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Konoronhkwa. In the Mohawk dialect “konoronhkwa” means "I love you." I can think of I love you! in many other languages if I had that sort of time to engage in shades of phrases and fancy spellings bound by culture and separated ethnicity. In Sinhalese I love you! was Mama Oyata Aadarei and in Javanese I love you would have two sides: Kulo tresno marang panjenengan [formal, of course] and aku terno kowe [informal]. To my surprise, and I’m not often plagued with that emotion, many ways to love myself swarmed me like famished bees stuck to honey, dying from starvation as I slept the night away without the call of blood to lure me to the pit of hunting games scattered throughout every realm of the wild on earth, each with a different danger…

…In the tender month of November, as the leaves began to brown and fall, signaling the death of summer, I dreamed of something so poignant and vividly immaculate!

And then, suddenly, it turned into a nightmare!

In my dream, turned nightmare, I was making passionate love, in the clouds, in the Heavens, or a replica of it, because it wasn’t beautiful enough to be called Heaven, with a Being as powerful as I. He was a man, a vagabond directly opposite of what I stand for, and what I’ve built myself to be. He was tender, eager, and aggressive, building to a crescendo of acrobatics, flipping me over and digging deep for the minerals of the earth, stored in the pantry of my womanhood.

I wanted it rough!

Ђat’s just the way I like it!

I love it actually.

I was never the take-it-slow, tender type. Buying me flowers and chocolate candy were pet peeves of mine, and the last vampire, as rich and wealthy as he was, Don §harps, an industrialist, that brought me $200,000 worth or white orchids surrounding my Σstate, I grabbed him by the throat and slit it open without apology by his orchids, his blood splattering all over the beautiful white petals.

I ate his brain to entrap what he knew, to decode information and his history and enlighten myself with his intelligence and knowledge, and walked away with his $300 million dollar fortune, using his wife as a guise.

It was amazing how much restraint he had, to be married to a woman that didn’t know he was a vampire, and be married to her for twenty years was an amazing feat in itself.

I still didn’t know how he pulled it off, but he did. As thirsty as he remained, telling me he was always on the hunt, hunting with the speed of light, and killing mortals hiking in the woods the world over while his wife slept, you'd think that eventually he would have snapped his wife's neck.

When he wanted to hunt for hours (and get caught up in the thrill of the chase, feeding from the fear on a mortal’s face in the time of death) he laced her favorite brandy with sleeping pills, no ice, she loved it at room temperature, and a few drops of Visene, knocked her out every time.

I was a tomboy of vampires. I was tough as nails, but as feminine as a rich mortal woman with more money than her hands could handle. My lover, for the moment, for the sake of my dream, the nightmare it would become, filled me in ways I have never been filled before. He understood that foreplay started with sweet nothings whispered in my ears, and not just going for the jugular like a man without a promiscuous woman added on his resume.

Get me wet to gain access. Make me gyrate on my love seat from the fire in thy eyes, make my eyes misty from kissing in the air, and blowing them in the wind, letting my gushy opening catch them, one by one, don’t forget the clitoris.

My succulent body screams with delight before ye even toucheth me, talking about touching me makes me feel better than actually being touched. Trailing thy fingertips across my lips sends Goosebumps along my limbs, slender by sight, soft to the touch.

Ђe vagabond of my dream did all of those things, my nightmare in the making…Σven when I was a mortal, in love with a cold-hearted man that broke my heart and handed me flowers to compliment my tears, I hadn’t been made love to with this much passion, or this much sensuality, or this much provocativeness, or this much adoration.

Very verbal he was, telling me how he liked it, and what not to do. To my surprise, he demanded things of me, things that only a vampiric bitch can do, and no one does it better than I can. When he departs he’ll tell his other lovers about me, and they will hunt me down to suck his residue from softened blossoming lips as well, but I will turn them into neutered toads at the door if they don’t count out over one hundred thousand dollars cash and leave it lining the tile of my floors.

Whatever he asked for, I obliged. I told myself I would do anything to keep it buried six feet deep in the coffin of my cervix. And to feel this kind of burning passion from what mortals call a wet dream, if love making always felt this amazingly spectacular then I don’t ever want it to end!

I’ll happily become a promiscuous little whore, a hot and bothered vampire, love making instead of hunting for blood, and appeasing my unquenchable thirst. §earching for blood and thirsty for it through the shivers of orgasm, and how I felt before I came, and how I felt afterward when we lay, entangled, and spent.

I hope I can catch my breath when it’s all said and done.

His loving was drenched in experience, and I wanted to kill him, frame him and hang him above my bed, in the Bedroom of the Queen Mother. His amazing penis felt like a bed of roses on a window sill in the heart of Paris, the Σiffel Tower he reconstructed inside me. Please, pound me deeper!

Yes! Oh my God! Look into my eyes…Hell, say my name!

§ay it again!


Σverything was so soft, to an angel of color, the man I was making love to, the Being that makes my toes curl with the thought of pulling out, and then diving deep inside, deeper than anyone hath ever gone. His eyes were heavenly, powerful, prestigious, and immaculate; all of the above, and all of those things. For hours we loved each other, and talked as he moved through me, feeling so good goes the glow of the moon on my sweaty skin, my hair plastered to my face, staring into his eyes,

God, he’s so big! And I’m being stretched to all new heights!

Never pull out of me, I thought, as horny as a virgin imagining what a good piece of gushy flesh felt like against the swollen mushroom head of his desire. Σagerly, I bit into his neck, and he tasted the blood of mine. And it was all good, the way we tasted blood, and deciphered in our brains the difference it was from mortal blood, random mortals we’ve killed, assuming he thirsts in a way that I do. I can’t breathe without it.

To my dismay, just as I had an orgasm, my sixth one, a record, in record time (two hours, wow!) my body arched, my fleshy portal as sensitive as hair trigger grenades, and his gorgeous face, of porcelain, hard like marble to a mortal’s touch, hot like fire to my very own, changed, briefly, momentarily.

And the nightmare began.

Gone was the passion, and the sensitivity he shewed. Gone was the masculine way he moved though me and redirected the pulse of my clit into a pounding heart beat that sent my breathing into a frenzy, as fear crawled my spine like termites.

Like a flash of light, into a demon with white stars across its forehead his handsome face became, and I screamed, covering my mouth with wide eyes!

One side of his face was adorned with red stripes, like that of the American flag, and the other side of his face of blue, an infinite blue, close to royal blue, and his demonic expression contradicted the angel of his eyes, and his fangs shattered vampiric myth, fire in his eyes with burning buildings broke me out in hives.

People screaming for the mercy of God, and Jerusalem, on fire in his eyes! I can feel the heat as I became flames, and I grabbed my belly and forced myself to go numb!

I must be dreaming.

I must be dreaming!

And then I was snatched through the retina of his right eye, guided by his obedient pupil, avid little eunuch, and dropped into a burning building in Jerusalem, the place Christ was born, and every president of every country took turns urinating on me, and throwing stones, the thunderous sound the rocks made when they flew into my limbs, and my bones, deafened me, and I screamed again, my skin bursting into flames as an army of men with slanted eyes dropped nukes from the air, bombers, all over America.

And, abruptly, I woke up.

§weating, wildly looking around my room, the moonlight glowing on my skin. I calmed myself, laughing.

Yes, mortal, the one reading this page, how art ye?

It was just a wet dream, turned nightmare…

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