There was weird juju in the air that night.
It happened at the Fondue Palace near the cheese fountain. Two lovers twirling their fondue forks rather suggestively, when one of them notices bright red droplets on the dipping bread pyramid. He leans in closer to inspect the spots. BLOOD. It’s blood you idiot. John has been successfully ignoring his mind all evening. The very same mind that had implored him to escape out the backdoor hours before the first glass of warm burgundy poured. The last inner voice of reason crying, “Something is very wrong with your date, John. Those aren’t sultry eyes, they’re vacant planets. That satin skin of hers, smells like ancient ice. And her fantastic hair, my friend, is the color of serpent tongues. John! John! John-”
Suri giggles as her flicking lips tickle John’s earlobe. While his hand scratches at his neck to put out the itch, his eyes remain fixed on the odd splotches. There is a wetness to his neck that comes away on his fingertips. He freezes there. His fingers are tinted in a red film, bolder than the house wine. BLOOD. It’s blood you idiot. His mouth is unable to pull out the scream wrestling behind his gum-line. There are people all around. But they are as dead paper dolls. Not a single other patron seems to notice obvious red droplets on white. Scores of fountain fans continue gleefully stabbing bread cubes and drowning them in cheese.
John manages to move his fingers back to his neck. He feels punctures. No words can leave his chained voice box. Suri’s fondue fork finds her date’s palm. She pushes the sharp, two-pronged metal gently along the meat of John’s hand then sweetly plunges it into his skin. She guides his limp fist up to her wine colored mouth and sucks his delightful nectar. He manages turning his head in her direction. A burning sensation shoots straight from his hand to his groin–lightning shocks every part of his genitalia. This instantaneous explosion is unlike any erotic experience he’s ever had.
Suri’s slim, powerful hand slides beneath the back of John’s shirt. His sweating back is beginning to buckle. She holds him up effortlessly. Movement returns to John’s neckline and he clenches his jaw. His uninjured hand reaches around his date’s cool neck. Forceful and swift–he pulls her face into his and John kisses this “woman” in a manner unfamiliar to his own lips. Their starving mouths become uncontrolled siphons in opposing directions. Again, firebolts crash between his legs, shockwaves jettison up and down his thighs. Metallic saliva flows back and forth between their twisting tongues. BLOOD. It’s blood you idiot…
felt like biting something today, illustration created last year-thank you