~An Uffish Ode In The Limerick Form~
by Leslie GS

The vampire called Nick couldn't rest.
He had such a lot on his chest.
  He tossed and he turned,
  And, in fact, burned.
His libido'd become such a pest.

His master, Lacroix - what a guy -
Of course kept him under his eye.
  He felt very sad
  For his dear lusty lad
And his sex-life that had shriveled and died.

So Lacroix (he's so neat!) hatched a plan
To succor this poor tortured man.
  He stuffed his huge dong
  In a slick leather thong
And to Nick's he flew off with �lan.

Nick awoke with a feeling of dread
And peered down at the foot of his bed.
  There stood Lacroix,
  Practically raw,
And Nick's eyes nearly popped from his head.

"What d'you want?" came his standard demand,
His sheets gripped to his chin with one hand.
  The palm of the other
  Was under the cover,
Quelling something that had started to stand.

"The usual," replied Lacroix with a smirk.
"I admit to my folly, my quirk.
  For your company
  I've a long history
Of acting the hard-hearted jerk.

"While there's no way that I'll turn you loose,
And for that I will give no excuse,
  I've found - yes, it's funny -
  You catch more with honey,
So I'll play Ganymede to your Zeus."

As Lacroix strayed into the mythic
(This a trait of which Nick was quite sick),
  He started to dance,
  Which is not to say prance,
Though he rolled his slim hips double-quick.

Now Nick, strange to say, was quite dubious,
Perhaps fearing plots nefarious.
  But that scrap of black leather
  Had endured heavy weather;
Its fit was quite strained and precarious.

This attire, while not truly unique,
Yet managed Nick's interest to pique.
  Lacroix straddled Nick's knees,
  Who promptly started to wheeze
At the sight of that leather clad prique.

Though his skin is quite lucid and pale,
For his age, Lacroix's hearty and hale.
  He bumped and he ground;
  Nick's heart thumped and did pound,
Jump-started by his own Chippendale.

While it's true Nick suspected a trick
(It's so unfair he is labeled a brick),
  With those flexing thighs
  In front of his eyes,
He was starting to long for a lick.

He'd intended - of course - just to please,
Yet Lacroix turned to a merciless tease.
  So Nick sat up, got a grip
  Where it just wouldn't slip,
And dragged a howling Lacroix to his knees.

For a moment they paused, face to face,
Then Lacroix drawled with a courteous grace,
  "Don't twist, please, Nicholas,
  I've no wish to be wick-less,
Though I really do like your ... embrace."

While Nick's fist fondled something with heft,
Lacroix knew he had little will left,
  So his hand, down it went
  Where Nick's pole peaked a tent,
His fingers most skillful and deft.

Suddenly sheets and Nick's jammies, they flew.
And what Nick, to Lacroix, found to do,
  Made his joy swell
  (What else, I won't tell),
Discovering leather's quite tasty to chew.

From there they both went a bit crazy,
And their sense of decorum grew hazy.
  Sucking and stroking,
  Savoring and poking,
One single vice they eschewed: being lazy.

Tabs were fondled, groped and then slotted,
And LC got more than for which he plotted.
  With his feet in the air,
  And a hot derriere,
He was yet again by his son besotted.

Of course, turn about is fair play,
And long before night turned to day,
  He had Nick bent over
  And howling like Rover,
All stifling inhibition blown away.

Both were completely, thoroughly bedded,
Nick's satin sheets totally shredded.
  The mattress exploded
  As passions unloaded;
To blood drenched ecstasy they headed.

Come dusk and the Nightcrawler failed to air.
The ward room wondered why Knight wasn't there.
  His machine picked up calls,
  Nat's voice echoed down halls;
"Nick, you aren't here and I wanna know where."

Well, see, vampires, they come and they go.
That's really something all mortals should know.
  And Nick's a typical guy,
  Though he truly does try.
He left a thoughtful note on the piano:

"Nat, I'm so sorry, what can I say?
Luc and I have gone off to Calais.
  I fear we must part,
  Though you're the love of my heart...
But God, Lacroix's an incredible lay!"

August '98