Another workday morning, I’m awake in the purple haze before dawn, long before I need to be to prepare for work. Is it really April already? The savory, sweet smell of my special-blend coffee woke me before my alarm, as usual, but this time before the coffee maker’s din-din-ding alert. Eyes closed, I walk my home labyrinth through my bedroom, to, and down the stairs, past my dining room, and into my kitchen as my brew’s soothing scent reaches out for me with its captivating tendrils. The time on the coffee maker is flashing 12:00 over and over.

I’m guessing the power failed, but when? The carafe is nearly hot, so I’ll deal with it later, since that isn’t part of my daily ritual. On auto pilot, I fill my mug and inhale the slightly tangy, coppery scent of the spectacular brew that needs no sweetener and not a drop of dairy. My first sip confirms it brewed long enough, though it’s a bit thicker than usual. A deeper waft confirms the essentials I recognize, chicory, espresso, chocolate, vanilla, anise, and some secret component that my neighbor and personal barista, Loquacious, refuses to disclose. What an unusual, ironic name that is for someone who barely speaks. Yet, I understand since I know it’s her husband’s last name.

I’ve known Gabbey and her, Gabriella (Gabi), since our college days. April first marks my first year living next to my college friends who have been married five years. So, I guess it’s been a full year since she insisted on supplying me with her secret blend. That makes it a year since I ran into her in my favorite coffee haunt and hit on her again to renew old friendships. She still flashed her gorgeous tits and flirted like a CT, but her forced smile and chilly demeanor carried a bit of new anger. I’m saddened that her husband obviously never revealed our intimate secret.

As the hot aroma wafts into my brain and returns me to today, I fumble my way to my second-floor balcony; I open the French doors and step outside, still naked, to stand in the gentle breeze and enjoy the lightening sky. As the sun escapes the horizon, my beautiful neighbor pulls up from her night shift, waves to me with an unusual, twisted smile. She fully scans my muscular body and growing private parts more slowly than usual before walking inside. I briefly wonder what that is about. She’s seen me naked every day for at least a year and in our college days, so that can’t be it. Something new is in her head.

After putting that out of my mind, I take a deep breath of the crisp morning air before it loses all its nightly moisture and return to my coffee ritual. Another deep breath, a sizable sip of my brew and as I savor my invigorating, savory, fortifying blend, I look into my sunlit cup and wonder why it seems unusually dense and almost chewy. Its hint of iron and red tint finally scream at me. It’s human blood! As I stare at it, serene as ever with a mouthful of delicious vanilla-anise blood, it never occurs to me to spit it out, since it’s so special. I swirl it about and burble it like a fine wine.

When I look across our narrow, grassy courtyard at my neighbors’ home, I see Loquacious at her window, staring back at me, covering her laughter with both hands. As we stare at each other, she dares me to watch as she defiantly strips off all her clothes then grabs a small mason jar and a blade. I watch, confounded and amazed, as she cuts above her inner elbow and fills the jar with fresh blood. She applies a balm and a tourniquet to her wound then steps out onto her balcony and waves the sealed jar.

“It’s been a year since I decided to prank you with this. Waiting a whole year to tell you this has been extraordinarily hard, but so worth it to see your face now. It’s about time you realized you’re enjoying a piece of me just as you keep asking. This blood is for next week’s supply, if you still want it. You APRIL FOOL!” Has she actually been supplying me with bloody coffee for a year?

Her naked grin looks both salacious and evil. Why so angry, I wonder? I raise my cup and salute every way I can, “Looking forward to it. You certainly are a woman of good taste.” I take another swig! I whisper, “April Fool, back at you!”.

Gabi’s husband Gabbey, we call him George to head off confusion, wakes at her shouts, goes to his naked wife and waves at me. Gabi takes George’s naked cock in hand and pulls it around her shapely hip before stroking it to hardness. Teasing me again? George begins kissing her neck, lifting her tits and pulling her dense nipples to tease and entertain me. As his hand finds and rubs her damp vulva and stiff clit, she shamelessly says, “As you can see, I’m very happy with my husband’s beautiful cock. I don’t need yours here.”