In honor of Sideon’s 40th Birthday, I decided to actually post. Few events in midlife cause such consternation as turning forty, possibly because despite not having a math class in twenty years and even with the mental deterioration that comes with advancing age, you can still multiply 40 by 2 (much easier than 39 x2) and 80 sounds incredibly old, so you’ve reached the crest of the hill and down you go – and we all know that the downhill side always goes a hell of a lot faster. So thoughts of mortality stream into your head, as the wind of the years blows your hair back. Hell, you are already two years past your 20th high school class reunion – even if you didn’t go. There isn’t anything worse, with the possible exception of 45, which is also easy to multiply by 2, and 90 . . .
Obviously, with thoughts dwelling on mortality, I think of life immortal and the promise of a perfected body for all eternity. As I see it, you have a limited number of choices – become a Christian or a vampire or learn to multiply bigger numbers by 2 and hope for advances in medical science or a peaceful instantaneous exit, say, a car wreck or nuclear holocaust or something.
Now, this blog does have its erotic themes and in case anyone didn’t know Sideon has a predilection for the masculine gender, so in honor of his birthday, I’m posting the one homoerotic story I’ve written. I think this idea started germinating during a Priesthood Session of general conference as I mused on Jesus and his twelve guy disciples and wondered what the New Testament would be like rewritten as a homoerotic vampire novel. One of those grand projects I started and never finished, I mean the subplots – 3 Nephites living forever hooking up with John who are all sticking around until Christ comes yet again, but I digress –
Happy Birthday Sid. I give you the T. Wanker inspired version of Jesus raising Lazarus (Lance is the modern version of Lazaraus) – from the dead.
BLOOD OF MY BLOOD
Mary laughed. It was the type of laugh that would have sent a caustic chill through the back bone of a mere mortal. She laughed more heartily and hauntingly. The night air embraced her chortle. "This is the place," she thought as she gazed across the straight rows of lights, all organized in their conservative wide rows, an electric patchwork quilt of Mormondom pioneer organization. Temple spires bit into the black night, attempting to suck out the darkness with the gleaming white. Salt Lake City was now her place. The irony, after all these years, made her laugh. (Mary Magdalene was my lead character, but it never went anywhere.)
The first vampire had been a day walker. He had walked in the day and asked for voluntary members to join in a new religion of irony and blood feasting. The potential for eternal power wooed them and they left their jobs and followed him. His power became enormous and he soon proved that he had power over the grave. Many doubted him, but his exploits drew their attention.
The first vampire had been a day walker. He had walked in the day and asked for voluntary members to join in a new religion of irony and blood feasting. The potential for eternal power wooed them and they left their jobs and followed him. His power became enormous and he soon proved that he had power over the grave. Many doubted him, but his exploits drew their attention.
Lance had grown ill and his family was certain it was terminal. Each day he grew paler and paler. None knew of the nightly visits of the First. The blood ritual Lance was undergoing, unbeknown to his family and friends, occurred nightly. The First had approached Lance to be his first disciple of eternal life and power. Lance looked into the warm blue eyes of the First, his long hair flowing over his shoulders and his dark beard hiding the gleaming white teeth and he knew he had no choice. His blood belonged to the First. The irony, the contradiction was that with the blood letting he would not die, but would live forever. Between the eyes, the teeth, the voice and the hair, Lance could not say no.
The first session, Lance was undressed by the First. The sun had set long ago when the First entered with a wash basin. He had Lance sit on the bed. The First knelt at Lance's feet and removed his shoes. He placed Lance's feet in the wash basin. The cool water tingled the nerve endings, as did the touch of the hands. After washing the feet, the First had Lance stand as he unbuttoned Lance's shirt exposing his chest to the night air. He moved behind Lance and slid the shirt down the arms and off. The shirt was then folded and laid meticulously on the bed. by the strong carpenter hands of the First. "Look forward." The gentle command struck Lance's inner core and he fixated his eyes on the wall opposite him, not daring to move. He felt the Hand on his neck, but it was not a grab, but the gentle caress with the back of fingers.
The next sensation Lance felt was the bare skin of the First's chest pressed against his back. Strong arms wrapped around his body and those massive blue collar hands engulfed his upper thighs, as he felt his ass pulled back against the hard groin of the First. This was unlike any ritual he had ever imagined, but the First did often talk of Love and Sacrifice as being the necessary precursors to an existence in which death had no power. The hands slid up his thighs to his waist and deftly undid his belt and the clasp. The only power holding his pants against gravity was that of the First's fingers. A whisper of a voice echoed in both ears, making Lance unsure of the location of the lips that had uttered the words, "Do you love me?" All Lance could do was give a slight and silent nod of assent. With the nod, the press of groin and ass released and Lance felt his pants and undergarments sliding with supernatural slowness down his legs. A tongue flicked at his neck and began moving down his back with the same speed that his pants were falling. The moisture from the tongue left a cool remnant down his spine in the summer heat of his room. Before the tongue left the mid part of his shoulder blades his cock had sprung free of his pants, jutting out into the room. The descent continued until his pants were at his ankles and the tongue flicked at the top crevice of his ass.
A sharp pain surged through Lance's lower back as the teeth of the First sunk into the flesh at the end of Lance's spine. The teeth entered hard and deep as the mouth began to suck on the end of Lance's spine. The tongue emerged from the sucking mouth. With electric fervor, the tongue shocked Lance's nervous system, flicking and licking all the muscles of Lance's body into convulsive spasms of pleasure and pain. The sheer power of the connection of teeth, mouth, tongue and spine held Lance upright and lifted him off the ground at least three feet. Then as suddenly as he had been invaded, Lance was naked and free on the other side of the room with wobbly legs and the occasional shudder of a muscular aftershock. The only thing that kept him standing was a desk next to him against which he steadied himself.
A humid breeze blew through the room at the same moment the lights extinguished. Lance stood naked in the cold dark of his room. No light filtered through the window and the blackness re-dressed him in its oppressiveness. With the press of the black night, he began to regain sensations -- a dull ache at the tailbone and a sticky, trickle of blood flowing down between his ass cheeks, filling the crevice with red moisture. His mind was numb and his cock was still hard. "You poor, meek mortal." The voice intertwined with the darkness. "I shall give you the world."
The voice in the dark continued, "I have drank your blood and eaten your flesh. My tongue has entered your electric soul. I still have one more gift for you before this evening is done." Lance's eyes strained against the darkness, but the voice seemed to surround him and he did not know in which direction to look. The next sensation to course through Lance's system was his head crashing against the desk upon which he had steadied himself. The crunch echoed in the room and in his head. His naked, bleeding ass jutted out over the edge of the desk and in the flash of pain, Lance saw for an instant the bright, shining cock of the First. The head of the cock slid into the stream of Lance's blood and began to bite into the tight brown entrance, tearing flesh with its sharp push, adding more blood for lubrication. The pain made Lance tighten his ass, but the cock bit through bathed in Lance's blood. The cock forged in and then pulled out, making Lance feel that his insides were attached to the undulating movement. The loss of blood made him faint. As his body fell limp, the powerful hands of the First grabbed Lance's ass and pulled it hard against his pelvis. He then pulled the limp body off his cock, which stood like a sword dripping Lance's blood. He laughed and sprayed his sperm all over Lance's blood soaked ass -- little white droplets, mixing with the red, turning pink and being engulfed by the red sea of blood.
Lance awoke the next morning sore and a little pale. The ritual had repeated itself every night. One morning, Lance did not awake. The family had come to know the First and wanted him to perform on his promise of eternal life. The First was called and he came. He entered the house and commanded everyone to leave. Lance lay lifeless on the bed. The First knelt at his side. He ran his finger down Lance's cold grey cheek. Leaning over, the First began to kiss Lance, first softly and then with more passion. The tongue leapt inside the dead man's mouth, running first along the inside of Lance's teeth, then on the edge. He pressed his tongue hard against Lance's teeth until blood began to trickle from his tongue. The blood exploded inside Lance's mouth and his system shocked back to life. "You are the first of my chosen, " were the first words the new, never to die Lance heard. Triumphantly they exited the home and the First had become a God to his followers.
I say this in the name of the First, Amen.
