"Die, you filthy blood sucker, Seed of Shaitan," screamed the East African villager, right before he and his confederates, a mob of unruly bozos, drove a foot-long wooden spike through my heart. It's a good thing that a lot of people buy into the myths about stakes through the heart ending a Vampire's existence, because, well, obviously I lived to tell the tale. Of course, I had to play dead for my audience, lest they get any bright ideas like roasting me or even worse yet, beheading yours truly.
I, Mahmoud Ali, first saw the light of day in Djibouti in 1867. My father, Imam Musab Ali, was the Chieftain of our clan back in those days. That's one of the many reasons why Djibouti, my birthplace, is dear to me. I nearly died in that very same place exactly 150 years later. Whoever says that you can never go home again was right, because I went home, to my homeland of Djibouti, after a rather long absence, and got a near-death experience for my troubles. I can honestly say that I am now cured of any nostalgia about the Motherland...
I'd been away from home for a very long time, having left Djibouti the night when this ancient Arabian Vampire named Faroukh Rashad transformed me into one of the Undead. I remember it all vividly. One night, as I came home from tending to our goat herd in the hills, something terrible happened. The old monster came to my village, killed an awful lot of people, including my family, and turned me into a blood sucker before going out into the sun.
Later, as I ventured out into the world and began encountering other Vampires, I learned about Rashad my maker, and about our kind. The suicidal old one had been around since the Last Crusade. Rashad never explained the facts of Vampire life to me, I had to learn them on my own. One of the truisms of a Vampire's existence is that sooner or later, we all feel the pull of our homelands, no matter where we are. It's simply irresistible...
I was living the good life in the City of Toronto, Ontario, and got homesick, and made a very costly mistake. I'd lived too long among the nice, if somewhat passive-aggressive, denizens of Canada's largest city, and had forgotten that in other parts of the world, the myth of the Vampire is no myth. In parts of Africa, Latin America, and, I'm told, Eastern Europe, townsfolk and villagers still believe in Vampires and routinely carry out persecution campaigns against my kind. I walked into just such a campaign upon returning to Djibouti...
My fellow Djiboutians impaled me through the chest in my first homecoming in nearly a century. If I didn't have the ability to regenerate, I'd be dead. After recovering from the welcome I got from my people in my hometown of Ali Sabieh, second largest metropolitan area of the Republic of Djibouti, I shipped myself like a parcel to North America. It took two weeks, but I made it back to the City of Toronto, Ontario.
Traveling is never easy when you're a Vampire, I swear. The advances of modern technology have simplified some things and complicated others. No, I didn't ship myself in a frigging coffin. Just a regular box marked fragile containing myself, deep in slumber. I can't thank the good folks of DHL Express enough for their expediency and care, folks. They really do wonderful work and are worth every penny. We the Undead are some of their biggest clients, they just don't realize it.
"Going back to Djibouti was a bad idea, I told you so, Mahmoud, serves you right for not listening to me," said my paramour, Aisha Elmi, once I finally made my way back to the City of Toronto. Sitting inside Bacchus Roti Shop, a nice Caribbean bar located on Queen Street, I took a swig of the nectar she brought me. Rum, mixed with fresh human blood, and chilled at just the right temperature. I savored the taste, and then fixed my gaze on my smart-mouthed darling.
When I first met Aisha Elmi three decades ago, she was a student at Ryerson University. I noticed the six-foot-tall, curvaceous, brown-skinned and absolutely stunning, Hijab-wearing Somali cutie, and went after her like a magnet sensing metal. A pretty-faced gal in a Hijab who also happens to have a big round butt is a delicacy which I cannot resist. I love the women from my culture, what can I say?
After a series of events too annoying to get into, I seduced, bedded and subsequently turned the lovely Aisha into one of the Undead. We've had a love-hate relationship ever since. Like Batman and Cat Woman...with fangs. Tonight, Aisha looked simply stunning in a black leather jacket over a red tank top, black leather pants and thigh-high black boots. Her long dark hair hung in a ponytail over her lovely shoulders. I saw a burning intensity in her golden brown eyes. Concern, hidden under layers of sarcasm and wit...
I smile as I recall the last time Aisha and I made love, prior to my departure for Djibouti. I showed up at her place, and brought a friend. A tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, attractive young woman named Rebecca Hinds, a student whom I met at an art show. I had been seeing Rebecca for a couple of months, and she was starting to get clingy. I figured I'd get some fun out of her on our final encounter before disposing of her...
"You are so pretty," Rebecca said to Aisha, and I sat on Aisha's living room couch, with my dick in my hands, watching as the two young women got their freak on. A tall black gal and a tall blonde chick, undressing and feeling each other up right in front of me. Pumping my hand up and down my dick, I pinched my nipples and licked my lips as the fun began unfolding before me...
"You got no idea, sweetie, just relax," Aisha said to Rebecca, and she kissed her before caressing her breasts. Leaning back on the couch, Rebecca moaned softly as Aisha slid her hand between her thighs and began fingering her. Aisha loves to pleasure both men and women, and her sex game is second to none. Remembering some of our past encounters, I almost felt envious of Rebecca. Almost...
