Vampire Tail
by Sonarflash2026
Copyright© 2026 by Sonarflash2026
Fantasy Story: Due to a gun accident when he was a teen, Brian was totally blind. Over the years, not long after the event, he discovered telepathic abilities. Now, as he aproaches his seventies, after being widowed twice, he is lonely, hoping to find solace in a town pub. What he encounters promises much more than companionship.
Caution: This Fantasy Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction Aliens Extra Sensory Perception Interracial Anal Sex Oral Sex Transformation .
I slouched in a corner of the downtown pub, thumb idly stroking the stem of a wine glass. The hamburger had been okay, but cheap red wine was churning in my stomach, not helped by loud music. Vulgar thoughts and mental noise radiating from a half dozen nearby, drunken minds didn’t help. Along with the telepathic noise I tried filtering out, loud, inane conversations, the mutterings of guys hitting on girls and a constant thump of loud music was giving me a headache.
I endured, always hoping that my gift might sense a lonely female with interesting thoughts. Earlier, the drunk wanting to act like a buddy to the poor blind dude put a damper on the evening. I sipped wine and tried filtering out the tangle of minds. Finally, bladder getting insistent, I mapped out a trip to the washroom. I knew the floor plan intimately. Thanks to my gift, I could ‘see’ it without sight. Though I really didn’t need to use my white cane, I let composite sections unfold and click together before getting up. A few voices paused, people looking my way, fuzzy minds slowly absorbing the significance of the white, red-tipped folding cane.
“Hey, that guy is blind.”
“Naw, he couldn’t be blind.”
“Maybe he’s a blind drunk?”
I ignored the sorry attempt at a joke, filtering out mental noise. Disbelief seemed to be the norm, with a couple of “Hunh?” or “What’s that?” tossed into the mix.
Abruptly, a totally different set of thoughts intruded, catching my focus. Perky and not a bit slutty, impressions crystallized. A waitress touched my wrist, her presence washing over me.
“something wrong with the wine?” she asked, lips close to my ear.
I eased myself from the chair and stood, feeling a modestly full, quite firm breast brush against my left arm. She was very near and delightfully petite. Surprisingly, I sensed an underlying interest.
I tapped the floor with my cane, grinned and shook my head. “Naw, nature calls ... and the music is giving me a fucking nasty headache.”
“Does get a bit much,” she said, tucking my free hand between a bare arm, provocatively squeezing my hand against the pliant, distractingly firm curve of a breast.
“. “Let me guide you back to the washroom.”
Even though I knew the way, I wasn’t a total fool. Usually one to refuse unnecessary help, I sucked down immediate pride, glad for that pressure on the back of my hand. The tactile input was not only revealing, it was totally distracting. I was glad to follow. At least she knew how to guide a blind person, while unconsciously giving me a pretty clear mental image of her right tit.
My telepathic focus sharpened, but contact with that enticing boob was capturing all my attention. Mental clutter and most of the pub’s background noise interfered with an attempt to sift her thoughts.
“This is very nice,” I said, putting a double meaning into my words, all too aware of the pressure against my hand, Startled to finally sense that among other things, the young woman had a desire to show me much more than the washroom.
“You’re different,” she said conversationally as we left behind the pub lounge. “Interesting. I’ve been working here for months and you’ve never hit on me.”
“That’s because I’m a canny old fart,” I answered. “I wouldn’t see a slap coming my way.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said, her fingers sliding the back of my hand forward, over the peak of her breast. That almost had me stumbling. The implication of that move was blatant. I arched brows, turning my face to her.
“You married? Going steady? Or, just too young?”
She laughed again. “None of the above.”,
“Bullshit,” I thought, knowing by the tenor of her voice that she couldn’t be over thirty.
We pushed through a heavy door, turned a corner and left behind the gabble of voices. She stopped at the men’s washroom door. Almost before I could read intentions, she was turning into me, stretching, sliding arms around my neck, pressing lovely, firm breasts into my chest. Through my T-shirt, every detail down to small, hard nipples registered. I received impressions that were immediately translated by inner sight. She wasn’t tall, stretching to put her lips on mine. I opened without thinking, kissing her back enthusiastically. Her tongue darted. Flavored with a hint of beer, it tasted sweet. More, it was swift and a bit rough on the tip. Like her mouth, her tongue was mobile and erotic. I groaned, almost immediately becoming hard. She arched, rubbing against an abruptly surging erection.
“Mhhh,” she purred into my mouth, pressing even closer. “That was fast! Not too old at all! I knew there was something special about you.”
“Me?” I said, puzzling, knowing my erection wasn’t more than average. “If you say, but I’ve got to pee.” Free hand momentarily cupping the back of her head, I discovered a thick ponytail.
“God!” I moaned, kissing her again. “I love a ponytail!”
She captured my lips and tongue again, making the kiss brief. When she forsook the unexpected embrace, my bladder sent out a warning.
She rotated hips against my boner, then pulled back with a delighted giggle.
“Enough!” she laughed. “I’ve got to get back to work and you need to pee. Later? Outside, on Station Street? I get off in an hour.”
“I’ll wait,” I murmured, reaching up to stroke a cheek, then back to her long ponytail. “What colour is this?” I asked, tugging at the heavy length of hair.
“Mouse brown,” she said with a teasing note, quickly slipping past me and around the corner.
I pushed into the men’s room, located the urinal, propping my cane against a panel. I pulled down the zipper, releasing a boner from the confinement of jeans. Thanks to the erection, nearly half a minute passed before I was able to make my bladder gladder. I washed, splashed my face with cold water and tried various mental exercises to rein in erratic, lusty thoughts. Nothing worked. I had a time tucking away a rampant erection.
When I came back into the lounge, she was there, waiting, grabbing my hand, squeezing it between her arm and breast. Her hip deliberately bumped against my leg as she guided me back to the corner booth.
“I turned the music down a bit,” she said, surreptitiously rubbing the back of my hand over a halter top as I turned to sit. I couldn’t help but visualize the outline of that pert little nipple.
“Wait outside,” she whispered. “around the corner. I’ll meet you after we close.”
An interminable forty minutes later, I was out of site on Station Street, leaning in the hollow space of a recessed door. I wasn’t worried about getting rolled. Despite drug addicts and homeless people in abundance, ours was a small city, and however improbable, street crimes were rare. Besides, I had a brown belt in Go-Ju Ryu karate, earned while in my early forties. Along with the karate, a straight thrust of my white cane could deliver a nasty hurt below the sternum. Anyhow, I didn’t have cash on me. Plastic was the norm.
Except for traffic on the distant Trans-Canada Highway, small city sounds were muted. Downtown was quiet. A breeze was crisp and summer fresh.
“Hi,” the barmaid said quietly, slipping up beside me with hardly a sound.
I started. I hadn’t perceived her thoughts until that moment. Not easily surprised, I wondered why I was only reading superficial emotions. She was eager, anticipation weaving through random thoughts. I caught fragments dealing with her work, of her shift that evening. Two of the drunks had tried to paw her. One of the more sober patrons had tried using charm; but that one was a known drug dealer who pimped three or four young teen addicts. There was a momentary darkness about her reflection on that individual and what he wanted.
“You surprised me,” I said, trying to sift her mind. I couldn’t.
“You waited,” she replied. Nylon windbreaker rustling, she moved up close on my left side. Her right arm slipped through mine and I felt that delightful breast again. “All these months and we haven’t even introduced ourselves. I’m Trish.”
“I’m Brian,” I said, puzzled that her thoughts were lost in a cloud of strange noise. I couldn’t get more than a superficial reading from her. “Trish short for Patricia?”
She shook her head. “It’s a short, old English rendering of Crystalline. My middle name is Lilibyt.”
I Chuckled. “Trouble is my second name,” I shot back.
“Then we are suitably matched,” she replied with a very youthful giggle.
“Crystalline? That’s an Unusual name,” I said, probing, but unable to reach into the depths of her mind.
With such close physical contact, I usually had to shield against a flood of thoughts and emotions. “Maybe that second glass of wine?” I wondered, the tannin still strong on my tongue, the acid still churning the burger in my gut. “Should have had a beer. Maybe two.”
“My name is ancient,” she replied with a smile in her tone. “Yours? Brian? Lordly, or noble.”
I chuckled. “Just Brian.”
“Well, now that we’re past the introductions, we can get better acquainted,” she said, freeing my hand, sliding it around her back and pulling it in on her left side. She cuddled in close, forcing my hand to cup her left breast. “Not all that big, but They’re real,” she murmured, hip snuggling in tight, an expensive musk fragrance catching my attention. A residual smell of beer hung about her; but nothing else. I was glad smoking had been outlawed in pubs and restaurants for several years. Despite feeling out of my depth, I was elated by her closeness and willing aura.
She gave no protest when I stroked and squeezed her breast. In fact, she pressed my hand in tighter.?Even through a jacket and halter top, every detail was evident and arousing. She hadn’t been lying. Her tit wasn’t large, just firm and enticing.
Just then, I had a wretched thought. “shit! She might be a hooker. I hope she isn’t looking to get paid.”
“I never do this,” she said, stopping us, twisting and nuzzling my throat, the rough tip of her tongue licking into the hollow, lips and teeth nibbling. “Picking up guys I mean. I’ve been waiting for the chance to meet you.”
Abruptly, startling me again, her thoughts came across clearly.
:I sure hope he doesn’t think I’m turning tricks.:
She stretched, whispering into my ear, “I’ve been wanting to get to know you Brian. Been wanting this for the past two months. Every Wednesday and Friday night I’ve been taking the evening shift, hoping you’d drop in.”
“You live downtown?” I asked.
She stretched, reminding me of her diminutive size. Cool Lips grazed my throat again, giving a pleasurable nip. Her lips sucked, her tongue tracing circles. In answer, her head shook.
“Nope. I’m Out past Berkey’s Corner.
“Way out there? Do you have a car?”
Again her head shook, lips sucking a little, teeth distractedly worrying the skin of my throat.
“That’s a long walk. My apartment is about five blocks from here,” I said invitingly.
“Let’s go to your place then,” she said brightly, a smile in her voice. She pulled away, taking my left hand again, tucking it up beneath her breast, pinning it there with her arm.
A bit dazed, my head momentarily spinning, I let her guide me along Craig Street. Though her steps had been silent, now her heels clicked rhythmically against the sidewalk. Usually not one to put total trust in a stranger, I hoped I didn’t crack a shin on one of many obstacles. Contact with her breast and the hip bumping against my thigh were constant, erotic distractions.
Kept off balance, I found my thoughts wandering. I remembered that I was sharing a two bedroom apartment with a disabled friend, then slipped into reverie. I thought about the death of two wives, the ache of lost love, and my many wasted years, along with the loneliness of an aging widower. my first marriage lasted twenty years. my second wife died after only seven. Tragedy coloured those memories, but those relationships shaped me, satisfying and maturing me in ways I had never expected. Now, alone, feeling my years, I realized I was more than a little vulnerable to the attentions of this forward, unusual and extremely young woman.
The pressure of a female’s hand and arm, contact with the sleek curve of a breast, and the musky scent of her perfume had me completely enthralled. Somehow, we hardly talked about more than the weather, then she was turning off Jubilee, onto the sidewalk leading to front doors of the apartment building. I experienced another shock. “I never told you where I lived!”
“Not necessary,” she said with a saucy titter, lifting my hand, rubbing the palm over the peak of her breast, pressing it hard. “You aren’t the only one who can read minds, Brian. I’ve been sifting yours off and on for the past two months.”
“Shit! You’re a telepath?”
She hesitated, then murmured, “I am, among other things.” After another pause, she asked, “Do you still want my company?”
“Yeh, but right now I’m a bit flustered,” I said slowly, the shock passing. “Might take me a while to absorb that tidbit.” I extracted my hand from hers and fished out a set of keys. I pulled open the lobby door, waving her inside.
“I’ve a roommate. Only a friend. Not a girlfriend.”
“I already know,” she murmured, adding to my shock. “Your friend is A blind medium with health issues. You’ve been helping her by providing a place to live. She’s small and cute, but there’s nothing sexual ... not that you haven’t wished for that.”
“You got that from my mind?”
“Most of it,” she answered, giggling... “A girl I knew went to her for a reading. And I’ve been snagging your thoughts over the past two months. Saw you take her to dinner over on the restaurant side of the pub. She’s sick and on welfare. You take care of her, even without fringe benefits. Another of the reasons why I keep getting such good vibes off you.”
Trish followed me across the threshold, paused, then moved into the living room. “She’s dreaming.”
“Usually asleep by eight,” I said, closing and locking the door, sliding the chain into place. “Partly fatigue from her emphysema.”
Trish dropped her purse and unzipped her windbreaker, draping it over the couch. There was a clatter of high heels on laminate flooring as she kicked them off.
I removed jogging shoes in the hall, still perplexed that I couldn’t penetrate her thoughts. “Obviously, you’re shielding yourself while reading my mind. I’m finding this pretty strange. Turnabout and all that.”
She tittered. “Just think of me as an unusual kind of stalker.”
I eased up beside her, reaching, One hand finding her small waist, the other searching for her ponytail. She laughed, dancing away, flopping onto the couch, patting the leatherette.
“Come, sit, talk.”
I settled beside her and she took up my hand, lacing our fingers together, saying quietly, “After I discovered you were a telepath, I realized you were Special. I started to like you. Liked you a lot. Got the sense that you were empathetic. That you might be able to accept what I was.”
‘what are you?’ I thought, then murmured, “everybody is unique.” focus drawn to her hand, to cool fingers and the brushing stroke of her thumb rubbing mine.
“I don’t mean unique because of my telepathy,” she murmured, leaning up against me. “I fancied that you’ve been waiting to find someone like me.”
“Flattering, but I’m approaching seventy, on the slippery slope down, and your very young,” I countered. “Twenty? Twenty-two?”
“Actually, I’m a rather old soul,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve seen a few hundred lifetimes. They could pass for innumerable reincarnations, except they weren’t.”
“Cryptic too,” I commented, releasing her hand, sliding an arm around her shoulders. With a light tug,
she pressed into me and snuggled under my arm. “I keep trying but can’t get past your surface thoughts and emotions. You’re very effective at blocking me.”
“That’s one of my skills,” she said, right hand wandering across my chest, fingers careless of the T-shirt, lightly plucking at my nipples through the material. “I’m distracting you, and shielding myself. But, I’ve had ages to develop my gifts. Could be damaging for you if I opened myself and flooded your mind with the host of memories all at once.”
‘Ages?’ I puzzled, wondering at the hidden meaning. “That ... didn’t sound like an exaggeration,” I told her. “You into some kind of witchcraft? Or perhaps you are of the Faye?”
She chuckled. “Not even close. Shall I tell you right out? Shock your mortal human mind?”
“Which implies that you are immortal and not human.”
“I’m somewhat human, after a fashion, but very old,” she admitted, then amended, “well, I am outwardly human, and female in most essential details, and not strictly immortal. In one important respect, I’m not exactly one of your species.”
“An alien invader?” I quipped.
She gave a sniff. “Hardly, but thousands of years ago, a dimensional rift accidentally threw my stellar fighter into this universe. I was forced to land on earth. I could breathe the air and drink the water, but my alien metabolism was such that I couldn’t digest earthly food. I had limited rations and resources ... but ... our species had evolved. What your modern science would call nanomolecular bots ... caused internal modifications. After that, I was able to survive here, and interbreed with humans, but my babies were always female. Unfortunately, as humans developed civilizations, they didn’t take kindly to my ancestors or their offspring. We were feared, and several times hunted near to extinction. I’m one of very few remaining descendants, and after several decades, I’ve become very lonely.”
“More and more interesting,” I said, curling my arm tighter. my right hand came up, cupping and lifting the weight of a nicely shaped, very firm breast.
For a moment, I considered slipping fingers inside the elastic halter top.
“How can I be certain you aren’t just teasing me? It’s all very imaginative,” I said, lifting and squeezing her breast again. “But this feels very nice, and very human.”
“But, not entirely human,” she ventured. “My flesh ... in fact, my body ... is at least ninety percent nanomolecular bots.”
I frowned, only then realizing she was a bit cool, though not chilled. I released the breast, sliding my hand from the halter, down to her exposed belly. The skin was taut over lean muscle, unusually cool, but not seriously cold.
“I have very slow circulation and my blood is quite different from yours,” she told me, obviously reading my thoughts. “Low heart rate, unless I exert myself, or get aroused. Though I hate the term, I’m what most humans call a vampire.”
“Vampire?” I tensed. There was no escaping her sincerity. I could read that clearly. More disconcerting, she started lowering mental shields.
I began catching glimpses of lifetimes reaching back hundreds, then thousands of years. Other, less personal impressions were those of various offspring, her recollections reaching into a very distant past.
Strangely, I wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t sense evil. There wasn’t anything even slightly threatening about this strange woman, or her powers.
“Trish, what exactly are you then? Since you don’t like the term vampire?”
“Ever logical,” she said, letting slip a delightful giggle. “Vamp isn’t so bad, and I do have fangs and sometimes, I’m forced to consume living human blood. That keeps the nanomolecular bots in my system functioning, though I can eat and drink regular food.”
I stiffened, but she lifted my hand, grasped my forefinger and ran the tip inside her mouth. She didn’t have ordinary canines. Instead, two small, needle-sharp points were closely spaced on either side of her incisors.
“Aren’t those a bit small for the job?” I commented.
“They lance down about five centimetres when I feed,” she told him. “I eat and drink, but I need living blood to metabolize food. I can get along with animal blood for short spells, but there’s a life force, and something unique in drinking from a human. I can make the bite painless, and I don’t need much blood. Less than a few hundred millilitres each night. I’m not the typical, fictional Hollywood monster. I wasn’t made, I was recreated this way by the nanites. I haven’t died yet, and I’m no demon. I do hunt, generally at night to avoid detection. I enthrall a person, then wipe the encounter from their memory. I can use illusion to make myself invisible. In your case, I suppose I could make all your senses unaware of me.”
““Your middle name!” I blurted. “Lilibyt! Lilith! House of Lilith?”
“Very good, my amateur Hebrew scholar. I suppose I’m the original Lilith, though there never was a Garden of Eden, or an Adam. All that is invention to explain the inexplicable. Though, at times in ancient history, I was forced to be rather nasty.”
I jerked my hand from her belly, asking anxiously, “am I tonight’s victim?”,
She scooped my hand up, pinning it beneath her breast. “Please, don’t pull away. You aren’t a victim. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You weren’t going to bite me and drink my blood?”
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