The Drinker of Blood

Chapter Four

It's amazing how, in all manner of things, a person's tastes can change over time. There was a period, not too many years ago, when plumpness was considered the mark of true beauty in a woman. The plumper, the rounder the woman, the more she was an object of desire.

I suppose I'm just as susceptible to the fads and the fancies of humans as anyone. The first woman I took as a lover, many long years ago, was so plump and round that I barely could get my long gangly arms around her. You could have hidden a roll of quarters in the folds of her fat, and her heavy natural musk belied concealment by any and all perfumes or balms. Her name was Batinah, and she was heaven sent.

If the modern aesthetic of female beauty could be embodied in one person, it would so in my young friend Fallon. The lass's legs and arms were long and shapely, and I very nearly could wrap my hands about her tiny waistline. The rest of her was round or lean, as perfection demanded, and her scent, from the pits of her arms to that tender spot where her thighs joined, was the fragrance of sweet and powdery delight. Her lips were sweet, and her eyes were gentle. I never knew a person's skin could be so soft.

What was there to say? Her hunger for me thoroughly shocked me. It has always been my custom to be the predator, the aggressor in all acts of love. But this lass went straight for my jugular (in the metaphorical sense), and we spent the next hours touching, kissing, groaning, and fucking. When some hours later she succumbed to exhaustion and stretched out next to me, her tender and soft form half draped over mine, I strained to recall ever having been so properly fucked.

As she slumbered, I delighted in her gentle warmth and lay back to ponder. The sex was a complete surprise to me. I'm not often caught flatfooted in that way. I suppose my mind had been so occupied with thoughts of Freya throughout the evening that I'd had little attention for anything else. Not that I'd neglected Fallon. On the contrary, I'd made it a point to give them equal shares of my company. It was a matter of necessity. The sex with Fallon was indescribable, but Freya was a rabbit hole down which I easily could completely lose myself. I dare not risk that.

In the end, the sleeping arrangements had turned out for the best. My body shivered at the raw pleasure of that moment.

Should I have been ashamed of myself? I had that very evening relieved poor Marion of his head, tossed the artifact onto his front porch as a warning to his friends, and then went out and fucked his girlfriend. A normal person would have known some shame, but that seldom has been a burden I've carried.

I had received one important tidbit from Marion. Isolde was in Chicago. If Marion was my enemy's left-hand man, then Isolde was his right. The two had known one another for many years, and I suspected they were sometime lovers. It caused me no small pain that Isolde once had been a friend of mine. Did I want to kill her? No, not really. But, like Marion, she had picked her side in an argument. Some decisions are so final that they can only be endured to their logical end.

My thoughts soon turned to how I might find Isolde. It wouldn't be a terrible trial. We all were creatures of habit, and though it might take a few weeks, I was confident in ferreting her out. I just needed to keep centered. Freya's home was in Chicago.

Willpower usually was something I possessed in great abundance, but my knees felt decidedly rubbery when it came to that particular physician. Throughout my lovemaking with Fallon, my thoughts had turned time and time again to our other friend, and how nice it would have been for her to join us.

I had to bite my lip several times to regain focus. By that time, the first light had begun to shine outside, and I felt my strength and hunger gently dwindle. It was not long after that Fallon began to stir.

Despite the beautiful rhythms of her body the night before, I suspected my friend still was somewhat new to the arts of love, a conclusion that was proved right by the intense hue of red that she turned in the light of day. She bid me good morning, kissed my lips, and allowed her mouth to linger a time on my body before rising and beginning to dress. All the while, her blushes increased, and they only stopped when I invited her back to bed. She again threw herself on top of me, and we resumed our love making with the same passion as before, albeit without our earlier sense of urgency.