trigger for him going badly wrong, because he turns Benâs simple lust to his more sadistic ends.
It was the itch of Benâs lust that brought him to this city in the first place, when he was still alive and living with his parents in a provincial town and had a job as an apprentice repairman, in those days when they still bothered repairing televisions and radios and kettles. He wanted a chance at the big-city nightlife heâd heard so much about, and he found to his delight that there was plenty of sex available: with the Pill now available, trendy chicks had no excuse to say No. He shacked up in a squat with a girl calling herself Moonbeam who had a seemingly endless supply of pot and LSD and a similarly endless line of parties to go to, parties at which the right people showed up to mingle with the hip young things, or if they didnât they should have and everyone said they had done anyway, the next day. He thought he was in love with her, just a bit, though that didnât stop him sleeping with other girls. And she went with other blokes too, of course. She was the one who introduced him to Naylor.
She said he was this totally amazing guy who hung out with the Stones and had insights into history and eternity like no one else.
Ben ended up in a room draped with Indian-printed cotton and reeking of patchouli, on his knees with his cock down Moonbeamâs throat, watching awestruck while this skinny beautiful youth fucked her from behind and she gobbled his dick and made noises like she was seeing Krishna himself. Ben had never shared a girl with another man. He thought it the hottest experience of his life, and he didnât mind even when Naylor began to bite at Moonbeamâs back and shoulders, sucking her blood. Admittedly, the pot probably helped with that surprise. And Moonbeam didnât seem to mind either; in fact she seemed to revel in the sensation, climbing to new orgasmic heights. It wasnât long before Ben was finding out for himself what it felt like.
In the whole wide world, there was nothing at all heâd ever known that was as good as the sensation of Naylor sucking his dick. Teeth and tongue. Blood and spunk. People who derided that sort of thing didnât know what the fuck they were talking about. Sometimes, thanks to that magic bite, he walked round with a hard-on all day. Sometimes he woke so drained that his hollow balls just about clanged together.
For a little while the two of them were Naylorâs favourites. The vampire fucked them together and separately, whenever he felt like it, without asking any leave and without needing to. All shame and propriety vanished from Benâs life. Heâd bend over and spread his ass-cheeks in the middle of a crowded room at the flick of a finger, the crook of an eyebrow. Heâd offer his arms and his anus and his cock. Heâd ask for nothing in return but the benison of Naylorâs razor-edged kiss.
That all stopped when Moonbeamâs heart gave out, quietly and without any warning, one night as she lay with her head tilted backward off the edge of the bed with Naylor sucking at her crotch and Benâs cock so far down her throat that she didnât even cry out as she died. The two men buried her body in a patch of wasteland and then Ben threw a tantrum of recrimination and they fought, very briefly and with devastating effect as far as the human one of them was concerned. Naylor must be credited with some impulse of contrition, because he saved Ben from bleeding out by force-feeding the boy his own vampiric blood. That was how Ben was reborn.
In very short order he decided that he hadnât loved Moonbeam that much after all.
He was luckier than he knew: it so happened that Reynauld was away abroad that month, and his conversion was revealed as a fait accompli upon the older vampireâs return. Moonbeamâs death never came to Reynauldâs attention at all and Ben was permitted to stay, so
Ker Dukey, D.H. Sidebottom