The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Pauline's Trip To England - Part Two
16:27 Apr 25 2011
Times Read: 890

Courtesy of a lotto win, Pauline takes a trip of a lifetime, to visit an English friend.



Is all as it seems, or is there something more to their story… time will tell?



*



...as she sat, Nicholas thought to ask, "Would you like to use the bathroom, while I make us a cup of tea?"



Part 2





"Thanks," Pauline said smiling at Nicholas as she then made her way to the bathroom, as he pointed out to her. She looked at herself in the mirror once again... she looked tired.



"I'll feel better tomorrow, after some rest," she needed this break, that much was obvious; after all, there's been so much to cope with these last few months.



Flushing the toilet and straightening her skirt, Pauline made her way back to the lounge, where she sat on the sofa, 'settee?' he'd called it.



She took off her jacket and sat down.



And, crossing her legs she looked up as Nicholas re-entered the room, carrying a small jug of milk. He had already laid out the dark-wood table with the cups and the teapot.



Beneath the table was a tan and white toy dog, almost life-sized and quite lifelike, sitting on a circular poof, covered in a rich-looking red material, a cord of a matching color going round its middle, with s swirl at the front.



"And for how long are you planning to stay?" he asked her, while pouring milk in her cup, then having assured himself the tea had brewed, he poured into their cups.

.

"Well, that's what I wanted to tell you, there's an NGO that I contacted before coming here: and maybe they will interview me this week, if everything goes well, I will work for them. Of course I will have time to go back to Chile and resign to my position at the Embassy... you know... I like to do things correctly..." she said sipping her tea.



Confusion showed on his face and, he asked what was to him, a natural question: "What's NGO mean?"



"Non-governmental Organization," she explained to him patiently.



"Oh," his brow was furrowed, which amused Pauline, "never was no good with acronyms."



"That's a double-negative," Pauline informed him, a light grin playing at the corners of her mouth.



"What is?" He queried.



"Never was no good..." she told him, resting her left hand on his left knee, as she sipped at her tea.



"Erm, is it?" He asked stammering, very aware of his hand and, what he'd intended to say after their tea.



And, her hand on his knee made it seem all the harder; and 'it' was getting harder.



Pauline lowered her gaze a little, to look at her hand on his knee, and then she lifted it, to look to his face, as she fluttered her lashes.



'He's blushing and, looks o-so-cute!' She thought, idly wondering whether his interest in her could be as more than 'just an internet friend.'



'This isn't the time, this isn't the time...' Nicholas told himself, again and, again.



"No it's not. It's not considered good English, grammatically speaking, that is."



Nicholas looked into her beautiful eyes; 'She'd said she was tired,' he mused, 'but boy, does she sparkle.' He was enamored and, nervous and tongue-tied, all of a moment.



'And now was the time?' he wondered.



"Do you want to see where you'll be sleeping? Your bags are waiting for you there..." there it was, he'd said it and, had not used the word 'bed'. That had been important.



"Yes, I'd like that," she told him, smiling gently.



Nicholas stood, allowing her hand to fall from his knee slowly and, sliding gown his leg as he reached out with his right hand, "Your cup?"



He took the cup and saucer from her, placed them on the tray then turned back with a smile, as he offered her his hand, "Milady?"



Pauline uncrossed her legs, watching his eyes follow her action, as she took his hand then stood, allowing him to lead the way, as he took her through to the back hall.



There's just three bedrooms and the bathroom, you've seen, obviously..." he explained: "My rooms the double," he told her, opening the door of the room opposite the bathroom, showing her a light airy room, dominated by its bed, with lockers and headboard all built-in-one. "The box-room is my old room and the room at the back's the spare room, and, as I'm told, the bed is quite comfortable..."



'Damn!' He thought, 'I said bed, I didn't want to say bed.'



"So, show me this comfortable bed," Pauline encouraged teasingly.



Again he blushed, much to her amusement.



"This way then," Nicholas told her, taking her hand once more and, leading her through to the backroom, where an old crt monitor and tower greeted them, as he opened the door. It was seated on an old office table, the mouse sitting on a small pad of wood attached to the table, with an external harddrive and external diskdrive sitting on a dark-wood foldaway table.



"Aye, I forgot to tell you, this is where I have my main computer," he explained.



"Well you like your comfort," Pauline observed, noting the armchair before the machine, an old fifties style piece of utilitarian furniture, on which he'd placed a large cushion, the sort that would have gone on a sun-lounger.



"Yes, guess I do," he thought idly, looking at her curves, barely restrained by the A-line skirt she wore.



Pauline looked at the small rabbits in a circle on a coaster, next to the spider plant and, the crystal pyramid and then she lowered her gaze to the light colored wooden locker, with a series of draws and, lifted her gaze to the many shelves, all filled with object d'art of some sort of another, including several teddies, some small throwaway ceramic and some well-made toys in some sort of outfit. The books and there were a few, next to some papers and letter, sat over the bed-head.



'And yes,' she thought, sitting down on the single bed, that felt so-soft beneath her derriere, 'the bed was indeed comfortable.'

The Crystal Hand and The X-Box... Chapter Five [[The Conclusion]]
00:00 Apr 22 2011
Times Read: 934

Ronnie Donovan would not have recognized her son in the game, not since he was running fast, into the relative safety provided by an abandoned warehouse.



She picked up the phone, after an hour or so and, then began to ring round his friends, before finally ringing the police, to tell them of his disappearance.







Chapter Five





Robbie waited to hear news of her son for weeks and months, then finally a year, before deciding to finally do something about her son’s room.



She tidied his clothes away, putting them into black bags.



Then she put his toys in several boxes; looking at them and, recalling with twin tracks of tears pouring down her cheeks, the look of joy as he had played with every one, Robbie finally came to his X-Box, still plugged into the television.



She had to do something about of all of this, she thought to herself, carefully folding his favourite tee-shirt, the one that had been in the wash, the day that … he had disappeared.



That was the moment she got out the poster paints, some white hardboard and a stake, that she used to make a sign, advertising the front yard sale, of her sons toys.



Many hours later, Ronnie sat back into the easi-chair, her feet up, a Tramadol for her head and, a whiskey glass in her hand. The glass was empty, and finally fell from her limp fingers and woke her when it fell.



“Time for bed,” the grieving woman muttered, as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a distinct trail of mascara.



“I’ll remove that tomorrow,” she told herself, as she looked at the smear; idly thinking how stupid she must be, to be talking to herself like this, just so the house didn’t sound so empty; she missed the noise he had made, that had filled it so.



‘Perhaps I’ll put the radio on?” Ronnie considered, her left hand on the banister, as she made her way upstairs, on unsteady feet.



Yet, Ronnie hadn’t needed the radio to provide distraction, from the empty house, as the third of the four whiskeys’ she had drunk had done its job. She was soon asleep.



It was while Ronnie slept that things happened.



And, everything that occurred, had all to do with the yard-sale the next morning, when little Albert had paused at the front garden as he passed the Donovan’s house on his bike, his mouth open.



He had let the bike drop to the floor and run across the lawn, to where Mrs Donovan had been put up a sign, advertising a yard sale.



“Mrs Donovan, whattcha doin?” He’d asked, looking at the three boxes, thinking with a jealousy he hated of himself, ‘I never knew that Jimmy had so much stuff.’



Taking a sip from an expensive looking glass, Mrs Donovan had looked at her son’s friend, his best friend, as much as she was aware.



It was he who the police had quizzed for hours other than her, of course and, now he was here



“Yes Albert,” she had slurred, with a hiccup and, as near to a smile that she could manage; “what can I do for you?”



“You’re getting rid of Jimmy’s things…” he stated unnecessarily, a touch of anger to his voice.



“Yes I am,” she told the boy. “James isn’t coming back, so they’re just a reminder of him, every second… of every minute, of every day…”



She had finished her drink all-in-one, then looked through the base of the glass to the young teen, with tears of his own filling his eyes. He understood, a little.



“Look,” she had said to little Albert, “you knew my boy well, why don’t you take something from the boxes, any one thing that you want, to remind you of James…”



“Would that be alright Missus Donovan?” The lad had asked, the tears running freely, a degree of expectation filling his gut, annoying him with its presence.



“Of course,” Ronnie had told him, ruffling his thick brown hair, “you take any one thing you want. Now I have to go indoors, to get my head down awhile…”



And with that, Ronnie had gone indoors; as Albert had begun to rummage, before others buyers arrived, to look themselves.



He had been looking for just a few minutes when he had seen what he had wanted, Jimmy Dee’s X-Box 360



And, less than two hours later, with his parent watching CSI Albert wired up the box, to check out Jimmy’s level and, see if he’d come anywhere near to beating him, yet. He doubted it, ‘But you never know…’ he mused, powering up the machine, his remote at his side.



On boot-up he learnt that there was still a disc in the machine. ‘Black Ops, of course,’ he thought with a smile.



The menu flashed up and Albert quickly realised that Jimmy Dee had got every level completed, just as he had said. And, he opened up the zombie level.



He pressed start, his fingers poised over the remotes keys, ready to play.



Suddenly the screen opened up to the rubble amidst which there had been a recent fire-fight and, the remains of several bodies littering the foreground.



Albert’s eyes opened wide as a hand appeared at the screen and, a face that he knew well, his friend Jimmy Dee.



The hand eased through the screen, materializing in his bedroom and solidified. And mouth open, Albert saw his friend crawl from his television then crumple to the floor, his tattered dusty black trench-coat spreading around him.



“James?” He gasped.



James Donovan looked to his friend, bafflement on his face betraying how he felt.



“Where… where am I?” He asked, his voice rasping the question.



“My bedroom?” his friend replied, as Jimmy Dee sat upright, running his hands through his hair, causing dust to fly around him.



“I lost my hat…” he muttered quietly.



Little Albert leaned forward and poked his friend on the right arm, just to make sure he was real, “An your rent sold your toys off!”



Wide-eyed, James looked at his friend, panicking, “Did she everything Albert?”



“Just your toys I think,” Albert assured him and, to this news Jimmy Dee didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.



Yet at that moment, the Crystal Hand now sat on the bookshelf of Angelina Curtis, next to a battered copy of The Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy, its power still waiting, waiting to be tapped into once again.

The Crystal Hand and the X-Box... Chapter Four
00:35 Apr 19 2011
Times Read: 954

Jimmy Dee’s heart would have grown cold, if he’d been able to hear the old man’s cackling laugh inside the shop, as he ran down the Hight Steet. His heart would have grown colder still, if he’d been able to hear the cackling laughter change, to something else, something far more sinister.







Chapter Four





James was home within minutes of leaving the shop that quickly became a memory, for the young teen, whose stomach told him that it needed to be fed. So, he stripped off his clothing quickly, donning his white terry-towel robe, on his Mother’s suggestion.



“I’ll get those wet things of yours on the maiden, his Mother told him, as he sat at the table and ate his fish fingers, peas and mash; that is, until he recalled the Crystal Hand, inside his coat pocket.



“Mum!” He bellowed, standing up quickly and running toward the utility room.



In her forties and still slim, with brown hair, the brown eyed woman was indifferent to the work her son created. He was her boy, he could do nothing wrong. Yet, that maxim didn’t always ring true, not when for example, when he left wet clothes, in a ball on the floor of the small utility room. She had after all, brought him up better than that, Ronnie Donovan thought, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.



“I’m sorry Mum,” James said quickly, swallowing the last of the fish fingers he’d stuffed into his mouth; “Let me get those, for you…”



And, he picked up his clothes, particularly the coat and one by one and, folded his wet clothes over the maiden, to dry.



“Why thank you James,” his Mother told him, as he made to do the same with his coat.



“I’ll leave you to it then, my programmes about to start…” she told him, leaving the small room.



Once she was gone, James searched his coat, for the evidence of the memory, which had come back, to the forefront of his brain.



The shop? The…? And there it was, the crystal, sitting in the piece of loosely folded red velvet, that the old man had tied with a black cord, of some sort of weave.



Removing the red velvet, James found himself drawn into the crystal once more, as he held the Crystal Hand, staring at it’s palm, that seemed to have held something else at one time. ‘But how could it?’ he mused, ‘it’s crystal, all-one…”



And, James went upstairs, where he placed the Crystal Hand on his bookshelf, next to his battered copy of The Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy, one of several of his favourite books on that shelf.



Then having turned on the teevee, he sat cross-legged, controller in his hand, as he put the Black Ops disc into the X-Box…



James had opened up the special level and, was determined to play, without being online, or with Albert: there were zombies to kill.



He had failed to notice a shimmer appear within the centre of the Crystal Hand, as power reached out from it, as the screen flashed on; and within seconds of play, Jimmy Dee had made his first kill, as a zombies brain scattered across the screen and blood fountained out with the next two shots. By the time Jimmy made his twentieth kill, he was well into ‘the zone’.



‘There are no tactics to speak of,’ he considered with wry amusement, as he ran forward, diving for cover amidst the rubble and bricks; and James looked up, to find himself looking into the eyes of a zombie, shuffling toward him, arms outstretching and groaning.



James Donovan looked around himself and the wanted to cry out, “Where is my bedroom?” Instead, he lifted his rifle and fired, a head-shot or course.



And as time passed, after checking the house was all locked up and she had prepared the washing for the next morning, Mrs Donovan decided to head off to bed.



Outside her son’s room, she saw from the gap beneath the door, the shimmer of light that told her the screen was on, suggesting her son was still playing with his X-Box, which annoyed her, ‘he has school tomorrow’, she had told him earlier.



She knocked quietly, before entering, surprised to find that he was not there. And, there were zombies onscreen, being shot at, by a lad in a trench-coat.



Ronnie Donovan would not have recognized her son in the game, not since he was running fast, into the relative safety provided by an abandoned warehouse.



She picked up the phone, after an hour or so and, then began to ring round his friends, before finally ringing the police, to tell them of his disappearance.

The Crystal Hand and the X-Box... Chapter Three
12:06 Apr 17 2011
Times Read: 961

...as something sparkling caught his eyes in the shop window, he moved quickly, to find the door to the shop open.



“Come in, come in…” a voice called from the far back of the shop.







Chapter Three





James hesitated in the doorway, just a moment, looking out into the mist and rain, as from behind him, the voice called again, “Come in.”



The voice was old, James thought, as he entered the shadow-strewn shop, filled with shelves, all full of stuff, all kinds of different shiny unusual stuff, that just didn’t seem to belong, somehow, ‘just like the shop’, he mused, ‘that just doesn’t seem to…’



And then, before he could finish the thought, he had come to the counter at the far end of the long shop, behind which stood, or rather crouched, the owner of the voice he had heard moments earlier.



“Er, hello,” he stuttered, somewhat thrown by the appearance of the shopkeeper, who leant forward over an old, battered, paper strewn counter.



The fellow was bony, bent stooped and almost bald, with piercing blue-eyes and a hawk-like nose. He wore a granddad shirt and, a waistcoat, from which a fob watch hung and, perched on his nose were a pair of small pince nez glasses.



“Hello there young man,” the fellow said, coughing into a large off-white hanky he drew from his grey baggy corduroy trousers: “You know, you’re the ten thousandth customer, to walk through that door….?”



“But I’m not…” James began, to be cut off, before he got any further.



“And, that means that if you want, you can take any one item, from this here Emporium of Different,” he intoned, in fashion that intimated to James Donovan, that he had said it before.



But, looking around, at the weird and the wonderful, that hung from the ceiling, or sat on a shelf, he became quite bug-eyed, at the prospect of walking from the shop, with one of these treasures.



And, suddenly, he thought of that which he’d seen in the window, just before entering the shop.



“What about the Crystal Hand, in the window?” He enquired of the fellow.



“Ah, the Crystal Hand?” The old man pondered, scratching his baldpate.



“Is there nothing else of interest to you my good young man?”



“HA!” James scoffed, “thought you were winding me up, with all that talk…”



“No, no young man… it’s nothing like that… An, let no-one say that I.M. Scratch was not someone to keep their word…” And, as he spoke, Mister Scratch walked from behind the counter and, toward the still soaked, but fascinated James.



He walked to the window and, opening up a small piece of wood at the side, he gained access to the window display. He reached in and removed the small piece, then turned to James; “There,” he said, as he passed the Crystal Hand to the lad, whose gaze felt drawn, to the centre of the stone.



“Now, can I have a name and address, for my records,” the old man enquired, his voice drawing James from the colours, dancing deep inside the crystal.



He turned toward the voice and, the old man, behind the counter, a quill pen in his hand, poised over an A5 white card a small ink pot to his right, next to a small draw, full of similar cards, each with carefully written script written on, in red.



“James Donovan,” the teen told him, then gave his address, which the fellow carefully wrote out.



“Ah, not far from here…” he murmured.



“I’m near my home?” James queried, realizing that’s where he should be.



“Oh yes young man,” the old man began, his mouth giving a wide mirthless smile, “your homes not far, from here…”



“Aw ta Mister,” James gushed, “well thanks for the Crystal Hand. But, I gotta go…”



“I know you have to go,” muttered the old man, as the door closed behind the young teen, “but, I’m sure our paths will cross again…”



And, Jimmy Dee’s heart would have grown cold, if he’d been able to hear the old man’s cackling laugh inside the shop, as he ran down the Hight Steet. His heart would have grown colder still, if he’d been able to hear the cackling laughter change, to something else, something far more sinister.

The Crystal Hand and The X-Box .. Chapter Two
12:14 Apr 16 2011
Times Read: 989

The rain had soaked his sneakers and, what was worse, darkness seemed to have closed in, all-of-a-sudden.



Then, just ahead, the yellow lamplight went out.



James Donovan looked around, his heart quickening; he had to take shelter quickly.





Chapter Two.





James looked wildly about himself, staring into a mist that seemed to curl round him with sweeping tendrils, as the rain got harder still and, his sodden trench-coat clung to his body.



Panicking, he looked for something, anything that could provide escape from that which seemed to be threatening him, as none of this seemed natural.



Suddenly from just ahead of him a glimmer of light appeared, so he walked slowly and very cautiously in its direction.





The light got brighter as he neared it and seemed to emanate from his right and as he learned, it came from an alleyway, to his right.





James felt for the wall, to assure that there was something solid in the mist and heavy falling rain, something he could cling onto, as he moved forward.



And, he continued to move forward, step by step, until his right hand came to the end of the wall and, the mouth of an alley.



He stared into the short alleyway, as the mist seemed to lessen a little, as he entered it, his right hand still brushing against the wall.



Then slowly, the mist dissipated, as the light from the shop window ahead of him caught his attention. It was a shop he’d not recalled being in an alleyway of the High Street and yes, here it was.



He crossed the alleyway and stepped toward the light from window, then stood there staring in, wiping rainwater away from his eyes.



Though the mist seemed lessening greatly, here amongst the light, the rain was harder now and, almost painful, as it fell upon James skin.



He looked to his right and saw a doorway, inset a small recess, a porch where he could find shelter, just a few feet away.



And, as something sparkling caught his eyes in the shop window, he moved quickly, to find the door to the shop open.



“Come in, come in…” a voice called from the far back of the shop.

The Crystal Hand and the X-box 360
16:40 Apr 15 2011
Times Read: 1,011




Chapter One







James Donovan, aged fourteen, liked to be called Jimmy Dee, by his family and few friends; it was one of those few friends home he had left, knowing his Mum would soon have tea on the table.





It was one of the few friends he’d just left, hands pushed deep into the side pockets of his too-big black trench-coat, a dark trilby pushed down firmly, over his slicked back black, shoulder-length hair.





His friend was little Albert, who wasn’t, but was as good at games as young Jimmy, who had buzzed off winning ten games straight with him, of all people. ‘And, what was better,’ he thought, ‘little Albert has that new model and spends hours on the machine, many more hours than me.’



As Jimmy walked the town street, idly looking into the closed shop windows, some now boarded up, a mist slowly grew round his feet and, a fine rain began to fall, the sorta rain that soaks your sneakers quickly. And, it had soaked his sneakers and, what was worse, darkness seemed to have closed in, all-of-a-sudden.



Then, just ahead, the yellow lamplight went out.



James Donovan looked around, his heart quickening; he had to take shelter quickly.





tbc.

Pauline’s Trip To England
12:57 Apr 15 2011
Times Read: 1,016






Part One





The plane landed and she got off, following the rest of the people, trying to connect her Iphone, knowing he should be waiting for her, as had said he would.



When she could get a signal she dialled the number he’d given her and waited. On the third ring a males deep voice answered. He was waiting for her, as agreed.



It was her first trip to England and although she was looking forward to their meeting, she was nervous.



Never had she been outside her country and, nor did she think she would. Granted, compared to many, her salary as a translator at the American Embassy was good, but even so. Here she was, thanks to a few numbers, coming up in sequence, just for her.



She eased her way through the crowded airport, to the cafeteria he had named and, she smiled when she saw him, dressed in a wonderful suit, white shirt and yellow tie and, she looked him up and down, liking what she saw.



For a moment she thought about her own outfit, her skirt a bit to tight in the hips, and the jacket didn’t cover her much at the back; her trench coat hanging on her arm with her purse. Maybe the blouse was also tight on her breasts she mused, but it was too late to do anything about it, he was right there, in front of her…



She smiled, her sensible shoes in her suitcase and, the black high-heels arching her calf’s as she walked toward him. The pain was worth the effect, she had thought earlier, as she had changed into them, once more.



“So good to see you, at last” she said with a broad smile, as she wrapped her artms around his neck.



They stood for a long moment, his right cheek against hers as she stood on tip-toes, as his mouth found her ear.



“It’s good to see you Nicholas,” he told her in sibilant tones.



Pauline did so like his voice, it was measured, cultured and pleasant to her ear.



She kissed his cheek, leaving a lip-stick imprint.



“’Really is good to see you…” he whispered.



“And you…” Pauline told him, as they parted a little and she found her feet, still holding hands with him.



Briefly he grinned.



“And, all the better, I can now hand back the mobile phone to my mate…”



Pauline looked at Nicholas blankly.



“I try not to use them. I try to avoid the damn things… like the plague,” he told her emphatically.



“But, you’re using one now?” she asked, one eyebrow arched and, yet another larg group of people surged passed where they stood.



“It’s so I could be here, for you,” Nicholas told her, amused to watch Pauline blush profusely. He decided to change the subject, quickly.



“Looks busy,” he told her blithely.



“Airports usually are,” she responded, with a grin.



“So are those your bags” Nicholas asked, ignoring the retort and, indicating the two small suitcases by her feet with a brief nod of his head, as he still held her hands.



“Uh-huh, yes.”



“And, that’s all you have?” He quizzed.



“Well, it is my break,” she informed him, “And I think that if I really need something else I can purchase it. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to go clothes shopping…”



He blanched at the idea of traipsing round a myriad of shops in town, yet smiled as sweetly as possible, before telling her, “Sounds fun.”



“I have a car outside, so we can get to mine, so you can unwind a little after your flight, before we doing anything else…”



“A car…”



“A limousine,” he added, “Remember, I told you I don’t drive?”



Again, the arched eyebrow: “So how do you manage?”



Nicholas smiled, “I walk a lot and use public transport.”



“Really?” Pauline asked him, bemusement on her face and in her voice.



He looked round, momentarily anxious, ‘where was the exit?’



“We have to be going y’know?” He told Pauline, drawing his left hand from hers and, picking up her bags in one hand: “The limo costs and, I want to relax on the ride and not worry bout the cost, too much.”



Then, as they walked toward the terminals main exit, Pauline turned to him and asked what seemed to her an obvious question, “If it costs so much, then why hire a limo?”



“How many miles have you travelled to see me?” Nicholas asked in turn.



“A few,” she admitted, with a smile.



“Well then, he told her, as electronic doors opened for them, with a distinct swish: “Why should the last few miles be anything more han what they will be, memorable?”



They stepped across the pavement, with Nicholas carrying her bags, through the crowds there and, toward the waiting limousine.



A large man, with a bald head and a very smart maroon uniform, opened the rear door nearest the kerbside and Pauline entered, entering with in such a fashion that Nicholas saw that her stocking-top, suspender and a flash of flesh.



She noticed where he was staring, yet did finish drawing her legs into the car, before moving to the left side of the seat, providing access, for him.



“I like stockings,” Nicholas said to her, with a smile.



“Do you find the clasp bites?” She said to him with a wry smile, as the driver turned round to look at Nicholas.



“The bags are in the boot, are you ready Sir?” The driver ‘Big Leon’ asked, with his gravely tones, as Nicholas sought smart answer.



“Aye Leon, please!” He felt flustered twice over; he had been caught out watching her brief display and, then that he couldn’t find a suitable response to her question.



Leon started up the engine of the big car as Nicholas and Pauline sat back, his left hand finding her right and looking at her, with his eyes downcast



He looked at her hand holding his and at her knee, interested to note that the skirt had drawn up somewhat.



Nicholas lifted his eyes for his gaze to meet Pauline’s, “It’s about a good half hour to mine and, I hope you like the view on the way, I will.” There, he thought, feeling pleased, that he had made a remark, suitable to the moment.



Pauline blushed, squeezing his hand a little, quietly pleased to have the attention.



Leaving Liverpool John Lennon Airport, the big black limousine swept majestically through the road that took it round the city centre, then toward the Birkenhead tunnel.



Once through to the other side, Leon took the main road toward Chester, then took the bypass, leading back onto the New Chester Road. A few miles down the road Leo went through two sets of traffic lights, where he took a right turn onto Allport Road and, the avenue of trees, with the two block of shops, then the station on the right, leading down to the road on which Nicholas lived; in a small bungalow with a small well kept lawn with borders and a rose bush at the front; a drive-way, a green wrought-iron gate and a green glass-frosted panel front door, with a number ten on the top spar.



Leon parked the car and they left the backseat, with Nicholas looking over his shoulder as he did so, just the enjoy the leg-show.



Then, with Leon paid and, a handsome top shoved in his top pocket, the big man drove away, as Nicholas opened the front door.

Nicholas ignored the half drawn sliding door to the kitchen and, turned left, into the lounge, to set Pauline’s bags down, by the sofa.



Pauline still stood by the door, looking at the welsh dresser of dark wood, crossed halberd’s behind it, with a large wood model of the Victory on the top to the left and a small wooden chest on the right of it, of a slightly darker coloured wood.



And then, she turned her head and gazed round the front room, bug-eyed, convinced she had stepped back four hundred years, or so.



“You like the room?” He asked, gesturing around with his arm. She nodded.



The were crossed swords over the hearth, built of Yorkshire stone, with a thick mantle, built from an old railway sleep, cut and polished to fit, with pillars od more stone holding it up, over the gas fire, which looked out of place, in a room with beams, on which an arrow was pinned.



“The arrow heads real,” he explained, “thousand years old, with a shaft that we had put together…” He went onto to explain that the beams weren’t real, but had been sold at a knock-down price, so had to be bought.



Nicholas took great delight in showing thr room off, taking pleasure in illustrating panelling that had been tooled to match another piece here, whilst over there, a unit held the TV, beneath a door that lfted up and swung inward.



Then, as she sat, Nicholas thought to ask, “Would you like to use thee bathroom, while I make us a cup of tea?”

Come April
15:35 Apr 01 2011
Times Read: 1,048

*Intended for Mature readers









April is my lover. There I wrote down and, it looks real. But, from date three, our relationship was anything but ‘real’, as most would use the term.



It was sunny when I’d woken, so I’d texted April, suggesting we meet for brunch at O’Malley’s, the Café just off the dock road. You get a good mug of frothy coffee and a bacon batch therefore under two squid, an on my budget, I figured I could just about afford to buy for us both, at that price. So, at eleven-thirty I was sittin at one of the two tables outside the joint when April strode towards me.



The weather was Autumnal and pleasant and, April had a fawn trench-coat affair on, that reached to mid calf. She was wearing white zip-up boots and her long dyed black, hair piled up into a kinda bee-hive.



Now, like me, she’s gaunt. And yes, she might say ‘slim’, but being honest to my own reflected self, I figure I owed her the same honesty, if the need came.



She sat next to me and, though as radiant as her smile was, April did look tired. I’d told her as such, to which she’d grinned and said, “Cheers.”



“Long Night?” I’d enquired minutes later, when I’d returned with the coffees and bacon butties. And yes, I’d tucked into mine goodstyle. April though, had just picked at hers, with something akin to reproach in her eyes.



“Yeah, kinda…” she had muttered.



“You wanna tell me ‘bout it?” I’d asked, startin to feel concerned.



“Aw sweet…” she opined with a grin. Then, lightly touching the back of my right wrist with gentle fingertips, April had said to me, “Well, there’s something I have to tell you…”



Now, it’d only been our third date and, that’s if you include the joint in the woods. So, at that point I was freaking, goodstyle: ‘Just what did she have to tell me?’



“Let me guess,” I’d begun slowly, hands clasped together, “I’ve met someone else? It’s not you, it’s not you, its me…” I’d paused a moment seeking the third, used almost as much as the first two. Finally I recalled it, “I know, I like you as a friend, but…”



“Oh no,” she assured me, her hand on my wrist once more, “it’s nothing like any of that. But, I’m sure you’ll think twice about us, when you hear the rest…”



“But, you just said ‘us’. So, there is an ‘us’?”



“Oh my dear, of course there’s an ‘us’, unless you change your mind…” And at that moment she’d briefly squeezed my wrist.



My mind had gone blank, at that point: I felt ever-so anxious.

And absently, I’d sat back and finished my butty. The bacon was good.



“Aren’t you going to finish yours?” I had asked, having swallowed the last bite.

Finish? She’d hardly started it.



“Sore throat…” she’d confessed, “I can’t manage it. She had looked momentarily guilty, then smiled and pushed her plate toward me, “But, don’t let me stop you.”



Swallowing the last bite, I’d drained my mug of the froth from my coffee, then looked at her and smiled: “My folks are out. Shall we go back there and finish talking?”



Hands on the table, she’d stood: “Okay, I’ll go with that,” she’d said with a grin, “There are things I want to talk about…”



That’d sounded ominous and, on the walk back to my home, I’d found myself looking toward April, quite a few times.



On a couple of those occasions I found her turning her head to the front quickly, almost as though she’d been doing the same as me.



Her anxiety of this supposed terrible confession had been getting to me. It’d been contagious and, never mind how she felt about saying it, whatever it was, I felt reticent to hear it, fearing it would not be good news.



The silence on the walk back to mine wasn’t too uncomfortable. But, it was palpable.



Then, five minutes from mine, it was April who had taken my hand and, then said to me, as if to assuage my nerves, I guess: “It’ll be alright.”



She’s squeezed my hand, then added, “However it goes…”



Truth be told, I hadn’t found that very reassuring, at all.



“Yeah, we’ll see…” I’d idly responded, as we turned into my road, unaware of a better way to answer.



And, for some reason, at that moment April stopped, grabbed my coats lapels and turned me to face her.



Leaning forward and standing on her tiptoes April wrapped her arms round my neck and kissed me squarely on the lips.



And, I’d still felt her in my arms, her lips pressed to mine, as she slid from our embrace and stood there before me, a daft grin on her face.



“I liked that,” April pronounced.



“Good to hear…” I’d muttered, leading on, to where I lived and, the half bottle of a fine Merlot I had sitting in the fridge.



I’d opened the front door and quickly made my way across the small hallway to the alarms keypad: “won’t be a ‘sec…” I’d called back, hastily inputting the access code.



Gawd do I hate it, when you get it wrong and set the damn thing off!



But, I’d got it right and beckoned for April to enter the house and I’d led her through to the front room.



“Make yourself comfortable,” I suggested, “I won’t be a sec.”



April had smiled and sat on the sofa, undoing the buttons on her coat.



And, when I’d returned several minutes later, April had been sitting there on the sofa, sunlight streaming through the window upon her, her coat open, to reveal the baggy shirt, worn over a grey tee-shirt and the thigh tight A-line skirt she’d chosen to wear, both in black.



‘She’s damn attractive,’ I’d thought as I entered the room, ‘but boy-does she dress to cover herself…’



I’d set the glasses down on the dining-room table, around which four chairs stood, on coasters of course.



Then as I had poured the wine I asked, “So this thing that’s going to put me off you, what is it?”



She’d blushed and looked down to her hands, clasped together in her lap.



“I don’t want you to hate me…” April had muttered, tears welling.



That’s when I’d sat next to her, sliding my right arm behind her back, to grasp April’s right shoulder.



I’d drawn her closer in toward me, till her head rested on the inside of my shoulder, just above my chest.



And, as I brushed a fallen strand of hair back into place, I murmured; “I… like you… whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”



April had sat up at that, wiped at her eyes and sniffed, then reached into the coats inside pocket and hand my a dvd disc, inside a plastic sleeve.



She had handed me the disc, then said, “You tell me.”



“What’s this?” I’d asked, as I had taken it from her.



“Put it on Kev,” she had instructed, “then you might begin to understand?”



I rose from the sofa and knelt before the tv and dvd player, inserting the disc, curious as to what I might see.



A simple menu came up, with just a play option, so I’d obliged and pressed ‘play’.



Suddenly, there on the screen before me was April, naked from the shoulders down, sitting on a bed, a small locker to her left, with what was apparently a three wall set, draped with silks of several colours.



Her hair was loose and drawn over her right shoulder, as she typed at a keyboard just out of screen, to my left.



I’d turned briefly to look at April next to me and, then returned my gaze to the screen.



Staring into the camera, she typed away, the keyboard just out shot, eyes occasionally staring at the monitor somewhere above it.



It was obvious this was a two-way scene and that she typing to someone, someone she sought to please, from the smiles she made in response to something she had read and repeated quietly, to herself.



Before me, the onscreen April, picked up a small remote and, the camera pulled back to reveal that she was completely naked. And, all at once I was seeing more of her than I’d expected to, on a third date. And, yes, she was as thin as I thought, with her ribs showing and, the most delightful apple-sized breasts, with a small areole and a prominent nipple atop.



Briefly I turned to my head, to look at April blushing beside me, then turn my head back to the screen, as she showed the viewer, in this case me, that she is shaven and, has a delightfully symmetrical prominent labia.



My heart beating faster, I know she showing me, something that she says will make me like her less: but, for a moment, that’s forgotten, at sight of April’s body.



I am spellbound, as I watch April, the onscreen April that is, reach down to the small table and pickup a flesh-coloured pink phallus. Then typing with her right hand, she opens her lipstick-covered lips open wide and slides a good half into her mouth, a dancing smile to her blue-eyes, as the tip found the bag of her throat.



Using a slow thrusting motion, back and forth, her eyes suddenly opened wide as she gagged and, drawing the pink shaft of plastic out slowly, she coughed, drool trickling from the right corner of her mouth as she opened her mouth wide.



Then suddenly, as the viscous contents of her gut flowed from her mouth, she caught much of it in her left hand and showed this to the camera, recording her every action, prior coating her breasts with it, with an almost beneficent smile on her face.



Saliva dripped from her chin as she grinned at the camera, in this case me.



Turning to April, I can see she is fraught with mixed emotions, as she tries to gauge whether this shocks me, or...?



As it is, I'm unsure how I feel about what I've just seen.



Then as the sequence ends I had turn to April, wondering whether my mouth’s agape, as she looked at me with wide eyes, then said to me: “It’s a compilation disc, there’s more than one sequence. Are you sure you want to see the rest?”



Heck, I’d just seen more of her than I had since we met in the woods and, she asked if I smoked. I’d said ‘yes’ and, she retorted ‘no not ciggies.’ And there and then, we’d enjoyed a joint in the woods, on a really pleasant day.



And, I’ll concede, it was irrelevant, that others, out there had seen her, doing what she had, I wanted to see more, of her; I really wanted to see more..



Turning back to the screen, I reached for my wine-glass, to watch once more as the black faded back to the same set.



“Yes I am,” I replied quietly.



"Then keep watching," she told me, taking a sip of her wine.



April was trying too seem calm, but the tremor in her free hand and, the insistent tapping of her left foot illustrated how wound-up she actually was.



"Okay," I told her, turning back to the tv, just as she reappeared on the screen, as naked as she had appeared in the previous sequence.



The keyboard was already in use, as she typed away, occasionally looking up and just out of sight; perhaps at a monitor I thought, watching her mouth what she read.



Her hair still fell over narrow bony shoulders, only this time she wore long dangling earrings and an inch-wide studded black leather dog-collar round her neck; and I'll concede to a great deal of curiosity as to what the tag attached to it had engraved upon it. And I idly wondered, 'what would I see next?'



Picking up my glass I down the contents, as on the screen April set the keyboard on the end of the small bed then picked up a small black remote, that she operated.



The camera closed in on her as she focussed her attention on the viewer for a moment, licking her lip-stick covered lips, then smiling a wide smile.



From the corner of my left eyes I can see April watching me, as on the screen she began to caress her nipples, teasing them to bullet hardness, as her eyelids close and flutter as she sighs.



And she continued to smile, as she lubed her hands and spread her thighs.



She uses two fingers of her tight hand in an up and down, gliding motion through her shaven sex, stimulating her clitoris, then sliding then into herself, her eyes fixed on the viewer as she does so.



It is evident that she is following instruction, just as she had in the first sequence I had seen.



She licks at her lips once more and, a third and fourth finger slowly ease into her well-lubed flesh.



And, her mouth opens wide, as she sits back, her legs now drawn up, heels perched on the edge of the mattress four fingers bunched together...



I glance quickly toward April, who sits forward with her hands on her knees, eyes fixed on my face as I watch and listen to her groan with pain and pleasure as her hand enters her, up to the wrist.



Back and forth her arms pumps, as she draws her knees to her breasts, eyes wide: and abruptly April draws her fist out, a veritable fountain of fluid ejaculating from her in a wide arc, as she collapsing back, her body tembling.



Finally she sits and finds the remote, to draw the camera into the beds multi-coloured sheets and carpet, both soaked. She then operates it once more, so I can see her typing away to whoever instructions she had been following.



And, I watch her set the keyboard down, to turn and look at the camera once more and blow a kiss to her hand and the viewer, with heavily lip-stick covered lips.



As I watched, I felt April’s eyes on me, as I watched her on the screen, ‘performing’ for her audience. And, I’ll admit to feeling a mixture of emotions as the action continued.



And, as the screen turns black once more, I turn my head to April and smiling dry-mouthed I ask her: “Is that it?”



Sitting forward I felt April’s hand on my left knee and, I don’t know if she was seeking reassurance from me, still trying to gauge my reaction, or not.



“There is another, if you want to see it? There is another sequence. Remember me telling you it was a compilation?” I did.



Squeezing my knee, she asks in a quiet voice, “You don’t have to watch anymore of the disc you know?”



Yet I continue to watch, as the scene moved on.



There was April, naked with the collar around her, standing up and using the remote, then the keyboard, a broad grin on the face, as she looked over her shoulder at the camera and myself, the viewer. And, I stare at the screen, fascinated, as this girl next to me, is on screen parting the most pert beautiful buttocks, the show me all that she has, running an finger, over her brown puckered ring.



And, I watch April onscreen, as she squats over a bowl and empties her bowels, grinning wildly at the camera, with beautiful red lip-stick coated lips.



I draw a breath and turn to April, April at my side April; then I turn my head back to the screen, I can’t help it, I just can’t.



Onscreen April operates the camera, which focuses in as she picks up the bowl and empties the contents over her breasts, which she smears with one hand, as she operates the camera with the other.



Then she types briefly and looks over her shoulder, to smile hesitantly at the screen, before the screen goes black, once more.



And, I’m aware that I’ve stopped breathing, so start.



I look down to my glass, still untouched and then back to April, who is watching me intently. I wanted to say something, anything, yet I don’t know what to say; finally it is April who speaks, squeezing my knee first: “I did tell you that you’d feel different about me after this. I said you’d not want to see me again and…”



Her hand still on my knee, I lean toward April, kissing her gently on the cheek, “You’re wrong you know, I want to see you again.”



“You’re okay about this…?”



Moderately stupefied still, at my own reactions, I admit; “Yes, I suppose I am.”



Really?” She queries, squeezing me tightly and sniffing away a tear.



“Uhuh,” I answer thoughtfully; “You’re earning coin?”



She nods.



“Well I’ll admit I did like watching the look on your face and…” I was not going to tell her that I’d found it as arousing as I had, but her enquiring left hand had already discovered that, as she began to caress my erection.



“Well,” her hands moves in a slight circular motion on my knee, “if you are alright with what I do, I have a favour to ask.”



Her voice is suggestive, teasing and, obviously I have to ask, “What is it?”



“Well I’m on and, it means a couple of customers who like blood-play will pay quite a bit to watch me play games in private, for them…”



“And what’s the favour then April?” I asked feeling quite intrigued as to what her favour might be, kissing her lightly on her lips, before she answers.



“Well… One of the fellow’s I’m thinking of, would love to watch me being taken, on all fours… would you mind some blood-play, on camera?” She queries, with a grin.



Momentarily I think of Angel, from the t.v. show. But, that image does not last long.



After all I’d seen on the dvd, the image of April on all fours, as I am with her and enjoying the pleasures of her flesh, is easy to conjure and, way too pleasant a prospect to miss out on.



And suddenly I realize I have closed my eyes, so I open them, to look at April and I’m grinning; “I take it this’ll be our fourth date then?”