then you should take it to a literary agent and see what they say about it…”





* * *



















So it was that Angel found himself sitting in a large leatherette armchair, facing a small man, behind a very large desk.

“Normally I wouldn’t stay in the office at this time,” he muttered,

“but, she asked. And your only niece doesn’t ask things of you too often. So, if she asks, you…”

He very briefly looked at the clock on the wall, before returning to what he was reading.

The ashtray full to overflowing, he lit another cigarette, offering one to Angel without even looking up.

Finally he looked up from the manuscript, his eyes boring deep into Angel’s, eagerly awaiting hearing what he had to say.

Instead of talking though, he coughed into his right hand.

With furrowed brow, Angel looked to the little man, asking, “Why? What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

The little man in the lightweight grey suit sat back, steepled his fingers together, so the tips pointed upwards:

“Let me put it this way,” he began, drawing breath, “Just who would believe that there is a vampire walking amongst us here in twentieth century New Orleans? There isn’t even a Gothic setting for much of it…”

He paused a moment, then hissed through his teeth and said:

“Shee… it, you’ve set in the modern day. Vampires are dead, if you’ll pardon the expression son?”

Angel was quiet.

He hadn’t expected this – and, for the first time, in a long time he wanted to taste a man’s blood, this man’s blood.

And still he spoke – the artery in the side of his neck pulsing with the movement of his lifeblood, as it flowed through his body.

Angel’s eyes were fixed to his throat.

It had been recommended that he come here.

“You will find out if people want to read it,” he’d been advised.

Besides which, he’d been told that the man ‘knew about books,’ so there might be something to learn here. But, now he was here and Desmond Miles still hadn’t finished talking: “It’s that British outfit, Hammer. I blame them…”

Slowly he allowed the man’s droning to become words again.

Then, because he surmised that he was supposed to, Angel asked “Why?”

“Well, think on it, in their later film they had vampire in our times. But, what experience does a vampire have of now?”

He pauses to find breath, “Answer? Nothing. They’re creature of the past. Now, it’s all new, y’know? Science-fiction, that sort of thing, that’s all that matters to today’s readers.”

Again he paused, “Believe me son,” he began, leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, his hands clenched, “no-one is going to be bothered reading about a vampire that has feelings, not today.”







Fini.

Together, forever
11:07 Mar 14 2008
Times Read: 1,145

Throwing herself down onto the bench-seat, the blonde-haired teen crossed her legs; right over left and dug her moby from the lining-pocket of the waist length suede zip-up jacket.

Besides the jacket, worn over a white tee-shirt which left her midriff bare, she wore tan ankle boots, red tights and a blue-denim skirt, that ended mid-thigh.

Checking ‘calls received’ for a third time that hour, she scowled at the phone before turning it off and slipping it back into her jackets capacious inner pocket.

She quickly glanced to her left and the covered stairwell leading to the platform, then to the right.

“Still no sign,” she muttered, wondering what had happened to him, as she twisted the ring, on the third finger of her left hand.

Her name was Mary: and, she was as anxious as she looked.

Tony should have been on the platform waiting for her, when she’d arrived, late.

Yet he wasn’t there.

After they’d spent weeks arranging this meet, he wasn’t there.

Mary waited, two hours, then wept as she walked home.

After all his promises, for them to be ‘together forever’ made through their shared emails and YIM, he had let her down: “just like all the others,” she mused.

..

Then, two nights later, he knocked on her bedroom window, his pallid face and dark eyes a testament to that which he’d become.

She let him in, of course, after all his entreaties for her to do so had been pitiful.

Now, they’d be together, forever.

..Breakdown
18:38 Mar 12 2008
Times Read: 1,158

..a disparate group of young people are on their way home from a dance on a rainy night, in a mini-bus, which breaks down. When they goto the house on the hill, seeking assistance, a gaunt butler answers the creaking door..

"We need help.. " says one, "our van broke down.!

The butler smiles, exposing brojen, yellowed teeth.

"Do come in and wait," says he, "the masters a whizz with cars, he'll have it fixed in no time."

Contact
13:53 Mar 11 2008
Times Read: 1,170

Don’t you just love magazines like Matchmaker etc … ? I do.

I mean, take last week, I’d had four replies responded, with an invite to meet.

Not a bad average for six letters, for five pound; with a few letters and emails going back and forth.

It’d been the ad. of a woman in Wolverhampton aged 32 that’d caught my attention. She’d been at the head of the five: just ‘coz of the pic that went with it. A brunette, she’d stared at the lens, with a longing, for more.

These thoughts were added to when I’d read the ad. properly: ‘he left for a newer model. Don’t want to sit on the shelf forever…’

Forever is an awful long time.

“Would I be what she’d expect?” I’d mused, as I’d rung the bell.

I’d seen her through the square of frosted glass inset in the door.

‘Anxious?’ I’d wondered.

“Hello,” she’d called out.

“Beverly,” I’d responded, “it’s me, Jack. I wrote. We arranged…”

The chain had been unfastened from the door, then bolts at the top and bottom.

Then she’d opened the door and I think Beverly liked what she’d seen.

“Hi,” she’d said with a shy smile

For my age I like to look good and that night I’d felt as good as I looked.

Her smile had said it all, I’d thought.

“Do come in,” the brunette had encouraged me.

It’d been an old house, converted into flats and I’d been pleased to follow her upstairs.

She’d worn a tight-knit sweater, a mid-thigh length dark grey skirt, stockings and heels. The flesh at the top of self-support hose held my attention, as I’d followed her to her rooms.

Finally at the head of the stairs, we’d turned a right and walked into her lounge; a comfortable room, all bare floorboards and wall-hangings, real nice.

Walking across to the plate glass window, I’d looked out across the river

“Good view,” I’d said, absently gazing out to look at the light ripples on the water.

“It’s what drew us to the flat in the first place,” the brunette had informed me, with a touch of sadness in her voice.

“And now,” I had continued, “we’re here now.”

Here, now? She hadn’t realized the significance of what I’d just said.

I’d then turned, teeth bared as I leapt the few feet it took to reach her; and boy had she tasted good. Sweet almost. A slight iron taste, but not too rich.

Aye, I do like it when one of those little magazines drops through the letterbox, onto the doormat. It’s just like receiving a menu, from your local takeaway.

massage
23:22 Mar 06 2008
Times Read: 1,201

For mature readers





With two fiancée down and a t.v. lover who revelled in being my submissive love, whilst being a master to others, I had decided that I needed to know if I still liked to be with women. That’d been my starting point. But, where to go and what to do? Both of them were good questions. Yet, I’d been working and single, so my options hadn’t been few, that much can be said. So it was, I’d taken myself to a pub in Liverpool and downstairs, called ‘Atmosphere’ and the charms of a Thai lap-dancer, May. She’d a beautiful smile, great body and smelt good. But, there’s still been no contact. And, still the question had burned within: “Did I still like to be with women?” I’d needed, really needed an answer to my question. So, the Saturday after an evening of whiskey, too many cigarettes and looking at beautiful scantily clad and naked women, I had decided to do something about it. I went up the road and to the newsagents and bought a paper, The Sport. And, it hadn’t been the sports section I’d been reading, with my glasses perched on my nose, as I’d read through the personal ads. Eventually finding what I’d been looking for. The best bit? It was quite local. Then time had passed, about four weeks and another pay-cheque in the bank and I’d decided to act, or rather, I’d decided to phone.

“Hello, this is Kate, welcome to…” A welcoming voice had answered.

“I’ve not done this before. I want a massage and…” I’d started.

“Well, we’ll look after you,” she’d responded and I could just imagine her smiling as she had done so.

“This afternoon we have Shelley with us.” Kate had continued. “She’s a blue-eyed blonde, with er.. nice big boobies. She’ll appreciate a first-timer, I’m sure…”

“Er, how much?” I had answered with a quaver in my voice.

“Seventy pounds. Anything else is between yourself and the girl.”

I’d had a little more than that in my wallet, well quite a bit more.

“Er.. can you give me an idea please.. ? So I know how much to bring…”

There’d been a brief pause before she answered.

“About forty…”

I’d checked my wallet again, quickly.

“I’ll be there…” I’d retorted eagerly.

“About how long?” She had enquired.

“About an hour and a half,” I’d assured her, looking at my watch.

“Well, you just ring when you’re nearby, alright?”

“Uh-huh, certainly.”

“It’s the green gate. We’re above the sweet shop, off Poulton Rd…”

“Uh huh, I’ll be there…”

I’d crossed the road, feeling the light rain on my head as I’d done so: and, found the green gate to the left of the sweet-shop. I’d opened it and walked down the small pathway through the overgrown weeds, to the somewhat battered looking door.

Then I’d knocked and waited.

As the seconds had turned into a minute, I’d nearly turned and fled.

I hadn’t though; and when the door opened I’d been glad that I hadn’t.

“Hi, I’m Kate,” the slim to medium build, sandy-haired smiler had pronounced.

“And, I’m nervous.”

“Sorry for the delay ‘nervous’, but I was checking the camera…” She had said as she gestured for me to follow her inside: and I had.

“I’m Kevin.”

“Hello Kevin, some along then. This way…”

She’d led me up a carpeted flight of stairs and I’d happily followed her blue-jean clad buttocks.

“Shelley has someone with her right now. But, he’s a regular and I’m h won’t be long.” Kate had continued, as she led me to a lounge dash reception area and bid me to sit down. I had and loosened my topcoat.

“Nice boots,” I’d observed, having noticed them

“So this is your first time having a … massage?” Kate had asked.

“Oh, I’ve had a massage before,” I’d told Kate, as she glanced toward a t.v. monitor, “just never…

“One with extra’s?”

“Yeah,” I’d replied with a smile.

Kate undoubtedly had real people skills: I’d already started to feel comfortable.

“Do you want a coffee, or tea?” she queried, as she went into the kitchenette and begun to make our coffee.

“Coffee, black, please?” I had requested.

As I’d glanced round, I’d wondered whether Shelley would be a pleasant as Kate was. I had certainly hoped so.

Moments passed, and then finally she’d been back.

“So this is your first time?” Kate asked, as she had handed me my coffee.

“Well, like this…” I’d answered somewhat tongue-tied, “like I said on the phone.”

“And what’s ‘this’ like?” She’d asked with a light grin on her face.

“Much different than I expected,” I’d explained, then added, “but I didn’t really know what I’d expected.”

The room had looked like a residents lounge in a small hotel; and, comfortable.

My eyes had fallen to the monitor, on the floor, next to the phone. On the screen was an image in black ‘n white of where I’d entered a little earlier.

“That’d been a surprise,” I’d said to Kate, indicating it with a pointed finger.

“Well, like I said, we’ve had some weirdo’s around of late. And, I’m here till the when the girls go.”

“You don’t?..”

“Just answer the phone, take the booking’s and…” she’d grinned, “watch out for weirdo’s.

“Like me?” I’d asked with a light grin.

“Oh no, not like you,” she’d responded with a grin, “you’re different.”

‘Different,’ I like different.

Kate undoubtedly had real people skills: I’d already started to feel comfortable.

“Do you want a coffee, or tea?” she queried.

She’d immediately got into my goods books and we’d begun to talk about all sorts of things.

And one of the things we’d spoken of had been what had brought me there. That had been a good question to try answer. But, I’d made the attempt. At explaining something I’d found difficult to explain to myself. By so doing, I found reflection and didn’t notice the time pass at all.

Finally our chat was disturbed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

“Sounds like Shelley’s finished,” Kate informed me, as she had stood.

Shelley had finished with her client.

She’d been blonde, with blue-eyes; curvy in corselet and heels: and, not that tall. In fact, she was much shorter than Kate, even with her heels on.

“Oh-boy I need a piss and a drink. And not necessarily in that order,” she expressed with a long sigh.

She’d removed one shoe, rubbed her foot, as she supported herself against the wall.

“Damn heels. I need the height, but god they ache after awhile.”

“But they do look good on you,” I’d said with a smile as I’d looked at her shapely legs, encased in fully-fashioned stockings.

“Why thank you,” the blonde had said to me, on the way to the kitchenette.

“So who is the gentleman?” she had asked moments later as she had stuck her head round the doorway a bottle of blue WKD in her hand.

“Your next client,” Kate had told her with a grin.

I’d looked from one to the other and caught ‘the look.’

Call it what you will, but they had definitely shared, that look.

“Well give me chance to have a wash up and pee and I’ll be with you, ‘kay?”

Shelley had told me as she set her bottle on the floor and headed for the toilet across the passage-way.

Kate had stood up from the couch, away from where I’d sat.

“I’ll take him downstairs and get things ready hun…”

“Ta babe,” Shelley had responded from where she sat, as the sound of her peeing got louder.

“C’mon then Mr Nervous…” Kate had said, guided me to the stairway by the elbow.

She had led me to a small room, dominated by its bed. The only other furniture was a wardrobe, a nightstand and a chair by the closed curtains covering the windows.

The colours were all pastel shades, a variant on orange.

“Why don’t you get undressed while I get ‘things ready’?”

Undressed?

I’d done so slowly, folding my trousers and placing my shirt over the back of the chair, then my jackets over it. Finally I stood naked with my back to Kate, as she finished putting down two white towels down the length of the bed.

“Have you got the money at hand?” Kate had quizzed.

“Uh huh,” I’d responded, digging into the back of my trousers for my wallet.

I’d removed seventy pounds from it, which I’d handed to Kate, which she’d accepted with a smile.

“Do I give this to you?” I’d asked, as I’d hesitated with the other forty pound in my hands.

“No, you give it to Shelley.”

There I’d stood, naked, discussing finances and I’d been comfortable with it.

That’d been surprising.

‘Was I getting back to my old uninhibited self?’ I’d mused, as she had lit some oil lamps and a couple of joss-sticks.

Very quickly the room had smelt good and the room was warm.

“Now you relax lie down and relax Kevin, Shelley will be with you in a minute…”

I’d lain down as she suggested; and it’d felt okay, lying there. But I’d felt those butterflies of expectation, as Kate’s footsteps could be heard on the steps.

Only a short while had passed, before the bedroom door had opened and Shelley had entered the room and stood at the end of the bed.

I’d looked over my shoulder and there she stood, long blonde hair, in black, stocking and heels, her hands on her hips.

“Do you like what you see?” She’d asked.

‘Did I like you see?’

She’d been all hips and thighs; and, her full boobs had pretty-well overspilled from the material.

Having wondered if I’d being with a woman again, like this; I’d liked what I had seen.

“Do you want them out or in?” She had asked, with a wide smile as she cupped them through the corselet top.

‘Oh-boy, a choice?’

“Out, please?” I’d asked, as if I were a child asking for sweets.

Staring at my intent gaze, Shelley had eased her voluminous breasts from her top. Magnificent.

My mouth had grown dry, as she had teased her nipples with her thumbs.

It had become a desert when she took her left breast in her hands and begun to lasciviously suck at her nipple, gazing at me.

“So do you want your massage then?” She had asked, allowing the breast to fall back to her chest.

“Oh yes please,” I’d enthused, turning to place my chin on my folded hands on the pillows.

Shelley had then walked to the nightstand, removed a plastic bottle and she’d spread oils on her hands.

Her hands had felt good on my shoulders and back and that’s where it had ended really. It wasn’t the best massage I’ve had, but it had felt good.

“Do you want ‘extras then?” She’d asked in a matter of fact way, as she’d rubbed the excess oil onto a towel, she’d taken from a pile on the floor.

“Er yes,” I’d responded eagerly, half-turning, so displaying my arousal, which I’d like to think she appreciated. She hadn’t even glanced my way.

“Did Kate discuss prices with you?” Shelley had queried.

“Yeah, I believe forty will be enough?” I’d asked.

Shelley did I’d requested and held up the money, two tens and a twenty.

“Is that okay?” She’d asked.

“Yeah sure,” I’d answered, as Shelley had poured reached into a bowl on the nightstand and removed a condom.

“We always use these, No matter what you want. Alright?” She quizzed.

I wasn’t going to gamble with my health.

“Sure,” I’d replied, aching to feel her hands on my body again.

Sighing, with my eyes closed, I’d relished the feel of her thigh as she sat next to me, really aware of the warm flesh above her stocking-top against me.

She was very much in control, as Shelley drove my flesh, her heavy breasts swinging in time with her pumping action on my tumescent flesh.

My thighs had begun to tremble as my climax began.

“Well, this isn’t needed,” Shelley had said, pulling the condom off.

Then, sliding her hands up my body, Shelley had increased her ministrations, her oily breasts a delight, as they slid up and down either side of man man-meat.

Finally I’d groaned loudly, as my back arched like an aroused feline, as I deposited pulse after pulse of my cream over her breasts, coating them.

“Well, someone needed that,” Shelley had said as she stood, wiping her breasts down, with the towel she had used earlier.

That day I’d decided I still liked women, a lot.

Then, fancy-free and with money from my job, I’d passed through that green gate many times. Only once did I see someone other than Shelley. It’d been ‘a kid’, whose moves had been far too practised and business-like to me: and, just desirable.

So it was, I’d looked forward to seeing her and her massage.

One time had been really special.

I had had turned up as normal; and waited awhile talking, as normal.

The massage had been perfunctory, but pleasant. And, I’ll say this; her had felt good to me. That’d been interesting; and particularly pleasant when her hands kneaded my buttocks, thumbs ever so near where only a few men and fiancée had been before her. Okay, more than a few mean: and, my last fiancée. But, she’d been the best.

And, it wasn’t her at that moment; it’d been this lady, in a ‘massage parlour’, Shelley.

I’d clenched my sphincter muscles together involuntarily and groaned.

I just couldn’t help it.

And she’d smiled; I’d seen it, as I’d looked over my shoulder at her.

“You really like that, don’t you?” She’d quizzed me, thumbs just teasing me open a little.

And, I’d wondered how much Kate had told her of my experiment. Maybe she’d known all along what I wanted.

I’d moaned into the pillows, gripping the bedclothes, quite aroused, but very frustrated. I just couldn’t say what I wanted, need.

“Please,” I’d entreated, still seeking satisfaction, nay, need it.

“Just lie there,” Shelly instructed as she’d moved away, “I think I know where this is going…”

Shelley had returned to the bed, stretching the fingers of a doctor’s surgical glove, to fit the fingers of her right hand.

“MMmmmmm…” I’d felt languorous, yet needy.

At that moment I’d have done anything she wanted.

Then, staring into my eyes, as I’d looked over my shoulder, she liberally applied lube to the fingers.

“Well, we don’t want to hurt you, do we?” she’d said, with a particularly delightful wicked smile.

Shelley had then circled the bed and knelt on it, to my left.

With her left hand on my right buttock, she’d parted my cheeks, just as I’d turned my head to look at her.

Shelley’s face had borne a look of intense concentration, as she pressed the middle finger-tip, against the tightened muscles of my asshole.

“Oh yes,” I’d gasped, with pleasure, at that fingers slow intrusion. And, back and forth it slid, preparing me for what was to follow.

It was then that I’d realized that a woman could satisfy all my needs: including being taken, like Shelley had done so…

Confession time
17:19 Mar 01 2008
Times Read: 1,216




“I’ll be over in an hour… we need to talk. I need to tell you something…”

Chord looked out the plate glass window, at the crimson sun, setting low in the sky.

“Sounds ominous Jason Chord snarled after she hung up on him.

Eight weeks they’d been dating, yet he knew so little about her. Now this.

Chord felt as if she were going to tell him that they were over, or that she was married; or maybe had a boyfriend in the Mafia; after all Valeska did come from what had been the Eastern Bloc.

His mind whirled with possibilities.

“Crazy stupid twit,” he remonstrated with himself hours later, as he paced back and forth, clock-watching.

Suddenly the bell went and Jason hurried to his door. He peered through the spyhole, it was her, she was here. Now maybe he’d find out what she’d meant, maybe.

The door opened and there she stood, in a long black leather coat, open to show that she wore a purple diaphanous mini-dress. On her legs, she had on black self-support stockings and heavy-looking Black and Chrome Rocker boots.

“Come on through hunnie,” Jason suggested, with a nervous smile.

She followed him through to the lounge and sat on the light tan leather sofa and he sat on the matching armchair to her left.

Hands clasped together, pressed between his knees Jason stared at Valeska.

“Well, what do you need to tell me Valley?” Valley was his nickname for her.

Making as though she were washing her hands together, Valeska looked down at the floor, then back to Jason, staring deep into his eyes.

“You’ve wanted to know more about me, haven’t you?” she queried in an earnest voice: “and it’s a big thing to most people..” she told him quietly.

“Well, I’m not ‘most’ people,” Jason guaranteed, as he leant forward and placed his right hand over her shaking hands, “Go on hun, what is it?”

He was very aware of how cold her hands felt in his.

“Well, the truth isn’t always easy to take…” she continued, in a low voice.

“I can deal with it…” he assured her, smiling warmly.

“I drink blood…” she told him flatly, staring into his eyes.

Jason closed his eyes and sighed.

She looked at him puzzled, expectant of more than just a sigh.

“Is that it?” He asked opening his eyes once more, after a moments pause.

After all the things he’d considered, that was nothing and he told her so.

“Besides,” Jason began, as he stood up, “I have a confession of my own.”

“Go on?” She asked, intrigued.

“I’m a bi-switch, cross-dresser.” He told her, as he poured a scotch.

Her right eyebrow raised a little and Valeska grinned.

Jason was puzzled, like the brunette, he’d expected more of a reaction.

Valeska crossed her legs, showing the elasticated lacey band at the top of her hold-ups and he gulped down the remains of his drink.

“Well,” she started, with a smile, “why don’t you pour us both a drink and we can talk a bit more, about our interests?”