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From: misuelma@mail.freenet.hut.fi (Michael Suelmann,Passau Germany)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Repost/Michael K. Smith: Vamps
Date: 19 Oct 1996 22:41:45 GMT
Organization: Freenet Finland
Lines: 1495
Message-ID: <54blf9$gf7@freenet.hut.fi>
Reply-To: misuelma@mail.freenet.hut.fi (Michael Suelmann,Passau Germany)
NNTP-Posting-Host: openet.freenet.hut.fi


I didn't write this story. Unfortunately the address mksmith@metronet.com
is not valid anymore.

From: mksmith@metronet.com (Michael K. Smith)
Subject: Vamps
Date: 8 Oct 1994 16:07:53 -0400
Keywords: mf ff group gothic
X-Moderator-Review: 6: good plot but simplistic characters

ÄI've been thinking for some time of attempting a vampire story ... but if
you know me, if you've read any of my work, you'll know it couldn't be an
*ordinary* vampire story. There's sex here, of course. And romance -- of a
sort....Å



                                 VAMPS
                          by Michael K. Smith


  Hollywood, as usual, got it all wrong. Most so-called vampires look
nothing like Bela Lugosi, George Hamilton, or even Gary Oldman. Nor does
poor Vlad Dracul -- which only means "Dragon," after all -- deserve the
rap he's taken all these years. Such preposterous errors do, however,
provide cover for those of us in the,... er,... trade.
  The other principal misapprehension is that vampires can function only
at night. This is true only of a tiny and unfortunate minority among us,
numbering never more than a few dozen at most. These heliophobes tend also
to be under great mental strain and frequently become unbalanced (which is
no wonder, given their enforced nocturnality), so they eventually reveal
themselves for what they are and the public vents its fear and rage -- to
their destruction.
  A great scientist (I'll drop no names) suggested that our theatrical
night- dwelling brethren actually serve as a survival mechanism for our
species as a whole, which may well be true. Certainly, few vampires ever
are fertile and our population therefore remains stable, but a handful of
the recessives nevertheless are born each century, to replace those who
destroy themselves.
  The remainder of my kind revel in the daylight. We require exposure to
the sun in regular doses, in fact, since we metabolize sunlight directly
in a process not unlike photosynthesis (but without the green complexion).
And that's the source of most of our advantages over the more numerous
species that is pleased to call itself homo sapiens: hyperextended
longevity, greatly superior strength (which we camouflage instinctively,
except for a few individuals who choose to become athletic stars or
professional wrestlers), and our peculiar ability to influence the minds
and actions of men by what I think of as "assertive suggestion."
  I prefer tropical climes, myself, with as many sunny days in the year as
I can squeeze in, and I frequently see friends and relations in Cancun and
the South Pacific for the same reason -- though nearly all vampires are
related by blood after so many centuries of interbreeding. I also make an
effort to stay in shape -- partly because a flabby, overweight vampire is
inherently ludicrous, but mostly because some of the most beautiful women
in the world frequent those same beaches and one would prefer to think one
could acquire their companionship without resorting to assertive
suggestion. Such women generally are clad in the briefest swimming attire
possible, or in nothing at all,... and in dining, presentation is
everything.


  But to return to the subject, most vampires actually appear quite
ordinary. The shoe clerk standing next to you on the bus may be
surreptitiously admiring your throat. The neighbors who come to your
backyard cookout will be happy to devour your porterhouse steaks but they
might prefer your personal tenderloin, given a safe opportunity.
  Because that's primarily what all of you represent to us. You're meat
animals, a convenient source of the primate protein and hemoglobin we
require. It's nothing personal. Some of my best friends are human. And as
a farm boy may grow fond of the lambs and calves he raises, even though he
knows their destiny, I am fond of the farm boy.
  As long-lived as we are, it's not unusual to spend twenty or thirty
years in an occupation or a learned profession and then to leave it for
some endeavor completely unrelated, such as manual labor. For a number of
years, I was an astronomer in Granada (and an astrologer as well, for the
two professions overlapped greatly in those days). When Granada fell to
Their Catholic Majesties, I decided to abandon the life of the mind for
awhile and became a sailor in the Spanish fleet. My knowledge of
astronomy, of course, aided greatly my rapid rise in rank and I became a
highly prized quartermaster. Much later, I was a land developer of some
note in New Amsterdam and that was followed by a restful career as a
cabinetmaker and skilled woodcarver in the Caribbean.
  Why do we bother to labor at all, you ask? Surely we could supply our
every need and want literally for the asking. True, it's perfectly
possible to become one of the idle rich and to remain in that state for a
very long time, and some of my people have done just that. A little
information-gathering here, a suggestion in the appropriate ear there, the
inborn gift of patience -- it's really not difficult at all to amass large
sums of money. Some of us have come to prefer casual mobility to
acquisitiveness, becoming jongleurs or, more recently, hippies. Others --
many, in fact -- have wandered over the globe as hired lances and soldiers
of fortune. What better place for anonymous nourishment than the
battlefield, especially for one in little danger of serious injury, much
less violent death? Sustenance is seldom difficult to find, one way or
another.
  The great enemy, though, is boredom. One may while away the hours,...
but the centuries? No, most vampires are as much driven as their human
cousins by the need to accomplish something lasting or noteworthy, or by a
thirst to create, or by the innate curiosity common to all primates. And
our branch of the evolutionary tree has the luxury of time in which to do
all those things, many times over.


  I've lived in America (most recently) for some ninety-odd years. Around
the Roosevelt era (the first one), I became intrigued by the apparent
course of development and growth that technology had been set upon in this
country. So I involved myself in the fledgling radio industry, eventually
publishing one of the first-ever radio-oriented periodicals (and, later,
one of the most successful of the early magazines specializing in pulp
fantastic fiction). That interest led to television, which took me into
the new field of solid state electronics. Fascinating work, but after so
many changes within what would ordinarily would be a single lifetime, I
felt the need for a break, a desire to go out and play for a decade or
two. In preparation, I sold off the semiconductor companies I had founded
and invested heavily (but anonymously) in a handful of relatively new
ventures that seemed ready to burst forth. (I was an old hand at the stock
market, having bought large amounts of AT&T the week following the sinking
of the LUSITANIA.) Most of those small operations flourished and some
became household names -- often with a bit of assistance in the background
by my humble self. It wasn't long before I again had more income than I
could ever hope to spend.
  Having shopped around for a few years earlier in the century, I acquired
several comfortable but unpretentious residences in such pleasant locales
as La Jolla, Monaco, Papeete, the Maldives, and (of course) Bahia. Brazil
does have the most astonishing beaches in the world. It's also a "food
culture" and Bahia is far more typically Brazilian than Rio. I set about
enjoying myself, though with no particular goal or plan of action. I
merely cast myself adrift and relied on chance to carry me where it would.
  An evening at the Monte Carlo casino in which I ended up a winner (I
usually am) brought an invitation from a new acquaintance to join him and
his other guests on a holiday by motor schooner to Lesbos. My companions
were well educated, sophisticated, and uninhibited, and the sex was easy
and satisfying if uninspired. I was able to nibble on several of the young
ladies in the party as well as my host. Most of the company, in fact, had
become listless and anemic when I took my leave for a visit to Istanbul,
which I hadn't visited since my janissary days.
  Later, while relaxing on one of the smaller coral islands of the Maldive
group, I received a comsat call from an old friend now residing in Sri
Lanka, only 400 miles away, inviting me for a visit. A human acquaintance,
I might add, who had published stories in my magazine in the old days
(though he was unaware of it) and who had once written an article
describing the very sort of satellite communications system by which he
had placed his call. I refrained from drawing too heavily on his
hospitality during my stay, in deference to his advanced age, but he had a
most agreeable housekeeper.
  From there, I ventured to northern India and made a sort of pilgrimage
up the Ganges, almost to the foothills south of the region from which it
is believed my species emerged so long ago. I was distracted, though, by a
friendly party of young Brahmins with whom I fell in. They had
rediscovered the Kama Sutra, as every generation seems to, and had become
fascinated with it. So I assisted several young women of high caste in
their quest for sexual nirvana. The Hindu culture takes its sex very
seriously indeed.


  By the following January I'd moved into my penthouse in the upper city,
from which I could watch the sun rise over Todos os Santos. Carnival
wasn't until February and I intended to soak up as much tasty sunshine as
I could in preparation for the long festive nights ahead.
  So close to the equator, Bahia is always warm and usually sunny and the
beaches begin to fill shortly after breakfast. It had become my habit to
stroll along the beach near the waterline, stopping to chat with
acquaintances or even with strangers and occasionally to snap off photos
with the aging Leica that hung on a strap over my shoulder. I'm something
of an amateur psychologist -- a useful skill for any predator -- and
making educated guesses about circumstances and vocations from people's
photos is one way of keeping the brain muscle in tone.
  I had observed during an earlier period in Brazil that attractive young
women on the beach there often greatly enjoy having their pictures taken.
It can also be a convenient icebreaker. In recent years, thongs have
become almost a uniform among females who know they look appetizing in
them, and a thong seems also to encourage toplessness. It's not uncommon
to pass dozens of bare-breasted young beauties during a hour of strolling.
Being Brazilian, and therefore creole, they come in a variety of lovely
shades of brown and most not only are willing to be photographed but will
even strike an out-thrust pose and flash the lens a stunning smile.
  I include in this pastime the pretty little adolescents who are so proud
of their growing breasts. And they love to experiment with their newly
found power of hypnotizing boys and young men by the sway and jiggle of
their tightly muscled buttocks.
  Such girls are fortunate and don't realize it. In an earlier time, a
fifteen-year- old would be regarded as a grown woman and would have one or
more small children clinging to her homespun skirt in the field -- a
baby-making machine with never enough to eat and the expectation of an
early death from any of a variety of common ailments.


  By the end of my third week in Bahia, I'd struck up an odd sort of
friendship with a particularly lovely young girl in her early teens,
without either of us saying a word. I thought perhaps she assumed that,
being obviously not Brazilian, I didn't speak Portuguese (in which she
would have been wrong, for languages come very easily to me). Or perhaps
she was simply too shy to speak at the beginning and it became a habit.
She wasn't shy about her body, though.
  When I first came upon her, she was playing dodge-the-wavelets at the
water's edge. Waiting tensely until the oncoming sheet of foam was nearly
to her slender toes, then dancing back out of reach. Laughing and
splashing when the surf was too quick for her, skipping and dancing to
leave quickly-filled impressions in the damp sand.
  She kept her arms above her head for balance and her gaze fixed on the
encroaching ocean before her. Her complexion was an uninterrupted cafe au
lait, smooth and gleaming in appearance, her hair a glossy, satiny black,
tied back in a long, thick mass that danced like a Carnival headdress.
  She wore an electric turquoise bathing suit that consisted of a small
triangular patch in front and a slender north-south strip in back -- the
latter seldom visible as it disappeared between her flexing buttocks. The
top of the suit was simply two more tiny triangles held more or less in
place by strings the diameter of shoelaces. She was so near to naked as
not to matter, and might as well have been for all the difference it
seemed to make to her.
  On the first occasion, I stopped ten feet away and slightly behind her
field of vision and exposed a couple of frames of film. I thought she was
unaware of my presence but then she turned toward me with her hands on her
hips, cocked her head, and dazzled me with her small, very white teeth. I
shot two more pictures in rapid succession before she could move, then
lowered the camera and smiled my thanks. She grinned, which made her seem
much younger for a moment, and returned to her game.
  Two days later, I went back to the same stretch of beach, frankly hoping
to find my young model again. I'd already developed the earlier roll and
an enlargement of one of her unselfconscious poses stood propped above the
stereo in my penthouse where I could admire it (and her) at my ease.
  I spotted her up ahead, wearing the same turquoise suit. This time she
was sitting crosslegged in the sand, brushing out her long hair. When she
noticed my approach she pretended she hadn't and casually dropped the
brush in the bright canvas tote beside her. Then she reached behind her
neck with one hand and behind her back with the other and just as casually
dropped her top. She rose in a single, fluid movement and strode into the
water, small breasts pointing straight ahead and jiggling not at all. When
she was knee-deep, she stopped, looked around, and seemed to notice me for
the first time.
  She raised one hand, gave me a languid wave, then returned her attention
to the watery horizon. But she kept her shoulders back, her posture
upright, obviously hoping I was aware of the delightful conical profile
she presented. Perhaps her nipples always were so engorged but I doubted
it. If I ignored the slender blue line over her hip, I could believe she
really was completely naked. From attractive innocence, she had passed to
Lolita-like desirability.
  Some of my thoughts must have leaked out, as they sometimes do, because
the girl turned and fixed me with an open-mouthed stare that gradually
went out of focus. Her hand drifted uncertainly to the joining of her
legs. I walked closer, stopping at the margin of the surf and consciously,
carefully disentangled her from my unintended mental web.
  She had been leaning slightly toward me on the balls of her small feet
but now she settled back on her heels and blinked. I smiled and circled
around to get the sun behind me, and her warming gaze followed me like a
lighthouse beacon. I knew I could have her with a gesture but I wasn't
going to do it that way. Consummated sex with one so young and emotionally
unformed usually results in a kind of psychological near-enslavement:
Something in our seed, I'm told. I preferred to seduce her with mystery by
appealing to the romance I was sure was part of her nature.
  So I raised the camera and pondered her through the viewfinder. The girl
was either a natural or was learning her wiles early, for she lowered her
head slightly, watching me through her long lashes. Her thick, raven hair
fluttered in the late morning breeze. And her nipples visibly hardened and
swelled even more.
  A couple of shots and I lowered the camera and gave my attention openly
to her young breasts. She arched her back and pulled in her stomach and
looked pleased. The beach wasn't yet crowded near us so I quietly beckoned
her closer and she came out of the water gracefully and without
hesitation. I gave her my most winning, worldly smile and reached out
slowly and carefully to stroke my index finger across the tip of one dark
brown nipple. Her eyelids drooped as she inhaled deeply and responded with
a delicate shudder. And still not a syllable spoken between us.
  I stepped back and calmly closed the leather case over my camera but I
also watched the girl from the corner of one eye. She was unsure what to
do -- step closer to me, wait for me to move close to her again? -- she
didn't know what was expected of her. She rubbed the nipple I'd touched
between her fingers a few times before she realized she was doing it and
dropped her hand.
  Should I take her back to my residence? Certainly she must have a home
and family nearby. She would be missed, but she wouldn't care about that
if I took her. And such things happen occasionally in Bahia. But that
would be cruel, I thought, however much I might desire her. So I nodded to
her, gave a little wave, and moved on down the beach. Glancing back a few
yards on, I saw her abandoned expression and knew that I would return in
another day or two and that she would be awaiting me anxiously.
  But that was when Fate took a hand -- the chance I had entrusted myself
to. I met Maya and things changed.


  I chanced upon Maya in the afternoon of that same day, on a completely
different beach. She was motionless, stretched out on her back on a large
towel, well up from the water's age. She looked about twenty-five and wore
dark shades and a sexy but not unusually provocative bikini. Thick, dark
red hair that glinted in the sun and smooth, perfect skin that was almost
unnaturally pale and yet seemed to ignore the ultraviolet assault it came
under.
  More important, she was one of my own kind -- I knew that much
instantly, of course -- but I had no idea who she was. I walked up to her
from the surf, drawn by a genetic magnetism, and stood a dozen feet away,
wondering if she was asleep behind her sunglasses and searching my memory
for her likeness and a name to go with it. It bothered me that I didn't
recognize her; I'd thought I knew everyone who came to the Brazilian
beaches.
  Then only her lips moved as she said softly in accented English, "Are
you going to just stand there? I know who you are -- what you are, I mean.
Pull up a piece of towel and sit, why don't you?" And she smiled, amused
in the knowledge that she had me at a disadvantage and that I wasn't used
to it.
  So I sat crosslegged on the foot-end of her towel, setting my camera
beside me. "My name, at the moment, is Graeme Buchanan," I offered and her
smile broadened. I look about as Scottish as the king of Persia.
  "I'm Maya," she replied. No surname. Well, I've often gotten by with
only one name myself, though that's become much more difficult in this
century, when everything is recorded by the authorities.
  "I haven't seen you around. May I ask where you're from,... lately?"
  Her lips twitched again. "Would you believe me if I said I've been in
total seclusion for a number of years? I've been living as a Cistercian
nun, actually. Very cloistered. I went through a...  traumatic patch and
when it was over I found I simply had to withdraw from the world for
awhile -- allow myself a quiet period in which to heal my mind. I finally
discarded my habit less than a year ago and I'm still readjusting to this
strange but interesting new world."
  A vampire nun! How delightful, I thought. Whatever would the pope say?
Still, she had chosen an ingenious hideout from her former life, whatever
it might have been.
  Then Maya took a deep preparatory breath, let it out slowly, and sat up.
She removed the dark glasses and leaned back on her outstretched arms so
she could study me. I returned her forthright gaze, mentally cataloging
her features and beginning to appreciate how lovely she actually was. Her
arching eyebrows matched her hair in color and her eyes were the
iridescent green one finds only in the purest emeralds. She watched me
watching her and her full lips pursed slightly -- a dramatic and very
erotic gesture.
  "Graeme, do you know you're the first... colleague... who has actually
taken the initiative to talk to me? I've seen a few others, but they
steered clear of me."
  "With your looks, I find that difficult to believe," I replied with a
gallant smile. "Seriously, if the others haven't recognized you either,
they simply may not wish to involve themselves with you until they
discover who you are and where you've sprung from. I, on the other hand,
am a famous busybody." She laughed again and I was drawn to the dancing
sparkle in her eyes.
  "I guess I'd forgotten how paranoid our kind can be," she said. "In a
convent, you learn to take the sisters on trust. It's the only way the
cloistered community can function. But paranoia has its place, I suppose,
when you're a-- when you're one of us." She glanced around to see if
anyone had overheard her near-slip, then saw my gently mocking grin and
blushed.
  I leaned closer and said in a stage-whisper, "Wouldn't be a touch of
that paranoia, would it?" She grinned back -- those lovely eyes again! --
and relaxed. I felt suddenly as if I'd known her for a very long time.


  We chatted awhile and it developed that Maya had raised only enough cash
after departing the convent to get her to the Southern Hemisphere. She had
found a small, inexpensive flat in a less fashionable part of town and had
no plans except soaking up a lot more sun. She hadn't even acquired a car,
so I drove her home. Then I waited politely in her front room while she
changed out of her bathing suit in the bedroom.
  I was surprised to see a row of three faded but neatly framed
daguerreotypes arranged on a window ledge. We're not much given to family
photos and mementos, except as props. Maya hadn't even assumed a new
public persona yet.
  Examining the photos more closely, I decided the adult male wearing the
cheap suit with the over-the-shoulder tricolor sash must be some sort of
local official, presumably in France. The woman wearing the highnecked
dress with the bustle in the second picture must be his wife.  The couple
appeared together in the third photo, looking much more relaxed, wearing
the preposterous outfits the Victorians called "bathing costumes." They
were accompanied by a little girl, perhaps ten years old, who had turned
her head while the shutter was open, blurring her face beyond recognition.
Who were these people?
  Maya returned, humming and brushing out her shoulder-length auburn hair.
She wore a simple sheath that stopped at mid-thigh -- the sort of
comfortable, inexpensive, low-maintenance dress worn by half the women in
Brazil on any given day. She sounded cheerful, almost exuberant, until she
saw what I was studying so carefully. Then she stopped all movement and
took on a wary expression. That increased the mystery. I indicated the
photos and raised an eyebrow.
  She took one of those deep breaths again, let it out, and looked me
straight in the eye. "My parents," she said softly. "And me."
  I didn't understand for a moment. How could the little girl with the
blurred face be Maya? Or did she only mean she told outsiders that? No --
that couldn't be right, either: Anyone could see the pictures were more
than a century old. She continued to stare at me solemnly and I finally
realized what she was saying.
  I'm not often speechless but it just didn't make sense and I couldn't
think of an appropriate response. Finally: "May I ask how old you are, my
dear?"
  "I was born the year his Imperial Highness, Prince Napoleon, became
President of the Republic -- 1848. I entered the convent in 1870, shortly
after we -- the French army, that is -- was defeated at Sedan, and the
Emperor was deposed." One corner of her mouth quirked. "I guess that makes
me a child, doesn't it? Compared to you?"
  I was thoroughly floored. This "young" woman seemed so normal -- normal
for us -- and she was claiming to be less than a hundred-and-fifty? I was
more than twenty times her age. In all those centuries, the only
"new-borns" I'd ever heard of were the night-dwellers, but I'd met Maya
under the thundering sun.
  "Where are your parents, then? Why don't I know them? Are they in
seclusion, too?"
  "No, they're dead. My father died in the war against Prussia. I received
word of my mother's death when I'd been in the convent about twenty-five
years; she'd died of old age."
  I sat rather heavily on the rattan settee beside the window. "You're
saying your parents... they weren't...?" Maya slowly shook her head.
"But-- Homo sapiens can't produce-- I mean, they *must* have been--" I
stammered to a halt as the auburn waves continued their negative motion.
  "No, they were just ordinary people. Happy in their ordinary lives." She
glanced at the group photo. " I was still ordinary myself when that was
taken near La Rochelle. I entered puberty at thirteen and I... changed. I
changed quite a lot. There were new hungers, new needs. I first had sex at
fourteen with a farm boy of twenty. I used him up, in all senses. It was a
mystery death that aroused the neighborhood to a frightening degree. My
father was the local notaire so he organized a search for the 'savage
killer'... and he never knew what was living under his roof."
  It was obvious Maya had never unburdened herself like this to anyone. I
could understand why. A young girl, suddenly discovering what to her would
be horrible, unnatural desires, giving in to what could not be repressed
or denied. And no one to tutor her in her role in the world. Without
conscious thought, I reached out and took her hand. The look of gratitude
she returned was nearly unbearable.
  When it became obvious she wasn't going to say anything more for the
moment, I stood and drew her up with me. "Maya,... my dear,... you've been
alone for so long. A sort of loneliness I can't begin to imagine." Her
features, held carefully in control, finally crumpled and she buried her
face against my chest, clutching the lapels of my seersucker jacket as she
sobbed out a century of unhappiness.
  "I don't want to impose myself on you in any way,... but I would like to
suggest that you come and live with me, at least for awhile. We can talk
and I can... tell you things perhaps, things you need to know. You'd have
your own room, of course," I added quickly. "I'm not asking you to,
uh...."
  She gulped as she got herself under control and tried to laugh. "I
understand what you're saying, Graeme. You're a gentleman and I think I
have nothing to fear from you." She raised her head and tried to smooth
out the wrinkles she'd squeezed into my shirtfront. There were a few more
ragged breaths as she composed herself.
  "I'd be pleased to accept your very kind invitation, monsieur. I find I
do need someone to confide in, someone I can ask questions of. I've been
in hiding for far too long. That's why I emerged from that starched linen
shell, isn't it? I must discover what I am, out here in the world." Her
warm smile was breathtaking. "And I can certainly use a gentle guide."


  So Maya moved in with me. Though my penthouse was spacious and her
possessions few, I ordinarily would have felt crowded with a full-time
guest in residence. My many liaisons with women were seldom of the live-in
variety and never for very long, and the few times I'd had a relationship
with a woman of my own stock, the question had never arisen. For all
vampires share a need for privacy and prefer solitude much of the time.
  But it was different with young Maya. I awoke thinking of her,
anticipating her tousled head bent over her morning cup of richly aromatic
coffee. She was a neat, orderly person -- a legacy of all those years as a
nun, I was sure. Nor did she seem to have an acquisitive nature. She
settled into the extra bedroom with no embarrassment or fuss, which
pleased me, but her style of living was so spartan that even after several
weeks it would not have been obvious to a cursory examiner that her room
was occupied.
  I sometimes returned from an afternoon of running inescapable errands,
for instance, to find her humming contentedly as she prepared an evening
meal. She turned out to be a talented cook, too -- a skill I could barely
manage when necessary but an art I'd never shown any talent for. I loved
having her there.
  Part of Maya's novel effect on me was undoubtedly sexual, but even
so....  It didn't take me long to realize that my interest in her was
becoming at least in part paternal -- and that was *definitely* a new
experience. I took her shopping and insisted she increase her wardrobe. I
have a certain eye for fashion and she was happy to accept my
recommendations regarding what I thought looked good on her. She learned
how to enter a good restaurant as if she owned it and how to give
directions to a Brazilian taxi driver that he would not ignore.
  And when we were alone in the evenings, I would sometimes lie with my
head in her lap and she would ask me questions about the things I had done
and the places and people I had seen. I discovered a great enjoyment in
telling her stories from my life -- something I could never have done with
an ordinary, short-lived person, of course, and most of my own kind had
had similar experiences in their long lives. But it was all new to Maya.
  So I relived my years as owner of a rubber plantation in Malaya, and my
career as a fencing master in Medician Florence, and the quiet, peaceful
time as a smallholder on the Euphrates, and the occasionally *too*
exciting period during which I had commanded a Saracen archer company that
had helped to repel the infidels from Antioch. I told her about
glassblowing in China, and shoemaking in Prague, and blacksmithing in
Pennsylvania. All of it seemed to fascinate her.
  At first, she gently deflected my questions about her own brief past and
I didn't press. But when I was able to convince her that I was truly
interested in her history, she began to open up. For instance, I asked,
why had she entered a convent, instead of simply accepting her true nature
and making her way in the world?
  That amused her and she actually had to explain to me the terror,
depression, and hopelessness of her adolescence. Eventually, I realized
that I was as ill- equipped as she herself had been to truly understand
the plight of a normal child suddenly become a vampire -- a thing of fear
and repulsion to the society she lived in. I had never been anything else;
it was the normal state for me. How would *I* react, she asked, if I arose
one morning to discover I was changing into an "ordinary," short-lived
human, facing old age, illness, and certain death? She was right: I could
not imagine such an unreasonable condition.
  In the quiet and stable environment of the Cistercian convent, Maya had
considered these things at length. After the first half-century, when the
aging process had gradually slowed to a crawl, she had arrived at a sort
of peace with herself. God had created all things, including vampires. Her
metamorphosis must be God's will; he meant her to be what she was.  And
she didn't *feel* inherently evil. The rules were different for her.
  So she continued to live as one of the sisters and fed when she had to,
selecting persons she considered of no redeeming social value and
carefully covering her tracks. Reluctantly she had learned to lie and
fabricate in order to conceal her true age -- which must be easier in a
habit, I supposed -- and she became selective in what she confessed. She
also managed to avoid being photographed, under the guise of shyness and
an invented vow.
  She had discovered early on that she possessed unusual mental abilities
and she made the moral and ethical decision not to use her powers
frivolously. But on several occasions she was aware that other nuns who
had gone from youthful postulancy to old age in her company had become
curious and uneasy about her. Then she had planted false memories: The
never-aging sister actually had died years before and Maya herself was
simply a younger nun who bore a resemblance to an unclearly remembered
older woman. Then Maya would change her name and "arrive" at the convent
all over again, as a new member of the community.
  Changes in identity were becoming more difficult, though, even for
cloistered nuns. When a new Mother Superior recommended fingerprinting the
sisters for their own protection, Maya had been forced to foment
discontent and anger in the convent over the proposal and it was quickly
and quietly dropped.
  For more than a century, that had been the ordered shape of her life.
Then, a few years earlier, she had been singing in the choir while a newly
appointed local bishop celebrated mass at the convent. Something
indefinable about the man had riveted her attention on him. He, too, felt
something because he kept studying the linen-framed faces in the stalls.
  Later that morning, the bishop took a stroll through the convent's
extensive herb garden and stopped to chat with Maya, who happened to be
weeding. It was far from coincidental, of course, and Maya was astonished
to discover that she wasn't the only daylight vampire in the world. The
bishop, on learning of the circumstances of her birth and later
transformation, recommended, in the strictest confidence, that she leave
the Order and go out into the world, before she was discovered -- which he
was certain would happen eventually if she remained in one place.
  Maya thought about that for some time, wondering how many others like
her there could be outside the walls. The bishop had insisted that he had
*never* heard of one of his people born to short-lived parents,... though
surely that was how our species must have begun, as a series of mutations
in the distant past.
  She was also, finally, becoming bored with the religious life, which she
took as a sign that her vocation was coming to an end. And so she made
plans for her final demise in the cloistered community. In the perceptions
and minds of the sisters, she began to experience the symptoms of angina.
A doctor was called in to examine her and he announced sadly that her
condition was critical and that it was only a matter of time for the
elderly nun. And following her "death" from a stroke a month later, Maya
had lingered in the shadows at the rear of the small chapel and witnessed
her own funeral, listening with surprise and some emotion to the heartfelt
sorrow of her companions who quietly eulogized her before the simple pine
box that supposedly held her mortal remains. Then she slipped away,
pretending to be a distant relative come to attend the services. She had
never looked back.
  Maya's recitation of events were spread over several evenings and by the
time she'd finished I had developed a profound respect for the courage
this girl had displayed in facing what she had thought was a unique
loneliness, and in resolving to leave her community after more than a
century. And she was still a "girl" in many ways, despite her
chronological age. I told her, quite sincerely, that she could stay with
me, as my friend and under my protection, for as long as she needed to.
And she wept on my shoulder as I held her in my arms and comforted her.


  A month passed and Maya and I learned a great deal about the world in
which our species survives -- she for the first time and I from a
completely new perspective. Carnival came and we immersed ourselves in it,
dancing with the throngs in the street, scrambling for tin coins flung
from the floats, laughing at the garishly made-up young crossdressers, and
speculating on the everyday lives of the young women who were gorgeous in
their plumes and very little else.
  I took her up into the back country to witness rituals of voudon and we
rode a motor launch up a narrow branch of the Amazon to marvel at the
remaining foliage and wildlife. We roamed all over Bahia itself, exploring
neighborhoods that even I had never seen. And, of course, we walked the
beaches, sometimes early in the morning but often long after dark.
  About two o'clock in the morning one February night, when the air
temperature on the sand was twenty degrees cooler than it was five miles
inland, Maya and I were strolling in companionable silence along the upper
boundary of one of my favorite beaches. We had seen almost no one, merely
piles of old trash, some of it carried in on the surf but most of it the
detritus left by daytime visitors. The occasional figures we glimpsed
moved furtively, keeping to the shadows. This part of the beach could be
dangerous in the dark, especially for solitary and incautious walkers. We
had disposed of several muggers on excursions like this, pathetic young
men in ragged clothing who had no idea what they were getting into when
they jumped us. For me these were perfunctory opportunities to feed, but
for Maya they were necessary lessons in culling the herd.
  As we passed a small grove of scruffy palms, Maya stopped and touched my
arm, scanning the undergrowth. I'd heard the small sound, too. Then it
came again, a low moan, definitely human. We approached the trees
carefully to investigate; if some more ordinary pedestrian had been
attacked and left injured, we probably would attempt to get them medical
attention. If it was someone obviously dying, however, we would take
advantage of the opportunity to feed.
  What we found was a small figure wrapped in a thin, castoff blanket,
hidden in a nest made of dismembered cardboard cartons. A girl, by the
length of the black hair among the shadows, and not very old. There were
thousands of orphaned and runaway children in Bahia, most of them living
in packs for protection. The girl moaned again and it seemed she was only
having a bad dream. Then she rolled over and I glimpsed her face in the
dim moonlight: It was my young friend from earlier in the season, the girl
in the turquoise thong who never spoke but who liked to pose for my
camera. Her brightly patterned tote bag was wadded up under her head.
  Maya noted my surprise and watched as I drew back a corner of the
blanket to check on the girl's condition. There was no blood and no
bruises, so she hadn't been assaulted. I had to assume that this was her
regular sleeping spot. When we'd first met, I had believed the girl had
parents who would report her absence. Apparently not. I hoped it wasn't
too late to do something about her.
  I could feel the psychological intruder alarms beginning to clamor in
the back of my young friend's skull so I reached out with my own mind
before she could waken and suppressed them. She sighed and smacked her
lips and sank into a deeper, quieter sleep.
  Maya was still watching, silent and curious, as I gently unwrapped the
girl and tossed the old blanket aside. She wore faded, frequently patched
blue jeans and a once-white tee-shirt several sizes too large. Over that
was a nondescript man's dress shirt, torn and stained; the collar was
turned up and the long cuffs were pulled down over her hands for warmth.
Her feet were stuffed in brown paper bags, tops twisted about her ankles,
but she had a pair of plastic thong sandals in her tote -- which also
disgorged a small towel with a hotel logo, several packets of salted
peanuts and ketchup, a carefully folded pair of pink cotton panties
(whether her only pair or a spare, I couldn't say), three 100- cruzeiro
notes wadded into a tight ball (about enough to purchase one soft
drink),... and her ubiquitous turquoise thong, which seemed now to be her
principal daytime garment. All her clothing seemed to be clean but smelled
faintly salty; I guessed she was washing her laundry and herself in the
surf.
  I considered what all this meant as I replaced her meager belongings in
the tote. I had to rethink my earlier assumptions. The girl was no more
than thirteen or fourteen and obviously homeless, yet she didn't seem
malnourished or sick or abused. Perhaps she slept on the beach only when
she couldn't find better shelter. Yet, how did she feed herself? She
looked so young and sweet, I disliked thinking about the probable answer
to that. Still, she had seemed cheerful enough when I'd taken my pictures,
playing in the waves like any middle-class kid her age. And she hadn't hit
me up for spare change, either.
  Then I replayed in my memory our second encounter, when she had
deliberately displayed her small breasts to me, almost as a deliberate
lure. Was that intended to be the beginning of a campaign of enticement?
Was she using her body as bait to snare herself a new provider? If so,
she'd certainly been cold- blooded about it. And then my unintended mental
"radiation" had apparently derailed her plans.
  I looked up at Maya's calm face and said quietly, "This girl is someone
I know and I don't want to leave her out here. It's not safe. Would you
mind very much if we took her home with us for awhile?"
  Maya had been leaning over the girl and me, hands on her knees, watching
my ministrations. Now she raised her eyebrows and seemed surprised. "It's
your home, Graeme. Why are you asking me?"
  "Because it's your home as well, Maya, for as long as you want it to
be," I replied patiently. I thought that had been made clear. "I would not
force an outsider on you."
  Her expression softened. "I should have met you years ago, Graeme."
  "Maya, you wouldn't have been ready for me years ago." We shared a smile
and then she bent and picked up the canvas tote. I carefully scooped up
the nameless girl in my arms and stood. We walked quickly the fifty yards
through the trees to the parkway and caught a cab. The girl slept all the
way back to our place.


  I laid the limp young body face down across the foot of my bed and
worked the grimy man's shirt off her arms. I glanced around for a spot to
drop it but Maya took it from me and stuffed it firmly in a wastebasket.
Then I turned the girl over and propped her up while Maya pulled the
overlarge tee-shirt off over her head. Lying on her back now, her growing
breasts nearly disappeared in profile.
  She calmly unbuttoned the faded jeans and pulled them down the long,
slender legs. No, the girl hadn't been wearing panties. And Maya showed no
hesitation in exposing the child's naked form, which was an indication of
how far her attitudes toward the short-lived had changed in just a few
weeks. She had found in me a template to model herself after and she had
been quick to adapt to it.
  Now we both stood and appraised the body on the bed. The girl's stomach
was flat and muscular and only a small, black, silky patch over her pubic
mound indicated the beginnings of maturation.
  "She's lovely, isn't she?" Maya commented quietly. "Is that how you know
her? Is she one of your many conquests?" Her green eyes twinkled and she
stuck her tongue in her cheek to show she was teasing.
  "No, unfortunately not. She might have been -- she *is* beautiful -- but
then I met you, my dear." I thought about that slim, brown body snuggled
between my bedsheets and decided not to tempt myself too far. "I suppose
she can sleep on the fouton in the study,..." I said tentatively, but Maya
shook her head.
  "It would be much better if she woke up tomorrow in a proper bed," she
replied firmly. "We'll put her in my room." I didn't ask where she
intended to sleep herself. Maya led the way and I followed her down the
hall, again carrying the girl. The smooth, warm skin against my arms was
delightful.
  So we put her in Maya's bed and tucked the covers up under her chin. I
reached into her mind and shifted her into a deep, restful, and entirely
natural sleep. Maya moved a wooden vanity chair nearer the bed and draped
the jeans and tee-shirt over it and set the tote on the seat. "So she'll
be reassured when she wakes up," she explained. She also laid a folded
terrycloth robe across the foot of the bed and when we departed, we left
the bedroom door ajar.


  Maya followed me back to the master bedroom and I had the sense to keep
my mouth shut. My paternal feelings for her were minimal just then but I
could hardly ask her to come to my bed after making a point of telling her
it was her home, too.
  As it turned out, she made no dramatic scene of her decision. She simply
slipped out of her clothing and strolled into the master bath. As I
undressed, I heard her tidying herself up and then the sound of the
toilet. Rather than precede her into bed, I stood there naked for the
thirty seconds it took her to reappear. I wondered why I hadn't gotten an
erection yet -- I wasn't *that* tired -- and decided my relaxed state must
be attributable to Maya's calm assumptions. She was behaving as I supposed
an experienced wife would do, had our kind indulged in such a thing as
marriage. Also, I was unaccountably nervous and that surprised me a great
deal.
  Then May came out of the bathroom, combing her fingers back through her
hair. It was probably my expression that brought the faint smile to her
lips. She walked up to me, put her arms around my neck, and pressed her
pale body against mine as if we had been embracing for centuries. Then she
kissed me with great authority.
  In the company of ordinary women, I always knew I was in the superior
psychological position, the position of control. But I couldn't
surreptitiously control Maya's mind or actions any more than she could
secretly influence me. I suspect that's why sexual unions among our people
seldom last long: We're too used to being in control of those around us.
  My hands were moving slowly up and down her shoulder blades and she
leaned back against my arms to get a look at my face. "Why do you seem so
surprised, Graeme? Didn't you know we would reach this point eventually?"
She shifted her thighs against my cock, which was finally getting the
message; she felt its stirings and smiled again.
  "No, Maya, I didn't know. I wanted it -- I wanted *you* -- but I tried
not to think about it. I didn't to pressure you and I didn't want to be
disappointed." I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "It doesn't come
easily to us, does it? To care about another person.... Perhaps you're the
exception, my dear -- you're so young and your experience has been so...
peculiar. Did you learn to love? In the convent?"
  She became reflective. "I thought I did -- at first. But after a few
decades, seeing the sisters die around me, I closed down those feelings.
For my own protection, I suppose." She shrugged uneasily. "This isn't
love, though -- is it? I thought this was 'sex'. I've subdued my appetites
without sex being involved, of course. Nuns aren't supposed to screw on a
regular basis, you know. But before entering the Order, whenever sex *was*
involved, the interlude always ended with me feeding on my partner. That
certainly wasn't love, though I may have thought it was when I was very
young." She looked at me quizzically. "Have you never been in love? Never
in your whole life?"
  "No, never. Our people don't experience 'love' in the usual human sense.
Or so I've always believed, and so has every other person of my
acquaintance."
  She stroked my cheek. "That seems almost sad, doesn't it?" she asked
quietly. "Yes, I can understand that, if those you love are constantly
dying around you.... But can one vampire perhaps love another?"
  I had no answer to that, having never felt an emotion for anyone that I
could recognize as love. And I wasn't quite able to examine my feelings
for Maya in that light, not yet. I settled for a shrug. I was also willing
to settle for sex at this point. And that reminder made my cock twitch.
  Maya felt the vibration and gave me another flash of that knowing smile
that all females among the intelligent primates seem to come by
genetically. Her warm hand wrapped itself around the stalk and squeezed
gently -- and then not so gently. Still smiling, she backed toward the
bed, leading me with her by the obvious handle. It was an unusual reversal
since I'd always been the initiator, and Maya's sense of erotic play was
both delightful and revelatory.
  She reached the foot of the bed and sat, stretching my organ the few
inches upward to her lips. Then she inhaled its head and moved her tongue
all around the edges and back and forth over the hole at the tip. I had a
fantasy-flash of a class of young postulants in gray and white taking
instruction in cocksucking from a stern, elderly nun. Where *had* Maya
learned how to do this? Or did she simply possess an excellent recall of
her youthful activities?
  My cock was raised vertically as she steered her warm, wet lips across
and beneath my scrotum, sucking in first the loose folds, then the balls.
She tightened her oral grip carefully and tugged, creating just a hint of
erotic as well as physical tension, and it occurred to me how far I had
come to trust her. However deeply buried, her predatory instincts were the
same as mine, as was her physical strength. She could emasculate me in
half an instant. But her upward glances to gauge my reaction convinced me
I had nothing to fear.
  Then I felt the briefest sharpness as her second incisors slid down and
pricked the skin over my balls. That was all, just the slightest
needle-touch, when she might have speared me. It may even have been
unintentional; our drinking teeth emerge sometimes as an uncontrolled
reaction, like a cat unsheathing its claws when it feels relaxed. I
stroked Maya's hair and traced the rims of her ears with my fingers and
tried not to moan too loudly.
  She released her grip and lay back on the bed, quietly waiting. Her
thighs extended on either side of my knees and she hunched her pubic
region slightly upward, calling me to her, I thought. In many ways, we're
not that different from homo sapiens.
  I knelt on the bed and her legs moved farther apart. I bent over her and
stared into her remarkable green eyes and saw my reflection in her
expanding pupils. We kissed softly, slowly. There was no hurry for people
like us. I nibbled at her earlobes and her smooth, pale neck and she
stroked my hair and made small, pleasure-filled sounds. When I moved down
and fastened my mouth on a very pink and very hard nipple, she inhaled
deeply and shuddered. After a minute or two, I began to leave a trail of
kisses down her breastbone and onto the taut plane of her diaphragm, but
she divined my intent.
  "Some other time, Graeme." She tugged me back up her body. "I would love
to have your mouth between my legs, but right now I want to find out how
well we fit." She leered and spread her knees as wide as she could. "Tab
'A' into Slot 'B' -- isn't that how it goes?"
  Tab "A" was more rigid than it had been in many years. I leered back, to
which she responded with a girlish giggle, and then I eased myself into
her, still in no hurry. This promised to be a momentous experience and I
intended to milk it for all it was worth. Half a dozen slow, grinding
strokes later, Maya's legs were wrapped tightly about my upper back and
she was breathing hard and in rhythm with me.
  "Ohhhh... You're doing this on purpose, you-- Fuck me, damn it! Oh,
sweet Jesus,..." Her moan died away and she gulped twice. Then she opened
her eyes wide and stared at me even as I increased the tempo. "Graeme, I
just-- I can't believe I just now tried to lock onto your mind! To make
you fuck me harder! Dear God, you're making me crazy for sure!"
  I laughed softly. We both knew assertive suggestion didn't work, didn't
even meaningfully exist, between the two of us -- but she had
unconsciously tried to control me anyway. I chose to take it as a
compliment. And I began to ram my cock into her harder than before, making
her head jerk on the pillow at each thrust. She bit her lip and squeezed
her eyes shut and arched her head back. This was what she wanted from me
and I gave it to her.
  Her fingernails were leaving long, red tracks across my shoulderblades,
I was sure. Her legs locked around my torso were beginning to squeeze
painfully tight - - she could crack my ribs if she lost control -- so,
between one stroke and the next, I grabbed her knees and forced them
almost roughly against her chest. Her legs sprang apart and she gasped
with the shock before she realized why I'd done what I'd done. Then she
put her own hands behind her knees and pulled them as far back and as far
apart as she could manage, and groaned as I took advantage of her posture
to plunge far into her depths.
  A few more minutes like that and I knew I couldn't delay any longer.
Maya sensed my impending orgasm and whispered "Yessss..." as she rocketed
into her own shuddering climax -- the ripples of which touched me off. I
marveled that my body could produce so much semen; my balls must be
shrunken to the size of grapes.
  I managed not to collapse atop her but I didn't want to roll off her
overheated body, either. I managed to ease my weight down upon her slowly
and gently, my cock still buried within her. She wrapped her arms around
my neck and sighed into my ear with exhausted satisfaction.
  "It's never been like that," she murmured. "Maybe it's because we're
both... who we are. Or maybe,..."
  "Maya," I whispered back. "Shut up."
  She chuckled and hugged me tighter. "Yeah..."


  Eventually, I did roll off, of course, but we remained entwined for most
of the night. I awoke just before dawn because my left arm was numb;
Maya's head lay on my bicep, her face half-hidden by a tangle of that
lovely red hair. I eased my arm out, careful not to wake her, and made
faces in the half-dark as the blood poured back into my defenseless arm.
  After the feeling had returned, I simply lay there and studied Maya's
features for awhile. I felt possessive and protective toward her. Was that
love? Or paternal instinct? I doubted it mattered. If I was very, very
lucky, Maya would remain with me for a year or so. By that time, I would
have taught her everything she should know about being one of us, and she
would become restless and go out to discover the world for herself. It
saddened me in advance to know it would happen, but I wouldn't -- couldn't
-- cheat her by making her too dependent on me. I would enjoy the time we
did have, I thought, and I would look forward to seeing her at intervals
down through the years.
  Then I heard a small sound from the other end of the hall and realized
I'd nearly forgotten about my young friend. I eased out of the bed and
padded naked and silent down the hall to check on her. In the faint light
that was beginning to seep between the slats of the shutters, I could see
only a shock of silky black hair above the covers. The girl had burrowed
almost under the pillow and was snoring softly. I knew it was the best
night's sleep she'd had in probably quite some time.
  She must have been living on her own for months or years because, as
silent as I knew I had been, I was aware of a sudden alarm in the back of
her mind. I wondered for a moment if I should put her back into a deep
sleep, but then it was too late. The covers jerked down and she was
peering up at me cautiously, eyes wide open.
  I hunkered down beside the bed, partly because I didn't wish her to
misconstrue my nakedness and partly just to get myself down to her level.
She stared at me for a moment before recognition appeared in her gaze.
Then she was staring at the cotton sheet balled up in her fist.
  "Where am I? How did I get here? Did you-- Did we...?" That rattle of
Portuguese were the first words I'd ever heard her speak and I was
entranced by her melodious soprano voice. She sat up in bed suddenly. Her
sheet fell away but she ignored her own nudity. She looked around quickly
and saw her tote bag on the floor and her clothing on the chair. That
seemed to calm her a little. Maya had been right.
  "No, we didn't," I said gently -- also in Portuguese -- and smiled.
"Though you are indeed a lovely girl and I was sorely tempted." She
glanced down at herself but made no attempt to cover her body. "We found
you -- a friend and I -- sleeping on the beach. You were in a dangerous
location, and not well concealed, and plainly cold, so we brought you back
here and put you to bed. You were so tired, you never awakened." Well, it
was almost the truth. "Do you have a name? I've never learned it, you
know."
  She hesitated, as if knowing her name would give me magical powers over
her. "Anna," she said.
  "Well, Anna -- I'm Graeme, and I'm very pleased to meet you." And I held
out my hand. She took it automatically -- and then grinned broadly as she
realized how ludicrous the situation was.
  "Do you want to...?" She made as if to move over in the bed, prepared to
pay for her night's lodging.
  "No, Anna, that isn't why we brought you here. You posed for my camera
and I say that makes us friends. And friends help each other out, don't
they? No: What you can do for me...." She waited to see what would be
expected of her, a slightly resigned expression on her face. "...is to get
a little more sleep, if you like, and then go and take a long, hot shower.
Your bathroom is right over there, across the hall. You've been bathing in
the ocean too long, don't you think? And don't put those clothes back on
-- not yet. We'll see about getting them washed properly." I gestured to
the thick bathrobe on the foot of the bed. "Wear that for breakfast, all
right?"
  I stood and Anna glanced quickly at my groin and then back at my face. I
knew I didn't have an erection and she seemed reassured. She lay down
again and snuggled back under the covers. "This is very nice," she said.
"And so are you, Graeme." Her smile this time seemed more like her
chronological age.
  I paused at the door. "My room -- our room -- is at the other end of the
hall and we have our own bathroom, so take your time, my dear. And we'll
see you at breakfast." Her eyelids were already drooping again and I
pulled the door nearly shut, to give her privacy; I doubted she'd ever had
much of it.


  Two hours later, I was leaning against the kitchen counter, barefoot and
shirtless, sipping my hot chocolate while Maya prepared breakfast. She
wore only a red silk kimono and I very much enjoyed observing her smooth
competence as she sliced bananas lengthwise and laid them carefully in the
sizzling palm oil. Several mangoes waited their turn at the knife and we
were arguing playfully over the need (or not) for sausage with the fried
eggs -- a North American taste I had adopted long ago.
  I'd heard the shower running a short while before and now a movement in
the doorway made me turn my head. Anna seemed nearly lost in the big,
white bathrobe: It came down to her ankles and the sleeves covered all but
the tips of her fingers. Her still-damp hair cascaded over the turned-up
collar and her dark eyes shone from the depths of the terrycloth.
  My companion turned to smile at her and I made the introductions. "Maya,
this is our houseguest -- Anna."
  Keeping her voice soft, she said "How do you do, Anna? Did you sleep
well?"
  The half-hidden return smile was shy. "Yes, I did -- thank you." Her
nose twitched. "That smells good!" She fidgeted a little, torn between
adolescent hunger and an apparent desire to be on her best behavior with
her benefactors.
  Maya laughed and nudged me toward the big, round, Victorian table that
was the focus of my kitchen. She picked up a serving platter and a wooden
spatula as I pulled out a chair and raised my eyebrows in Anna's
direction. The girl hurried over and sat and I scooted her up to the
table; she beamed in delight at my gentlemanly treatment of her and began
turning up her sleeves.
  We didn't speak much for the first quarter-hour of the meal, all mouths
being otherwise occupied. Anna's tidy table manners bespoke a good
middle-class upbringing, though that didn't slow her down any. Maya
finally poured cafezinho for the two of us -- Anna was on her second glass
of foamy, unhomogenized milk -- and we traded secret smiles across the
table. Anna glanced from my face to Maya's and looked thoughtful.
  Now that we had broken bread and were more relaxed, I felt able to ask
questions. "Anna, could you satisfy my curiosity about something?"
  A touch of wariness returned to her face. "I'll try, senhor."
  "It's obvious you didn't grow up in the bairro and you seem reasonably
healthy and well-fed. How did you come to be living on the beach like
that, with so few possessions?"
  She studied the few crumbs left on her plate and gnawed her lower lip. I
felt a moment of guilt and almost retracted the question, but she took a
deep breath and fixed me with a solemn gaze.
  "Yes, senhor, I come from a good family -- I'd rather not say which one.
But three years ago, when I was ten, my father was killed in a motor
accident. He was a strong man but also a gentle man and I loved him very
much. It was very hard when he died." She paused and sighed. I had the
impression she'd never told anyone about her family before, not straight
out like this.
  "My mother...," she went on, "It was even worse for her. She depended so
much on my father. Not just to feed us all; my mother is a fine woman but
not very strong. She has never been very good at making decisions about
things. We had the insurance money and we were all right for a year or so.
But then someone introduced my mother to... to that man." The sudden
loathing in her voice was startling.
  And suddenly I understood. "He married your mother, didn't he?" I asked
carefully. "And I think you didn't like him very much, did you?"
  "I hate him -- but not just because he married my mother! He said *he*
was my father now and I had to do whatever he said -- but the things he
made me do-- -" She stopped, breathing hard, and stared at her plate
again. "My mother wouldn't do anything about it. That man made it so she
wouldn't have to make decisions at all anymore, and she liked that. Last
summer, I decided I'd had enough of him. So I ran away."
  Maya had sat down again across from me and now she stroked Anna's thick,
black hair sympathetically, tucking it behind her ear and smoothing it
back. The girl leaned against her hand, needing the friendly contact.
  "You decided you couldn't go to the police," I said, stating the
obvious. "They wouldn't have believed you against your stepfather. They
would just send you home and things would be even worse for you." Anna
looked up, tears oozing down one side of her nose, and nodded in gratitude
at my understanding.
  "I had a backpack, with clothes and a little money and two of my
favorite books in it. But some older kids took it all the second day. My
jacket and walking shoes, too. Bandidos -- bastardos!" She quickly wiped
away the tears with the heel of her hand and raised her chin. "I swore I
wouldn't go back, and I didn't! I found people -- men -- who would feed me
and buy me things and take care of me if I let them-- If I went to bed
with them. Most of them were nice enough and I stayed for weeks,
sometimes. And if they turned out to be not so nice, I left. But *I*
decided!" she added defiantly.
  I believe that's why I continue to regard children who have reached
puberty as "young adults," capable of making their own decisions in life
if they are allowed to -- and if they have been taught how. I've never
been a rapist, psychic or otherwise, even in those earlier times when it
was expected by both conquering men and conquered women and girls. I've
fed myself, sometimes by force, when I had to, naturally ... but never at
the expense of someone I considered blameless.
  "Anna, I shall make you a promise." I took her hand and regarded her
seriously. "You may stay here with us if you choose. Or you may go at any
time and for any reason -- or for no reason at all. I'll not expect sexual
favors of you in return. I have no children but I have a great deal of
money, Anna, and I may choose to spend a little of it on you, if you'll
allow me to. Call it an indulgence." I squeezed her hand for emphasis.
"But no one will force you to do anything. Not while you're under my
protection. I'm not your father and I wouldn't pretend to be; I'm your
friend. We became friends on the beach when you posed for me, remember? I
would enjoy taking more photographs of you if you would allow me to, but
that also is your decision and it has no bearing on whether or not you
decide to stay here awhile. Do you understand?"
  It was a long speech and the girl stared at me for a minute or two,
taking it in and turning it over in her mind, comparing the offer with her
recent experiences, I imagined. "Up until last night, I'd been living on
the beach for two months," she went on, as if I'd said nothing at all. "I
was beginning to get desperate. That's why I..." She glanced at Maya, who
nodded for her to continue. "That's why I took off my top when I saw you'd
come back to the beach that day. I was trying to make you interested in
me, so you'd take me home with you for awhile. I was trying to sell myself
to you, senhor...." She looked down and I saw the tips of her ears turning
bright red. "But then, I suddenly felt that I *had* to go to you, to do
whatever you wanted, whether you took me in or not. I don't know why! And
I dreamed about you for days afterward. And then you came again, and you
... rescued me."
  She looked quickly at Maya. "Please don't be angry, senhora -- he didn't
do anything! It was me!" She was ignoring the memory of my finger stroking
her turgid nipple.
  Maya laughed lightly and touched the girl's pleading face. "I'm not a
'senhora', Anna. I'm a guest here, too. This place belongs to Graeme; I'm
just sharing it with him. And I can share him with you, as well, if you
wish it."
  Neither the girl nor I knew how to respond to that unexpected offer. And
then Maya rose lithely and began clearing away the ruins of our breakfast.
"Why don't we all stay in and rest today?" she suggested lightly. "And
tomorrow, I think, would be a good day to see what the stores in this city
have to offer in the way of young girls' clothing."


  Maya took general charge of our shopping expedition the next day, which
progressed in stages, like a proper military campaign. She consulted with
me regarding the extent to which Anna's wardrobe should be enhanced and I
laughingly replied that this was *her* area of expertise, not mine; I
intended to follow along behind, paying sales clerks and carrying
packages. That got me a five-minute kiss -- worth every cent I ended up
paying, and far more.
  Then she estimated the young girl's sizes and made a quick trip to a
local shop for blue jeans, underwear, a tee-shirt, and a pair of sandals:
That much allowed Anna to walk into any store without embarrassment, since
the only presentable garment she owned was her thong bikini, which she
couldn't wear on the street -- even in Bahia.
  We took our time, browsing and allowing our young guest to try things on
at length before making each selection. Anna was cautious at first, having
developed a mistrust of largesse, but by lunchtime she was excited and
enthusiastic. Maya didn't go overboard, either. Several pairs of slacks
and matching blouses, additional jeans and pullovers, two "nice" summer
dresses, and one pair each of white pumps and white Nikes. After lunch,
she added a Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap -- not that Anna knew or
cared anything about American baseball. She just liked the colors. We also
helped her select, without comment, a modest canvas duffel bag with a
shoulder strap. I guessed that was to be Anna's escape hatch, at least
psychologically.
  Late in the afternoon, we walked all the way back to the apartment since
the weather was so pleasant, and indulged in a two-hour siesta.
Eventually, Anna crept into our room and whispered something to Maya and
the two of them repaired to the other bedroom, from which I was
temporarily banned. And an hour after that, Maya emerged triumphantly and
urged me to sit in my rattan rocker in the middle of the study so Anna
could make a grand entrance.
  I was amazed at her transformation (with Maya's assistance) into a
properly turned-out young teenager: White dress and shiny white shoes,
gleaming black hair pulled back in a bobbing ponytail, and just a hint of
lipstick and blusher. Maya had lent her a necklace of thin gold
chain-links. She looked like she was on her way to evening communion.
  My pleasure at her revised appearance must have been obvious because her
face lit up like a beacon. She twirled, showing off her new outfit and the
cotton billowed and the ponytail swung. I winked at Maya, who was
justifiably a bit smug; she'd also changed into a "going out to supper"
dress, which was a hint I couldn't ignore.
  So I escorted my two lovely ladies out for an evening on the town -- a
first- class evening. First, a concert at Campo Grande, with its
magnificent lighting, followed by supper at Le Saint Honore -- the best
Continental cuisine in South America and already in control of part of
Maya's soul. It was quite delightful to have a beautiful woman on each
arm; the maitre d' and the waiters, most of whom I knew, seemed to think
they must be my (previously unsuspected) wife and daughter.
  Anna smiled broadly at everyone who came within range and utterly
charmed the staff. Then, fortified by her earlier nap, she asked
hesitantly if we might go someplace to dance afterward. I hadn't been out
dancing in quite some time, so we ended up around midnight at a place
called Hippopotamus -- crowded, noisy, and lots of fun. Anna sipped at her
Shirley Temple and ogled the crowd while Maya and I massacred the samba. A
boy of about sixteen asked her to dance -- and she actually caught my eye
to seek permission before accepting the invitation. If I'd developed
slightly paternal feelings for Maya, I was going to have to be *very*
careful about Anna.
  I had no idea what time it was when we left the club, only that I was
yawning as much as my companions, both of whom had finally run out of
steam. We caught a cab home and Anna was sound asleep with her head on my
lap before we'd traveled two blocks. Maya hung on my arm and purred and
whispered endearments and generally made me glad I'd lived as long as I
had, just to be able to meet her.


  Over the next month or so, we settled into a comfortable and familial
routine. A casual inquiry about Anna's progress in school at the time
she'd left home brought a polite but absolute refusal to consider
re-enrollment. Instead, she began to work her way omnivorously through my
extensive library (a feature of living I regard as a necessity in every
residence I've ever owned).
  I still walked the beaches around Bahia, but no longer alone. Sometimes
Maya would accompany me while Anna pursued her self-guided studies or went
off into the city on her own unknown errands. She had a key to the
penthouse now, and I declined to ask what she did when she disappeared for
an entire morning. Or, Maya would be involved in something of her own and
Anna would come along for a stroll. And whether she wore shorts on the
beach or that devastating thong, she often held my hand. It was a peaceful
and fulfilling time in my life.
  Anna had discovered the enlarged photo of herself, of course, and at
times she could hardly keep her eyes off it. Finally, she asked shyly if I
would take more pictures of her. I'd been sure she would ask eventually,
and I had already thought about poses and props.
  So, while Maya roamed behind me, studying avidly everything I did, I
spread my young model across an antique red velvet sofa in a rumpled white
silk shirt that was far too large for her; just the shirt and nothing
else. Her long, brown legs contrasted beautifully with the red and the
white and her thick, dark hair, spread across her face and draped along
her arm, made her seem mysterious. Anna herself decided to remove the
shirt and lean over the arm of the sofa, hair curtaining her face, her
small breast forming a perfect, shallow curve. Another pose which was
especially successful featured her naked, lithe body in the open doorway
to a westward-facing balcony, silhouetted against a rich brick-red sunset.
  I developed all my work myself, of course, not allowing either of the
women to see the results until they were dry and simply matted. When I
unveiled the oversized prints, Maya hugged me appreciatively. Anna simply
stared at the serene images of herself with her mouth open. When she
turned to me with an expression of disbelieving wonder, I considered
myself fully paid for my time and effort. But it was easy, I knew, to make
such a beautiful young woman appear magical to the camera.


  Maya and I continued our sexual explorations, of course, and made no
attempt to conceal them from our young guest. Once, after a mid-afternoon
romp in the sheets, we emerged to find a grinning adolescent complaining
that she couldn't read with all the noise in the apartment. That encounter
degenerated into a tickling match in which I was the general loser, being
badly outnumbered. In fact, I ended on my back with Anna sitting astride
my waist and the tickling evolved into warm, loving caresses and hugs.
While Maya was looking the other way, Anna reached back and tapped my cock
lightly through my trousers, as if to remind me she was more than the
innocent young girl she often appeared to be. As if I'd ever forgotten it.
  A few nights after that, I heard a whimpering sound from down the hall
and went to check. The poor girl had had intermittent bad dreams ever
since moving in, but they had become much less frequent. I touched her
shoulder and whispered, "Wake up, my dear," and she sat straight up, eyes
wide and breathing labored. I put my arms around her and she hung onto my
neck as she got herself back under control. But unlike earlier occasions
when I'd offered her comfort, this time she murmured in my ear, "May I
come and sleep with you and Maya?"
  A worse than usual dream, I thought, so I scooped her up and carried her
back to our room. She slept in a tee-shirt and panties and I was very
aware, as before, of the warmth of her ripening young body. I laid her on
the bed and she scooted sleepily over to the middle to give me room. Maya
awoke just enough to stroke her head a few times and I fell asleep again
with Anna's angular body snuggled up against mine, her head resting
lightly on my shoulder.
  Early the next morning, I struggled to wakefulness aware that I'd had
some very sensual dreams ... and then I discovered the reason for them.
Anna's nose was nuzzling my neck, she had flung one bare leg across me,
and her long, slender fingers were slowly stroking and petting my
semi-erect penis. I turned my head to try to focus on her face and she
whispered, "I love you, Graeme. You've been so wonderful to me and I want
to do something for you in return."
  I tried to protest but she put a finger to my lips. "I know I don't have
to. That's why I want to."
  Her hand continued to work its magic, stroking and squeezing until my
cock was rigid and quivering. Her little kitten tongue emerged and licked
the underside of my chin, giving me hot chills. She breathed into my ear:
"Touch me, Graeme. Touch me everywhere...." She wasn't in a position to
see my face so she was unaware of my drinking teeth sliding in and out of
their sheaths.
  I clamped down hard on my unwanted visceral reaction, not wanting to
frighten her. Instead, I accepted her explicit invitation and gave my
desires free rein -- and I began by hauling her tee-shirt off over her
head. She giggled at the hurry I was suddenly in and followed up by
stripping off her panties and then pushing my shorts down below my knees
so I could rid myself of them. I turned on my side and Anna molded herself
to me, front-to-front and lips-to-knees. She pushed her hot little tongue
into my mouth with an urgency that raised my body temperature another ten
degrees. My cock was twitching against her upper thigh and she recaptured
it with one hand and began rubbing the head against the moistness of her
pussy. Her other hand clutched the back of my neck possessively.
  Meanwhile, I was running my fingers over as much of her smooth, highly-
charged body as I could reach ... exploring her jutting shoulderblades and
the long, curving indentation of her spine, measuring the girth of her
small waist, cupping her muscular little ass in my trembling hand. It was
enough to cause sensory overload in a mere mortal. Her hair draped itself
over my ear and her eyelashes tickled my cheek each time she blinked.
  Glancing over her brown shoulder, I saw that our activity had awakened
Maya, who was quickly figuring out what was going on. My sweet companion
moved closer and kissed the back of Anna's neck and the girl jumped and
looked back. Maya smiled sleepily and said, "Good morning, pretty one."
  I felt Anna hesitate in confusion for a moment, but then Maya spread her
hands across both globes of that exciting little bottom and the girl
squirmed and moaned softly, accepting the attention as it was meant.
  I needed both hands free for this work, so I wrapped my arms around her
strong, young body and rolled onto my back with Anna stretched out on top
of me. Maya immediately moved closer and began scattering additional
kisses across the backs of her thighs and behind her knees. I hooked my
hands under her arms and easily drew her upward above me so I could get my
mouth on her delectable breasts. As I sucked on a rigidifying nipple, Anna
wound her restless fingers in my hair and moaned again; it required
considerable mental discipline not to sink my teeth into that dark, turgid
bud.
  Anna reached back between her legs, fumbling for my cock and mumbling in
a low voice thick with arousal, "Put it in, please put it in." I moved her
back within range and Maya unexpectedly assisted us by guiding my cock
into Anna's youthful cunt. The girl sat back on my organ, eyes shut tight
and knees outspread, trying to cram as much of me as possible into
herself.
  Though she was hardly a virgin, her passage nevertheless was snug and
narrow. The head of my cock pushed against her cervix and she shuddered
delicately and began moving herself slowly up and down. Maya had been
attracted to my testicles since our first night in bed together; now she
reached below Anna's thrusting ass and squeezed my balls. At the same
time, her other hand was busily rubbing and manipulating her own clit.
  The nerve-endings in my cock were sending joyous signals back to my
groin and throughout my body and I couldn't suppress a gasp of undiluted
pleasure. The dark pupils of my young lover's eyes expanded until she
resembled a bird of prey crouched over me. I got a grip on her hips and
picked up the pace, lifting her almost completely free of me and slamming
her back down -- but I was careful to keep my strength under control, even
while jarring the breath from her.
  Maya crept up beside me and began softly chewing my earlobe. "Want some
breakfast?" she asked throatily. And without waiting for a reply to her
excessively rhetorical question, she quickly rose onto her knees and
settled herself astride my face. I changed my grip from Anna's hips to
Maya's and drew her aromatic cunt down within reach of my tongue. She
squirmed and quivered even more than Anna had as I sucked at her juicy
labia and stirred my tongue around in her depths. And she jerked and
squeaked when I nipped at her erect clit with my incisors.
  Within a few moments, I was sucking and slurping with abandon, Anna was
crashing down on my cock like a pile-driver, and I became aware that the
women's hands were busily fondling each other's breasts. Perhaps because
she was the least experienced, Anna was the first to reach climax. I could
almost visualize the psychic tidal wave rising in her mind and I tapped
its thundering energy to propel myself into an explosive orgasm, filling
her cunt so full of semen that it began to leak out past that tight grip
and ooze down my crotch. Maya must have been tuned in to the same
wavelength because her knees clamped against my ears and a rush of moist
warmth flowed down from between her legs.
  I finally urged Maya off me before I either drowned or suffocated and
she toppled gracefully onto the bed, climbed immediately back to her
knees, and held out her arms to the girl. Anna stayed where she was,
skewered like a hare, while the two of them embraced and kissed
passionately.
  A little while later, Maya and I lay stretched out on top of the covers
while Anna was in the bathroom. "She's quite marvelous," Maya commented
thoughtfully. "I think I'm finally beginning to understand what love
is...."
  I nodded silently; I'd been having similar thoughts about both women.
Maya was of my own kind and Anna was not. Could my growing feelings for
the two of them really be the same?
  But Maya's train of thought seemed to be paralleling mine. "There's
going to be a problem, you know, Graeme: How long will she stay?"
  "As long as she cares to; you heard me say that and I meant it."
  "Yes, of course -- but how long will that be, do you think?"
  I considered. "Perhaps a year. Maybe two, but I doubt it. As soon as she
feels secure again on her own, she'll be gone. And I shall miss her."
  Maya stroked my arm. "I think you're wrong, Graeme. Even though neither
of us has tampered with her mind or her will, I believe she will decide to
stay with us indefinitely. Or she may not make a conscious decision at all
... but that will be the outcome."
  This conversation puzzled me. "You may be right, my dear; your
experience with adolescent female psychology is more recent than my own.
But wouldn't it please you if she did choose to stay? Think of the
traveling we--"
  She shook my arm impatiently. "Think about it, Graeme! In fifteen years,
assuming she didn't marry and move on in the meantime, that girl will be
nearly thirty years old -- and I will appear to be no older than she is!
People will mistake us for sisters! And then what will she think?"
  Damn. The blindness of old habits. How could that not have occurred to
me? "Well,... we'll just have to tell her what we are, then. Slowly and
carefully, of course, to allow her to get used to the idea."
  "From what I've discovered of Brazil in the past few months -- from what
you've taught me, Graeme -- her mental furniture is most likely a mix of
Catholic dogma and black and Indian superstition. Do you really think she
could deal with such a revelation? For that matter, you told me yourself
that you had *never* revealed your true nature to any of the short-lived.
You said it was a cautionary instinct among our people. Well,... *your*
ancestors, anyway, since we don't know yet how I came about...."
  I chewed on that for several minutes. Everything Maya said was more or
less true. I tried to picture myself sitting down with Anna and explaining
calmly that the two adults to whom she was closest were vampires. Either
she would believe me or she wouldn't, and neither possibility was very
palatable. I could easily plant an assertive suggestion in her mind,
urging her to leave her newfound home after, say, four or five years --
but to do so would not only break the promise I'd made to myself not to
tamper with this girl psychically, it would also leave her highly
vulnerable to further suggestions from any of my relations she might run
into. And I could think of no other options; the result of too many
centuries of being who I was.
  I sighed in frustration. "All right, my dear. You seem to have given
this matter some thought. Do you have a suggestion?"
  "I think I do -- but you're not going to like it. Graeme,... consider
what Anna is." She hesitated. "I don't say this lightly -- didn't I just
say I'm already in love with her? -- but *I* haven't forgotten that she's
*not* one of us. Have you?"
  "No, of course not."
  "Then why should we regard that sweet child as being essentially
different from any other human? They're 'cattle', aren't they? Your words,
Graeme. I think our only possible course is obvious."
  I turned my head sharply and stared at her, unable to believe for a
moment what she was saying. "You think we should *feed* on the poor girl,
Maya?! On someone who--"
  "Why 'poor girl'?" she interrupted. "You've felt passion and affection
before for human women who have been your companions for a time, haven't
you?"
  "Well, yes, of course, but--"
  "And you've fed on human children, too."
  "Yes,... occasionally. When it was necessary. But Anna--"
  "Anna's no different from all the others -- not really. Graeme: You and
I will still be here in two hundred years. Perhaps together, perhaps not,
but we'll be walking around and breathing. Where will Anna be?"
  Anna would be thin dust in some forgotten grave in two centuries and I
was foolish to forget that. And, in that light, would it be fair to Anna--
or us -- to allow her to stay indefinitely? Maya and I were essentially
unchangeable in appearance and personality. Anna was not. And that was
that.
  "Your point is taken, Maya." I sighed heavily and squeezed her shoulder
in reassurance. "I'm not sure just yet what we should do now, but I
promise you I'll think about it." And I climbed out of bed, feeling every
one of my many years.


  Our comfortable existence continued as it had,... with the exception of
much additional physical contact among the three of us. Anna enjoyed
having her own bed in her own room and she seldom went to sleep with us,
but Maya and I -- who never slept apart, now -- often awoke to find her
snuggled between us. She also occasionally joined me in the shower, or
Maya in the bath.
  Even when I desired her, though, I never initiated sex with Anna, not
wanting her to feel she was under pressure to please her benefactor. But
she seemed to have a sixth sense about that. When I daydreamed about her,
I would find her climbing into my lap or draping her arms around my neck
from behind. She had a way of regarding me coyly through half-lowered
lashes, the measuring look of a woman ten years older, that could
(literally) get a rise out of me almost anytime.
  Maya was not so reluctant. When the girl's languid form was arranged
bonelessly across the couch, Maya would sit beside her and casually begin
stroking and petting her, and within minutes they would embrace and kiss
and Anna would ardently return her caresses. I simply could not unbend
that far, not even in my own penthouse, and I wasn't sure why. Just
another difference between "young" Maya and I.


  I was relaxing in the study late one evening, reading Goethe, with my
feet stretched out on an ottoman, when Anna wandered in. She glanced
around and came over to lean her arms on the back of my easy chair. I was
aware of her peering closely over my shoulder, but the book was in German
and she sighed and began teasing the short hairs on the back of my neck.
So much for Goethe. I turned the book over on my lap, leaned back, and
closed my eyes. The girl's fingers shifted to the top of my head and then
to my temples, slowly and sensually mussing up my hair. I felt her
fingertips moving lightly over my lips and I kissed them, and she stroked
my cheek affectionately.
  Then there was a pause during which her hands disappeared and there was
the soft rustle of clothing; I kept my eyes closed and let my muscles
relax. Then the chair arm shifted as little Anna, naked and silent, lifted
herself over it and slid slowly into my lap, knocking Goethe
unceremoniously to the floor. Her soft, warm hand touched my lips again
and her breath warmed the base of my throat. I laid my cheek against the
part in her hair and hugged her close to me. She drew up her knees in
order to snuggle better.
  I opened my eyes to find her examining my face with a soft smile.
"You're both so good to me, so sweet, you and Maya," she said softly. "I
want to stay with you forever. Can you go to a judge and make it so I can
be *your* daughter? I don't think it would take very much money to get a
judge to do that, would it? Then I could really belong here."
  She looked so earnest. So hopeful. I thought again about what Maya had
said and wondered that she could have predicted this child's thoughts so
accurately. And I hugged her tighter.
  I let my hand wander up the outside of her brown thigh and over the
point of her hip. She sighed and spread her legs, taking my hand in hers
and urging it into her crotch. I moved my palm across her pubic arch,
dipping my thumb into the increasing moisture of her cunt as it slid past,
ending with the first joint of my middle finger encircled by the pulsing,
muscular rim of her rectum and my thumb buried deep within her. She caught
her breath jerkily and clutched my shirtfront in her small fist. And she
kept staring deep into my eyes as her pupils expanded.
  Before I could see her, I became aware that lovely Maya had slipped into
the study as well and was standing to one side, observing. Then she slowly
slipped out of her own clothing and glided around in front of me, kneeling
beside the ottoman. She cupped both hands around Anna's waist and the girl
jumped a little in startlement. Then Maya began leaving a trail of wet
kisses across her slender neck; Anna hunched her shoulders with pleasure
and let her own eyelids droop, though she continued to twitch each time I
moved my buried fingers.
  I was looking down at the child's profile from above, wondering how
anyone's eyelashes could be so long and thick,... so I never saw it
coming.
  When Anna stiffened in my arms, I thought she was reacting again to my
hand-play. Then I felt the numbness spreading through her mind. I
refocused abruptly and saw Maya's open mouth spread wide across the base
of Anna's throat, where the big artery throbbed.
  "Maya! No...," I moaned, even as I realized the futility of it.
  Maya raised her eyes and gave me a very steady and unblinking stare as
her drinking-teeth worked in deeper. The woman's mind already had
overpowered that of the girl. Anna's eyes remained half-closed. The only
movement she made was involuntary: the lengthening and hardening of her
small, dark nipples.
  I'm not an unfeeling man, and perhaps that was the problem. Maya had
taken the action I couldn't bring myself to perform. But I was also a
practical man. One must be practical to survive comfortably for so long.
And as I watched regretfully as Maya pumped the lifegiving blood from Anna
to herself, my own second incisors slid out from their hidden sheaths.


  My redhaired lady was compassionate; it was quite easy to maintain a
host for months, if necessary, by feeding only a little at a time and
leaving the corpus unconscious and immobilized, but alive, between visits.
But Maya was pumping blood from the girl rapidly, consuming far more than
she actually could metabolize quickly, so that Anna would not suffer a
lengthy quasi-existence before expiring.
  I glanced to one side and raised my head. Maya got the message and
quietly backed off to allow me to rise with Anna in my arms. I carried her
down the hall to her own bed and laid her out on it. Then I stripped off
my slacks and shirt and discarded my slippers while Maya waited patiently.
I bent over the insensate child, spreading her thighs and bending her
knees out of the way, and then lowering my mouth to her engorged pussy. My
needlelike teeth slid into the delicate flesh and I began to suck the
transported blood from her small body.
  Maya resumed her feeding then, still silent in deference to the homage I
was paying our little lover. We both took our fill and more, until a
pallor was visible even under that lovely, sandalwood skin. Her body was
small and it didn't take long.
  Afterward, the two of us retired to our own bed, where I lay, satiated,
while Maya sobbed quietly on my chest. She made no apologies, nor were
they necessary. I stroked her and comforted her in our loss, but I knew
what she had initiated was unavoidable -- as she had told me it would be.
  In the early hours of the morning, we both rose and dressed, and went
back to the bedroom that had been Maya's, and then Anna's, and now was
untenanted again. The girl seemed asleep, except for the stillness of her
lungs. I thought I could make out a slight smile on her lips, but it may
only have been her natural expression in repose.
  Maya had brought a blanket from the storage closet and now we spread it
on the bed and rolled Anna onto it. Maya looked to me and raised her
eyebrows; I looked away, giving her permission to continue with what was
necessary. She crouched over the small body, her second incisors
re-entering the same punctures. I imagined the reverse flow as the
decomposition-aiding enzyme flowed into the girl's vascular system.
  After a few minutes, Maya straightened again and carefully, gently,
folded the blanket over the body. Then she came into my arms and I held
her closely as we waited. Finally, we gathered up the now-smaller bundle
and left the apartment. I didn't often drive in the city, preferring cabs
and pedestrianism, but I kept a car in the building's locked garage, and
we went downstairs to it now and left.


  It wasn't far to the beach where I'd first met Anna, the beach from
which we had rescued her that night. As I parked off the road, I projected
a signal of raw, blinding terror toward the beach and for several hundred
yards in both directions through the bordering trees and undergrowth. As
we got out of the car, I dimly heard a few bodies crashing desperately
away. There was very little traffic and the two figures who sprinted out
onto the dark surface nearby were in no real danger as they fled across
the parkway and blundered into some shrubbery.
  Then I picked up the blanket and Maya and I walked down to the surf. She
was sensitive to my sadness -- I'm certain she shared it -- and she
stopped well back from the water's edge. I stepped out of my sandals and
waded out into the foamy, receding tide. When I was thigh-deep, I flipped
the blanket open and let it settle on the dark water's surface. A few
remaining scraps of flesh and bone floated away on the next outsurge and
the blanket itself settled gradually until the lower current pulled it
away from where I stood.
  This was where little Anna had been happiest before she met me, dancing
lightly in the waves, and this was where I had to return her few remains,
allowing the waves to win the game at last.
  I watched for some minutes longer, even after there was nothing more to
see. Then I turned and strode back to where Maya waited. I stood looking
down at her, unwilling to have to think, and she somberly reached up and
touched the corners of my eyes. They might have been tears,... but I doubt
it.


  I took a deep breath and slipped my arm around Maya's shoulders as we
began the trek back to the car. "My dear, what would you think of
returning to France in a few days?"  She smiled warmly up at me. "I have
quite a lovely, though small, villa in Monte Carlo...."


                                  END


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1994 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted elsewhere
for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-- 
Michael Suelmann			misuelma@freenet.hut.fi
					suelmann@forwiss.uni-passau.de