6 comments/ 24827 views/ 8 favorites Sex and Violence By: Boadicea Chapter 2: The Awakening I woke up with a start only to find myself in my own bed, in my own apartment. If the past two nights had been real, I was back here for a reason. I looked around. With the blinds pulled tight over the windows my apartment was dark but empty. For some strange reason, I could sense that I was alone and despite the darkness, I could see everything in the room with alarming clarity. My television set, a few, well thumbed cookbooks, my boring grey suit strewn on the couch...and then I noticed the box in the middle of the floor. It was exactly as I'd left it, only this time my outfit from the previous evening was back inside, the items neatly folded and stacked, as though they were waiting for me. My hand reached up to my throat and stilled. My collar was still in place which meant that despite all my cynicism, vampires did exist, and presumably, I was one of them. At the time, I didn't know what to do. I was groggy, but awake, and more self-aware than I'd ever been. So I did what I'd do on any other day. I got out of bed, and went to take a shower. The hot water felt great on my skin, and as I lathered and soaped my breasts, back and shoulders, I felt the aches; aches that could only have come from long nights in bed with someone after a long period of celibacy. As I stepped out of the shower the aches vanished and suddenly, I felt completely healed. Pulling on a pair of jeans, a bra, and shrugging into an old shirt, I headed to the kitchen in pursuit of something to eat. To my surprise, every cupboard had been stripped bare. I had gone grocery shopping several days ago and knew I should have at least had a box of crackers. I checked my fridge and found several bottles of thick, dark red liquid. The label on the nearest bottle read simply: "Drink Me" in bold cursive script. I pulled the bottle out of the fridge, unscrewed the cap and smelled it. It was blood alright, and in spite of myself my mouth watered. I stared at the bottle in my hand and felt a twinge of sadness. I'd be drinking this stuff for the rest of my life. No more chocolate, no more ice cream, no more steak or sushi. I resisted only for a second, contemplating starvation…but I was a woman who stuck to the decisions she made and toasting the powers that be, I put the bottle to my lips. To my surprise, the blood was sweet, like a thick, rich hot chocolate… and I couldn't get enough. As I drank, the last memories of the blood's owner came to me in a rush. Her name was Irene; she was an exotic dancer. As she swirled acrobatically around the long metal pole in one of Montreal's more prestigious strip clubs, her lush breasts and long legs tempted men and made her the envy of all women. She loved the looks of lust and longing in the faces of customers, and sought them with every move she made. She had long red hair, full lips, and eyes like emeralds. She loved her job but felt she wasn't getting enough money. She was beautiful, acrobatic, and deserved far more than she was getting. She'd tried cheating her boss, not knowing he was a well connected vampire. He'd taken her to the King's mansion and watched as the other vampires seduced her out of her clothes. As I drank, my own nipples hardened beneath the cups of my bra and I grew wet as the woman was placed on all fours, her legs spread as wide as they could in her prone position. A naked blond slid beneath her and with an eager tongue teased her nipples while another woman with smooth ebony skin moved behind her holding a large glass dildo. As the blond sucked on her nipples, the black woman teased her victim, sliding the toy over her pussy lips, now swollen and drenched with her arousal. A male vampire with close cropped brown hair and a dragon tattooed on his chest moved in front of her and unfastened his jeans. Without hesitation, the redhead opened her lips and— "Amazing isn't it?" I jumped with a start and hastily pulled the bottle from my lips. I knew instantly who spoke to me. Even from across the room, I sensed him; smelled that combination of heather and country air that was a fundamental part of Lachlan's scent. "How did you get in here?" In the darkness I could see his features clearly; his lush, dark red hair falling like a bloody waterfall over his square shoulders; his fine boned features and pale skin, revealed by the satin shirt that all but matched his hair. Around his neck hung an ankh made of black onyx identical to the one hanging from my collar. The pendant bore a sharp contrast to his lean, muscled chest. In his black leather pants and army boots, he looked like some effeminate Goth rock star and completely out of place in my apartment. "A Rock star, huh?" Lachlan said with a smile, when I only stared at him, his grin turned mischievous, "I take it you haven't realized one of the many side benefits of joining the species…" we're telepathic. Stay the fuck out of my head! I jumped when he sent the thought and had sent one back without thinking. "You'll learn to block me soon enough, Morgana" he replied, his Scottish burr thickening as he pronounced my name. "How did you get in here?" I repeated. Lachlan shrugged. "You had a key on you the night we turned you. We cleaned you up, brought you home, stocked your fridge, and got rid of all the old food. You won't be able to eat much human food until you've acclimated yourself to the changes your body has undergone" "What exactly am I supposed to do now?" I knew I was a vampire, and that for some reason I had special status, but I had no clue what the hell that entailed. "Do exactly as you always did. Go back to your boring job, wear those ugly things you call suits, but toss your old reading glasses; you don't need them anymore. The sunlight won't bother you as long as you've fed, so make sure you have blood with you at all times. The master made sure you had enough for at least a week or two. You're no use to him until you've gained your full strength, and that won't happen until you've hunted for the first time" "If that's true, then why are you here?" Lachlan smiled and with slow, measured steps, he glided towards me. I could feel his lust… and with my newly heightened senses, it was all but crippling. Combined with the effect of the blood, the arousal I felt from him rooted me in place. Lachlan stopped right in front of me, a blatant look of intent in his blue eyes, and with a delicate hand, he took the bottle from me and put it on the counter. He slid his long, cool fingers up my arm to my shoulder, over my collarbone, and under my hair. With alarming strength, he used his grip on my neck to tilt my head back, forcing my body flush up against his. Through his leather pants I could feel his erection, but instead of aggression, Lachlan's moves were smooth, an erotic contrast to the commanding brutality of the King. With a touch, he moved my collar to taste the skin of my throat. His clever mouth seduced its way up the side of my neck until he met my eager lips with a kiss as seductive as it was hungry. He moved his tongue slowly, as though savoring me. Lost in his ministrations I was shocked to feel my breasts against his smooth hairless chest. He'd gotten rid of my shirt and bra without breaking the kiss, and I finally found the energy to touch him, yanking the satin from his shoulders to run my hands eagerly over the delicate muscles of his back. You were chosen as a gift, Morgana, his thoughts rang in my head; a gift for me, and for my Master. He has had the pleasure of you, and I'll be damned if I go another night without tasting you myself. We were up against the bed now, and with his arms around me, he lowered me to the mattress without ever breaking the kiss. His mouth moved slowly to my jaw where he nipped the sensitive skin before moving down to my collarbone. There was something strangely loving about the way he touched me, and I was uncomfortable with his casual affection; uncomfortable with the way he seemed to know exactly what I liked, but as his lips moved to my breast, I didn't care. My back arched, and my mind reached out to him of its own accord. His need for me was blatantly obvious and Lachlan didn't bother hiding it from me; that strange mix of jealousy for the master and the women who'd stripped me the night we'd met combined with raw, feral lust and something else, something he was very deliberately blocking. I couldn't see his memories; they were tangled up in whatever he was blocking, and as he kissed his way over my belly, gently biting, before he pulled my jeans over my hips, I hissed and temporarily broke the link. His tongue was smooth like the rest of him, and as it slid over the ring of my clit and under it, I moaned. Lachlan worked my clit with slow, careful licks, teasing the sensitive underside. As I reared up on the brink of orgasm, my telepathic abilities peaked, and I finally figured out what Lachlan had been hiding. He was lonely. If he knew my mind had probed him, and when I think about it, he probably did, it didn't seem to bother him, because he continued to touch me. I barely knew the man, but having been in his mind, my heart went out to him. Planting my feet on the bed, I thrust myself on top of him. He reached up to me, his eyes a combination of lust, shame and something infinity deeper. Before his hands could close over my breasts, I took hold of them and laced our fingers. Lachlan, I entreated, let me love you. Lachlan's eyes widened, but he submitted, his arms falling to his sides. I kissed him slowly, savoring the taste of my lust on his tongue and moved my lips over his face, enjoying the coolness of his skin. I moved my hands over his chest and torso, savoring the feel of his cool skin and subtle muscles under my palms. I was too impatient to bother with much foreplay. This beautiful Scottish vampire with his clever lips and tongue had pushed me past that. But I could do something else; give him the kind of gentle loving that could only be had from another vampire of equal status. With a firm hand, I jerked his heavy belt buckle aside and pulled his seven thick inches from his pants. As my tongue s lid over his neck my fangs slid out of their sheaths of their own accord. It's alright Morgana. As my long legs straddled his hips, I took one lick of his neck and when my fangs sank into his throat and I tasted his blood, I took him inside me. Lachlan's blood was sweet, like sugar water. However, like sugar water, I knew instantly that I couldn't live on it. Through the link of my fangs in his throat I sent him my thoughts; thoughts of lust and the affection I felt but didn't fully understand. My body accepted him instantly, there was no pain, only pleasure… combined with that overwhelming sense of fullness a woman feels when she takes a man. Tearing my lips from his throat, I licked them slowly and smiled down at him. Lachlan smiled back, and then, as I raised and lowered myself slowly on his imbedded shaft, his eyes hazed with lust. Determined to be as gentle as he was with me, my fingers dug holes into the sheets as I fought the urge to move faster. I moved at a gentle rhythm, slowly going back and forth, back and forth, ignoring the madness caused by the head of his penis rubbing my g-spot. As his hands crept up my ribs to my breasts, I moved harder, deeper, but never faster. I kissed him deeply, and as I felt his hips drove desperately upward, I knew I didn't have to be gentle anymore. I threw my head back, pausing only once to see the tears drying on his cheeks before I thrust my hips in a fast, violent rhythm that had my fangs sliding out of their sheaths for the second time as I cried my pleasure into the night. I came violently, and with a thought, the bottle of blood I'd set aside reappeared in my hand. Lachlan's hands dug into my hips as he came, leaving bruises that healed as quickly as they appeared. While he finished, I drank the remaining contents of the bottle, savoring Irene's last breaths as she came violently to the feeling of a dildo deep inside her while her old boss harvested her blood through a catheter attached to the type of bag used at blood donation clinics. Rolling off of Lachlan, I set the bottle aside and realized I didn't need time to recover. I looked at Lachlan, and while satisfied, he seemed vaguely embarrassed by what had happened between us… so I made it easy for him. "I'm going to take a shower, and then I guess I'll try my hand at hunting. You're welcome to watch me try and possibly screw up" "Don't be so critical of yourself, Morgana" he said from his perch on the windowsill; Lachlan had dressed and moved in the blink of an eye. "You're more incredible than you've ever been" and then he was gone. If I'd been in his shoes, I would have done the same. Post coital dialogue was never my forte. Chapter 3: The First Feed I was alone in my apartment with Lachlan's come drying on my thighs. Outside my window the sounds of Montreal's nightlife hit me from every angle, and with my advanced hearing I caught snippets from conversations from the street below. I wasn't used to it, and it was giving me a headache; young women talking about the guy they were sure would call; the guy bragging about the blond he'd banged last night; the police bitching in French about the taste of convenience store coffee; I was getting details from conversations no human would have been able to hear, and the sounds hit me like blows to the head. With the noise came their thoughts; the guy bragging about his sexual exploits had actually gotten drunk and passed out before he could get to third base; the young women were having daydreams of diamonds, lavish weddings and a man in a suit with a bouquet of roses; the police officer just wanted to go home to his kids. There were too many voices, too many thoughts, too many feelings. It was too much. I fell to the floor clutching my temples and focused on the silence. It took what felt like hours, but I finally managed to expel every single voice but my own. The process took all my energy, and I realized that despite my long and eventful weekend, I had to go to work in the morning. It seemed like such an inane reality after all I had experienced, but Lachlan said the people who turned me had no use for me until I came to my full strength. One by one my newly acquired senses were coming alive, and if a few stray thoughts were crippling me, I had a lot to learn…so I went to bed, and hoped I could continue blocking them in my sleep. For the first time all weekend, I dreamed. I dreamed of the King dressed in gleaming armor and of ancient battlefields bathed in blood. I saw beings of light with golden wings duel with beings of fire, sending bodies and beams of energy in all directions. I saw human history from a viewpoint few had ever seen; ancient temples and beautiful priestesses making offerings to forgotten gods and illicit affairs between people of different social classes. As a soldier, I saw the Emperor Chin and his armies ruthlessly unify China, and Judah and the Maccabees defeat the Syrians. I saw Cleopatra, her golden skin, curvaceous figure, and rich brown eyes lined with kohl, and as one of her slaves dressed her in her queenly robes before she committed suicide with the help of a friendly snake. As a lowly observer in an inn, I saw a drunken Roman centurion fall out of his chair and find God, and as one of his mistresses, I witnessed the Emperor Constantine's conversion to Christianity. I was among the mourners who watched William Wallace's slow and painful death while the English authorities leered and spat on him, and was present at the establishment of the Shogunate in Japan. As one their Generals, ordered noble samurai to cut themselves open so I could taste their blood, and as a fisherman, I witnessed Magellan arrive and die in the Philippines. I saw the many deaths of Rasputin and watched him laugh and swing his assassins around in a dance before disappearing into the night. As a soldier in Stalin's army, I was the first to stumble on Hitler's charred corpse at the end of the Second World War. I realize now that they were the collective memories of the entire vampire race. Even in my dreams, through my altered blood, I will never be free of them. No matter what my dealings with other vampires, they will always be part of me…but at the time I assumed that my dreams were delusions associated with my new body. When I woke up, the sun was shining, and the slivers of light seeping from the space between the blinds made my eyes ache and made my skin redden and burn painfully. I saw smoke rise from my skin where the light hit it, and ran to the fridge to grab one of the bottles inside. The blood in this one wasn't particularly tasty. The victim was an overweight male security guard enjoying his donut when the owner of the building decided he could find someone better for the job. He told his personal assistant to fire the man. She had a better idea… and with the utmost discretion she moved him to a private facility where she drained his blood, bagged it, and brought him to a cell where his body could replenish its supply. His blood tasted like one of those health shakes; not particularly flavorful as the man had been apathetic when it was taken, but it filled me up and lessened the sting of the sun. In minutes I was showered and dressed for work. As a precaution, I slathered my face, hands and legs with sun block and put on a pair of sunglasses. I realized I'd have to be pretty freaking stupid to get myself killed on my first day out. "What the hell happened to you Morgana! You look great!" It was the first compliment I'd ever gotten from a coworker, and I wasn't entirely sure how to take it. "I got laid," I said dismissively. Aisha's mouth dropped open. She was the graphic artist for the company I worked for, and the closest thing I had to a friend. I sensed her shock and then her amusement but decided not to probe her mind any further. She had always been nice to me. "Are you alright?" Aisha shook her head. "I'm fine, but you're coming with me for lunch to tell me all about it!" it wasn't an invitation, it was an order. When I went to the bathroom on my first break, I looked in the mirror. I'll tell you right now that the superstition about vampires having no reflection is exactly that, superstition. I did have a reflection and outwardly, my appearance had changed. My hair was its usual dark brown, but instead of hanging limp as it usually did, it had become fuller, thicker, and had a decided bounce to it. My skin was as golden brown as ever, but it had a healthy glow it never had before, and my lips were redder than ever. My eyes were the same; slanted like the typical Asian woman, and a brown so dark it was nearly black. I knew now that in the dark my eyes would bear that same silvery sheen all vampires had. I agonized over the lunch invitation all morning and my new telepathic abilities didn't help matters. I wasn't fully in control of them, and as a result, caught every stray thought from every Tom, Dick and Harriet that passed my desk. Headaches aside, there was something oddly empowering about being able to read minds. For the first time, I knew where I stood with everyone I worked with; I knew who was prejudiced towards Asians and receptionists, and who had fantasized about fucking me. Between that and answering phones, I agonized over what I was going to do at lunch. I couldn't eat, and I couldn't give Aisha all the details of what had happened, so I worked up the best set of lies my confusion would allow. Luckily we went to a fancy cafeteria for lunch. "You're not eating?' she asked in surprise. Sex and Violence Sex is out, violence is in. It's amazing, in America you can see a severed head in a PG-13 movie... but you can't see a woman's breasts without the movie being Rated-R. So that means that a severed head is less severely affecting to young minds than a woman's body? Horror movies are all the rage... people getting their heads chopped off, nails pulled, their bodies being torn apart in grotesque ways. You can even find that on Prime-Time television... not with all the gory details sure, but you know what's going on. You can see the aftermath. CSI in particular tends to have nightmarish detail with their dead bodies. But sex? No... sex is bad. Forget that almost everyone in America is having sex (or going to have sex at some point in their lifetime) - versus the amount of people who will kill, mutilate, or maim a person. Let's look at the things that rarely happen and be totally open about that and just ignore the whole sex thing. After all, sex is much more private right? Well, unless you're the President of course. Violence is everywhere. On TV, in the movies, on the news... but sex? Nope. Sex is an expression of love... and that's bad to show to people for some reason. Even just sex for the sake of sex isn't a good option... Let's not show the enjoyment. Stick with the downers, the evil, the darkness of the earth. Seriously, what's wrong with looking a person's body? We all have body parts. 50% of the population has the same body parts... and the other 50% also all have the same body parts. What is the big deal? Why is it ok to look at a bloody stab wound, but not breasts? At someone shooting another human being, but not at two people making love? And people wonder why sex has become warped. We can't talk about it. Young people especially can't talk about it, not with anyone who's older than them. Across the country, there are people taking steps to talk even less about it, trying to pare Sex Education down to Abstinence-Only. Even in school, the place to ask questions and to learn, it's not ok to talk about Sex openly and honestly. That's a no-no. Or at least some people are trying to make it that way. Sex is used in politics for major scandal... and why should we care? Seriously? The only thing I would think if George W. managed to have an affair is "How could ANYONE be attracted to THAT?!". I don't think it would affect his running the country, just like I didn't really think it affected Clinton - other than people trying to make it affect him. But you know that people would be jumping all over it. It's a major scandal when we find out that Brad Pitt was possibly having sex with Angelina Jolie BEFORE his marriage was over with Jennifer Aniston. And oh my god... Paris Hilton has a sex tape? On the internet?!!! How scandalous! But when OJ Simpson got away with murder... no one cared anymore. Trial over, scandal over. Murder has less effect than the agonizing months of Brangelina/Jennifer magazine coverage. They're STILL coming out with stories on it. People are dying every day, being killed both at home and in Iraq, bombings, etc. But what people talk about is Jessica Simpson getting a divorce from Nick Lachey. It's a sad sad world my friends. In the paper recently, I've been reading about the cops busting up prostitution rings. And I wonder... do they just not have anything better to do? Are there no drug rings in their area? No murders? No MS-13? They had an awful lot of officers involved... which ended when it became apparent that the officers were actually receiving services from the prostitutes in order to prove that they were prostitutes. Which was a big scandal, because the officers were getting some. Can't we save prostitution as the last of our attempts to get the streets clean? Like, seriously. I'm a lot more worried about the drug dealers than the prostitutes. Especially prostitutes in established brothels... I'm a little worried about some of the ones on the streets but only because many look far too young to be out there. And why is Nevada the only state where prostitution is legal? If they really wanted to clean up the prostitute's acts, wouldn't the best way be to regulate it? Sex is going to sell whether it's underground or acknowledge. At least if it's acknowledged there's some control. But no. Selling sex is bad. Sex is bad. Don't show it. Don't look at it. Must be 18 and judgmental to view (another question... why do there seem to be a plethora of Literotica readers that aren't here for the sex? Reading stories that they know they won't like? I know I've asked this question a million times, but it's still out there). Personally, I'd rather know that a teen is having consensual sex, protected and informed with someone of their age than have them doing Ecstasy or something. Or committing murder or robbery or rape. But that sweet consensual loving sex is exactly what is missing. Seriously, if aliens were to watch our televisions, they'd probably think that we were all violent animals who rarely pro-create by non-violent means. The most love that you see is in today's Prime-Time comedies. Which, by the way, are dying. Yay murder, rape and violence. Note: Not to say that I don't love those shows too... Law and Order: SVU is particularly good... but if we can watch that at 10pm at night, why not Sex in the City? WITHOUT the edits?! Just some of my rambling ponderings. Sex and Violence In light of the mass murder shootings of 32 innocent people and the suicide of the shooter at Virginia Tech by automatic handguns, I write this essay in anger, disgust, and sadness. May God rest their poor souls. Unfortunately, too often, the words sex and violence are linked together. Sex and violence have nothing to do with one another. Sex and violence should never be linked together. Even those who are involved in bondage and discipline can tell you that. Those who disagree that sex has nothing to do with violence are those who think that rape is a sexual crime. Rape is a violent crime against women and those who commit rape are closet homosexuals and are men who are incapable of having a normal and mutually gratifying sexual relationship with a woman. If you must link a word with sex, link it with love, link it with pleasure, and link it with gratification. I would rather watch sex, not pornographic films, but tasteful and realistic depictions of sex with nudity over violence any day. Yet, our puritanical society is so twisted and sexually repressed that it is much stricter when censoring programs with sexual content than it is when censoring programs that have graphic violence. You do not believe me? Just turn on your television at 9pm any day of the week and you can see CSI, Lost Without a Trace, 24, Prison Break, Sopranos, Law and Order, just to name a few, and that is just television. Movies have even more shoot 'em up, blow 'em up, and blood and gore. Nope, no sexual content television shows here. Do you want to know what the top movies are? Godfather I and II, Pulp Fiction, Schindler's List, Star Wars, 12 Angry Men, Goodfellas, Psycho, The Silence of the Lambs, Lawrence of Arabia, Fight Club, Taxi Driver, Apocalypse Now, Scarface, American Beauty, Se7en, A Clockwork Orange, just to name a few and just to draw a common thread, which, of course, is violence and more violence begets even more violence. No where on the list is Basic Instinct, Emmanuelle, Barbarella, Body Heat, Secretary, Brokeback Mountain, Out of Sight, and Wild Things, just to name a few and just to draw a common thread that, apparently, we Americans would rather see someone being shot dead than someone getting laid. I have seen more murders on television than I have blow jobs, which is to write, that I have never seen a blow job on network television. Am I to draw the conclusion that a woman giving a man oral sexual pleasure or a man giving a woman oral sexual pleasure is more distasteful than a man shooting another man to death? I guess if I want to watch sex on television, I would have to play one of my children's video games. We feel that it is okay for our children to play video games with inappropriate sexual content but it is not okay for adults to watch television shows at night that have sexual content. It was not that long ago when prime time television was Disney shows with Bambi, Mickey Mouse, Pluto, Goofy, and cartoons, the Flintstones, the Jetsons, and Top Cat. Censors could never mold those who lived on the East Coast and the West Coast into the Nelsons, Ozzie and Harriet or the Cleavers, Ward and June, like they did with Middle America. Our televangelists who riddle us with guilt and redemption are rife with sexually scandals. Now, why do you think that is? It is because sex is repressed and violence is okay. What is wrong in our gun violent culture? Don Imus was fired for a comment that was not only racially charged but also that degraded women. We all know what he said. We heard it all before on any violent rendition of a rap or hip hop artists' CD. Yet, out of the woodwork steps Reverends Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton ready to play their race card. Do these two have jobs or do they just hang around waiting to step in front of a television camera whenever there is something to point their fingers at that will give them publicity? I swear these reverends are like spoiled children. Never do I hear them offering solutions before the problem but I hear them suggesting plenty of ways how we can correct our errors and it all has to do with money. Why aren't they out helping black men finding good paying jobs to support their families? Why aren't they outraged in front of Congress demanding that the black man receive the same education and career opportunities afforded to the white man? Why aren't they doing something to stop the gun violence in the black neighborhoods? Why aren't they outraged the way black men perceive black women as whores and sluts? They are only outraged when there is television coverage. You should be ashamed, shame on you Reverend Jesse Jackson and shame on you Reverend Al Sharpton. Where were all the women's organizations? Why did they not play their feminist card? Did they not think what Imus said was inappropriate? While President Bush is out searching for Iraq's weapons of mass destruction, the ones that never existed (I guess car bombs aren't considered weapons of mass destruction), handguns are killing tens of thousands of people every year in this country. How many people must die before a handgun is considered a weapon of mass destruction? I am tired of not being to stop my car to confront someone in the street to give them a piece of my mind when they have done something offensive or inappropriate for fear that he may have a gun. Why does he have a gun? Only the police and our military should have a gun. If you want to hunt, go buy a rifle. You don't need that automatic handgun that can shoot twenty rounds in a blink of an eye like a machine gun. I would much rather see some hot woman's nipples staring me in the face than a 9mm Glock. What is wrong with this country? I ask that rhetorically, of course, because I already know the answer. Money is wrong with this country. Those who do not have it, want it, and those who have it, want more. You can never have enough money. I say put the gun manufacturers out of business, buy back the guns, and melt them down. There are more handguns in this country than there are people. Then, take the money we save from not having to spend it on handgun crimes and make realistic television with nudity, sex scenes, and voyeuristic and exhibitionistic programming. Let's put the violence in the gutter where it belongs and take sex out of the gutter and put it up for public inspection and digestion where it belongs. "Condoms are on the house! Free condoms for everyone! Condoms instead of bullets! Love instead of murder. Sex instead of violence." Sex and Violence "I'm on a sort of a liquid diet right now" "What the hell are you doing going on a diet, Morgana? You're built like a twig!" I'd been hearing that one my whole life and it didn't bother me. "I've been eating a lot of junk food lately. This new diet isn't as bad as it sounds. I have shake for breakfast and a healthy supper" it was a half truth and it sounded too much like the slim fast plan, but it seemed to satisfy her. "So who was he? What did he look like? How was he in bed?" "A Scotsman," I replied. Aisha's dark eyes twinkled with excitement. "Did he wear his kilt?…What did he wear under it?" "Aisha!" "What? I can't have adventures like yours! You've got to give me something to dream about!" "Oh alright" Aisha smiled. "That's better; now tell me what he looked like" "Red hair, pale skin and lean muscles… in bed…he was fabulous," that much was true. "Was he rough or gentle?" My lips curved as I watched my friend all but bubble with interest. As a devout Muslim, Aisha didn't allow herself sexual adventures and lived vicariously through her friends and coworkers. "He was…smooth, seductive, like he knew instinctively what I liked and how I liked it" "That's insane" "Insane, but fantastic" "Did you at least use protection?" That was a tough one, if I was dead by human standards, than there really was no need. I had no idea if vampires had children or STDs, so I gave the easy answer. "Yes" "Does this seducer have a name?" "Lachlan…I never got his last name" "Will you ever see him again?" It was my turn to smile. Aisha didn't know the half of it. "I know I will" That seemed to content her for now…but after that we met for lunch regularly. Strange that I'd only found a mortal friend after I had become immortal. I spent months living the same routine. I fed, I slept, showered, I trained and I worked. Occasionally I did the girlfriend stuff with Aisha: shopping, lunch, a movie, and the closer we got, the more it pained me to lie to her about all the changes I had undergone, but most of my efforts were concentrated on figuring out the extent of my abilities. I knew I was strong, fast, and agile, but there was more to it. Two months after my transformation I managed to fully control my enhanced hearing. Another month and I figured out how to control my telepathic abilities so that I could hear nothing, or open myself to every thought of every being. I had adapted to my advanced sense of smell, taste and touch. After all this time, my blood supply was running out. When I had first awakened after that fateful weekend, I had at least a dozen bottles in my fridge. Every few days someone came into my apartment as I slept and replenished my supply. Whoever had been feeding me had decided it was time I learned to hunt, and I agreed. After three months of training, I was tired of keeping myself at home. From the window of my apartment, I could hear the sounds of the night calling to me; people laughing, music blaring from bars and clubs, and lovers making out in quiet corners. I heard it all, and suddenly, I didn't want to be a casual spectator anymore. I wasn't plain old Morgana anymore. I was a vampire with special abilities and special needs. There was a whole world out there calling me, and it was mine for the taking. I refused to be cooped up anymore. I stepped into the shower, feeling stronger than I ever had, and as I toweled off, I looked down at the outfit neatly folded on the floor. It had been untouched since the night I slept with Lachlan, and as I took the corset in my hands, I thought of the power I felt when I wore it. I touched it slowly and enjoyed the solid feel of the boning beneath the cool red satin…then I noticed something I that wasn't there before. At the very bottom of the corset, dead center was a crest: an ankh surrounded by flames. I recognized it as the same one engraved in the King and Lachlan's belt buckles and knew instantly that this thing was some kind of uniform. I didn't need it tonight. Tonight I was an urban vampire, a lone predator on the prowl. I searched my closet, and noticed that my wardrobe, like the contents of my kitchen, had been dramatically altered. There were a few items there I didn't recognize and would never have bought for myself: expensive gowns and shoes, revealing dresses…all stuff I wouldn't wear or use, but whoever turned me apparently thought otherwise. I chose a pair of tight black jeans, leather boots and a black velvet corset top. Before I was turned I had always been unusually sensitive to the cold and couldn't go out without at least three layers; a gift of my South-East Asian heritage. Now I only felt temperature changes at their greatest extremes. It took some getting used to, but only when it was thirty below did the cold really bother me. As an act of common sense, I grabbed my black leather jacket off its hook; I figured I'd look ridiculous roaming Montreal in the middle of January without a coat. The weathermen said it was minus twenty out there, but to me it was unusually warm. A hint of lipstick, a twenty-dollar bill and my house key and I was out the door. I briefly contemplated jumping out the window and then thought otherwise…my window faced the open street, and I didn't want to risk being spotted. Come to think of it, I didn't want to break my legs; I had no idea how quickly that kind of injury would heal, and decided tonight was not the night to find out. I needed to feed and that was my first priority, so I left through my front door. A wise decision. I had no idea where the thought had come from, but my guess was that it was from one of the vampires on the street. I hadn't met any other vampires since that fateful weekend; they didn't approach or talk to me, but occasionally I caught a thought or two, usually to the effect of a welcome to the species. It was a Friday night and the city was alive. As I roamed the streets of downtown Montreal, I looked around me, searching for anything unusual. I had the unmistakable feeling I was being watched, followed, but every timed I turned around, no matter how quickly I moved, there was nothing. The occasional vagrant, a garbage fire, a group of teenagers out for fun, nothing out of the ordinary, and the people I encountered were all easily read. I figured that whoever it was, if he, she, or it, planned to kill me, they would have done so by now. I was hungry, and calling him out would be a waste of time. I entered of the city's more stylish lounges. The bouncer's thoughts were simple enough and X-rated as they were, they got me into the club ahead of the line up. "I get off my shift at three" he offered. I contemplated the vein in his throat and involuntarily licked my lips. I wasn't used to the idea of living off other people but I didn't want to raid the blood banks either. I saw his pulse quicken, and my instincts told me to tear out his throat… but I decided feeding in public was stupid, and I wasn't ready to wait four hours for a meal. So I smiled at him and ran my fingers down his chest and over his belt. I had never acted so boldly before; but hunger makes you operate entirely on instinct. He was much taller than I was, but for some reason I managed to float to eye level. "I'm awfully hungry, sweetheart" I said honestly, my voice hissing of its own volition "I can't wait that long. Perhaps… another time" That seemed to satisfy him and he let me in without a word. The bar was brimming with people. Regular drinkers nursing small amounts of hard liquor, a couple of high class call girls, groomed yuppies looking to score, and the usual gang of women searching for Mr. Right. Blood is the sweetest when it is most alive. Lachlan's words came back to me in a rush, and I knew exactly what I was looking for. He said that blood was best when a person was lustful, but I'd realized in those past three months that there was more to it than that. Blood was tastiest when emotions were strong and bland when its owner was apathetic or bored. Vampires lived off of blood, but the taste was determined by what its owner had been feeling at the time it was taken. There had been many kinds of blood in my supply and every emotion had its own flavor. I scanned the bar; mentally probing everyone I saw; I figured the most volatile personality would give me the most sustenance. Only three people managed to block me successfully. The first two were a beautiful black couple who smiled at me from across the bar. I watched them step out of the light and into one of the bar's darker corners; only then did I notice that their eyes bore the same silvery sheen as my own. Enjoy the hunt dear lady, they told me and I could only think to nod in reply. The only other person blocking me was a man nursing a brandy at the bar. He was tall and broad shouldered, with pale skin and red hair. However, unlike Lachlan, his hair was a bright, fiery red and cut to suit modern fashion. It was his eyes that made him stand out from the crowd; the pupils were a yellowish gold, and framed by reddish black lashes. He was dressed as I was, all in black, in jeans, a leather jacket, and he'd worn a wool turtleneck against the cold. The overall effect made him look like the stereotypical movie vampire, but for some reason, he looked about as interested in the blood filled people around him as he did with his brandy. Probably some rich Goth with a vampire fixation, I thought dismissively, and at that very moment, I found my first victim. His thoughts hit me like ton of bricks and to my mind he was absolutely perfect. He looked like any other patron; simple haircut, expensive coat and scarf, jeans and sweater. Age wise, I placed him at about fifty; his dark hair was streaked with gray; his features were haggard; and thin as he was, he had a bit of a paunch. He eyed the women in the bar the way my fellow vampires did: like pieces of meat. Though his face was void of emotion, his thoughts were unguarded, and I read them easily. His name was Jean Harper; he'd been raised wealthy, in a house where money solved everything. In the years when the government ruled Quebec with an iron fist, his relatives were raping women and children and paying off their families. Though this man's wealth had largely dissipated, his cruelty and his contempt for women and the young had not. He was hunting for prey, but he searched for prey of a different sort. I watched him pick his victim; a young girl waiting for a friend. He was in the bar to sate his baser instincts in the cruelest way he knew, and I concluded that the girl and I should switch places as the man's quarry. Unlike his victim, I knew exactly what it would take to provoke him. Reading his mind, I realized I'd feel no remorse killing him. I approached him slowly, and as I moved towards him, Jean's lips curved. "What can I do for you, young lady?" some lady, she's dressed like she thinks she's some modern aristocrat, snobby bitch. I ignored that, and cut right to the chase. "I'm horny, and you look easy" "I'm old enough to be your father" You stupid whore, maybe I'll teach you a lesson instead, you over painted little tramp! My lips twitched at his contempt. "I like them older…more experienced… better in bed" Jean smiled even wider, and I could see the carnage he was fantasizing about. "My place is just up the street" he offered. It was my turn to smile. "Why waste time making the trek to your place when there's a perfectly secluded park nearby?" Killing her is going to be a pleasure; the stupid little bitch ought to know better than to hit on strange men. I couldn't help but laugh; the man thought he was doing the world a favor, and in a way he was. I didn't have to kill him, but this was one type of asshole the world didn't need more of. His decision to come with me sealed his fate, I would have my feast tonight, and instinct told me he'd keep me nourished for a good long while. As we left the bar, the two vampires saluted me, and I wished them happy hunting. The red headed Goth watched me as I led Jean away, and I smiled at him in simple acknowledgement. The guy was either immensely thick, or some kind of psychic to be able to block me, but I didn't care about him. I had my prey; it was time to feed. The park was frozen that night, but I barely noticed. As we moved closer to the place I'd designated as my feeding ground my hunger intensified. Suddenly I was aware of every beat of Jean's heart and could all but see the blood pumping through his veins and arteries to every extremity. Combined with the anticipation of killing, the hunger was stronger than anything I'd ever experienced before and it took all my willpower to stay in control. The park was empty that night. It was too cold for lovers; ideal for the kill. When we reached one of the benches, he kissed me. Jean's kiss was sloppy; there was too much pressure and his tongue was all over the place. He tasted of beer and cigarettes, but his blood, pulsing just under his skin, beat with excitement. I let his rough hands slide clumsily below my top to grasp brutally at my breasts and I felt my nipples harden; not for Jean, but for the thought of killing him. "Slow down, sweetheart, we've barely begun…" I gasped. "You're right" he replied shoving me brutally down on the bench. I feigned an escape attempt and let him grab me by the hair and push me down. "You little bitch!" he shouted, reaching for the knife in his pocket, "You ought to know better than to try and make the rules! I'm the man and you're a fucking whore! Now you're going to sit there and do what I tell you or I'm going to cut your tits off!" He held his knife to my chest; the blade was four inches long and razor sharp and as he tore his pants open, I used the same routine that saved me from getting expelled from high school. I burst into tears. "Please don't do this" I begged, wondering if I was a good enough actress to pull it off. Jean took a swing at me hoping to shut me up, and just as suddenly I grabbed his arm. I was tired of fucking around. "Don't even try it" I said with lethal precision. He tried to wrench his arm from my grasp, but even high on adrenaline, he couldn't shake me. Only now was I beginning to realize the full extent of my newly acquired strength, and the ability to overpower someone so convinced of his own superiority thrilled me. "I'll kill you, you fucking bitch! Whores like you need to know their place!" he swung at me with the knife, but just as quickly I caught his hand, and with both hands in my grasp, I head butted him. The force of the blow sent him to the ground, and as he struggled in the snow, I sensed the full extent of his defeat beginning to hit him…but it wasn't enough. I stepped on his wrist, and the pressure of my boot on his fragile bones caused him to drop the knife. "Are you ready to beg yet?" Jean spat at me, but with my advanced speed and agility I moved casually aside. With my other foot, I kicked him in the face and as the blood trickled from a corner of his mouth, my nostrils flared. "How does it feel, Jean Harper, to be helpless at the hands of a woman?" The man actually began to sob. I straddled him and when I was certain I had his full attention I let my fangs slide out of their sheaths. Jean's eyes widened. "You'll burn in hell for this you satanic whore!" he said with the last of his resolve, then he smiled "You want to know why I got away with raping and killing so many? Because God HATES WOMEN, and every last one of you got exactly what you deserve!" I'd heard enough, and felt the nails of my left hand lengthen. With pure malice, I slid them over his crotch and ripped through the fabric until I drew blood. Jean screamed… and finally, he snapped. "Please don't do that again! Please don't kill me, I'll do anything!" My patience was at an end. "Look at you! You pathetic excuse for a human being! You walk the earth thinking you're God's gift but when it all boils down, you're nothing but a piece of meat! Lying in the snow with tears in your eyes hoping that maybe, if you beg, I'll find it in my heart to let you go! Your kind make me sick! As far as I'm concerned you revoked your right to live the second you destroyed a life!" I couldn't help but laugh now. "The funny thing is, you came here expecting to fuck me, but you're the one who's fucked because there's no chance in hell you're leaving this park alive" and with those words, I held his head to one side and sank my fangs into his jugular vein. Harper's blood was delicious and warm. I drank long and hard and deep, tasting his fear and his horror. It spiced his blood with a flavor impossible to describe; like sinking your teeth into a thick juicy steak and baked potato all at the same time. The flavor was rich, and I drank and drank until the flesh in my hands was as cold as the ground beneath me. With a lick, the wounds in his neck closed and I left him on the park bench, looking like some vagrant who'd failed to find shelter in time. It was my first feed; my first kill… and it had been glorious.