My name is Sam Smith, an uninspiring name given to me by the orphanage where I grew up. At the age of sixty, though I could easily pass for ten years younger, I was a slender man, six feet in height. I still had a full head of hair, though salt and pepper rather than the coal black of my younger days and pale gray eyes. I’ve been told, over the years, that women find me easy on the eyes. I seem to be strong for my build, often lifting loads more burly men require help with. At this moment in my life, I was rather suddenly single, having buried my wife of forty four years just the week before. We hadn’t been in love for the last fifteen of those years, or intimate for the last twenty. I suppose we stayed together mostly out of habit. But, as they say, a man has needs. The women in the saloons knew me as a moderately generous, if not rough lover. While I usually found my nights with one woman or another refreshing, my partners were usually somewhat worse for wear in the cold morning light. It was my habit to chose one of the younger women for my nights pleasure. I had generally come into town every second or third week for supplies and a night away from the farm. I had spent the day before making arrangements with the bank to act as agent for the farm, collecting rents and holding them on deposit against my needs. On the morrow, I planned to leave for St Louis, having felt the need to move on.

The door of my room swung open quietly. I had intended to leap to my feet to deal with the intruder, but seemed to be held in place. My visitor was a youth of fifteen or sixteen years, dressed in good, but baggy clothes. He casually walked around me, studying me from all sides.

“Be at ease,” he said, “I mean you no harm and all will presently be made clear.”

He continued to study me for a time. I found I was unable to utter a single word. After a few minutes, a woman entered the room and without a word, lay down upon the bed. He closed the door, setting the latch and pulled a chair to face me.

“Your name?” he asked.

I told him, surprised I could speak.

“Sam,” he said, “for the short time we shall be together, you may call me ‘Richard’.

I nodded.

“Sam,” he went on, “You and I are of a kind.”

He went on to describe us as something akin to those unfortunates in Europe, often referred to as vampires. He went on to tell me that we didn’t need to drink blood or avoid sunlight, but fed on the life force of those around us as well as ordinary food. We were long lived and baring accident or unfortunate encounters might well be considered very nearly, immortal. He placed his finger tips against my temple, closing his eyes for a moment. My mind filled with strange thoughts and feelings. The room filled with an odd sweet odor that, while not unpleasant put me on edge.

“Now, Sam,” he said, “you have been awakened.”

He continued to explain, asking me if I could sense a difference in the room. I mentioned the odor and he explained whenever I smelled that odor, it meant one, or more, of our kind was near. We apparently were not overly friendly to one another, often battling in our own way. He indicated the woman, asking me to try to sense what was about to happen. Something insubstantial seemed to flow from her to him. She suddenly looked a little younger and he now looked like a young man of twenty or twenty one years. His clothes seemed to fit better.

“Try to do what I did,” he instructed, “some times, at first, it helps to imagine her as a bucket you will drink from.

I attempted to do what he had done, but nothing of significance occurred. He demonstrated again, causing her to grow younger as he grew older. He seemed to have an epiphany.

“My apologies, Sam,” he said, “I did not explain fully. Picture every life around you, and your own, as a bucket more or less filled with water. The level of the bucket can be thought of as years. Imagine pouring some water from your bucket to hers.

I tried again. This time I felt an ethereal flow from myself to the woman. Richard instructed me to look in the mirror above the room’s dresser. I was astonished, my hair was darker, many of the wrinkles on my face were gone. The woman looked slightly older than she had when she first entered the room.

“Very good, Sam,” he said, “excellent for a first attempt, but you must be more gentle, try once more, but for the smallest amount you can manage.”

I did as he said, managing a transfer of just less than five years. As before she aged and I got younger. He repeated his earlier action, aging himself as she became younger. When he had finished, he looked like a man in his prime, maybe fifty years of age, the woman looked to be perhaps sixteen years of age. I felt my loins stir.

“Yes, she is a pretty thing now,” Richard said, but restrain yourself for a little longer.”

He explained that the feeding, or transfer, was only one of our powers. The ability to bind and compel a person, as he had bound me and compelled the woman, was almost as important. Contest between ourselves involved will power, the one with the stronger will would prevail. It didn’t matter if one took years or gave them, only willpower mattered. He also explained that while transfers between any two of us was possible, it was generally safer to use an intermediary, like the woman. Another power involved being able to know the mind of another and to place thoughts into another’s mind, like writing on a blank page, as he put it.

I shall take my leave now,” said Richard, “use the woman as you will, but try to leave her close to her appearance when she first came in. Part of our existence depends on remaining undetected.”

He left the room a quietly as he had entered, as he walked away the odor decreased, soon becoming undetectable. The woman began to rouse as his bounding lost strength with distance. I quickly bound her to lay still and be silent. I quickly realized that the bindings I might place upon her were much more versatile than I had first thought.

I compelled her to remove her clothes. And lay back down. I kept her silent, but allowed her to feel fear. I disrobed, and knelt on the bed between her legs. The fear in her eyes excited me. I positioned my member at her entrance and with one tong thrust, penetrated her as deeply as I might. I seized her breasts, roughly squeezing them as I repeatedly thrust into her. She was beginning to respond, gasping and whimpering. I felt my heat rise and with I final plunge to her depths, and bruising of her breasts, I deposited my seed within her belly. As my heat subsided, I withdrew my flaccid member and compelled her to take me into her mouth that she might clean me of my emissions.

I sat back in the chair as my breathing slowed. I pushed another twenty five years to her, a few at a time, practicing the control Richard has spoken of. I dressed and gathered my things, glancing at my twenty year old self in the mirror, I smiled. I left two quarters on the bedside table where one would have been generous for a town whore, but being twenty again was certainly worth some reward.

I went down to the stable, saddled my horse and rode out of town, in the direction of St Louis.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, as I rode, a man stepped from behind a tree, pointing a gun at me and demanding my money and horse. I bound him, peering about lest he have companions. We seemed to be alone. I relieved him of his revolver, a well cared for Colt, and compelled him to lead me to his horse and gear.

His camp was about a mile and a half from the road in a copse of trees near a small stream. He had, obviously, been there for some time as evidenced by a sizable midden of trash piled away beyond his tent.

“That you, pa?” came a young voice from the tent.

I quickly bound the child, compelling him to come out and stand by his father. Being unsure of my new abilities, I tied them both, with ropes, to a nearby tree. I examined the camp. Two horses were on a tie line near the stream, saddles and tack piled under a tree just out of their reach. The tent was patched canvas. The fire was enclosed my a neat ring of stones. Within the tent was a trove of items stolen from other travelers and a leather bag holding several hundred dollars in a combination of bank notes an gold double eagles. There were two bedrolls laid out and an untidy heap of woman’s clothes. There was no other sign of a woman in the camp.

I returned to my captives and released the compulsion on the man so as to question him. He began to struggle against the ropes and curse blasphemously. After a few moment, I compelled him to silence once again and turned to the child. After a moment of study, I realized that the child was a girl, of perhaps ten or eleven years and possibly pretty under the coating of grime and filthy over sized clothes. I released the compulsion that held her.

“What you do to my pa?” she asked.

“I only silenced him, child,” I said gently, why are the two of you out here?”

“Ma took sick and died of a fever,” she explained, “then the bank took our farm. Pa said we had to stay here till he could get money for us to find a new place.”

I nodded to myself, such occurrences were not infrequent, but few of the unfortunates turned to crime. Had the man been by himself, I might have just killed him to save others from the fate of his other victims, but the child complicated the issue. She certainly could not provide for herself and I couldn’t abide the killing of an innocent. I untied her and under a light compulsion had her go down to the stream to wash while I pondered the matter. I spent some time examining the man’s mind. He felt he had been wronged by the townspeople because he would forgo his debts and drink himself into a stupor. He held no love for his daughter, but found her useful for maintaining the camp and in a few years would be ripe for his pleasure. I was disgusted by his thoughts. The girl returned from the stream, scrubbed and wrapped in a towel from her armpits to her slender hips. I told her to dress and brush her hair. Pausing only to ask if she might wear the nice clothes, she scampered into the tent.

I set the man to cutting wood under a strong compulsion. I walked to the tent, where the girl sat naked on a bed roll working knots from her shoulder length brown hair. I asked her name and she answered ‘Ellen’. I watched her noting idly that she was a pretty child, just on the verge of entering womanhood. Her breasts were no more than a small gentle bulge on her chest. I reached out and took five years or so from the father.

“Lay down Ellen,” I said, “lay still now and have no fear.”

I pushed the years to her bit by bit, watching her breasts swell and her hips widen. When she looked to be a young woman of seventeen, I stopped and removed my clothes. She looked at me curiously, knowing, perhaps, what was to come, but without experience. I lay beside her and began to gently slide my hands along her ripe form. She shivered under my touch. I leaned over and kissed her, she returned the kiss clumsily. I traced around her breasts, making her breath catch, then cupped one breast gently then the other. She arched her back slightly, pressing her breasts against my hand. I gently ran a finger across her nipples causing them to spring erect.

She was breathing more rapidly, her deep brown eyes were wide with excitement and wonder at what she was feeling. I trailed my fingers down her belly, bringing my had to rest on her mound. I continued to caress and kiss and stroke her body, slowly bringing her into her heat. Her hips began to move erratically and she let her legs fall wide as her body instinctively prepared itself. She was making soft moaning sounds, wanting something, but not knowing what she wanted. I guided her hand to my ridged member, wrapping her fingers around and gently guiding he stroking hand until she was stroking me of her own accord. While we continued this gentle touching and stroking, I entered her mind and as gently as I could I remove her memories of her dead mother and her father. I had not the skill to replace those memories, and thus left behind empty places where they had been.

I directed her to take me into her mouth, telling her how to lick and suckle my ridged flesh. I avoided, with difficulty, forcing my self deeper than she wished, but enjoyed the clumsy, childlike attention. When I stopped her, she was breathing deeply and rapidly, almost panting. I rolled over to my knees between her legs and gently probed a finger between her folds. She gasped and raised her hips to me. I continued to probe her passage gently bringing forth her juices and spreading them to make her ready. Soon, when I judged her ready, I removed my fingers and placed my member against her opening, pushing in gently until I felt the barrier of her maidenhead. I paused while I bound her, oblivious to pain and forced my way into her tunnel in one quick thrust.

Holding perfectly still, I waited a moment and released the binding. Her eyes opened wide and a small furrow of pain appeared and vanished quicker than it might be told. She slid a hand between us, gently feeling where my member entered her tunnel. I began to slowly pump in and out of her tunnel, drawing forth a soft ‘ ahh!’ at each thrust. I bent down to suckle at her nipples and kissed her while her hips began to rock, meeting my thrusts. I increased the tempo, bringing her to her gasping release as I sprayed my seed deep into her belly.

After a moment I rolled off her and for a time I held her as she pressed herself to me trying to catch her breath.

“Will there be a child?” she asked.

“Probably not,” I answered

After a time, I sent her back down to the creak to wash again, telling her there was no need to dress. When she returned I had her prepare a supper while I checked on the father. He had produced an impressive pile of wood. His hands were bloody from blisters raised, and burst while he worked. I carried suitable pieces to the fire. She produced a creditable meal of beans with a little bacon and corn bread and coffee. I took a plate to the father, directing him to eat and return to his work. I took a little time, unsaddling my horse, something I should have done sooner, and led him down to the stream, grooming him and tying him with the others. When I returned, Ellen was cleaning our dishes and looking curiously at her father.

“Who is that man?” she asked.

“Just a wood cutter,” I answered, “pay him no mind.”

We crawled into the tent and were soon asleep with her head on my arm.

The morning dawned clear and bright. The sound of wood chopping was slower, I walked over and looked from the father to the huge pile of wood he had produced working through the night. I stopped him and had him sit still. Breakfast was more of the beans and cornbread. I had Ellen begin to gather what might be of value into a pile beside the tent while I saddled the horses and brought them up. The pile of plunder was quite large, I began sorting things. I told her to select only those clothes that fit her while I began loading the horses. One surprising item was another tent, perhaps larger that what they had been using, almost new. When I finished loading what I thought we could carry, I left Ellen to hold the horses while I roused the father who had dropped into an exhausted sleep.

I reentered his mind, removing all memory of the past few days and all memory of his daughter. I applied a strong compulsion onto him, one I knew would last for days after I was gone, directing him to burn everything, including the clothes he wore, returning the area to the natural state God had intended. I watched as he built up the fire and start dragging things to the fire. I paused long enough to tell him when he finished he should walk to town.

I mounted, and pulled Ellen up behind me. We rode slowly back to the road, leading the two heavily loaded horses and headed on to St Louis