The Prescient - Installment 5

dontravis.com blog post #404

 Those readers from Hong Kong must really dig vampires. They led to pack by 10 to 1. Russia remained in second.

 Last week, Boris returned to succumb to Tancready’s initial demands. Then he fled into the night again… this time naked. What happens next?

 Courtesy of publicdomainphotos.net

 *****

THE PRESCIENT

            As before, the boy kept his distance for a few days before appearing unannounced on my doorstep. Neither of us spoke when I opened the door. Faint bruises beneath his eyes bespoke hours of worry and lost sleep. His aura was wild, fretful, fearful. Yet, he was here. He moved into my living room and turned on me accusingly.

“What have you done to me? What is this hold you have over me? It…it’s ungodly! Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“Is that what you wish?” I asked quietly.

He fought and lost his battle while standing in the middle of a darkened room in my home. “No!” he moaned, clutching me to his breast and kissing me with a passion that took me by surprise.

Ripping off his clothing, Boris took my head in his strong hands to guide me down his smooth torso. I followed his lead, and soon he was feeding my energy with his fluid essence.

“God! It was as good as the first time! Who…are you? How do you make me do these things?

I paused to answer. “I make you do nothing you do not already crave.”

“No. Yes. No! He staggered backwards, his eyes widening with the shock of understanding. “You’re going to make me do it to you, aren’t you? You’re going to make me fuck you?” He gave me no time to reply. “Are you going to do it to me too?”

I flinched at the anguish in that question. “Only when you want me to, Boris. And you will … eventually.”

“Who are you?” he cried again. “A-are you who I think you are?”

“And who is that?”

“One of those creatures Grandpa Balint used to talk about.” Boris moved away from me, his dilated eyes full of doubt. “That can’t be! Those are nothing but old wives’ tales. Folklore. Oh, Lord,” he exclaimed, pacing restlessly around the darkened room, oblivious to his naked beauty. “What am I saying? This is the twenty-first century. This is the good old US of A. I … I’m a modern guy.” He halted and indulged in a sour grimace, which turned him absolutely fetching. “I’m just all messed up over getting it on with a guy. That’s all; that’s all it is.”

“Do your sexual regrets usually span days?” I asked quietly.

“No, but this was with a man!”

“Boris, at a guess, I’d say that half the male student body at the university has had an experience with another male, and they do not appear so agitated.”

“Yeah, but…but I came back for seconds.” He resumed pacing again. “Something’s not right. I gotta figure this out. Gimme my photos, my prints, Tancready. I’m not coming back. Not ever!”

I gave him a doleful smile and handed over an envelope from the coffee table. “Yes, you will. Here are your film and the prints. But be warned. Every time you view them, you will remember this magnificent experience.”

“Never!” he breathed and once again headed out the door naked.

“You are welcome in my home any time, Boris Balint.” I sent a tentacle toward him and viciously drew on his energy. He reeled against the doorframe and stumbled outside.

#

He was back within a fortnight, wild, disheveled, and at the edge of his sanity. As I opened the door, shading my sight against the sudden light, he pushed his way inside. Immediately, he turned fretful.

“Why am I here? I’ve got no control anymore, Tancready. My life’s gone to hell in a handbasket. I broke up with my girl. My grades have taken a nosedive. I can’t sleep. Eat. Do anything. And it’s all your fault!”

He stopped directly in front of me, his eyes flickering as his suspicions fell into place. “You’re one of them. A Vampire! God, I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud! But nothing else makes sense! How you make me do what I don’t want to do! How you got me to talk to you in the first place even though I knew I shouldn’t.” That sent a look of surprise across his handsome face. “How did I even know it was wrong to talk to you?”

“You are a Prescient,” I replied. “A human who is sensitive to Eternals.”

“Eternals,” he laughed harshly. “Vampires, you mean. That explains so much. You can’t stand the light; you wear those damned shades all the time. You live in the dark! But…” he hesitated. “I thought you burned to a crisp in sunlight.”

“False folklore,” I scoffed. “I have difficulty, but I can function by day.”

“That’s why you cover up with clothing,” he seized on the point. “And another thing … I drove like a madman the other night, but you beat me back to the campus. I sensed you. How did you get there so fast?”

“I have other means of travel,” I answered vaguely. I saw his look. “No, I do not fly around like a bat.” I stroked his smooth cheek; he looked panicked but suffered my touch.

“Maybe not, but you can see in the dark like one, pick a flying insect out of the air with your radar. And you feed off people, Tancready. I’ve seen it! You draw from them…drain them. You’ve done it to me.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I feed my energy by drawing from others. But I always sought to spare you, Boris. Your power is your cum, your seed.” I rubbed my thumb across his mouth.

His eyes became saucers, and his aura flared. He feebly batted my hand away. “I’m a fucking meal to you?”

“What I take from you, I am willing to give to you.” I parted his lips with my finger, raked a nail over his teeth.

He struggled a moment, and then his broad shoulders slumped. He licked the end of my finger. “You want me to blow you, don’t you?” The spirit was gone from his voice.

“I want you to taste me, as I have tasted you. I want to imbue you with my power.”

Tremulously, he opened the robe I wore and ran his hands down my chest. “I didn’t know Vampires were handsome… like men,” he mumbled befoe moving to lick my sternum. His moist lips were electrifying; his touch set off sparks. I was so swollen I thought it might burst. He was awkward and inexperienced, but ultimately quite successful. Afterward, I knelt to embrace him, cooing in his ear as he fought his emotions.

“Giving pleasure, begets pleasure,” I philosophized inanely.

The boy rose to his full height, every inch a man. “I can’t believe it! You made me do it!” Alarm flooded his halo. “Will I be all right?”

“You will be fine. As much as I would like you to stay the night, my beautiful Boris, I think you should return to your dorm. Try not to fret. Get some rest and return to me this weekend. There is much for me to teach you.”

He dropped his head into his hands for a moment and then looked at me again. “You want us to do it, don’t you? I mean really do it! You’re going to make me fuck you! And you’re going to do it to me!” His hand suddenly went to his neck. “You want my blood, too, don’t you?”

I responded quietly. “You must trust me not to harm you.”

“Trust you?” he demanded. “Yeah, Tancready. First, you take away my power to resist. Then we do this. Now you want my fucking blood! Will it turn me into…a creature like you?”

I shook my head slowly. “No, that is another lie told over the generations.” I brushed his hand away and fingered the pulsing vein in his throat. He shuddered. “Go now, Boris, with the certain knowledge that I love you beyond all things. And when you return, you will understand my meaning.”

I was sated when he left me and had no need to prowl for partners, willing or unwilling. Nonetheless, I went to the campus to see that he arrived safely. As he entered the dormitory, I could tell my handsome young Prescient was aware I hovered near.

*****

 Tancready’s drawing the delicious Boris deeper and deeper into his net. Now he’s not only had his way with the lad, he’s forced Boris to reciprocate, driving him away in a panic yet again. But something is different now. Boris has put a name to his tormentor/lover. What more does Tancready want? Maybe we’ll learn next week.

 The following are buy links for my last BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal.

 Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

 https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

 See you next Thursday.

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday at 6:00 a.m. Mountain time.

The Prescient - Installment 2

dontravis.com blog post #401

  

Courtesy of Pikrepo.com

As a matter of interest, I went back and checked and this is actually the 459th post on this blog. I didn't bother counting for the first year, so am coming up short. 

Hope you enjoyed the beginning of Tancready’s story last week. Have you looked up the word “prescient” yet? Don’t worry, Tancready will tell you what one is. Could be a bane… or a boon.

Let’s get to the second installment.

  

*****

THE PRESCIENT

Born the seventh son of an Upir, a Russian Vampire Prince to a mother who was also an Eternal, I came squalling into this world with my head hidden by a caul. Thus was my fate sealed; I was given the kinetic challenge of all Vampires, inverted circadian rhythms and odd body cycles that bring temperature peaks and sleep hormones at unusual times, thus dictating that I was a night creature on a biochemical level. Even so, I can function in daylight, although with difficulty. Sunlight is painful, whether or not it reaches my skin. My eyes are ultra photosensitive, which gives me marvelous night vision, yet renders me myopic in normal light. Although shaded eyewear lessens that condition, I am most comfortable during sunlit hours in repose, not in some draconian coffin, but comfortably abed in a well-shrouded room.

Amassing huge amounts of wealth during an endless series of lives presented no difficult challenge; however, reclaiming it upon each new emergence was trickier. I was careful that adequate assets remained available to me regardless of where they were concealed at the time. Most of my many lifetimes were spent ranging from Russia to Europe, with long periods in the Hungarian Carpathians and Transylvania. The persistent, amorous pursuit of a Romanian strigoivii, a live witch who became a Vampire upon her death, hounded me out of the Old World and into the New. I had been in the Western Hemisphere for the past century and in this unassuming place called New Mexico for a fifth of that time. Why this place? Why not? Except for some of the more remote northern mountains where Penitentes held sway, Vampires, even pranics, were merely the stuff of novels and films.

Now, as I prepared for the ordeal of a daytime pursuit of the fair Boris, I examined one of my more exotic treasures, an ornate Arabic chess set, observing its intricate carvings with renewed pleasure. Then, moving through a secret dimension denied to ordinary mortals, I arrived instantly on the university campus in a sheltered spot near what is quaintly called the Duck Pond. Recovering my equilibrium, one of the effects of my unorthodox mode of transportation, I scanned the area near the near the path Boris Balint would shortly tread if the past was any true measure of the future.

Troubled by our near encounter last night, I puzzled over the possible reasons for my disquiet as I placed the inlaid board on a backless concrete bench shaded by an evergreen bower. Carefully arranging pawns and pieces, all fashioned of ivory, ebony, silver, gold, and Persian turquoise, I grew irritable over the unwelcome attention of passing students drawn by the marvelous old set. I discouraged most with subtle tendrils of hostility and put off the boldest with a display of cold curtness. Anticipation always brought out the unpleasant side of my nature...unless, of course, it is narrowly focused on a particular target. At last, a long, manly stride bore the beautiful Boris into view.

As he came within eyesight, his calm aura flickered. At fifty feet, I washed the boy in the aura of friendship and congeniality, seeking to smother the orange of his alarm. Gradually, his emanations subsided, and he slowed as he spotted my irresistible bait—the ancient set. Appearing reluctant, he nevertheless approached across the horribly bright green grass.

“That’s a gorgeous set. Unusual,” he observed in a voice that came up out of his belly like a mature man’s. His slate gray eyes examined my present persona, a slender, aristocratic man of approximately thirty, possessed of dark good looks.

“I acquired it years ago at a New York auction,” I lied smoothly. In truth, I took it as booty from a slain Moorish emir when Ferdinand and Isabella’s troops, of which I was one, sacked a castle in Leon. “You may examine it, if you wish,” I added graciously.

Instantly, he laid the camera he carried on the bench and slid his long legs astride the concrete slab. Rather than touching the board, he examined the positioning of the pieces and looked up at me with a question in his eyes. Regretting my need for the dark glasses that prevented me from directly engaging his beautiful orbs, I satisfied his curiosity.

“Capablanca versus Corzo, 1901, Havana. End game. Ninth match game.”

“Capablanca was just a kid, wasn’t he? A prodigy.”

“Twelve at the time. He won.”

Only then did Boris carefully cradle an exquisite ebony Knight trimmed in gold and silver in his strong, brown hand. Gypsy blood likely coursed with the Hungarian in those pulsing veins.

“Beautiful. How old is it?”

“It is likely Arabic, but possibly Persian, dating from circa 1100.”

“Geez, almost a thousand years old!” His husky voice was rich with awe.

“Do you play?”

“Love it!” he enthused. “But I’m not very good.”

“Black or white?” I asked by way of invitation. He hesitated only a moment before claiming the white.

The boy was an instinctive player, and with tutoring could become quite good. I beat him readily the first game, and then critiqued his handling of the pieces. His enthusiasm fired, we undertook another game while I nearly swooned from the effort of refraining from draining his energy. Eventually, onlookers gathered, and I sent my thirsting quests toward them, sopping up their energy while refracted sunlight bled away my own.

By the end of the third game, I was sweating and weakened, but by the effort of pure will, I held onto the self-possession needed to advance to the second phase of my plan. “You carry a camera, I see.” I pointed to the instrument between his exciting legs. “Canon Z155 thirty-five millimeter. Nice.”

“I’m sort of a shutterbug,” he said with a depreciating grin that sent blood rushing to my head.

“I have some equipment that might be of interest. I own some Leicas. A M7 Rangefinder, for example.”

“Wow! That’s worth a couple of grand.”

“And a Hasselblad 205. Also some Japanese equipment, but I prefer the German lenses.”

“Man, I’d give my eyeteeth for a Leica. I found a Minilux Point and Shoot for five hundred the other day, but my budget doesn’t stretch that far.”

“Perhaps you would like to go shooting some afternoon. I will be happy to allow you the use of some of my cameras.”

Uncertainty scrolled across his fine features. His aura flared in warning. He ran an agitated hand through his shaggy brown locks. He was fighting a furious battle without knowing or understanding it.

I quickly extended my arm. “My name is Tancready,” I announced, exuding all the magnetic charm I possessed, which was considerable. His hand closed around mine firmly. Washed in the yellows and golds of my will, he relented.

“Sure. I’d like that. My name’s Boris. Boris Balint.”

“Ah, Hungarian,” I noted.

“Way back, maybe,” he grinned engagingly. “Well, my great-grandfather, I guess. I probably know more about my mother’s people.”

“Spanish?” I ventured. “No, let me guess. Pyrenees Gypsies.”

He laughed. “Right. Mountain people all the way.” He began to look uncomfortable, so I reluctantly released his manly grip.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, and I am free,” I ventured.

“I guess I could,” he said hesitantly. “No classes. Can I try the Leica?”

“Of course. I have a Minilux such as you described that I will bring along.”

“Great!” he allowed his enthusiasm to surface, costing me my control. I drew energy from him before I could stop myself. He wilted visibly, but quickly drew on reserves. After we made arrangements, he walked away with vivid, warning blues among the more pacific hues of his halo. I watched him hungrily.

In years past, I was a bloody Vampire, although my donors were voluntary and survived my feeding without lasting harm. None, for example succumbed to that ridiculous old wives’ tale that the bite of a Vampire created a Vampire. Preposterous! Were it so, the preponderance of the global population would be Eternal after all this time, undoubtedly overwhelming the world’s resources and dooming us all … Eternal or not.

It took half a millennium, but I discovered another powerful source of pranic energy and rarely opened human veins thereafter. That source was semen, the distillation of the essence of a man…his cum. Since then, I prefer the company of men, young men, mature men, seniors. But the most powerful and intoxicating elixir is the seed of a youth in his sexual prime. And this I needed from Boris Balint. But there was also a strange, long dormant stirring deep within me that I recognized as a yearning for the taste of his rich, ruby blood. Only a Vampire can directly absorb the life energy of blood. After all, as the Bible correctly states, the blood is the life!

Harvesting a man’s semen for the maintenance of my life force exposed me to yet another danger. The human’s irrational terror of Vampires is matched only by his homophobic fear of deviants. The pursuit of a man’s seed resulted more than once in the hasty use of my other dimension to escape the wrath of closed minds.

*****

I sincerely hope there wasn’t too much black space in the foregoing, but hopefully, you persisted. Tancready has now made contact with the beautiful Boris. Determined two areas of common interest—chess and photography. Now can he reel in the young man, who seems unusually aware of the vampire… given his aura’s colors and tentacles. Could he be a prescient? Patience, an explanation is coming.

Next week… more Tancready.

The following are buy links for my last BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal.

Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com.

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

See you next week.

Don

New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. Mountain time.

THE PRESCIENT – Installment 1

dontravis.com blog post #400

  

Courtesy of Pxfuel.com

Thanks to everyone who congratulated me on the acceptance of The Cutie-Pie Murders for publication. Thanks to Dreamspinner Press for that bit of news.

This week, and for a couple following, I’ll again step out of my usual genre of writing. This is a short story about a vampire. Yes, you read right. A vampire. Not the Bela Lugosi portrayal, but still a bit spooky. In this first installment, you’ll meet Tancready—as he’s called himself for the last two hundred years. Prior to that, he bore other pseudonyms. Shall we start?

*****

THE PRESCIENT

From a park bench cloaked in the deep shadow of night, I observed the progress of the quasi-organized brawl these people called baseball, a neighborhood game of frequent bawdy disputes, usually resolved just short of mayhem. Despite the throbbing pain occasioned by bright, glaring pole lamps, only marginally eased by heavily smoked glasses, the raucous vigor and raw emotions of the rowdy participants were ambrosia, feeding my vortex, easing the gnawing of a voracious hunger and restoring my pranic energy sufficiently to dull the edge of my depression, a condition I often suffer.

Yet, even the massed force of those straining, sweating, cursing young men on the field would not sate my appetite—not completely. For that, I required an intimate confrontation with the tall, wiry young man with the broad Magyar brow generations of New World blood had not significantly altered. This youth, whose towering aura occasionally flickered in my direction, surpassed the collective beauty of all who cavorted on the field.

My name is Tancready, although that is not the appellation bestowed at my birth in 1047 Anno Domini. While not my first alias, Tancready is the one that has served for the last two hundred years. I am an Eternal, or if you prefer, a Vampire; not the idiotic caricature of fiction or the loathsome, bloody fiend of legend who stalks the unwary with deadly intent, but one of a miniscule elite who escape the usual constraints of humanity. I exercise an eccentric lifestyle and develop unorthodox relationships, such as that I seek from the most uncommonly beautiful human I have encountered since the Italian Renaissance, the youth I patiently stalk.

Over virtually a millennium, I have endured many lifetimes, embracing death often over the centuries, but true to my ilk, I endlessly return from the earth to assume another name, another persona. I endured Vlad the Impaler’s tortured reign and witnessed his assassination. I died at Hastings with the Conqueror’s army and attended Henry’s knights as they slew Thomas à Becket at Canterbury, fought with the Mongols on the Steppes when Temujin became Genghis Khan. I battled the Emperor in Russia and again at Waterloo. I died at the hands of German Nazis at Stalingrad. I have seen … lived … momentous history!

The game on the sports grounds ended in a pungent burst of sweaty enthusiasm as redolent as a potent Russian brew. The field began to clear, and the terrible lights slowly died, allowing my photosensitive eyesight to regain its sharpness. Body vibrating, nimbus soaring, the boy approached on the paved walkway, his corded arm riding the shoulders of a young lady. The easy, comfortable companionship between the two elicited an instant and unintended burst of energy from me. The boy’s rich luminescence, yellow with affection and friendship for the creature under his arm, suddenly flashed red as he crossed the path in front of my sheltered bench. Tentacles reached toward me uncertainly. I quickly reined in my raging jealousy and sent a more benign form of kinetic energy toward him, seeking to block his unconscious curiosity. I overdid it, as was frequently the case; he visibly staggered, but recovered and continued across the park, his aura drawn close against his body. His flesh, I knew, would be puckered in a case of ‘heebie-jeebies,’ in today’s pedestrian vernacular.

The boy was aware of me now, too much so at this point, although he had no real understanding of that fact. Nonetheless, I would need to proceed carefully. His name was Boris Balint, a good Hungarian patronymic miraculously not yet Anglicized into Valentine. Born in the northern New Mexico mountains twenty years past, he now attended classes at the university in Albuquerque. His passions were chess and photography. All this and more, I knew from clandestine midnight visits to the university records room. Chess, I decided, would be my gateway into his life.

As my quarry passed from sight, my energy level dropped precipitously. Edginess and irritability, frequent companions, returned until I focused on a distant figure on the field. My need honed to a keen edge, I moved toward the sleek young Hispanic responsible for securing the game equipment. Anticipating the touch of his smooth, dark flesh, I literally salivated. He was at that brief age when adolescent mestizos were as pretty as girls yet exuded the budding machismo of their elders. Delicious!

Although he had not yet seen me, the youth demonstrated a sharp alertness as he slowly turned from the equipment shed to nervously scan the darkened pathway. I flooded his slender form in tentacles of friendship yellow and purple desire, overpowering the fearful red of his suspicion. His resolve faltered, and enveloped in my powerful sexuality, the boy obediently trailed me into the deep shadows behind the equipment shed. Without physically touching him, I pulled him to a halt before me. He swallowed hard.

“What is your name, my beautiful young friend?”

“Car…Carlos.”

“Ah, Carlos. You bear a noble name.”

He flinched at my hand on his cheek. No sign of a beard. Beautiful. The boy stood hypnotized while I stripped him naked in the cool, high-desert air. My sensitive fingers traced the broad, bony shoulders, the curve of the thin chest. His heart raced at my touch. I inhaled the push of air from his diaphragm as I slid down the gently bowed belly. He awakened at my touch. Well-endowed for one so young and slight, the boy responded readily.

Young Carlos moaned, torn between fright and desire. I wrapped my physical arms around his waist and pulled him to me, allowing the salt of recent sweat, the aroma of strenuous exercise and sexual arousal to tease my nostrils pleasantly. His hands closed on my head; his hips twitched. He was lost, and I was greedy for his fresh young semen.

The youth’s thin frame jerked in the throes of an orgasm he would fruitlessly strive to match for the remainder of his days. Shuddering, this fledgling Carlos, this namesake of powerful kings and emperors, would have fallen had I not eased his weight to the ground. I contemplated arousing him again, but he was drained beyond quick recovery. Satisfied for the moment, I disappeared into the night, leaving the boy naked and spent. I smiled to myself. The boy’s seed, while sweet, had yet to reach the peak of potency. The lad was an immature eighteen; in a year or two, his sperm would ripen.

*****

Hope that was enough to rouse your interest. Let me know what you think of the start of Tancready’s story.

The following are buy links for my last BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal.

Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)

                                                                                                    

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

See you next week.

Don

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