A little partying with good friends in D.C. helped improve my attitude a little.
I've been feeling a little passionless lately, so I was looking over a story I wrote about a Nordic vampire, based on an ex-girlfriend of mine I was crazy about. We can't even talk to each other, things ended so poorly.
The story is about a woman who forgoes the usual blood-sucking thing and instead feeds off the life force that is offered up during sex. This is what happens the first time she beds any man. (she was turned into this creature by Cossack bacck in the 1600's.)
She had become so familiar with the male reaction to her during coitus that she could sense the moment when his brain snapped, when the endorphins that only she triggered through pure animal chemistry flooded through his skull.
In the dark, she closed her eyes and listened to her body,
listened to his body.
Focused on the spot between her legs, where they bridged;
there,
something trembled, and now she was in his veins.
Flowing, flying, sliding up through his waist.
Swirling, shivering where her thighs lay across his hips.
Liquid gold falling up toward the center of pleasure.
Curling around the heart,
crawling up his chest,
drowning his spine, coating his nerves in velvet electricity.
Finally, as though she were reaching in with her own delicate fingers, she turned a key, unlocked a door, and opened a hidden place in his mind, releasing sensations never before experienced.
It was beyond chemical reaction. Her cathartic spread through him created something inside the man that he not only felt, but something he knew. She was now a truth to him, a reality that he could not escape. It permeated his physical being down to the very marrow of his bones, causing them to tremble with desire at the mere sight of her. A mad, uncontrollable shake. From that point on, he would not only want her, but require her.
Then, the fluctuation in her personality would begin.
Finely attuned to her own internal workings, she knew that some days, she was more the simple peasant girl from almost 400 years ago. Men felt safe in her comforting presence as she showered them with soft kisses. Other days, the Cossack dominated. On those mornings, she woke up and rubbed the gold ring attached to her left nostril, a bauble that the creator/lover had bestowed upon her as a reminder of her origin. Those days were the hardest on her temporary mates. She flamed at any offhand comment, recoiled at their slightest touch, and then unleashed hell, a pale viper dodging and attacking, searching for a weakness in its larger opponent. Most men accepted the swing, and for some, the drama of the dual masks entranced them further. Beautiful in her purity, but captivating in her anger, the men flew wildly between the heaven of love and the hell of hate. Passion was never lacking.
Copyright C.F. (Hati)
I've been feeling a little passionless lately, so I was looking over a story I wrote about a Nordic vampire, based on an ex-girlfriend of mine I was crazy about. We can't even talk to each other, things ended so poorly.
The story is about a woman who forgoes the usual blood-sucking thing and instead feeds off the life force that is offered up during sex. This is what happens the first time she beds any man. (she was turned into this creature by Cossack bacck in the 1600's.)
She had become so familiar with the male reaction to her during coitus that she could sense the moment when his brain snapped, when the endorphins that only she triggered through pure animal chemistry flooded through his skull.
In the dark, she closed her eyes and listened to her body,
listened to his body.
Focused on the spot between her legs, where they bridged;
there,
something trembled, and now she was in his veins.
Flowing, flying, sliding up through his waist.
Swirling, shivering where her thighs lay across his hips.
Liquid gold falling up toward the center of pleasure.
Curling around the heart,
crawling up his chest,
drowning his spine, coating his nerves in velvet electricity.
Finally, as though she were reaching in with her own delicate fingers, she turned a key, unlocked a door, and opened a hidden place in his mind, releasing sensations never before experienced.
It was beyond chemical reaction. Her cathartic spread through him created something inside the man that he not only felt, but something he knew. She was now a truth to him, a reality that he could not escape. It permeated his physical being down to the very marrow of his bones, causing them to tremble with desire at the mere sight of her. A mad, uncontrollable shake. From that point on, he would not only want her, but require her.
Then, the fluctuation in her personality would begin.
Finely attuned to her own internal workings, she knew that some days, she was more the simple peasant girl from almost 400 years ago. Men felt safe in her comforting presence as she showered them with soft kisses. Other days, the Cossack dominated. On those mornings, she woke up and rubbed the gold ring attached to her left nostril, a bauble that the creator/lover had bestowed upon her as a reminder of her origin. Those days were the hardest on her temporary mates. She flamed at any offhand comment, recoiled at their slightest touch, and then unleashed hell, a pale viper dodging and attacking, searching for a weakness in its larger opponent. Most men accepted the swing, and for some, the drama of the dual masks entranced them further. Beautiful in her purity, but captivating in her anger, the men flew wildly between the heaven of love and the hell of hate. Passion was never lacking.
Copyright C.F. (Hati)
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
i havent been smoking. or singing. i think its because i live close to the BQE. the air is opaque sometimes. i do want a cigarette, tho. i havent had one in over a week! hmmmm....
it is true about the 14 yr old girls though - the guys i hang out with, who are in the top 20 nationally in the 30-40 age group, practice with the kids and struggle to keep up. it's really an amazing sport.