Strictly Taboo(9)

“It seems we have found something to write home about.” He said to himself as he unscrewed the cap of a small bottle of shower gel and brought it to his nose. He sniffed it and shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t too much of a pungent odor and the perfume was certainly much more appealing than the stench of human sweat. Lathering up the gel in his hands, he ran his hands smoothly over every rippling muscle on his body. As the small clear bubbles washed away, Francis looked down and saw the throbbing rod of his cock. Momentarily, the thought of self-satisfaction crossed his mind, however, knowing that he was taking to the streets in just a few hours, he resisted. Instead, he rinsed off the rest of the soap, and shut off the water. As he stepped out of the shower, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his thick cock still standing erect. Yes, he was going to find himself a woman tonight and whether she was the one or not, he was going to satisfy his hunger for carnal pleasure. It had been long enough and his cock was hungry for its own conquest. He couldn't possibly put that off any longer. He was growing tired of his own company and while he had his own select resource at home in Bran to take care of his ‘dry spells,’ out here in New York he didn't trust such things.

Still wrapped in his towel, Francis walked out to the bedroom where there stood a wheeled trolley on which was a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a bowl of strawberries. He looked suspiciously over at the door. Someone had been in his room while he had been in the shower. Someone had come in to his room without his permission. Francis could feel his blood beginning to boil. If there was one thing he didn’t tolerate it was the invasion of his privacy. Storming over to the door, he flung it open. The two young women who sat at the concierge desk in the hall looked at him wide eyed.

“Someone was in my room!” He snapped. The first of the girls lip began to tremble. The second tried to steady herself by sitting up straight in her chair.

“Mr. Holmes?” She said. Francis exhaled loudly, a deep hissing at the back of his throat.

“I SAID SOMEONE WAS IN MY ROOM!” This time he bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed off the marble walls. The first of the two girls ducked under the desk and the second blinked rapidly.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. That was just room service with your complimentary champagne and strawberries.” Her voice trembled but she tried hard to keep a brave face. Francis walked over to the desk, his hand holding the knot of the towel around his waist. He slapped the palm of his other hand down on the desk and leaned in as close as he could.

“No one is to enter my room. Do you understand?” He hissed. The girl nodded. Francis could see the tears in her eyes, ready to betray her at any second and slide down her cheeks.

“Y…yes, Mr. Holmes. I’m terribly sorry about that, I will make sure that nothing like it ever happens again.” She blinked and then it happened, tears began to stream down her cheeks. Francis leaned back up and realizing that he was likely drawing a little too much attention to himself he nodded sharply.

“Thank you. I take my privacy very seriously.” The girl sniffed and nodded before wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her cotton-polyester blend shirt.

“Y…yes, Mr. Holmes.” She muttered, afraid now to even look at him.

“I apologize if I was perhaps a little too…” He searched for a better word but his English failed him. “Angry.” He lingered for a moment as the first of the girls peeked up from behind the desk, then with a second nod, he turned and walked back to his room.

He found human beings to be quite tiresome creatures.





Chapter 3




Francis awoke to the sound of car horns outside. He wasn’t used to such persistent background noise, in fact, he wasn’t used to background noise at all. He sat up groggily and stretched his arms above his head. The room was already dark, lightened only by the constant stream of city lights outside the window. Slipping off the edge of the bed, he stood up and headed to the bathroom to relieve himself. It was almost time to set out on the town. The thought of it sent blood thundering through his veins, the excitement clinging to his body like static electricity. His mission might have been to secure a mother for his child, but the thought of the companionship of a woman was secondary on his mind. He knew exactly who he was looking for, a tall dark haired woman with pale porcelain skin and plump puckered lips.

He knew exactly where he was going to begin the hunt. Before even traveling to New York he had plotted out the ‘goth’ hotspots in the city and he was beginning the night at The Delancey. While he much preferred what he had read about another hotspot for vampire wannabes, Francis was not about to kowtow to their ‘strictly goth’ dress code. There was nothing gothic about what they called ‘goth,’ in fact the clothes that they wore could barely be referred to as clothes at all. The long trench coats, the women with their waists cinched in so tightly by glittering corsets, tied with satin ribbons. This was not the gothic culture that Francis recalled from the twelfth century. No, the true gothic culture was one of architecture and while the artists and philosophers admired the masonry, the peasants fought off smallpox and the plague. There was very little romance in that.