Read Lilith’s Dream: A Tale of the Vampire Life for Free Online

the lights there.
    It was so marvelous, this room where her life had begun and ended. There, on that Louis Quatorze chair, she had sat while Miriam and Sarah played on the cello and the pianoforte. Here was the center of her heart and her love.
    “This is—I don’t know, you’re just a little girl and this place—is this your folks’ house? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I visualized, I guess, I thought some older woman—you know, a working girl—that would just, you know, a kind of quick thing in a hotel room or something. Just quick, fifty bucks and good-bye.” He smiled again. His cheeks were flushed, his lips trying to smile, his eyes blinking continuously.
    She reached out, grabbed his crotch. He was tumescent, and immediately became hard. “Look,” she said, “you just do as I tell you, and it’s gonna be like nothing you ever thought you’d get. It’s gonna be the best experience of your life. The best, you got that? I mean, I’ll tell you the truth, mister. I won’t lie. You’re getting this, this ultimate fantasy, here. Do you understand that? Do I look twenty?”
    “You look—”
    “Kneel down!”
    He shuffled to one knee, sort of squatted. “How old are you? I mean, this could be very illegal, here. Illegal for me, you know.”
    She raised his chin, looked down into his eyes—and slapped him hard enough to snap his head to one side. He yelped, and she said, “It’s as illegal as hell, mister. I’m your dream, mister. Your fantasy, am I right?”
    “Fantasy—”
    “To be like you are, a scumbag—say you’re a scumbag.”
    “…scumbag…”
    She slapped the other cheek. “I don’t hear you!”
    “Scumbag! I’m a scumbag!” He took her hands. She drew them away. On his own, he went down to the floor. He embraced her feet.
    In that moment, she felt a vast loneliness within her, something akin to sorrow and beyond sorrow, beyond the tears and the pain in her bones. “Strip,” she ordered. She laughed, a girlish tinkle.
    He got up and took off his sports jacket. “If there’s a—you know—do you have a special room?”
    “You’ll do as you’re told right here.” She folded her arms. “This is where.”
    He went down to his skivvies, then stopped. She drew them off. She’d seen so many naked men in her life, dozens and dozens of them, it seemed, more when she was a sort of half-star, less later, far less now. Now, in fact, the only naked men she saw were guys like this, who were dying.
    She reached out, took his dick in her hand. It shot up to full stiffness. His eyes got kind of glassy. He looked as if he was turning into a fish. Pulling him by the dick, she led him to the main staircase, then upstairs.
    Although he was apparently to play the slave, she hated him with the dull, hopeless hatred of a captive who understands that no escape is possible. What flowed in his veins was more important to her right now than heroin to a strung-out junkie.
    He said, “Hey,” and she gripped the hot, dreary thing harder and pulled at him more roughly. Come on, come on, don’t talk anymore, just let’s get it done.
    She didn’t take him into the master bedroom. She hadn’t been in there in years. Instead, she went to the smaller of the four bedrooms on this floor, the one toward the back where she had lain in anguish while the new blood had been pumped into her veins, in the most loving, dearest, and cruelest act that perhaps could be done on the earth.
    “Oh, man,” he said, “this is nice. Are we really the only people here?”
    “Just you and me.”
    “Because—”
    Now he would say his dismal, boring fantasy, face flushing, eyes all moist, trying to make whatever sordid, disgusting thing he wanted to do seem somehow reasonable and viable. But it would not be reasonable, it would be infantile and grotesque, maybe extremely grotesque. But she would do it, some of it, if only to disgust herself more and hate herself more.
    “What’s the game, honey?