Date: Mon, 23 Sep 1996 07:17:14 -0000 From: Michelle David I have NO idea where this came from. My muse must be drunk. This was written striaght onto the mail message window, so excuse the typos. Mild sexual content. ****** Just Another Night By Michelle David I took another drag of my cigarette, and scanned him once more before smiling. "Name's Bronwyn. You?" "My name's... Luke." I wonder why he paused right there. It was probably a fake name, but I didn't really care. Just as long as he paid. "That's an unusual name, Bronwyn," he said, an attempt to make conversation. "It's Welsh, Luke," I explained. I knew I should have changed it when I went into this businuess, but I suppose it was more distinct than some other names, like Brownie or something. He got a distant look on his face. "You look so much like a young woman I knew once... Long time ago." What a strange compliment. "Thanks. I suppose I have that kind of face." I put out my cigarette, and fastened my leather jacket. "Would you like to go now?" He snapped out of his trance and smiled. He had a really weird smile, I don't really know how to describe it. For a crazy second, I thought he might be a psycho, but then I had another weird thought- Charles Manson looked normal. So why should I worry, right? He offered his hand, and I took it, jerking back in surprise for a second. God, his hand was so cold. But then again, it was a cold night. "Sorry," I mummured, reluculantly taking his hand again. I clasped it in both of my hands in an attempt to warm him. I couldn't. ****** He turned on the lights to his apartment. I whistled appreciatively. "Nice place," I said. "Thanks." It was a really nice place. Very dark, intimate. It looked like a mansion in comparison to my little shack. Which was so shoddy it was almost really a shack. Luke went into the kitchen. "Would you like something to drink?" he called out. "A beer's fine, if you have any," I replied. I used the time he was in the kitchen to scan the room. I noticed a picture on the table and bent over to look at it. It was Luke, a woman, and some other guy. The woman was really beautiful, like a model. The man was a handsome blond, with a slightly sad look on his face. But he smiled for the camera. And Luke was in the center of the three. He was also "camera smiling", and he looked strange... sorta smug. I felt him behind me, and straightened up. God, he had a such a presence. I turned, smiling. The glass he handed me was filled with some old fine wine. I wondered how much money he must have, to give a glass of such caliber to a lowly whore. My eyes drifted to the picture again. "Nice," I said. "Friends?" He took a sip of his own wine- a dark red vintage- and smiled. "Relatives." He said it in a weird tone of voice, like it was a joke. Maybe they were estranged. I was pretty sure I had some relatives myself, but they were lost in the haze of the rest of my childhood. I stared at the picture of the three again, and suddenly had a weird thought once again. Laughing, I said, "This blond guy... he looks a lot like me!" Luke stiffened, and my smile fell. What had I said? Had he taken personally the connection between the guy in the picture and me? "Luke, I'm sorry," I whispered. "What did I say?" He took another swig of his wine. "No, it's nothing. It's just incredibly true. You could be... siblings." There was a mirror nearby, and I checked myself out, comparing myself to him. Wow, it was true... I saw Luke in the mirror, looking at my reflection also. "Uncanny," he said softly, a throaty whisper. Luke was on the verge of truly freaking me out. Who the hell was the guy in the photo? I always despised the inevitable act of this job, but I was seriously considering backing out of this. I had another weird thought- this guy had the tendency to do this to me. Sounded almost as if it was vaugely insectuous. I wondered if Luke was his brother or something, he being the guy in the photo. He set his wineglass down, startling me. My own wineglass was barely touched, and I felt sorry that I was letting this go to waste. I drained it quickly. It was unspoken between us, but understood. It was time for the act. Was there still time to back out of this? ***** The bedroom was dimly lighted, and I had the sudden wave of nausea. I couldn't have sex with this guy. Not and see his face. It wasn't all physical, but there was a sad, mournful sort of air about him that I couldn't shake off. He seemed to sense this, and didn't rush me. We just sat on the bed. Not relaxing, you realize, but just sitting there, in the dim silence. Eventually, he kissed me lightly, on my neck. He didn't do anything but kiss me, and I reacted. Not with the horror I had thought I would, but by kissing him back. I closed my eyes and didn't look at him. I was still mildly repulsed by his coldness, by the emptyness around him. But he held me, going slow. We undressed, my eyes still closed. He kissed me again, stroking my medium dark blonde hair. I was more comfortable, but not relaxed. For one thing, he was whispering something that I couldn't quite catch. I finally opened my eyes and went through the motions. But he still struck me as weird- he was making love. Sounds weird, huh? What's really the difference when you're a whore whether or not they go easy or rough? But I could sense it in him, in his touch, in his eyes. He had a lot of love he was letting go on my body. He was really emotional about the whole thing. I wondered when he had last had sex. His passion was increasing, and it surprised me that I was really aroused also- I hardly ever was, since I found no pleasure in this job which I hated. I could almost catch what he was saying, but my erratic breathing was making it hard for me to hear properly. Suddenly, my lust tapered off completely as I saw him change. In a *big* way. His eyes turned a golden yellow, and he had these long fangs. I tried to squirm away, but his grip on me was too tight. My neck was twisted and I felt the fangs sink in. He drank from me for so long, I felt my heartbeat slow until it all went dark. ****** The room was dark. The man was crying in the bed, his arms holding close a young, unmoving woman. Through the dark silence, a single voice cried a name over and over again... The sorrow of a lost love dripping in the voice. "Fleur... Fleur..." ****** What do ya think? Michelle Schattenjager@hotmail.com dandavid@earthlink.net --------------------------------------------------------- Get Your *Web-Based* Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ---------------------------------------------------------