0 comments/ 22404 views/ 1 favorites Twilight By: Kozure Okami It was over. Sunlight poured down, overwhelmingly bright after the darkness. There was an unnatural silence that chilled even his soul. No sounds of traffic, no babbling of school children, running in packs, only the wind. He walked through the bodies, strewn where they had been overcome. Their deaths had been horrible ordeals of screaming and convulsions. Japan, and Okinawa had been the targets of a North Korean persistent nerve agent. North Korea was probably a smoldering rubble, as was most of the rest of the world. The strikes had gone on for days. Who started it? He didn't even care. It was over, but the curse that had kept him alive for centuries allowed him no peace, even now. Mankind had run its course. The predictions of Nostradamus had come to pass. Yet he still lived. Perhaps if he had been in a nuclear firestorm he would have fused with the rest. This was the final irony. Only his kind, the hunters of man, could survive, though their prey had been taken from them. He stopped in his tracks. His kind? His mind went back through the centuries. A beautiful face came into focus, dark eyes filled with wonder, nights of frenzied couplings, and shared hunts. He knew what he must do. The streets were filled with cars, smashed together or just frozen in place where their occupants died, trying to get somewhere else, some safe place. He found a three wheeled delivery vehicle. The young woman who had been riding it had left it standing at the curb when she crawled off. It started smoothly, breaking the silence. He made his way slowly through the silent cars. The guard at the gate of the Air Base did not wave him through. He rode to the control tower overlooking the runway. A squadron of fighters waited ready to carry the battle to the enemy. He ignored them and went to where the light planes of the Aero Club were parked. Breaking into the office, he found the keys for a Cessna 172, grabbed some maps, stuffed them in his rucksack, and walked back out onto the runway apron. He found the preflight list and went through the steps he vaguely remembered from a few lessons 25 years earlier. The magnetos caught, the engine ran up smoothly and he taxied out onto the runway. The tower ignored him as he ran down the strip, launched himself into the sky and turned to a North Northwest heading. Traffic over Nagasaki was light. The VORTAC had done its job, guiding him over the several hundred miles. He circled and made several attempts lining himself up on the strip and gauging the proper distance and altitude. A bumpy but satisfactory landing would have made his instructor proud. His first solo had little interest to him now. The metal detector shrieked as he walked through the security area. A wretched figure in the corner feebly lifted its head where it sat slumped in the corner and gurgled at him. The mainland apparently had suffered a different fate than Okinawa. Here biological and chemical agents had been mixed with varying degrees of success. There were probably many like this, in different degrees of death. He stopped and pulled the Heckler and Koch .45 Caliber automatic from a side pocket of his pack, stuck it into his jeans and continued through the terminal. The riotous scene of Okinawa was magnified one hundred times, here in the streets of the city. Cars, buses, trucks, jumbled together, bodies everywhere. Occasionally, he saw a skulking figure, or small groups. They avoided him for the moment. He spotted the sign for a police station at the end of the block and headed that way. The building was set in a small park. As he approached he heard a scream. A group of four men had a woman bent over the park bench. One had her skirt hiked up and was fucking her from behind, the others were ripping her clothing and fondling her. As he approached, one of these, dressed in a police uniform snarled at him and said, "Get the fuck out of here." As he rested his hand on his pistol. He drew the HK and shot him twice in the head. The others stopped what they were doing in shock then bolted. The man with his pants around his ankles tripped and sprawled on the ground. Scrambling, he pulled up his trousers and hobbled away. The woman looked at him, eyes wide like a cornered rabbit, then ran off in the opposite direction, mad with some concocted disease. The police station had what he was looking for. He pocketed some road maps of the area and went outside to examine the police motorcycle, leaning on its kickstand. He scavenged a meal of canned beans from a Lawson's and contemplated the maps. The countryside was so different, but he thought he could place where he needed to go. He rode warily, picking his way through the cars. There would be larger gangs around. There always were. He didn't want to meet any of them unless he chose to and the time was not right. After several hours he recognized a group of mountains in the distance. The lay of the land began to be familiar, though it was overgrown with apartment buildings and areas of stores, where once it had been forest. He should come to a river soon, yes, there it was, channeled in concrete now, but still where it should be. He turned off the highway and found a road leading in the direction of the crest of a small ridgeline. He stopped the bike at the crest, wanting to look out over the small valley beyond. It was no good, the buildings enclosed him on all sides. He rode down into the valley and made his way by small side streets to a small rise on the other side. One of the side streets ended in a very old, traditional style gate, set in a fortified wall. The clan emblem set into the gate told him what he already knew. He shut down the bike, leaned it on its kickstand and scaled the wall, dropping lightly into the courtyard beyond. Before him stood an impressive traditional estate house, surrounded by verandas. The courtyard was well tended. The house itself was dark now. He crossed the courtyard quietly, kicked off his shoes, and mounted the ancient wooden steps, placing his feet carefully to avoid any noise. Reaching the shoji, he stopped and listened for any movement inside the house. Hearing nothing, he gently slid the shoji open enough to admit his body. Moving silently through the dark, he stopped occasionally as if testing the air. He didn't pause as he passed any of the screened doorways, as if he somehow knew right where to go. He finally paused in front of one screen, where dim light shown through the screen. Hesitating, his body tense, almost quivering in some excitement, he finally moved the shoji aside. The light was coming from a single candle set on a family altar. The flickering light showed the walls were mounted with weapons. A huge flamberge was mounted over the altar, along with several katana. He noted the mountings for one were conspicuously empty as he felt its edge laid along his throat. Keeping the razor edge of the fine old sword against his throat, the figure maneuvered to face him. The candlelight flickered off thick black hair flowing over delicate shoulders covered in a thin layer of silk.. The face was hidden by shadow. Breasts jutted at him covered by the thin fabric, nipples engorged The silk robe was loosely open and he saw the dark bush. Not removing the sword, she moved closer until she was gently rubbing her nipples on his shirt. He looked down into the face he could see at last, her black eyes shining back into his. She grabbed his butt, letting the sword fall to the floor, and ground her omeko into his hardening cock as she stood on her toes to find his lips. He held her close and let her rub herself against him while she undid his jeans and pulled out his cock. "Ooh, I missed this." she panted, stroking him with her hands and rubbing the head along her pussy. She arched her back, pulled his head to her nipples, and tried to fit his cock into her even in this awkward position. Before she could bend his cock in two, he pulled out, turned her around and walked her over to the wall. She bent over and braced her forearms against the wall as he stuffed his cock into her, gasping as her pussy engulfed him, layers of warmth spreading, sucking him deeper inside her. She was already so wet, he started thrusting immediately, bouncing her head into her forearms. "Oh…Oh…Oh…OH…OH…OH, kimochi…OH, KIMOCHIII" she gasped in time to the thrusts, pushing off of the wall to bounce her butt against him then relaxing, after an orgasm took her. His thrusting became more insistent as he started to gasp. Realizing he was about to come, she snapped alert, jerked off him, whirled around, and clamped down on his cock with both hands. "No!" she said, kneeling in front of him and looking into his eyes. She squeezed his cock and touched it gently with the tip of her tongue. When his orgasm retreated, she allowed it to spring upright, tracing the veins on his shaft with the tip of her tongue or licking his sack. He knew this. She had told him, centuries ago, that his cum was life to her. She said it burned like molten metal inside her. As she took him inside her mouth and began working him as if to suck out his soul, he wondered how he could have ever allowed circumstance to separate them. She had been driven by her own loyalties and he by his duty. But now, as he felt his orgasm rekindling and the cum working its way up, he knew there was nothing left that could separate them. She felt it coming. In that special bond that linked the two, when his cum flooded her mouth, she came too, a surge of fluid running down her legs. He could clean her up later. Twilight In the early evening, the world looked so very still, serene and peaceful. The trees stood around where I was sitting in the dimly lit parking lot. From where I sat, I could see the faint pink and orange tint and the wispy blue-green clouds that slipped across the Western sky. I sighed and admired the trees for a while with their orange and yellow leaves, still turning color in the chill of the early October weather. The weather was wonderful that day as I sat on the cold stone bench with my book, reading before the dark threatened my vision. This was my favorite time of the year as the leaves turned colors and fell to the ground. I remember the feeling of contentment as I sat in the slight chill, cozy in my warm coat and sweater. I was happy just to sit there and take in the sentences in the book, filled with the stories of vampires, my infatuation since childhood; although I knew they could never exist. I smiled and sighed again as I returned to the pages, completely enthralled with the sinister beauty of the creatures described in the paragraphs before me. I could almost feel their plight, wishing to be human, but compelled to commit the one act that would most likely kill any humanity they might still hold. They were forced to drink the blood of the one thing they wished so incomprehensibly to be. Some stories made me want to cry. I finally could no longer read the words within a few hours, closed the book and returned it to my purse, but still wished to sit there just awhile longer. It was a calm night. Not even the night creatures made any sounds around me. I looked up and admired the stars in their beauty and looked for the moon. The night had always brought me comfort, especially being away from home. I was not more than an hour from my parents, but I was still on my own, alone, and in a huge university. No one knew your name or cared. At least sitting here on this cold bench in the early night, I could find a little bit of home. It was then that I saw it, or more sensed it. Something was there with me. I could not tell what it was. Since I could not see it, I did not think it existed. How wrong I was! Something was in the air, something that made me uneasy. I fidgeted a little on the bench, blaming it on the cold. My skin crawled, like when I let the shadows play tricks on me. I looked around to show myself I was not, in fact, alone, but not even a glimpse of any other human being. I sensed movement again, and looking provided nothing. I was scared out of my wits, but found myself held to the spot, curious what the thing was. I thought I was going mad as I sat there, wondering what was there, too frightened to move and too curious to leave. I closed my eyes and listened, hoping to hear the sound of dog tags or a cat bell or someone walking. I found nothing to meet my rapt searches but the sound of my own thundering heartbeat. What was out there? My heart screamed danger, but my mind said something different, an animal or a person. I reasoned with myself there was no such thing as witches and vampires or ghosts. For some reason, though, I did not want to believe myself. I sat there until the dark was almost complete, my body screaming at me. I was unable to respond. I felt a presence to my left on the bench and turned and opened my eyes. What I saw made my feelings even more a mystery to me. I wanted to touch him, feel his cold skin. His beauty was something before which I had never seen. He was a stunning porcelain doll, sitting beside me, making no sound, looking at me with animated eyes from a still, mannequin-like face. I reached my hand up and touched his face gently with the tip of my index finger. Vampire! My mind and body screeched at me to flee. My heart beat out of my chest and I must have jumped high enough I slid from the bench to the ground. The dull thump of my body against the pavement no more than a whisper to me, yet a crack of thunder to him. I swallowed hard and reached tentatively for my purse, watching him as he watched me. I took the bag and stood, then backed away, watching him the entire time. I had managed to back a few feet before something attracted my attention and I turned for a split second. When I turned back, he was gone. My breath caught in my chest. Gone. Finally. My entire body relaxed then, my head dropped and my eyes closed, the sigh whooshed from my body as I turned to walk back to my dorm room. I had taken just one step and then opened my eyes when the man was in front of me again. I inhaled sharply, in my fear, I could not even scream. His face was too beautiful, too perfect. He raised his finger slowly and placed it across his lips and a thin stream of air hissed from his lungs. He then smiled slightly and held his hand out to me. I faltered back a step and my hand went for the hollow of my throat before I could stop it. He followed the motion, tilting his head a little as if curious why I was afraid of him. His hand remained extended as though he expected me to take it. I reached out and touched the coldness of his hand and shuddered as he closed it over mine. He then led me across the lot, away from the dorm buildings, and into the woods across the street. My heart was beating so hard and so fast I thought it would burst in my chest. My God, he was cold. He felt colder than my grandfather's forehead before they buried him. I shivered and forced myself to look at him. His face was friendly, although I was still frightened of him. His face was a ghostly white with dark, dark eyes. I could not exactly see them, but they were so dark I would think them to be black. His hair was also a deep dark black; it almost appeared to be blue. It was so long it touched the backs of his knees. Two locks fell over his shoulders and only touched the ends of his ribs. His clothes, I finally noticed, were old. He was wearing a long coat, a deep grey in color, and the tails down to mid-calf. There were three gold clasps in the front, holding it closed over one of the old poet's shirts. He wore a deep blue sash around his waist and lighter blue, form fitting pants. He looked as though he had stepped out of a history novel. I swallowed and walked with him to wherever he decided to lead me. We reached a small clearing in the middle of the woods where a small picnic had been set and he gestured for me to sit. As I did, so he sat, and offered me food. I accepted it, as I was very hungry. I had not eaten since breakfast that morning. The sandwiches were my favorite kind: sugar cured honey ham with baby Swiss cheese on white bread. I ate two of them with an orange and a peach and drank the fruit juice he offered as he watched me, never saying a word. After I had eaten and was quite full, he smiled at me and sighed. We just sat there, him and me, staring at each other. I could not take my eyes off him; he was enchantingly beautiful. He stared at me out of wonder, I think, as I sat there, my breath rising as steam in the air, face flushed, and shivering slightly. He rose again and smiled at me, offering me his hand. I took it, unafraid this time. He had not hurt me thus far, and we were away from everyone. Besides I had been lonely here in this place. He was someone to hold company with. He led me deeper into the woods where a large tree had grown. At the foot was a bed of moss and pine needles. He sat and pulled me down beside him, gingerly, as though he would break me should he pull too hard. I smiled at him and settled in the little nest. He touched the back of my neck with his cold hands and pulled me close to him. His mouth rested by my ear for a moment before he whispered for me to be still. He rubbed the back of my neck gently and pulled me closer, his cold lips touching my ear. I could feel his lips move as he said, "Be still. I will not hurt you for long." It took a moment for the words to set it. "I will not hurt you for long." I tried to pull back from him, but he held me in an iron grip with only two fingers. I could feel the cold wetness of his mouth as he lightly kissed my neck. I breathed in deeply of the woods and made a quick prayer for help as the stranger sat holding me like a child in his arms. I was powerless to stop him. I waited as I felt his teeth press ever so slightly against my flesh. All I could do was wait. I felt a sudden pain like several bee stings on my neck. I stiffened and tried again to pull away from him, but without success. I had no choice. He had fed me and now I was to feed him. Since I could not pull from him, I settled into his arms as he began to suckle at my neck. The feeling was pleasant, so I focused on it to help ease the dread that filled my body. I had no fear of death or of where I was going when I did die, so I would see this as God's will. I would surrender to the little pleasure I had and accept the pain as it came. This seemed to please my captor as I nestled into his arms. I drifted off to a pleasant sleep, the warm darkness settling over me as he nursed from my body. A voice roused me from the dreamlike darkness, floating to me as though it were through the folds of a warm, fuzzy blanket in which I had cocooned myself. It bade me drink and I did so, feeling the pull of sleep. The fluid was warm like the cinnamon cocoa my mother used to give me when I was sick. I drank down all I was given until he pulled the fount from my mouth. I settled back into that dream again, sighing contentedly as someone stroked my hair and sang me to sleep. I awoke the next night with an unquenchable thirst and with a feeling I had never felt in my life. I knew the terror now as I had always read in my books, but somehow, it did not seem all that bad anymore. Twilight By the time Alana was nineteen years of age...she...loved...sex... She'd had a few years of doing it illegally, without anyone caring or noticing. But once she was legal, everybody seemed to notice Alana. Some people noticed because a girl with Alana's good looks was hard to miss. She had shining black hair cut straight to her curved shoulders. And she had grey eyes to die for. Alana was all legs and curved in all the right places. Men, and women, stopped to notice Alana. Some people noticed Alana simply because she was now legal, a woman grown, so to speak. And that made her 'prey', part of the ever growing meat market on the mean streets of the steel and cement jungles of the city. Alana, personally, did not care who noticed for what reason. It was enough to her that they noticed. For awhile, when she had been young, she'd had a preference for older men. That lasted for oh, about a year. Then she experimented with boys her own immature age. But their egos were younger still, and that didn't last long. By the time Alana was comfortable with her new status as a young adult and single female, the buxom babe knew exactly what she wanted in a man. She wanted experience. And she knew how to get it. Alana would wait until the sun began to set. Not daylight hours. But not the dark. Just...twilight. It was how she liked her men, in their twilight years. Not young boys. Not old geezers. Men of experience. Alana would go to the right places to meet her men, too. Not the clubs, where the men pranced around more for the sake of each other than for the girls watching. And not the classy joints where men had women fawning over them, all for the pleasure of being their decoration. Men like that were snobby and expectant. Alana wanted men who wanted her, and had the confidence to show it. So she hit the streets and the parks, the greasy spoons and the movies. She knew her target market, and she went for it. Just like right now. She was walking down the street, sashaying side to side to side in a set of shiny black hot pants, with a short sleeved low cut red top. She had a sucker in her mouth and Hollywood-diva sunglasses on. Her nails were red, matching her lipstick. And she wore sandals, toe nails manicured and painted. She was gorgeous. And she knew it. She was single, and they knew it. And she had a wealth of men of just the right age to choose from. This time, Alana was heading for a part of town not known for being very rich. It also wasn't known for its drug lords and crime gangs, either, so she felt pretty safe when she crossed the tracks that night and started to walk around. The houses were slightly grimy, but showed signs of care. The lawns were small but all were cut and trimmed properly. There were many families that lived in this part of town. Boys on bikes stopped and stared, and little girls with skipping ropes watched in inconsiderate jealousy as Alana made her way down the center of the district, passing the small-town style businesses, sucking on her lollipop and eyeing up the possibilities. Then, she spotted him. He was nothing more than a pair of feet sticking out from under neat a broken down wreck of a car in some oil stained driveway at first. Then, as if smelling the bitch in heat heading towards him, he rolled himself out from under the car on his short, flat trolley, and looked up. Their eyes met ever before Alana had the chance to inspect him. But that was all she needed. Eyes like her own, grey as steel and sparkling with hidden desires and fires. Slowly he sat up, then stood up, wiping his hands on the rag he had tucked into his belt loop. The coveralls he had been wearing probably all day were undone to the waist and hanging down around his hips, leaving his chest bare. His biceps, his pectorals, the slight pale blonde fuzz of hair on his skin, all was smeared here and there with grime and the sweat of a man who worked hard for his money. Here was a man who deserved to be treated right, to be treated to a taste of what Alana had to offer. She continued to walk towards him, just as the sun was turning a perfect orange over the tops of the sparse trees and low rooftops. He leaned back against the side of the car, folding his arms expectantly in front of him and watching as Alana approached. What could he be thinking? she almost wondered. But Alana knew. She knew every thought in his mind. And right now, he was wondering what trick or ploy she would use to get into his house and get into his pants. That's a good sign, she told herself, grinning and watching as he grinned right back. A married man might have a care about letting a girl into his house, especially a girl like me. Mr. Easy up here was showing good signs of having no cares in the world. Exactly what I was looking for. Finally, she was in front of him, holding her candy in one hand and a jutting hip in the other. "Hey mister," she said quietly but confidently. "Yeah?" "It's really hot, and I've walked a long way. Got anything to drink? I'll pay if I have to." The man smirked. And Alana was in love with his smile. "Sure, come on inside," he said coyly, waving for Alana to follow him. "I've got some lemonade in the fridge, if you don't mind the store bought stuff." "No, that would be perfect." Their words were show for the neighbors, pedestrians, whoever was walking by. They already knew the façade was over and the masquerade was done. Alana followed the man up his front steps, across his porch, and into his house. She marveled at the handy work done all through his hallway and his front living room. He'd redone the house himself, he informed her softly. He owned this house, had owned it for a few years. Now he was just putting on the finishing touches. In the kitchen, he pulled out a container of iced tea concentrate from the freezer, and set the cold-water tap to running. Alana leaned on the counter next to the sink, her sunglasses inching down her nose as the sun cutting through the room from a nearby window turned everything a golden yellow-orange. Mr. Easy was watching her, staring at the quickly diminishing candy she kept popping in and out of her garishly painted mouth. Then he walked over towards the sink, but at the last minute, Alana slid in front of him, blocking his path. He stood in front of her, so close she knew he could almost taste her candy breath. "Sorry," she apologized, looking up at him. She removed her sunglasses and set them on the counter top next to her, then met his eyes again, smiling innocently. "I wanted to wash my hands before you were done using the water, before I touched anything else." Alana didn't move. "Do you have a problem with getting a bit dirty, miss?" he said. "No, not really," Alana replied. Then, he was leaning forward, resting a hand on either side of her, gripping the edge of the counter. "Good," he said. Alana put her arms around his neck, very slowly, and put her mouth to his. The kiss was electric, a fire starter for sure. His hands went around Alana's slender back, moving up her spine beneath the tight shirt. Then he was slipping the shirt off her body, and she was putting her arms up in the air to help him. His mouth dropped as he froze her there, holding her arms captive in the shirt as he began to kiss at her small rounded breasts. His tongue teased at the nipples and Alana's sucker dropped into the sink behind her, sloshing around in the running water. They ignored it. His tongue was like fire over Alana's already overheated flesh. She moaned, crying out watching him. Mr. Easy ripped the shirt over her hands and threw it to the floor. Then his hands went down her sides, up over her ribs, and he cupped her little titties, mashing them together so he could suckle each cherry sized nipple, then both at once. Alana was in pure heaven. She could feel the heat of his mouth, the fire of his lips and tongue. And his calloused hands were so rough and slick with grime and sweat. She loved his touch. Her own hands ran through his short brown hair, gripping it as she pushed her chest out for him. Then his mouth ventured back up to hers, and he was pulling at his own clothing. Alana decided to help him. She ignored his chest and knelt in front of him, pushing his legs out from the cupboard the sink was in, so she had room to crouch. She tore at his zipper and pulled the coveralls down to the floor, exposing his hairy tanned legs, thick with sinew. His cock was already hard, jutting forward into her face. It was nothing for her to attach her mouth to it, and Alana eagerly did so. Mr. Easy gripped the edge of the counter top, wincing in sensitive pain as Alana's teeth dragged up and down his shaft. He looked down at where she was suckling him, gripping his cock ever so tightly. Her black head of shining brilliant hair moved up and down, up and down. He was going to cum soon. Alana could taste it. And it was a hard call for him to pull her off of his cock as he did. But he wanted her fully. Good guys like him never get good girls like this. He wanted to be inside her. He lifted her up and kissed at her mouth, tasting his own musky salt scent there. His fingers worked into her hot pants, pulling the short black shorts down quickly, slipping them off of just one foot before he left them and forgot about them. Then he was kissing along her mons, licking at her navel, suckling her nipples again. And then...Mr. Easy turned Alana around, quickly, pressing her against the sink. She shivered as the cold countertop touched her bare belly, then she looked behind her at the gorgeous beast stroking his cock while cupping and playing with her ass. Alana parted her thighs suggestively, still wearing her thick soled sandals. She knew she was just the right height for him, but it made it all the more delicious if she pushed her ass out. Looking at him over her shoulder, she began to drool. His cock was perfect, hard and veined, a working man's penis. He'd probably been working all of his life, however long that was. He probably never got to play like Alana did. Finally, he had calmed his cock down enough while keeping it still hard. His fingers pried open Alana's cunt, and he shuddered uncontrollably as he placed the head of his cock against her hot wet lips. She was so ready for him, and when he thrust into her tightness, he was amazed at the feel of her sheath sucking him inward. He ran a hand up her spine, stroking the back of her neck and shoulders as he began to thrust into her. Alana groaned, feeling his enormity fill her. He had a large cock. She liked them large. Soon, he felt his balls tightening again. But now he could feel her tightening around him, too. His flesh was going to betray him. But he was obsessed with hearing her cry out in pleasure. He continued to fuck her pussy, thrusting himself deeply inside as his hands wandered all over her silky smooth back. Alana could feel him deep inside her, feel him throbbing within and filling her. It was an incredible feeling. She put her hand in the sink, splashing cold water on her face to make her last. But it was too late. The feel of him. The pleasure of him. Having him fill her like this, him a total stranger picked from any dozen strangers. She remembered the look of expectancy in his eyes when he'd first met hers. He'd known he was going to fuck her. And she knew she wasn't a disappointment. He loved fucking her, and she loved his fucking. That drove Alana over the edge. She orgasmed around his cock, milking him and writhing as her climax took hold. And he kept himself inside her for as long as he could. It wasn't long after she began to calm down that he pulled himself, as yet unspent, out of her tightness. With his fingertips, he began to tease at her buttocks. His finger played over her tight pucker, making Alana gasp. As she turned her face towards his, looking at him over her shoulder, he knew he was about to do something she'd never had done before. Alana didn't know what to do. She'd already gotten off, that was all she came for. But now this stranger was taking her own sweet juices and rubbing them over her ass. Alana knew what men could do there, knew that some men liked that. But no one had ever asked her before if they could do that to her. Take her anally. And this man wasn't exactly asking. From the look of desire in his eyes, the look of pure unadulterated excitement his fingers were expressing, he was going to have her this way. It was up to her whether she enjoyed it or not. Alana chose to enjoy it. As Mr. Easy moved his cock head up to her puckered flower, as he began to depress her flesh with his steaming wet head, Alana let her head drop back. She felt him pushing into her, then felt him pop past the hard rim of muscles that had always kept anyone else at bay. He was inside her now, slowly using his slickness to slip deeper, and deeper. His hand played up her spine, and he put his fingers in her hair, tugging at her silky locks. He couldn't have done anything more appropriate or exciting just then, for Alana's flesh broke out into fresh goose bumps, and she shivered in pleasure. Deeper into her ass he pushed, until he was buried at last to the hilt. His balls were pressed against her cunt, getting wet with her new and old wetness. He began to pull out, and Alana could feel the rim of his cock, the cock that not that long ago she'd been sucking, dragging along her anal canal. Then he was out. And pushing himself back in. With a good grip on Alana's hair, Mr. Easy began to fuck Alana's ass almost as furiously as he had been fucking her pussy. He was careful yet confident, thrusting smoothly in and out and in and out. Alana's body took on a new arched position, legs splayed wide, head hard back on her shoulders, mouth gaping in desire. In and out, in and out. Her body was on fire at last! It was divine, having one's insides churned by lust into molten lava! Then, he was cumming. She could feel him, feel every inch of him as he spurted into her ass. It was too much. Alana came, her body shaking and her head pulling at his hand as he gripped her hair. Together, they cried out, bodies pressed against the countertop. He pushed himself deep into her, pressing his chest against her back, pulling her against him, hands on her tits and stomach as he kept himself inside her for as long as he could. His orgasm was just about as sweet as hers. Finally, he had had his release. Alana felt him slip out of her behind. Then he was holding a dish towel over her ass, maybe wiping at her, she didn't know. Her body was numb with sex-shock, her mind unaware for a few brief moments. At last, she turned around. He was looking at her, coveralls back up to his hips again. He was smiling as he tossed the dish towel aside. "I also fix cars, you know," he said, chuckling and looking at the sweet young over heated thing leaning weakly against his sink. "Besides plumbing, you mean?" The sun had at last set, and it was twilight. Twilight As an author, I have a newfound respect for other authors. I seem to now dissect and evaluate novels on two very different levels. On one level, I view it as a form of entertainment, determining if the story is amusing and interesting. I try to understand the characters and truly see which character I relate to the most. As an author, I am analyzing the plot, the setting, and the characters to improve on my own writing. As an intermediate teacher, some of my students are obsessed with this series. Actually, obsessed is putting it mildly. They read the book any time they have free time. One of the boys, as a joke of course, hid one of the books and I am surprised there were no major injuries as a result. The girls in my class revolted and he sheepishly returned the novel, apologizing profusely for his error. The novels are drawing in readers both young and old which is impressive considering the last time such a phenomena occurred was when a single mother from England wrote a story about a boy who finds out he is a wizard. Each time a new phenomenon hits the young adult novel stage, comments are made regarding the quality of the novels and whether rereading those novels repeatedly is useful and educational. It doesn't matter really. What's important is that young adults are reading and they are doing so for amusement, not because they have to read. Twilight is the first book in a series of four novels by Stephanie Meyer. She wrote this book when she had a dream about two teenagers talking in the forest. One of the teenagers was a beautiful girl and the boy was a handsome, stunning vampire. The story itself is entertaining and introduces us to all the main characters that are present in the three other books. We meet Bella, her dad Charlie, and her mother Renee who lives in Florida with her new husband. At school, there is a weird group of kids, which would be identified as outsiders, geeks, losers, or any other derogatory term. In this situation, they are actually vampires. The story moves us along and outlines how Bella has fallen head over heels in love with Edward and Edward has done the same. Of course, it is dangerous for a vampire to love a human and thus the majority of the book is spent trying to have the two of them apart. It is a novel that is marketed for teenagers so there are no big character changes or in-depth plots. It is a simple story that many can related to. How many of us have wanted to be loved by someone who would truly do anything for us? It's sappy, it's romantic, but that's what's selling these days. At times, the story moves slowly for the reader. An intelligent reader is aware of what is happening, but it takes a while for us to be officially told. It can be frustrating when the author finally states that Edward, along with his brothers, sisters, and parents are vampires. The scene is drawn out and really over emphasizes the idea that vampires exist, even in a small town in Washington called Forks. Little items like this take away from the novel, but that could be the fact that as an adult, I have not read a young adult novel in many years. It is possible that the simplicity of the story line is a requirement for any novel classified as "young adult". It is important to note that I did enjoy the novel and many other adults truly love it as much as their daughters. The generation gap does not really exist in this novel. One difference could be pointed out that when teenage girls are reading the novel they are hoping that some day their "Edward" will arrive and sweep them off their feet. For adults who are attached, we see the characteristics of those two people in our significant others. For single adults, we are still looking for the man of our dreams, who had better have some of the romantic qualities that Edward possesses. From a teenager perspective, this is the best book in the entire world. Girls counted down the days until the movie opened and are now counting the number of times they see the movie. Copies of the book are dragged along everywhere, the pages worn, the cover scratched. It is visible that it is a much-loved book. At no point will this novel become required reading for any English course. It will eventually fade away, as all teen phenomena do. As an adult, it is an interesting read as it is truly a romance, but with an exciting twist. Vampires are the new obsession although don't try to tell teenagers how long ago Dracula was written. This novel has vampires, cute ones actually that are seventeen and will do anything for the person they love.