As if from a fever dream I returned to the waking world. Even in dreams this boy's image haunted me. Was this love, lust, madness, or all three jumbled together? I did not know. What I did know was that I wanted to be with the boy again. I pondered satisfying myself, but I knew this would not still the hunger for the boy, it would merely satisfy my body. I did not move but lay in the pitch-black darkness listening to the night sounds outside my room until I could no longer bear the absence of the gorgeous youth that had caught me. I got out of bed and dressed as fast as I could. Then I ventured outside.
Snow was falling that night; it covered Vienna like a soft white blanket. The city was lighter because of the whiteness, but it did nothing against the dark passions of my heart. First I went back to the coffeehouse, but he was not there. The establishment that had been so wondrous and elegant last night had become like a tomb to me without the presence of the boy. I left and wandered the streets finding my way to the boy's rooms. He was not there. The disappointment was bitter, the world was empty. Then I saw him walking down the street. He went inside the building and up to his rooms. He had not noticed me. I walked to his windows and stood under them. I dreamt of him there. When my mind cleared his curtains where already drawn and all the lights where out. I knew I could easily get in, but I had hoped the boy would have seen me, invited me in, into his rooms and into his life. Bot no, I felt rejected. I went back to my own rooms to think about what to do. I sat alone in my living room staring at a wall, but no thoughts came. My heart throbbed painfully in my chest. I made s decision after having stared at the wall for what seemed an eternity. I would try to stay away from this boy before I would lose my very sanity.
For a week I managed to stay away from the boy. But my desire raged like an inferno that I could not extinguish, a thirst so great I could not quench it. The streets where icy and slippery when I returned to the boy?s rooms. A single oil lamp was lit in his bedroom, the balcony doors stood ajar. Has another of my kind found this youth and taken to feasting on him, ravaging his tender form? I jumped up and took hold of the balcony's elegant railing, not very graceful, a horizontal jump is so much easier then a vertical one. I hoisted myself up unto the balcony and silently moved over to the door. I heard the breathing of the boy. Was he hurt? I went past the curtains and looked around the room. The boy lay on the bed sleeping under several blankets to protect him from the cold that came in through the open door. Several bottles of wine where placed next to the bed. His mind betrayed to me what had happened. He had missed me, had been disappointed that I had not returned, afraid that I was only a dream. He had got drunk often this week to dull the misery. He had left the doors open and the lamp lit hoping I would see this as an invitation and come back. I sat on the side of his bed and brushed his soft brown hair out of his face. He moaned in his drunken stupor. I kissed his forehead and as I drew back his eyes opened and he saw me. In his eyes surprise turned to happiness and he smiled. Too drunk to do much he managed to touch my hand. I kissed him on the lips and he drew me into a deep kiss, our saliva mingles and if felt as if our very life essence mingled with it, as if we became one for a moment. I let my hand travel over his torso. Oh, how much I would have loved to ravage this poor boy, to take him to the greatest heights of ecstasy and keep him there for as long as he could bear. But not tonight, the boy was numb with wine. I tucked him in and put away the bottles of wine. Then I found a piece of paper and a pen, and I wrote: I am not a dream, I will return tomorrow after the sun has set. Knowing now that I had hurt the boy by not going to him I left closing the door behind me. Tomorrow I would return and love this boy.
Back home the thoughts of the boy consumed me whole again. The mere thoughts of the boy's slender frame, of his soft hair, and his deep dark eyes was enough to awaken my deepest passions. I tortured myself by not satisfying myself so the fruit of my lust would be so much sweeter tomorrow night.
The next night I hurried over to the boy's balcony. The doors where closed but not locked. I opened the double doors, the curtains where half drawn and the singly oil lamp was lit. The boy who had been pacing through his bedroom turned and looked at me, surprised, amazed, and entranced. I was aware of the way I looked. In my mortal days my features had been pleasing, now I was absolutely handsome, if I do say so myself. At least the boy agreed; he was absorbed by my appearance. He desired me and I desired him. He rushed at me without a word and we wrapped out arms around each other pressing close like we where one being. Then we kissed long and deep out bodies grew hot and pulsating with forbidden passions, with a great yearning to become as one. His hands grasped and stroked my back trying to express his lust. Slowly the heat ebbed away as we gave shape to our deepest urges and with the finale ecstatic outburst of our lust the passion was replaced with warm comfort. This time the boy did not sleep but we lay on the bed on top of the blankets. Intertwined like we had grown together. We where still moist with sweat but had done away with the product of our copulation. His body was still very warm, his blood raced through his veins. I did not hide my true nature this time and drank of him, his hod blood filling my mouth. The taste of his blood, of his body was enough to rouse my body again. The boy did not resist and let me drink. Then, light-headed from blood loss he yielded to another turn of lovemaking. I was dominant this time. I rode him, wickedly hard and teasingly slow. He was lost in a labyrinth of forbidden pleasures from which he did not want to escape. Afterwards my body felt raw but satisfied. I lay in a warm embrace with the boy. His breathing was slow and rhythmic; he was asleep in my arms. I pulled him close and buried my face in his hair, relishing its scent. The oil lamp died out by itself and though the faint light of the sun managed to seep through the curtains, I slept as well.
At dusk I was awoken by many soft kisses on my chest and neck. I smiled as I slowly opened my eyes. The boy climbed on top of me, he wanted to love me again. I resisted, not because I did not want to make love, but because I wanted him to try harder, and he did try harder. This time it was not heated passion but warm comfortable drowsy love. We went on until the slow fulfilling climaxes came. Satisfied we bathed. We lay in bath together sighing, smiling and being in love until my skin began to wrinkle. We dressed; I stood at the window when I was done. The boy pressed against my back and hugged me. Up until that then we had not spoken except uttering words of passion. But now the time to speak had come.