The story you are about to read is NSFW. This is the first in a handful of upcoming short-stories from one of our authors. Let us know if you’d like to see more like this.
This is not a story about love, or romance, and it’s not exactly a horror story. This is just the story of how I died. It’s utterly unremarkable, not even by medical standards.
Me and the supervisor of the hotel I was working for, had established a sexual relationship; no romance, certainly not for me, and probably not on his end either. He was a strange man, invented his own religion, and he called it “Secularism”. He even wrote the rules, or the equivalent of a Bible for it. He sold it as an e-book on Amazon. One of his rules was that physical intimacy was not allowed, until some sort of commitment had been established. Kissing and over the clothes stuff was okay, grinding and dry humping were okay too, but any kind of penetration was out. The commitment didn’t have to be formal like marriage, or engagement; it just had to be acknowledged by both parties.
I seduced him and was constantly making him break these rules; behind the front desk, in the back office… in the front office, when the cameras were unplugged, in the boiler room, bent over the laundry bin that held years of lost and found guest crap, and of course, in the room where he lived upstairs.
One day, after my shift, he brought me upstairs for a “talk”. I was suspicious; generally, a big talk always means the end of something, and the beginning of something new. This was not an exception. I sat on the edge of his bed, and he sat across from me. Let’s call him Jim, and we’ll call me Nancy. And yeah, those aren’t our real names.
“Do you ever notice how you feel better after you blow me?” Jim asked me.
“That’s pretty blunt, doesn’t everyone feel pretty good after sex?” I returned.
“Yeah but not like you. And I don’t always feel good after sex with you. In fact, it’s exhausting. Listen, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I have this theory…” he began, and before he could launch into one of his lectures, I stopped him.
“Look if this is getting weird for you, we can cool off,” I said, shrugging. It wasn’t a big deal, god knows I can live without sex. I had been split up with my ex-husband for almost a year, and I hadn’t died of frustration.
“No, that’s not it. Let me just get this out. I think you’re a psychic vampire,” he said. “And before you freak out, let me just make a few observations: You’re drawn to violence, it gives you a charge, and you can’t deny it. You’re always more energetic around other energetic people, but most of all, you’re energetic after sex. I can literally feel my energy being sapped when I’m with you. You’re ready to get up and go, and I’m half dead when we’re done. Can you deny that you feel recharged by other people’s strong emotions?” he asked, taking a breath to let me answer, finally.
I was on my way to thinking he was nuts, but it actually made sense to me. I nodded.
“So I have this idea, this isn’t my idea of a kinky fantasy, but it does turn me on. I want you to visualize what you’re really doing when we have sex, or when you’re sucking me off,” he said.
And so we experimented with something new. And I did. He was right. It became this habit then, and I watched. I could see myself pulling these dark blue misty strands of crackling energy out of him, and into my own skin. It sank into my pores, and recharged me. I could see him paling, more and more, after each session. It even came to a point where he started having to take a few days as a break in between because he was so exhausted.
I could see the evidence in his work. He even collapsed once at the hotel, and had to be taken to the emergency room. And I have to admit, I drained him. I would sometimes lie, and claim to only be taking a little, but sometimes… I was so hungry for him. He’d be inside me, and I would pull with this inner self, and take everything I could, until he was practically nothing. Sometimes, I left him just laying in his room.
This story is not meant to exalt my sexual prowess. I’m pretty decent in my opinion, but not a porn star by anyone’s standards. I was killing him and the thrill it gave me was absolutely divine. Jim just got thinner, and thinner, and took up smoking again, despite having successfully quit for months.
Then I got fired. I refused to come in on my day off, and was fired for it. I got another job fairly quickly, but it was a work-at-home thing.
No more sex at work, no more sex after work even, and I was never around anyone either. All day in the house… I didn’t even have time to visit my family anymore. I just stayed in the house, and worked. The first thing to go was my vision. I couldn’t drive anymore, and couldn’t afford glasses. Then smells became… intense. I couldn’t stand to leave my apartment, because the air outside it was vile. And I was… exhausted. Within a month, I lost twenty pounds, and by then, food had become unappetizing, and so I lived on water, which I constantly vomited up anyway.
Eventually, I was found sleeping in my own vomit, in my car, trying to get to the hotel. An ambulance came, and took me off to the hospital.
My blood was tested every four hours, and they pumped vitamins and minerals and nutrients into me. Specifically, potassium, which burned going into, and made my mouth taste like garbage. But it didn’t work. I had become too dependent on others, and rather than pace myself, I had practically quit energy consumption cold turkey.
My potassium levels couldn’t be raised, and no one ever got close enough for me to feed on. I didn’t have the energy needed to drink from anyone. I was an alcoholic, dying from a lack of alcohol.
And so I did die. The freedom I have now is incomparable to the prison of my body. I can take what I want, when I want, and I exist on the edge of dreams. I have friends. We dream with you often, and when we go too far, you die. We’re not evil, just careless sometimes. I miss sex, but now I have something better.