Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales Of The Vampire. Michael Thomas Ford

heavy perfume clogging his nostrils…

      “Come on,” Gunther whispered, “it’s not much farther.”

      Philip gulped air as Gunther pulled back from him, his cold hands enveloping Philip’s as he smiled at him. Philip looked deep into those oh-so-blue eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them again, the blue seeming to draw him in even deeper as he gazed into their depths.

      Gunther led him farther down the street, pulling gently yet urgently.

      Something doesn’t feel right, Philip thought, yet he followed willingly. His need was too strong to resist—the need to be naked with this beautiful stranger who might be a little dangerous, to feel Gunther’s huge cock inside him, to be with a man who wasn’t paying him, a man he wanted for something besides the cash in his wallet. Instincts finely honed from years of being a hustler were warning him, going off like sirens inside his head. There’s something not right about this guy; something’s wrong here…

      They reached a carriageway, and Gunther let go of his hands to punch in the access code. The door buzzed, and Gunther swung it open, smiling at him. He held out his hand. “Maxi, come with me.”

      Philip closed his eyes.

      The doors to the terrace were open, a gentle night breeze making the heavy red velvet curtains dance. He could smell the roses in the garden below. Gunther was on top of him, piercing into him, the pain becoming pleasure as he entered, thrusting into him, and he opened his mouth to let out a scream; but he couldn’t breathe, the thrusts coming deeper and deeper, filling him, the pleasure, the thrill, the joy of it all coming in a rush; he’d never felt this way before, and his balls were aching, his own cock hard as Gunther drove deeper into him, his eyes coming open and looking up into Gunther’s oh-so-beautiful face; and Gunther was smiling down at him, promising him eternity…

      A cab went by, and Philip opened his eyes.

      What the fuck is going on?

      “You’re remembering.” Gunther smiled at him, pulling him close into a tight embrace, squeezing him until his back cracked and popped. “As I knew you would.”

      His eyes…Philip stared into their blueness and felt them piercing into his soul.

      “Come on.” Gunther pulled at his hand. “We’re almost there.”

      Rachel could feel wetness under her arms as she pulled the door open. I must be crazy, she thought, fingering the switchblade in her jacket pocket. This is by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever done; they’re going to find my body in pieces in a swamp…

      “Ah, there’s no need to be frightened,” the old man said. His voice was soothing, calming. He was wearing a black trench coat with a matching fedora pulled down low so she couldn’t see his eyes in the misty light thrown by the streetlamps. “You won’t be needing your switchblade, but I am glad to know you are not so foolish as to venture out without some protection.” He sat down on the steps, patting the space next to him with a black-gloved hand. “Here, sit with me, or we could go for a drink, if you’d prefer?”

      “I’ll stand, thank you.” She didn’t move out of the doorway. Something about him, she thought, isn’t…

      “You fear me?” He laughed, genuinely delighted by her fear. He smiled at her, patting the step again. “There is no need to fear ME, my pretty young girl. I’m harmless, nothing but an old man who wants to spend some time talking to a pretty young girl. Is there anything more innocent?”

      Yeah, right, and my name is Courtney Love, she thought. “What do you want?”

      “Are you sure you won’t sit? Ah. He shrugged, holding his hands up. “I promise you will come to no harm from me.”

      “What do you want?” she repeated.

      “I want to save your young friend’s life, Rachel.” He lit a cigar. “You don’t mind if I enjoy this, do you? Surely you won’t deny an old man one of his few pleasures.”

      “Save his life?” This is crazy this is crazy go back inside…

      “It’s a long story.” He gestured with his cigar. “Are you sure you don’t want to go someplace warm to talk? Someplace more public, where you might feel safer?”

      “This is fine.” She shivered. “You’ve got five minutes.”

      “Five minutes?” He pulled an old pocket watch from his coat pocket. “All right, five minutes.” He puffed on the cigar, making a contented sigh. “Did you look at the card I gave you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Do you know what a nightwatcher is, my dear?”

      “No.”

      “Ah, how things change.” He shook his head. “No nursery rhymes? About nightwatchers guarding the night, to protect small children from the evils that lurk in the dark? Ah, well.” He shrugged. “The sun rises and sets, the world keeps turning, and things change.”

      “Four minutes,” Rachel said, glancing at her watch.

      “Ah, yes, a woman of her word—five minutes she offers, and five minutes exactly. Not a second more, not a second less.” He gave her a smile. “In which case I will have to share with you the Reader’s Digest condensed version; otherwise we would be here all night…and I fear we don’t have that kind of time in any case.” He put the pocket watch on the step beside him. “It doesn’t surprise me that you—or anyone else, for that matter—have never heard the term ‘nightwatcher’ before; although at one time we were indeed the subject of a popular nursery rhyme. Very few know about us.” He looked up at her. “We are a very ancient order, and it is our job—our mission, if you prefer—to protect the human race.”

      She raised her eyebrows. “What?” She took a step back. Here he goes, off the deep end.

      “It is our job to protect the human race from what you would call vampires—well, not just the vampires, but a vampire is what concerns the two of us—and your young friend, Philip? Is that his name?”

      “Vampires?” That’s it, she thought, stepping back inside the door. The man is obviously nuts; I’ll go upstairs and call the police. And lock my door, forget this ever happened; this is crazy…

      “Come back!” he commanded.

      Against her will she stepped back onto the steps, pulling the door shut behind her. She heard the lock click into place. What am I doing? Get back inside! She reached into her pocket for her keys, her hands shaking, not just from the cold—she was frightened, frightened of this crazy old man, however harmless he looked.

      “You think I am mad, do you not?” He flicked cigar ash onto the sidewalk. “What do you believe, Rachel? Do you believe in God?”

      “I—I guess.” Her mind flashed back to her childhood: being dressed up and dragged to church; the priests in their fabulous gowns and hats droning on and on; the mass; the kneeling, up and down; the choir singing; the approach to the altar to take the wafer, the body of the Lord; crossing herself in front of the altar; lighting penny candles and saying prayers; wearing the medal of her patron saint around her neck; sunlight coming through stained glass. She’d stopped going when she was sixteen, when it all began to seem stupid and pointless to her.

      “Then surely you must believe in evil.”

      “Evil? Like Satan?” She laughed, remembering the horned devils of Halloween just past, gay boys wearing red Speedos and black fishnet hose, plastic pitchforks in their hands, and little red horns attached to their foreheads.

      “For there to be good, Rachel, there must be evil. It is the nature of all things. For every thing, there has to be an opposite, for balance. If there is good, there must be evil.”

      “I don’t understand.” She sat down beside him, curious despite her mistrust. “What does Philip have to do with any of this?”

      “I