Alex sat in the corner of the open air coffee shop as it approached midnight, it was in the downtown part of old town Pasadena. All of the yuppies came to clubs in the area to show off their cash and to dance badly, but the coffee shop was quiet with the eption of lounge music. At the moment nobody was there. He had a stack of notebooks on his left and a stack of books on his right and one of each was open on the table in front of him. He held one open while he wrote in the other. He still preferred pen and paper to all the modern technology. He dropped his pen and paper to rub his tired eyes. He was frustrated and depressed, discontent with everything. It wasn’t that he disliked himself, he loved himself, he wouldn’t want to be anybody else, what irritated him was the way he was treated, perceived, evaluated, and ranked by others. He couldn’t get promoted, he couldn’t get acknowledged, he couldn’t even find a loyal friend. Attractive by anyone’s standard he was also an artist, a writer of fiction and essays, he was experienced with performance arts and public speaking, he had danced professionally, he studied philosophies that others would never in their lives be able to begin to comprehend. But all of this seemed to count against him, people were intimidated by him.
He suspected that the only thing that could change his fate was something he had spent all of his life trying to uproot from his life, the irrational. He could lie, he could tell people what they wanted to hear, he could manipulate them, and rob them and sabotage them. He could appear to be their friend and then stab them in the back, and then they would like him, not because they wanted to, but because they had to. The very concept was repellent to him and yet it seemed to work for everyone else. The world was litigious, acquisitive, vexatious, full of phony people and gilded gargoyles. Rats scurrying about trying to prove to each other that they are something they are not. Failing to recognize that one communicates to others what one is by being, not by doing.
He didn’t want to be right about people or about society, he wanted to be wrong but over and over again his worldview was upheld, or when it appeared that he had found someone that was different from the others he was disappointed yet again. Then he would get depressed. Then he would get creative. Then he would delve deeper into philosophy and express his feelings through art. And then he would get smarter, and then he would see more, and then he would see that the corruption and perversion had run even deeper and social failure was even more inevitable than he had thought before which would begin the downward spiral all over again. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it. All he wanted was to be treated nice, and to be understood, to have someone to love, and to belong somewhere with something resembling a family, people that would protect him and support him and appreciate him. But just as the ocean cannot be contained in a thimble the average person was incapable of understanding him.
As he sat there wallowing in despair, he was unaware that one of the oldest vampires alive was listening in on his every thought. She sat perched atop the alleyway. She was riveted. Nos Feratu, much like viruses do not appear alive until they are near living organisms, and the more alive the organism, the more active vampires become. She was aroused beyond measure, this creature so rare, intoxicating her with his eloquent pain. Everything a person knows and does is in their blood, and his blood was rich and juicy. Her eyes were fixed on him like a hungry tigress stalking a sambar deer.
Time seemed to stop, and silence descended on the alley. Sophia, that was her name, turned into a black mist and disappeared into the shadows, soundlessly appearing and slinking towards Alex in an alien manner. She was small of stature, and her limbs were deceivingly delicate in appearance, her facial features were a pleasant blend of roman and Egyptian. Her dark eyes were surrounded by thick black lushes that looked like twin, Gothic butterflies. Sophia was drunk on the genius and passion that wafted from the soul in front of her. It was everything she could do to contain her blood lust, but 900 years experience reminded her that this was a rare moment to be made to last as long as possible, to be teased out until it was unbearable. She used every scrap of her will power to remain in control of her hunger.
Alex noticed her with a start and instantly she was in front of him looking deep into his eyes glamouring him so he wouldn’t try to flee, which would have been futile anyway.
“Shhhhh! Relax! I am not going to hurt you, yet.” Her fangs were thick contrasting starkly with the rest of her harmless appearance. “I am going to release you so you can talk to me don’t try to run ok?” she squeezed his cheeks and shook his head as she spoke.
Alex nodded distantly.
Sophia pulled his chair away from the table and curled up on his lap. “I feel your pain.” her hand slid up his chest and pulled his collar down. “I understand you.” She made a pouty face as she spoke, her fingernail made a tiny incision in his exposed chest, and she watched the blood accumulate and run a little before she deftly scooped it up with her tongue. It was as good as she had expected, her eyes rolled back and her head and her back arched. She moaned as she tried to remain composed. Her chest heaved as her intensified arousal increased her heartbeat. Fluidly she pulled herself up to straddle him and grabbed his face in her hands. She sucked his lip into her mouth and tugged on it playfully, biting it quickly, before letting it slip out of her mouth. She salivated as she watched the blood accumulate and run down his chin. Running her fingers through his hair she pulled his head back and licked up the blood. Kissing him, sucking the blood from the wound. She licked his tongue as though she could taste him, tasting his own blood.
“I could take you away from all of this you know, if I wanted to….. I could make you a king, a warrior king. I could make you a god. No more pain, no more suffering, no more having to treat human trash as equals. Just your will, whatever it might be, not even your will, your whim. Does that sound good to you? Would you like that?…..SPEAK MY PET!”
Alex couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. He had never even contemplated whether vampires were real or not and now this succubus was upon him, loving him, taking away his pain, eating him, understanding him. He didn’t speak out of thought but out of reflex. He reacted to the first time in years not being in a state of constant misery. “yessssss” He rasped.
Sophia’s body became taut and she snapped into him like a cobra and bit into his neck with a crunch. Her face was sprayed with blood from an ejaculation from his jugular. She came to her senses again and closed the wound, while she wiped all of the blood from her face and swallowed it. It would be sacrilege to waste a single drop.