I met him for drinks at La-La LaBoo’s. He was hunkered at the bar, his long white fingers tapered unnaturally around the glass. I eyed the contents with open suspicion. To be honest, the thick red liquid nearly sent me bolting from the bar. His shoulders slumped and I could read the defeat in each line.
Something lured me to him. Was it the sadness in his expression? Was it the wide flourish of his arms as he spun to greet me? I can’t say. I was as surprised as the rest of the bar when my feet marched up to him. I tossed my purse on the bar and tapped the hard wood. “Hey barkeep,” a gnarled old creature who looked suspiciously like my date times 20 hobbled over, “Might I bother you for a Tequila Sunrise, Good Sir?” He mumbled about high maintenance women and fruity drinks under his breath, but filled my order.
I smiled at the barkeep broadly as he slid my drink down the bar. It landed in a sticky mess, spilling over my perfectly manicured nails—so I licked them clean. My date eyed my hands with open disdain. “Lazy,” he tisked, “you never had long nails before.” I chuckled and drummed the bar’s surface, enjoying the clicking sound. “I’m a liberated woman, Sweetie. You kicked my ass to the curb. So I decided that long nails are sexy. Like ‘em?” He scoffed and swallowed the remnants of his drink. “No. What’s next? A tattoo? How’d you pay for it anyway?”
I winked at him then, my lips curling like a fat cat licking cream. “I didn’t. Nick did.” His eyes narrowed on my face. “Nick? Is that your boyfriend?” I laughed gaily. “Who needs a boyfriend when they just break your heart? No…he’s just one of many friends.” His eyes narrowed on my features and I could almost hear him counting to ten. “Friends. Pfft. What good are people? You should be a rock, like me.”
I squeezed his arm. “Don’t be jealous. I love you best of all and always will. But you’re…” I laughed, searching for the right word, “you’re you.” He yanked his arm away as if burned by my touch. “And that’s a bad thing? I’m sexy and witty and funny. Heck, I’m an ace of a man!” His declaration made me smile. “Don’t forget modest.” I nodded and raised my glass to toast him.
He slammed his fist drunkenly on the bar. “Bartender! Another glass of wine—nay bring the bottle, my good man!” The fossil turned toward my date and snarled, “Ye’ve had four bottles already. Ye be done now, so pay up!” I watched the veins pop out of my date’s neck and I laughed hysterically. “Heck of a place you picked.” He barked at me—like a dog—literally barked! At which I howled like a wolf. He leaned in close and whispered drunkenly in my ear. “It suits me.”
I couldn’t argue that point. He seemed a carved fixture of the rat hole. It saddened me though. I could see that he was so much more than that. Why couldn’t he? I said nothing, just followed quietly as he led me from the bar.
“You’ll have to drive.” I smiled at him, “Too drunk old man?” He huffed. “You know I don’t drive, Kitten.” My heart skipped a beat at the use of his old pet name for me—I immediately squelched the flutter. Fuck that. I dug my keys out. “Figures, 300 years old and still can’t drive.” He hopped in my car as if he were naught a day over 44. I quirked my lips and gunned the engine—laughing aloud as he freaked and the tires burned rubber. We skidded out of La-La LaBoo’s parking lot. “Where to, Chico?”
“Drive to the outskirts of town. There’s a surprise I wanna show you.” His surprises were rarely good, but what the hell? For old time’s sake, I headed out of town. The road snaked ahead and the night got blacker without the city lights to brighten the sky. The yellow moon sagged fat and heavy in the cloudless sky—but felt oddly hollow. “Ominous moon,” I commented and shivered uncomfortably. My date grinned, his fangs catching in the yellow light. “It suits me.” That was the second time tonight he’d said that. Always bring things full circle was his motto, a strange thing to remember, but there it was.
I drove until the road turned to dirt and forked. One way sloped into darkness and I couldn’t see past the hilltop. Alongside the road straight ahead sat an old Baptist church and ancient cemetery. The path to the left seemed the safest; I detected street lights and a hint of pavement, possibly a development. My date tapped the passenger side window, “This way Kitten.” I could barely contain my misgivings, but steered the car toward the dark slope. “You’re lucky I trust you, Chico.”
We bounced down the rickety track and skidded to a stop just before a cornfield. My date hopped out of the car and took my hands in his ice cold ones. He skipped cheerily toward the corn—dragging me behind him. “Close your eyes, Kitten. You’ll love this!” I obeyed and he swung me round in a clearing, and then kissed me sweet.
His breath felt wonderful—his searching tongue—even better. I tasted his wine and a hint of something else—something salty-sweet. Then I felt a blindfold close over my eyes. The cold night air raised goose bumps along my skin as he unbuttoned my shirt kissing the hollow of my neck, the valley between my breasts. I moaned—I couldn’t help it. The man had skills. I felt my bra give and my breasts fell, heavy and swollen. His hands covered them, pinching my nipples between his fingers.
I took a ragged breath and gripped his hands with mine. “Please…” I whispered. He laughed—cool breath on my ear. “Patience Kitten.” He moved behind me and slid one hand down my body, slipping between my thighs, rubbing gently on my jeans. “Are you wet for me, Kitten?” I turned my head toward his voice, and moaned weakly, “Yes.” He patted me intimately and I doubled forward—on fire with sensation. “Good girl.” He sounded pleased with himself as he righted me. He unzipped my jeans and slid them down—then laughed when he saw I wasn’t wearing any panties, “Nice.”
He left me there—naked and blindfolded in the middle of the cornfield.
I reached for the blindfold and he scolded me, “Not yet, Kitten.” I dropped my hands to my sides and waited. A few moments passed and then I felt a warm liquid rush over my head and slip down my naked body. I shrieked and ripped the blindfold off. “What did you do?!” He fell over laughing and I saw that he was naked, too.
I looked at my hands. Red. Blood red.
I looked at my date. He’d fully recovered and was watching my expression. My eyes went wide. My mouth went slack. He placed an arm behind him and bowed regally, then stretched his claw like fingers toward me. “A dance, My Sweet?” I stared at him like a dummy—dripping blood. Whose blood, I didn’t want to know.
He stood up and frowned. “Hmmm…you aren’t drunk enough.” My eyes bulged and I snapped, “Doubt if I could ever be drunk enough, Chico.” He grinned and I swear to Jesus that his fangs were longer—nearly touching his chin.
He clapped his hands and servant wenches came forth from the corn. They carried huge vats of some fermented beverage and poured pitchers for he and I. Flowers adorned their long flowing tresses and white skirts draped their hips, falling to the ground. Blood stained their hems red and I watched their bare breasts glitter in the moonlight. I licked my lips and he smiled at me.
He grabbed the prettiest wench and thrust her before for me. “Want to drink from her breasts, Kitten?” I shook my head no and turned away. He slapped her on the ass and sent her off. I stifled a stab of jealousy. This was the strangest night ever.
He handed me a pitcher and bade me to drink. I hesitated, unsure of what he’d do if I did…or if I didn’t. I raised the pitcher to my lips and drank deeply. Sweet, tangy, fruity wine slipped down my throat. So I drank more—greedily emptying the container. He took it and refilled it. I drank that one, too.
Then he spun me in his arms, my warm flesh pressed to his cold skin. I heard music hum from the corn. Sweet violins sang soprano strains to primitive drumbeats. Heaven and earth merged as we danced naked in blood under the obese yellow moon. A white dove flew high over head and cried a mournful cry. I tilted my head to watch it.
As I leaned back he nibbled the column of my throat. My vision blurred and I tried to focus on his hawk eyes, but I saw four, then six, then eight of them—swirling into a mosaic of eyeballs. “Zat wine’s some good shhhhit” I slurred—not my sexiest moment. He laughed coolly in my ear, “Relax and enjoy it.” I realized that he seemed oddly sober. I didn’t like that, but my arm swung wildly when I tried to slug him.
He laid me on the cold damp ground and lapped the blood from the bottom of my breasts to my nipples, his fingers worked magic between my parted thighs. I moaned and arched against his hand. I cried out his name…it’s the last thing I remember.
I awoke in my bed—squeaky clean and neatly dressed in satin p-jays. I looked at my hands. My new nails were filed short and I laughed to myself. “Bastard.” I patted my body down, puzzling over what had happened, how I’d gotten home, and washed and tucked into bed. My breasts and thighs were sore. Guess I had a good time. I laughed louder and made a dash for the toilet. My bladder was screaming as I pulled my pajama bottoms down. Then I saw it—two perfect fang marks on my inner thigh. My heart sank. I looked in the mirror—I was pale. Dark circles formed under my eyes. The cock-sucker drained me!
I stood there glaring at the mirror with my pants at my ankles and growled my displeasure. “Damn you, Mr. Gully! Meet you for drinks, my ass!”