17 December 2018; Electra’s dictionary; the vampire chronicles of Jörn

We leave the Met heading back to the apartment building —as: soon he has to meet with the Orchestra for tonight’s performance of Handel’s Messiah

He holds my hand as we walk; automatically going to the outside of me.... his unconscious primal instincts

Everywhere we go his hands absently reach to touch me ....

Jörn says,

“you’ve been living Upstate and —before that Michigan and Oregon?—you should know I have been stalking you—“ his eyes look at me and tease me; he laughs, “I mean on Instagram—you take a lot of pictures hiking—But now you are here? Because of what? You just found out your father had a secret inheritance for you?“

“Is that what the doormen told you? Do they stand around gossiping all day?” this just pops out of my mouth—maybe quick defense. But I’m not really miffed. Just always surprised to be such a subject of talk.

I have always had people talking about me, I don’t quite know why they care....

He shrugs as if to say I’m right.

“Gosh,” I say, “they’re worse then a sewing circle,” and look up at him

But then, eloquently with no words, he says with just another move of his shoulder, ‘so, is it true?’ only now adding with raised blonde eye brows. His face is so expressive, especially his eyes. I’ve never seen such fiercely piercing stormblue eyes .... with lascivious dazzle

I say,
“well.... it was supposed to go to the media circus but I got lucky as some other story was going on and ....”

“I bet. The media circus,” he laughs. “Although,” he is thinking....”in his lifetime ....who you are could have—“

“Could have caused a lot of commotion....”

His eyes meet mine as he begins to understand. He is putting together my portrait in his mind. Why I was a secret. What impact did my natural father have on society?

“You were their love child?” he asks now

“Yes.”

“But you were smuggled into the family of your mother’s husband. The one who was your legal father. And he hated you,” he continues, “and he would beat you....and call you—you wrote:  ‘bastard-nigger-baby.”

I shudder in the wind and look away

....It is all so outside his own society I realize.

And the times have changed fast these last decades —people don’t worry about the same things they used to.

But they did then

We walk on and he says,

“So you are here now; you have come back after many years. But you’re not really from here—New York City—I don’t see you as a city person, or I should say a ‘New York City person’ —maybe Amsterdam, yes.... I think you prefer nature.... don’t you?”

He is right,
“Yes, what about you?”

“I like both. Cities and countryside. But you don’t know the city, do you? you seem lost and terrified of it,” he says this with a teasing laugh at me and looks with his Vampire eyes that X-ray through me

I laugh,
“it’s all the people.... I’m pretty shy... actually.... Plus they are so gruff and confrontational that I feel like I have a negative run-in experience as soon as I step out the door.... I don’t really belong anywhere.... you know—I’m like a Jonathan Swift and a Candide in one.... I’ve accepted that I am just a misfit. Total outcast.”

He laughs,
“you’re too beautiful to be a misfit.”

“That’s what you may think.... only it’s true. You should know now before you get in any deeper.”

“What should I know?” and here he pushes me up against the side of a building and waits for me to say as he smiles at me

I falter at first—he is so physical ....so beautiful. He has pale brows and lashes. They make his eyes look so dark. His strange Nordic features set me in wonder, even his nose which is so sharp with nostrils flared.... I go to kiss his mouth and then I pull back embarrassed, “I am a total nightmare of an oddball....”

“No,” he says because I pull away and ....ignoring anyone walking past us, he pulls me back to him and kisses me as if we are back in his bedroom; it makes me think of him on stage; how he throws himself into his music, exposing his emotions with complete physical immersion .... he seems to block everything out but the moment
“you’re an oddball....?” he asks; his eyes seem to dance brightly like faceted sapphires, “so is that what it is about you....if this is what is a misfit looks like, then I guess I like that you are a misfit,” then holds my face in the palms of his hands. I am aware of how small I am next to him and I fear how ridiculous it may seem—not to people in general, just to him

his long musician’s hands have such a power to disturb me intimately. But it is not just his hands. He makes me behave so .... badly. He distracts me. All I seem capable of when he’s near me is wanting him

I think it is this way for him too .... he’s always touching me  .... absently. In public too. Just fleeting touches his hand flat against my belly

Like when we may be out standing for a moment by a store window or at a place to pay. He will put his arm around me and discreetly lay a hand pressed below my navel, then breath into my neck and cup my sex where my thigh begins
—what is more perturbing are the moments when some part of my mind feels a sense of indignation but then.... I forget and then I don’t care.... there is such an overwhelming power to him; especially his hands

“Do you really think I am bored with life?” he looks down at me

His direct non-sequitur takes my brain awhile to decode


“Yes. I do....” I whisper against his lips..... “and I think this is why you are drawn to me. Because I am nothing like anything you have ever known.”


He asks,
“would you like to come along with me when I go in to.... do my work?— or have I already bored you with my music?”

“You mean —to go with you?—again ....for the Messiah concert?”

He shrugs awkwardly,
“you don’t have to.”

It is this shrug this time that melts my heart

I mean.... his eyes....

he is a luscious demon with those eyes; they penetrate; they fuck me; his eyes fuck me....

instead of answering him, I pull him to me by the back of his head as he wears it long and tied back; I put my mouth on his and put my fingers into his hair, pulling it loose to touch it