She Has Bette Davis Eyes

At the end of their next date night, as soon as they entered Constance Brooks’s house, she asked Abraham Van Zaadvocht, “Why don’t you remove your pants and sit down on the sofa? While I slip into something comfortable?”

Van Zaadvocht did as Constance had requested and was sitting there naked from the waist down when she returned wearing a housecoat. She smiled at him and strolled over towards the couch, peeling off her robe to reveal that her idea of something comfortable was a pair of backless high-heels. And nothing else.

“You’re already hard,” she quipped as she knelt down between his legs and took him into her mouth.

Van Zaadocht leaned back, his hands behind his head, as Constance started moving her own blonde head up and down over his lap. He was indeed hard because, for the past twenty years or so, this had become their ritual. Every time they were alone together, she would suck him off. Every single time. So he knew what to expect and had gotten a boner while waiting for her. Indeed, just her question had caused him to start becoming erect.

Now she was delivering the goods, her lips milking his cock as they slid along the shaft. Frequently, she would plunge down far enough to take him into her throat. Often with some slight gagging. She did not use her hands; just her mouth and throat. Her hands were placed on his groin, where his legs joined his torso. Her well-practiced, well-perfected technique soon had him on the edge.

“Oh… oh, Connie… I’m… I’m going to…” he panted while sitting up straight. His hands reached out to hover near her head.

She mumbled something, acknowledging his words and letting him know she was ready to receive his ejaculate. She also speeded up her head bobbing, striving to get him off.

“Yesss!” he cried out, gripping her head and bucking his hips. Constance ceased her motions and remained still, allowing him to face-fuck her through his climax. Allowing him to use her mouth as a cum dumpster, spewing out his thick seed into it.

It was only after his orgasm subsided and his hands fell away that she lift her head. She opened her mouth wide to show him the puddle of sperm mixed with spit before closing it again and swallowing audibly.

“Delicious as always,” Constance said and slid her hands to his knees for leverage to stand up. Connie slipped the housecoat back on and tied the belt while Van Zaadvocht got back into his briefs and trousers.

“Oh, I don’t think I told you,” he remarked as he tucked in his shirt. “I was right about that young woman. She was a cumpire.”

He knew full well he had not told her, having chosen to save the news for just the right moment. For the past few days, he had been imagining what her reaction would be. How excited she would be about his discovery.

Constance was making drinks for the two, but froze at Abraham’s words. Slowly, she turned to face him. “What makes you so certain?”

“A number of things,” Van Zaadvocht shrugged. “But the real clincher was that she turned into dust after I drove a stake through her heart.”

“You… You did what?” Constance asked in shock. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. She understood what he had said, but could not wrap her mind around the idea that he had actually done such a thing.

“Out by the lake,” Van Zaadvocht elaborated, a proud smile across his face. “I lured her out there and drove a stake through her heart. It was the eeriest sight. She just… decayed… right in front of my eyes. In less than a minute she had turned to dust.”

“Turned… to… dust,” Constance repeated his words in a hushed voice. Her eyes had the glazed, faraway stare, often associated with shock or trauma. “Yes… I always imagined it would be that way.”

The Deam of Classical Studies’s response was puzzling to him. As an Academician, she should be brimming with questions and inquiries.

“Are you out of your mind!” she screamed, her hands curled into claws. “You murdered that poor woman in cold blood for no reason!”

“No reason?” he shot back in bafflement. “They destroyed an entire city. And no telling how many other men since then. Draining them of their life forces.”

“No, they didn’t!” she yelled and strode over to the painting hanging above the hearth. It concealed a wall-safe. She flipped the picture frame out on its hinges and began to frantically spin the dial to open the safe. “The curse made them infertile but ageless. The women did not grow older, but the men did. With no children being born to replace them.”

Van Zaadvocht’s head jerked back, and he stood up straighter. Constance had retrieved a long-barrel Smith and Weston revolver and was holding it at waist level, pointing it at him. “And it wasn’t a horde of barbarians that... overran... the city. They were men from the neighboring city. And they weren’t even cities!”

The gun in her hand shook from her agitation as she continued her tirade. “They were called cities at the time, but today we would classify them as little more than villages. A population of five hundred people. Tops!”

“But Constance,” Van Zaadvocht tried to reason with her. “The legends say…”

“You know how legends get exaggerated!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. “Next, you’ll be telling me that the Greeks really had a thousand ships. And that Troy withstood a siege for ten years.”

Van Zaadvocht held his hands up, palms outward, as he tried to calm her. “But the legends all agree…”

“To hell with the legends! I know,” she pointed with a jabbing motion at her chest with her free hand. “I was there.”

“What?” he gasped in utter disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

“NO!” she screamed. “I am a cumpire!”

“But… but you just said that cumpires don’t age,” Van Zaadvocht countered, trying to hold on to his own sanity.

“Unless they have grown sick of the whole thing,” Constance snarled as tears formed in her eyes. “Sick of having to move every ten years or so. Sick of making up new identities. Sick of learning new languages.” She rubbed the back of her hand across her nose and sniffled. “I have learned over two dozen of them… Forgotten most of them due to not using them in such a long time.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she fought to hold back the sobs. “And in this technological age, it is getting harder and harder to start anew. You have to obtain new identity documents. New background papers. It is just so difficult. With the databases, and internet, and photos… Look how easily you tracked down that woman that you slaughtered.”

“Connie,” he said in a reasonable tone, trying to make her see the logic. “I have known you for twenty years. You have aged… Aged gracefully. But you have aged.”

“Because I cut back on my sperm intake,” she bawled. “I took enough to stay alive, but not enough to keep from aging.” Her body started shaking as she blubbered, “I had four regular suppliers when I met you. But then… then I… then I fell in love with you.”

Van Zaadvocht staggered back as if he had been shot. He, too, had strong feelings for Constance. But the age gap. Her career. Plus, it just never seemed to be the suitable time to say the words.

“I was forty-five when the curse took hold,” she whimpered as the tears spilled from her eyes and streamed down her face. “And I was forty-five when I met you. But I knew that if I stayed forty-five forever, eventually you would start asking questions. People always do. And I didn’t want to leave you.” She wiped at her cheeks. “But I was not right for you. You deserved children and a home. That’s why I always pushed you to seek out other women… Even though it broke my heart every time you did.”

“Connie,” Van Zaadvocht pleaded, “Let’s say all you say is true. What’s the gun for? Do you think I’m going to attack you?”

“You might,” she sobbed. “But what am I supposed to do? Go to the police and say you murdered a… a twenty-five hundred-year-old woman? And where’s my proof? Dust in the wind?”

“You know,” she said, trying to stop crying. “We have tried to keep in touch with each other as we spread to different parts of the world. Europe, the Middle East, Africa. And then, later on, the Americas. But it is hard… Sometimes we lose track of this one or that one for a year or two. Sometimes longer. Many were burned as witches during the Middle Ages.”

“That’s… that’s why you asked her name the night before I met her?” Van Zaadvocht said in a low voice, fearing that this was all making too much sense. The pieces were fitting together too precisely.

“I didn’t recognize her name,” Constance nodded. “But I figured it must have been a new alias. I would find her and warn her off. Only…” Her weeping became worse, her body trembling in despair. “Only I never thought that you would… you would commit ****.”

Her left hand moved up to cup the heel of right hand, which still clutched the revolver. “I do so love you, Abe…”

“Connie, don’t!” Van Zaadvocht cried out as he extended his arms with palms out.

The discharge of the firearm was deafening in the enclosed space of her living room.

She had not fired the weapon since the first day of purchase, so her aim was off, hitting him in his upper thigh. Van Zaadvocht cried out in pain and spun around, rushing for the door as fast as he could limp. Constance did not immediately follow. The noise and the enormity of what she had done, and what she was doing, caused to her remain rooted there in shock. But then she snapped out of it and ran after her former lover, protégé, colleague, and so much more.

The second shot missed, but the third got him in the back. He went face down and she staggered down the steps after him, her other hand clutching the banister. She continued to work the trigger until the click-click-click made her realize the gun was empty and she had put four bullets in his back. When her arm lowered, the spent pistol slipped from her hand and she looked up at the moon in the nighttime sky.

Breathlessly, she whispered, “Forgive me, Selene.”
With faltering steps, Constance climbed the stairs and went inside to phone the police.
And to wait.

In many ways, she felt that she had been his accomplice in ****. She had meted out justice to him. Now she would wait for the state to dispense it to her.

END OF STORY ARC