The House Across The Street

I have sat for a long while now, in the dark, waiting.

I know how it works. Well read, I am a writer and a man who believes in many things others may not. Destiny, fate, and love. Truth and beauty. Dark things in the night.

I left my front door unlatched for him. I know he will come. He read the invitation in my eyes tonight, as I watched him, just as surely as I had responded to his unique courtship.

Thinking of what was to come, I shivered in exquisite anticipation.


Much later, he stepped silently out of the shadows that lurk in my brownstone’s corners. He stopped, as if to display himself for me in a beam of night shimmered moonlight coming from the very window from which I had watched him earlier tonight. He was young, much younger than I had thought, hardly more than a boy really, like me. He wore jeans, a rumpled white shirt, and a scarred leather jacket. A gold cross hung from his neck on a fragile chain. His hair, two raven wings, fell straight and unbound over his shoulders and reached nearly to his waist.

He looked at me with an unearthly stillness and my breath stopped for the long moment until he spoke.

“You are mine,” he said.

I almost fell to my knees so strong was the pull of him, something raw and tender in his voice as he spoke the words only confirming what we both already knew. My fingers curled behind me, gripping so tightly my nails cut into my palms. I was tossed in the storm of my emotions, frozen there where I stood. Fear and desire mingled to form a heady mixture. It was intoxicating, frightening.

“I can’t hurt you,” he said, as if he had heard my fearful thoughts quite clearly.

He came closer, so close we could have kissed with only the slightest pursing of our lips.

I heard a sigh, as if from a distance. Was it his? Was it mine? I did not know. This seemed to be a dream. Perhaps it was. Perhaps I had fallen, without knowing it, into a dream that only seemed real. I stood looking at him, shaking with thundering desire. My craving for the full force of him was almost more than I could bear.

Pain and pleasure were both promised in his eyes. Just one touch, my mind screamed.

“Only a taste,” he said, his warm breath licking over my mouth.

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0 thoughts on “The House Across The Street

  1. elise,

    I am so glad you visited. I’ve enjoyed your work very much and to touch you pleases me. Thank you for leaving your comment.


  2. beautiful! What a wonderful storyteller you are! I love the slow, sweet build up … the sensuousness of the prose is sublime!

  3. selkie,

    Thank you for visiting, and reading, and for the lovely compliments. This story is dear to me and to know it was enjoyed pleases me greatly.


  4. This [a breath]
    was one [again, try to breathe]
    of the most [don’t stop]
    painfully [yes, that, painful]
    erotic [remember to breathe.]
    stories [only a story]
    I have ever [another big breath]
    read. [made it.]


    But more than that, what first struck me was how incredibly evocative the descriptions were. I could see it, I could feel it, I was there. It didn’t hurt that I love old houses with twists and turns and stained glass and stone and secrets.

    By the time you mentioned Poe, it was just a confirmation of the style you were trying to achieve, you were already clearly in the previous century. A mention of electric lights came as a shock. I expected nothing more modern than gaslight, if it even had to be that modern.

    You left me impressed, breathless, and wet. Thank you. As always.


  5. hey miss oatmeal,

    I just love how you “get” me. I adore old houses too. This story was based on a real house I saw once, as I stood on a balcony in Chicago. It was as described, almost finished and so amazingly ancient in design despite its newness. By the time I got home, the story was finished in my mind. It just seemed fitting that a gay, sexy vampire would live in a place like that!

    I am glad you liked it. I only submitted it once and the editor liked it but declined to publish it because he couldn’t imagine being able to see the house so easily (obviously, he’s never visited Chicago).


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