This week, Chucky Wendig’s flash fiction challenge involves cocktails. Meanwhile, a twitter pal who shall remain nameless to protect her virtue made a request for some “vampire porn.” I’ve never tried the vampire thing before, not really my deal, but what the hell. So here you go.
You’re a different species, that’s what you tell yourself, after the change. What were your friends or at least your phylum; they are now your prey. It’s the only way to think of it and not go mad. And so you excuse your new appetites.
But there is time. Your whole existence had been wound by the spring of mortality, the inexorable gravity of the grave pulling every life downhill with a breathless acceleration you’d never noticed until it was gone. The impatient ambition born of knowing the sand in the glass was ever emptying.
Now, a day is no longer an increment but a cycle. The sun rises, the sun sets, it is dark, it is light, but you are no older, there is no older. So you feed, and you change, and the distance between what you had been and what you have become widens until it is a gulf across which even memory no longer travels and you are fully what you will be, evolved beyond every vestige of your abandoned humanity, beyond any human want or need or remembrance.
Her menses saved her, that ambrosial cocktail of blood and female essence that snapped you back across more than a century of timelessness into a sudden recollection of humanity, a fierce retelling of the warmth and immediacy of human need, the memory of flesh not between your teeth, but between your lips, your legs, that forgotten compelling tumescence and its attendant urgent madness. That scent in that last possible moment, you behind her, her shoulders in your grasp, the alabaster curve of neck, your teeth a millimeter away from what for decades had been only the membrane between your appetite and your fulfillment, and suddenly it was again skin – skin in all its warmth, in its supple magnetic attraction, and you no longer wanted the blood beneath it, but just more of it, and you tore away the dress and the undergarments and you and took the flesh of her breast into your mouth for the first time in all these years to sate something other than a lust for blood; and you sensed her own swelling, involuntary response, her surrender, and she was beneath you and open and drawing you in with the same savage gravity with which you once felt the pull of the grave, and you finished, your unholy seed spent, and you left her with her blood not on your tongue, but instead on what once had been your manhood and you wondered by what philosophy you now could justify yourself as other than the aberration you had been made and you knew the kinship with these creatures that you had so long denied was still true, and that there was some god in whose eyes you were sin itself, and that it was no longer the grave that drew you but damnation, and that the empty cycle of day and night, of light and dark that you so long had embraced was the sterile eternity of hell, and so you abandoned the imagined safety of your accustomed darkness, standing unprotected to welcome the purging fire of the rising sun that would at last free what soul you might still possess into the timeless rest of the void.
If you like your vampire porn aural, you can get the audio version of Bloody Mary right here. Bloody Mary