CHERISHED BLOOD

For the moment I am satisfied to feast on her only with my eyes, to drink in the delicious sight of her naked, perfectly proportioned, diminutive body wrapped sweetly around me. I savor the way her hips flare up graciously from her small waist, the slightly shadowed cunning hollow of her buttock, the way her tights taper down like arrows pointing to her dimpled knee. Then, swelling and slimming again, her leg narrows to the consummate crystal stem of her ankle before blossoming into the shy and dainty flower of her petal perfect foot.

But I must warn you, some of it will sound fantastic. Although I shall endeavor to tell you the truth, when one lives as I have lived, one is in danger of becoming a myth even to one's self.

I long to warn her further, to tell her that even over the space of a single life span, the human memory is tenuous at best and she must capture every second of every moment, for any one can be her last, or if not, can be a time which she may one day wish she could relive. And even as I long to go on, suddenly wanting to give her advice as a father would his daughter, I am aware that the ache of my hunger is growing and it is this, as much as knowing she has so few moments left, that stops me.