SERIOUSLY, ALWAYS YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL by Randall Morgan -- CHAPTER Twelve
Another installment, sounds like a fun place to visit. NOT. BWHAAA! ADULTS ONLY!!!!
Chapter Twelve
ERIC’S POV
At first glance my house in the Quarter must look quite decrepit to Brian. The natural verdant flora of Louisiana has encroached and we drive through rickety gates that lead to a central paved courtyard where I park the car. The house surrounds the courtyard on all sides and looks dark and abandoned. But it’s not. A family of vampires who are loyal to me are caretakers of the old house, and the interior is mostly renovated, if not lavish. I don’t care how it appears. After all, I sleep in a box in a secret room under the staircase. New Orleans is too low in sea level to have a basement. Would never use a kitchen. But the kitchen is functional, the bathrooms are functional, and there’s a nice bedroom upstairs where Brian can crash if we stay over.
One of the caretakers appears in the courtyard and I toss him the car key or fob or whatever the hell it is since cars like this don’t use keys. He is a tall rangy man who goes by the name of Moses. His progeny, a male and a female, also live here.
“We’re going out.”
“Human?” Moses sniffs in Brian’s direction. He must have been an albino when he was still alive, his skin is practically translucent, his hair is cotton-white and his pale blue eyes are rimmed in pink. Even if he weren’t a vampire, he’s one scary looking being. I can feel Brian pull closer to me.
“Yes, lay in some food and be sure the bedroom is prepared for a guest.”
“Yes, Mr. Northman.”
“He’s under my protection, if I must say it.”
“Of course.”
We walk out of the courtyard and into the night. New Orleans, in the Quarter, is like New York City in one respect: it never sleeps. People choke the streets, and around Jackson Square, the soothsayers and street musicians and living statues are still at work. We walk down to the banks of the Mississippi and I lead him to a short, dark dock that is blocked by a guarded gate. The guard eyes me and then opens the gate to let us pass. We walk to the end and await a ferry that is slowly making its way towards us. There are other vampires, some with humans, all male, waiting. No greetings, no speaking, no glance of recognition. We are all little creepy islands in the big weird ocean of life.
“Are we going to get on that thing?” Brian asks as the ferry huffs and wheezes to the dock. It hasn’t been painted in decades or centuries, its once elegant riverboat lines a collection of faded grey planks held together with a promise. Cobwebs collect in every corner and there are only a few lanterns onboard to keep other water-craft from hitting it.
“It’s fine,” I reassure him and give him a push forward onto the deck. The ferry bears a baked-in scent of stale blood and semen. It groans and rocks as more of us board and Brian hangs tightly to the railing with both hands as if afraid it will pull a Titanic at any moment. I stand behind him and enclose him in my arms. I separate the hair at the base of his neck with my nose and inhale his fear. It excites me. I lick the skin on his nape and he turns his face and kisses me. My hands wander down to cup his ass and bring him closer to my crotch, that is beginning to bulge.
We aren’t alone in this heat. Others are also groping and groaning. I smell blood when someone opens a vein and sucks. “I’m not sure I can postpone until we get there, even though it’s just across the river,” I tell him. He reaches back and feels how hard I am. He turns and kisses me as he unbuttons my jeans and reaches for me. This is what I like about these exclusively male venues. No one cares, in fact the group aspect adds to it.
He strokes me against him as we touch tongues, and my fang boner pops up as Brian runs his tongue over the sharp points. He’s pulling me too hard and fast for me to retain any control and I moan as I fill his hand with my cool, pearly seed. He smiles at me while I fasten up and shake my head at him. “You make me crazy.”
“Good. Now where are we going?”
“Let’s just say the vampire version of a hardcore gay bar.”
“Sounds fascinating. Am I going to live through this?”
“Two rules. Never wander away from me. Not a step. Number two, no one tastes you but me. If you follow those two rules, you’ll be fine. Open your mind, Brian. You’re about to have a new experience.”
BRIAN’S POV
This is what I love about Eric, other than the obvious. He gives me experiences I’ve never had. As scary as his place is, with that oversized albino lab rat playing the role of Lurch, the ferry is a thousand times scarier. It looks like something made to transport souls to hell on the River Styx. How can it stay afloat? It has to be two hundred years old. But as we board it, Eric’s hot body behind mine and his hard cock pressing my ass, makes my fear fade away. Once I have him in my hand, everything else is unimportant.
We finally pull up to the shore of a stretch of land facing New Orleans across the river. He puts his hand on the back of my neck so we stay together in the shuffle as we approach a huge, unlit warehouse that is every bit as decrepit as the ferry. The entrance is through a tunnel. Eric explains that in the bad old days, slaves were unloaded here, led through the tunnel and put up for auction in the warehouse. “We still have slave auctions here, occasionally, which can be fun, but not like the old school slavery, since that was just barbaric.”
I hesitate at the mouth of the tunnel. It is so dark in there, it’s like jumping down a mine shaft. Not one light, torch or candle illuminates the interior. I’ve never been afraid of the dark or of confined spaces, but forget this. “I can’t go in there. I can’t see.”
He takes my hand in his. “I can see just fine, Brian. Don’t let go.”
I hold onto his hand and also loop my other hand under his waistband just to be sure. The old tunnel smells of fetid earth and human misery or so my imagination tells me. When we reach the entrance to the warehouse, there is light and two guards dressed in black, who evaluate each potential entrant. A sign on the door says it all: No females, no unescorted humans, no killing. No killing? That’s comforting.
Inside, the cavernous space is not unlike some of the rougher bars I’ve been to in my time. A big dance floor full of men, many shirtless, gyrating to electronic music under party lights, a long bar with a stash of Tru Blood as well as alcohol and a couple barely dressed dancers in cages, one human, one not. Both hot. There’s a second floor balcony, but it’s too dark up there to know what’s going on and chain mail separates the main room from what would normally be a back room.
Eric gets a Tru Blood for himself and a whiskey for me. “What do you think?” he asks as we lean against the bar and watch the sea of people on the dance floor.
“I’ve been to bars like this, minus the vampires.”
“But minus the vampires, it’s nothing of interest,” Eric says with a smile. “I don’t dance,” he adds. I smile.
“I don’t care.”
A vampire in black leather cruises me and Eric curls his upper lip at him, exposing a fang as the other backs off. I laugh at that exchange. “I’m not usually in the role of being someone’s property.”
“I told you the rules. If you vary from them, it’s on you.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“Banquettes, tables, you can have a little privacy and watch the action on the floor.”
“And behind the metal curtain?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
He grabs my wrist and leads me through the dancers and then separates the curtain, pulling me inside. There is enough low light that I can see the sex is well underway. Groups of two or more go at it with a special fervor. Most involve humans, but I find the vampire on vampire action particularly interesting. They are unrestrained with each other, more like two jungle cats than men. Lots of blood, which I’m beginning to find interesting.
I’m no stranger to semi-public sex in backrooms, in fact it’s so much a part of my life, I consider it routine. The smell of a backroom is pretty universal, sweat, semen and in this case, blood. Not a condom wrapper or used condom in sight here, while in the more usual clubs, they litter the floor. As Eric said, they are immune to our diseases.
The music is faint back here, muted by carpeted walls that make for more comfortable upright sex. There are also some benches, but Eric throws me up against a wall and pulls off my shirt, running his long, cool hands up my belly, over my pecs and down again. He kisses me and I reach over to strip off his shirt, to look at his strong torso. I grab his handsome face between my palms and ask,
“Do you prefer men or women?”
“Yes,” he says and I smile. No barriers with Eric. I can’t classify him in one of our three sexual preference buckets, gay, straight or bi, because he’s not like us. He’s a fucking vampire. We open flies to be able to grope each other as we kiss. He drops down to suck me, and then a voice says,
“Well, as I live and breathe, or not as the case may be, if it isn’t the sheriff of District 5. How are thangs down there?” He emphasizes the word with a long, southern drawl.
Eric stands and turns to face a small man, or I should say, vampire, who looks a lot older than Eric. Although he’s not handsome, he does exude a strong sense of power. I can feel the sex leave Eric’s mood in a rush to be replaced by something that feels like rage. But an internalized rage because he gives nothing away as he looks over at the other vampire and all he says is, “Russell.”
Chapter Twelve
ERIC’S POV
At first glance my house in the Quarter must look quite decrepit to Brian. The natural verdant flora of Louisiana has encroached and we drive through rickety gates that lead to a central paved courtyard where I park the car. The house surrounds the courtyard on all sides and looks dark and abandoned. But it’s not. A family of vampires who are loyal to me are caretakers of the old house, and the interior is mostly renovated, if not lavish. I don’t care how it appears. After all, I sleep in a box in a secret room under the staircase. New Orleans is too low in sea level to have a basement. Would never use a kitchen. But the kitchen is functional, the bathrooms are functional, and there’s a nice bedroom upstairs where Brian can crash if we stay over.
One of the caretakers appears in the courtyard and I toss him the car key or fob or whatever the hell it is since cars like this don’t use keys. He is a tall rangy man who goes by the name of Moses. His progeny, a male and a female, also live here.
“We’re going out.”
“Human?” Moses sniffs in Brian’s direction. He must have been an albino when he was still alive, his skin is practically translucent, his hair is cotton-white and his pale blue eyes are rimmed in pink. Even if he weren’t a vampire, he’s one scary looking being. I can feel Brian pull closer to me.
“Yes, lay in some food and be sure the bedroom is prepared for a guest.”
“Yes, Mr. Northman.”
“He’s under my protection, if I must say it.”
“Of course.”
We walk out of the courtyard and into the night. New Orleans, in the Quarter, is like New York City in one respect: it never sleeps. People choke the streets, and around Jackson Square, the soothsayers and street musicians and living statues are still at work. We walk down to the banks of the Mississippi and I lead him to a short, dark dock that is blocked by a guarded gate. The guard eyes me and then opens the gate to let us pass. We walk to the end and await a ferry that is slowly making its way towards us. There are other vampires, some with humans, all male, waiting. No greetings, no speaking, no glance of recognition. We are all little creepy islands in the big weird ocean of life.
“Are we going to get on that thing?” Brian asks as the ferry huffs and wheezes to the dock. It hasn’t been painted in decades or centuries, its once elegant riverboat lines a collection of faded grey planks held together with a promise. Cobwebs collect in every corner and there are only a few lanterns onboard to keep other water-craft from hitting it.
“It’s fine,” I reassure him and give him a push forward onto the deck. The ferry bears a baked-in scent of stale blood and semen. It groans and rocks as more of us board and Brian hangs tightly to the railing with both hands as if afraid it will pull a Titanic at any moment. I stand behind him and enclose him in my arms. I separate the hair at the base of his neck with my nose and inhale his fear. It excites me. I lick the skin on his nape and he turns his face and kisses me. My hands wander down to cup his ass and bring him closer to my crotch, that is beginning to bulge.
We aren’t alone in this heat. Others are also groping and groaning. I smell blood when someone opens a vein and sucks. “I’m not sure I can postpone until we get there, even though it’s just across the river,” I tell him. He reaches back and feels how hard I am. He turns and kisses me as he unbuttons my jeans and reaches for me. This is what I like about these exclusively male venues. No one cares, in fact the group aspect adds to it.
He strokes me against him as we touch tongues, and my fang boner pops up as Brian runs his tongue over the sharp points. He’s pulling me too hard and fast for me to retain any control and I moan as I fill his hand with my cool, pearly seed. He smiles at me while I fasten up and shake my head at him. “You make me crazy.”
“Good. Now where are we going?”
“Let’s just say the vampire version of a hardcore gay bar.”
“Sounds fascinating. Am I going to live through this?”
“Two rules. Never wander away from me. Not a step. Number two, no one tastes you but me. If you follow those two rules, you’ll be fine. Open your mind, Brian. You’re about to have a new experience.”
BRIAN’S POV
This is what I love about Eric, other than the obvious. He gives me experiences I’ve never had. As scary as his place is, with that oversized albino lab rat playing the role of Lurch, the ferry is a thousand times scarier. It looks like something made to transport souls to hell on the River Styx. How can it stay afloat? It has to be two hundred years old. But as we board it, Eric’s hot body behind mine and his hard cock pressing my ass, makes my fear fade away. Once I have him in my hand, everything else is unimportant.
We finally pull up to the shore of a stretch of land facing New Orleans across the river. He puts his hand on the back of my neck so we stay together in the shuffle as we approach a huge, unlit warehouse that is every bit as decrepit as the ferry. The entrance is through a tunnel. Eric explains that in the bad old days, slaves were unloaded here, led through the tunnel and put up for auction in the warehouse. “We still have slave auctions here, occasionally, which can be fun, but not like the old school slavery, since that was just barbaric.”
I hesitate at the mouth of the tunnel. It is so dark in there, it’s like jumping down a mine shaft. Not one light, torch or candle illuminates the interior. I’ve never been afraid of the dark or of confined spaces, but forget this. “I can’t go in there. I can’t see.”
He takes my hand in his. “I can see just fine, Brian. Don’t let go.”
I hold onto his hand and also loop my other hand under his waistband just to be sure. The old tunnel smells of fetid earth and human misery or so my imagination tells me. When we reach the entrance to the warehouse, there is light and two guards dressed in black, who evaluate each potential entrant. A sign on the door says it all: No females, no unescorted humans, no killing. No killing? That’s comforting.
Inside, the cavernous space is not unlike some of the rougher bars I’ve been to in my time. A big dance floor full of men, many shirtless, gyrating to electronic music under party lights, a long bar with a stash of Tru Blood as well as alcohol and a couple barely dressed dancers in cages, one human, one not. Both hot. There’s a second floor balcony, but it’s too dark up there to know what’s going on and chain mail separates the main room from what would normally be a back room.
Eric gets a Tru Blood for himself and a whiskey for me. “What do you think?” he asks as we lean against the bar and watch the sea of people on the dance floor.
“I’ve been to bars like this, minus the vampires.”
“But minus the vampires, it’s nothing of interest,” Eric says with a smile. “I don’t dance,” he adds. I smile.
“I don’t care.”
A vampire in black leather cruises me and Eric curls his upper lip at him, exposing a fang as the other backs off. I laugh at that exchange. “I’m not usually in the role of being someone’s property.”
“I told you the rules. If you vary from them, it’s on you.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“Banquettes, tables, you can have a little privacy and watch the action on the floor.”
“And behind the metal curtain?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
He grabs my wrist and leads me through the dancers and then separates the curtain, pulling me inside. There is enough low light that I can see the sex is well underway. Groups of two or more go at it with a special fervor. Most involve humans, but I find the vampire on vampire action particularly interesting. They are unrestrained with each other, more like two jungle cats than men. Lots of blood, which I’m beginning to find interesting.
I’m no stranger to semi-public sex in backrooms, in fact it’s so much a part of my life, I consider it routine. The smell of a backroom is pretty universal, sweat, semen and in this case, blood. Not a condom wrapper or used condom in sight here, while in the more usual clubs, they litter the floor. As Eric said, they are immune to our diseases.
The music is faint back here, muted by carpeted walls that make for more comfortable upright sex. There are also some benches, but Eric throws me up against a wall and pulls off my shirt, running his long, cool hands up my belly, over my pecs and down again. He kisses me and I reach over to strip off his shirt, to look at his strong torso. I grab his handsome face between my palms and ask,
“Do you prefer men or women?”
“Yes,” he says and I smile. No barriers with Eric. I can’t classify him in one of our three sexual preference buckets, gay, straight or bi, because he’s not like us. He’s a fucking vampire. We open flies to be able to grope each other as we kiss. He drops down to suck me, and then a voice says,
“Well, as I live and breathe, or not as the case may be, if it isn’t the sheriff of District 5. How are thangs down there?” He emphasizes the word with a long, southern drawl.
Eric stands and turns to face a small man, or I should say, vampire, who looks a lot older than Eric. Although he’s not handsome, he does exude a strong sense of power. I can feel the sex leave Eric’s mood in a rush to be replaced by something that feels like rage. But an internalized rage because he gives nothing away as he looks over at the other vampire and all he says is, “Russell.”