Jacob, p.22
Jacob, page 22
I hold up a hand between us. “I don’t think so. Would coffee help?”
“Okay, yeah. You’re a buzz-kill, but yeah.”
There’s a coffee-maker in the room—it’s an anachronism in this ancient place, one of those weird little machines that uses plastic pre-filled cups, but the coffee is quick and not too vile. I fill a mug for Jacob, another for myself. He takes it with a nod, but barely sips at it.
“I’ve never seen you this way. You’re all ruddy and flushed. And you’re hot. You’re burning up. Are you all right? What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I’m celebrating. Do you think it’s all doom-and-gloom? Hell, no. It’s Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. I’m getting fat.” He hiccups. “Okay, I think I might have over-indulged. I might have—yes, I have—drunk too much tonight.”
“So this is what it looks like?”
Jacob’s smile darkens. “It’s the annual rite of rejuvenation! National Vampire Week. Two weeks. Do you know how easy it is to feed here? Better than the Super Bowl, because nobody pays attention to anything they can’t eat, drink, smoke, or fuck—show me your tits, here are some beads. Boys and girls—all free for the taking. Young and juicy, hot and delicious. You offer them a drink from your bottle of green, they never say no, they drink deep and get silly. It’s too easy—you pull them into a doorway for a taste, just a little, not too much—and you get drunk too! The streets are full of flavors. Taste as many as you can. Nobody cares. There are vampires everywhere!”
He swings his coffee mug around, gesturing. “And here you are, stuck alone in your little dark room. Typing more of your feeble fables, while the rest of the world whirls around you. It’s the perfect example of everything that’s wrong with what’s left of your pathetic little life. On the other hand, in here—it’s probably safer. Or maybe not. Who knows what kind of monster you’ll invite across your threshold?” He glistens with the thought. “And think about that, my little morsel. This is the first time you’ve ever invited me in.”
Jacob turns slowly in the center of the room, arms outstretched. “You should fear me tonight, because tonight is the night I have no self-control. It’s my party and I’ll die if I want to.” He winks at me. “Not die in the mortal sense, but die in the poetic sense—the metaphor—the little death of the human orgasm, that delicious moment of nirvana at the top of the mountain of fucking. The human climax. Let me die in your arms, my sweet savory boy. Metaphors be with you.” He salutes me with his mug, then drinks enthusiastically. “I’ve had better—but I’ve had worse as well.”
Abruptly, he falls silent. He plops into a chair and stares at me. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, what?”
“You’re ready.”
“I am? For what?”
Jacob giggles. “For whatever happens next.”
“And what’s that—?”
“What you’ve been waiting for—”
“I’m not waiting for anything—”
“The hell you’re not—” He sprawls sideways across the chair, spreading his arms and legs wide in a position of casual availability. “You’ve been cruising me since day one, wondering what it would be like—” He adds, “You can’t fool me, you know.”
There’s no point in denial. I might as well say it. “Okay, yes—I wondered what it would be like—”
“You wouldn’t survive it.” Jacob laughs. “But I promise, you’d die happy.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. One way or another, you’ll die screaming my name.”
“Are those the only alternatives? I don’t think I like either one.”
“There is a third alternative….”
“Yes, I know. You’ve made it clear, more than once, that you don’t think I’m right for it.”
“No. I said you weren’t ready for it.”
“And you think I am now—?”
“Possibly.”
“Except I don’t want it. Everything you’ve told me—you’ve pretty much deconstructed the whole mystique. Frankly, it doesn’t sound like a career opportunity with any advancement. Hiding in the darkness with a bunch of other paranoids is not on my bucket list.”
“Oh, that’s not all we do. Of course, there’s Mardi Gras. But there’s also Halloween. And New Year’s. And the Super Bowl. And the circuit parties—those are always tasty. Las Vegas has its delights, so does New York. And then there are all the other ones that aren’t so obvious. Passover, for instance. All those Seders, with all those Jews opening their doors, announcing to the world, ‘If anyone is hungry, let him come in and eat.’ All we need is the invitation and there we are. Actually, not—we don’t need the invitation, but it’s a tradition. For some reason, we honor it. Ahh, so many wonderful opportunities. Except August. That month is so empty. No holidays at all. Well, Dragon-Con. I suppose. But you get my point—life is delicious.”
“Yes, if you like killing people.”
“They’re not people. They’re—”
“They’re people to me.”
Jacob snorts in derision. “Not really. That’s just what you want to believe. But you’re up here, alone. Not down there with them. And you know why that is?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Because you don’t see them as people—oh, maybe in your little idealistic fantasies, you want to see them that way. But in reality, even you can see how stupid they are—what’s the quote? The great mass of men live lives of quiet domestication. They’re enslaved to their own shallow beliefs, blind and unconscious, staggering to their inevitable graves like homing zombies. But that was never good enough for you. You believe there has to be something else, something more. You’ve been flailing away at the world since you learned how to type. People are cattle, you know that. Listen, you can hear them mooing. And so are you, my little mooncalf—you just can’t stand being herded. You still think there’s something else.”
“I think I like you better sober.”
“No. You put up with me when I’m sober. You’ve been terrified of me since the beginning.”
“So why do you even talk to me?”
“I’m easily bored, I’m easily amused.” Jacob looks at his watch. “It’s getting early. Can I stay here tonight?”
“Aren’t you afraid of the windows, the sunlight?”
“Look at me, I just ate. I’m flush. I’ll be fine. As long as you keep the drapes closed.”
“You’re gonna sleep on the floor?”
“Hell, no. It’s a big bed. I’m gonna sleep with you. I’ll even spoon with you. Spooning only, no forking. Well, not yet anyway.”
Jacob steps out of his shoes, switches off the light and moves to me like a ghost—or a ballet dancer, a shiver of gracefulness. He steps in close—crossing the invisible border, the boundary of personal space. If he leans forward he could kiss me—but he doesn’t. Instead, he touches the top button on my shirt, a gesture of curiosity. He looks into my eyes to see if I will accept. He knows I can’t refuse, but he looks anyway. A courtesy. Now, knowing that he can proceed, his fingers move slowly, but with certainty. He unbuttons that last line of resistance—it’s the drawbridge, once it is down, entry is inevitable.
The next button and the next. Then his fingers trace delicately down the line of my chest, stopping only at my navel—he pokes his finger in, wiggles it a bit, explores my personal little concavity with an impish smile. Is this a preview of things to come?
He finishes unbuttoning my shirt, moves his hands to my belt, but then he hesitates and opens his arms, an invitation. It’s my turn to unbutton him. He’s wearing a black silk shirt, the fabric so fine it’s like gossamer.
“Specially made,” he says.
“Of course.” If all your senses are enhanced, almost to the point of painful cacophony, the common fabrics must feel like sandpaper against the skin.
The buttons open with ease and I look at his naked chest for the first time. His skin is pale and golden, flushed and ruddy, a glistening landscape, as smooth as porcelain, and with the same eerie translucency of delicately sculpted wax. In the silvery glow of the pre-dawn darkness, with blue shadows embracing us, he’s a vision both demonic and angelic. He licks his lips and leans in close, his hands sliding up my naked skin, his lips brushing mine, an electric tingle shooting through me—and abruptly I am flushed with surges of sensation, emotion, even lust—
“What did you just do—?”
“Nothing yet—”
“But—”
“Shh—” Jacob touches my lips to silence me. His finger is a promise. His eyes shine into mine.
A moment of panic. “—are you going to—”
He presses his finger harder against my lips. “I already ate. I’m beyond satiated. You have nothing to fear.”
I believe him because I want to believe him. The whole time, I remember that he is a master-manipulator, a liar, a predator, a self-admitted sociopath—but I want to believe him, so I do.
He waits until I relax. Then he slips out of his black silk shirt, it slides off his shoulders and falls easily to the floor. In spite of myself, I’m mesmerized.
Jacob’s body is trim, slim, and impossibly youthful. He is a contradiction of form—as smooth as a girl, but tautly muscled. Like a coiled spring, he’s a possibility—he’s the threat of pleasure, an avalanche of sensation so overwhelming that every moment afterward, any moment without it would be a slow dance with despair.
His touch is amazing. Unafraid, unashamed, curious. He slides his hands up to my shoulders, slips my shirt off, and lets it fall, an echo of his own movement. For a moment, we stand apart, surveying and studying each other. I’m suddenly acutely aware that I am out of shape—not yet flabby, but a little too fleshy. Too many hours sitting, not enough time walking, stretching, exercising—living.
But Jacob just smiles, admiring what he sees. “There’s this about lust,” he says. “It’s not about beauty. It’s about possibility.”
His words trigger a flood of thoughts, a cascade of emotions. We stand shirtless in front of each other, admiring—always before, being naked was being vulnerable and being vulnerable was dangerous, because it was not only the risk of rejection, it was the possibility of pain. Now … it’s all that and more, but this time I crave it. I am caught in his gaze, helpless in his eyes.
Because—he wants me. And in that want, I have his power and strength, a core of fire that flashes and fills. It is this simple—he desires me as much as I desire him.
He unbuckles my belt, my pants. I unbuckle his. They fall to the floor and we step sideways and out. I’m wearing white boxers, he’s wearing black nylon tap pants with a hem of lace. Something from the lingerie counter. Jacob sees the surprise in my expression and laughs softly. But I get it. It’s not just the enhanced sensitivity of his skin, it’s that dark frisson that comes from living on the other side of the line. It’s the freedom of being the unseen alien.
And then we’re naked, but we still haven’t touched. We move to the bed—Jacob pushes me down onto it, on my back—and then, oh so gently, covers me with his body, arm to arm, leg to leg. He grasps my hands in his, stretching me out on the cross of desire, and slowly, oh so slowly, he brushes my lips with his—he tastes my breath, a second time and a third. I’m impatient for the kiss, but he’s in no hurry and—
I’m trying to figure out what he’s doing. This isn’t a kiss, it’s a hesitation, a tease, more anticipation than connection—
“Shut up,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re analyzing. You’re looking for the words. You’re not experiencing. You’re too busy listening to the little voice in your head—”
“Huh?”
“That one. The one that’s saying, ‘What little voice? I don’t hear any little voice.’ That one. I’m telling it to shut up. Now kiss me. Kiss me like you intend the kiss to last forever—”
I start to kiss him—
“No,” he says. “That’s the impatient kiss. You’re kissing like you’re trying to make something happen. Kiss me like nothing has to happen, just the kiss—”
I don’t know what to do.
Jacob says, “I’ll show you. Don’t do anything. Just let it happen.”
He lies still on top of me. His hands hold mine above my head. He does nothing, but look into my eyes. “Shhh,” he says. His body is hot against mine—and cold at the same time, like a chilled container with hot steam inside, it’s a different kind of feeling—and finally, again, slowly he lowers his head and brushes his lips across mine. Once, twice, again—
And again and again, until I no longer expect anything, I just allow the sensations to continue. I relax beneath him and listen to all the tens of thousands of tiny tingles and sensations occurring in just the space between us, flesh against flesh.
I am naked beneath a vampire and we are both erect, almost motionless and the tension is incredible. It’s not anticipation, it’s something else, something I can’t describe because I have no words for it, there are no words, only the simple perfection of the moment.
Until finally—my lips are tingling so intensely, the sensation is almost unbearable—Jacob stops and lifts just high enough to stare down into my eyes, as if to say something, but words are insufficient. His expression is more than enough.
I’m too stunned to do anything more than breathe. He has drained me of all power. All I can do is exist beneath him. He lowers himself onto me, into my embrace, and we stay in that moment, motionless and emotionless, simply recovering.
I can feel his heart beating against mine. And mine in unison, a mutual agreement—a silent pulse of heat, a wave that spreads outward from our common center, I can feel each pulse expanding from chest to belly to arms and legs, even finally to the tips of fingers and toes. I have never felt anything like this before and I will not move, lest I interrupt this incredible connection.
Jacob licks my ear, another prolonged exploration, and from there to my neck. I’ve never let anyone lick my neck before, I’m ticklish there, but with Jacob I’m so relaxed there’s no threat of violation, he massages my neck with lips and tongue, gently tracing the carotid, the jugular—
“I could take you now,” he whispers—
“I would die happy—”
“I told you so—” And then he shifts position, pulls away from my neck, I wish he hadn’t. I was enjoying it too much. But he says, “There. That’s how it’s done.”
We roll onto our sides, facing each other, our arms loosely around each other. There’s already a thin gleam of early morning high on the wall opposite the windows. A crack in the drapes. Jacob squints against the light.
“I’ll fix it.” I pull away from his embrace and pad naked to the window. It takes only a tug at the heavy drapes to restore the room to darkness. For just a moment, I wonder—if I were to throw them back, would Jacob burst into flame? Would he writhe in fiery pain? Or would his smooth and flawless skin simply burn red under the harsh yellow light? I’m not willing to find out. I feel strangely protective of my one-time lover.
A strange word that—lover. Especially here.
Because what we’ve done is really nothing at all. And yet, it’s been the most intense experience of my life.
I slide back into bed and face him, naked again, aroused again. But no longer impatient. Arousal is only a condition, not a command.
“I get it.”
“Get what?”
“What you said before.”
“I said a lot of things.”
“You said I wouldn’t survive.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Not the same.”
“No.”
“And not yet transformed either.”
“Is this what you want?” Jacob smiles. “Last night you said that you didn’t see much of a career opportunity here. You said that hiding in the darkness with a bunch of paranoids was not on your bucket list.”
“I was being cynical.”
“A cynic is an idealist who doesn’t want to get caught.” Jacob touches my nose lightly with a single forefinger, then down to my lips, and from there to my throat. His hand rests on that soft place at the base of my neck. “What is it you want, my sweet lonely boy—?”
I roll away, onto my back and stare at the ceiling. The dusty yellow ceiling with a pattern of water stains from before the roof was repaired. One of the brown stains looks like a dog head. Or maybe a wolf. A predator.
“The last time we talked, you told me that Monsieur had been stalking you, testing you, and finally came to you in San Francisco. He offered you the … choice.”
“The gift.”
“You turned him down.”
“I did.”
“Yet, here you are.”
“Do you want me to tell you what he said?”
“I know what he said.”
“You do?”
“I only look stupid.”
“Yes, I know—”
I roll back to face him. “It was obvious. It has always been obvious.”
He waits for me to explain.
“You’re capable of long periods of intense physical activity. And your senses are supremely enhanced—you can feel things profoundly. It doesn’t take a genius to put it together.”
“Go on.”
“I’m guessing—no, I don’t have to guess. He told you that sex with him would be astonishing. Didn’t he?”
Jacob smiles, remembering. “It was.” He lifts up on one elbow. What he said was, “You can’t imagine what it feels like. There’s only one way you will ever know.”
Monsieur whispered, “There is no way I can describe this to you, because no human has ever had the experience. You have no language for this, Jacob.”
Then he let go of my shoulder and pulled away, just far enough to look into my face and study my expression.
