crave fresh blood

October 27, 2019

Impurity springs from the patient sin of your hands. But you could care less. It is obvious in the brightness of your eyes and the faint tremor of those expectant lips. Tenderness bleeds away with the darkness. You crave fresh blood. And a single burning glance sends the wolf away in the night, howling for mercy from the cold, unforgiving moon.



September 1, 2019

Overwhelmed with desire
my kisses become bites
on your neck and shoulders –

Once it became acceptable to think of Dracula in terms of Victorian society’s most repressed and forbidden sexual fantasies, the question became one of whether these fantasies were heterosexual, homosexual or even bisexual. Every possible variation has been explored. Some have shone the spotlight on male desire, viewing Dracula as “the sexual fever-dream of a middle-class Victorian man, a frightened dialogue between demonism and desire” or as a novel obsessed with the definition of masculinity: “bestial male energy, here highly sexualized, is displaced onto the vampire”. In contrast, Christopher Craft argues that the conflict in Dracula is essentially homoerotic and is rooted in Dracula’s “unfulfilled sexual ambition to fuse with a male [Jonathan]. Always postponed and never directly enacted, this desire finds evasive fulfilment in an important series of heterosexual displacements”. Others have viewed sexuality in the novel in terms of late Victorian anxieties about degeneration, atavism, evolutionary theory, and reverse colonization.

Elizabeth Miller
Coitus interruptus: Sex, Bram Stoker, and Dracula

no sign of movement

February 26, 2019

The lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart.

Bram Stoker

dream of vampires

February 9, 2019

The secret a close friend confided to me about her 59 year old grandmother:

“This is something gross for you to cherish. Me at age twelve staying at my gran’s in Portsmouth for the weekend. I’d gone to bed about eleven on Saturday night. Gran was downstairs with this neighbour, a guy from two doors down. He was younger than her. Maybe twenty years younger.

“Anyhow. I got up towards midnight and tiptoed downstairs for a glass of water. Through the partly open living room door I see gran and the neighbour on the sofa playing cards. All of a sudden, gran peels off her blouse exposing her breasts; she wasn’t wearing a bra. It happened so quickly too. It seemed surreal.

“He smiles at her and says, ‘Nice.’ Then he says, ‘Your pick-up.’ Gran takes a card; he takes a card. Gran stands and unzips her skirt.

“I realise they’re playing somekind of strip poker.

“I slip into the kitchen quiet as a mouse and get the water. Then it’s back to bed for me. But I can’t relax. I keep thinking about the game downstairs.

“Unable to overcome my curiosity, I go back downstairs. Gran and the neighbour were both nude. He sits on the sofa, she kneels between his spread legs. He has a hand resting on her bobbing head. And I can’t believe what she’s got in her mouth!

“He’s making these funny panting noises all the while. ‘Keep going,’ he says, ‘keep going.’ And then it’s like he’s having somekind of fit. His whole body shivering and shaking –

“I didn’t know what the hell was happening. It frightened me, I’ll tell you. I ran upstairs for the safety of my bed. Eventually I slept but I dreamt about vampires. Sucking blood from people. It was disgusting.

“Today I know the neighbour was cumming in gran’s mouth. But back then I thought he was dying, and that gran was sucking the life out of him. Gross, eh? Made me dream of vampires”


Midnight kiss

October 30, 2018

Feel her icy breath at midnight
turn blood warm
her fangs at your throat –

Two's company

The famous courtesan Clarimonde died recently, as the result of an orgy which lasted eight days and eight nights. It was something infernally magnificent. They revived the abominations of the feasts of Belshazzar and Cleopatra. Great God! what an age this is in which we live! The guests were served by swarthy slaves speaking an unknown tongue, who to my mind had every appearance of veritable demons; the livery of the meanest among them might have served as a gala-costume for an emperor. There have always been current some very strange stories concerning this Clarimonde, and all her lovers have come to a miserable or a violent end. It has been said that she was a ghoul, a female vampire; but I believe that she was Beelzebub in person.

Théophile Gautier
Trans. Peedeel

A Vampiric’s Lust

March 4, 2018

eyes the colour of gold
there is a story that must be told
a passionate soul that is true
could i be the one for you?
within the darkness of night there is a secret i must hide
could you be the holder of my pride?
through the paleness of life,
you will never let me bring down my knife
with you buy my side i may never die
because i make you form a gentle sigh…
you tell me i have no strife
but what is the point of immortality if you deny yourself the simple pleasures in life
the immortality i declare is not the answer so beware

Aubrey Silver

the fairy tale

February 27, 2018


The morality of fantasy and horror is, by and large, the strict morality of the fairy tale. The vampire is slain, the alien is blown out of the airlock, the Dark Lord is vanquished, and, perhaps at some loss, the good triumph – not because they are better armed but because Providence is on their side. Why does the third of the three brothers, who shares his food with the old woman in the wood, go on to become king of the country? Why does Bond manage to disarm the nuclear bomb a few seconds before it goes off rather than, as it were, a few seconds afterwards? Because a universe where that did not happen would be a dark and hostile place. Let there be goblin hordes, let there be terrible environmental threats, let there be giant mutated slugs if you really must, but let there also be hope. It may be a grim, thin hope, an Arthurian sword at sunset, but let us know that we do not live in vain.

Terry Pratchett
Let There Be Dragons

Model - Maya Delma - Photo - Islandboiphotography

She leans into me in the queer morning light for her kiss, and my mouth slackens and my head lolls back. Every day is the same, and night no different than day. Darkness, rain needling against the rooftop and windows, wind thundering through distant trees. She never sleeps. Her need keeps her running hot and constant, a nuclear reactor of hunger that can never be shut down. – It’s not so bad, my sister said, the few times I spoke with her until she stopped taking my calls. – She takes from you, but she gives you something back, in a way. It’s almost an even exchange. – What does she do, what is she, how can she be? I asked over and over again. – Is she a vampire? A ghoul? An insect? Why do we submit?

– I don’t know, my sister always replied. – Who can say?

Livia Llewellyn
The Mysteries