Happy Birthday Mr. President!
A new journal piece from Henry under the cut!
Wednesday, February 12th 2014
So there I was, naked as newborn, bedecked in glorious red ribbon.
Literally.
And yes, getting it on was awkward, especially in following those ludicrous instructions courtesy of YouTube.
Because of course, I really am ambidextrous and double-jointed enough to pull that off without some humiliating assistance!
Who exactly are they joking with when they make these videos?
The good Baron Efford sufficed as my extra pair of hands then – being a man who is nothing but discretion after all – the cause being at least worthy of the book I had located for him in England and shipped to New Orleans by Express Courier solely for the purpose of his stoically unamused expression as he arranged my ‘offering’ for Abraham and fastened the appropriate appendage with a wide red bow.
So, yes there I was, sprawled across the central reading table on the First Floor of the Library Tower, striking an erotic pose to attract my Mate, much as a peacock displays it’s glorious tail feathers in hopes of getting laid at some point in the proceedings.
Or so I had imagined.
After last year’s gift to Abraham being my acceptance of an MRI scan to try and find answers for why I get such blinding headaches at altitude, I thought this year should really be far more special than an afternoon with some clinical technician whose sunny disposition was sprayed on like a fake tan.
The good Thomas of previous mentioning, also had people stay away from the library that afternoon too.
Discretion being the better part of valour, obviously.
But alas, for all my struggles, the valiant Vampire Hunter who strikes fear into the hearts of Rogues and assorted other cretins just by opening his mouth to give a speech, was utterly oblivious.
Why?
He had his head in a book.
Of course.
And he never even saw me there as he came and went through the room in his carpet slippers, unaware of anything beyond the library’s daily hush and reverentially musty odours.
Which rather made me glad I had not gone with the extra expense of rose petals on the floor, or wrapping paper on his gift. I might have crinkled like a packet of potato chips, and smelt like a whore’s boudoir, he would still have failed to notice.
Actually, I wonder now whether he’s even aware of it being his birthday at all!
The date of my own has long since vanished into the ether of a past I wish no more to rightly remember, and there are certainly other Vampires who no longer pay much heed to the significance of certain days in the year.
Added to that, Timothy’s bellowing voice from the top floor, invoking the ‘No Sex in My Library’ Rule, and lewdly demanding I ‘shift my lily-white ass off that table and not get the books dusty’ also contributed to the moment not being quite as hotly passionate as I had hoped.
Perhaps I am losing my flair for the dramatic, having gotten rather lost in recent months amidst the domesticity of cataloguing manuscripts and organizing our rooms in the Manor? There has been much to do, if the stain of the previous occupant in this job role is to be credibly removed from Sylum’s History.
Nevertheless, I shall persist, and foresee instead the fastening of Abraham in these silken ribbons for a little ravishment.
Provided they are not too shredded in my squirming around to get them duly unfastened…
LOL
What Paula said!
—Naj 😀