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iUniverse - Michael Karol

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92 pages

English

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Description

Ray Abreu just met his forever guy: a handsome New York detective who's a cool, hot piece of man candy. But someone — or something — else is after Ray, and he’s not used to losing. He's killer. And he'll redefine the meaning of forever.

Sujets

Relationships

LGBTQ+

Nueva York

Años 1980

17th century

1980s

Slavery

Relationship

Eternal

Gay

Fiction

Vampire

New York

Informations

Publié par	iUniverse
Date de parution	05 novembre 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781440184192
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

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KISS KILL

A Vampire’s Tale

Michael Karol

KISS KILL
A VAMPIRE’S TALE

Copyright © 2009 Michael Karol.

Portions of this novel were previously published as Kiss Me, Kill Me and Sleeps Well With Ohters

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse
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Cover background photo ©2003 by Craig Hamrick; Digital
Manipulation and Type Design ©2009 by Michael Karol & Ronald White
For more on Craig Hamrick’s photographs, visit
www.craighamrick.com .
Back Cover Design: Michael Karol & Ronald White

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4401-8418-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4401-8419-2 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 07/07/2023

Garçonnière (gàr so nyer´) a bachelor’s apartment or quarters; also, a traveler’s room during the plantation era, when hotels and inns were scarce.

Acknowledgements
Thanks , Mom and Dad, for sending me to sleep-away camp, despite my extreme shyness.
Thanks to my bunkmates , those who supplied me with grist for a lifetime of fantasies, and those who readied me for a world which is inhabited mostly by small-minded people.
To my lovers over the years, at camp and elsewhere, who helped me grow into the gay man I am today … you know who you are … and especially to GER, who pushed me out of the wings and put me on center stage.
To my best friends Mark and Robert , for putting up with my michegas , loving me anyway, and for listening and being there when I needed them.
To Dr. J. , for bringing back my sanity.
To the two gay writers who made me want to write, George Baxt and Richard Hall: I remember.
To Craig , my constant muse and inspiration. Thanks for pushing me to write, for the use of your incredible, atmospheric photo on the cover (and throughout the first edition of Kiss Me, Kill Me ), and the generous amount of time you spent with the original manuscripts; most especially, thanks for your friendship, and the privilege of having known you.
Finally, this is for my partner , Ronald White, who makes me want to live forever.

The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases. — Carl Jung
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
Book One: Sleeps Well With Others
Book Two: Kiss Me, Kill Me
About the Author
Author’s Note
In the beginning ... there were men, and they were animals, and they loved to fuck.
In fact, according to some distinguished geneticists, the urge to mate is built in to our genetic code, in order to procreate the race. Men are also the traditional defenders of home and hearth. So we fight, too. Fighting and fucking pretty much covers it.
If men can’t help being animals, women, on the other hand, are programmed to love, nurture, and be the glue that holds the family together. It’s built into their genetic code. Many times I’ve heard female friends lament, “Men are pigs. They ogle everything in sight and they’ll screw anything that moves.”
I try to explain that if it weren’t for women, men would have fucked and killed the human race out of existence long ago, not necessarily in that order, and probably at the same time. But that doesn’t make them feel any better, for some reason.
So do you have to ask why, within the subset of male homosexuality, there exists a universe of men who spend ninety-nine percent of their time thinking about fucking or looking to get fucked? Or actually doing it? Or jerking off until they can find someone to fuck?
Indeed, while I’m writing, on an early summer morning in my New York apartment, there’s a guy on the matching floor across the street, in the small boutique hotel, tooling his noodle. Just lying stretched out on his bed, naked, with the window shades up, cranking the juice. He’s hot, too. Can you blame him?
This is a theme we’ll return to.
I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of the supernatural co-existing with our natural lives, and, like many, by the idea of vampires. So it’s fitting that it was a real-life incident that began the long journey that led to this novel.
During medical leave to have gall bladder surgery in the summer of 1989, the magazine I was working on closed. I’d been there for ten years, so I got almost a half-year of severance (yes, those were the days…) plus unemployment. Mom insisted I have the surgery near my hometown, in New Brunswick, N.J., so I could stay with her and Dad in Princeton for the initial recovery period, about eight weeks. By the time I returned to my apartment in New York, I was in pretty decent shape.
That is to say, I had no job, plenty of money, and was not in any mood to work any time soon. So I spent a lot of time practicing my two favorite activities: getting high and having sex. Since I was single at the time, having sex meant going out, cruising the bars, and picking people up. On one of those occasions, a cool October night, I ran into a guy I’d met sometime in the recent past. We made out for a while in a Village bar when I was very drunk, and then I excused myself to go home and pass out.
The second time I saw him, he was leaning against a building on Christopher Street, checking out the street crowd, but I was already on my way home, alone. He recognized me, came over to me, and started chatting as we walked. At first it was harmless chatter. Then it became unnerving. He asked me why I didn’t like him enough to take him home the first time. Did I think I was better than him? Was I afraid he was going to harm me? (By then, of course, I was.) He swore all he wanted was a little nooky. But his behavior set off alarms. And realizing he was high and there was no point in arguing, instead of answering his questions, I said, curtly, “Sorry, I’ve got to go,” and took off, walking at a fast clip, toward Seventh Avenue.
He started running after me. I started running. I crossed Seventh and reached the Oscar Wilde Bookstore (now closed, sadly), frantically looking for a cab and keeping tabs on his progress. He was catching up. Finally, a cab turned onto Christopher Street. I tore into the middle of the street so it had to stop, hopped in and slammed door, shouting my address to the cabbie just as my pursuer caught up.
Unfortunately, the window was open, and my pursuer reached in, screaming that I was going to get what I deserved. The cab driver did not move for a second or two. Finally, I shouted, “Could you please go?!” and he did. But not before my attacker reached in and tried to grab my arm. All I could think of was, “Jesus. That could’ve been it. I could have been hurt.” How many more times was I willing to risk it? And then, “Wouldn’t it be great if I didn’t have to worry about being hurt or worse when I went out? If I was the one with all the power?”
I have been a writer all my life, but mostly nonfiction. Here was a chance to combine two of my greatest passions: sex and growing up gay, in particular, and the various horrors of life in general, as personified by the undead. Kiss Me, Kill Me sprang from that experience. I started writing it that fall, in 1989, but didn’t finish it until nearly 14 years later. It was my second published book. In 2006, I wrote a prequel, Sleeps Well With Others , about my sexual experiences at summer camp. In order to protect the still living, as they say, I made it Ray’s story—the hero of Kiss Me, Kill Me —and added a bit of vampiric punch.
The characters intrigued me enough to go back to them a third time—I felt that the two novelettes belonged together as one novel … the one you’re holding in your hands. I can tell you this: having some vampire “friends” to take care of those who’ve wronged you in life can be quite cathartic, even on the printed page. Try it sometime. In the meantime, welcome to my nightmares.
Obligatory Disclaimers This text has been published before, as noted above. But Sleeps Well With Others has been substantially rewritten; the narrative was changed from first person to third person in order to remain consistent with the style of Kiss Me, Kill Me . The latter has also been tweaked, with parts of it reworked. So this is, in many real w