From cuznmd@philonline.com.ph Tue Jan 21 06:37:33 1997


Here's a nice little Faithful story I decided should 
be submitted to the JADFE archive, 'cos it does indeed
contain sex scenes (okay, one). It was originally
posted on FKFIC-L w/ ADULT header and is there, 
but this one has been cleaned up a bit (as in 
typos, silly!). The email addy that accompanied 
it is now invalid; use 

cuznmd@philonline.com.ph

Standard disclaimers. LC belongs to TPTB, I'll bring
him back, I hope he's insured, et. al.

LaCroix/f
Implicit


******
Just Another Night
By Michelle David
******

I took another drag of my cigarette, and scanned him 
once more before smiling.

"Name's Bronwyn. You?"

"My name's... Luke." I wonder why he paused right 
there. It was probably a fake name, but I didn't 
really care. Just as long as he paid.

"That's an unusual name, Bronwyn," he said, an 
attempt to make conversation. Hell, Luke, I thought, 
s'okay. No one's ever interested in the origins of a 
whore's name.

But hey, "It's Welsh, Luke," I explained. I knew I 
should have changed it when I went into this business, 
but I suppose it was more distinct than some other names, 
like Brownie or something equally inane. It was my real 
name; I had no last name, since my dad beat me up and 
dumped me in the street to be found by the leeches of 
the Toronto nightlife, I didn't really want to be 
associated with him.

He got a distant look on his face. "You look so much 
like a young woman I knew once... Long time ago."

What a strange compliment. Hey, Luke, don't slip into 
a reverie there! "Thanks. I suppose I have that kind 
of face." If it wasn't covered with, say, five pounds of 
makeup. I put out my cigarette, and fastened my leather 
jacket.

"Would you like to go now?" Assuming the deal was closed, 
that was.

He snapped out of his trance and smiled. He had a really 
weird smile, I don't really know how to describe it. Sort 
of spooky, intimidating, but not a raving-madman-insane 
kind of smile. For a crazy second, I thought he might be 
a psycho, but then I had another weird thought- Charles 
Manson looked normal. That's how the old cliche goes. 
Proverb. Whatever. So why should I worry, right?

He offered his right hand, and I took it, jerking back in 
surprise for a second. God, his hand was so cold. But then 
again, it was a cold night. Unlike me, he hadn't stuck his 
hand in his jacket.

"Sorry," I murmured, reluctantly taking his hand again. I 
clasped it in both of my hands in an attempt to warm him.

I couldn't.

******

He turned on the lights to his apartment. I whistled 
appreciatively.

"Nice place," I said.

"Thanks."

It was a really nice place. Very dark, intimate. It 
looked like a mansion in comparison to my little shack. 
Which was so shoddy it was almost really a shack. Crummy 
little two room apartment a couple of blocks away from my 
main hangout, which was near a nightclub, some ultra
trendy Goth place.

Luke went into the kitchen. "Would you like something to 
drink?" he called out.

"A beer's fine, if you have any," I replied.

I used the time he was in the kitchen to scan the room. He 
was obviously rich; couldn't he afford someone a little more, 
shall we say, 'upper class' than me? I don't know, and didn't 
press the issue. After all, I'm getting paid. I noticed a 
picture on the endtable to the sofa, and bent over to look at 
it. It was Luke, a woman, and some other guy. The woman was 
really beautiful, like a model. Black hair, pale skin, dark 
eyes. A killer dress- must have cost a fortune-, though it 
looked antique. The man was a handsome blond, with a slightly 
sad look on his face, and in his eyes. Like Antique Woman, he 
was dressed in old-fashioned clothes. But he smiled for the 
camera, fake but charming. And Luke was in the center of the 
trio. He was also "camera smiling", and he looked strange... 
sorta smug. Possessive? I don't know.

The blonde guy suddenly struck me as familiar looking. Strange. 
But he really did, and I felt as though I should know him.

I felt him behind me, and straightened up. God, he had a such 
a presence. I turned, smiling.

The glass he handed me was filled with some old fine wine. I
wondered how much money he must have, to give a glass of such 
caliber to a lowly whore. I've never considered myself very 
special, and my self-esteem is in the pits, so I was surprised 
when he gave me this stuff.

My eyes drifted to the picture again. "Nice," I said. "Friends?"

He took a sip of his own wine- a dark red vintage- and smiled. 
"Relatives."

He said it in a weird tone of voice, like it was a private joke. 
Maybe they were estranged, or illegitimate, or adopted. I quickly 
vetoed the idea. Luke was definitely older than the woman and blonde 
guy, but not old enough to have fathered them. I was pretty sure I 
had some relatives myself, but they were lost in the haze of the 
rest of my childhood.

I stared at the picture of the three again, and suddenly had a weird 
thought once again. Laughing, I said, "This blond guy... he looks a 
lot like me!" There ya go, Bronwyn, you've figured out why the blond 
guy is so familiar.

Luke stiffened, and my smile fell. What had I said? Had he taken 
personally the connection between the guy in the picture and me? 
Hey, it was just an observation, and with each passing second of 
examining the picture, it got truer.

"Luke, I'm sorry," I whispered. "What did I say?"

He took another swig of his wine. "No, it's nothing. It's just 
incredibly true. You could be... siblings." He had a great voice, 
I noted. Deep and velvety, though vaguely intimidating.

There was a mirror nearby, and I checked myself out, comparing myself 
to him. Wow, it was true... I saw Luke in the mirror, looking at my 
reflection also.

"Uncanny," he said softly, a throaty whisper.

Luke was on the verge of truly freaking me out. Who the hell was the 
guy in the photo? I always despised the inevitable act of this job, 
but I was seriously considering backing out of this. I had another 
weird thought- this guy had the tendency to do this to me. Sounded 
almost as if it was vaguely incestuous, going back to my other thought 
of hey-the-two-people-might-be-Luke's-kids. I wondered if Luke was his 
brother or something, he being the guy in the photo. I guess I could do 
without the money from this job...

But this guy was obviously rich. I quickly made another decision; I'd 
stay.

He set his wineglass down, startling me. My own wineglass was barely 
touched, and I felt sorry that I was letting this go to waste. I 
drained it quickly. It was unspoken between us, but understood. It 
was time for the act. Was there still time to back out of this?

*****

The bedroom was dimly lighted, and I had the sudden wave of nausea. I 
couldn't have sex with this guy. Not and see his face. It wasn't all 
physical, but there was a sad, mournful sort of air about him that I 
couldn't shake off. 

He seemed to sense this, and didn't rush me. We just sat on the bed. 
Not relaxing, you realize, but just sitting there, in the dim silence.

Eventually, he kissed me lightly, on my neck. He didn't do anything 
but kiss me, and I reacted. Not with the horror I had thought I would, 
but by kissing him back. I closed my eyes and didn't look at him. I was 
still mildly repulsed by his coldness, by the emptiness around him. But 
he held me, going slow. So I went along with it.

We undressed, my eyes still closed. He kissed me again, stroking my 
medium dark blonde hair. I was more comfortable, but not relaxed. For one 
thing, he was whispering something that I couldn't quite catch.

I finally opened my eyes and went through the motions. But he still struck 
me as weird- he was making love.

Sounds weird, huh? What's really the difference when you're a whore 
whether or not they go easy or rough? But I could sense it in him, in 
his touch, in his eyes. He had a lot of love he was letting go on my body. 
He was really emotional about the whole thing. I wondered when he had 
last had sex. Maybe taking out his celibacy quickest way possible from 
some unrequited love.

His passion was increasing, and it surprised me that I was really 
aroused also- I hardly ever was, since I found no pleasure in this job.
I could almost catch what he was saying, but my erratic breathing was 
making it hard for me to hear properly.

Suddenly, my lust tapered off completely as I saw him change. In a *big* 
way. His eyes turned a golden yellow, and he had these long fangs. I tried 
to squirm away, but his grip on me was too tight.

My neck was twisted and I felt the fangs sink in. He drank from me for so 
long, I felt my heartbeat slow until it all went dark.

******

The room was dark. The man was crying in the bed, his arms holding close 
a young, unmoving woman, her beautiful face pale in the cold, stark 
moonlight, eyes closed..

Through the dark silence, a single voice cried a name over and over 
again... The sorrow of a lost love dripping in the voice.

"Fleur... Fleur..."
******

The End

Michelle
cuznmd@philonline.com.ph
Cuzn/COTK/Faithful/Valentine/UF/NNP/Fleur-Booster/MLC tend.
"Yay rich weirdos" Audience call line for Rocky Horror Picture Show