Hungers

She shuddered, her body enjoying one final spasm of ecstasy, and then she fell limp as my fangs retracted, my hungers - both of them - sated.

*****

I had been watching her for several weeks in a row. From my balcony high above the city on the edge of the main shopping district, I saw and heard and smelled a lot. I could even taste a lot, as the scents from the many restaurants - and also all the awful exhaust from the many vehicles - carried on the wind even to the height of my balcony.

Each night at about the same time, she meandered through the busy crowds and shops. I never saw her actually enter any of the shops, although she did often look longingly through their windows. She was a woman of few possessions, and also a woman of few pleasures, for it seemed that everything she owned was carried in a single well-worn backpack, and although she was typically quite clean, she wore the same two sets of clothes, alternating them daily, causing me to believe that she lived in a shelter.

Even from my altitude, I could sense her general despair. The way she carried herself, the way she barely seemed to notice whenever someone bumped into her while rushing past her, the way she moved languidly as if traversing a massive vat of molasses... I wondered if she was simply trying to hang on to this world long enough for something to happen.

I had wondered that with many of my prey. I had wondered that myself until I had found my calling, my salvation from this eternal hell.

The weather had turned cooler, yet she continued to wear a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. The color of the t-shirt would alternate between black and pink. At times, she would leave her hair down, but mostly she kept it up in a ponytail.

On the few nights when I had strolled through the shopping district in search of her, I could smell her above all others. Her blood was potent, full of an energy the rest of her being did not share. I do not believe that she ever saw me - not consciously, at least - in part because her eyes were almost always downcast, as if watching the sidewalks to ensure she did not step in a present left behind by a stray dog (had she at some point in her life lived in Paris?).

She was easy on the eyes. From behind, her off-brown ponytail swayed across her upper back, accentuating her shoulder blades. She was thin, to the point that the t-shirts she wore barely showed the outline of a bra save for the straps rising over the shoulders. The denim shorts, while definitely not baggy, did not display a panty line at all. When I saw her from the front, I noted that she never wore make-up or jewelry. What was perhaps most notable was the number of unfading scrapes and bruises all over her body, and none of them were recent, signaling either a number of old sports injuries (extremely hard-hitting rugby, perhaps?) or perhaps a domestic situation which had turned very sour.

Finally, one evening, I decided that it was time. I could alleviate her weeks and weeks of despair, and give her at least one moment of pure bliss.

I descended the tall tower of condominiums, noting the scent of impending rain blowing in from the Gulf and thankful - just like the hundreds of thousands of residents of the city - that the hurricane had lessened greatly in intensity and never had an opportunity to reorganize.

She would also be thankful on this night - thankful for more than just the downgraded former hurricane.

I lurked amongst the shoppers: some actively buying, some simply admiring the clothes and the toys and the furniture and the books and the pets and the many other items and beings displayed in the shop windows. I deglamorized myself to everyone so that no one would notice me - although one young girl holding her father's hand did look up into my face curiously, once again demonstrating that there were a few people remaining in the world, even in this advanced age, who could sense something "different," if not actually "amiss," when I purposely used my various abilities.

When I glamorized myself, it was only to her: the same young woman I had been watching and admiring for quite some time. She saw me as I presented myself, which was exactly what I wanted her to see: a tall man dressed casually yet with a strong sense of self and gentle, caring eyes.

That was who I was at heart, so perhaps it was not so much glamour as it was an amplification of my inner being.

She approached me, looking curiously up into my face as her steps slowed and finally ceased. Standing before me, she could have turned her head and placed her ear against my chest to hear how my heart beat in anticipation. Only centuries of practice enabled me to resist instinctively extending the fangs from the incredible allure of her blood.

Yet there was a stirring within my slacks. I had last felt it weeks earlier, when I had last broken my fast, but in this situation, the stirring was stronger, more urgent.

...because of the young woman standing before me, looking up into my icy eyes with curiosity and with hope.

No words were said. No words were needed. I extended my hand, and she accepted it, her warmth adding greatly to her hidden charm. And from that point, we were essentially just another young couple meandering through the city's main shopping district on a Friday evening.

It did not take long to reach my car in the underground parking garage of the condo tower. Nary a word had been spoken, but until we slipped into the aging Volvo, only the touch of our hands was needed to communicate.

Having her in such an enclosed space immediately heightened my desire and my hunger. A newly-formed version of myself would have indulged immediately, but I had fortunately advanced in my abilities and in my willpower, and despite the temptation sitting pleasantly beside me, I brought the vehicle to life and we were soon heading toward the island, weaving between the cars and the big rigs on the highway, zipping across the lengthy bridge over the shipping channel, veering off the highway and onto the lone side street leading to the tiny abode I maintained for needs such as this.

I believe that she had never spent much time in Nature, for even at night, even though she definitely could not see or smell or hear particularly keenly, she was mesmerized by the trees and the grass, the sound of the waves lapping at the pillars of the dock and the smell of the Gulf assailing her nostrils even before she could see the water.

She never saw the inside of the small home. She felt the grass beneath her feet, the cool night air against her slowly-uncovered flesh, the cooler fingers helping her out of her clothing.

Instinct of her own seemed to overtake her, for she once she had been rendered bare, she turned to me with a hunger of her own evident in her eyes, despite the fact that I was not attempting to exert any influence upon her.

In a heartbeat, she was in my arms, making up for her short stature by the ferocity of her hug, and it made me think that it had been a long, long time since she had even enjoyed a hug. My arms tightened around her as well, not because of a lengthy lack, but because I could keenly sense that this was what she needed, that this was the reason she had clung to life for so long despite the despair which had clearly surrounded her like a dense, almost impenetrable fog for a long time.

That sealed my decision of how to handle this moment for her.

I allowed everything to progress at her pace. Although she was already fully naked, she took the lead. When she was ready, she kissed me. When she was ready, she stroked the bulge at the front of my slacks. When she was ready, she undressed me while constantly kissing the cool newly-exposed flesh.

When she was ready, she knelt before me and engulfed my tip. She was definitely not an expert, but she certainly pleasured me with her worthy efforts. Her mouth and her hands worked as one, drawing out the experience even when it was clear that her jaw was aching.

When she was ready, she stretched out in the grass and held her legs to her chest, pleading with her eyes.

That was when I realized that she saw me as an angel. She knew how this would end, and she was ready.

That made it all the more difficult, which I had not expected, but I continued to press forward with my role, pressing forward into her body, chilling her from within as she sheathed me within her warmth. Only then did she release her legs, locking her lower limbs around me, stroking my back and my chest with her small hands as I heard her voice for the first time.

I heard her voice for a long time. I was deeply touched by how her voice ebbed and flowed. It was as close to a true lovemaking as I had enjoyed since my turning, and because of her, because of this specific young woman, I purposely made it last as long as possible before I dipped my lips to near her neck, bared my fangs as I carefully guided her to the end of her journey, and when at last her pleasure peaked with beautiful sound and internal strength, I drove myself home in both respects, filling her as I emptied her, the power of her ecstasy feeding me and nullifying her pain.

She gave, and I gave. She accepted, and I accepted.

She gave the most, and I accepted it all.

She shuddered, her body enjoying one final spasm of ecstasy, and then she fell limp as my fangs retracted, my hungers - both of them - sated.