dontravis.com blog post #412
Last week ended with Chad standing on the porch of a remote home with a weird stranger. Antonescu asks if they can go inside.
*****
NIGHT FRIENDS
“Sure,” I said, fumbling with the Multiple Listing keybox. It took a little longer than it should have, but we were soon inside. Antonescu donned a heavily smoked, wrap-around pair of shades and made a slow, methodical round of each of the rooms.
Within thirty minutes, he turned to face
me. “I like it. It will serve me nicely. Do you think an offer of three hundred
thousand would be accepted?”
“I don’t know,” I answered frankly. “The
listing agent says they’re motivated.”
“Motivated,” he repeated softly. “That
means they are anxious to sell. Perhaps I should lower the offer.”
“Motivated, not crazy,” I said quickly. “It’s
listed at three hundred fifty and is worth every nickel.”
“Do you suppose a deposit of twenty-five
thousand would convince them that Antonescu is serious?”
“Couldn’t hurt, but it’s excessive.”
“Good. Perhaps it would be of inestimable value,” he said with a small
smile at the corners of his broad mouth. It was, of course, a play on his name.
I grinned to show that I got it. “I think I shall walk through once again,” he
announced.
I tagged along behind him, noticing that
he removed the shades, but did not turn on the lights we had carefully snapped
off as we left each room. The darkness didn’t seem to bother him as he absently
noted that this or that piece of furniture would fit here. When he reached the
master bedroom, I hesitated at the door, reluctant to enter for some reason.
Antonescu halted in the middle of the room
and turned to face me. He was swaddled in darkness, the pupils of his eyes
picking up errant shards of light and reflecting them back at me. He stood
waiting silently.
I had an unreasonable urge to flee, but my
feet were rooted to the carpet. I swallowed hard as something swirled around me
in the darkness, caressing my body, gently propelling me into the room. My
shroud was warm and comforting, and in some manner emanated from the dark,
still form standing in the room. Puzzled by my helplessness, uncertain of what
I wanted, I moved to him, reaching a tentative hand to his breast. The moment
my hand touched the soft, expensive suede of his jacket, I suffered a desire so
intense that my sudden erection threatened to burst the seams of my trousers.
Strong, gentle hands pulled me into his
embrace. His lips brushed my neck, and I had a moment of discomfort until they
moved to my jaw, my cheek, and finally, to my mouth. The intensity of his kiss
robbed me of all strength. I slipped to the floor, his strong arms easing my
fall. He lay beside me, long, tapered fingers exploring my face.
“You are truly a handsome man, my love,”
he whispered. So desirable. So manly, so…vulnerable,” he finished, bending to
kiss me again while his hands loosened my shirt, my trousers.
It was as if no one had ever handled my
manhood before. His touch sent sparks throughout my body. He slowly moved down
my torso, exciting every part of me as he went.
Recovering my senses, I made as if to push
him away, but his mouth closed over me, robbing me of my will. I was his, and
he knew it. I sprawled across the carpet, helpless before my desire…his desire. And then my moment arrived,
and never had I experienced an orgasm so intense, so powerful, so enervating. I
thought it would never end, and when it did, I was exhausted, unable to move.
“Be easy,” he cooed in a calm, sure voice.
“This wa an act of love, Chad…my own St Chaedda. My beloved. Can you not feel
the love between us?”
I fought to raise some protest, some
feeling of revulsion, of outrage, but it would not come. I lay naked beneath
him as he straddled my body and offered himself.
The next few minutes should have repulsed
me, disgusted me, shamed me, but they did not. I was eager for him, desiring
him as I’d never lusted after another… man or woman. My world shrank to the
strong, handsome man atop me, what he was offering me, what I was taking from
him. His calm voice guided me, but I heard him only dimly.
Finally, he rolled off me and lay at my
side. Despite his exertions, his breathing was not particularly labored,
whereas, I puffed and sucked oxygen.
“That was your first time?” It came out
something between a statement and a question.
“Y…yes,” I stammered, feeling ten years
younger than my true age, like a fumbling adolescent anxious to please rather
than a mature, sexually experienced man.
“You were magnificent,” he said gently,
his hand stroking the small tangle of hair between my nipples. Your semen is
thick and strong. A man’s seed.”
“Doesn’t it all taste alike?” I asked.
“No,
not at all”
I frowned. “You do this with a lot of guys?”
He rose on an elbow and gazed through the
darkness into my eyes. “Only with those I care for.”
“Come on,” I tried to make light of it. “You
don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. I know that I’m attracted
to you above all other men. I know that I want you again and again. I know that
I want you to save your semen for me…only for me!” His voice gained in
intensity. “Do you understand?”
“Wait a minute!” I protested. “I’m not a
queer! I like women. I’m a man!”
He laid a strong hand over my mouth. “That
you are! A real man! If you were not, I would have no interest in you. But you
learned something about yourself tonight, St Chad. Admit it! You liked what we
did. You’ll like what we do in the future. You will come to love me, Chad Quarles!
You will see!”
“I scrambled to my feet and clawed my
clothing more or less into place. “This is a one-time affair! I’m not gonna…”
“Ahhh, my beloved, but you will. We will
do things you cannot even imagine.”
Suddenly repulsed, I ran out of the house to
my car tore out of the driveway in a panic with a strange finger of fear puckering
my back as I roared off into the night.
I was skittish the remainder of the week. Every
time the phone rang, I jumped. I flubbed a perfectly straightforward sale on a
small, two bedroom, and was a wreck by the time Friday afternoon rolled around.
What little calm I had managed to restore to my shattered life evaporated when
the receptionist handed me my mail. I knew before opening the expensive, cream-colored
envelope with no return address that it was from Ariel Antonescu. As I unfolded
the letter inside, a certified check fluttered to the desk. I picked it up. Fifty
thousand dollars! The guy had been serious. He’d even doubled his outlandish
deposit.
Grabbing the phone, I reached the listing
agent phone before he left his office and gave him the offer on the house. He
was impressed by the news that I held a sizeable deposit. The man, whom I knew
slightly, promised to call me at home on Saturday with an answer.
My hand was shaking as I hung up, and I
sat in the nearly deserted office allowing myself to finally think about what I
had blocked from my mind. I sat up straight in my chair as Moose’s words came
back to me. “A fucking vampire, that’s who he is!” Those were his words. Impossible!
They didn’t exist. They were the stuff of legends and novels. Slowly, I reached
for my keyboard. Accessing the Internet, I pulled up a search engine entered
the word, ‘Vampire.’
My boss, normally the last one to leave,
checked out and said goodnight around eight. I hardly heard him. What I had
found rattled my bones. It had taken a couple of hours to sift through all the
bullshit and find gold.
Apparently stories of vampires began to
appear about 1047 A.D. There were the usual references to Vlad Dracula, or Vlad
the Impaler. I read about Elizabeth Bathory, tried and convicted of the vampire
killing of several hundred girls. Something called the de Masticatione Mortuorum, some sort of German vampire text, was
briefly described. I read about Fritz Haarmann, the Vampire of Hanover’s arrest
and conviction for killing more than 20 people. There were vampire legends,
vampire stories, vampire novels. There were descriptions of Kali, the Indian vampire
goddess, of a Gypsy incarnation called the Black Goddess. There were Slavic
vampires, Romanian Strigoli, gypsy mullos, Camazotz, the bat god of the caves
in South America.
I found the nugget among the gold grains
in material claiming that there were modern vampires among us today. And things
finally began to make a screwy kind of sense. It did not speak of legions of
the undead stalking the unwary or horrible creatures turning themselves into
bats and flying away into the night. It reasoned that vampires share a physical
existence on the human plane yet are not quite human. They appear eccentric to
others...to mortals. Eccentric… like Antonescu.
A vampire is born with an extraordinary
capacity to absorb, transform, and manipulate something called ‘pranic energy’
or life force. Among the prime sources of such energy are fresh blood and a
man’s semen! Like Antonescu.
A vampire had psychic ability, absorbing
vibrations from everyone, becoming an involuntary vortex, draining all energy. Like
Antonescu sucking the life out of everyone in the bar, leaving them numb and
lethargic. Like Antonescu draining my energy and leaving me exhausted. Like Antonescu
drawing even the smoke in the air into his vortex!
A vampire is selfish and seeks to control
others. Like Antonescu telling me he wanted my semen for himself alone.
A vampire functions in the night because
of photosensitive eyesight and an upside-down internal clock. Like Antonescu
wanting to meet me only after dark, wearing shades as we turned on lights in the
house as we inspected it.
A vampire may or may not take blood, but
if he does, it’s to gain energy. Like Antonescu licking my neck, making me
suspect that he had been about to bite me.
A vampire may travel through a dimension
undetectable by humans. Like Antonescu arriving at the show home without a car.
A vampire may have tremendous sexual
energy, exchanging this force with another, who is attractive to him. Like Antonescu
coercing me into unwanted sex.
The next sentence sent chills down my back
and ice into my bone marrow. A vampire
may establish a long-term relationship with a single person who derives
satisfaction from being a psychic servant or martyr!
*****
Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
The following are buy links for my BJ Vinson mystery The Voxlightner Scandal. The next one, The Cutie-Pie Murders,
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
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter:
@dontravis3
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
Courtesy of en.wikipedia.org