In just a few days’ time, the first of the reluctant campers would arrive at the all boys conversion camp, Camp Guiding Light. It was time for the annual summer program, "Guidance For The Wayward Soul," that, ostensibly, was supposed to cleanse the campers of their impure, sinful thoughts about their fellow men.

Neil was proud of the work that they were doing. It was God’s good work. And while he knew that many of the first-time campers would not be there of their own will, he also knew that it was ultimately for their own good so that they wouldn’t have to go through the years of delusion that he had had to suffer, back when he was proudly flaunting his choice of homosexuality.

The veteran councilors had warned Neil that there would be a lot of crying, a lot of cursing, and a lot of begging. He understood. He had resisted Patricia back when she had tried to show him the light. He knew the struggle to wrench oneself back from the edge of sin. But he was also prepared to do what needed to be done to do God’s good work, and that meant ignoring the anguish that the campers would go through because it was for the sake of their immortal souls.

Much of today had been spent making sure that all the little nooks and crannies of the cabins were clean and free of any and all contraband. The last thing that they wanted was illicit pornographic material that could possibly reinforce homosexuality.

The only pornographic material that they allowed to remain in the cabins were the ones that featured women, especially the magazines that were "slightly used" and sticky. Those were the ones that the successful converts snuck into camp toward the end of their stay.

Neil felt gross and sticky. He’d been working all day, and despite the shade of the woods around them, it had been pretty hot and humid. His clothes were practically clinging to his skin because of all the sweat. What he needed was a cold beer. But before that, he wanted to take a nice, long shower. He deserved it.

As Neil walked up to the communal showers, he found it a bit weird that no one else was there. But he figured the rest had either finished while he was doing some last-minute cleaning or were doing some last-minute cleaning of their own. In the "locker room" area of the showers, Neil stripped down to his tighty-whities.

The only other thing he was wearing was the necklace that Patricia had given him on the day that he had converted back to being straight. The necklace was made of fine gold, with an obsidian black cross for a pendant. It was beautiful. Neil never went without it.

On the way to the shower area, Neil felt that he was being watched. "Hello?" he said. "Who’s there?" His voice merely reverberated in the desolate showers. He shivered and closed his eyes, muttering a quiet prayer to God to protect him from the creatures of the night, from the Devil’s minions.

When he opened his eyes, Neil jumped back in surprise. Someone was standing there. On the opposite side of the showers, wreathed in the darkness. He blinked, and the figure, which was humanoid in shape, seemed to move closer despite remaining still. He blinked again. And again. By the time he got himself under control, the shadowy figure was already halfway to him.

Neil turned around to run, only to run into something that felt like a brick wall. Suddenly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming through an open ventilation window, the darkened figure didn’t seem so dark. In fact, the stranger was pale. Incredibly pale.

"Why there you are, little morsel," said the figure, in a low, seductive voice. He stepped fully into the moonlight and Neil gasped at the sight. The figure’s hair was the color of the freshly-driven snow and his eyes were the same blue as ice. But the most striking feature on the figure’s face was the set of elongated fangs that protruded over his lower lip.

Vampire. Neil tried to avert his eyes, but it was too late. "Is that any way to speak to a king?" murmured the figure, the cold, sardonic tone of his voice sending a chill down Neil’s spine. "You speak to the leader of Neravichia, mortal. You should be so honored to be worthy of my attention."

"I am Alaric, the Graven King, Lord Protector of the Houses of Neravichia. Remember my name, mortal, for soon you shall whisper it in adoration and forget of all this nonsense about God," said the vampire, with a mirthless grin. "For soon it shall be the name by which you will call he who is your Lord and Master."

"N-Never," stammered Neil, unable to look away from the vampire’s ice-cold gaze. "M-My faith will protect me," he said.

"Your faith?" said Alaric, barking back a humorless laugh. "This puny enchantment?" said Alaric, grabbing the obsidian cross that hung from Neil’s neck and tossing it to the ground. The stone crunched under the heel of the vampire’s boot. "Tonight, of all nights, when I am empowered by the throaty, savage moans of your brethren?"

Alaric leaned forward and swept his tongue along the sensitive skin of Neil’s neck, making Neil shiver. "I don’t think so, morsel. Your God is a pretender, your faith a scam. But worry not, I will lead you back onto the right path."

As Neil gazed into Alaric’s eyes, he felt an ancient consciousness assert itself in his mind. With surgical precision, it rifled through his essence, blazing through memories and excising inconvenient ones at lightning speed. Between heartbeats Neil forgot why he was wearing a silver promise band on his ring finger, and the name Patricia lost all meaning.

Alaric grinned, baring his teeth that sparkled in the moonlight. That same pressure in Neil’s mind returned with tenfold strength. It washed over him, consumed him. It reconfigured the way that he worked with such speed that Neil never even knew what hit him.

Neil felt the pang of fear for only a moment before Alaric quashed it. And then all he felt was a lustful emptiness, a pleasant buzz in his head where there had once been thoughts. He opened his eyes, which he had not realized he had closed, and he looked up at the vampire looming in front of him.

Alaric sank to his knees, his fingers drawing Neil’s underwear down his thighs as he did so. Neil did not protest. Instead, his cock hardened in the cool night air, and twitched at the surprising heat of Alaric’s breath.

"I will eat all that you once were," said Alaric, licking a stripe from the base of Neil’s cock to the tip. "I will wipe you blank. Cleanse you of this warped magic that has bound you to a despot’s will. And then I will remake you so that you know who you truly are, who you truly were, and who you always will be."

Neil’s mind went blank, overcome with arousal as he felt Alaric’s mouth close around his cock.

The orgasm that hit Neil was dazzling. It was the kind of orgasm that men spent lifetimes chasing after. And it opened his eyes. It helped him see the light. He had been on the right path, and that witch Patricia had lured him from it. Thanks to his Lord, the Graven King, who was grinning up at him from between his legs, Neil knew that he was back on the right path.

Once he had taken leave of Alaric, Neil tottered along to the big house, unconcerned by his nudity. When he entered, Alaric was already there, along with a whole cadre of other vampires. The rest of the camp councilors were also there, in the depths of a steamy orgy.

As he walked in to join his new brethren, Alaric understood what they were to do. They were to serve as the campers’ guiding light. But not so that they learned to deny who they were and fell thrall to the twisted enchantments of the Enemy. They would guide the campers and help them understand that they have nothing to be ashamed about.

As Neil tongued the fangs that were starting to grow in, he was also certain that he and the other councilors would be able to give the young men the tools to affect change in the other masculine influences in their lives.