I’ve decided to write short scary stories that are based on gay themes, whether it’s about something specific in the gay community that I’ve experienced or that there happen to be gay characters involved in the story. Why? Because I’m gay and I’m basing them off experiences I’ve had in my own life with an odd twist of the fantastical and gory (though sometimes being gay can be pretty gory; Santorum anyone?).
He walked through the crowd of men, all of them grinding against one another to the bass-riddled music, coming straight toward me. I kept my icy blue eyes locked his deep brown ones as he parted the sea of bodies and came to me like Moses. His ten inches commanded to be worshipped, followed, touched.
His huge hand gripped mine and he pulled me out to the middle of the dance floor as a new song, a slower, more intimate tune, played. He swiveled his hips against mine as I inhaled his natural musk that irradiated from his pearlescent, pale skin. We stared at one another while we let our bodies fall into sync to each other and the music.
Hours ticked by like minutes and it was time for the club to close down. The ‘ugly lights’ flashed on, but he already pulled me out the exit and into the night.
We arrived at his apartment down the block: a darkened, one-room fuck palace with exposed wood beams and shiny metal to balance out the intense brown tones. If I had been swimming in his eyes, his condo would be the setting. On a risen platform sat his gigantic bed, unmade, probably dirtied from his previous night’s victim, but I ignored the idea. I wasn’t worried about being another notch in his bedpost.
He laid me on the bed, his towering frame shadowing me. I welcomed him into my arms, but he placed his hands over my throat. At first, I found it exhilarating and kinky, but he cut off the oxygen in hopes of my passing out or possibly dying. Little did he realize I didn’t need oxygen.
In seconds, his pants ripped off and I was on top of him, his arms tangled up by the wrists using the sheets against the metal frame of his bed. My mouth had already latched onto his penis and I let the rich, red fluid spew from the puncture wounds I created with my sharp canines. He let out a hiss of pain, but I had already downed two liters of blood when the human body at his weight only carries four point five on average.
He was dead before he could inhale another lungful of oxygen required to scream. His pale body turned cold, and I left him tied to his bed as I wiped the few stray drops of blood dripping from my mouth. I licked my fingers and showed myself out.
Replenished, I could enjoy the rest of my night before it was time to rest. But tomorrow night, the hunt would repeat itself.