MicroHorror

The next night, I wrote Dali a poem expressing how desperately I wanted to see her, and drown in her mysterious sea. She loved me, touched me, and excited me like no man ever did before. I sketched her as mystical, erogenous, enchanting, and cunning. She was a perfect femme for a Salvador Dali painting. That was the perfect name. Therefore, I named my mystery lover Dali.

No one would have believed me if I told them that she was only but a fine mist upon my skin. Dali was an erotic zephyr, with an ominous ancient fragrance. Bizarre scents which I became familiar with from reading, from researching, and from first-hand experience. Creatures of myth and folklore were my preferred genre when reading as a child. Creatures (if they ever were) I thought to be extinct, not extant. Frightened by my speculations, I dismissed the thoughts that Dali was indeed a vampire.

Upon arrival, her noctilucent haze glimmered like Sirius. She approached me, and I could feel her damp cheek brush ever so softly against mine, whilst whispering my name Sascha in my ear. She was sobbing as she told me to close my eyes. With the barest touch, she caressed me, nibbled my nape, my breasts, and slowly moved on to tease my ready lips. I was all hers, with arched back and eyes closed. Her tongue, wet and warm, left indelible trails of tender kisses inside my thighs. She gently lifted me closer. All I could see were Heaven’s most brilliant stars, and hear Heaven’s most harmonious symphony.

Under her spell, I did not care about anything else, and my pleasure resounded in orgasmic echoes. When I opened my eyes, she was gone, and only a linger of what smelled like decay remained. I was left feeling sad, violated, and oh so satisfied. I embraced myself, pretending my arms were hers.

Moments later, sharp pains inside my thighs abruptly replaced my ethereal reminiscing of her being there. Dribbling blood accompanied the stinging pain. I rushed to wash my inconceivable night away. My world shattered as I sat in a crimson bath. Vampires do indeed exist, and so did Dali.