Today I met someone at Lambda. He described himself as ‘a thirteen year old boy looking to be introduced into the world of sex’. Impossible to resist such a morsel. And unlike many others in that realm of the senseless he lived close by, only a thousand miles away. Fresh meat from the butcher shop around the corner almost.

He told me that I knew what he wanted. I laughed rather cruelly, informing him that his description was ambiguous and I could not tell whether he wanted knowledge or experience.

Him: What do you have to offer?




Me: Sex and sudden death.




Him: Then experience it is. Remember I'm only 13 and I'm only small. Be gentle.

I laughed again. Told him that if he was that interested in losing his life then we would have to arrange it properly, make a rendezvous, savour the anticipation of the kill. Anyway, I was tired, sated from an earlier meal.

He stripped off his t-shirt displaying a small, tanned chest. He was shy, yet brazen. I shivered, watching his heart moving under the impossibly fine skin.

Him: What big teeth you have.




Me: All the better to pierce your heart with, my precious.

He pulled off his shorts to reveal brown, hairless legs, begging me.

I gazed hungrily at the fine tender flesh before me. Forced myself to remind the boyslut that true cyberotics are best experienced over a period of days . . . or weeks. I live for the pleasure of the hunt.

Him: I'm running, Crimson. Catch me Hunt me?!




Him: Catch me - Kill me - Puncture my sweet neck.Drink the essence of my life. Dance in symbiotic grace.Drink me! Fuck me! Kill me!




Me: Enticing Child, I would like nothing better than to offer you the Dark Gift of popular novels, to go down on such succulent flesh, to penetrate every orifice but the moment the gift is not extended *quite* so easily as you might imagine. There is no such thing as a free lunch.




Him: When? When will the moment come? I want my blood to pulse through your dark veins. I want to feel the vampyric embrace, the embrace that suffocates, that squeezes out the life, that kills the pulse.




Me: Be here tomorrow at midnight. I will consider killing you then. But I warn you, I have found 13 year olds die disappointingly quick, and I prefer to engage in a lingering death scene. I am not convinced your youth offers me anything but silken skin. Be aware that I genderfuck as I kill, and you may find your final moments unsettling.




Him: The witching hour - no better time to feast on the gifts of life. Young blood is better than old. I will try to struggle. I will contort as your being shrouds my brown carriage of skin and blood. I will be a thrill kill - kill me!