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Thick Bodies Of Wine

by Coco Jenae` about a year ago in fiction
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The First Date To End All First Dates

One:

Half passed 6pm, Greg read the time on his phone and winced. He was early. Thirty minutes early. Greg hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the house. Part of him wanted to walk right up to the house steps with confidence. The other part of Greg thought that would be too much too soon, especially given how early he was. Before Greg had time to debate with himself much longer, the front door opened. The open doorway acted as the only source of light on this street on this winter night.

“Well don’t you look good enough to eat?” Elisa said with a seductive smile.

Greg felt a blush rise to his face, but he didn’t take his eyes away from her.

Much like the night they first met at the local pub, Greg couldn’t take his eyes off Elisa. She looked breath taking with her dark hair and bright green eyes. Greg hadn’t wasted any time to ask her out.

“Sure.” She had said, seeming not at all surprised. “Come to my house tomorrow night at 7pm.” Then she had handed him her card with her number and home address. He didn’t waste any time now either. Greg walked toward the house as if he were being pulled by a string.

Two:

Elisa’s house felt warm, modest, and inviting. With dark leather furniture, with walls painted light warm colors. Art filled most of the walls. Not the usual art one might see from a woman in her mid-twenties; such as Van Gough replicas with softer color tones. The art was something Greg could only describe as surrealism. Paintings of great battles, candid portraits of ordinary though still beautiful subjects if you took a moment to look at them. Then there were the paintings of inanimate objects. Paintings of dead trees, autumn leaves fallen onto a patch of dry grass. The one that caught Greg’s attention among all of these was the painting over the fireplace. Just the image of a shining silver scalpel, lying on a table draped with a red velvet cloth.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” Elisa asked coming up behind Greg. “Do you have an interest in art?”

He turned around, momentarily startled, sighed, and then turned back to the painting.

“I do.” He said. “I spent most of my time in high school and college studying art. Thought I’d become an artist myself, instead became more interested in the history of art, or the life stories of the artists themselves. Can’t say I’ve seen this artist before.”

Elisa said nothing for a moment.

Panicked, Greg turned around and relaxed when he saw the glasses of red wine in her hands.

“Merlot?” She offered, holding out one of the glasses.

He smiled and took the glass.

“I love a good Merlot.” He said.

They softly touched glasses.

“What’s the year?” He asked as he swirled the wine in his glass, then took the first sip.

“1926.” Elisa said with a look of pride.

Greg did not spit out the wine, but he almost did in surprise. He swallowed, noting the bold taste of the Merlot, then shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not as interested in wine as I am in art, but I know enough to know a 1926 Merlot is hard to come by. Isn’t it?”

Elisa shrugged. “It all depends.”

“On?”

“Who you know.” She sipped her wine. “I have a friend who knows how to get the rarest and well-aged wines you can find. It doesn’t only make the taste better, but it makes you feel better. Like you can take on anything the world throws at you. Believe me; I’ve had a great many things thrown at me over the years.”

Greg laughed, and then took another sip from his Merlot. The richness of the wine felt good across his tongue as did its thickness as it made its way down his throat. He felt very aware of everything around him very quickly, but in a way that also looked foggy. For a man who most times liked control over everything, this was a nice change, an excellent glass of wine, with this beautiful woman. This beautiful woman whom every time he looked at her, she wasn’t just looking back at him, but looking into him.

“Things you’ve had thrown at you over the years? What are you, twenty-five, twenty-six?” He sipped again at the Merlot. “It must be the way you carry yourself.” Greg said, shaking his head quickly to shake its lightness, then drank more of the Merlot.

“It is how I carry myself, yes.” Elisa said. “Some might also say I’ve had all the time in the world to work on my maturity level.”

Greg laughed a bark of a laugh. “Sweetheart, there isn’t enough time on earth to be able to work on your maturity, or everything you should be as a person in any meaningful way. We’re all just a bunch of kids, masquerading as adults.”

Elisa smiled, leaned forward and slid off the edge of her chair. “That might be true for your kind. But not mine.” She crawled over to him until her face was in his lap, her light green eyes looking up at him.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Greg asked.

“I can afford to waste time. But no, I don’t.” Elisa said.

Everything happened fast, almost too fast for Greg to enjoy anything. He didn’t think he’d even blinked when she was already naked and riding him, his fly having been ripped open by her manicured hands. Once the initial shock wore off, Greg got into it. Well, more into it than when this started. He had been hard the second she had her face in his lap.

While Elisa and Greg moved their bodies together, slaps were thrown by Elisa, hard ones that made Greg’s head spin. He laughed at first from the surprise, then felt himself get even harder, which until now Greg hadn’t believed to be possible. Then came the biting; not the playful nibbles Greg liked, but deep, painful bites that were carnivorous. She bit his chest, his neck, and bit chunks out of his shirt to get to his arms. Elisa didn’t just leave hickies, she left bruised and bloody open wounds.

When they came, they came together, with Greg throwing his head back and yelling, while Elisa did the same. But Elisa didn’t just moan or scream, she seemed to howl into the empty room. Greg had never heard anything like it before, but he didn’t care. She got hers. He got his. Things were now peaceful, even in this chaos.

“You’re not worried about the neighbors?” Greg asked. He used this moment to admire her body. She had the beautiful curves you see on the bodies of the women in classical paintings, as if she had been pulled straight from the canvass.

“All of my walls are soundproof.” She said “I love my privacy, and I don’t need anyone barging in.” She dragged her finger along the seam of a nearby chair, her eyes never leaving Greg.

Greg didn’t know how it was possible, but he was drunk. One drink in and he was drunk.

“The whole house; what are you…some kind of heiress?” He asked, slurring his words now.

“I was.” She said. “A long time ago, I’ve made it a point to keep working hard for my money and not taking it for granted; no matter how different things are decade to decade, century to century. All of it comes together to keep my bodies of wine always nice and thick.”

“You know what.” Greg said, trying not to laugh at everything she just said. “This has been fun, but I think I’m going to head out of here.” In his effort to stand, he only succeeded in rolling right off the chair and onto the floor.

Somewhere here, he passed out. When he came to, Elisa was crouched over him wearing a dark red sheer robe and was placing a paint tray under his head and neck.

“You men never cease to amaze me.” She said, rubbing his neck with a bitter smelling liquid, like something from the doctor’s office. “You always think you can come here and act like you own the place.”

“You invited me here.” Greg said in a voice that was barely audible.

“I did, that’s true. I did because at home I have all control over my surroundings. You act like you’re this timid guy who has a love for art, when really that’s the furthest from the truth. I’ve been watching you for a long time, taking all those over-intoxicated and sometimes drugged women back home with you when they have no business going home with anyone. I’ve seen you take away what they will never get back, while you act like it’s owed to you.”

Greg didn’t say anything, only stared as he remembered the recent times he pounded the many semi-conscious girls he brought home, and the small green lights he had seen once just outside his window, thinking they were just fireflies.

Now he knew better.

“You fucking bitch.” He said.

Elisa only smiled. “Don’t hate this player when I’m just playing better at your own fucking game. I got what I wanted from you, and you didn’t even realize you were having anything taken from you.” From a nearby leather bag, Elisa took out a scalpel, the one from the painting. It shined back at Patrick like a winking eye that knows everything that will happen next.

“What the fuck are you?” Greg asked, tears falling from his eyes. “You said something about moving through the centuries, what the fuck are you?”

“I’m just a twelve hundred year old vampire, who makes those Twilight twats look like fucking children.” Then she plunged the scalpel into Greg’s neck, sending a rush of blood into the paint tray. Elisa’s fangs came out, her tongue began to salivate. Greg was dead in seconds, his staring blank up at the ceiling. Elisa leaned forward and drank until she felt she had had enough. Her mouth vibrated from the thick boldness of it, not much different from a beautiful Merlot. It took everything to stop and leave the rest for the paint tray. Don’t turn him. Do not turn him. We don’t need this idiot lingering on for eternity. Plus, she had other uses for the blood, better not to waste it on a lack of self-control.

Three:

After an hour, down in her basement, Elisa sat in front of her laptop, still covered in Greg’s blood, while she scrolled through the internet. Behind her, on a shelf that made up most of the wall, were many bottles, all with different names placed in front of them.

Donnell

Paul

Patrick

Michelle

Ava

Just the few of the many, many victims over the years who helped give Elisa the thickest bodies of wine anywhere.

Everything she had done to Greg upstairs, as with every man and woman who came before Greg had been done for her own survival. She had been thirsty, and they had the drink craved.

Now, feeling content and satisfied, Elisa browsed through social media, looking for her next meal, her next thick body of wine to add her collection, all while she slowly sipped from her fresh thick glass of Merlot.

The End

fiction

About the author

Coco Jenae`

Fiction Writer

Drag Artist

Reader

Film Lover

A Lover

A Pursuer of Wellness

Nomyo ho renge kyo

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