Chapter 119 - Dinner Conversation part 1

"Scheisse! It's cold!" Lukas complained. He scowled at me as he explored the contents of the Styrofoam containers I'd returned with, as if I'd allowed his meal to get cold on purpose. He crumpled the paper sack and tossed it aside, his chain clinking.

"It's very cold out," I said.

"Don't you have a microwave?"

"I'm not reheating your dinner," I growled, and he grinned at me, amused by my annoyance.

I chastised myself for allowing the cretin to goad me. I really should kill him, I thought, but I was too full to dine again tonight. For such a skinny man, his cohort Maurice had been very filling. To kill Lukas now would simply be a waste.

I watched him stuff his mouth with frites, what you Americans call "French fries", eating with his fingers.

I enjoy watching mortals eat. I suppose it's something that I miss: the variety of food you mortals dine on. Fruits. Vegetables. The seared flesh of animals. The pleasure of ingesting blood, for vampires, is almost orgasmic, but it is still the same thing every night. Blood, blood and more blood. I think that is why older vampires feed only when they are compelled to by their hunger. You would grow bored if you had to eat the same thing every night, too. Regardless of how pleasurable it might be.

"I wish I had some beer to drink," he said wistfully. I had forgotten to bring him anything to drink.

"I can only offer you some water," I replied.

"No, wine?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"If you're going to keep me here like some kind of pet, you really should stock up on some wine, at least. Beer would be preferable, though. To deprive a man of beer and wine…!" He shuddered. "Inhumane!"

I caught his eye. "I do not plan to keep you much longer."

He swallowed thickly, eyes wide, then he smiled again as if to show me that he was unafraid, but I could smell the lie of it. He smelled desperate. Aside from the sour smell of his unwashed flesh. He smelled desperate and unhappy.

I left the room to fetch him something to drink. My penthouse was dark, all the lights turned out but the lights in my captive's chambers, but I do not need electric lights to find my way around the dark. The shadows do not veil my preternatural sight as it veils the eyes of mortals.

My captive sneered when I returned with a mug of tap water, but he took it and drank before returning to his cold frites. I watched his jaw move, the muscles in his cheek bulging rhythmically. I could almost taste the frites from the smell that arose from the container. Grease, potatoes, spices and salt.

"There's something I can't quite figure out about you," he said casually as I crossed the room to a chair.

"And that is?" I asked. I moved the chair near his bed and sat.

Speaking with his mouth full, Lukas said, "Whether you're a faggot or not."

I chuckled. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it does," Lukas replied. "I don't like faggots. I spent half my childhood fending off my papa, and then in prison… always there was some faggot offering me his ass or mouth. It sickens me."

"I do not plan to force myself upon you, if that is what you fear," I said.

"I'm not afraid of anything," Lukas declared.

"When I was a mortal man, our marriage customs were quite different than they are today," I said. "My people were polygamous, and our group marriages often included more than one male member."

"Your butt buddy Brold," he grinned.

"Brulde," I corrected him. "And he was not my 'butt buddy'."

"You fuck him?"

"When we were young, we engaged in sexual behavior," I answered. "It was not considered a shameful act, as it is so often regarded in this repressed modern era. Our people called it 'good practice'."

"I bet you practiced a lot," he mocked.

Ignoring his derision, I said, "In those days, we believed such behavior contributed to the wellbeing of the community. Mated tribesmen were more successful at hunting than a single male would have been, more apt to survive in times of war. It was a way for the men of the tribe to bond, and it also afforded our females more time to mature before they mated so that they were more likely to survive the act of childbirth. Childbearing was a hazardous endeavor in those primitive times. I do, however, prefer females when I am in need of sexual gratification."

"Must feel like they're getting poked by an icicle," Lukas smirked.

"My flesh is warmer and more pliant when I am well fed," I replied. "But the act of sex with a member of my kind is always fraught with danger for mortal women. For mortal men, too, I suppose, though there are more male vampires than female vampires. Or there used to be. Regardless, I have made love to a great many mortal women since I was made the monster that I am. The number who did not survive the experience, though small, is a constant source of shame for me. Yet, I am a man, just as surely as I am a monster, and I can be seduced just as easily as any mortal man can be."

"Speaking of well fed," Lukas said, changing the subject. "You're looking very plump and ruddy. I take it your hunt was successful tonight?"

I smiled faintly. "Of course it was. You still live, do you not?"

"Poor Maurice…" Lukas said, looking down at his dinner with a grin. He glanced up at me suddenly, asked, "Will you tell me how it happened?"

His eagerness revolted me… and pleased me at the same time.

"If you like," I answered.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Yes, tell me! Did he realize what you were? Did he beg you for mercy before you drained him of his blood?"

"Your sadism is repulsive, even to a creature like me," I sniffed.

"Yes, yes," he muttered, waving my condemnation aside. "That is why I fascinate you. Now, tell me. Give me all the details. I want to know if he cried. I want to know if he pissed his pants."

I sighed, pretending to be exasperated with his wickedness, but I have sworn to speak only the truth in these memoirs, and so I must confess to you that it was also gratifying. I have lived so long in self-imposed exile, here in the city of Liege, and abroad. I have hidden from the worlds of mortal and immortal alike, eschewing even the simplest pleasures of human companionship. It felt good to relate my experiences to another sentient being, to be heard by ears other than my own.

"He was at the Vesuvius, just as you said," I began. "The skinny Frenchman with the big nose…"

I have fed on enough mortals to populate a small nation, yet even the most unremarkable events are brightened by their sharing. I found myself warming to the story of the Frenchman's final hours. I could not help it. My captive was so eager to hear it.