The Lebanese Vampire Queen

If I go crazy will you still call me your superwoman? That's the question I ask myself as I look into the face of my beloved Marcel as he sleeps. To say that my lover, Marcel "Thad" Thaddeus and I come from different worlds would be an understatement. As I look at my gorgeous Jamaican stud while he sleeps in our bed, I wonder how he's going to react to my latest revelation. It's not easy being undead in the world of the living, and it's even harder when you date outside your species.

Before we go any further, I think introductions are in order. Sorry about that. When you're as old as I am, you grow forgetful at times. Anyhow, my name is Caroline Suleiman. I was born in the region of Mount Liban, Lebanon, in 207 A.D. and became a vampire in the summer of 231. For the past 1782 years I've been at war with the Roamer. You see, there are many things walking this earth which mankind has no idea exists. I'm definitely such a creature, but I consider myself decent. I don't kill unless I'm in mortal danger. Even if you consider yourself the most hardline pacifist, you'd do the same when it's do or die, trust me. I've been there time and again and I know what I'm talking about.

Anyone looking at me would see a perfect replica of a five-foot-ten, curvaceous young woman with light bronze skin, curly black hair and pale green eyes. I've been mistaken for Hispanic or Italian more times than I can count but I always tell people that I am Lebanese. My parents, Muriel and Claudius Suleiman were Lebanese Christians, from the Maronite faith. My Christian faith matters to me more now than it did then. After all that I have seen, I believe in God more than ever. A vampire who believes in God, kind of odd, eh? If you were doomed to live forever, you'd need a reason to go on when all the thrills are gone, trust me. These days I live in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm studying business administration at Carleton University and also work part-time as a clerk at a local bookstore.

I first came to Canada in 1909, having grown tired of London, England, where I lived from 1873 to 1908. I spent the next seventy years in the Republic of Lebanon, then got tired of it and left for North America. I have lived all over the world, from Lebanon to England, from South Africa to Italy, and the place where I find myself most comfortable is Ontario, Canada. It's the region of Canada where most of the nation's immigration population resides, and it's home to so many people from the Middle East it's not even funny. I visited a Lebanese church in Toronto for the first time in 2010 and fell in love with my people all over again. Lebanese Christians are my people and I am devoted to them to my dying day. I fought in the Lebanese Civil War against Lebanese Muslims who sided with the Syrian swine against us Lebanese Christians, their blood brothers and sisters!

I was pleased to be among my people again. Like me, they worry about the situation back home. Michel Suleiman, the President of Lebanon is a Christian, but the Muslim population continues to grow and many Lebanese Christians are feeling increasingly worried about it. We don't want to be forced to live under Sharia law if the Lebanese Muslims try to emulate the dreaded Syrians and Saudis they adore so much. If they try the same stuff they did in the 1970s, it's going to be a Christian versus Muslim situation all over again and this time I'm not sure we can win. Sorry, I digress. You didn't come here to get a crash course on Lebanese Christian politics. Just wanted to tell you a bit about what matters to me, that's all.

I've been undead a long time, and throughout the centuries many have tried to end my life. When the vampire overlord Wahankh seduced me and transformed me into what I am today, one stormy night in Lebanon centuries ago, he made me different from every other vampire in existence. The old one gave me his strength and made me greater than any vampire alive at the time. You see, us vampires aren't that different from you humans. You see, us vampires aren't that different from you humans. Once a human being is transformed into a vampire, he or she stops aging and becomes immune to disease, toxins and poisons. Also, you become stronger and faster than you've ever been before.

Sounds cool, right? Also, a vampire has the ability to regenerate. We can grow back pretty much anything except the head, once it comes away from the body it's over. Still, be realistic. Becoming a vampire doesn't make you invincible. There are many ways through which we can be killed besides the whole stake-in-the-heart thing. Decapitation, fire and massive physical trauma will do the trick. On the other hand, we can't drown, or get poisoned, so that's cool. Also, we're immune to the effects of alcohol. It doesn't do jack to us. Do NOT engage a vampire in a drinking contest. You've already lost.

Yeah, now that I think about it, from a layman's viewpoint, being undead would seem kind of cool. Except that you can no longer stand the light of the sun, your favorite dishes now taste like cardboard to you and you have this raging thirst for blood. It never goes away. The only thing I can compare it to is crack addiction. You always crave blood and you'll still crave it if you drank the world dry. There isn't enough blood in the world to slake your thirst. That's the saddest thing about the vampire state. I long ago decided that I would only drink blood from blood banks. I have it delivered at my apartment three times a week via a special connection and life is good. I control my urges, they don't control me.

I've never been one to mix business with pleasure, at least that's what I tell myself. Still, how do you explain my love/hate relationship with Marcel Thaddeus? I met the tall, dark and handsome, Jamaican-born security guard ( and part-time Algonquin College student ) while battling the Roamer on the rooftop of a hotel near Parliament Hill in downtown Ottawa. The Roamer found me yet again, just like it always did. The body-switching entity that hunts vampires and feeds on us. It looks nothing like Buffy, sorry fan boys ( and girls).

This time it came in the guise of a short, slender young Asian woman. The body it inhabited was pretty and petite, barely twenty years old. It chased me through the streets of Ottawa for hours, and cornered me on the rooftop. Once we were alone it dropped all pretenses and revealed its true face, morphing into the winged, humanoid and serpentine monster I knew and loathed. Hate glowed in its bright red eyes and its fanged mouth smiled. Come along little one, it said, towering over me at seven-foot-tall. I braced myself for the fight of my life. To date, very few vampires have eluded a Roamer and none have ever defeated one in battle. I knew my days were numbered. I fought but the monster was infinitely stronger than I am. It hurled me against the floor, its clawed foot on my chest. Fangs bared, it got ready to end my existence.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for oblivion. It never came. For a knight in shining armor ( or in this case a khaki and black security uniform ) came to my rescue. Marcel hurled himself at the beast, and amazingly, the six-foot-four, 250-pound ex-rugby player sent the ancient monster tumbling off the roof. It crashed on the street, hundreds of meters below. It wouldn't die, but it would be out of commission for a while. Until it could extricate itself from its dying host and possess another unsuspecting human being. I was helped to my feet by the first genuine hero I had seen in a long time. With his fearless smile and that confident manner so common to island men, Marcel assured me that I would be alright. Thank you, I said, smiling at him.

Just like their ancestors in the continent of Africa, the people from Caribbean islands such as Haiti, Jamaica and Trinidad are all-too-familiar with the supernatural. Marcel Thaddeus comes from a long line of monster-hunters. He was a Hunter, one of those men and women who hunt us vampires, along with werewolves, demons, monsters and other non-humans living on the earthly plane. Technically, they weren't supposed to fraternize with us but Marcel simply couldn't resist me. Once I proved to him that I wasn't like the others ( I haven't fed on a live human in over a thousand years ) of my kind, we formed a tentative friendship. You see, I've got other enemies besides the Roamers out there and the Hunters are a worldwide organization with thousands of operatives across the globe. They keep tabs on all known supernatural entities.

Marcel amazed me when he told me that him and his crew had successfully taken down not one but two Roamers. I was impressed. These ageless beings are to vampires what mongooses are to garden snakes. They're the only thing we truly fear. The Roamers roam around the world, hunting down our kind and feeding on us. Only the blood of a vampire will properly feed a Roamer, and they must feed on one of us every year to survive. Yeah, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't like them. Marcel and I became friends, of a sort. We helped each other out. The Hunters sent him from his native Jamaica to Ontario to deal with an influx of monsters in that part of the country.

Given the fact that the threats we faced were too great for us separately, Marcel and I came to an arrangement. We helped each other out. One night, Marcel went into a nest of vampires and was about to get himself killed when I intervened. I ended up staking this old vampire named Judith Marshall when she made it clear that she wouldn't let Marcel go, and in that moment, I made myself public enemy number one among my kind. For the love of a mortal man I had broken one of the most sacred rules of vampire society. My romance with Marcel surprised me, to tell you the truth. I've had sex with men and a few women but I never let mortals get close to me. It's bad for their health and mine.

Since we've gotten involved, Marcel has gotten kicked out of the Hunters and fallen on hard times. Originally, working as a security guard and studying police foundations at Algonquin College was his cover as a Hunter residing in Ottawa. Now that he's gotten kicked out of the organization, he can no longer access their intelligence network or their emergency funds. It's not easy for him. He's only twenty three years old and unsure of what his path in life should be. I love him and try to be there for him but I can't tell him who to be. It's weird, being in a relationship with a mortal. It's strange, frustrating at times but ultimately wonderful. I wouldn't trade my Marcel for the world...

Last night, I came home to find him waiting for me. Standing in the living room, a glass of wine in one hand and his dagger on his belt. At once romantic and dangerous. My island man. Hello beautiful, he said. I went to him with a smile. We kissed passionately, and next thing I knew, we were making love on the floor. Grasping my breasts, Marcel buried his face between them. I want you, I said breathlessly. My curvy body hugged his, and he pried my thick thighs open. In a swift move he inserted his hard member into my womanhood. My cold body, hardened by the centuries, melted like butter in the sun as I felt his masculine heat invading me. It had been too long since my pussy had felt anything other than my fingers. Nimble though my digits were, they couldn't equal Marcel's ardor as he began making love to me, thrusting his member deep inside of me.

I wrapped my legs around him, feeling his sweet lips suckling at my breasts, his strong hands caressing my flesh while holding me into place as he took his pleasure. Harder, I urged him. Too often, the few mortal lovers I've had, both male and female, make the mistake of being gentle with me. Vampire flesh isn't like that of mortals. A heavyweight boxer's punch would barely register as a tap on my chin. For me to feel anything at all, my male lovers must ram into me with all their passion, and subdue my predatory body into submission. Grabbing me and lifting me effortlessly off the floor, Marcel placed me on the nearby couch. He raised my legs in the air and licked my toes while thrusting his member deep inside my womanhood.

How I loved the heat of Marcel invading my body. I arched my back and held tightly onto him, urging him to fuck me harder. Oh, he certainly did. In his passion he kissed my lips, and bit my ear. I yearned to sink my teeth into his flesh and taste him but restrained myself. Instead I focused on the deliciously hot pain filling me up down below. Like a spear of the sun thawing a frozen tundra, Marcel's long and thick cock filled my cunt, exploring my gentle folds, which had gone untouched and unloved for ages. Shoving him with a strength that shocked him, I pushed him on the floor and climbed on top of him. As I straddled him, Marcel took my hands in his and kissed them.

Such a sweet gesture made my heart shudder, figuratively speaking. Still, it was wasted on me. Don't love me tender fuck me hard, I commanded, and Marcel heeded my desires. He grabbed my breasts and squeezed them hard, harder than any mortal woman could take it, and finally I arched my back and howled as sweet pleasure mixed with burning pain coursed through me. Locking eyes with Marcel while riding him, I revealed yet another of my kinks to him. I want you to hit me as hard as you can, I said. When he heard these words come out of my mouth, Marcel seemed stunned.

Taking his right hand from my left breast, I brought it to my lips and kissed it. Hit me, I said. Marcel hesitated. Frustrated, I grabbed his throat and squeezed hard enough to let him know I meant business. Fine, he retorted, and then delivered a mean uppercut to my face. He struck me hard enough to send me rocking backwards. I lay on the floor, stunned. A panicked Marcel stood over me, apologizing profusely. That was hot, I said. Without warning I went straight for his dick, taking his hard member in my mouth. I sucked his cock and massaged his balls, and Marcel's moans of pleasured filled the room. Once I deemed him hard enough, I climbed right back on top of him, impaling my pussy on his dick. Fuck me, I ordered.

My sexy Jamaican lover didn't need to be told twice. Hard and fast he pumped his dick into me, smacking my big ass and pinching my nipples for good measure. We didn't delve too deep into what I like to have done to me but I had fun. I don't think Marcel, the strongly built yet gentlemanly and romantic islander is ready to hear that the woman he loves can be a kinky, wanton slut. I like to be tied up, spanked and flogged before getting thoroughly fucked...in every hole I've got. Not all men can handle that. Marcel's got potential, though. We fucked for hours, and when Marcel came, exploding inside of me in a geyser of liquid fire, my shrieks of pleasure and contentment mingled with his own. We fell asleep in each other's arms.

Marcel and I lead hard, dangerous lives but that's okay. I wouldn't have it any other way. Makes the fun moments more precious. The other night, I took him to the Silver City movie theater to watch Machete Kills and we had a lot of fun. He's a fan of action movies. I prefer current-events based flicks, period pieces or serious dramas like 42, Captain Phillips or The Butler. Coming out of the movie hand in hand, Marcel and I got a few looks from some people. The City of Ottawa is full of immigrants these days, and it won't be long before the Arabs, Africans, Asians and others make up the majority of the population. Some people still take issue with racial diversity, though. Me? I've lived long enough to know that people are people, regardless of skin tone, religion or any of the other divisive bullshit.

Marcel had a big smile on his face as I flipped an angry-looking old couple the bird while getting off the bus. Fuck the haters, I said in my best Jay-Z voice. Marcel kissed me and gave my ample derriere a good smack. I love you mamas, he said. Love you back islander, I smiled. Yeah, we could seriously pass for just another couple out on the town on a Friday night. Except that one of us is a vampire and the other is an ex-Hunter. Forget the fact that we're different colors. We're not even the same species! Yet we're in love. I love this man something fierce. More than I've ever loved anyone in my millennia-plus existence. I just hope he's ready for the news I'm about to deliver to him. I can't explain what's happening to me. As a vampire, I'm undead. Biologically speaking, there's very little difference between me and a person who died a few minutes ago with their body intact. I'm a blood-drinking, night-dwelling undead woman. This isn't supposed to happen. What's the fuss all about? I'm, um, pregnant. Marcel's going to have a rude awakening in a few hours when I give him the news. For now I'll let him sleep.