The strangest thing happened to me today.  I was walking home from school, my backpack slung over my shoulder to pull heavily on my arms when this man appeared.  He was tall and very thin, he looked almost gaunt.  I was frightened when he appeared, as he didn't make a sound at all.  It was like he appeared out of thin air.

    He smiled at me and the only thing I could think of was the stories my mom told me about how kids are abducted. I shied away from him, giving him a wide berth.  My heart was pounding loudly in my chest, I could hear it throbbing in my ears. Run, my mind screamed to me, "run, run, run, run, run," over and over.  I tried to obey but my legs were stiff.  I know it sounds weird but it felt as if they were being held in place by unseen hands.  I could barely move away from his oddly calm, cherubic face.

    He spoke to me, three very cryptic words, "you're the one," he had said.  Then his disappeared from view.  I shook my head, running my fingers over my eyes.  Where did he go? I asked myself.  In his place was a faint mist, like you get when you drop dry ice in water.  The instant he disappeared, the invisible hands holding my legs vanished as well.  

    That was when I ran, not stopping until my chest was hurting and my breath was coming in sharp, raspy spurts.  Had I imagined the old man smiling at me with perfect teeth?  Had he existed at all?  And if he did exist, if I didn't imagine him, and to tell you the truth dear diary, I know that I did not fabricate him from the very air he disappeared into, what did his three odd words mean? 

    You're the one, I remember whispering them aloud, trying to find solace in the words.  You're the one?  What did they mean.  I will have to think about it.  

    Until tomorrow, dear diary. 

    Dear Diary,

    There was no sign of that strange man today when I walked home from school.  Tomorrow is Saturday so I don't have to worry about seeing him until Monday.  At least in person.

    I dreamt about him last night, at least I think it was him.  When you see the dark shapes of strange creatures dancing in you dreams with eyes staring from featureless faces it is hard to tell.  It was those eyes though that convinced me.  Those eyes hid a familiarity that caused me to awaken with a fright.

    I remember sitting in my bed last night, my head twisting from side to side, looking for things out of place.  My ears strained to hear, listening for sounds that were not normal in the moonlit night.  I heard the cicadas singing outside my bedroom window.  The wind blew the leaves outside in lazy spirals with a serene sound on the hard ground outside. Everything seemed normal.  

    Everything but the jack hammering heart in my chest.  My heart was pounding, throbbing in terror.  What was it about those eyes that frightened me so much that it woke me with my heart thumping loudly in my chest? My hands were sweating, my pajamas drenched in nervous moisture as I sat up in bed straining to remember those eyes. 

    But do you really want to remember those eyes?  The question sounded frail in my head, like it came from a frightened child hiding under a bed from the Boogey Man.  Do you really?  Really, really, really?

    Dear diary, the truth is, I don't want to.  Not really.  Until tomorrow.  
    

    Dear Diary,

    I don't know what to do.  I dreamt about that thin man again last night, but I think it was more than a dream.  No, that's not true, I know it was more than a dream.  I don't know what to call it, a vision perhaps, a glimpse into the future?  It had seemed so real, more real than reality itself.

    I dreamt I was walking home from school when that man appeared again.  As before I could feel my limbs being held still, like they were being held by unseen hands.  The man appeared, floating on a cushion of mist that seemed to billow out in lazy rivulets of invisible air currents.  He drifted towards my immobile position to stand before me.

    His voice was soft, almost calming.  If my heart wasn't beating so furiously in my freight I would have found the voice soothing.  "You are the one," he told me.  "The one I have been seeking."  His last two words were the most cryptic, and the most terrifying, "my replacement."

    I don't know what he meant, dear diary, and I am afraid to find out.  Why is he seeking me?  What am I to be his replacement for?  It felt real to me, the dream seeming more like reality than the images from the sleepy world where eyes dance behind closed lids.  

    Good night, dear diary. I think if I dream about him again tonight than I will go to my parents and discuss it with them.  I will tell you tomorrow what I decide.  

   Dear Diary,

    I am going over to Isabelle's house.  I had the dream about the man with the deep black eyes peering from a faceless mask again last night.  I knew it was him, the same man that had spoken to me at the school on that cold Thursday afternoon.  The same man that had appeared in my dreams...

    ...visions?...

    ...for the last three nights.  I want to talk to her about it, to find out what she thinks.  I believe that I will feel better just talking about it, voicing my fears and having someone listen.

    Isabelle has been my best friend since second grade, almost nine years now.  We have shared more stories than I can recall.  I told her about the first time I kissed a boy, sucking his tongue into my mouth and holding it here until he submitted to my mouth.  I confessed how I had flashed the gym coach last year just to see the look on his face.

    And she confessed her secrets to me, from the boys she had a crush on to the time she snuck into the boys locker room and stole all the towels making the boys return to class with their wet clothes sticking to their bodies.  

    Together we have laughed, and cried, and shared so much.  I am hoping that she can help me get through these frightening dreams.  I will let you know what happens, dear diary.  Keep your fingers crossed.  Mine are.

    Dear Diary,

    Isabelle is such a dear friend!!  I spent all afternoon at her house talking about the strange man with the perfect teeth.  She listened intently, only interrupting when she needed me to clarify what I was trying to say.  And believe me, dear diary, I did stammer through the story, my voice tight.  As I relayed the day on my way home when I had first seen the man Isabelle listened, not interrupting nor joking about my fears.

    I feel so much better after having just shared my dreams.  Isabelle asked if I thought the stranger could be just a child molester.  I admitted it was possible, but I explained that I didn't really think so as he had never made a move towards me.  

    Isabelle and I continued to talk about my dreams.  I realized she might be right, he may just be a molester and my subconscious reminds me of the danger I had been in by having me revisit him in my dreams, to teach me to be more cautious.

    I hope so; I hope that is all it is.

    The only thing we couldn't explain were his words in my dreams.  "My replacement," were the words I had dreamt, but as Isabelle pointed out, they were words in a dream state.  A mystical realm where reality merges with fantasy in a haze and what you see and hear and feel could be based on reality or that fantasy or a fabrication mingled from the two.  

    Good night, dear diary.  School tomorrow and Isabelle promised to walk home with me for the week.  Just in case. 

    Dear Diary,

    There was no sign of the faceless man today as Isabelle and I walked home.  We chatted gaily, laughing loudly into the cool air.  We gossiped as young girls are wont to do, talking about what boy had a crush on what girl and vice versa.  

    School was boring, as always.  Sometimes I think that the teachers are teaching at a snail's pace.  They seem to take too much time to go over the same thing again and again.  My grades aren't that hot, but I don't study and to tell the truth, I seldom pay attention.  Typically I daydream about...

    ...castles...

    ...other places.

    I am now frightened, dear diary.  I am staring at the word above, written in my neat script, castles.  I do not remember writing it, but I can see it as plain as day.  I never think of castles when I daydream during class, in fact I can honestly say I never think of castles.  It's funny, I have written the word four times, but only three were conscious.  What does it mean?  Castles?

    I wish I knew.  

    How did that word appear without my knowledge?  But the more important question is, do I really want to know?  Until tomorrow, dear diary.

    Dear Diary,

    Isabelle wasn't in school today and when I called her house there was no answer.  I hope she is feeling okay.  I will try and call her tomorrow.  School was, as always, boring as hell.  My geometry teacher sent me to the principal today because I wasn't paying attention.  Is it my fault his class is so boring and he puts me to sleep?

    I know, I know, I am stalling.  Yes, dear diary, I did dream about the faceless man last night, though I did not see him as I walked home alone.  It seems I dream about him every night now.  The dream is never the same, but the man is the same.  

    The funny thing is the dreams no longer really concern him, it seems more and more like they concern me and that he is just guiding me in the dreams.  It's like he is leading me towards some goal, some final destination.  I can't say for sure, but that is the feeling I have gotten lately.  To be honest, the dreams have grown less frightening and more interesting.  I am actually looking forward to seeing where it is I am being taken.  

    It is good that I am not the superstitious kind.  If I were I would be fearful of where the dreams would lead.  As it is I know the dream world is not real.  Reality cannot be manipulated in the world where eyes dance behind closed lids.  

    I will let you know, dear diary, where the dreams lead.  Until tomorrow.

    Dear Diary,

    Isabelle missed school again today and I am getting concerned about her.  She never missed two days of school before since I have known her.  I plan on going over to her house after school, which is still God awfully boring.  I have to know that she is okay.

    I did not see the faceless man today, but I knew he was in my dreams.  I could sense him in that world of dancing eyes, forcing me along a path of his choosing.  It was like he was a puppeteer guiding me, his marionette, along from beginning to whatever end he chose.  

    To be honest, dear diary, that fact scares me more than the man himself.  It is not the dreams that frighten me, nor where the dreams may lead.  As I mentioned, I know the world of dreams is not real and therefore not menacing.  What does frighten me, what causes my skin to crawl and the hairs on my neck to stand on end is the power that the faceless man has to guide me on my dreams.

   How can that be?  How can dreams be manipulated, how can my subconscious be controlled by another while I am asleep?  Dear diary, I wish I knew.  Just thinking about it scares me.   Until tomorrow, I will let you know about Isabelle.  She is my strength; I really need to talk to her, even if it is just to hear her voice.

    Dear Diary,

    I stopped by Isabelle's house yesterday after school.  There was no answer to my inquisitive pounding on the door.  Her house was eerily quiet, almost tomb like.  Now where did that thought come from?  I have to be honest, it is how the house felt, but that thought came unhindered from the depths of my soul.  

    Thinking of that word I had to wonder if my waking thoughts could be guided as it seems my dreams are.  Could my faceless manipulator dictate my waking thoughts as easily as he did me dreams?  I don't want to know the answer to that question, dear diary, I really don't.

    I left Isabelle's...

    ...tomb...

    ...house and walked home.  I kept looking behind me.  I kept feeling eyes on me.  The hairs on the nape of my neck stood up as I walked home.  It felt as if I was being watched, my every move under scrutiny from some unseen entity.  Could it be my faceless dream shaper was following me?  Watching me?  I stopped in my tracks and looked around, trying to find the person that was peering at me from an unseen place.  

    I made it home and hid in my room until it was time for bed.  The man of my dreams is getting closer.  Man of my dreams, now that's a funny thought.  I never thought the man of my dreams would be someone who directed my dream state in the literal sense.  I will dream of him tonight, of that I am certain.  I will tell you about it tomorrow.

    Good night, dear diary. 

    Dear Diary,

    He's here.  I can't see him, but I can feel him.  I am sitting on my bed, my back against the wall with you, dear diary, resting gently in my lap.  This is where I write in my diary, and today is no exception.  The only difference between now and how I normally write is that I am not alone.

    I can't see the faceless man, but I know he is here, in my room with me.  I can feel him just as I felt that Isabelle's house was a tomb.  Yes, dear diary, Isabelle and her parents were murdered.  Those heavy spots on your pages are wear my tears have landed as I cried...

    ...back.  Sorry, dear diary, I was crying again.  I seem to be doing that a lot today, go figure, huh?  I was called into the principal's office this afternoon where my parents were waiting to take me home.  They explained to me what was known, that Isabelle and her parents were found dead.  There were no signs of forced entry, I was told.  The police say it was a cult murder as the bodies were drained of blood, with only two small puncture marks on their throats.  That was the first time I cried today, sadly it wasn't the last.

    Murdered.  I can't believe my best friend is gone.  Gone for...

    ...damn.  Will these tears ever stop?  She is gone and I am here alone.  No, my faceless friend is here.  Not physically, as I have searched the room from top to bottom. I looked in my closet, under my bed, hell, I even looked in each of my dresser drawers where a man would never be able to hide.  Was I being paranoid because of Isabelle or could it be that he was here, watching me with blank eyes staring through a cold mist?

    I am going to sign off now, dear diary.  It has been a long day and I feel I am not much of a friend to you today.  Until tomorrow, I hope.

   Dear diary,

    Tomorrow is Isabelle's funeral.  I stayed home from school again today, crying almost constantly.  I miss her more than words could express.  It's like a craving that you just can't sate, or a word on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach, the feeling that she will walk up my driveway as she has done for years and ring the bell.  I could almost hear her shout, "April fools," and I would hit her and cry and hug her until we both couldn't breathe.  

    Only it's not April and unfortunately she won't ever walk up the driveway again.

    Stop it, don't do that to yourself.  You will just cry again...

    ...too late.

    What was that?  Sorry, dear diary, I thought I heard something.  It sounded like a scurrying in the closet.  Must have been my imag....

* * * * *

    I shut the book and watched amazed as it disappeared from my hands with a subtle pop.  I looked up at Collette and her wan face.  "What happened?" I asked.  "What happened, why did the words simply end?"

    She shook her head sadly, "let me show you."  She held her hand up and with a slow twist of her wrist a haze appeared outlining the view of her bedroom that slowly appeared.  I watched, open mouthed, as the scene coalesced into tangibility.  I could see Collette's childhood bedroom. 

    She lived in a wooden home with a solid oak floor.  The window above her comfortable bed was a hole with a shutter that was pulled into place with a stick affixed to the wall by a thick piece of twine.  The closet was a sliding door hung on a metal pipe.  

    I looked on as Collette wrote in her diary.  She seemed perplexed when a sound like a raccoon climbing on leaves spilled from her closet. She looked up from her book, her head tilting to listen.  The sound came again, louder, like it was getting closer or more reckless.  Collette put her diary down, the last word unfinished and crossed the room.  

    She opened her closet door and the faceless man spoke, "silence."  He stepped from the closet and stood before the frightened form of the little girl.

    Collette tried to scream, I could see her face, the look of surprise and her mouth wide open in a voiceless scream.  She turned to run from the room when the man spoke again, his voice calm, "freeze." It dawned on me that he used the same word that Collette used to cause her "victims" to stop moving.  Immediately Collette's small form became motionless, her face still squinted with the scream stuck in her throat.

    "I won't hurt you, Collette," I heard him say through the ages, his words drifting from the scene dancing in the misty air.  I turned to look at Collette as she relived the scene, the memories washing over her face as tears fell from her large brown eyes.  She was watching the scene, the fear and sadness and rage shining in her tear-filled eyes.  "You are to replace me," he said again.

    Collette looked frail in her small body, lost and confused.  It amazed me that this powerful woman standing before me with tears misting her brown eyes could be the same person as the small child standing frozen and mute in the false safety of her bedroom.  Her body held frozen, her voice stolen with a simple word she looked like a broken shell.

    "Don't worry, little one," he smiled, stepping into the lamp light and finally revealing his face.  He was an old man with a wrinkled brow and dark brown spots freckling his forehead.  His eyes were shining with intelligence, but they held an underlying fatigue. It appeared as if he had been alive for a long time, the years showing on his tired face.

    The old man crossed to Collette's frozen form and lifted her gently.  He lowered her to he bed.  "You are to replace me, little one.  I will make the transition," he paused smiling, "as easy as I can.  Now shut your eyes."

    With the words her eyes drifted shut.  He placed his wrinkled hands on her warm forehead, tilting her head back tenderly, baring her throat to his gaze.  He could feel the heat of her blood under his skin, could hear the viscous fluid coursing through her veins.   He bent forward, and with bared teeth and a sharp hiss he drank deep of Collette's young blood.

    Collette's body went flat, no longer looking taut like a coiled spring about to explode.  Her body went lifeless, collapsing into a weak slab of useless skin and muscle.  She lay limp as the old man fed on her blood.  I could hear the sucking sounds in my head, and I could see his throat dancing as he swallowed Collette's life's blood.  

    He pulled his mouth off her throat and two wounds were clearly visible with a small drop of blood seeping from the openings.  "Now, little one," he said, his voice sounding serene, "it is your turn."  He tilted his head to the side and bared his throat to her frozen form.  "Drink," he said.

    Collette sat bolt upright, the bedsprings squeaking loudly with the rapid motion.  Collette planted her teeth forcefully against his throat and she tore open his throat with her flat teeth.  She bit into the old skin, her teeth tearing his neck open until the powerful liquid of his blood poured into Collette's mouth. She drank heavily, taking his blood, taking his strength, and taking his form.  With his blood filling her mouth she became one with the night, a vampire.  The blood gave her power and the blood gave her life.  She was reborn as a creature of the dark.

    She kept pulling his blood into her mouth, drinking deeply of the vampire's blood until she was powerful enough to break his hold.  She released her bite, pulling away from his torn throat.  "What did you do to me?"

    With a small voice the man replied, "I will explain."  He sounded tired, frail and weak.  "I am a vampire, and I have been on this earth for six hundred eighteen years.  It is time for me relinquish my power, to cede my strength to another.  I have seen you for years in my dreams and I knew from the moment my mind first saw you behind my eyes I knew you were the one.  I was in the room with you the day the midwife brought you into this world, standing invisible in the corner.  I remember smiling like a proud father, knowing that my replacement was finally alive.

    "I waited until you were old enough to accept my gift to you.  During the years that I waited I have kept hidden, but always there.  Watching as you grew up.  From your first words and first steps to the beautiful young woman that is now sitting here next to me.  Here," he said, shutting his eyes, "let me show you."

    Collette could see him now from the eyes of a baby as she relived her birth.  She could see the midwife, her thick fingers gripping her tiny body as she was pulled from her mother's womb.  With her newfound view of the world from her infant form she could see the man, looking vibrant and decades younger as he hid in the corner.  She could tell that the other people in the room, her mother, father and midwife could not detect his presence.  But he was there, watching, looking down proudly at her birth.

    I watched as Collette came into the world.  The midwife slapped the child's rear and the baby opened her brown eyes.  She stared at the man hidden in the shadows.  She didn't cry, she didn't fuss.  She just looked at the corner where the vampire was hiding as if she could see him and knew that her destiny centered on that man tucked away in the dark.

    Once again the scene changed, no longer the small room where Collette was born, instead the scene shifted back to her bedroom years later.  "So you see, I was there.  I have always been there.  You may not believe me, but I have helped you live a relatively easy life."  He exhaled deeply, like releasing a burden, "You may not believe this, but I stopped you from being trampled to death by a runaway horse-drawn cart.  I can see the future," he paused, "well most of the time.  I find that your future is difficult to scry.  

    "When you were six," he continued, "I saw in my mind that you would be trampled the next morning.  That night I went to the stables and fed on the horses.  The were found dead the next morning, and you were saved.  Many times I have intervened in your life, doing what I can to make your childhood easier than it was destined to be."

    Collette said, her voice sounding strong, "I believe you.  I can see it in your thoughts."  She tilted her small head, "I don't know why I can read your mind, but I can.  Oh," she said sounding surprised, "that's why."  She had read the answer to her question the moment she voiced it.

    Collette shook her head, her face dropping, "my parents invited you into the house just two days before I was born," she said to him, still reading his thoughts.  "You posed as a preacher, replete with white collar.  And they invited you in.  It's funny," she said, her head shaking side to side, "you actually blessed the house."

    "Yes, little one, I was invited across the threshold.  That is one of the rules you will learn.  To enter someone's house they have to invite you in.  The converse of that is true as well, you have to invite someone into your home and they must enter of their own free will. You will feed on blood, and you will not die.  You can be killed but it is no easy task.  You will have powers like you could only imagine.  Here," he concluded, "let me show you."

    The old vampire turned his head to show the wound on his throat to the small child.  "Watch," he said.  With that the wound on his throat immediately began to close.  The skin drew together and the gaping hole healed.  The blood stopped its slow seepage and drew back into the ragged flesh.  Collette watched amazed as his throat healed and the wound mended.  "And that is only the beginning.  You will be able to traverse time and distance with your thoughts.  As you can see you can read thoughts, but you will learn to control other's thoughts as well. Yes," he answered her unspoken question,  smiling a paternal grin, "you will become more powerful than me."

    "Cool." 

    The mist faded and so did the sights and sounds of Collette's childhood home.  I looked from the vacant air to face Collette, "that is how you became a vampire."

    She nodded, though it wasn't a question.

    "He called you chosen one.  What did he mean by that?"

    "I will show you later," she smile a wan smile, "it is time to feed.  Time to check on Linus.  He has fed twice already and is getting anxious.  If we don't get there soon he is going to start beating Keith."

    The vampire that had created Collette had said that she would be able to traverse time with her thoughts, and I knew she could see the future.  She saw what Linus would do if she didn't stop him.  She was punishing Keith but her plans for him did not entail Linus beating him.  She wanted him to suffer in the way she decided.  

    I climbed to my feet and Collette took my hand.  We left the greenhouse, the sounds of the crickets and cicadas fading as we walked towards the room where Keith was bound tightly to the wooden frame.  The door opened as we approached, and we saw Linus pacing in the room, his eyes glazed as he stared through Keith.  It was as if he didn't even see him there. It appeared to me that he could only see the shape of the wooden beams that had held him for eight months.

    Six weeks, Collette thought to me and I could see her smile in my mind.  I only said eight months to frighten Keith.  Nobody could handle being tied up for eight months and retain any semblance of sanity.  Believe me, I know.  

    I saw a man in my head tied to a large bed, his limbs stretching towards the four corners.  He was drooling uncontrollably, his hands flexing and relaxing with no conscious thought.  But the look in his eyes were what captured my thoughts.  They were empty.  His eyes were open wide, dilated fully, but he could not see.  He was blind behind his open eyes, seeing but not seeing, staring vacantly into the open space of the wooden ceiling.

    Three months, Collette told me.  It is in the diary, she concluded as she returned her attention to Linus and his feral pacing.  You will read it in time.  "Linus, freeze."

    Immediately Linus became rigid, his body tense.  His eyes still held the vacant look of confusion, hinting at the turmoil in his mind.  Collette crossed to him and ran her hands over his face, "sleep," she said.  Linus' eyes drifted shut and his body relaxed.  He slumped forward and Collette eased his body to the ground.  

    "Sleep well, Linus,"  Collette whispered to the supine man, "wake tomorrow, well rested and calm."

    Collette climbed to her feet and crossed to Keith.  Without speaking she opened her mouth and with a hiss she sank her teeth into his throat.  Keith woke with a scream, his head straining to pull away from Collette's bite.  

    "No!" he shouted pointlessly, his voice sounding frail.

    Collette drank deep, pulling Keith's blood into her body.  She pulled her mouth off his throat and pulled in a deep breath.  Exhaling noisily, she turned to me.  "Feed."

    My hand brushed Collette's as we passed each other.  I stepped up next to Keith and looked into his eyes.  I saw a burning hatred shining in those bulging orbs.  He stared out with a fiery intensity, his eyes boring into me.  Shaking his head he whispered, "you will...."

    "Yes, he will," Collette said from her position kneeling at Linus' side.  She was brushing his hair from his eyes tenderly.  

    Keith hissed at her, baring the points of his teeth.  "Fuck you!"

    Collette waved her hand, "silence."  She didn't raise her head and the word came out softly.  She brushed another lock of hair away from Linus' face before standing up again.  "You have been entirely too belligerent.  If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say it."  Her voice turned cold, "I might give you your voice back if you learn some respect."

    Keith tried to speak, his lips moved and his neck flexed but no words issued from his mouth. His body strained against the bonds that held him as he shouted silently.  He tried to speak, but no words flowed, he tried to shout, but no sound came. He was mute until Collette decided otherwise.

    I could still read his lips, his mouth voicing the words he could not speak.  His lips formed the words, "damn you," or "you fucking bitch."  His mouth moved but no sounds came from his throbbing throat.  He twisted his head as he mouthed his words, doing his best to prevent me from feeding on his throat.

    Feed, Collette said in my mind, hold his head still with your mind and feed.

    I reached out with my thoughts.  I envisioned a set of hands gripping Keith's flailing head.  With my imagined hands I held his face firm, trapping his head with my mind.  His head was held immobile by my mind.  I stepped next to his bound and mute body.  I could almost hear his blood coursing in his veins.  I smiled, my teeth glinting in the soft light of the flickering candles.

    With a hiss I bit into his throat.  The first gush of blood into my throat caused my cock to harden and as I finished feeding I ejaculated, spilling my sperm onto Keith's bound leg.  The pleasure of the feeding coursed through my body, my skin danced with delight as Goosebumps raced down my arms.  I pulled my mouth off of Keith's throat with a hitching moan.

    Did you enjoy that? Collette asked.

    God, yes, I replied my thoughts mixing with hers.

    Collette giggled, I noticed.  It is like that for me sometimes, feeding.  Taking someone's blood into your body, feeding on their life energy.  It is a very intimate act and the penetrating of someone's skin is akin to sex.  I have had orgasms just from feeding.  It is, her thoughts paused.  She took in a deep breath, her breasts heaving, unbelievable.

    Collette's eyes sparkled in the candlelight.  Clean him, she thought to me.

    I knew what she meant.  I dropped slowly to my knees and crawled forward.  With my tongue extended I began to lap my seed from Keith's bound thigh.  I pulled my seed into my mouth and swallowed heavily, the taste thick on my tongue.  I cleaned Keith's thigh and then heard Collette's voice giddy in my mind, don't forget his feet.

    I glance down and found another small pool of my sperm collecting at Keith's feet and trailing to the floor.  I ran my tongue down Keith's calf to his foot.  I licked my sperm from Keith's body and then pulled the last traces from the floor into my mouth.  Climbing to my feet I listened as Collette beckoned me to follow her.  

    I followed her from the room and we returned to the room with the sunken waterbed and Roman tub.  I want you to read to me, she thought.  Fill the tub and we shall bathe and you can read more of my diary to me until the water turns cold and our skin wrinkles like an old prune.  

    With pleasure, I thought and turned to obey.