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The air is heavy during the Summer in Mississippi. You can feel it as you walk along the dirt road. An occasional vehicle drifts on by as you trek from town towards your small, two room house. The sky is a painting of pink, orange and even golden yellow. The sun is sinking out in the far distance of the skyline. There’s a film of sweat on your body underneath the light, cotton dress you’re wearing. You didn’t want to but you had to make the fairly lengthy walk to and from town for some groceries, painkillers and extra cloth. It’s a certain smooth and non-irritating type of cloth that you use specifically when it’s time for your menstrual cycle. You open your screen door, unlock the main, wooden one and enter the house. Unfortunately, even inside the humidity and heat are present. The brown paper bags are set on the kitchen countertops. Taking out the clean menstrual cloths, you go out into the backyard and remove the used ones from your undergarments. Where you’re situated, there are no nearby houses to watch as you do this. In your eyes, you don’t see it as an entirely terrible thing, even if thoughts of loneliness creep in sometimes. Bloody rags and cloth you collected sit in a small pile on the grass, a couple feet away from the house. They’re out here for you to burn. You can feel the aching cramps that have been stinging your lower abdomen for two days now. You hold onto the area below your stomach as you go inside to find the gasoline and matches. There’s a sudden breeze that rolls through, it’s not cool but just wind as it flows through the blades of grass, brings the metal chimes to life, the bloody rags and cloth flap and become slightly displaced. A stronger blow causes one loose cloth to take flight. The sunset has now sunk deep into the sky, allowing the darkness to settle. Across half a yard, the bloody cloth flies along in the wind, but it stops. The wind no longer carrying it as a hand has caught it. A figure stands in the field right next to your house, facing that very direction; running their opposite hand over the bloodied cloth as if it were something precious. Raising it to their nose, a deep inhale. A low groan in excitement and hunger.
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The house is lit by candles in different places around the house, the glowy lowlight accentuated by the frogs and crickets that chirp and sing out in the land and among the trees. With two small red pills in one palm, you tilt your head back and drink down the painkillers with a glass of water. Sighing from the irritation of the menstrual pain, you drink the rest of the water. Unaware of the faint change of the wind, it disappeared. The calming ambience of the nighttime animals and insects no longer there, as if they know something you don’t. Something that’s now very interested, walking casually towards your house. You head towards the bathroom to start a bath when you freeze.
A knock on the front door.
Casual in the way you hear it, as if it were a neighbor. You don’t move immediately, after maybe fifteen seconds that’s when you saunter towards the door. Hidden within a flap under the hem of your dress, near your stomach, is a paring knife used for cooking. You have a shotgun but forgot to grab it, if any case, the knife will hopefully be useful. Your hand slowly unlocks the door and you open it.
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A man stands on your porch. A white man. Wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and two buttons undone over his chest. Suspenders hang loose near his hips, with his dark trousers. His brown hair is a little tousled, but not messy.
“Evenin’ darlin’.”
His voice is low with a typical southern drawl that’s always heard around these parts. No words come to you at first. Not many white folk come around here often.
“Hello.”
Your voice is small but not meek. You’re just surprised to see a white man on your porch at this time of night.
“Mighty fine night out tonight.”
He gives you a smile, a polite one. But his presence isn’t only unexpected, it’s almost as if the air surrounding him is… off. You keep your mouth closed.
“Hate to interrupt your night, darlin’, but could I trouble you for somethin’ cold? Been workin’ the fields all day, took a wrong turn down the road in the dark and then saw your house. Like a beacon of hope.”
He chuckles a bit at the end. There is an aura of friendliness radiating from the man, but something else far less so. You don’t know what it is, very subtle, but it’s there. For a moment, you think it over. It could have been his natural charisma or your innocent kindness, but either way, fate is sealed when you invite him in.
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Not only are you still uncomfortable from your menstrual cycle, but you’re also anxious from the appearance of the strange man. He introduced himself, Remmick, and you told him your name. There’s a tension in the air the moment he stepped inside. Your back is facing him as you turn the copper faucet of your sink, filling up an enamel cup with cold water. He sits in one of the two wooden chairs at the kitchen table, looking unusually comfortable, as if he’s been here many times before. There’s a wide grin as you set the now full enamel cup in front of him, he thanks you, then looks around at the decor of your house. It feels as if there’s something else besides the humidity, you’d have expected him to drink the water already and leave. But he hasn’t even touched the cup. You stand near the kitchen table, doing your best to maintain a polite demeanor. But that paring knife within the hidden flap of your dress is very tempting now.
“It was so kind of you to give me an invitation.”
Remmick says in a casual tone. His words make no sense until you see what he meant as he takes out a piece of cloth. Crumpled up, stained with dried blood. Your blood. One single cloth that escaped the burning and it came to him. A pit is instantly felt in your stomach, a fight or flight response; you take out the paring knife and hold it with two hands, pointing it at him. The white man only chuckles, standing up from the chair.
“Oh, well now, there’s nothin’ to be ashamed of.”
His steps grow closer, you back away with each one. There’s something you now catch that you haven’t before, the way the candlelight shines on his eyes, there’s a deep crimson glint within his eyes. Unlike anything you’ve seen before, especially in another human being. He takes an inhale and breathes out in a low groan.
“Sweet… Nectar of the Gods.”
The second he steps too close, you raise your dominant hand with the paring knife and bring it down in one fast motion but with the palm of his hand, the blade catches through his hand. He grins and shakes his head. With even faster movement, he pushes you onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs, pulling out the paring knife as if it were a splinter and tosses it behind him. Your heart thumps within your ribcage. The man leans down, his large hands on both of your knees. His expression is now softened, his crimson-glinted eyes gazing at your features, as a lover would.
But there is no love here, just hunger.
“You get lonely out here, darlin’? In this house, all by yourself…?”
His voice is low, almost hushed. In this second, you hate that you find him attractive. You never discriminated against other races, this part of the country is primarily black but you haven’t seen a face like his before. You keep your mouth closed. His fingers subtly rub your bare knees, going under the bottom hem of your cotton dress. It’s in this moment that you realize just how touch-starved you are. It’s been a while since a man has touched you. The more primal side of you is making your body react, even to this handsome stranger. He already knows this and smiles wide, no longer hiding and baring his abnormally long K-9’s. Something you can’t ignore and the pit in your stomach digs wider. This stranger is no man… something older, ancient, an insatiable creature. You feel his hands part your legs on the wooden chair.
“You ever felt a man taste you…?”
Your breathing has gotten faster without realizing, your heartbeat is heard within your eardrums. You have to force yourself to pull at memories from the past, you nod.
Remmick’s smile never falters, he shakes his head.
“No, sweetheart… I meant, taste you at your sweetest…”
The crumpled, blood stained cloth he had in his hand.
The ‘invitation’.
A shiver flows through your whole body. Your subtle reaction to his words is the confirmation he needs.
He kneels down in front of you, as though he was getting ready to pray. You’re frozen in place, you don’t need to move; he can smell your arousal as well as your naturally seeping blood.
Remmick pushes up your cotton dress, you can’t help but feel a little disgusted by his intensely focused expression on your bloodied undergarments. But to him, it’s a wondrous sight.
“Relax darlin’... I promise I won’t hurt you.”
You breathe heavily through your nose. Your hands grip the edges of the wooden chair.
It’s immoral, it’s wrong, it’s fucked up… that you want this. He’s surprisingly careful as he pulls off your undergarments, they’re already stained. He holds them in his hands, admiring the deep color before they fall to the hardwood floor.
There is no sound inside or out, it’s all silent. As if the animals, insects, even the land itself knows of the threat of the inhuman being that’s now within your home. This wasn’t a traditional way of feeding, but it’s certainly a much more fun way nonetheless.
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The burning wax falls slowly down the candles that illuminate the house in golden light. Remmick’s breathing is more animalistic, his strong arms hook around your thighs as he feasts on you. Tasting, sucking and drinking the fresh blood you have plenty of.
Your head is tilted back, eyes shut, mouth agape as the kitchen is alive with your shaky moans. His mouth is drenched, wanting to get as much of you as he possibly can. As much as he’s drinking and tasting, his practiced tongue dances, widening your folds. The feeling is overwhelmingly hot, no human man has ever made you feel this good. All you can do is grip the wooden chair edges and watch his unrelenting mouth taste all that he can from you. Your toes naturally curl. Lewd, wet sounds intermingle with the combination of both your heavy breathing and your moans.
It’s too much, in the best way.
Unintentionally or not, his lips and tongue stimulate your clit. All the world fades into the background. You can feel that hibernating feeling awaken in your core. A brewing high that you’ve been craving.
“That’s right, darlin’... you gave me somethin’ I needed, now I’m happy to return the favor…”
Every long and quick lick from his tongue is like an ignition. He’s giving you pleasure while consuming all of the blood he can possibly take. All the blood your body is able to expel, and he happily partakes. In languid circles, his tongue knows just how to work you. As if you and him have been together before.
The boiling point is rising.
Just a little more…
Then, finally, you cry out as your climax captures you in an explosive way. It courses through your entire body. Everything goes away, the high makes it all feel good. Remmick, with his chin and mouth, coated in your blood and other fluids, gazes at you. Marvelling at the state he’s put you in, pride confidently shown on his devilish grin. He kisses your sensitive folds before putting your legs down, covering you up with your cotton dress again.
“Damn. Haven’t tasted a woman like that in a long time. What a delicious thing you are.”