“BLESS me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Lord, bless Mårten, for he hath sinned egregiously against Thee,” the priest said.
“Why do you bother with a privacy screen if you can tell it’s me?”
“It’s a confessional, so everyone expects a screen.”
“Shouldn’t you pretend you don’t know me?”
“You want me to lie? You’ve been coming to my confessional for ninety years. Even if I couldn’t see you, your Texas dialect stands out in Germany.”
“I had sex four times yesterday.”
“God has rules about pride and bragging.”
“Isn’t there some rule about gay sex?”
“Jesus said nothing about gays,” he said.
“Any kind of sex rules?” I asked.
“Oh, most assuredly,” he said with a scholarly flair. “The rule says ‘Thou Shalt Not Boink’, but it only applies to castratos and coloraturas.”
All I could do was study the floor, hoping that the stones would morph into something I could understand.
“Are you sure you’re a priest?” I asked through my teeth as I shook my head. Please let me find wisdom rising from the grout between the stones of the floor.
“Ja, Mårten. Castratos don’t have much sex, so I never understood why they were mentioned in the rule, but we should keep our eyes on the coloraturas. They can’t be trusted without adequate supervision. There’s nothing more disturbing than a coloratura boink-a-thon.”
“What? Did you even hear me say that I had sex with Oberon four times yesterday? I don’t care about coloraturas.”
“Yes, Mårten. You’ve lived with Oberon for almost a hundred years. I would worry if you weren’t having sex.”
“Four times,” I said.
“That’s nice, darling, but don’t brag. Are you trying to make me jealous?”
“Not at all, Father Johannes. There’s no need to be jealous. You can have sex with Oberon any time you want.”
“Shhhh, I’m not gay,” the priest whispered.
“Your boyfriend thinks you are, Father Johannes.”
“Humph. He only wishes it. Did you kill anyone since your last confession?” the priest asked blandly.
“Nobody,” I said. “Just two vampires.”
“Ah-ah,” the priest said, tapping his knuckles against the privacy screen. “Vampires are fictional characters.”
“So your boyfriend sleeps with a fictional character? He’s going to be shocked.”
“Focus, Mårten. This confession is about you, not me. Are you sorry for killing the vampires?”
“No, Father. It was business, and they were vampires, so technically they were already dead.”
“That’s nice, Mårten. Don’t forget to pray. Ludwig and I went to a Chinese restaurant last night. When he opened his fortune cookie, the piece of paper was completely blank. Do you think that means anything? He was in tears, of course. I need to go… you know. It’s Ludwig.”
And with that, the priest was gone. I was alone in the chapel’s confessional. The layperson always leaves a confessional first. The priest leaves later, but Father Johannes doesn’t understand such mundane rules. He has to be the strangest priest I’ve ever known. He didn’t tell me to be sorry or to promise to do better or to say Hail Mary’s. He just mentioned his boyfriend’s fortune cookie and went poof.
I was left to ponder or shake my head. It sure feels like he is messing with my head, but he is always like that. He gets into my thoughts, slaps me around, scares the daylights out of me, and then he disappears.
I am a vampire, but not by choice. A German prison guard during World War I raped me and turned me. I’m gay and would have agreed to the sex if he had asked, but he didn’t ask. Rape is always wrong. He’s dead now. I killed him. Twice. But that’s a whole other story.
A hundred people witnessed the second time I killed my rapist and Maker. He was a bad vampire who needed to die. Nobody complained (except my rapist, of course).
The vampire queen of Europe didn’t even object that I refused her help with the second killing. She helped the first time, but it didn’t get him completely dead. If you want to get things done right… you know.
When I killed him the second time, I ripped his head right off his body and threw it onto a bonfire and watched as his head burst into flames. I will never forget the look of total shock on his face when the head hit the flames of the bonfire. He was stunned. He was so surprised by the way I killed him that he hasn’t spoken to me since.
There are two ways to kill a vampire: rip off his head or burn him. I did both. It was the vampire version of the fat lady singing: rip off the head and burn it, and it’s all over.
That’s what it did: I flew up and pulled the asshole’s head right off, and then I flew to a bonfire and threw the head onto the fire. Most vampires can’t fly, but I can. It is a talent or skill that is the envy of many vampires.
“PRIDE is definitely a sin, Mårten.”
“Yes, Father, but I’m telling this story. Don’t you have some altar boys to chase?”
“That isn’t funny, Mårten.”
“Oh, yes it is, Father.”
THE queen’s own chief goon watched me take down the bad vampire. Pierre called my fighting the most insanely terrifying thing he had ever seen, and he is several hundred years old. He made me promise to get some training. The queen had told everyone that I was a Master Vampire after this caper, so I think I could have ignored the promise to get training.
But I didn’t. I tried training.
THWUNK came a blow to my chest that sent me somersaulting backwards. My fighting teacher and I were about thirty meters in the air, just above the top of the tallest tree. Just as soon as I rolled half a turn, I felt a swift kick to the butt: thwunk.
“Hamlet!” I screamed. “Are you trying to kill me? No sex for you when this is over.”
Hamlet is the most effeminate vampire anybody has ever known. I’ve known him since he was about eighteen years old. His Maker refused to turn him until he was in his mid-twenties. I know because I was his Maker. Hamlet looks like a frilly queen on the outside but fights like the toughest kung fu ninja karate blackest-belt-possible you can imagine.
Hamlet is a magnet for street thugs who want to roll young gay guys, and he loves it when they try. Thinking you can get the drop on Hamlet says more about your thinking than it does about Hamlet. He fights with human bullies, and he loves sending them flying against walls or Dumpsters.
He likes fighting with me, although I am technically his student. We try not to hurt each other too much.
I almost never get mad at Hamlet because anger changes all the rules. I go absolutely berserk when I am in a real fight. What you see is an insane burst of venom and movement. Hamlet could probably take me down in a real fight, but I know that I could cause some damage.
Causing damage wasn’t part of that day’s agenda. Humiliating me in front of a dozen others was what Hamlet intended. He smacked me, kicked me, and threw me.
Nelly friggin’ vampires.
When I turned, Hamlet was grinning and prancing on the ground with one hand on his hip. A vampire sashaying is a sight like no other, especially after the girly fighter has wiped the floor with the scrappy one.
“Ouch,” I complained loudly. I got no sympathy from the gallery on the ground. They just jeered that a wimpy little guy like Hamlet could wipe the whole sky with my butt.
I grabbed one of his legs, but he curled his knee quickly and sent me crashing down to the ground. There was no justice. No dignity.
“Had enough for the night?” Hamlet asked as he pranced to the house. I saw one member of the human staff, apparently a recent addition, pulling some folded money out of his pocket and handing it to a groundskeeper who had been at the estate for years. The bitch bet against me.
“FATHER JOHANNES, is it wrong to wish for the death of another vampire?”
“Hamlet again?” he asked.
“Ja, Vater. Maybe I could just cause some pain.”
“Don’t forget to pray, Mårten.”
I AM over a hundred years old, but I lived only twenty years as a human. I was made vampire in 1920.
My constant companion for most of those years has been Oberon. He is everything I’m not. In person, he is the reserved one, and drop-dead gorgeous with long, black hair.
I’m a short, scrappy blond who was born poor and would just as soon fight you as kiss you. No offense. It is just the way I was put together.
Oberon is friendly and quiet. He is so reserved that it makes him seem more mysterious.
People are drawn to him, especially the ladies. They think it is such a waste that he is gay. When he smiles, it stops me dead in my tracks. I’m already dead, being a vampire and all, but Oberon’s smile makes my knees wobble. If I were jealous, I’d be in trouble. Most people who meet Oberon want to rip his clothes off and have his babies, both women and gay men. I try to explain that if there are any babies made, the babies will be mine. I just get ignored.
It’s just a good thing I don’t get jealous. In fact, I like it that we are so open. Oberon needs more sex than I do. He can feed his needs with other men, and it leaves me more time to train as a wicked vampire fighter.
I didn’t grow up to be so permissive, and it sometimes makes me worry. Somehow our arrangement works. Oberon needs so much sex that my ass would always feel like ground hamburger.
Vampires can be territorial, but Oberon and I make an open relationship defy the odds. He knows where home is, and his love has never wandered as much as a millimeter.
“Don’t worry about Hamlet,” Oberon said. “You could take almost any vamp or human on the planet. You just have some kind of blockage when it comes to Hamlet.”
“You’re saying I’m mental, then?” I asked him, brushing grass and dirt off my pants.
“I’m saying you’ve learned a lot about fighting.”
“Oooo rah,” I whispered.
“I love you, even if you can’t beat the sissy queen.”
We live in Bavaria, the southern part of Germany. We are on a huge estate owned by a vampire who is over a thousand years old but looks like he is in his twenties.
Menz was my mentor a hundred years ago. He rescued me after my Maker abandoned me in a cave, and he taught me how to survive as a vampire without harming humans or getting noticed by the authorities.
We take care of our own. If you are a vampire anywhere around Menz’s estate and you start killing people or scaring children, we will make sure you stop your offensive behavior. Vampire justice is quick and permanent, and it usually involves fire. Burn a vampire or cut off its head—heads won’t grow back, and a fire doesn’t just leave marks, it leaves ashes. Snap and crackle and poof.
If we don’t take care of our part of Germany, the European vampire council or the vampire queen will take care of us. One way or another, rogue vampires don’t last. We police our part of the world.
MENZ keeps between forty and fifty humans around. They are mostly gay men in their twenties. He pays their tuition at college, and all he expects in return is blood. Sometimes he gets sex too, but it is completely optional. The main reason for the humans is blood. We even have a few straight donors, and their blood is just as tasty.
Human blood donors are always volunteers. If one doesn’t want to be a donor on a particular day, no more questions. We respect their wishes. All five vampires at the estate keep blood donor diaries to make sure we rotate through the staff.
No single human is a donor more than once or twice a week. That means it takes seven humans per vampire. Round up to eight to account for illness and vacation. I know all this because I was a math major in college. We need forty humans to keep five vampires fed, and we always have that many at a minimum. There are usually more.
It isn’t as easy as it looks to be a vampire.
Our blood diary used to be on paper, and it took almost forever to wade through the lists and diaries. Five vampires go through a lot of blood. Nowadays, thanks to one of the donors, we have everyone on a spreadsheet. I get from “I’m hungry” to the name of a donor in just a matter of seconds, thanks to the computer. And to think we used to write everything with fountain pens. Menz is so old that he used a quill in his first diary.
If any of us messes up on the donor rotation, we have to answer to Menz. Answering to Menz is not in my top ten favorite things. He usually screams and throws things.
Menz and his lover, Paco, are both vampires. Oberon and I are lovers, and we’re vampires. Then there’s Hamlet.
The humans stay as long as they are in college, and then they move on to live regular human lives. As part of the deal, they agree to have their memory “adjusted” by Menz before they leave. It keeps the presence of vampires a closely guarded secret. We don’t like publicity or notoriety.
So far as I know, all the human donors have been okay with this vampire mind trick. If they tell Menz they want to remember… well, let’s just say I don’t want to know what happens. Whatever it is, Menz takes care of things quietly and quickly.
I’ve seen some of our former human donors out on the streets, and they didn’t recognize me. Oberon and I had sex with two of those former donors when they were living in the mansion, but they acted like they didn’t know me. Of all the nerve. You’d think a studly Scandinavian vampire like me would be a memorable fuck. Menz’s mind adjustment is complete, or that’s what I keep telling myself.
OBERON is friendly and quiet with long, black hair and blue eyes. His hair often has blue, chartreuse, or maroon locks, and he started wearing guy-liner even before the term was used. He looks like the kind of man who would be compliant in bed. He gives off vibes that he is versatile, but you’d be making a mistake to think so. Oberon is a top. He knows what he likes, and he knows how to get it. When we have sex, there is no question as to who is doing what and to whom.
He taught me some German, and I taught him some English. He brought in an official teacher to teach English to everyone at the estate. Oberon picks up languages better than I do. That’s okay. I don’t have to be the best at everything, and I am better with math and fighting.
Wait. Oberon brought in a teacher. In effect, he was saying it would be easier to teach English to fifty humans and vampires than it would be to teach me German. I think I ought to be insulted.
Oberon would have sex four or more times every night if he got a vote. It is one reason I never complain that he picks blood donors who also want to have sex. There is something special about Oberon’s bite when he does it at the same time his dick explodes with cum in your ass.
I get weak-kneed just thinking about it. It is really hard to write a book when I keep thinking about Oberon and what he might be doing to me. No offense, but I think I usually want to be with him.
Oberon is my top and the man I want to spend a thousand years with. He isn’t always “top,” exactly.
“Want to fly?” he asked.
“Come on, it’s cloudy,” he said with a grin.
In a flash we were nude and floating just above the clouds. We kissed and rolled. His tongue found my fangs, which always pop out when my dick gets hard. With Oberon naked, that happens quite a bit. He held me tight, and we gently floated down to the tops of the clouds. I never feel hot or cold, but I do feel damp. Clouds are always like being in a steam room.
Within a few minutes, Oberon’s cock had found my hole. He is uncut, like most Europeans, so his pre-cum is the only lube we really need. His cock moves inside his foreskin and doesn’t really rub my sphincter raw. It is so much nicer than circumcision, the awful genital mutilation performed by actual doctors on so many American boys. Europe is much more civilized about sex. I douche when I bathe, even though a vampire’s digestive track isn’t used for passing food. I usually put a dollop of lotion or lube just inside my hole after drying just to keep everything moisturized. It is all part of my daily ritual. Oberon wants to use my hole every night, and I want to do everything I can to be ready. He got me a lotion that has a slight patchouli scent from MysticWays.com. It is musky, earthy, and it drives Oberon nuts with desire. The Internet makes it simple for those of us who are “daylight challenged.”
Oberon entered me slowly as we levitated way above the clouds. His first thrust (if you could call it that) was tender and gentle. He took almost a minute to impale me completely. Once I felt his pubes touch my butt, he grinned. He knew what was coming, and he loved it. Me too.
He pulled out slowly. His tip fell out of my butt. That rarely happens, but he got it back in almost instantly. His speed built slowly as I moaned from pleasure. I felt his dick moving in and out while most of his outer skin stayed still in my hole. He didn’t have much pre-cum tonight, so I could tighten my muscles and hold his skin tight. He loves it. We both do. I laughed with total abandon, and I could see that he was grinning. Even after a hundred years with this man, I still get tingles when he is inside me, especially when it is up in the sky over the clouds.
Gravity? We don’t need no stinkin’ gravity.
Oberon pulled away from my chest and grabbed my legs. When you are having sex up in the sky, the rules all change. His dick is up my butt, and that makes him the “top,” but we have sex in three-dimensional space. Positions you can’t even imagine become ordinary. He pulled himself in using my legs as he stayed locked about a half turn, like two letter Ys connected at their branch. Within a few minutes, Oberon was pounding my ass, and I was holding his legs so I could pull him with every one of his thrusts.
Just then I heard a distant sound. Friggin’ jet is coming.
When you are above the clouds, you have a whole new set of things to worry about. I don’t mind who sees us fuck, but Oberon says they should be voluntary voyeurs. A jet flying by will have passengers who aren’t expecting to see two men fucking on the top of a cloud, even if it is at night.
Most of the time, humans don’t notice vampires floating. There’s something about a levitating vamp that doesn’t get processed in the human mind. Children see us because they don’t know people can’t levitate. Oberon wants privacy when there’s any chance children are around. I understand, but it interrupts the mood.
Our first visitors were sparrows. I remember how funny it was, and the birds didn’t seem to mind. Oberon and I laughed so hard that we almost forgot why we were levitating. Almost forgot, but somehow we managed. It was a hundred years ago, and those particular birds are probably dead or they’ve flown on.
The first time an airplane came by, I was shocked. Humans don’t see vampires flying because they don’t expect to see us in the air. Well, vampires don’t expect humans to be up there. There was a time humans couldn’t get up there, and sharing cloud-space took some adjustment. The first airplane was a two-winged thing, and those old planes moved so slowly. Oberon and I gave quite a performance. I remember the look on one of the passengers’ face: drop-jawed, cross-eyed. He probably swore off whisky for months. Most human adults don’t see us, but this one got an eyeful.
Two guys above the clouds over Germany: we’ve been fucking like that for a hundred years, and it still gives me goose bumps to think about it. I’ve been head over heels (literally) in love with Oberon for a century. We’ve held up pretty well for our age.
We’re used to planes now. Jets pass quickly, but we usually let ourselves float into the cloud a little. One time we floated too far into the cloud and almost got sliced into small pieces by the jet’s wings.
Technology is such a bother. Fucking up above the clouds used to be easier. Oh, the simple times of yesteryear.
VAMPIRES can’t catch most human diseases. We don’t get HIV or the clap or herpes. Some human blood donors want to use condoms anyway, and all the vampires respect that. In fact, if Oberon and I have more than one human in bed, condoms are mandatory. We don’t want to risk the humans giving each other something.
We can catch hepatitis. I think it is hepatitis C that we catch, but it is more like having a human cold or influenza. In a week or two, everything is back to normal. Hepatitis is really annoying, though. I was glad when Menz began monthly health screening for all the human donors. They get tested for everything from lice to lymphoma. If there is a problem, Menz makes sure they get the best care possible, even if they will never be healthy enough to be a blood donor again. Menz is Vampire Do-Right, and he demands the same from all the vampires who sleep under his roof.
I HAVE a daily agenda. As soon as the sun goes down, my eyes pop open. Okay, that’s a lie. Oberon is up quickly. My lover can go from dead-as-a-friggin’-doornail to full-tilt-boogie in a flash. I’m groggy when I come to life at sunset.
Oberon almost always sends one of the blood donors to our room so I can get my daily fix of human blood. It doesn’t help to drink the blood of another vampire. It has to be human blood, although animal blood will do in an emergency. As soon as my fangs find their mark, I drink for about twenty or thirty seconds. If I hit a vein or artery, it goes more quickly, but I try not to do that. It is hard to get the vein closed when you’re groggy.
Breakfast in bed. It isn’t that Oberon is trying to be a thoughtful husband (which he is), but he wants me to be fully awake while I am still in bed. He has an agenda, too, and it usually involves my butt. After a hundred years, I know his schedule.
As soon as I’ve fed after one particular sunset, Oberon was back on the bed and nibbling my balls. Oberon did not just want a quickie! Nice.
He let his tongue explore my treasure trove and chest until he was over my mouth. I smelt my own aroma in his mouth. His arms reached under my back, and he pulled me off the bed. We levitated a few centimeters in the air as he hugged me and kissed me. With his left arm holding the back of my neck, he let his right hand slide down to my butt cheek while his tongue explored my mouth.
I rolled him over so I was on top. This was Oberon, so my cock was not going to be going inside his butthole, but I wanted to caress my man from the top. He let me. Each nipple had a little bit of black hair, long and smooth. I gently bit his right tit, and he groaned from pleasure. Oberon pulled my head back up, but I wasn’t finished with his stomach. I resisted his pull and moved toward his rod. I first licked it. Tasty. Then I opened my mouth wide and got his dick completely in my mouth before I closed my lips around it.
Vampire fangs are always a factor during sex. If a vampire is hard, you can assume that fangs are extended. When my husband is hard, it is safe to assume that I am too. Plenty of fangs on the bed…. I usually tried to keep my fangs from breaking the skin of Oberon’s dick, but not today. I gently let my fangs slide into the skin of his dick as he growled and groaned.
Oberon doesn’t usually get into oral action. He says mouths are for touching other mouths. This time, he wanted to fuck, but he let me have my way with him. My mouth filled with his blood before the holes started closing. Wounds on a vampire heal in seconds, and my vampire saliva makes the healing even faster. Without any warning, I felt Oberon’s climax. It wasn’t an explosion, but my mouth was suddenly full of both blood and cum. After a hundred years with Oberon, I can almost always tell when he is about to have an orgasm, but he surprised me this time.
“Mmmm,” he said. “I liked that.”
I just left my mouth in place for a while as I swallowed his blood and spew. He didn’t get soft but for a minute. His dick went down but then started getting hard again almost immediately. I lifted off my mouth and pulled the last bit of juice with my hand and licked it from his tip.
Oberon was back in control. He pulled my head and kissed my tits, working his way up to give me a long kiss. His tongue found my fangs as he pulled us both into the air and rotated. I could taste myself in his mouth. He reached down with both hands and pulled apart my butt cheeks. The tip of his donkey-dick was waiting right at my hole. I could feel that it was still wet from earlier.
When Oberon makes love, the first stroke is slow. I tried to pull on his waist to get him to move faster, but he just ignored my wishes. Oberon was completely in charge. He knew what he liked, and he knew how to get it. He is a complete fuck-machine, loving and tender sometimes, but still a fuck-machine. When I felt his pubes, I knew that he was completely inside. He leaned down to give me a long kiss as his hips changed direction. No other part of his body moved. His hips were doing all the work. His first retreat was almost as slow as the first thrust. Oberon’s pace picked up, but it stayed slow. His mouth never left mine. We made love for longer than usual, which told me that Oberon was holding back. He could plow me and finish in a minute or two if he wanted. This night, he just wanted to feel himself inside me. I loved it. My arms were around his neck, and my legs were on his shoulders.
He made us float off the bed, and we hung about a meter off the floor in the middle of the bedroom. Slowly he picked up the pace as we rotated in the air. Sometimes he was on top, and sometimes I was. Whatever our orientation, Oberon had total control of my body. He had my undivided attention, holding me tight. I wanted it to last for hours, and it did. He was so tender tonight, so loving. Each thrust hit my prostate. His penis isn’t thick, but it is really long. Every time he hit my prostate, I saw stars.
Whatever position we are in, I always know that Oberon is looking at me. So many men close their eyes during sex, but he always looks directly into my eyes. It is an amazing feeling because he looks like he loses himself in my eyes.
Oberon built up like a smooth crescendo, but the night’s second orgasm was more of a fast glissando than an explosion.
When my butt was full of Oberon’s essence, he stayed still but floated us back over to the bed. We stayed in the embrace for four or five minutes.
This time, I felt Oberon’s tool getting soft.
After he pulled out of me, I felt Oberon’s fangs gently sink into my chest. He drank my blood, not for nutrition, but for the intimacy of our shared life force. He then moved to lick cum from my stomach. Yes, my whole stomach was an ocean of cum, all without him ever touching my dick.
I mean, friggin’ wow.
I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. The bedside clock told me we had made love for over an hour, and I just wanted to bask in that freshly fucked glow.
I fought back tears. What did I ever do to deserve to be in love with this man? A hundred years with him, and I look forward to a thousand years more. Friggin’ wow.
“I love you,” he whispered as he cupped the back of my neck.
I TAUGHT myself how to shoot with pistols, rifles, and crossbows. Down in the basement of the mansion are some secret rooms where we can make silver bullets. Silver doesn’t kill a vampire unless it blows the head off completely, but wounds caused by silver heal as slowly as a bullet wound in a human. Silver hurts like you can’t even imagine. I know—I’ve been stabbed and shot with silver. A couple of times, I wished that silver were fatal to vampires, because being wounded with a silver weapon is the most painful thing you can imagine. Ouch.
A silver stake will disable a vampire. Put a silver-plated chain over a vampire, and he won’t be able to move. You don’t even have to lock the chains. Just lay them across the vampire’s body and you have just captured yourself a vampire… who is going to be really grumpy about the treatment if he can get somebody to remove the chains. You probably don’t want to be anywhere close to a vampire that grumpy.
Crossbows let me put a silver stake into a vampire’s chest from a hundred meters away. Yeah, it is an unfair advantage. If I wanted to be fair, I would just get up close enough to rip the guy’s head off. There are vampires you don’t want to get close to. Dangerous. Lethal. No sense of humor. No second chances. I need to up my odds when I am forced to fight a real bad guy.
Most of the human donors have no idea what happens in the basement. Menz doesn’t tell them about our weapons or about silver. Ignorance makes for healthier vampires. The last thing I want to have is lethal humans running around the estate. Hamlet is bad enough, even if all the pain he inflicts is theoretically for my education.
I’m okay with a pistol, and I get by with a crossbow. My weapon of choice is the M40, which is a sniper rifle from the United States. I can wipe out a wasp’s wings four hundred meters (about a quarter mile) away with the M40. When I am lying down and fully relaxed, I just don’t miss with this weapon. Silver isn’t the best metal for long-range, but I make do.
Oberon studied bullets and what makes them lethal. He has a whole workshop locked away in the basement. I don’t really understand what he’s done, but it is some kind of bullet made with copper and silver. The tip of the bullet is dented, which Oberon swears makes the thing more stable. The insides of Oberon’s bullets are hollow. I think the copper is for strength, because silver isn’t a very strong metal. He has played with steel instead of copper, but the current batch is copper. Don’t ask me about the science behind any of this. In effect, Oberon has created a flying bomb. As soon as it gets inside the vampire, the bullet explodes. Little shards of silver bring down the bad guy in an instant. I’ve found the absolute best place to shoot is the vampire’s upper lip. For some reason, the bullet gets inside the head just right before it explodes. If you take out a vampire’s head with silver shrapnel, you’ve just punched that vampire’s ticket. He does not pass go. He does not collect €200.
Do I like shooting vampires? No, but some vampires cause trouble and need to be stopped. I would much rather take down one of those bad guys in a fair fight, but I don’t always win fair fights. When a vampire loses, it is almost always fatal.
I like the fighting, not the killing. But if you live at Menz’s estate, you have to help keep rogue vampires under control. It is part of the deal. It is expected.
OBERON, Hamlet, and I decided to go dancing in Munich. That’s just a few seconds from the estate by air. I got into my standard leather. It isn’t that I try to come across as a tough-ass, but I love the feel. I have a body that really shows off a pair of leather pants. I have a black leather pullover shirt. Guys who wear leather out to a bar usually go for a fetish look, with some kind of threatening-looking military cap and little or nothing for a shirt. Maybe they wear a harness or a leather dog collar with chrome studs. Oh, please. Leather is what I like to wear to dance, but it isn’t a fetish thing.
Oberon was in his usual Gothic garb. He filled out a tight silk shirt with ruffles. His pants and waistcoat were both black. They looked like “period attire” because they were. I was with him when he bought them, in the 1930s. For a night on the town, my lover usually spends more time on his face: guy-liner, lipstick. He does highlights on his cheeks. Oberon doesn’t need any of those things; he is drop-dead gorgeous without any extra anything, but painting himself makes him feel better. When I saw him, he already had his “game face” on, and he was sulking like a good little Goth.
“What does your husband do for a living?” they’d ask.
“He sulks,” I’d say.
OBERON and I are always ready long before Hamlet. He has to look perfect. He’s cute. Not my type, but I know cute. He’s boyish and holding up well for being over a hundred years old.
I turned him in the 1930s. It was to get him to shut up. I had heard Hamlet whine about becoming a vampire for years before I told Menz that we really should let him have his wish. It took a year of discussions and negotiations with the vampire powers-that-be in Europe, but they finally agreed. Their reasons were basic: they were tired of Hamlet hounding them every few weeks, and they wanted some peace and quiet.
The turning was hard. I had already turned Oberon, and it went fairly smoothly.
Hamlet took two weeks. I had to feed on him twice a day.
When a vampire takes human blood, little machines inside the vampire convert the human blood into vampire blood. A turning happens when a vampire completely drains a human and then starts feeding the human. It is mainly the human’s own converted blood being returned.
Hamlet was as difficult a turn as anybody had ever seen. I couldn’t just drain him completely in one or two days. A human holds several liters of blood, and that would make any vampire pass out for days. Blood intoxication.
Hamlet’s body was really good at making new blood. I would drink until I nearly exploded or passed out, and he was almost recovered by the next day. It took me several days to drain him enough to put him in a coma. At that stage, I knew that the turning would probably be a success, but Hamlet’s body kept repairing itself.
He’s always been tougher on the inside than he is on the outside.
Menz, Menz’s lover, Paco, and Oberon took turns being by his bedside each night. During the day, we had blood donors to sit and watch. I have no idea what the blood donors would have done if something happened, but it was nice that they were there. At the time, Menz had a human servant named Tavin, and he was always around during daylight hours.
I think that’s how the daylight hours went. When the sun comes up, vampires die. Even if we can’t see the sun, we are dead to the world. There are no windows in our bedroom, so the clock on the wall was my only clue when my daily death would come.
I would feed from Hamlet, taking as much blood as possible. Then I would have several hours of cuddling with both Hamlet and Oberon. I know Oberon went off to have sex with the humans, but he did that away from our bedroom. He would normally just invite a human to bed. If I wanted to join in the fun, great. If not, they just let me stay off to the side. It didn’t bother Oberon or me. During Hamlet’s turning, Oberon was a little more discreet than usual. He wanted me to concentrate on Hamlet, and I wasn’t very horny.
One night after the first feeding, I passed out from drinking so much blood. Menz shook me awake.
“We’re losing Hamlet,” he whispered. “It’s time.”
I felt Hamlet’s heart. It was beating, but barely. He was breathing, but barely. Hamlet was dying.
When Oberon had reached this point, it was a little different. I took one more feeding from Oberon, but I knew that would just be fatal to Hamlet. Maybe I had already taken too much.
Menz and Paco rolled Hamlet to his back. He was lying flat on the bed: no pillows, no covers, and no clothes.
He looked so vulnerable and dainty.
Menz opened Hamlet’s mouth as I broke the skin of my wrist and let my blood drip into Hamlet’s mouth. Nothing happened for almost half an hour. Hamlet was dying slowly. His heart was beating slowly, and he was breathing slowly. My blood just stayed in his mouth, filling it completely.
I was terrified that I had killed Hamlet, and I would never forgive myself for that. The room seemed to darken, like clouds had moved in front of a daytime sun. It was me focusing on Hamlet and blocking out everything else in the room. There was no sun, of course, because it was the middle of the night. The room would have been dark even at noon on a cloudless day.
Finally, I could see the blood in Hamlet’s mouth start going down. The turning was happening, but it was very slow. Hamlet was really tough on the inside. His effeminate exterior was just a charade.
I put a gash into my other wrist and filled his mouth up again, and it started going into Hamlet almost immediately. It was painfully slow, but it was happening.
We did this about ten or twelve times. Oberon had been my only other turning. As soon as the second mouthful of blood had been absorbed, Oberon went into attack mode. All new vampires do it, and Menz had to use all his strength to keep Oberon from killing me. Oberon felt hunger for blood that was stronger than anything he had ever felt as a human. I can’t really describe the feeling except to say the hunger is more intense than you can imagine.
When I was about to fill Hamlet’s mouth for the umpteenth time, he grabbed my wrist with an animal-like growl.
He tore into my wrist like a tiger. Oberon, Menz, and Paco were there. They knew it was coming, but Hamlet lulled everyone into a kind of trance because it took him so long to get to that point. Once he was there, Hamlet had a chunk of my arm in his mouth, and my blood was spewing all over the bed.
Menz and Paco got my wrist out of Hamlet’s mouth, and Oberon reached in to get the large piece of flesh.
Vampires heal. As soon as Oberon put the skin back onto my arm, I could feel it reattaching itself.
Hamlet was under control for a moment, but he needed blood. How was I going to give him blood without him tearing up my arms? I was the only vampire who could feed Hamlet, because I was really giving him back the blood that I had taken over the course of his turning.
He was so strong, so hungry. Menz and Paco held him down, and Oberon shepherded my arm into Hamlet’s new fangs. They forced him to drink without damaging his Maker. I was all in favor of not damaging the Maker, of course, because that was me.
When I turned Oberon, he drank so much that he almost killed me from lack of blood. I was passed out for two days. The vampires and the human servant, Tavin, made sure Hamlet didn’t do that.
We went through this kind of violent feeding for three or four nights in a row. When Hamlet was dead during daylight, he was restrained for my protection.
“WEIßT du… was… ich will… möchte?”
It was Hamlet, and he sounded drunk or dopey. He was awake enough to talk. Oberon said he needed something.
“What’s that?” I asked. Oberon was up, and he was removing Hamlet’s restraints for the night’s first feeding.
“Ich möchte,” Hamlet said, “der Schwanz des Mårten in meinen Mund.”
“You’re supposed to be drinking Mårten’s blood, not giving him a blow job,” Oberon added as he held me back. He thought I was going to try to hit Hamlet. I mean, I had considered it after he attacked my arm. It was beginning to sound like a good plan.
“Ja, Blut,” Hamlet said like he was drunk, “aber aus seinem Schwanz.”
He wanted blood from my dick. Hey, we had Hamlet back again. That sounded like something Hamlet would want. “You little pervert,” I said.
“That’s between the two of you,” Oberon laughed, “but if you bite off his dick, you are going to die on that bed tonight.”
I was getting a hard-on, but I didn’t want anybody to know that. Hamlet was drunk from his turning.
“I will leave you two to whatever,” Oberon said.
“No,” I stopped him. “Don’t go anywhere. Hamlet isn’t going to—”
Hamlet reached out and grabbed me by the seat of my pants. He swung me around at vampire speed and had his mouth in my crotch. His fangs ripped through my pants and found their mark. Hamlet wanted blood from my dick and was prepared to take it by force.
Oberon just shook his head as he grabbed Hamlet’s head.
“I swear that if you damage his goods,” Oberon said, “I will kill you.”
Hamlet growled deeply.
“Yum,” he said after a minute of drinking. He pulled his face out of my pants and leaned back onto the bed. It was weird to see him smile, because he now had fangs. His face was dripping in blood, my blood.
Hamlet reached down and stroked his raging hard-on.
“Yum,” he repeated with a grin. Oberon walked to the door. He didn’t leave the bedroom, but he locked the door so we would have a little privacy.
Oberon jumped over the footboard at the base of the bed and was under Hamlet in a flash. My husband was to be a participant, not just an observer.
He spit into his hand and had his dick inside Hamlet before there was any time for discussion. Hamlet didn’t mind. He pulled me over to straddle his chest. It wasn’t a request but a demand. I don’t usually like being told what to do, but you only have your first vampire sex once. I let it slide. He pulled the torn remnants of my pants away. I basically had two pant legs and nothing else. Hamlet had torn off the rest of my clothing.
Rather than a blow job, I fucked Hamlet’s face.
“Ouch,” I warned him. He wasn’t used to having fangs. At one point, it hurt so much that I had to take myself out of his mouth. My dick healed quickly, as all vampire wounds do. Hamlet jacked me off while my lover plowed his ass. Hamlet’s hands worked my dick fast and furious. He wanted me to cum first.
Who was I to disagree?
I shot my wad into his mouth, which he drank greedily. Then he moved his mouth lower, and his fangs found their mark. His mouth was full of cum and blood, and he could barely swallow fast enough.
There was telltale wetness on my back, so Hamlet had cum. I knew when Oberon shot because I could feel his energy. A hundred years with the same man makes you understand his energy levels. Oberon rubbed Hamlet’s cum off my back. He must have swallowed it for dessert.
And that’s how Hamlet became a vampire.
He is not your run-of-the-mill Saturday-movie-date vampire. Hamlet is one of a kind. They threw the mold away before they made him. I’m fairly sure that there was never a turning quite like Hamlet’s.
After about half an hour, all the body fluids on the bed were dry. There was blood and cum. The house staff would have quite a bit of work, cleaning up the mess. We got Hamlet to his feet. He could walk but was a little shaky. I asked Oberon if the shakiness could be because Hamlet was barefoot.
“He usually wears heels,” I said.
Thwack. Hamlet slapped me.
It wouldn’t be the last time he slapped me.
“I have a new name for the estate,” I said.
Hamlet and Oberon looked at me.
“Lechmont Manor. Let’s call it Lechmont Manor.”
“Lechmont Manor?” Oberon asked. I just nodded.