It’s only a few short nights away from full-moon and already the ocean is a glistening sheet of burnished mercury. I love the sea. It has a hundred variations of stillness, a thousand haunted themes, and god knows how many secrets. A short intense thunderstorm crisps and cleans and cools the air. The sky is lit by ten billion jewels as the stars come out one by one, and then hundreds every second, and the streets and buildings are awash with dreamy silver. Strangely enough though, the avenues are empty and still, and an almost supernatural hush pervades the night. The moon beams mirror boldly off the water logged pot-holes of the main street, and I pass a long black hearse, propped-up forlornly on bricks, its wheels and tyres high-jacked by the vermin of the night. The silver paint of the moon makes the overflowing trash bins, the un-kept verges, the squalid cracked walkways and the dark pawn shops look oddly romantic. A large black rat scurries into a drainpipe... OMG is that a human skull it’s dragging with it... and a dog howls eerily in the distance!

As I drive through the silent streets, my great-grandfather’s foreboding words flash through my mind: "Never punt by the silver of the moon, for ye’ll be real sorry ye went into that room!" Great Grand-father was a punting legend... he died of syphilis... and, as a young boy curled up in his lap, he would regale me with tales of his horny adventures and multiple conquests. I can distinctly recall how his erotic story's drenched my youthful dreams with quivering bosoms and succulent creamy thighs, enchanting forests of matted black woman pubic hair... and images of ribald sailors fornicating with exotic dusky beauties in dark damp alleyways. Later, Wee Willy and I would grapple with one-another feverishly under the blankets, and there was many a time when my mother would accuse me of wetting the bed, when in fact the 'wet' was simply a small pool of drying juvenile semen!

Perhaps Great-grandfather made me as weird as I am today!

But I digress!

I pull into the small garden of 'that' house... I know it so well... and switch off the ignition. Graveyard silence save for the hot ticking of the engine. Strangely, the building is in pitch darkness, and the cold silent window panes stare at me vacantly. A sudden flash of lightning forks the sky, and my eyes are drawn to the cracked blue plant pot on the window ledge. For some reason, I suddenly remember the name of the weed growing in it... 'Conium maculatum' or Poison Hemlock (the Irish call it 'Devil’s Porridge' or 'Devil’s Bread') A dark oblong box lies in the long unkept grass next to the path... is that a fuckin coffin!!!!!!

The sky grumbles with thunder... low and ominous! That dog howls again!!

"It's close to midnight and something evil's lurking in the dark
Under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart
You try to scream but terror takes the sound before you make it
You start to freeze as horror looks you right between the eyes,
You're paralyzed"

Perhaps NOW is the time to leave!!!

Blonde Girl’s profile appeared on our local site recently, and I have been eying it lecherously ever since. Another one of those blerry grainy phone-camera photos, but there is enough sensuality there to entice me. Incredibly slim with long limbs, glacial white skin and a waif-girl body, tiny crimson panties and minute breasts! The pics are dominated by her blonde hair (wig?) and a tight silky black wrap clings selfishly to her body. I call her up and the voice is lazy but silky, a little gravelly and perfunctory, and the rate is way reasonable... but I can almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and cheap brandy of so many of the low end South Coast hookers! I am in two minds as to whether I should visit or not... so I put this decision on the back-burner.

But my mind is made up for me a couple of nights later...

I’d just spent a sweaty hour with Angel Girl, trying my darnedest to give her lessons in languid. Afterwards she leads me to the door, me replete and on shaky legs, to send me on my merry way, and I glance into the small lounge.... and there sits Blonde Girl!! Small and slim and pale, not at all unattractive, but with a weary wan expression as if life (death?) has not been kind to her. I cannot see her clearly by the light of television’s 'Isidingo', but when she looks up at me, her eyes are shiny and cat-green and piercing and bright! And there and then my mind is made up... in spite of my misgivings, I am going to visit this lady!

Another lightning bolt shatters the sky, and I sense movement in the doorway. I approach it bravely and peer into the dark still room. Fuuuk, maybe she’s a Vampire!!! I can sense Wee Willy is unhappy... he has an active imagination and simply loathes the darkness... but I enter anyway. Another flash of lightning... AND SUDDENLY THERE SHE IS... as if mutating from the very dankness of the air itself!!!

Creepy!!

Impossibly slim, skin so deathly white it’s almost translucent... and smooth as alabaster... flimsy diaphanous cloak, Lilliputian breasts with marshmallow-pink nipples as fleshy and sweet as baby-peas, tiny clingy satin panties bulging at the mons, white-blonde hair... and those piercing, shining, glowing green eyes!!! !!

Wee Willy gets such a fright, he shrieks like a girl, blood-curdling and petrified... and climbs straight up my anus!!!

Fuuuk, Blonde Girl IS a Vampire!!!!

"You hear the door slam and realize there's nowhere left to run
You feel the cold hand and wonder if you'll ever see the sun
You close your eyes and hope that this is just imagination
But all the while you hear the creature creepin' up behind
You're out of time"

Vampire Girl, though a little spooky, is brisk and business-like, and reaches up on tip-toes to kiss me gently on my neck (Fuuurk...MY NECK!!!... OMG!!!) I pass her the cash, and she takes me by the hand, the pallid tone of her skin contrastingly starkly against the dark of mine, and leads me into a room lit eerily by a single flickering stub of candle......

"Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike
You know it's thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight...

"Darkness falls across the land
The midnight hour is close at hand
Creatures crawl in search of blood
To terrorize your neighborhood
And whosoever shall be found
Without the soul for getting down
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpse's shell
The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grisly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom
And though you fight to stay alive
Your body starts to shiver
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of the thriller"

[Into maniacal laughter, in deep echo]

I should have heeded Great-grandfather's advice!!!!!!!!

(with thanks to Michael J)

I often demand a hint towards the link but this time I'll pass.
Maybe time I should supply you a link...

FURK WW! Is Wee Willy OK after being up your anus?

@whitwhite, question i ask myself everyday is..when is your Willy going to fall off?? LMAO

@WW, please see PM.

Yvonne, Wee Willy has but one ambition in life! It is an ambition bordering on obsession. It gives him reason to get up in the morning, and it fills his dreams with fantasy. Everything that he does and experiences is simply in mere preparation for that moment that he so lusts for, and the achievement of his ambition.

And that ambition, my dear lady, is to meet YOU!!

After that nothing else will matter, and he may indeed one day fall off.... but at least he will die a very happy Willy!

Awesome imagery man... my favourite:
"Lilliputian breasts with marshmallow-pink nipples as fleshy and sweet as baby-peas"

I popped into this selfsame house the other night for a session with a satin skinned ebony damsel....and Lo and Behold, there is friggin Vampire Girl.... sitting icily on a threadbare couch in a dark corner of the front room!

Wee Willy and I did our thing with Ebony Damsel...and then got the hell out of there....FAST!!!!