At 4am this morning, I woke from a dream so incredibly detailed, with its own mythology and the like, that I scrambled for my phone and jotted down 1,372 tired words. I’ve read over it just now, having woken later in the morning, and have left it unedited and untouched, save for some spelling mistakes and sentences that didn’t make sense. What you will read is something I’ve written while not entirely awake, my hand pulled along by forces beyond this world.
I know some of you enjoy looking into the mind of the process or the writer or even ME, so I hope this intrigues you at the very least.
I can remember her taking my face in her hands, and looking at me with those deep blue eyes. My god, how deep and blue and expansive they are. How kind and thoughtful they are. Oceans. They are the sea.
I see her eyes flicker but before I can contemplate what that means, she’s leaning in to kiss me deeply.
Christ, her lips are so soft. They seem to sink right into my own lips. As if merging together.
I can feel my heart leap in my chest.
As she holds the kiss, as I hold the kiss, I suddenly see everything. I see her ass, lily white and gorgeous, I see her free of the shackles of her past life. I see her freedom. And it makes my heart pound in my chest.
When she pulls away, I feel like I know her more through that kiss. As if, through the act, a bond was created – and we fused.
She has to wipe the dark curl of hair from her eyes. Or I do.
I want to but I can’t look away from those deep, mesmerising eyes. I feel like I know her more now, know her better.
She kisses me again suddenly, deeper, harder. My stomach flips in excitement – or is that her excitement I feel, now that we are bonded. Now that my emotion is shared through the bond and hers is shared in my mind.
A sense of understanding. That’s what it is.
I can feel her soft hands on my face, cradling me, as if she wanted this for a while.
I want to tell her to be free, like I know she wants to be. There’s a side to her that I can sense. I want to scream it at her beautiful blue eyes, even as I wipe her dark curls out of her face.
Do what you want, what you must, for the freedom of your soul, for your health, but I know the truth. She senses it too now, my weirdness. My indulgence. I’m encroaching on something.
The other women around me don’t seem to mind our shared kiss. They wait patiently in silence, or do they observe? And if they observe, what do they see? Did I get it all wrong, terribly wrong? But that can’t be! She kissed me. I sense her. I sense her so strongly.
One by one hand, their hands lower me down to the cool metal table. How many women are there? Well, there’s the vampire – I know that. Blonde hair, ice blue eyes. There’s the girl in the hoody with the kind eyes. There’s the fiery redhead in the singlet with the rosy cheeks.
Somehow I know they’re actually all vampires. Except me and her. She who regards me with her deep blue eyes as big as the moon.
Does he know how lucky he is to have her?Where is he anyway?
As if on cue, he wanders into the small room, eyes ablaze. There’s fury.
In a heartbeat, before he can see, she tears her hands away from mine – somewhere along my counting of how many women there are around me, she took my hands in hers.
I didn’t even finish counting anyway. There’s more than three. They’re all gathered around me in a circle, her included.
I can feel her through the bond, I can tell she wants to undress and be naked. I can tell that’s how she likes to be. It comes in a flash in my mind, and I can see her walking along her natural habitat – a forest – completely nude, grass crunching beneath her feet.
“For a little extra you can become a vampire.” A woman at the end of the table says. She’s looking at me with tired eyes that seem to sag in their sockets. She’s dressed all in black, even with a black robe. The tattooist.
I shake my head. “No, thank you, just the tattoo. Like hers.”
I point to the woman with the kind eyes. She’s watching me closely, a smile across her ruby red lips. Out of all the women that have taken up residence in my home since my partner left, this one has spent the most time talking to me.
On her chest, above her breasts, she has a tattoo of a symbol that’s foreign to me. I couldn’t begin to describe it. I only know I want it on my chest.
And it just so happens one of the women in this wonderful, warm tribe, is an artist of the tattooing kind.
When did I get so lucky, to have this support from all these beautiful women around me? All these endlessly kind beings? I’d tip my hat if I wore one. I’m afraid the only thing I wear is my heart on my sleeve ever since she left me. Five years gone and cheated on me the past few months for some bloke with dark features, same as me. What did I have that he didn’t? Why did that draw the attention of a tribe of men and women into my home and why do they support me endlessly in this relationship breakdown?
May the party live forever.
I know she senses my thoughts because she frowns to herself. That or it’s because he’s circling her, his eyes on her as he joins her to her right, where he perches like a bird or a ghost or a bodyguard. I can’t decide which. I’m sure he didn’t think about this possibility when he, too, came into my home. I certainly didn’t expect to spark her interest. I’m not even sure she would talk to me if I didn’t talk to her first. The only thing I know about her is that she’s not a vampire like the others and that her wonderful eyes are as big as the moon.
Do I regret the kiss? I’m not sure, to be entirely honest. My heart and mind and very soul still rages at the recent betrayal of my ex. I mean, after she came clean about the affair, she still wanted to suckle on my cock while the others finger fucked her into a delirious state.
We all knew she did it to pass the time – her family was picking her up, her bags were packed – but we still did this. We all did this.
So there’s rage behind my willingness, that I’ll admit, but when she placed my face in her hands and kissed me that first time, I wasn’t just hypnotised, I was mesmerised. Because I could feel her thoughts. I could sense that she wanted to silence my pain as much she wanted to silence hers.
Does that make me a bad person?
There’s no fear in me when the women hold my legs down and apart. I trust these new friends of mine. They did offer me vampirism after all. They even wanted to charge me! But no, this was about the tattoo. The tattoo that would mark my pain and hurt forever, the tattoo that would bond me to these traveling nomads, friends for life.
Some of them, like her, had boyfriends. They were grouped in one room of the house watching tv and drinking. Eventually they would retire to their rooms and sleep, snoring softly.
The circle of women talk amongst themselves. Some of them banter. It makes me smile. They must’ve been traveling together for so long they’ve made friendships for life. Is this what this tattoo is? Am I part of the tribe?
I feel her soft hand on my arm and meet her eyes. There’s something else there now. A wound of sorts flickers behind her eyes. But who would wound the moon? Who?
Despite this, it’s a shy smile she gives me and it makes my heart race. I close my eyes and feel her warmth rising through the bond. It makes me smile too.
