Date: 2007-11-03 15:13 Subject: Stepping out Security: Public

Finally, Julian has agreed to take me out to the local gay club. After the weeks I have been away from the music and lights and men, a club in Wichita, Kansas is going to be phenomenal.

Red is coming with us. I am very excited to be able to dress up and go out for fun. I am going to dance. I am going to flirt. I am going to get laid by a big stud of a wolf. Can the night be any more perfect? I hardly think so!

I've just realized what time it is. Julian will be home in only a few hours and then a few hours after that we are going out. I really need to start thinking about my outfit. I've hardly any clothes with me, so I will need to utilize what I have to its best effect.

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Date: 2007-11-02 23:32 Subject: Dining in Security: Public Mood: energetic

Julian is delicious. He let me have him.

He was incredibly adorable for a 6'3", large man. His abs were so tight, knotted in apprehension I am sure, and yet he was trying so hard to act completely natural. Because I am very good at what I do, I quickly relaxed him. Except when I kissed down his neck. In my ardor, I had forgotten the no-no zone. I was quickly reminded of it when Julian went wolfy on me. Oh, I wish I had had a camera! He was so... primal. So, very serious about my not going near his throat. I was startled at first, but when I realized how startled he was at the reaction he had had, I couldn't help but laugh.

Because I am a gentleman, I was quick to control my humor and resume my feast. I drank from the warmth of his thigh. His strong muscles, the heat from his body, were like an aphrodisiac to me. I love to be between a man's legs, his thighs surrounding me, his chest above me. It was wonderful. And when I tasted him, it was heaven. I have never tasted the blood of a werewolf. The flavor is distinct and strong. It nearly burnt the tongue when I caught the first drops. It tastes of power. Hot power, which is different from a bloodsucker's blood. Ours is a much more subtle taste. I suppose the flavor of our bloods perfectly match our natures.

Either way, taking him into my body in that way made me hungry for taking him in another. I had already made him as hard as I could. I quickly reached between my own legs and readied myself. When I had had enough, drunk my fill, I climbed back into his lap and jumped him. His blood warmed me, made my skin tingle and feverish. I nearly felt intoxicated, but in a clear and focused and aroused way. I was more than aroused, I was nearly in heat. It was glorious.

And my wonderful gift, even after all the deliciousness, was that I got my messy sex. He came inside me. Wonderful. And I am happy and proud to say that I haven't even showered him off me yet. He hadn't even realized what had happened until later when he shouted up at me.

The high from his blood is still making me feverish and excited. I wish we could go out right now. Maybe I'll turn on the stereo, really loudly, and dance naked in the living room with Julian. Yes. Something. Something fun and wild.

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Date: 2007-11-01 15:11 Subject: Halloween Security: Public Mood: chipper

I had a very nice Halloween. Very nice.

I did not find an appropriate costume. I briefly flirted with the idea of pulling a bed sheet out of the closet and going Greek, but Julian is apparently against all-white sheets. And an Ancient Greek in a scarlet toga would not have the same impact.

The cookies, however, I was able to accomplish. And quite well, I might add. They looked perfect. I made sure they were all the same size and perfectly round and each one had the same exact amount of chocolate chips. I felt absolutely domesticated. I am contemplating buying myself an apron.

While looking through recipes, I came across an easy Italian dish. It looked positively sexual. A firm tube full of meat with white cream coming out of the end. How could I not attempt creating such a meal? Julian came home as I was just beginning and I must admit I was quite impressed with myself when he actually ate one of the cookies I made. I ignored his look of skepticism when he saw that I was making dinner.

Unfortunately, he came in and took over. I assure you I had everything in hand, but he insisted that I was doing something wrong. Something about using the wrong cookware. Which, of course, was a silly excuse just to take over. But he did it so nicely, I allowed him to.

The doorbell began to ring while he was finishing his dinner and I happily answered it. Julian told me to just hand out the candy and wish them a Happy Halloween. He also forbade me from dropping my strike teeth. I found that incredibly unfair, but I capitulated. I was glad I did when most of the children were quite tiny. But when a large teenager came to the door wearing a horrendous Dracula costume, complete with drawn-on widow’s peak, I couldn’t resist.

“Lovely costume,” I said.

“’Kay,” the kid said and held out his bag. This was in direct violation of the proper procedure for the evening.

I held out three small candy bars (I was instructed to hand out three bits of sweet for each child) and smiled, my fangs in plain sight. “Happy Halloween.”

The kid stared and grunted. “Cool. I couldn’t say nothing with my teeth in.” The candy went inside his pillowcase and he walked away. Why I feel pleased with myself over that ridiculous compliment, I don’t know. When Julian appeared behind me, I quickly hid my teeth.

It was a lovely evening, really. I could think of only one more thing that would make it perfect. So, when Julian had shuttered the house for the night, locking us in its cozy confines, I pounced.
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Date: 2007-10-31 12:37 Subject: Red and Black Security: Public

Red is my new favorite color.

reddiamond finally came over last night. Bursting in like a force to be reckoned with. I had not expected to be embraced so easily, especially with her knowing what I am, but a pair of fangs do not scare off Red.

She is enchanting. I may have found a link to the outside world. Red let me go on and on about L.A., about the gorgeous men there. We spoke about fashion and I was able to impress her with my fashion knowledge, not that she was too shabby in that department. She was dressed for work, but I did not hold that against her since I could tell she would be fabulous in nearly anything.

Red is my perfect counterpart. Where I am expressive yet reserved, Red is expressive and her body shows it. She is energy itself. After spending so much time with men who are quiet and calm, being with Red is absolutely refreshing. I’ve missed the frenetic energy of human life, which she has in spades. She has perfect timing. She can instantly come back with something when I give the slightest opening. She harasses Julian to no end, alternately gnawing on him and boosting his ego. Amazing.

She and I chatted for a few hours. Not long enough, but she has a home and child. I want to buy something for that child. I’ve never bought anything for a child before, so I will need Julian’s help. Red and I even discussed how wrong men can be and how important it is just to get the hell out of there when it’s over. So true.

The only black mark against her would be her loyalty to nasty, little, lying, furry bitches. But I shall win her completely to my side. We made Julian promise to take us to a club called Fantasy. Apparently there is only one club here, or at least one good one. I shall contain my horror at that thought and hope that Red and Julian were not lying to me and their dress code is better than “No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

Red left as quickly as she appeared. I got to have her few a few extra minutes while she searched the house for her keys before realizing they were in her coat pocket. Then she was gone.

The house was so quiet after that. I drifted into the kitchen where Julian was putting our glasses in the dishwasher.

“I love Red. She is my new best friend and we shall rule the earth together,” I said.

Julian grunted and shook his head.

“And you will be our furry guardian. King of beasts.”

“If I didn’t know you never drank a drop, I’d say you were drunk.”

I leaned against the counter and smiled. “I can find an alcoholic and come home drunk if you promise to take complete advantage of me.”

He closed the dishwasher and looked at me. Kind of a… sad look.

“Fine. You don’t approve of me drinking drunks.” I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “I’ll be very good then.”

He looked at me again and started walking out of the kitchen. “If the socializing is over, I’m heading for bed. I do work for a living.”

I followed him towards the stairs.

“I’m going in early and coming home late to make up for today,” he said as he started up the steps. “So you do whatever it is you do during the day. Just don’t—”

“Answer the telephone or the door. Yes, I’m fully capable of that,” I said with a smile up at him. He looked at me for another moment, nodded his head, and disappeared upstairs.

It was quiet in the house. I nearly left to explore the city. Perhaps Julian and Red were too goody two-shoes. Every city has something going on in the night. But in the end I decided to be a good guest and do as I was told.

It was a boring night.

And now it is a boring day, but at least I am used to that part of it. Oprah was as tedious as always. I have no idea why I still watch her. I caught a Twilight Zone marathon and it reminded me that today is Halloween. And I, a vampire, am shacking up with a werewolf. How utterly delicious is that?

I searched around but found no pumpkins to carve. Maybe he put some in the garage, but it’s not attached to the house, so that is a no-go. At least the rest of the house is decorated for the holiday. But maybe I could add more spider webs to the corners of the house? Or make some paper bats? Julian has cook books. I could make cookies. That shouldn’t be very hard, should it? I can read and follow directions, so I should be able to do that.

I’ve missed all the Halloween celebrations in West Hollywood. On one hand, I know that coming here is much better. On the other, I feel jealous and regret that this will be my first year in a decade in which I’m not attending. But there is no use crying over spilled milk. I hope Julian’s edict to not open doors to strangers does not apply tonight. I want to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. I’ve never done that before.

I need to find a costume. There must be something in this house I can use.

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Date: 2007-10-30 19:12 Subject: I don't think I'm in California anymore... Security: Public Mood: cheerful

I have spent some hellish nights in my lifetime, but these past few have been quite exceptional. Exactly what does the handy doorknob sign saying "Do Not Disturb" lack in telling the maids that I would not like to be disturbed? Remind me never, ever to stay at a "Quality budget" hotel. Ever. I don't think they ever clean under the beds after the hotel was built. It was incredibly disgusting. I wouldn't have had to spend the time under the bed if their damn drapes closed properly. A one-inch wide bar of light continually shone through. Even worse, I had a terrible time sleeping. So there I was, lying under a disgusting bed, in disgusting filth, talking to the dust kangaroos, and wishing I could see the TV from where I was. I doubt, though, that Arizona had anything to offer in the way of entertaining afternoon shows. At least not on basic cable.

But that is all behind me! I came to my senses and realized where I needed to be.

After a cramped flight because I didn’t bring enough cash with me to afford First-Class, I have arrived in Wichita! Julian (jcipres)was there to greet me and I got my first real look at him. It annoys me how good-looking he really is. I was hoping he was exaggerating online and that his pictures were fake or, at the least, photoshopped. But no, he was just as handsome, tall, and gruff as he came across online. His voice was deeper than I had imagined, but very nice.

Wichita is… flat. It’s not bad. I admit I have never been in a place without mountains or tall buildings or trees surrounding me and I am left feeling vulnerable. Out in the open. Exposed. But I am not at all disappointed. Except for the fact that most stores closed before I got there. I am not sure how the city survives with such Puritan hours, but I will adjust. I am in need of some quiet and relaxing time. A nice holiday.

Julian took me to his home and after I asked if there were a nice closet I could perhaps stay in, he enthusiastically gave me his bedroom, sealing it off from all light. So gracious. So kind. He then brought home all sorts of goodies to protect the rest of the house so that I may move around freely in the day. Wasn’t that considerate of him?

Julian’s home is a bit on the small side, but very cozy. And he is here alone. Only the dog. It’s been a while since I’ve been around a dog. My family used to have some about the house when I was growing up, so it was nice to be able to meet Brenda. She and I spent time together today as I was trapped in Julian’s bedroom. She is a very nice dog.

I was finally able to sleep. I had a perfect bath in Julian’s quite large tub and now I smell like Julian’s body wash, which is nice. I was able to fall asleep afterwards. And stay asleep. Brenda was with me. She seemed a bit cautious about getting on the bed with me, but she finally acquiesced. Even if we’re breaking the house rules, I’m sure Julian won’t mind.

After my rest, I wandered about Julian’s room. He has very nice taste. I like that he doesn’t have a lot of clutter and such. Unfortunately, that also left me with not much to look at. I did, however, discover the type of lube he prefers and the size of his condoms. I’m impressed. He also has very exciting underwear stashed at the back of his drawer. And the picture of his mother was very nice. She was very pretty in her youth.

I also found a pair of underwear and a shirt that were obviously too small to be Julian’s under the bed. (Honestly, does no one clean under beds anymore?) The shirt had a rock band on it that I have now decided to hate. I burned the items of poor quality and taste in Julian’s sink. I am sure he will forgive me the scorch marks. It was a necessary cleansing. I will be on the lookout for more things that need to be exorcised. Julian’s house doesn’t need any trashy Asian décor, now does it?

I’m a bit concerned about my own clothing. When I brought it up to Julian, he showed me where the clothes washing machines are. I haven’t used a washing machine in nearly thirty years. There were so many buttons and dials. I’m looking through the phone book now to find a laundry service. They must have those here, yes? I’ll ask Julian when he gets out of the shower. He was quite sweaty when he was done hanging the tarps and things over the windows for me. I hope we can go out to dinner this evening. I want to see the city with Julian.

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Date: 2007-10-28 19:57 Subject: Attempted Freedom Security: Public

I tried to kill him today. I just couldn’t think of him in my house, in my life, another moment. I wanted him gone. He hadn’t taken my suggestions; he hadn’t listened to me telling him I wanted him gone. So, I decided I would make him gone.

He was sleeping in the spare bedroom. I slipped out of my room and down the hall toward the kitchen. I keep nothing except a few bottles of wine, some glasses, and a few knives. I don’t know how to fight, but if I want a weapon, a kitchen knife is easily hidden in plain sight. The problem I faced was getting a big enough knife. I’m not going to tell you the different ways to kill my kind. I don’t even know them all, and I was going to kill someone who did, and used them all the time. But I will tell you that I needed a big knife or other bladed instrument.

I found my largest knife. From handle to tip it was about the length of my forearm and hand. Not very large, but I figured I could do enough damage to do what I needed to do. He may be a hunter, but he wasn’t expecting to be the prey, was he? This pretty little twink would surprise him and kill him. And the bonus would be a new reputation that could work completely in my favor.

I quietly moved down the hallway concentrating on what my new title would be. Perhaps the Black Widow or the Lover of Death. I liked the last one. I stopped at the door to the spare bedroom and envisioned my life without him in it and I smiled. Then I quietly opened the door.

“You shouldn’t announce your plans for murder on a such a public forum, Koha.”

He stood at the foot of the bed. A Blackberry in his hand. I stared at him for a moment before spinning around and bolting.
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Date: 2007-10-28 00:28 Subject: Roomies Security: Public

I haven't shared my living space with another for nearly eighty years. I never needed to remember why I don't, but I am getting that reminder anyway.

He insisted on staying with me. Let me rephrase that: He is staying and will not take my polite and gentle prods to leave seriously. I am told that I am safe from the bloodsuckers, that I can go about freely without being tied to a stake again. And yet he won't leave.

After my rescue, that day I spent lying in my bed, sand still on my feet, listening to him move about the apartment. He came in at one point and told me to sleep. I thanked him for his concern and lied there with my eyes open until late afternoon when my body finally just shut down. I woke with a start, breathing fast and shielding my eyes from a non-existent sun. I really hate nightmares.

My arm hurt and I was hungry, but I didn’t want to leave my bedroom and face him. I had slept for quite a few hours and I felt a bit better for it. I lied there for another hour before becoming bored. Being as quiet as I could, I pulled my laptop out and played around on the Internet for a while. I looked up apartments in Miami.

And then the music started. I think that is what some people call it. It was… loud and had instruments. I think. I continued to focus on my computer, but eventually the noise drove me out.
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Date: 2007-10-24 09:51 Subject: Meeting the Sunrise Security: Public

Please forgive me if my writing is a bit rough. I’m tired and still in some pain. But I am compelled to write this down.

Last night I had finally decided it was time to bury the cat. He was still in my boot box, still sitting beside me. But I knew it was time. I didn’t mind the smell so much as the lack of respect I was showing him. He was a true warrior, wasn’t he?

It took me longer to move the sofa away from the door than I thought it would. Other than my cat, I hadn’t eaten anything in nearly a week and my strength had deteriorated. My mental faculties also weren’t at their best or I may have realized how incredibly stupid I was being.

I put on my coat and stepped outside. It was disgusting out. Smoke lay heavy in the air and the streetlights glowed a muted and sickly orange. I had forgotten the fires burning all around me. I was confused at first but quickly moved on. It’s true that nobody walks in L.A., but I also don’t drive. I asked the security guard at the front gate to call a cab for me. I remember he asked if I was all right and if it wasn’t too cold to be out in bare feet. I had forgotten to put on shoes. I said something in order to placate him, which seemed to work and my taxi came not long after. I held the box close to my chest to keep myself from going for the driver. I concentrated and focused on my box, on my cat inside. And before I knew it, we had arrived at my destination.

I went to Griffith Park. I decided to climb up the trail to Mount Hollywood and quickly became disoriented in the smoke. If I had thought about it, I would have realized that going up in smoke was bad and that my view of Los Angeles would be non-existent. But I continued on, focused on giving my cat the perfect place to rest.

Finally, I stopped. Not at the summit, but at a small area just off the trail. I dug into the ground with my bare hands since I had forgotten to bring anything to dig with. I placed the box into the hole and waited for a moment, giving my cat his final moments to view the sky. Again, silly of me since not only was the sky obscured, but also he was in a box.

“You should cover it now, shouldn’t you?”

I looked behind me, confused. They appeared out of the hazy and thick air. Five of them. Dear Vincent was not among them anymore. The blond was still in the lead. He walked over and squatted beside me, looking into the hole.

“Sad thing. Go ahead and cover him. You don’t want the wildlife finding him, right?”

“No,” I said and began to push and pull the dirt, the earth and rocks falling on the top of the box the only sound. Even the constant hum of the city was far away up there. When I had covered it completely and pushed a large rock on top, I turned toward the blond.

“Well, Valerian, you have made a big stir, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said dumbly.

“I’m not sure about that. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. But you know how paranoid we are.” The blond stood and reached his hand down to me. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Venice,” he said with a smile as he pulled me to my feet.

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Date: 2007-10-23 00:51 Subject: The Best Years Security: Public

The best years of my life were the ones just before and leading into the worst years of my life.

The fun creatures quickly moved themselves to Berlin in its 1920s-30s heyday. It was this amazing island of freedom in those days. I worked as a dancer and escort in a very nice club. A club at that time was a more dignified place than they are now, but still considered wild then. Stage acts, singers, dancing, could all be found there. And when I say I was a dancer, I mean that I learned and rehearsed numbers to be preformed for an audience. I was one of the fey boys who could dress in drag. I couldn’t completely pass as a woman like some could, but on stage, I could look like a graceful Ginger Rogers. I was a quick study so I could get away with only going to night rehearsals just prior to our performances. One of the pieces I still remember was done to this song, Fascinating Rhythm. I loved that piece of music.

After our number, I would mingle with the crowd, flirting with both men and women. I had a steady lover then who would come watch me often. He owned a clothing store and would give me such pretty things.

The music was fast and fun, or slow and sensual, and love was a gilded thing. Sex was not a taboo and was encouraged. And we danced. We danced and danced. It was such a fun time. Everything was so carefree and even wicked things were done with such innocent excitement and enthusiasm.

My brother Thomas would have been shocked at seeing women’s ankles and calves. He would have been even more shocked to see my well-turned ankles and calves as I danced, dressed as a flapper. My god, the flappers! How I adored them! They were my first true fag hags. They loved me and I loved them. It was through my group of gals that I found many of my lovers then. Oftentimes, we would pass them between us. We would frequent a certain club where you could find men who buttered their bread on both sides, and we would have a ball.

There is a picture somewhere, most likely in an attic or perhaps a museum, that has my girls and I all dressed in suits with our makeup on. I remember posing for that picture with an avant garde photographer who then had sex with us after inhaling something. Back then, it was common for our set to sniff cocaine and smoke opium. It made the artists see more, they said. It made the women and men looser and wilder. In this current time, drugs usually end up being a bore. But back then, when things had been so repressed, it allowed us to feel truly open to so much.

One of my clearest memories is being with Bertie, my lover, dancing as Maurice Chevalier sang of ‘Livin’ in the Sunlight, Lovin’ in the Moonlight’ on the radio in Bertie’s sitting room. I keep a tape player just so I can still play that song from an ancient cassette I have had for decades.

Bertie’s name was actually Adalbert, and he had the most delightful accent. It was guttural and melodic and wonderful to hear whispered in my ear. Bertie loved me best when I was being androgynous. With my hair styled, and my eyeliner on, wearing one of his shirts, I was my most attractive to him. We danced with my bare thighs sliding underneath his crisp white shirt, still warm from him and smelling of his French cologne. His bare arms held me tight as we spun through the room, crashing into end tables and laughing uproariously when a clock fell off “face first”.

As Chevalier finished and a German tango began, Bertie kissed me hard. He pulled back, his mouth still breathing into mine, “I want you,” he whispered with a smile. “Right now.”

“Yes.” Honestly, I couldn’t have answered with anything else.

He kissed me again as his hands unbuttoned his shirt that hung on me. His hands reached inside once he had it open and ran along my ribs and across my nipples. I jerked at the sensation and bit his lip gently. He laughed and walked me backwards toward the wall. My head rested against a painting of a river as his lips trailed down my neck and across my collarbone. I pulled at the hem of his undershirt, dragging it over his head and groaning when he immediately went back to kissing and nibbling my neck and chest.

He kissed his way down my stomach and breathed across the tip of my hardened flesh. His knees made a thump as he went to them on the hardwood floor.

“Bertie,” I whispered, bending forward to run my hands along his back and shoulders. I nipped at his ear as he nipped at the head of my cock. “Oh, Bertie. Please.”

He chuckled and licked me, one slow, long lick from balls to tip. I groaned, excited at the attention. I could feel his fingers caressing my hip and buttock, while the other hand stroked my cock. I held my breath as his lips wrapped around me and began to suck. I whimpered, just as he liked, and got a groan from him in return.

“I am not going to last, darling. You were very sweet tonight. I watched you cater to that old man in the front. You are too kind,” he said as he mouthed my sac.

“I’m not kind,” I moaned. “I just knew he couldn’t see very far and gave him a closer show.”

Bertie laughed. “Yes. Kind.” He tugged at my hips and I allowed him to pull me down onto the floor.

“Here?” I asked, laughing up at him as he lay atop me. “Wicked, aren’t you? Right here on the sitting room floor?”

“I must have you,” he breathed into my mouth before sealing our lips together. “One day I will keep you.”

I licked at his lips and kissed his chin as his hands made my skin tingle and ache for more. “You have me, meine liebe.”

He sucked at my earlobe. “I mean for good. To have you in my home and bed.”

I laughed. “Would you make me your wife, then? Shall I greet you with dinner?”

He smiled as he looked at me. “Yes.”

And I believed him. I believed that if he could have, if we could have, he would have asked me to marry him then. And I think I would have liked to have said yes. Incredibly silly of me, I know. Putting aside the fact that I can’t cook nor could I go out to buy the groceries, I think I would have enjoyed making Bertie happy. He made me happy.

He kissed me again and that precious make-believe moment was gone. But sweet Bertie didn’t let the next moment be sad. His lips and hands crafted me into a pile of mush until I was begging him for it.

I’m quite a pretty beggar.

“Hold up your legs for me, darling,” he said as he coated his red and purple cock in the oil I always kept in my inner coat pocket. I brought my knees to my chest, my stomach tight in anticipation. I love the moment a man first enters me: the anticipation, the first nudge against me, the stretching as I envelope him, the feeling of having him inside my body, and being held. All of it feels so good. With the right man, it can be glorious. Bertie was one of the rightest men I ever knew.

His cock bumped against my opening and I whimpered for him. Slowly he entered me, his arms braced on either side of my hips. As he slid deeper, he moved closer to my face until he was kissing me as his pubic hair brushed against my ass.

“Perfect,” he whispered into my mouth before claiming it again. A Gershwin tune came on the radio as Bertie began to move within me.

My arms wrapped around him tight. He made it slow and deep, kissing me, worshipping me. He called me ‘meine blume’, his flower. He always made sure I came first, and then when I was in the heady rush, he would follow me. He told me that watching me climax was his favorite stimulant.

We laid there, kissing, touching, whispering words of nothingness. When a song came on that he liked, he pulled me to my feet and we danced again, this time naked. I am surprised the neighbors did not beat our door down.

It was one of the best nights of my life.



I miss those years. Towards the end, when the climate started to become so black that we could no longer ignore it, I ran to the clique of bloodsuckers in Berlin. I had played with them before, but it was then that I decided to become a full-member of a cluster of them. I thought that if I stayed with the immortals, the good times could keep going. They didn’t. I rudely discovered that my kind couldn’t play alongside the human world. We are in it for good or ill.

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Date: 2007-10-22 02:30 Subject: My Cat Security: Public

I like cats. I don’t particularly care for owning a pet, but cats are very self-sufficient and we can easily come to an agreement to cohabitate peacefully.

Three years ago, I happened to find a cat while I stood outside an office building where my then-current lover worked. He had gone inside to get something he had forgotten and I had stood outside enjoying the last bit of light in the sky.

It was a white and grey mess; hair matted and dirty. But his attitude when he looked at me was very clear. He was a feline fallen on hard times but refused to lose his dignity over it. I respected that.

My lover at the time was a complete ass and refused to let the cat into his car. So I called a taxi. Ass was not happy about having his date canceled, but I wanted that cat and I wasn’t about to not have it. I gave the cab driver a large tip for taking me to a pet store and helping me pick out what I would need. I’d have given him a blowjob, but he was terribly straight and married with children.

When I got to my apartment building, the cab driver told me that I would need to take the cat to a veterinarian. I have to admit that at that point I had begun to think I had taken on a larger responsibility than I had originally wanted. I set the cat down, expecting him to run away, but he didn’t. He just sat down and looked at me as if to tell me that I would need to give him the correct apartment number if he were to find it. Which was true, so I told him, picked him up, and escorted him there.

He seemed to find my home acceptable after touring each room. When I filled up his new bowl, he gracefully ate it, even though I could tell he had missed more than a few meals.

Ass came knocking on my door nearly an hour later as the cat and I were watching a movie.

“So, you fucked me over for a cat and a DVD?” he asked. He was severely irritated as he glared into my house. He pushed his way in and shut the door.

“I invited you back with us,” I pointed out. “You didn’t want to. I’m glad you changed your mind.” I moved toward him and tried to kiss him. He pushed me away. Hard. I banged up against my dining room table.

“You know, I pay an awful lot for the rent here,” he said, his voice raising. “And I bet it was the money I gave you last night that paid for that fucker’s new collar!” He pointed at the cat.

“I get lonely when you’re not with me,” I answered, trying to calm him down.

“So I’d have bought you a fucking vibrator. Get rid of that fucking cat. Then we’re going out like I planned.”

“All right, we’ll go out. Let me get my shoes on.”

“Get rid of the fucking cat.”

“Why?”

“Because it pisses me off!”

“But I don’t need to get rid of it—” He hit me hard in the face. My nose hurt and my eyes began to water.

“Get rid of it,” he hissed, standing over me in an intimidating manner. Now I was pissed, but he made a lot of money that I didn’t want to lose.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’ll get rid of him when we get back. I’ll take him to the shelter or something.”

“Just toss it out. Now.”

I hesitated too long and got hit again. I may be able to take a lot of damage without dying, but pain is still pain. That bastard could hit hard. And this time he aimed for my stomach. I crumpled to the ground, the pain radiating through me.

Then a streak of gray and white came at me, flew past me, and latched onto Ass’s inner left thigh.

“Sonofabitch!” he yelled and tried pulling the cat off. I got to my knees and pulled his legs out from under him. He hit the carpet hard, still trying to pull the cat’s claws from his tender flesh. I hit him in the face before pulling the cat off of him. He screamed as the claws tore through his skin.

“Get out of my house,” I hissed along with the cat. I crawled backwards, holding the cat to my chest as claws still reached for his victim.

Ass rolled to his side, breathing heavy, face turning red. “Your house? Your house?” he shouted. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I paid for this apartment and for your ass, bitch. You don’t tell me to go anywhere!”

“Yes, I do. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.”

He laughed and stood up. I quickly did the same. “You’re not going to call the cops. You wanna know why? Because they won’t believe a word you say. I own you.”

I hated when they said that. “No, you don’t. We have an arrangement. You broke it by hitting me one too many times. Now get out!”

“Make me, bitch!”

So, I did. I dropped the cat on the floor and rushed the bastard. He laughed, thinking he was ready for me. I pushed him hard into the door, making my wall shake and a picture frame go askew. Bullies never expect their victims to fight back. I knew the moment I laid eyes on Ass that he only dated small and effeminate guys because he always needed to be the bigger man.

I wanted to kill him. I pinned him to the wall, standing on tiptoe to be eye level. He seemed more confused than afraid when he realized he couldn’t push me away. I let my strike teeth drop from the roof of my mouth in plain view of him in order to scare him. It was such a stupid thing to do, but I was in a fine anger. His eyes went wide but he still seemed just very confused.

My teeth slid easily through his skin, striking and opening his artery. Puncture made, I pulled them back out and the blood welled up and poured from the holes into my mouth. I licked gently at the opening, encouraging the blood flow. The bastard twitched and took a deep breath in just as I sealed my mouth tight and began feeding earnestly. He struggled at first, but soon the drain on his circulatory system, the rhythmic pulling on his heart, calmed him and he slumped against the door.

I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t. Only a few moments passed before I pulled back and licked the wounds to close and seal them. He would have a large hickey on his neck to remind him of me.

I threw his stunned body out onto the sidewalk in front of my building. A few of my neighbors beside me and the one above were watching from their windows and balconies, most likely alerted by the shouting and pounding.

“Tell me who won’t be believed now?” I asked him with a smile. I licked my lips, making him flinch as he sat on the concrete, and slammed back into my home.

The cat sat on the back of my sofa.

“Are you a guard kitty? Or some type of domesticated wereanimal?”

The cat blinked at me.

“You can have full reign of the house. I bring men home a lot. Just attack the ones like him and we’ll be fine.”

He stretched and hopped down to eat some more kitty chow.

The cat and I lived quite peacefully. He always stayed out of the way unless one of my gentlemen callers raised his voice in anger. Then the cat would suddenly appear and watch the situation cautiously. He never had to come to my aid again, though.


Two nights ago, I woke up on the floor with the cat in my arms. He was drained of every drop of blood. I hadn’t meant to do it. I would never have killed him and never thought that I would. I wish I had put him out of the house. I wish I had just let him go. But, in the end, I was a coward. I was weak. And he paid for it.

I want to bury him properly. I have him wrapped in a sheet and in one of my boot boxes. He is right here beside me. I want to bury him, but that would mean unblocking the door. The cat deserves a proper burial. He truly does. I think he knew. He always did.

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Date: 2007-10-21 19:46 Subject: Vampires are Alive Security: Public Mood: giggly

If I could have, I would have died from laughing.
THIS is what allows my kind to walk through the masses with no one the wiser. We don't dress like that, we don't act like that, and last time I was at a bloodsucker cabal we certainly didn't dance in unison like that. Thank you, emo goths, for hiding us so well.

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Date: 2007-10-21 17:43 Subject: Hills of Los Angeles are burning... Security: Public

Malibu is on fire again. This is the exact reason I refused to live there or anywhere near it. I can't exactly evacuate at any time, can I?

It's also incredibly windy. I hate the wind. It makes such a terrible noise outside. It can make a person go mad, I think.

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Date: 2007-10-19 23:20 Subject: My Becoming Security: Public

Do you know one of the tell-tale signs of a person who is a bloodsucker? The eyes. It isn’t like the movies. They are not red. We don’t suddenly grow large foreheads and noses. It’s a subtle trick of the eyes.

As hunters of humans, we are given skills in which to catch our prey: Speed, agility, strength, and eyesight that works better than our prey’s at night. It is this one skill that gives us away if you know what to look for. Our eyes are made similar to a feline’s. Our pupils can dilate very widely, catching every bit of light they can. So, when you shine a light or catch a picture of us, you may see our eyes flash a bright color. This may be where the Hollywood “glowing eyes” came from.

I met my maker because of this trait. I was in a gaming hall, a “hell”, and being teased by one of my companions about… something. I don’t remember what it was. I remember I lost a bit of my temper and stood up. When I did, the man across the room looked up at me, his eyes flashing in the light from the gas lamp hanging above us. The oddity of it caused me to pause and he nodded his head at me in greeting. I nodded back, and my companion looked in the direction I was, catching sight of the man.

“Val, don’t mess with his sort,” he said earnestly, taking hold of my forearm.

“What sort would that be?”

My companion --George was his name, I believe—shook his head. “People tend to disappear around him. Stay clear of his company.”

This, of course, was akin to waving a red flag in a bull’s face. My companion knew it and tried again to persuade me not to have anything to do with the mysterious man with the flashing eyes. He failed utterly. I looked at the mysterious man again, noting his appearance. He had dark eyes that rested on high cheekbones, and fashionably short hair which appeared to be dark blond hair under the styling oil holding in a straight off the forehead flat style. His clothing was quite well made and he wore the thin cravat that was in fashion.

He smiled knowingly at me. I looked away. I looked back. And he gestured with his drink for me to come to him.

His name was Arthur Stapleton. It was his real name, I learned later, but at the time I had no thought to question it. He asked me to sit beside him and share his bottle of wine. I agreed. I knew by then that I was considered attractive. Back then, normal behavior of a dandy was considered merely exaggerated. Now, it would be considered effeminate. I knew that I was young and pretty and I showed it. My manners were impeccable, but at that time I was playing at being coy and a bit childish. My brother Thomas had died only a year ago, and I was still rebelling anything at all that had to do with being a proper English gentleman.

“Now, I wonder,” he asked in a drawling tone, “why such a pretty fellow such as yourself would be here in this rotten place.”

“Are you going to liken me to an angel, sir?” I asked, taking the glass of wine he poured me. “If you are, you should know that I have heard it before and I always respond, ‘The devil was an angel, too.’”

He chuckled quietly and took a sip of his drink. (A very easy trick. When was the last time you actually watched your companion drink? It is an action that is blanked out of the mind.) “Aren’t you clever?”

“No. No, sir, not at all.” I put my glass down and inched closer to him across the table we sat at. “I’m dreadfully simple. My mother is, as well, bless her. Ask me anything and I shall tell you that I haven’t a notion.”

“Truly? And if I asked you about things of a carnal nature?” he asked me in a low tone, looking directly into my eyes. “Would you answer the same? Never tell me that I sit before a virginal and chaste man.”

“Ah, but that does not require cleverness, does it? It only requires the ability to touch and feel.” My own voice lowered. “It is all about the hands and the mouth.”

“It pains me, my new friend, that you have yet to be acquainted with a clever lover. I assure you that the experience is worth the learning.”

“Truly? Then it pains me as well.”

We drank for a bit longer before he offered to continue our conversation in his room where he had a better stock of spirits.

If I remember correctly, he was renting a set of rooms on Regent Street. Lovely place. My father’s allowance would not allow me to dwell in such a nice place, so I was quite taken with being there.

And I was taken there as well. Taken against the wall and on the floor and finally in the bed.

Being the son of a fey-hearted, empty-headed Original and a diligent member of the upper working class, I did not find it too strange that my new lover only saw me at night. I wanted to walk the park with him, or perhaps go riding. But he rebuffed me with tales of busy doings with his investments and lands, or that he did not enjoy the sun saying that it was hurtful to the skin. He would then bed me so thoroughly that I did not complain very often.

Arthur indulged me, coddled me, and humored me. He encouraged my childish behavior, and I enjoyed doing what pleased him. We spent the better part of a quarter year together before that night it changed. I changed.

I was amusing myself with a book in Arthur’s study, having arrived at his rooms just after sunset. He told me to wait for him as he finished some of his business dealings and then he would take me out. I believe it was the opera we were going to attend that night. Yes, I remember wearing my opera cravat: fluffy enough to hide the fact that my chin was on my chest as I napped. I hate the opera. Incredibly tedious.

There was a knock on the study door and Arthur’s man showed in a person with dark skin in an impeccable sack suit. Arthur and the man greeted each other and it was then that I understood what the man was.

“Why, Arthur,” I asked in a nasty tone as I rose to my feet, “do you associate with Indians?”

Both men paused and turned to look at me. I realize that I probably looked quite ridiculous at that moment. I look back on it and cringe a bit. Please know that I have learned a great deal more aplomb than I did when I was a mere two decades old.

“Val, you’re being rude to my guest and business partner,” Arthur said. His voice held enough warning in it that I knew not to cause the scene I wanted to. Instead, I tossed the book I had been reading onto a table with a haughty huff and stormed out of the room. I was quite dramatic in those days.

Arthur found me later and chastised me for embarrassing him. He threatened to remove my open invitation to his home.

“I hate them!” I shouted. “All of them! Their entire country!”

Arthur crossed his arms and leaned against the piano in the parlour, where I had run to hide. “You hate an entire race? I did not know. You realize that India is quite a ripe fruit to pick.”

“It can rot on the vine for all I care!” I snapped and probably flung myself down on the settee or against the wall.

“Where is all this vitriol coming from?”

And so I told him of my beloved brother’s death at the cruel hands of Great India. I found myself in his arms, spitting and hissing in anger.

And then I found myself in his bed, being quieted with kisses and more. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning did he whisper to me that he could take away the specter of death. He lay atop me, thrusting inside my body, whispering in my ear of the life he could give me. Promises. Pledges.

I agreed, somewhat disbelieving, somewhat hoping. He changed me two nights later. It was a bloody and painful affair, but I got through it and became a newborn of the night.

And I got my own pair of flashing eyes.

Arthur and I stayed together for another year after that. He left one night, saying that it was time I grew on my own. By then, I had learned quite a bit about this “other” life. We kissed our good-byes, I saw him off on his ship bound for Africa, and I headed back into busy London.

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Date: 2007-10-16 17:56 Subject: For the record Security: Public

I have to illuminate an incredibly dim person on the facts of my life.

I am a bloodsucker. I feed on the life of others. I don't need to kill to get it, but I can if I wanted or needed to. To assume that I have some sort of remorse over another's death is ridiculous. Not only ridiculous, but incredibly stupid.

I am not responsible for another's death. Especially when he stupidly put himself in the line of fire. I attempted to steer clear of it but he wouldn't let me. His death is his own fault. Saying that I am responsible, even indirectly, is ludicrous. It's the same as blaming the too short skirt for the woman's rape. GLM took me about, paid for me. That doesn't mean that I had anything to do with his death. I didn't. I tried to prevent it.

The only thing I grieve for in GLM's death, is his wallet. He was a nice fellow who treated me decently, but that does not mean he or his death had any sort of emotional impact on me. He was a paycheck, that is all. A well-meaning but dumb employer.

If you are a moron animal who insists on placing blame for a death, then you can direct it at the idiots who actually committed it. Or even better, you can lay it on the doorstep of the man who started all of this to begin with.

And those who will shortly be responsible for vicious mutilating deaths shouldn't be casting blame on anyone!

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Date: 2007-10-15 08:55 Subject: Back in the saddle Security: Public Mood: happy

I went out last night after having a frustrating conversation with an emo werewolf online. I called one of my friends and we went to Santa Monica Boulevard. It was Sunday night, so I wasn’t expecting much. We stopped in at the Cafe D'Etoile so he could eat. The only good thing about that café is the enormously gay crowd. They are moderately in my target range, but I am not currently looking. I’m in mourning, after all. It would be utterly tasteless to be seen dating when I just lost GLM. But I wasn’t married to him, was I? Of course not. After my friend had finished his food, we went to one of my favorite clubs, which is huge. I adore it.

The club is set up like a circus, which is always fun, and perfect for feeling good again. The lights, the sounds, the bodies, the heat, it was all amazing last night. Perfect. I lost my friend pretty quickly and became enveloped in the crowd. My hips never stopped moving, I can assure you.

I just wanted to dance. I still wanted to dance. I had sex with a man in a corner of the second dance floor. We had an audience who crowded around us, blocking us from view. I gave him a blowjob until he nearly came, then I rode him while he lay on the floor. The lights were spinning and pulsating, the beat and thump of the music was perfectly timed with us. The crowd encouraged us and I was offered a drink while I sat atop him. Someone offered me his dick to suck and I took him up on it.

Afterwards, we went to a pizzeria for my friend to again eat. I hate being on the schedule of someone’s stomach. I wanted to go to another club, but my friend had to work in five hours, so I came home at just after four.

I think I will rearrange my apartment today. I’m tired of most of my things. I’m stuck in the house until night, so maybe I’ll do some shopping as well. Buying furniture and maybe some new clothes online. I have a bit of time before I need to find someone to replace dear old dumb GLM. Stupid, dumb GLM.

I’m going to replace my wardrobe and maybe buy a new bed. I can find another wealthy lover later. I should host a party. A large party. Maybe a nightly party. I have an extra bedroom I could offer as a place for drunks to sleep it off, or for hook ups.

I hate writing. I don’t know why I’m doing it.

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Date: 2007-10-14 02:46 Subject: Bargains Security: Public

I apologize for not writing lately. Events have occurred that were… not pleasant. I wasn’t sure if I would make mention of it, but I suppose I will.

GLM is dead.

I feel a bit sad that he is. He wasn’t a bad person. A bit boring; a graceless lover. But he was generous and wanted to please me. He also fancied himself in love with me, which is what led to his death.

I met GLM earlier this week at The Abbey, a busy bar on the main drag in West Hollywood. I like it because it is so busy. GLM likes it for the “vibe” of the place, he said. I had been making a better go with him lately in the attempt to keep him with me. GLM wasn’t as wealthy as I like, but as I said, he had good qualities. So, I pushed through my malaise, helped by some fun fights online, and endeavored to be a better companion for GLM. I catered to him, smiled for him, danced for him, and was my most gracious.

We were in one of the cabanas, a pillowed affair with curtains, that looked out onto the rest of the place. I was lying with my head on his lap, rubbing his knee, and listening to him speak about his work and troubles. He said he wanted to take another trip with me, somewhere quiet and relaxing.

“You know I can’t go out in the sun. It’ll ruin my skin,” I reminded him when he brought up a weekend trip to Hawaii.

I find living in L.A. very conducive to my lifestyle in every aspect. I can tell people I don’t go out in the sun to protect my skin, and they’ll believe me. I can tell them I never eat in public because it is part of a strict dietary regime, and they will believe it. The eccentric is allowed and encouraged in L.A. And staying young looking is nearly de rigueur, which also suits me perfectly.

GLM chuckled and leaned down to kiss me just as they showed up.

As I’ve said before, I do not associate much with my own kind. I learned long ago that is not something I ever want to do again. Because of this, I am constantly in a tenuous position. Bloodsuckers have a long time to plan and scheme which is incredibly conducive to power plays. In my kind’s ways, you either have power, you stay close to someone with power, or you are damn near chum for the sharks. I don’t want any part in these games, so I stay away. I am looked at with suspicion by my kind. But here in L.A. they have tolerated me. They did, anyway.

I saw the three of them move up to our cabana. GLM was startled when he looked up from my lips because he did not. One of them was blond and I recognized him as the right-hand man of the big wig of the city. The other two were toughs.

“Good evening,” the blond said. “We wish to speak to you.” He looked right at me.

I debated what to do. It was Monday and The Abbey was fairly quiet. I didn’t want to go anywhere with them. This wasn’t a social call and I had been in the area long enough to not warrant anymore “keep in line and don’t make any waves or else” visits. But not going with them would force them to do something drastic, if not more painful, I was sure.

Before I could make a decision, GLM spoke up. I’m not usually reticent with my words, so he must have realized I was… uncomfortable.

“Are you guys friends of [current alias redacted for privacy and safety]?” he asked, referring to me. I stayed down on his lap doing my damnedest to look as harmless as possible. I’d have hiccupped and giggled if they would have believed I could get drunk.

“We’re associates.” The blond never took his eyes off me. “We’ll talk outside.”

I really didn’t want to go outside with these men. It is the same feeling you get when you watch a horror movie and the young girl is breathing rapidly as she goes to open the door and you just know that if she opens that door things will get bloody and yet there is just nothing else to do but open it. Yes, that is exactly how I felt. I knew I would need to go outside with them. I quickly began going through all I had to offer, all I had to bargain with, as I slowly sat up and smiled coolly.

Again, before I could say one word, GLM, quiet, boring, clingy GLM, grabbed my hand and said, “No. Why don’t you guys just talk here? If he wants to talk to you, that is.”

I laughed, sounding like I hadn’t a care in the world. “Hon, I’ll be right back. They just want a quick word.” I leaned in and kissed him just under his ear. “As sad as it is, I do have a bit of a life outside of you.” I leaned back and smiled to show I meant no harm from those words. “Be right back.”

In a strange and stupid show of bravado, GLM kept his grip on my arm. “No. If there is some trouble, then I want them to spit it out here. If you owe them money, tell me how much. I’ll take care of it,” he said with a direct look at them.

“There’s no trouble,” I said smoothly. “Just a quick word.” I knew this was going more than sour. GLM was jealous. I was either going to be kissing the sun or losing my current benefactor. I could only hope to live through the night and submit to rough and claiming sex later.

“Then,” GLM said, “they should sit down and talk to you here.”

In that very unfortunate moment, a member of security, using his “brewing fight” senses, walked over and asked if everything was all right. I silently groaned as the blond assured him it was and said he had only wanted to speak to his ex-boyfriend for a minute. The security guy nodded, understanding the ‘problem’, and happily escorted the three of them away.

“He was your ex?” GLM immediately pounced. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I hardly thought anything of him at all, let alone giving him a title such as ex,” I assured him with a smile. “Besides, he sucked in bed.”

This made GLM smile in pride and he kissed me hard and ordered another drink.

I was tense when we finally left The Abbey. I wanted to go to another bar or club, somewhere there were a lot of people. GLM didn’t. I could tell what he wanted and acquiesced.

We arrived at his house after 1. I knew it was hopeless to look for any of my kind. We are very good hunters, even for each other. I pulled GLM into the house and uselessly locked the door, hoping that they would wait for me at my apartment.

GLM jumped me, pushing me against the door and doing his version of kissing and sucking my neck and chest. It leaves a lot of saliva and doesn’t really cause any skin to tingle. But I am a professional and am able to perform no matter the environment or the audience.

Feeling threatened and jealous, GLM wanted to dominate me. And I let him. He had me over his very expensive sofa. It hurt, but when he was done, he seemed more like the man I knew. He apologized and wanted to run a bath for me.

I know I couldn’t have stopped it, but I still feel a bit guilty that it was my bath he was preparing that they drowned him in.

I was pulling up my jeans, lamenting the stains, when I heard the gasp and splash. I heard the faint underwater sounds of a man screaming. I stood there in the living room, buckling my belt. It didn’t take long before the sounds stopped. Soon, they were walking out of the hallway as I stood there in the very pretty living room of my now dead lover, his semen still on my thighs.

“No more interference,” the blond said as he stopped a few feet in front of me.

“No.” What else could I have said?

“We’ve tolerated you in our city, Valerian.” I hate when they use my full name. “And so far, you’ve been well-behaved. But you seem to have a Sunrise looking around for you.”

“Mustn’t be a very good one if he hasn’t found me,” I said calmly.

“Which we both know is a lie. We both know he’s either trying to make you come to him, or he’s trying to make us throw you out.” The blond took a step closer to me, forcing me to look up a bit at him. “Seeing as how you have nothing to offer, no strength, no skill, what do you think our decision will be?”

“He doesn’t have a warrant for me, does he? I’ve been here for ten years now. I haven’t stepped one toe out of line, have I?”

“No. You haven’t. But you haven’t given us anything either. And having a Sunrise hanging around isn’t very settling is it?”

“Try taking a vacation and relaxing,” I said, which was incredibly dumb since I found myself on the floor, my cheek smarting. It’s funny that they never punch us pretty ones. They always slap. It still hurts, but at least we don’t have to put our jaw back together.

“Who is he?” the blonde asked, looking down at me. He hadn’t said to stand up, and I was tempted to, but having my cheek on fire seemed to hold me in check. It hurt my ego to do it, but I put a hand to my injury to show it hurt, hoping to pacify him a bit.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”

“I think you do know. Who is he?”

“What does he look like?”

“Vincent.” The blond stepped back and the man who was apparently called Vincent stepped forward and grabbed me by the throat, hauling me to my feet. Yes, it hurt.

“You’re pretty,” the blond said over Vincent’s shoulder. “One of us would be happy to keep you. I could give you that. No more being an outcast.”

“I wasn’t cast out,” I said through the fist around my throat. Luckily, Vincent was a good goon because he knew I needed air to talk. “I choose to live this way. I don’t want to couple with a bloodsucker.”

“And that’s what makes us wonder about you. You live beside us, but not with us. Why?”

“I love the nightlife. I just don’t like the politics.”

“And yet you’ve had a run-in with a Sunrise. Again, we have to wonder why. Who is he?”

“If you could describe what he looks like—” My throat was closed by Vincent’s fist. I was hauled through the living room and toward the dining room. The pretty centerpiece I had picked out for GLM was thrown to the floor and I replaced it. The other tough held my legs as Vincent pinned me to the table by my throat.

“Valerian,” the blond said, his face upside down above mine. “You are getting dangerously close to the end of my patience. I like you. I really do. My own lover is a bit like you. I like the saucy and impertinent ones. They can be a lot of fun. And I respect your sense of independence. But there comes a time in which you must submit. Insolence can only be allowed to go so far. Even with the pretty ones.” He stroked my cheek. “Especially when they have been the downfall of entire kingdoms. Even more when they are threatening my city. Now, tell me who he is and why he is looking for you.”
Vincent relaxed his hold on me and I was able to bring air back into my throat. “He comes around every ten or fifteen years. He says he looks after me. He says he likes me.”

The blond frowned, I think, but I wasn’t sure with our faces turned upside down to each other.

“Are you trying to tell me that a Sunrise is infatuated with you?”

“I’m only telling you what he has told me.”

“What’s his name?”

“Tai Ata.”

The blond went quiet as he stared down at me. Then he stroked my sore cheek again.

“Thank you, Valerian. Now, tell me why I shouldn’t drive you to Death Valley and leave you there?”

“Because I haven’t done anything to warrant it. I have never done anything to harm the city.”

“But what have you done to help it? What have you done to earn your keep?”

This wasn’t a real question, of course. He was opening the bargaining table. And he knew I had very little to offer. I have lived most of my life making sure that I don’t have much to offer to another of my kind. Having things of value make you a target. Unfortunately, it also makes you helpless when you are pinned to a table by three goons. If I had strength, I could offer that. An army or another form of protection could have been pledged to the city. If I could show that I was an asset, able to do something great, that would be something.

I only had one thing. And they knew it.

It was a long night. I had sex on, across, and under my lover’s dining table while his head became bloated in the bathtub. Again, it was submission sex. I had to service all three of them, sometimes all at the same time. I was released a half-hour before dawn with a promise of punishment if I had lied.

I realize that I should probably tell you that ‘Sunrise’ is the nickname of our executioners. They are our enforcers. Hunters of the hunters, to be dramatic. When a bloodsucker breaks the rules, when he endangers us all, he will be hunted by a Sunrise. Obviously, you can see the sardonic humor in this.



GLM was found the next day, a victim of a fatal home invasion. I sent flowers to the funeral home with the money I had taken from his wallet. I figured it was the least I could do.

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Date: 2007-10-02 04:16 Subject: San Francisco Security: Public

I was bored all day yesterday and then stayed in all night. I'm not sure why. Nothing sounded appealing.

I spent a long weekend up in San Francisco for the Folsom Street Fair and its accompanying parties and clubs. If you are not familiar with the FSF it is a large leather fair held on a Sunday. I am unable to attend the actual fair, but the rest of the mêlée is always entertaining.

We weren't scheduled to leave until Friday night but I felt stupidly suffocated with 'him' in town, so I browbeat GLM into going early. I regret taking GLM now. He was interested in going when I told him that I would be gone for a few days. Typically, he was in the throws of 'new love' for me and refused to spend a weekend away. So I took him and he was ridiculously out of place. I encouraged him to (read: sulked until he) try out being flogged. I told him it really didn't hurt and was all about the high of being out of control and all that. GLM is such a pushover I figured he'd enjoy it and leave me alone for a bit. When they untied him, he was crying and I had to spend an hour babying him in our hotel room. But, at least he was then too sore to come with me to Magnitude, which is a dance they put on for some sort of charity or something. I don't know.

Hairy ass cheeks hanging out of chaps as far as the eye could see. Glinting chain and buttery leather. It was beautiful.

I am not a sadist or a masochist, but there is beauty in this 'deviant' culture. It is beautiful to watch humans just be. A Sub openly wanting and needing, a Dom openly commanding and demanding. And both fulfilling. It is an art, truly, in the way a master can play a slave. Just listening to the moans and pleading is music. It makes me feel alive to watch. I get quite the buzz when I am in that environment, it's freeing.

But don't think I am attracted to it due to my nature. Bloodsuckers do not live off pain, however much we may enjoy it. I will admit, though, that it is much easier to be more natural in the darker and more hidden aspects of our subcultures. It is a necessary evil to some. To me, I couldn't be happier.

We flew back in the early hours of Monday morning. I nearly felt bad for GLM. He seemed a bit stiff and in pain as he carried our luggage. I imagine he won't call me for a week. But that's all right. Next Friday I'll let him take me out somewhere safe and familiar and then let him fuck me all night. It'll be a chore, but I must do what I must do.

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Date: 2007-10-01 19:02 Subject: Survey Security: Public

I'm bored. Here's a survey.

1. To whom did you last flip off?
I don't. It's vulgar and my mouth and facial expressions do much more than a hand gesture ever could.

2. If you had 1,000 dollars what would you buy?
I'd put it towards the purchase of this D&G number:


3. What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?
I recently had a drunk spill his beer on my pants. I killed him.

4. Are you different now than you were 6 months ago?
No

5. Have you kissed a girl/boy in the last three days?
Several boys and a drag king

6. What was the last photograph you took?
I snapped a picture with one of my friend's cellphone of him giving a blowjob in a club.

7. Where were you last night around 9:30?
San Francisco

8. What do you think of guys that wear eyeliner?
If they know how to wear it, I'm all for it. I, personally, am addicted to my eyeliner.

9. How many hours did you last sleep?
About four hours this morning. Why? What does this question tell you about me?

10. Who was the last person to whom you spoke on the phone for over an hour?
I don't talk that long on the phone. If you want to speak to me, do it personally. Even then, I doubt you will hold my attention for an entire hour.

11. 50 Cent shows up at your door, what do you do?
Ask him what he wanted, I suppose. I imagine he came to my door for a reason.

12. How was the last egg you ate prepared?
It was most likely hardboiled.

13. Where did you last wear sunglasses?
Yesterday evening

14. Ever worn your underwear backwards?
I've been in a hurry to get out a few times, so yes, I'm sure I have.

15. Who was the last person to smoke a cigarette in your presence?
About forty people who I did not know.

16. Does it bother you when people put && before every sentence and ;;
It's obviously a programming issue, so no.

17. What animal did you last pet or hold?
Someone's pet python. (You know, I realize that my answers to these are much more exotic than they normally would be. I need to go to sex festivals more often.)

18. What was the last law you broke?
I honestly couldn't tell you which one.

19. What are you wearing?
Pajama bottoms

20. What did you think of the last meal you ate?
Fine, but giggled annoyingly

21. What was the last newspaper you read or skimmed?
I don't read.

22. What was the last word written on your hand?
Why would I do that?

23. What was the last hair product you used?
Molton Brown Cleanshine Quillaja Hair Wash

24. What was the last text message you received?
"Why not??"

25. What was the last medication you took?
I haven't a clue.

26. Who was the last person to make you really laugh?
Some drunk who fell down a flight of steps, but kept his drink from spilling

27. To what song did you last sing along?
The one on my profile page

28. What was the last musical instrument played in your presence?
Does a human being count?

29. What was the last superstitious thing you did?
Refused to walk under a ladder.

30. What's the last good book you read about?
The way this question reads, it would appear you are asking me if I've read any reviews or comments on a book that was voted good. Either way, I don't read.

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Date: 2007-09-28 18:04 Subject: Thursday Security: Public

I know he's here. He's in my goddamn city. I can feel it.


I don't much associate with those of my kind. I enjoy the fast-paced living, the brief flashes of life, of normal humans. My kind are so slow. They are always plotting and planning. They don't live for today, because our todays go on forever. So they plan and maneuver and make long-range goals. It's boring. I tried once to live with them. Other than the other unpleasantness, the sheer slow pace they move drove me mad.

Though I don't hang with the others, I know of them, they know of me, and I know where they congregate. You would be surprised at some of their favorite haunts. Be careful of the pretty people at the Glendale Galleria. I am one of them, but I ignore the groups. But yesterday I could still feel them watching me, much closer than normal. I could feel their 'vibe'. And I knew. I knew he was here. I didn't need them to tell me.

I was stepping out of the Abercrombie & Fitch on the second floor when I saw them milling at the banister, looking down at the people below them. But they weren't really, because they turned to watch me as soon as I stepped out of the store. I could feel it then. There were three of them. They are a regular trio at this mall. They treat me as if I were an alien they do not know what to make of or how to communicate with. That suits me perfectly.

I walked away toward Macy's (I hate Macy's, but I hate JC Penny's even more, so I chose the lesser of two evils). They followed me. They've occasionally done this before, trying to gauge how I will react to the hunting. I don't, so they get bored and wander away. But this time they didn't. They followed me into Macy's, through the aisles of dresses and shoes, until I finally stopped in the bedding department with the loudly colored signs of a Fall Sale hanging over my head.

     "Someone's asking for you," one of them said as they crowded into the aisle with me. This maneuver was a bit silly if they were trying to stay covert. Security will always zero in on four young men dressed in trendy clothing. We practically screamed "Bored Rich Boys Looking for Mischief".

     "And this means…?"

The red head leaned on one of his friends. "We just thought you'd want to know."

     "Yeah, you are so anti-social and all," said the one with the incredibly ridiculous French accent. His accent was real; it's just always struck me as ridiculous. He had to easily be over half a century old. Honestly, lose the accent. You're in America now.

     "And you came out of your way to deliver this cryptic message." I gave them a cold half-smile. "How gallant."

     "The guy looking for you is big," the red-head said. "Like, he's making waves."

     "Again, this means what to me?"

The frog stepped into my space. It didn't intimidate or bother me and that bothered him. "What did you do to get the big guy after you?"

I smiled. "It was long before you were born, garçon."

The frog smirked and stepped back. "Just thought we'd pass on the warning. Good thing we bumped into you here."

Which, of course, meant that they would be taking that information back to their masters.

     "Was he your lover? He acts like he was," the red-head said. He always struck me as either the stupidest of the three or the most innocent. I suppose in our world those two descriptions are identical. Either way, I never detected any outright malice from him. More of a tag along, than anything.

     "Regardless of how he acts, he is nothing to me," I answered.

The red head nodded sagely at this before turning to his companions. "Come on, let's go. I want to go back to the club."

The other two gave me another look before dramatically sliding out of the area just as a plain-clothed security agent 'strolled' by.


So, yes, I know he is here. And he wants me to know it. It was ridiculous that those three were even aware he was in town, let alone that they knew what he wanted. No, he's trying to make me nervous. He's trying to flush me out. He may even be trying to get me thrown out of the city. Damn him! Damn him to hell!

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Date: 2007-09-24 08:08 Subject: Last Night's Fight Security: Public

I got into a fight last night. It was probably the sudden drop in temperature that made people more on edge. We were all dressed for dancing and sex in sunny California, when the sky darkened and we began to shiver. Nipples became diamond hard under sheer and mesh shirts. I think the bouncers enjoyed watching us be miserable as they stood in the warm draft from the doorways.

In any case, there was a particularly good-looking man a few people ahead of me in line. We had very intense eye-sex. I enjoy this part of the seduction. I love pretending that I don't at first see the direct gaze aimed at me. I'm young enough looking that I can perfectly play off the inexperienced boy who is out exploring his world with a vengeance. And suddenly, gasp, I realize I am being stared at. A few 'am I sure' glances at first, then more direct eye contact until facial expressions come into it.

It was just as I was getting to the inviting upper lip lick that the man's companion made himself known. I consider myself a top-class bitch when I feel the need to be, which can be surprisingly often, but this person was quite good. I wouldn't say my equal, not even in the same league, but good.

His name was Payton, of all things. I knew this because when our fight started, Good-Looking Man said it often in an attempt to get Payton to stop his 'drama'.

As anyone experienced in these things could tell you, it started off with a directed question at me having to do with Payton's 'man'.

     "Are you eye-fucking my man?" the troll asked.

     "No. But he is eye-fucking me. And is good at it," I said with a smile at Good-Looking Man. My plan was to get GLM to dump the troll and escort me instead.

     "You better look somewhere else, then, bitch, 'cause his eyes are mine." It was at this time that GLM began to try to calm 'Payton' down. It was also, at this point in which our audience was very excited and beginning to take sides. The few people in line between us stepped aside and the troll and I were left to our battlefield on a cracked sidewalk in West Hollywood in our armor of tight and revealing club wear.

     "Obviously, " I say in my first real volley, "his eyes aren't yours or they wouldn't have drifted to me. But seeing as how you are dressed, I can understand the strain on him to look at you."

I actually don't recall paying attention to what the troll was wearing, but if you are out to hurt, always go after a queen's clothes. And it worked. The troll went from bitchy to enraged in a heartbeat and turned this ugly shade of red that clashed perfectly with his dyed pink hair. A note to the wise: if you are extremely fair-skinned, don't die your hair light pink. You will look like a lab rat.

     "Bitch!" shouted Capt. Obvious. "At least I don't shop at Wal-Mart."

     "Good for you. What's Wal-Mart?"

     "The place you pick up your clearance-ass shoes."

I have to admit, that one stung. I was wearing ankle-high Bruno Magli dress boots that a lover had given me which I loved. The boots, not the lover. To have the troll go after my shoes was nearly enough to unset me. Normally, I would have shot back with a pointed reference to the cost and couture name, but I was still after GLM. And GLM showed strong signs of having money. I didn't want him to think that I wouldn't appreciate his money, so I had to maneuver differently.

     "If they are clearance, they do a hell of a lot better on me than anything you could drape over that heroin-thin body. You should dump that, you know. Heroin was over a decade ago." I learned in the next moment that Payton didn't have a very thick shell. I believe this was why GLM was trying so hard to calm him down, because in that next moment, the troll launched himself at me. I had a few heartbeats in which I picked up his intentions and in which to prepare, before I was fighting off a large frothing lab rat.

I am not a physical fighter. I never learned the gentlemanly sport of boxing. I never bothered with learning martial arts when it became a craze in the 80's. The only physical thing I am experienced and exceptionally good at is sex. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how one looks at it, the troll was not attacking me with loving making in mind. But it was quite obvious fairly quickly that I was not dealing with a queen imbued with combat skills either. I was pathetically slapped in the neck before I was able to shove him away from me. Hard. Hard enough to have the two men who caught him stumble back. I admit it was pure instinct on my part at the time since the attack happened so quickly. But luckily, I was a bit bigger (not fatter!) than the troll and it looked somewhat believable that I tossed his skinny ass into the crowd. At least, no one grabbed a cross and stake immediately. They were more concerned with cheering on the fight. The troll haphazardly shoved his way free of his rescuers and rounded on GLM.

     "You gonna just let this happen?" he screamed at the now thoroughly embarrassed man. Seeing his embarrassment, sensing the opening I was just given, I moved in for the kill. So to speak, of course.

     "You are humiliating yourself and your man," I said disdainfully, pretending to straighten my clothing. "I'm not dealing with you anymore. I have class. Look it up."

My timing was perfect, as usual, as the bouncers, seeing that the show was over, 'rushed' to the scene to break us up at that moment. The troll kept screaming as we were both escorted away. I, though, was allowed into the club when I did not try to hit one of the bouncers. Dear little Payton was sent packing. But don't fret. I kept his seat warm in the VIP section next to GLM, who did, indeed, have quite a bit of money at his disposal. It's unfortunate that he kisses like a Labrador and makes love like a dead fish. He likes tough bottoms because he is completely clueless and directionless. Luckily for him, I am just the tough bottom he has been looking for to direct him. Tedious, but lucrative.

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