The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Big-Butts and Forbidden Desires
01:52 Mar 30 2012
Times Read: 739

*Contains some Adult Themes



It’d been the rasping of nylon ‘gainst nylon that’d caught my attention and, I had turned my head from the PC to look at her.



There she’d been, that evening, sitting on my black leather couch, legs crossed, suspender showing and, the dark flesh, above the stocking-top and, below the hem of the short pleated plaid skirt caught my eye immediately.



“You do like what you see, don’t you?” Marcella had teased.



And, I might’ve blushed, if someone else had said that: but, not with her.



Marcella and I had been exchanging the most lurid of msg’s soon after we’d ‘met,’ on a Goth-website.



There’s been one msg when I’d mentioned ‘Big Butts and Forbidden Desires’ and, she’d replied that the description fitted her. Well, it’d taken quite some coaxing, but eventually I’d seen photographic evidence of half the statement, with the suggestion hinted at, that I might learn the rest, “in time…”



And, there she had been, sitting on my couch.



Then Marcella had teased, “Normally I don’t cum, this early…”



And spellbound by her presence, I’d only been able to imagine an answer, as I had gazed slowly upward, from her pierced and bejewelled navel, to her full breasts, braless, in an abbreviated white shirt, worn tied off at the ribs. It’d been apparent that she had been as pleased to see me as I was her, to judge from the dark turgid nipples shoring through the white.



“I guess I left the apartment door open…” I had mused aloud, still fascinated by the tempting sight before my eyes.



“I guess you did…” She’d responded, with a smile, that I’d only ever imagined, till that moment. And, it’d been everything I’d hoped it might be.



She’d opened her red lip-stick-coated full lips and slowly licked her pronounced canine and said to me: “Well, you did invite me round, for a bite… didn’t you?”



And all that had been three nights ago. We have our second date tonight: and, this time we’re eating out…

Lastday, plus two
00:33 Mar 26 2012
Times Read: 745




The slim teen with dark hair held a small girls hand, as they stood away from the small concrete building, it’s walls cracked, the windows on all sides shattered.



He followed her upward gaze, as the last of the ships left the airstrip and from inside the shelter the sound of a mournful violin played, each note a small piece of the grand symphony, that was the end of the human’s race, on Earth.



And as the music rose and fell, Adam squeezed his sister’s hand and he smiled: “We’ll be alright Gai…” he told her, a smile on his face and sadness in his heart.



The girl turned her gaze from the leviathan lifting slowly skyward, its bulk seeming to defy the possible, as it attained sufficient altitude to fire up it’s hyper drive motors, that would take weeks to attain their full potential, weeks during which the Earth, the Mother Planet, would finally burn, as the scientists had forecast, decades earlier.



“I know we will,” the little girl pronounced, with a solemn face, as she took the black vinyl disc and placed it carefully in it’s sleeve, as her brother unplugged the record player, which he placed in his suitcase, of battered brown leather.



“You know we have to find shelter, before the storms arrive?!” Adam queried and, the small girl nodded, taking his hand once more, as they walked across the airfield and, toward the hanger buildings, where they had slept for two nights, while waiting to watch the last flight, from Earth.



It had all been forecast decades before the children’s birth, in the time of the global warming. The seas had risen and cities had flooded and then, the Moon had shifted. That had been all that had been needed to the tip the Earth’s climate over a well-balanced knife’s edge. And, far in the apparently black sky a whorl of energy sent out ripples toward Earth, which searched for the new matrix. It had not been found.



Governments had convened, as the weathers severity increased and tsunami, cyclone and tornado tore at man’s cities, levelling much, whilst the waters drowned many.



Thus, Bible Project was formed and, the ships had taken shape; giant ships, capable of taking all of humankind to the stars and, a new home that some said could be found.

Yet, man would have to sleep while he journeyed, such were the distances he had to travel. But, it was the survival of a species and so; he would sleep, as the monstrous ships tore through the vast regions of space needed, to find a new Earth.



Now, the last ship had left and, the Earth was silent, all across the globe.



“Can we go out tomorrow?” Little Gaia asked of her brother, as he stirred the baked beans inside the small pan, over a small gas stove.



They had set the small tent up toward the entrance to the hanger, with its door still open from the ship that had left prior to the one that they had witnessed. The two of them had decided to watch the last leave, playing ‘Song d’Automne’, as a farewell to the old ones. And although they had been left, the two children each somehow knew that the coming storm would bring great change and, perhaps their end, ‘perhaps?’



Adam stared out toward the far horizon as the dark clouds gathered and, he sighed.



“We’ll have to see what the weather brings,” he told his sister, watching the beans boil and bubble: “we’ll… just have to see…”

Storytime {Final Chapter}
16:01 Mar 11 2012
Times Read: 761

Chapter Three



Come the next morning, Kevin had sat before his PC, fingers dancing lightly on the keyboard. He had remembered little of his dreams when he woke. Yet as he typed, recall came with each word he wrote, of three protagonists, each with knowledge and power. He had told the tales of his own life, yet with details added that he could not know, in such detail that he sat back in his chair, in amazement.

And, as he sat back in his chair and gazed at the screen, Kevin had found himself fascinated by all that he’d written with sheer incredulity. He had written of his birth to a single mother, who’d already had a child, to the same married Catholic with four kids of his own. Then he’d written of proving that he wasn’t colour-blind, when he was, so he could join the police. And to join, he’d needed to know his birth name, which had led to him meeting his birth mother. And then, a day later, he’d met his brother by birth. He hadn’t stayed in the police, leaving for the same reason they closed the training-centre – they’d been preaching institutionalized violence and racism. So, he’d become a care assistant and, got engaged with a home ion the ‘Pool. And that is where his desires became fear, that manifest themselves in waking nightmares, every time he would travel on the train; knowing any man’s face of a certain age, on a gaunt fellow with receding hair, might be the man who had spent his seed, then buggered off and left his birth mother with a second mouth to feed. And then, he’d been adopted…

The phone rang, starting Kevin. He had rushed from the backroom, then through the lounge and, into the kitchen, to pick up the receiver and breathlessly ask, “Hello? Can I help you?” It’d been a woman’s voice.

“I’m looking for Kevin Foster. You’re Kevin, aren’t you?”

He hadn’t known the voice and, after the night he’d had, Kevin didn’t know how to answer: finally he’d admitted: “Yes, I am.”

“Did you sleep well?” The young woman had asked; Lara had asked.

“No,” he had conceded; unsure as to why he had.

‘After all, what business was it of her?’ Kevin had mused.

But, he had added, “No, I didn’t.”

“A pity,” Lara had said, hardly sounding as though she meant what she said: “I’d have hoped that the dreamtime might have provided you with some sort of enlightenment, making you ready, to meet your father…”

“My father? My father’s dead…” he’d told her flatly.

“That isn’t true and, you know it…” Lara had told him. And, Kevin could imagine those surly lips smiling.

“He knows that you found your mother and, he wants you to know…” Kevin had listened intently, as she added, “Everything you were told was untrue. There is no way the Lord of The Flies and, Master of Lies, would lie to a son of his…”

Kevin had not answered, ‘What was there to say?’ And, as he’d put the receiver down he could hear Lara giggling inanely…

All of that had been then. Now he found himself tugged in two directions; while down below lay his father’s domain, those seven levels of Hell.

Storytime Chapter Two
13:42 Mar 09 2012
Times Read: 775

Chapter Two



Lara sat naked and cross-legged, midst the circle of candles, their flickering flames causing shadows to dance up her body. In the background Karen Carpenter sang, “I’ll say goodbye to love…” She found the woman’s haunting lament useful at times; at times like this.

Lara picked up the French knife that she’d brought from the kitchen. She held her left hand six inches over the brass goblet and, then drew the blade down her palm.

And as the blood poured from the wound, she closed her hand into a fist, causing the flow to cease and looked down into the goblet; content she had enough for the ritual.

Momentarily she closed her eyes, satisfied with how events were unfolding. She had observed the son, who was foretold to see the father and, take the gift that was `offered. And, he had been unaware of her presence, which was just what Kara had intended.

Lara finished the ceremony, feeling a distinctly-satisfied warmth down below; she then closed her eyes, running both hands over her belly.

Moaning gently, she pictured his face, which would look so much like her Master’s, when he took human form.

And, the young man that she had cast a spell over and had glanced her way earlier in the day would have been surprised to see Lara smile.

It was a smile borne of sheer malevolence.

And as he slept, in a bed made for one, Kevin Foster felt company in his room; company that invaded his thoughts, causing images real and, quite unreal filled his mind. He slept fitfully.

Storytime ~ Chapter One
12:35 Mar 06 2012
Times Read: 789

Chapter One



Left arm outstretched held fast by the hand gripping his wrist, his right arm held in an identical manner, he looked down into the Abyss and, thought back to had it had all started the day prior...

It’d been a blue-sky sunny day and, felt quite mild. Yet, he disliked the day as it was, regretting the fact that he’d had to journey. But, there are certain things you couldn’t do online, even now. So, he’d travelled to town and, having sorted the housing he had taken himself to The George and Dragon for the double-whiskey that he believed that he had earned. And, just as had happened previously, he’d found himself being served by the overly slim young lady, whose hair colour changed on a regular basis. It’d been light green that day. And, as she’d turned to the till after serving him his double of the house whiskey, straight up, he’d been struck once again by the way her ever-so light light-blue jeans, seemed to hang suspended from her bird-bone hips. The fellow had looked to the mirror behind the optics, as he had spent ten whole seconds in finishing his drink. Then, he’d made his way to the station and his train home.

He had soon been waiting out on the station platform, a station that had been built during the Victorian Era, with several wrought iron posts, painted black, which supported the vast awning painted in cream and green, made of wood tiles.

A young woman had stood with her back to railing nearest to the old train-sheds, largely disused now. She’d worn thick black leggings and, large solid looking boots on her feet. The waist-length zip-up black pleather jacket she had worn was open, to show that her tee-shirt was abbreviated and, displayed her belly and bejewelled navel. She had full-bodied shoulder length hair, which she toyed with, using nail-bitten fingers.

‘Perhaps a teen,’ he’d thought, as he had walked to just beyond the shelter of the cream and green roof, where the first train carriage would stop.

The young woman, ‘the teen’ had looked up at his approach and, he’d glanced her way, to check out her face: ‘As you do.’

She’d sad looking eyes and full lips that he could hardly imagine smiling, ever.

He had stood with his back to the post furthest from the awning, next to him the sign giving the stations name. His collar pulled up, the peak of his black leather cap pulled low, his photo-chromatic lenses having darkened to their utmost he stood his hands cupped round the freshly lit smoke.

For some reason he found unfathomable, the man had found himself thinking of the sullen teen, standing behind him, as he counted the minutes passing, while he waited for his train home...

The Incredible Adventures Of Sylvester Merridew ~ Chapter Four [finished]
12:55 Mar 01 2012
Times Read: 804

Chapter Four ~ The Big Sky





By the time Sylvester woke the second time at eight-thirty, the elephants that had woken him with their parade at two had vanished. Yet although they had gone, the echo of their footsteps remained.



‘But,’ Sylvester mused through the fog of his mind, ‘the shops are open and, I have places to go…”



Having ‘something to do’ gave Sylvester the necessary drive he needed, to finish getting dressed.



And, as he wandered about the kitchen in his long-johns making the first tea of the day Sylvester began to muse on those plans; ‘I do have a new cravat to try today, that’ll go with the green waistcoat. And…’ he grinned, ‘maybe I can find some new boots.’



Made of the finest Italian leather, his boots were worn, well-worn, a century or so of worn. But, Sylvester did like them; so they’re been re-heeled and re-soled several times and, at present they were in dire need of attention, again.



‘There’s no two ways about it,’ he mused sipping at his tea, ‘Life with Tabbi has not been kind on my footwear.’ Indeed it had not.



But, today he would look his best, so Sylvester had polished and buffed up his boots, then dusted down his frock coat, proud that it had worn well.



“Unlike me, Sylvester mused aloud. He was realistic; having seen his own reflection earlier, as he tried to restrain a particularly bad case of bed-head syndrome. And, his blue-green eyes danced with merriment, “Old maybe,” he muttered, “but stylish.”



Then having finished his ablutions, Sylvester began to dress.



He donned his favourite white cotton shirt, draped the ochre cravat round his neck, then having removed his dress trousers from their press, Sylvester finished dressing; albeit for the green waist-coat; and his maroon frock-coat, that had been the height of fashion, at one time, sometime.



But he liked the jacket and, it was a memory of Pasttimes: “And Pasttimes were so very different,” he idly mused, whilst he stared into the mirror, as he wound then folded his cravat into place, ‘men would look stylish, back then.’



Tabbi had not shown, which was probably a good thing, for someone. Sylvester was still annoyed somewhat, about the events that had led to his interesting afternoon and, very early night.



“But, this is a new day!” He told himself brightly. “And, I have a bit of a walk on…”

Sylvester added, with a beaming smile.



He slipped into his waistcoat, and then fastened the buttons, from the bottom up. He sat, then eased into his boots, then stood and donned his coat, adjusting it and tugging at it, till any creases fell out: and then, grinning at his reflected visage, he adjusted the cravat a little, so it would stay taut. Finally he felt satisfied with his look.



“Yes, stylish…” he muttered, returning to the sofa and his cold tea, that he finished.

“Think I should have had a coffee this morning instead…” He mused, his sudden burst of adrenalin having dissipated somewhat.



He turned on the teevee and noted the time being displayed on the screen; it was just after nine-thirty and, he had time for coffee. “Yes,” he muttered, hands on his knees as he eased himself upward, every one of his joints protesting, “Caffeine is definitely required…”



He stood up from Tabbi’s battered old couch, stretched then straightened and decided it was time to leave the house.



Then at the end of the road, Sylvester made a point of taking a left turn, as Tabbi had suggested, then ten minutes into his walk a long-haired brunette approached from the direction of town, wearing a black cardigan, a floral summer dress, black tights and calf-length boots, pushing a stroller, as she walked fast: “Excuse me Miss?” He said to her and she stopped, tutting and looking briefly at her watch.



“I want to get to Probe Records, in the city. Am I walking the right way?” Sylvester asked the young woman.



Again she looked to her watch, “I’m on the way to pick up my… Yes, of course you are… mate. Just keep on walking for another five minutes, cross the road walk on for another five, then turn left and on for a few minutes and immediate right and, there you will be… alright?”



“Erm, alright…?” Sylvester responded, trying to picture the directions he’d just heard.



“S’alright, gotta go!” He was told and, suddenly there she was gone, having passed him, going back up the way that Sylvester had walked from.



“Well, that seems crystal clear,” he mused aloud. But, he did as suggested.



Eventually Sylvester approached the area where a young man he had stopped had suggested he’d find the shop and, he found cobblestones beneath his feet.



He found himself thinking back to his own time: “Enough reminiscing,” he told himself, he told himself, “I’ve got research to do…”

He walked down the middle of the road, which surprisingly for Sylvester, had more pedestrians than cars. ‘Just as I’m getting used to cars everywhere, I get to here and, all round this Mathew Street area… there’s… few of them…”

Suddenly Sylvester was pleased that he had come out, on his own. There was so much to see and, learn of. And, there was no Tabbi to explain things to him. Here and Now, he had to find out for himself, ‘Be more independent.’ He liked that.

He passed several red brick buildings as he followed the instructions that the fellow had given him, until he got to the area intended. Then he wandered, amongst the many throng of tourists walking round the streets, looking at the buildings, some with camera in hand.

Finally, at the corner of Button Street he looked toward the shop front; the two columns either side of the doorway. And, atop the doorway, in large balloon-like letters, the legend Probe in red, with a white edging.

It was debateable whether there where four or five steps up to the doorway from the street level, but they were high he thought.

The building was from the time when Liverpool had been thriving, thanks to trade. Now, it looked more than a little run-down, but loved.

Little of the front had not been covered in posters, many very colourful, advertsing local gigs, or records out on local independent labels, like Probe’s own, Probe Plus.

To either side of the shop there were small groups of individuals, discussing the merits of their purchases, or what had been said to them, by a member of staff.

He took all of this in quickly, then filled with a degree of trepidation, Sylvester walked up the steps and into the shop.

Upon entering he noticed a rack just before him containing their 60s psyche, soul and garage vinyl - next to which you'll find all manner of krautrock and progressive stylings.

Sylvester noted with amusement that some of the clothing worn in the album sleeves was remiscent of that which he wore. And, he continined to look around, fascinated by all that he saw and, the many racks of vinyl records filling the wall space.

Occupying a large ammount of the floor space was a colossal ‘Neu!’ boxset - everything they ever did and, somehow more, in one mammoth cardboard box emblazoned with the Probe lettering writ large, as if it were a logo.

He approached the counter, where a young woman was making a sale.

As Sylvester looked round the inside of the shop, he heard a tune he liked. ‘Da-Dee-Dum, Da-Dee-Dum, Da-Da, Duh-Dum…’



He looked up and around, his ear absorbed by the sound, tapping his fingers against the counter-top: ‘Da-Dee-Dum, Da, Da-Dum…’



‘Grrr, I like the sound, but… what is it they’re singing? What is it?’

He looked up and, with momentarily wild eyes, stared into the eyes of the young woman behind the counter.

She was about six inches shorter than Sylvester, with dyed black hair that was drawn oiled and tied back tight, into a pony-tail, that reached past her shoulder blades; with the sides, just before the ear eas shaven nearly to the scalp..

She wore a short leather skirt over stockings, over tights and, red Doc martens on her face the colour of which matched the fluffy jumper and lipstick she wore.

She had brown dancing eyes and and had a friendly smile that stayed on her face even when it was obvious she had been seriously irked. He liked that. She had manners he thought, appreciating that it still existed.

He waited till the sale had been made and the customer had walked away, then coughed into his hand and said, “Excuse me, young lady…”

The woman looked to him and grinned, “I’m not that young and, hardly a lady.”

She noted the shocked look on Sylvester’s face, then quckly added, “So! How can I help you…”



“Miss… what’s this song?” He asked.



Smiling at his manic enthusiasm, she looked up to him, elbows on the countertop, her chin on her palms, “Just listens to the words… carefully, ignore all else…”



He did as she suggested, standing immobile, keen ears alert to what he heard.



Finally, he turned to the young woman behind the counter and said, “The band, the group, who is it?



“Chumuwumba…”



“Chumuwumba?”



“Yes. They’re anti-Thatcher, kinda pro-union and, speak out against homophobia… amongst other thing’s…” She explained: “The songs called Tubthumping.”



Now, Sylvester knew of Thatcher. What was it Tabbi said of her, “She’s disreputable and, her government doesn’t have a mandate to destroy British Industries. ‘At least, that was the polite version,’ he thought with a grin.



‘But that word, Homophobia? What did that mean?’ He was curious, so did as his Mother had taught him and, finally he asked, “What’s homophobia?” And, for a brief second Sylvester heard giggles behind his back, as the end of the song segued into "Love Will Tear Us Apart" by Joy Division.



Sylvester whirled, his manic eyes wider than they had been.



Behind him stood a young man in a black trench-coat, wearing shades and, a lank fringe that fell to his nose. To his left was a young woman of Latin extraction, wearing a leather-jacket, coal-black jeans and, on her feet Doctor Martens.



It was she who had tittered.



“He didn’t know what…” And, before she could say anymore the young woman saw Sylvester inches before her, looking down.



“There’s a lot of thing’s I don’t know young lady. But I do recognise bad manners when I see it. Now…” He turned to the young man with her; “Now, you can either take your woman out of my sight…” he whispered to the young man, so only the Latina could hear, “Or, I will kill her.”



With his eyes, Sylvester caught the young fellows gaze, which he drew down and, the bulge he had mad in his right-hand frock-coat pocket.



The young man didn’t know that all that was inside the pocket was Sylvester’s fist, but he wasn’t going to take chances, so nodded.



“C’mon Tina,” he told the young woman, as he grasped her by the elbow, “let’s go…”



And as they left the shop Sylvester turned back to the counter, withdrawing his right hand from his coat pocket, which he offered to the young woman behind the counter.



Then in a voice just above conversational Sylvester said to her, “Homophobia, what is it? Could you tell me please?”



The young woman took his hand and shook it, “My name’s Liz,” she told him.



“Sylvester…” he responded, then added in a quieter voice, “please, what does it mean?”



“Do you really not know? Where have you been?” She asked, right eyebrow raised.



And, as he looked into Liz’s deep-brown eyes, Sylvester found himself answer honestly, “I travelled here from over a hundred years ago; I live in a squat and, just got back from ten years ago and, travelling with a… group, called Hawkwind…”



He smiled benignly, “Do you know of Hawkwind?”



It was all so-preposterous, yet somehow Liz did not doubt the man. ‘And besides which,’ she mused, ‘his clothes do fit the period…’



Liz nodded.



“Well” Sylvester began, “it took us a year to get our Silver-Machine back and Tabbi and I ended up travelling with them, as roadies and…”



“Wait,” she insisted, grabbing at his left arm, “you roadied with them, ten years ago?’

‘He had to be telling ‘porkpies?’ He had to be…’



He leant forward a little, his face near the young woman’s.



“And let me tell you… Dave Brock’s a twit!” He told her, with his lips mere inches away from hers.



Liz grasped the lapels of his frock-coat, drew Sylvester a couple of inches across the counter and, pressed her lips to his.



At her tongues insistence his mouth opened she took possession of him, with a long, deep kiss. Finally Liz left go of Sylvester’s coat lapels and his heels found the floor once more.



He gasped, drew breath, and then looked to the blushing young woman with a smile.

“That was… quite a kiss Liz. Where did it… come from?



Her right hand flew to cover her mouth, “I’m sorry, so very sorry… I… erm…”



Sylvester grinned, “You’ve nothing to apologise for,” he assured Liz, then added, “It was a delightful kiss…”



She still blushed, but smiled.



“Now,” he began, palms down on the counter-top, “I’d like to know what that word means…”



“What word?” Liz asked, with a frown.



Sylvester chuckled a moment, then replied, “Homophobia, what’s that?”



“You don’t know?” She responded, genuinely surprised.



“Well…” she began, “phobia normally refers to irrational fear, yet definitions of homophobia have grown in recent years to refer to antipathy, contempt, prejudice, and plain hatred…”



“Sounds like it means something to you?” Sylvester responded.



“Well… it is important and, they say it well… better than I would…” she told him, sounding very much like she meant it.



“Uh-huh…”



“Well, it’s like… why shouldn’t someone love someone else, just ‘coz they are different?”



“As simple as that?” Sylvester queried.



“Nah,” she admitted, “it just couldn’t be. Homophobia is where idiots won’t let someone Love who they want… Well, the way I see it, that’s so… you see?”



Sylvester reached forward, and caressed the back of her left hand gently, looking into her eyes, “I see.”



“Erm… erm, erm…” Liz stammered, until Sylvester drew his hand back.



“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you…” Sylvester told Liz quickly, “ just… came here looking for information…”



“What about?” Liz responded, still looking into his eyes of blue-green.

‘They’re beautiful…’ she thought.



“Debbie Harry…” Sylvester told her, then added; “I want to know about Debbie Harry and Blondie… when do you think they were… she was… at her best?”



For him, it should have been an easy question to ask: ‘But, Liz was distracting,’ he reminded himself, with wry amusement.



“When?… Oh yes, the time-machine…” she reminded herself with a smile.



“So, the question is… ‘If I want to hear her at her best, when might you say that was?’” He said to her with a sincere intensity she couldn’t doubt.



‘He’s being straight with me…’ She considered and, then answered him.



“I just sell here. Well, that’s not all really but… if you want to know more than just an opinion, you should be asking Rob over there…” She pointed across the way, to a fellow wearing a red and black striped jumper, over baggy worn workmen cark blue-denim jeans and base-ball shoes. He had dirty blonde hair, worn to the shoulder, young-looking face, easy to smile and had twinkling blue-eyes, which surveyed the shop, as he placed some albums where he felt they should be.



Sylvester wanted to know more. But, he also wanted to know more of Liz. So he told her, “Really, I’m looking for an opinion. And, you do have an opinion, don’t you?”



Although rendered quite stunned by all that this fellow had said to her, Liz was quite unable to doubt him and, she finally found voice.



She smiled and told him, “Uh huh, the owner Geoff. He’s getting ready for the big move to Slater Street. Well, he says I’m full of it. And…” She grinned, “I think he’s being complimentary.”



Then pausing in her speech to draw breath, Liz looked to the counter-top and one of many leaflets piled on the counter. She picked up one.



“Here…” she said to Sylvester, handing him the leaflet and, crossing her arms.



And, for a moment, just a moment it was good there someone else working in the shop that afternoon, because for that moment, Liz forgot all else, bar Sylvester’s expression.



And, as he read the leaflet, Sylvester slowly asked, “The date… please… tell me, is that soon?”



“It’s this coming Saturday… It’s this coming Saturday…”



Sylvester’s eyebrows raised.



“So! There you go Sylvester. Why don’t you go and, discover whether you prefer Debbie Harry live, or on vinyl?” She suggested with a grin.



“This Saturday?” He mused aloud.



“Yes, this Saturday…” She assured him.



“Oh… Now… I…” He stumbled, looking for the right words.



Then, all-of-a-sudden, he found the words he was looking for.



“Liz, will you come with me and be my date?”



The young woman looked at the wild-haired fellow, dressed so smartly, albeit in a most eccentric manner and, she thought hard, for all of ten seconds,



“Yes,” she told him with a smile, “I’d like that.”



“Are you sure?” Sylvester asked, suddenly feeling doubtful.



“I’m sure…” she told him, placing her right hand over his left and looking straight into her eyes, “I’m sure…”



Then, looking at a young man, waiting behind Sylvester waiting to be served, she quickly wrote down on a pad.



Then with a smile, Liz handed him a piece of paper, “My address.”



“I’ll get the tickets today…” he told her, moving away from he counter and allowing the young man behind him to take his place.



“Till Saturday then…” Liz called out, giving a quick wave, as he left Probe.



Then, hours later, when Tabbi returned home, she entered the front room to find Sylvester on the couch, watching Grange Hill on teevee, his long legs draped over the battered old sofa’s arm, his clasped hands behind his head.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked.

“Yes… I guess…” he answered, sounding as tired as he looked.

He rose slowly, telling Tabbi, “Sit down, I’ll make you tea…”

“I’ll make it Sylvester…” she told him, sounding decidely bouncey.

He didn’t mind, so sat back.

As she busied herself in the kitchen, Tabbi called out, “I owe you an apology for not telling you the shops would be shut yesterday…”

Tabbi paused, waiting for a reaction. There was none.

“So as an apology I got you a present. It’s down by the sofa’s back, on the floor, okay?” She added, stirring the spoon in her mug, loudly.

Moments later, Tabbi entered the front room, mugs of tea in hand, smiling as she saw him trying on the new boots she had acquired for him.

“Do you like them?” She asked, hoping he would: feeling that she ‘owed him.’

Sylvester stood and paced the room, looking down at his feet as he did so. Except for the twentieth century fastenings the new boots were similar enough to his old one’s to suit his wants and need.

He looked up to Tabbi, a broad smile on his face, “Yes, I like them…” he told her, “apology accepted…” he added.

“Hug?” She asked.

“Of course…” He told her, opening his arms…