Tag Archives: lovers

Vampire Boys Of Summer (revamped) Ep. 48

Vampire Boys Of Summer

48: Breathless Whispers

There is a moment in the act of cutting when you almost leave your body. Or at least it feels that way. You can feel the cuts, the sting of the razor as it crosses your skin, but you are so distant from it, faded so much in the background it doesn’t matter. None of those outer feelings mean a thing. You have retreated within yourself to where whatever drove you to cutting lives. Surrounded by your own sorrows and loneliness, the blade continues to cut, trying to draw you back out into the real world to feel all the anguish that awaits you there. Sometimes I even hear voices calling me. Like now. I heard my name in a whisper, followed by No. No. No. Like a mantra it whispered my name, and though my eyes were closed, wanting all things to go away, it stayed. Nora. Nora.

“Nora,” the voice called, this time a little louder. “Please stop.”

I opened my eyes, and there was a face in front of mine. Dark eyes, long black hair, beautiful face. Haru.

“Oh Nora, what have you done?” He looked down at my bare legs. Five stripes of blood on my skin where the razor had cut. I grabbed the hem of my skirt and pulled it back down to my knees to hide the shame of my cutting.

“No,” he said, and putting his fingers over mine, he drew the bottom of my skirt up again in a slow slide over my skin. It crept up my thigh, and the brush of his fingers against my skin made me blush. The cuts were visible now, and he stopped my skirt from rising further. I knew he could see the edge of my underwear but I didn’t care, because now he was descending to one knee, his face, his lips brushing my trembling leg just above the knee. I felt his kiss on my skin, and it trailed up my leg to the cuts made by the razor.

He stopped. A slight hesitation. I looked down. His face was inches from the first cut, the blood still wet. And then his lips were on the wound, a light kiss against flesh and blood. Then I felt the pull, a sucking against the skin, the drawing of my blood that was both healing and erotic. A warmth washed over me, as if I were made of nothing but hot blood rising to a boil.

His fingers danced across the cuts, smearing the blood on his skin and mine, and he kissed another of the self inflicted wounds, drawing my blood into his mouth. Not lapping it up, as he had done with Ryo, but a slow, gentle suckling of the skin that sent chills up my frame

“Haru,” I whispered, as he tasted another cut. A shudder ran through me, an anticipation that I could barely contain.

He lifted his head from my skin and looked up at me, a trace of my blood on his lips. He drew it into his mouth with his tongue, so not a drop would escape. He rose to his feet and his face edged towards mine, his hands still on my trembling legs.

“You don’t have to do this anymore, Nora, “ he whispered.

His lips brushed mine.

“Your pain…”

A kiss.

“Your hurt.”

Another kiss.

“Your loneliness…”

A taste of his tongue.

“… is mine.”

Then his mouth was full upon me, and I parted my lips upon his, allowing his tongue to play over mine, as I forgot every fear, worry, or doubt. I felt his hands leave my legs, as they sought my face, a palm pressed to each cheek, as his mouth, his beautiful full mouth, molded to mine in a delirious embrace.

His hands moved down my neck, his fingers tracing the skin there as if trying to find the softest spot to bite, and then they trailed to my throat, my collar, and eventually came to rest in the space between my breasts. It was there he lay his palm flat against me as if it would draw the blood forward with his touch. I almost felt it move within me and then a warmth began to wash over me. I wanted Haru to touch me everywhere.

I’d often dreamed of how making love to someone would be. The excitement of being touched, held, and kissed in the most intimate of ways. The butterflies that awaken in the stomach and then fly off in every direction. The entwining of two bare bodies, wrapped up gently in each other, surrendering to moments of overwhelming ecstasy. But these dreams and my own imagination were nothing compared to how it felt within Haru’s soft, loving touch.

I committed myself to his careful hands as he undressed us both. The removal of his own clothes caught my breath, he was so beautiful. His bare, hairless chest, abs, and stomach seemed glistened with sweat and I touched his nakedness to make sure he was real. He was. And I allowed him to touch me in the same manner and fascination. His kisses melted all over me. My touch brought him alive. The room seemed to go in a slow spin, a dizzying swirl that made me light headed, while the rest of my body tingled with every touch.

“Haru,” I whispered, but could not finish the sentence. His kisses fell upon my body like sweet summer raindrops, and my breath lifted from me as we wrapped around one another, arms and legs entwined, holding each other in the close rhythm of a song only we could hear. All other thought left my head, replaced by this living dream of Haru and I, forever making love in the confines of my bedroom, the rest of the world shut out while we pleasantly discovered each other and our desires.

“I love you, my Nora,” he whispered as the world fell away beneath me in an ecstatic rush. Our bodies attempted to catch up with our breathing, until finally our passions released in full and we clutched each other in a mutual expression of our joy. Finding our breath at last, he lay atop me, not crushing me, but like a cocoon protecting the lonely caterpillar who after today would be a butterfly, flitting free from her shell and into a newly discovered world. I cried against him and he lifted himself to look down in my face.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yes,“ I replied in a whisper between breaths. “Yes, Haru.”

He smiled, and to me as if it were the light of the sun shining through to the darkness for the first time. “Now, I know what it is like to truly live within your breath,” he said. “I want to stay here forever.”

“Me too, “ I sighed.

He leaned down to kiss where my tears of joy had been. “From now on Nora, any tears you have I will kiss them away.”

Looking up into his face, I swore I’d never seen anything so beautiful. “I love you, Haru.”

He smiled and touched my face. “I love you too, bright eyes.”

Continue to Ep. 49

Main Page

“Vampire Boys Of Summer” 2018 Paul D Aronson. All Rights Reserved.

Pleasured Pathways

“Pleasured pathways”

Deep within her sigh
And soft upon her skin
Plays the symphony of desire
The enraptured touch again
The director of her heart
Conducts the scene on her stage
The author of her passion
Puts his pen to her page

She waits for him by night
To come touch her soul awake
Anticipating his rhythm
Her body to gently take
He lays her down with music
Kisses playing like a song
To take her down pleasured pathways
And softly play along.

Poem by Paul D Aronson.

Drifting Out Of Dream

“Drifting Out Of Dream”

   She comes drifting out of dream, long tresses changing from raven to red, canary to chestnut, like a rainbow reflecting all the beautiful things about her. She doesn’t speak, there’s no need to. She knows me, I know her, and in the fantasy state I am familiar with every inch of her form, beneath the flowing gown she paints herself in.  
   I have held her so many times in the unwaking that her body seems molded just for my embrace, as if we are the perfect fit of heaven, paradise, and all things wondrous. Her lips are mine to taste, no one else just I, and though she has flitted in and out of other’s dreams, it is here in the sweetly maddening dreams of mine that she returns, coming back to the one who first adored her from nothing, who loved her ‘fore he knew her, who waits beyond the doors of his imagination for her to come to him. 
   Her mouth whispers his name, and it’s mine, her kisses lain wantonly upon me, tongues dancing across each other, hungry and desperate as if this is the last dream we’ll have. And in the swirling of cloth that seems to just fade away at my touch, we are both naked and exposed, all our imperfections, all our frailties, explored just as lovingly as if we were the perfect Gods and Goddesses of old. 
   I love everything about her, her delirious scent, reminiscent of jasmine and lavender; her touch that while confident still trembles in anticipation of me touching her; her lightly painted lips, moist and waiting for my mouth to cover her own; her skin, once white now tanned by her pale lover the sun; her dreamy eyes caught somewhere between the seas and storms; her long tresses changing from raven to red, canary to chestnut… 

Paul D Aronson.