by Gabi Moore
My plan seemed reasonable. I didn’t have anything else to do that evening except continue to lick my own frustrated cum from my hands. The decision had only taken me a few years to form into an actionable plan. Realizing I had nothing to lose, I got dressed and left to Thomas’s favorite haunt, “Lectricland”.
I threw on some tight and trendy clothes -- as best as I could muster under the circumstances. I stopped by the mirror in the bathroom on my way out the door to fuck with my hair for a bit, and then sighed defeatedly. My outfit wouldn’t fool anyone, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change the fact. I’m not really a clubber, and I’m definitely not ‘scene’ material.
I left my apartment. My hands still smelled like semen, but I figured that was probably for the best.
“Pheromones for Faeries,” I thought.
Whether celestial bodies or green traffic lights, all things luminous seemed to shine for me that evening. There was a distinct feeling in the air that tonight was the night that might change everything. At that point, I wasn’t sure whether or not the zeitgeist of the moment was fate or desperation, but it didn’t seem to matter much.
My emotional wave was strong, and I was committed to riding things out -- however they might end up.
Chapter 2: Stoker
Like so many other itinerate, vampy faggots I got my start in this business by sucking cock. It wasn’t long before I was giving it up the ass to homo-normative, macho types while they begged me to call them princess. I’d slap them in the ass, keep topping them, and pull their hair in warning.
“If you so much as lose a single drop of cum that doesn’t end up in my mouth I will never fuck you again,” I told them. “Every single other man in the city will know exactly how worthless and disgusting of a bottom you are. I’m the fucking princess in this relationship.”
You had to be firm with biker types. That’s the only language they understand. Naturally I videotaped the whole thing, and streamed it online. Main goal was never to give a fuck, and always to get my fix. Realistically, they probably got a kick out of being publically owned. Degradation is the fantasy life of those fuckers.
I’m a self - styled incubus and cum vampire. On a decent night, I can drink deeply from the fountains of about twelve or thirteen cocks. Others might have me beat in that regard, but I’d like to point out one difference between myself and those whores you might be thinking of — I deal purely in seduction, not cash. As trivial as it may sound, I find that when money becomes tied up in an exchange of unmitigated lust, it only serves to detract from the currency of exchange. I have my eye on more pristine sustenance. Money is a holder of value, and I want all of that value to be stored within the sperm when it lands at the back of my throat.
Worship is how you get the most out of your victims. You make their prayers saturate inside of the sperm before you swallow; it’s a neat trick. You don’t get much better than that in terms of potency for sexual fluids.
If you’re confused, try to think of things in terms of a celebrity. Sure, they get paid great money to be a public whore. Unless they move in toward prostitution in the first place, they don’t usually get paid to have sex. Of course, a celebrity is not at a lack for people who are willing to sexually worship their bodies. The fact that a celebrity is sexually desired by so many people is a major component which fuels the power of their image.
Most people don’t think of this in the same way as I do, but my eyes have been baptized by cum enough times to understand true reality when I see it — True Celebrities are those who understand and implement sexual vampirism in its most potent form.
I figured out the mechanics of my game, and made no pretense of it. Consequently, in the circles I ran, they called me Stoker.
My only problem is that I was getting a bit tired of my usual form of play. The thirst for that which is unique is an unfortunate aspect of my game. Conquering weak willed people is only exciting for so long, and then you need to move onto more difficult prey.
I needed to find some thrill beyond the ordinary seizure of spiritual power through subversive cock-sucking methods. I needed to find someone who would literally worship me. I wanted to get someone to fall in love with me.
I’ve deliberated about this sort of thing quite a bit while testing the waters. I suspected that the most potent source sperm had to be fresh from the body of someone who truly loved you. Most people that I fuck don’t love me. I deal most commonly in the realm of lust. In order to test my theory, I needed to find sincere, to the core, I offer you my soul, love.
Usually that type of love requires a commitment, but I knew where I could get that kind of love for less than 20 bucks a hit. One of my rules for personal play was never buy sex, because when you do that you tend to cheapen yourself. I thought that maybe this once… it might be worth the front cost in the name of experimentation. All I needed to do was find that candy-flipped queer, Thomas. Then I could pick an easy mark, and let the chips fall where they may.
“Lectricland, here we come,” I thought to myself while slicking my hair back in the mirror.
Cute little skulls and bats adorned the outside of my mirror, and I thought my jet black hair looked stunning against the fabric of my suit. If I could suck my own cock with any sort of efficiency, I probably would. I had a much more fun directing my attentions toward others. I enjoyed the feeling of having another soul wrapped around my finger — or dick for that matter. The sense of control was delicious.
I snapped my teeth at myself in the mirror, and grinned at the sight of my own pearly whites. Narcissism had to be my favorite game of all time; I was damn good at it.
***
I walked into the club like “Everybody want’s to be like me” / “Everybody wants to get with me”. Riding the high of my own attitude, I swayed my ass while I wagged my finger at the gawkers.
“Sorry hun, Looking for someone special, and it ain’t you,” was the message written on my heart.
I was in absolute control, and I loved it.
I didn’t have to say any of these things, that was the beautiful part. When you’re on your A-Game, you don’t need to put up or put out for anybody. The world revolves around your dick, and that’s all there is to it. Even if it’s not true, our society is so pathological that people find those sort of characteristics to be magnetic.
“Lost in the wilderness, let my cock show you the way,” I thought to myself, while half-scanning the densely populated and colorful floor of Lectricland.
I knew who my mark was, and I knew I wouldn’t have to try too hard to point them out. Never hurts to put out a few positive vibes though. As long as the show was for future potential victims, and not for my own ego. One of the primary rules of running the show in a social context is that you can’t ever sip your own cool-aid.
Know what I mean?
The moment you start believing in your own shit, is when you get lost. The whole point of being able to project a belief system was so that I could sway those around me who are more weak willed into becoming subservient to my direction. If I started to believe my own shit, then I would be forced to make implicit ethical decisions based on the values that I had propagated. People who lived with a core set of values were fools, as far as I could tell.
Thomas, for example, was a fool.
Thomas the Moli Faerie was flamboyant as fuck — it was part of the dealer game. The only problem was that Thomas was a weak fucker when it came to screwing other people over. You always knew where you were at with Thomas, even if it only took a glance in the eyes. The first hit was free with a blowjob, and each one after that was $25 a hit. What most didn’t know is that Thomas had a weakness for being fucked in the ass. If you know how make an asshole beg for your cock, you can get the person to commit to anything. Once a promise has been secured, it would take a person of more flexible moral fiber to back out.
Promises, therefore, are for fools with no clear sense of direction.
Thomas may have been flamboyant, but w
hen you beg to be fucked up the ass -- let’s just say your stash gets raided. Thomas’s real problem was the belief in a karmic system of exchange. A lot of dealers went in for that sort of thing. Personally, I think it’s because they like to feel like they’re in control, concerning the possibility that they might get busted, and their entire career would be trashed. Dealing with the unknown can be a scary thing, and if you’re not prepared for it adequately, you can do a lot of stupid shit.
I took a deep breath, and sipped on my first top shelf whiskey of the night. Some hopeful tranny bought it for me, and was chatting me up like a fly in my ear. I found it was better to accept the gift, and then proceed to offer exactly nothing in return. Not even my attention. Encouragement them only gives them hope, and there are always others who are dying to buy you a drink, or get you loaded in exchange for that special sort of attention.
“Speak of the devil,” I thought, as the liquor burned its way to my stomach.
On the other side of the room, a young man with a rainbow colored afro was fist pumping his way from the back entrance of the club. An entourage of twenty heads were following him, and all but one of them was held back by the velvet rope which separated the high-class rooftop garden patrons from the dance floor proletariat.
“Never made you bend over on the roof before, Thomas,” I thought to myself while pouring the remainder of the lowball tumbler into my mouth.
The glass slammed down on the counter, and I licked my lips. There would be a crowd of people to perform in front of, and this was going to be interesting as hell. I made my way through the dance floor and over to the stairwell. Before I left, I laughed out loud; that queer who bought me the whisky was still trying to speak to me as I walked away.
“Some people never learn,” I shook my head and grinned; this was going to be fun.
Chapter 3: Daniel
A lot of people got dressed up when they went to Lectricland. While I tried, I knew that my style was never quite up to snuff. I wasn’t really going there to pick up on anyone, and there was no real reason for me to communicate with any of the shady disco types that make that place their home. Thomas was an interesting sort because drug distribution was zir focus, instead of seeking the next relationship. Thomas facilitated the love lives of others, which was something that I found to be incredibly mythic.
In the circles I hung out in, we all got a chance to know who was dealing what, and what they were doing. I was always a bit more reserved than the others, and had only played around with drugs for experimental purposes. Most of my other friends used substances in patterns of recreational abuse, or as behavioral crutches. When you hang out with people, even if it is occasional, you tend to hear a few things about the world; that’s how I found out about Thomas’s ongoing first-timer deal. When you’re not opposed to sucking on a cock, and you figure you might be in the market one day, that kind of information tends to stick.
As it happens, I didn’t have much trouble finding Thomas once I arrived at the club. There was a group of admiring hopefuls all swarming around that immaculate rainbow colored afro. I didn’t have any pretensions about who I was as a person, because I wasn’t terribly fond of myself anyways. Also, the fear that some people have when approaching drug dealers, concerning the potential for falling into addictive patterns of use wasn’t on my mind. My purpose was strictly experimental, and with a definitive end in mind. I knew what I was looking for, and I wasn’t afraid to make myself vulnerable in order to secure the tools necessary to ascend to that higher state of reality.
My solo practice gave me the impression that I was approaching my goal. Hopefully, Thomas could give me the extra boost necessary to clear the layers of the upper stratosphere.
I had a note written ahead of time. It was a simple folded piece of parchment paper. On the paper I had written in ink, “First Time, Available Now. Desire Consciousness Expansion.”
I didn’t include my name, or any direct reference to information about our exchange. I also made sure that when I passed the paper off I made direct eye contact at the point of transfer. I wanted to clearly communicate that I was prepared to do what was necessary in that exact moment, in front of whomever, in order to secure the goods that Thomas had to offer.
Thomas looked at me and the crowd around him parted. With flamboyance and panache, a lighter appeared out of a striped pair of tight, stone-washed jeans. After a cursory glance at the note, Thomas’s eyes penetrated my own and the lighter set my note ablaze. I watched, helplessly as my prompt had been destroyed the moment I offered it over to the dealer.
I was confused, but I didn’t back down.
Thomas strut forward to me, and unwrapped a piece of gum which was produced from somewhere within that immaculate fro. A tongue flashed before me, and some part of the gum was placed on the tongue. A hand grabbed my ass and pulled me close. The tongue entered my mouth, and an object was deposited inside of my mouth.
“Swallow,” Thomas whispered.
So, I did.
It never occurred to me to question the instructions. The entire experience was way surreal. All of the people around us stopped and stared with wide mouths at our exchange. It was like each of them wanted to be in my position, but for some reason I was chosen.
Chosen for what?
I don’t know. A kiss? Some weird slip of paper?
I knew that blotters of acid came on papers like that, but Thomas wasn’t really known for being too into psychedelics. Beyond acid and molly, I really didn’t know much about the types of drugs that were popular at clubs these days.
“Gone and done now,” I thought to myself, reflecting with anxiety at my present situation.
Questions began forming in my mind, but before I could articulate them, the orbit of people which surrounded Thomas had already closed once more. They were all migrating together in from the back patio toward the dance floor. I felt myself drawn inward. I was caught within Thomas’s orbit, and for some reason I found it incredibly difficult to escape.
“Wait, Thomas, what was that kiss all about?” I asked, but my question fell on deaf ears.
Thomas had given me my moment in the light of his attention. Now, I was merely another planetary body, orbiting around his brilliance. Into the club I followed, and up the stairs toward the back. We were headed to the roof. A private section of the club used only by those who felt comfortable enough to walk wherever they pleased. I watched as Thomas lifted a partition and walked from one side to the other. The partition was made of red velvet, and had a brass latch on one end which connected to a hook.
While the others who followed Thomas were deterred by the partition, I didn’t pay it any mind. Something in my intuition told me that those who remained on either side of the partition did so based on a process of self-election. I shrugged and made my way through the crowd, only to temporarily displace the partition.
“Why do you get to go?” someone asked, attitude and self-victimization present in their voice.
I could only turn and blink at them in response.
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink,” I thought.
Exhaling, I let the words melt around me, and turned to follow Thomas up toward the rooftop garden.
Chapter 4: Daniel
The rooftop was beautiful. There were live jasmine plants dangling terraced gardens which surrounded the rooftop. A thatched frame canopy was overhead, and a slight fountain gurgled off to the side, away from the entrance to the roof. The stairs were long, and so the view was splendid. Lectricland was not the highest building in the area, but the view was nothing short of incredible. For the most part, Thomas and myself were alone on the rooftop, though there were a handful of others mild-mannered socialite types — all minding their own business while the dance party rambled on below.
A soft, rhythmic thumping came through the door, though much of the sound quality was lost to the insulation which separated the dance floor from the roof garden. This place was meant to be
a sanctuary within the chaos of the club. From what I could tell, the rooftop’s designers had succeeded in their goal. Thomas sat on the edge of the fountain. He appeared relaxed and looked up at the evening sky. When I started toward the fountain, I saw small flashes of light outline the dealer’s silhouette. My vision was strikingly clear, and though it may have been psychosomatic, I felt an incredible boost of energy coming from the base of my spine.
We were only up there for about ten minutes before another person came out toward us. He was one of those tall dark club rat types. He looked suave as hell, and his stride was full of attitude.