M/M, Fantasy Short Story
William 'Billy' Villeneuve was born and raised in a prominent socialite family in the late 1700's of New Orleans. His status stripped from him in a blink of an eye as his family all perished during a plague, and he was left...
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The streets were energetic in the nights of the creole city. Sounds of music fill the quarters. Laughter as people watched street performers, the sounds of hooves on the brick roads of carriages going by. The gas lanterns lit up the way of the streets. New Orleans was alive. The city port brought in many new faces to the world. Ones coming to drink, to trade, to experience the love of a beautiful woman of the night.
The city was far from a place of safety, there was looting, robberies, and death. It wasn't until the women came from France that brought the worst of them all. A word unheard of to the creole civilization. Vampire. Staying in groups was the best anyone could do when out on their nightly adventures.
William 'Billy' Villeneuve was a man that felt as if he had a death wish. He roamed the streets alone often. He dressed as a socialite, but he was nothing more than a whore. He had a long list of clientele, both men and women. He was in his early thirties. His dark brown curly hair, covered in a powdered wig, his lightly tanned skin; covered in white makeup. He looked polished.
His eyes were the colors of the deepest ocean of blue and green, but there was sorrow hiding behind them. Billy came from a rather prominent family, but his entire family was wiped out by the plague, he barely survived himself. His father's lands were taken away and he was pushed to live on the streets. He found himself a decent home in the southern part of the city, where the ladies of the night roamed. It was easier for business.
The women he worked with were much gentler with him. Most of them were older, looking for something younger to appease their appetites. Someone who could fulfil their desires. The men often hid their interest in men, were ruder, treated him like rubbish and it wasn't unusual for him to be hit, spit on and even abused. Some nights were more difficult than others, but he did what he could to keep himself going in a city that never stopped.
Billy walked the street back to his home as he heard his name called out. He turned to see Madam Moreau. He smiled at her. "A new dress for such a beautiful woman." He spoke as he walked over to her. She blushed and hid behind her hand fan. "Oh, Billy you are still a sweet gentleman." She admitted with a smile on her face.
Madam Moreau was one of the most expensive and classier ladies of the night anyone could get in New Orleans. She was only twenty-four years old, her dark brown hair up in curls, her body in a tight bodice, accentuating her flirtatious curvature. Her eyes, the color of deep chocolate and her lips red like roses. A small beauty mark just below her right eye.
Madam Moreau was one that took Billy under her wing and showed him the ways of the night. Even though she was much younger than him, he needed to learn. They became good friends and Billy had helped her out of bad situations several times. Their bedroom windows facing each other's in the small alley between the homes. She would put a candle in the window when she didn't trust her suitor. It didn't matter what Billy was doing at that moment, he always took care of her, once ending him up in the hospital with a stab wound to his belly. He barely survived that either. The streets were a hard life for anyone.
