My Date with Shadowcat313 Ch. 02

I stepped into the shower across from my bedroom, started the shower, and then, waiting for the water to heat up, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the me on the other side. I was still pretty physically fit, but not as much so as I had been. One thing about working construction, it was quite a workout. Perhaps I should see about going to the gym. I got into the shower, washing and rinsing off quickly, feeling suddenly worn out, tired. It had been quite a night, and it had taken a lot out of me. After toweling off and putting on a pair of underwear, I dropped onto my bed and was out even as the sun was coming up, falling into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

It was at least five o'clock in the afternoon when I finally awoke, and I knew I was sore as hell before I even started moving. I forced myself up and off the bed, stretching carefully to ease some of the pain. Maybe I was more out of shape than I'd thought. I dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt, pulled on a pair of my worn, old running shoes, and went outside for a jog. I waved to people as I passed, already working up a sweat, followed the sidewalks, dodging mothers power-walking while pushing strollers, an old man who seemed lost in an inner world as he strolled, a few teenagers trying to do kick flips on their skateboards, a little girl drawing spirals, stars, and swirls on her driveway with some sidewalk chalk, two men chatting as they did some yard work, and another man washing his car. They went about their lives, and I went about my business, still jogging, feeling better, working out some of the soreness in my body, and looking forward to seeing Nickie when the sun went down.

I was back to the house, sweaty, but otherwise fine before sundown, rinsed off in the shower, and was downstairs in the kitchen, making a sandwich, when Nickie appeared behind me.

"Oh, that smells awful!" she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.

I hadn't even considered that she would find the aromas of food offensive, "I'm sorry, I didn't even think-"

"No, don't worry about it," she assured me, "I'll be back in a little while."

I left my sandwich on the plate on the counter, went to her, and kissed her. She was trembling slightly, and while her eyes weren't quite red yet, there were faint blooms of rose in the violet of her irises. She kissed me back briefly, turned, and was out the door in a blink. I guessed that, already being hungry, her willpower was flagging, so being so close to me must've been almost unbearable. I ate my sandwich, grabbing a can of soda to wash it down, and went into the living room to watch TV.

I felt a pang of guilt as Nickie's face kept resurfacing in my mind, tormented by the scent of my blood, and I wondered how long our relationship would last before she lost her fight to restrain her thirst for me. I supposed that when that time came, I wouldn't struggle. After all, what good would that do when she was exponentially stronger than me? Maybe she'd be able to regain control before draining me past a point where I couldn't survive, but I knew that her guilt would be great. To regain her senses only after I was dead would be so much worse for her. She would most likely take it quite badly, and there was no telling, really, what she might do with so much remorse over my death, and I didn't want to guess.

By the time she returned, I was able to put these thoughts out of my mind, concentrating instead on how happy I was with her, and the depth of my feelings for her. She stopped in front of me, and I could see the blood splatted on the left side of her light blue blouse.

"Are you okay?" I asked, "What happened?"

"Those damn thugs interrupted me," she frowned, "I was trying to eat, and... of all the damn luck! I think I killed a few of them. I'm so sorry Gary, I know I promised."

I got up, "Forget about that, you did what you had to. Are you sure you're okay?"

She snorted, "The bastards! They just couldn't leave it alone, could they?"

I moved closer, and started unbuttoning her blouse. She shrugged it off, and I continued to strip her down, and then took her hand. I led her downstairs, through her room and to the bathroom. I started a bath in her whirlpool tub, and she finished undressing.

"The police will probably be looking around soon," she surmised, "We'll need to be careful."

"Don't worry about that now, just sit down."

She slid down into the tub, the hot water lapping at her waist as it rose, "Things just never seem to change. There's always some group of idiots with no common sense and something to prove!"

I grabbed a washcloth from where it hung on a brass towel ring, wet it, and began wiping at the blood that had soaked through her blouse and onto her skin.

"But this," she sighed, "This is something different. I don't think I've had anyone do this for me since I was a baby."

"I didn't know what else I could do," I admitted.

"Why don't you join me? There's plenty of room."

So I undressed and sat in the tub with her. She turned around, and leaned back against me. I could feel her beginning to relax as I slid my hands around her and held her.

Once she was calm and still, I grabbed her body wash, and the wash cloth, and had her sit up. I lathered up her back and shoulders, and then her arms, massaging them as I soaped.

"I think I could get used to this," she purred, and turned around, "Don't stop there."

I worked up a rich lather upon her breasts, much to her enjoyment, and then her stomach. Then she slid away from me, leaning up against the opposite side of the tub, and lifted a long leg out of the water, resting her foot on my chest. I began soaping up her leg, taking my time, massaging her calf, and then up to her thigh. A few moments later, she bared her other leg, and I worked on that leg for her. Once I was done, she let that leg drop into the water, which was now chest high. I turned the water off, and as I was settling back in, she slid up into my lap. Of course, she found that I was in a high state of arousal.

"Ooh," she cooed, taking hold of me, "Is this for me?"

"It's all for you," I responded, and she guided me inside her.

The water sloshed as she rode me, and I kissed and licked her breasts, capturing each nipple between my lips and flicking my tongue across the tips. She stood up suddenly, climbed onto the lip of the tub so that my face was only inches from the juncture of her thighs and the slightly puffy pussy that waited for me. I didn't hesitate, pressing my lips against her, and dipping my tongue inside. She held my head as I licked and lapped, flicked and sucked, delighting in each gasp I drew from her. My hands slid around to her buttocks, gripping, kneading, as I continued to pleasure her, and it wasn't long before her hips were thrusting against my face, her cries reaching a crescendo as she achieved climax. She trembled and quaked, and then slowly shuddered to a halt before slipping back down into the tub, still in my lap, but facing the other way. After easing me back inside, she started riding me again, but reversed. I stroked her wet, glistening flesh, feeling the muscles in her back, and her shoulders as they flexed with each motion, relaxed, and then flexed again. Her hips gyrated and bounced, and her head was flung back, her hair almost in my face, but I didn't worry about that.

Her cries and moans reverberated off the tiles, louder now as she increased her speed. I moved with her as much as I could, my feet pressed into the opposite wall of the tub to keep me from slipping down. She quickly reached climax again, her hips thrusting erratically, her body shuddering with the sheer pleasure. It took her a little bit before she was finally still, and then she slid off of me.

"Here," she gasped, "Sit on the edge of the tub."

I pushed up onto the lip of the tub, my feet in the water still, and her kneeling before me. She took me into her mouth all at once, my entire length ensconced with one motion. She sucked on me, her lips sealed tightly as she moved, her tongue teasing along the underside, just under the head where it seemed more sensitive than the rest of it, her eyes locked on mine.

Her hands were on my inner thighs, her fingernails scraping lightly back and forth, and, within only a few minutes, I was rocketing towards release, thrusting myself into her mouth helplessly. I groaned and gulped for breath as I reached the point where there was no regaining control, and then my spend was splashing her throat. Three, five, and then one last time, I spasmed, and then sank back, having to hold myself up. She sucked for a few more seconds before releasing me, her throat working as she swallowed the last of my cream, and then she slid back, allowing me to collapse back into the tub. She lay against me, her fingers lightly stroking my chest, waiting as I took some time to get my wind.

Because the water was getting colder, and because we'd been soaking in her tub for almost thirty minutes, we both got out, though my legs were a little shaky. We dried off, and she helped me upstairs and into my own bed.

"You're exhausted," she slid into my bed with me.

"Stay with me a little bit? Just until I fall asleep?" I murmured, and she nodded, snuggling up close to me, my head on her breast. She stroked her fingers through my hair, and I was out in less than a minute. I barely felt her ease out from under me, or felt her lips as she kissed me. But I heard her voice in my head crystal clear, cutting through the fog of sleep.

"Dream of me, my love."

I did dream of her, strangely enough, imagining her life as it might have been, before she had been turned. She was poor, her father shoeing horses, fixing wheels. She was wild, under no man's heel, never bowing or scraping, and many men lusted after her. She almost seemed cruel as she rebuffed their advances. It was a strange man, who was obviously not from the area, strangely dressed, and even more strangely mannered, that caught her attention. A proud man, with a strong, but lean frame, he had an almost regal carriage, as if he came from royalty or high status. She met him late one evening, as she danced at a town festival, never with the same partner for more than a moment at a time, seeming to delight in the frustration of her would-be suitors. He was suddenly there, as if made of smoke, but was all solid when he took her hand and danced flawlessly, his crystalline blue eyes seeming to bore twin holes into her very being.

The man danced with her, his black hair glossy and long, her hand in his as he easily kept up with her. Soon, even she was winded, but the man hadn't even broken a sweat. He led her to a seat, which she gratefully accepted, and he took his seat next to her at one of several tables.

"I do not believe I have made your acquaintance," she gazed curiously at him.

He stood, bowed at the waist, and swept off his hat, "If you please, milady, I am Nathaniel Barclay of Dorchester. And may I know the name of such the fetching young lady that makes my heart weak with passion?"

With a high blush upon her cheeks, she replied, "I am Nicolette Stribling, sir."

"Such a glorious name for such a glorious vision!" Nathaniel exclaimed, "And I am twice blessed to be in your presence!"

I felt as if I was there, though nobody bumped into me or so much as brushed up against me, and I watched as, enamored of this stranger, Nickie followed him through the throngs of townspeople until they emerged from the masses and found a secluded spot near a pond, where only the moonlight saw them.

I watched as the man drew her into his arms and kissed her. Surprised, she began to pull away.

"Sir, I beg of you-"

"You will be my mate, to stand by my side," the man demanded, "For I insist, and you will never find such a man as me!"

With that, he caught her eyes and kept them, entrancing her so deeply that she did little more than wince as his teeth opened her flesh and he drank. She could make no attempt to struggle, or do much more than sigh, her face growing pale as marble as he drank more and more of her blood, until she was close to death. He stopped right on the edge, and, still holding her up, he opened a vein on his wrist and thrust it against her lips. Almost instinctively, she began to drink as her own blood, tainted with the source of his own rebirth, flowed easily down her throat.

As new life flooded her wide, startled eyes, confusion came with it. She staggered back from him, blood smeared around her lips, as if she'd been eating berries.

"What have you done to me?" she gasped, feeling a horrible ache spread throughout her body.

"Just as I have said," the man crossed his arms, waiting.

She collapsed to the ground, trying to scream, but producing only a high, agonizing keening, and went into a fit, thrashing wildly, helplessly, as the poison spread throughout her, burning terribly, yet as icy cold as the harshest winter. Suddenly, her eyes, which were shut tightly, popped open, and the violet irises were no longer violet, but the brightest crimson.

I woke with a start, realizing I had thrashed myself awake. The sun was almost down, most of it having dipped below the horizon, with only a sliver visible. I wiped my hand across my face, simply sitting there on the edge of the mattress, trying to understand the dream I'd had. Had this been Nickie's memories, her recollection of her life up to the point of her turning, or my imagination trying to figure it out? It had seemed quite lucid, quite vivid. Had she really been Nicolette Stribling, the daughter of a man who shoed horses for a living? As I puzzled over this, the sun grudgingly sank below the horizon, and night gradually arrived. I dressed, went into the living room, and waited for Nickie. I tried to watch some TV, but nothing was on that could hold my attention. I kept going over my dream, remembering key points, and it all seemed to make sense, considering the things I knew now.

"Something's troubling you," Nickie spoke from the other side of the sofa.

I turned my head, and there she was, completely nude, resplendent, a vision if there ever was one.

"I dreamed about your life," I admitted, "Was that a dream, or your memories?"

She smiled, but there was a bitter undertone, "I thought it would be easier that way. I wanted you to know who I used to be, what I was before Nathaniel Barclay took my humanity."

I held out my hand, and, when she took it, I pulled her close, "He could turn you, make you a vampire, but you're still human. In fact, you're more human than a lot of people I've seen. Besides, a human could never love me like you do."

She lay her head on my shoulder, and I put an arm around her.

"That's so sweet of you to say," she managed a wan smile, "But it's not completely true. I've lost much of my humanity because of what I am, all the horrible things I've done."

I sighed, my fingers brushing through her silky hair, "If you weren't as human as I believe you to be, then you wouldn't be so worried of my opinion of you. A real monster would never care about something like that."

"You have such a high opinion of me," she sighed miserably, "I wish I could live up to it."

"You already are. You could've killed me the first time you met me, but you didn't. You could've fed on me so many times since then, but you were so adamantly against the idea that you sent me away for a month. Instead of making me your meal, you let me into your heart, and I've never been happier with anyone in my life."

----Warning: For those of you who were looking for a happy ending, you should probably stop reading here. I wanted to end it with a 'happily ever after,' who wouldn't? Unfortunately, that didn't happen. If you insist on continuing to the end, consider yourself warned.----

I held her for a little while, because she wanted to be held, but her thirst grew more insistent, so she took her leave, dressing quickly and going out. I made something for me to eat, a chicken pot pie, and, once done with that, I put my shoes on and went for a walk. I stayed away from the park area where the thugs had tried to mug me, not desiring to have any further dealings with them, instead following the sidewalks of the neighborhood, seeing people who were engaged in normal activities, some of which stopped to wave at me as I passed. But they were soon all indoors as the time slipped closer to ten o'clock, and I found myself alone, still strolling the sidewalks, the sodium vapor streetlights my only illumination.

I thought about Nickie, but that was normal, I spent a lot of time thinking about her when I wasn't with her. I wondered what would happen if she managed to control the thirst for my blood. I would grow older, my hair would probably fall out like my father's did. Maybe I would retain my grip on reality, or maybe I'd grow senile. Maybe I'd become infirm of body or mind, end up on a walker, or in one of those motorized scooters. Or maybe I'd end up like my grandfather, who was strong, able-bodied and sharp-minded, working until the day he died at ninety-four, dead of a heart-attack at his farm, mucking out a horse stall. And Nickie, being immortal, or close to it, would still look exactly the same as when we'd met, hell, the same as when she was turned. She would stay with me, because she loved me, but she would have to take notice as I grew old, and eventually died. What about after that? Perhaps she would then be free of her torturous desire for my blood, but she would still have eternity to wait for her own death.

Or maybe she would move on, decide to take on a new lover. The thought made me quite jealous, but, in all practicality, she deserved to love again. Why shouldn't she? I would want her to find love again, because if I could love her as much as I do, then why couldn't someone else? It wasn't as if I was that unique, that I was the only one who could see past the vampire to the woman beneath. Yeah, I would want her to move on, especially in this situation, because eternity was a hell of a long time to spend alone. I felt a little bit better having decided this, though I doubted that it was something I could discuss with her without worrying her. I supposed I'd have to wait until the time where we both knew we could no longer avoid the inevitable, like upon my deathbed. I didn't hear the car behind me, so wrapped up in my own head had I been.

I awoke with a splitting headache, my wrists tied behind me so tight that my arms had begun to fall asleep. It was dark, but I could hear an engine, the squeak of used shock absorbers, and loud metal music playing close by. I could feel the bumps as the car navigated the not-so-perfect streets, the slightly itchy texture of the fabric underneath me, and, of course, the back of my head, from where all the pain radiated outward. I was in the trunk of a car. Duct tape had been slapped over my mouth to keep me from yelling out or singing along with the music, had I known the words, which sounded like the growls of a bear with a hemorrhoid. Not that I knew exactly what a bear with a hemorrhoid would sound like, but I could imagine. Perhaps I was still too groggy, but I wasn't exactly scared yet, slightly concerned, maybe, but not yet scared.

The car came to a stop, and I slid forward across the carpet of the trunk and thumped against the front. People got out of the car, and, after a moment, the trunk opened. Outside the car, it was dark, no streetlights, so the figures who stood over me were only dark silhouettes in the darkness behind them. They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out of the trunk, and then proceeded to drag me along, over weed-choked grass, and then over gravel. I had no idea where we were, but something told me I wasn't being invited to a party, at least not a party I would want to attend. There was a bonfire roaring somewhere close; I could hear the crackling of flame consuming wood, and I hoped I wouldn't be the next source of fuel to keep it burning on.