by Todd Gregory
And I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I wanted to touch him as often and as much as I could. He’d barely get through the doorway before I’d start pulling at the waistband of his pants, lifting up his shirt. It wasn’t even because he was beautiful, though certainly he was that. Still, the soft blond hair had a cowlick that never stayed down and his nose was crooked. He was fit, but he didn’t look as if he’d just walked off a runway.
So why could I not stay away?
What we had over the next couple months was less of a relationship and more of an obsession, at least for me. I knew very little about him and his life—where he lived, what he did for a living, how old he was. If he wanted to ask me any of the standard Barbara Walters questions—how old were you when you were made, how old are you now, how did that make you feel—he kept them to himself. We never went out. We stayed in and fucked in just about every room of the house. He fell asleep after that and I drank a lot of bottled blood and watched him sleep.
I miss sleep sometimes. Other times, I wonder if I’m asleep right now and the only time I was awake was when Darren was alive.
*
“Where have you been?” I asked when he finally showed up at my door. Three days had passed since I’d last seen him. He shut the door and I pulled him toward me, his answer lost in my kiss. As I slipped my hands under his shirt, my heart began to beat. The drum of it thudded in my ears, the sensation like an electric current to my chest. It was a wonder he didn’t feel it, didn’t hear it. I hadn’t told him about this strange effect he had on me, and perhaps I should have. But it seemed like the one thing too strange that might make him realize the insanity he was in right now.
“Maybe I should give you my phone number,” he said, once I finally allowed him to come up for air.
“That might be a good idea.”
His hands began tracing a similar path beneath my shirt as well, and soon there was no more thought of talking and I pulled him to the floor, right there in the front hall, not for the first time.
Our routines were very physical—fuck, eat, sleep. While he showered, I had a drink, then I made him something to eat. There was actual food in my kitchen for the first time, and the meals I made him were simple. I’d never learned to cook when I was alive—it was a less enlightened time, and men weren’t expected to know that sort of thing.
As he ate the steak I had made for him—it tended toward the rare side—he also told me about his recent visits to the doctor, the strange pain he’d been experiencing, the battery of tests, the biopsy, and finally the diagnosis. As timing would have it, while he relayed his death sentence, my heartbeat began to slow—after it fell to once every fifteen seconds, it was finished.
“Is there anything to be done?” I asked.
He smiled and shrugged. “You could pass the steak sauce.”
That was the way he was. I was tempted to rail at him for not taking his predicament seriously, but what else could he do? And how seriously would he take criticism from someone who never had to stare into the abyss looming below him now?
I passed him the A.1. and he finished his steak. A yawn and a kiss later, he said he was exhausted and wouldn’t mind going to sleep. I lay in bed next to him, my arms wrapped around him as if that could protect him from any intruder, until he finally fell asleep. Then I gently untangled myself and withdrew to the armchair at the end of the bed. For the rest of the night, I watched him sleep.
You can tell a lot about a person from the way they fall asleep. The conscious mind moves back into the shadows, and the ego loosens its grip. The changes in a person’s face or a body posture are no longer an act of will, but are more a reflection of the person’s true nature.
Darren was not afraid. He slept the heavy, restful slumber of someone at peace. He lay on his back and stirred very litle. His left arm was flung across the bed, while his right rested beneath his head and the pillow.
Quietly, I slid my chair closer and placed my hand in the center of his chest. I closed my eyes and listened as, in time with his breathing, my heart began beating again.
*
For someone at peace with his fate, Darren’s decline was frighteningly swift. He came to see me at home only one more time—he barely ate and went to sleep almost immeditately. Taking any sort of liberties with his body would have seemed like a violation. He was on a leave of absence from work while he underwent chemo and rested at home, but he couldn’t bring himself to take a leave of absence from me, he said.
When I took him in my arms, he smelled dark and earthy, as if he were already buried in the ground. In spite of that, as he fell asleep against me, his head lying on my chest, I wondered if he could hear my heart beating.
Three days later I got the call from Darren’s roommate, whom I hadn’t known existed before now, to tell me Darren was in the hospital.
I hate hospitals. Usually, I only go into them when I’m desperately hungry. They don’t smell right. It’s like opening the refrigerator door three days after everything inside has spoiled.
But my desperation to see Darren was like a hunger itself. I went.
The earthy smell I’d noticed during Darren’s last visit had intensified. Walking into his room was like walking into a forest after a rain shower. I expected to see moss blanketing the floor or a tree leafing out in the corner. Instead, there was just a lot of machinery and a lot of IV tubes, and Darren at the end of them all.
He smiled when he saw me, but he didn’t have the strength to lift his head from the pillow.
“See? I told you I knew you wouldn’t kill me.”
“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.” I sat in a chair at the bedside and took his hand. His skin felt like old paper that would crumble if I held it too tightly.
You would think that everlasting life would be liberating, right? Wrong. It’s more of a burden. All of the things we carry with us in life—the disappointments, the fears, the sadness—are multiplied at the same time they are flattened. You have hundreds of years behind you and maybe thousands ahead of you, so what’s to make any one missed opportunity or lost love any greater than another?
The selfish thing would have been to turn him into one of us. It’s not like he was in any position to resist. But it changes you—how could it not?—in more ways than the “never get old” and “never need to go to the gym.” He could come out the other side hating me just as easily as anything else.
Either way, I’d lose.
In that case, maybe letting him die was more selfish. I don’t know.
“Deep thoughts?” he asked.
“The deepest.”
“Any deeper than six feet is overkill.” He laughed, but the sound was full of ashes. I drew his hand closer and kissed it, then held it to my chest. He slid out of my grasp and placed his palm flat against my shirt.
“Hang on…Ah, there it is.” Sure enough, my heart was beating again. He smiled. “Glad I can still get you off on my deathbed.”
“You knew about that?”
“Not at first. After a few times, I caught on.” He laughed, or maybe coughed. It was hard to tell. “Everyone wants to make someone’s heart beat a little faster, but to get it going from zero? I always knew I had mad skills.”
He smiled again and I kissed him, placed my hands on his stubble-roughened cheeks, and imagined I was kissing the earth.
“Can you open the curtains?” he asked, frighteningly short of breath now, and here’s how selfish I am: I didn’t want to do that for him. I didn’t want to get up from my seat next to his bed. Didn’t want to stop touching him for fear that he would be gone when I turned around, and my heart would never beat again.
I must not be a total bastard because I did get up and open the curtains. It was a gray, overcast day. The hospital was across the street from the park, and eight floors below, the treetops were just getting touched with the flame of October color.
“Cloudy, that’s too bad,” he said. I returned to the chair and took his hand a
gain. “I was hoping for sun.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“I was. Besides, I thought you said that thing about the sun was bunk.”
“Not totally, but why take chances?”
“Because it’s fun that way. You should try a few.”
“I will,” I said. “I promise.”
I wanted to tell him something else, like I’d never forget him, or that tomorrow or the next day I’d go for a walk through the park and see if I catch fire like the trees. Instead, we sat there quietly, staring out the window, until eventually both our hearts stopped beating.
Centuries of Longing
Damian Serbu
Piotr heard the telltale cadence of footfalls behind him. Too perfectly in tune with his own step, too light and quick. Once pursued, he also knew that contact was unavoidable. He rushed around the corner, off Euclid Avenue, down East Ninth Street, and toward Lake Erie. He hurried by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and into Voinovich Park. The stalker followed.
The glow of lights from Cleveland Browns Stadium illuminated much of the now-deserted park. The crowd roared next door. He had almost gone to the football game that night but got distracted by a news story. He always stopped everything to listen to news about the gay community, which mesmerized him. Born long before anyone could safely love another man, he marveled at this modern era and especially the way that two men could couple. He longed for such a thing himself.
He hardly had time for such contemplation, however, before a beautiful woman came out of the shadows and approached him.
“You shouldn’t just run like that.” She brushed a strand of her long brown hair out of her eye and smiled, allowing her fangs to descend. “I assume you know the ethic. We can’t harm each other.”
“Of course I know. I just wanted to be alone.”
“You’re not with your mate?”
“I don’t have one.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Such a sexy specimen, with a foreign accent no less, and you can’t find someone? What about your maker? Where did she go? I’d have a hard time letting go of that muscular chest if it were me.”
Piotr dreaded telling his story again, with the angst it caused him and the inevitable pity from the receiver. “Why are you so interested? Are you alone?”
She laughed, tossing her head back and coming toward him. She linked her arm through his elbow and turned them back toward the museum. She guided him to a nearby bench that gave them a better view of downtown but relative seclusion at the same time. The stadium crowd had started to exit, with throngs of people going in every direction.
“They must have won,” she said. “The people are happy.”
“It’s preseason. No one cares.”
“Are you a fan? How funny.”
“I just like the game.” He rubbed his hand on his shorts nervously, wanting this to end.
“I’ll answer your question, but I demand reciprocity. I do have a mate, but we often wander alone. He stayed in Nebraska. We own a farm there and he likes to feed on wandering farm hands. But I crave the city from time to time. I’d never been to Cleveland. Could you show me around?”
“I doubt you’d like my company.”
She furrowed her brow. “We could cut to the chase and go have sex. I find you adorable.”
“I have to go.” Piotr pushed himself off the bench and started to walk away but she seized his T-shirt from behind and pulled him back down.
“Nice muscles.” She ran her hand along his back, then up his arm and grabbed his bicep. “You can’t get away that easily. Where’s your mate?”
“I already told you that I don’t have one. I never have. I also don’t talk about it.” He leaned back, knowing that this would never appease her. “Don’t make me prolong this. I had a maker, and I have no idea whether or not she still lives. It was a few centuries ago. She was of noble birth and accustom to taking what she wanted. I walked along the road one night when she swooped down and captured me.”
He paused, not wanting to relive the events or tell the details. He could still feel the strength of his maker’s arms as she wrapped them around him and ran through the night. He had no idea at the time how a woman could simply pick him up and speed away. In her castle, she wasted little time stripping him down, bathing him, and then chaining him to a bed. Moments later, two men entered, both naked. She jumped onto the bed and kissed him deeply. “Too afraid to be aroused?” She clutched his limp penis and tugged at it. “This will help.” He watched in horror as fangs descended and she plunged them into his leg near his crotch.
He died then. As he drifted away, hoping at least to escape this hell, warm liquid ran down his throat and he instinctively sucked at it. Rebirth came instantly. He felt stronger and had heightened senses. He yanked the chains from the wall and sat up to see this woman, now also naked, laughing with glee. He pried the shackles off his wrists and dropped them to the floor. She got back on top of him and rubbed her crotch against his, but still he felt nothing.
“No,” she snarled. “You”—she pointed at one of the men standing nearby— “test him.” One of the naked men came toward Piotr, a lean youth with slight muscles, a smooth chest, and long brown hair. He leaned over and stared into Piotr’s eyes, then softly ran a hand down Piotr’s chest, all the way to Piotr’s now rock-hard dick.
“Dispatch him,” the woman said.
“Madame, that violates the ethic.” The other, more mature man walked cautiously toward her. Unlike the youth, he was older, perhaps in his thirties, and more muscular.
Piotr stood paralyzed, not knowing where to run or what to do. He had the oddest sensations, because the transformation from life into death had given him a power he had never experienced before. He glanced at the chains that he had yanked from the wall and clenched his fists, just to feel the strength in his hands. He tensed his entire body and knew that he could jump clear across the room if he wanted, with almost no effort.
Yet the others seemingly had the same power, so instead Piotr remained frozen in place. They knew more about this new state than he. They could presumably kill him with ease.
“Out!” she commanded the youth with a forceful wave at the door. He bowed and rushed from the room. “He’s not one of us yet. I told you not to talk about this in front of him. He doesn’t need to know the ethic even exists.” She charged at the other man, who stood as still as a statue as she spat in his face. “Do as I say. You’re lucky I saved you. A vagabond vampire, wandering alone in these parts. I could have sent the villagers after you. And still can. Don’t challenge me. Get. Rid. Of. Him.”
He nodded silently, and then she left the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Are you going to kill me?” Piotr had no idea how to combat another vampire, so he resigned himself to whatever fate came his way. He had already died once that night, why not again? He had been miserable in life anyway.
“We don’t have much time, so listen closely.” The vampire strolled back and forth, his large penis mesmerizing Piotr despite his dangerous predicament. “She wants me to kill you, yes. But it’s forbidden by the vampire ethic. I belong to a secret council that oversees all vampires to ensure that they obey it, for the protection of innocent humans and ourselves. I came here to investigate her, to build a case for execution. Trust me.”
Piotr sat on the bed, naked and self-conscious. This man sat next to him, his hairy arm brushing against Piotr’s leg.
“I can’t explain everything now. I wish I could.” The man leaned over and gripped something from under the bed. “You’ll need these clothes. Most importantly, once I get you out of here, read this manuscript carefully. It explains everything you need to know to survive. It teaches you about the ethic. Run as fast as you can, and find a crypt before morning. Don’t stop until you’re far away. You’ll survive without feeding for several days.”
Piotr got up to leave, still unsure of himself, when the vampire pulled him back. Piotr landed on his lap and felt his hard pe
nis beneath him. The man grabbed Piotr by the head and pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. They fell back on the bed, rubbing against one another as the vampire licked Piotr’s nose, his cheek, and then his eyes. “I love green eyes,” the vampire whispered. They kissed more deeply, then Piotr took the man’s penis in his hands. Oh, how he had always wanted this! Always dreamt of lying with another man and kissing and holding and fondling one. He could not contain his excitement when the vampire returned the favor. He slid his strong fingers along Piotr’s penis and tickled at his balls. In but a couple of yanks Piotr came all over their stomachs. He helped his mate climax when something crashed in the hallway, breaking their revelry.
“Out, now.” The vampire lurched up, then threw the clothes at Piotr.
Piotr dressed hurriedly. The vampire handed him the manuscript and pushed him toward the window. “Trust me. You can make it. Jump to the ground and run.” Piotr hesitated, his human instinct telling him not to jump from this height, at least three stories above the ground. He felt the pressure of a hand on his back and turned around. The vampire kissed him softly on the lips and shoved.
Piotr hit the ground without harming himself. He looked back up, but the vampire had disappeared. And so he ran. Ran away to Paris, then Rome, and finally to America. In all this time, he had never found a mate. Never been with another man. He had met very few vampires, either, and always chased them away, never wanting what they offered. He had lived for over a century, hoping that the vampire who had saved him would find him, might teach him how to live as a vampire who loves other men. He never came. And Piotr never found another vampire like himself.
Even in this new era, when men called themselves gay and openly courted each other in public, fear paralyzed Piotr. The manuscript had said that vampires coupled. But how? It explained how to make another vampire, but then gave a litany of rules and warnings about it. It threatened death for various transgressions if one violated these rules. A council enforced it, but Piotr had never met anyone from this council since that fateful night. He wandered alone instead, sad, melancholy, but not wanting to die, either.
