“It’s not that I wouldn’t love to take you up on your offer,” he grasped her hands in his, both of his closing over both of hers. “It’s just that I have some concerns.”
Summer now fully understood the term, “Blow your mind” because that was exactly how she felt, as if the Roadrunner had planted one of those cartoon packs of dynamite in her brain and pushed the plunger. He’s the blood-sucking undead and yet he’s the one with “concerns”.
“What kind of concerns?” she asked with a curl of her lip. “AIDS, herpes, warts, little fanged babies nine months from now?”
Releasing her hands, he walked to the sofa, taking a seat. Summer watched, mouth agape, as he propped his feet on the coffee table as if he owned the joint. He worked his fingers through his hair, the locks slipping through the spaces like strands of spider silk.
“My concerns are, that is to say,” he foundered, “that it might be a pity or curiosity fuck, and I am not looking for either one,” he said all in one breath.
Since her mouth was already open, her knee-jerk instinct was to shoot it off - to tell him how full of shit he was - but then she thought back on the things that had run through her mind and realized that he might have a point. The realization stung as smartly as a slap in the face.
“Please don’t take it as an accusation,” he said. “It’s only because I’ve traveled that highway before and don’t want you and me to be like that.”
Summer needed a drink to help soak up his words. She crossed to the bar, pulled a bottle from the mirrored shelf and poured two tall ones, with a chaser of self-examination.
She was curious. How couldn’t she be? The pity part - okay, she had to admit there might be a sliver of a savior complex mixed in with the sexual attraction.
“Fair enough,” she declared, the ice cubes clinking softly against the crystal as she plunked them into the glass. “I’ll admit that some of what you say could be at play here.” She crossed the room, handing off one of the glasses to Lucien, and then stepping out of her shoes because they pinched her feet to distraction.
“It’s not entirely pity, you know. I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately?”
Lucien rolled his eyes as in “can you really be that stupid?”
“My bad,” she said, sheepishly shrugging. “What I meant to say was that you are very attractive, and I am only human.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No,” she replied. “One part pity, and two parts lust…that’s about the sum of it.”
“Curiosity.” It was a statement not a question. While he sat there picking an imaginary piece of lint off of his trousers, Summer’s tongue, uncertain how to respond, knotted up like a pretzel.
“Admit that you are curious about what it would be like to have sex with a vampire,” he said, like a parent who already knows you broke the lamp, but won’t be satisfied until you own up to it.
Summer chewed her bottom lip. What’s the use, he already knows.
“Okay, I admit it. I am curious.” Cocking her head to one side she asked, “Is it wrong? Isn’t curiosity what drives most sexual encounters?”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Ah, you’ve found a loophole.” He smiled.
“Come,” he said, patting the sofa cushion, “sit next to me.”
“No way,” she said raising her hands, “I don’t want to be accused of molestation.”
She plopped on the table, beside his legs, doing her best not to notice how his trousers hugged the curve of his thigh the way the Coastal Highway hugged the Pacific shore.
“I’ll sit right here if that’s alright with you.”
“Aww, mon petite, don’t be angry.” He leaned forward, squeezing her knee. “I don’t want us to make a mess of things. I want more from you than sex, although I am sure that when it happens it will be very nice.” He leaned back against the sofa. “Only it won’t be tonight.”
In a weird way, she felt relieved, and she knew it was relief because that tense little knot in her chest that she hadn’t even known existed was conspicuous by its absence.
“Relax, Lucien…I get where you’re coming from,” she said, knocking his knee playfully with hers. “My pride was just a bit wounded, but I’m over it.”
She was over it…for the most part.
Lucien stretched the weariness from his bones, and then balanced the back of his head on his interlaced fingers. It had been a long night and that prickly restlessness had begun.
“You’re kind of a lonely guy, aren’t you?” she asked, aquamarine eyes peering out from behind a lush fringe of lashes.
Does it show that much?
“I suppose I am,” he agreed, feeling too weary for talk, but grateful for the companionship tonight. He felt as if he lived in a state of eternal winter, but a few hours with her, and he could almost remember what it was like to know the sun upon his face.
He didn’t feel much like talking anymore. He held his arms out, inviting her in. She came to him - just that easy - came to him without fear, curling into his lap and melting unquestioningly into his arms. Such a small thing; but a miracle all the same.
“You don’t see me as a horrible thing, do you?” he asked.
Summer uncurled her legs, crossing one knee over the other. He smelled the dampness from beneath her skirt and wondered what pleasures might await him in her secret, hidden places.
“No, of course not,” she said, her fingers tracing small, slow circles on his chest.
Sweet, sweet girl.
“After centuries of only being seen as some terrible thing, you begin to believe it yourself.” He cupped her chin with his hand, tipping her face towards his. “Do you understand what I mean?”
She exhaled a long sigh, blue eyes behind batting lashes like flashing neon. “I’m trying to.”
“Am I the monster others believe me to be? I need to find out, you see?” He frowned at her, playfully. “Maybe I’m a little afraid to know the answer. As the song goes, ‘Fifty million Frenchmen can’t be wrong.’”
She slipped her arms around his waist, snuggling her head on his shoulder, her scent, tuberose and lemongrass, hovering like a hummingbird around her head.
Beneath the translucent skin of her neck, Lucien eyed the pulse of her jugular vein, as inviting as the blinking light of an all-night diner. Like a starving dog, hunger chewed on his bones. The mortals he fed on were so full of despair and self-loathing that each time he drank from them, he felt made over until their wretchedness seemed to ooze from his very pores.
The temptation of ingesting the life-force of one with so much vivaciousness and passion as she possessed was dizzying. The power of those magical cells would be a tonic for his miserable soul. He closed his eyes and imagined drinking from her, her corpuscles coursing through his veins, quickening him with vitality that grew in intensity with each mouthful. He saw his mouth clamped to her neck, feasting on her as if she were Christmas dinner, slaking his thirst with her last drop of precious fluid, his body and soul ablaze with her energy. He quaked at the thought. Then he saw her limp, bloodless form lying in his arms and he trembled with horror and loathing.
Sickened by his thoughts, a bitter taste filled his mouth. He had to leave this place before his vision became a reality. He had gone too long without feeding and his mind was mad with hunger.
“I-I have to be going,” he stammered, placing his feet on the floor. Summer slipped from his lap. “You’re leaving?” she asked, her eyes entreating, her lips so inviting.
“It’s nearly dawn. I need to feed,” was all he said. He had no time for long goodbyes. He strode towards the elevator and pulled back the iron grating. It made a sound like chattering teeth.
Summer put her hand over the button that signaled the elevator door to open. “Let me come with you.”
Blasphemy! His stomach recoiled with the force of a Glock .45 ACP. Hadn’t he given her enough visions of horror for one night?
“No, never - I will not place that burden on
you!” He peeled her fingers from the button and pressed it. The doors opened with a clatter and groan. He locked his eyes on her and set his jaw. “Please do not ever ask this of me again.”
He knew she must think him mad, as she stood there with her arms folded, looking confused as hell. But he’d not eaten for three days and her blood smelled to him like a sizzling steak.
His words had come out harsh. It was the Beast talking, snapping at his mind. He didn’t want to leave this way, so he cradled her face in his hands, and put his mouth on hers, his tongue probing for one last taste. Her lips were warm and moist; he lost himself, his passion and gnawing hunger spiraling with each sigh of her body. The two needs battled inside of him as he crushed her mouth with his, stumbling her to the wall with a thud.
The burn of her fingernails raked his back as he ground his hips into hers. He wanted to pound his cock into her with the same manic urgency that hunger pounded through his veins. She wrapped one leg around his thigh, grappling him with a lusty groan. The heat crawled from between her legs as he thrust his hips into her with such determination it caused something on the wall above their heads to crash to the floor.
From the corner of his eye, he glanced to see what it was. A broken clock lay at his feet, its hands frozen at five thirty-two.
He could not risk tarrying another moment.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice as dry as his veins. Summer nodded her head in agreement. “I know,” she panted. “Tomorrow night, then?” Summer touched her fingers to her brow thoughtfully as if collecting her thoughts. “Um, I’m booked for a personal appearance around eight tomorrow night, but I’ll be free after that. How should I contact you?” Laughing he said, “Don’t worry, Mon chére, I’ll find you… à tout à l’heure.”
The Wangdangdoodle
The garish pink-sparkle billboard along I-70 announced the entrance to the gravel parking lot of Bottoms Up Fetish Emporium. Summer parked her car at the rear entrance of the long, low pole building; a cloud of dust trailing her tires.
“The things I do to pay the bills,” she sighed, looking at the billboard.
Inside the store, Summer was assaulted with the sight of canes, crops, chainmail, clamps, collars, gags, floggers, and mysterious items meant for mysterious uses. I might have to do a little shopping before I leave here today.
“Summer, you made it!” Good old reliable Melody was waiting, and had already set up for the appearance. Summer broke into a broad smile and scurried to the table that served as central command for the night. She enjoyed doing remotes, and it was always a kick doing them with Melody.
“Okay, here are the T-shirts for you to sign.” Melody held up a powder blue t-shirt with ‘Only the Lonely’ emblazoned across the front.
Summer surveyed the tees with a critical eye, nodding her head in approval. They were cute. The printer had done a nice job.
“I have tons of Sharpies too, so you don’t run out of ink, and here are the ballots and ballot box for the KJZM prize promotion. Don’t worry about those; I will make sure everyone fills them out properly.”
“Wow, Mel, thanks so much for doing all of this. I can always count on you to come through for me.” Summer smiled.
“We are going live with the promo in thirty seconds. Here’s your copy to read, and I see some of your listeners are already coming through the door.”
Summer took her seat at the microphone; the little buzz of adrenaline that she felt when going live zipped through her system. Men and women of all shapes and ages queued up for the meet and greet.
Cradling the mike in her hands, she breathily announced, “Good evening, listeners. This is Summer Solstice coming to you live from the Bottoms Up Fetish Emporium on I-70, just west of St. Louis. I will be here for the next two hours, so come on out and snag a free ‘Only the Lonely’ T-shirt, and be sure to sign up for KJZM’s prize giveaway extravaganza.
“While you are here, don’t forget to check out Bottoms Up’s new line of leather fetish gear, featuring the smoking hot collection of Backdraft Assless Chaps.”
Summer smiled approvingly at the totally tasteless product name.
“Mention KJZM and receive ten percent off of your purchase for the next two hours. It looks like the lines are forming, so I will return you to Chattin’ about Chicks with Crockett and Tubbs.”
“Until the next commercial break, this is Summer Solstice, broadcasting live from Bottoms Up Fetish Emporium, right next to St. Louis’ newest Gentlemen’s Club: The Twattery Barn.”
Summer was biting her lips to keep from laughing at the name of the club. Turning off her mike, Summer spied Melody trying just as hard not to crack, and they both broke into a fit of giggles.
“Don’t you just love it when the new Twattery Barn catalog arrives in the mail?” Melody squealed.
“Hi, Summer. Would you sign a t-shirt for me?” An uneasy gentleman sporting a swirling comb-over interrupted their joking. Summer composed herself, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Sure, honey, what’s your name?” She uncapped a marker while Melody handed her a shirt.
“Adam, my name is Adam.” “OK, here you go, Adam,” Summer signed her name and handed him the T-shirt. Melody shoved a square of paper into his outstretched hand.
“Don’t forget to sign up for KJZM’s prize extravaganza!” Melody chimed in with surprising enthusiasm. Melody was many things, but chipper wasn’t usually one of them.
Aww, Summer thought, she’s taking one for the team.
For over an hour, the scene repeated: Summer cheerfully signed shirts, Melody pretended to be excited about handing out entry ballots, and Summer took it all in stride when the occasional fan lewdly came on to her. A few wanted her to sign their underwear, or various body parts, and she congenially obliged them - within limits. All in a day’s work. “Hi, Summer, I’m Jerry, remember me?”
He was munching on a donut and the powdered sugar peppered his faded, food stained, 1979 Cher ‘Take Me Home’ tour cotton shirt which stretched over his pot belly like Saran-wrap on a matzo ball. A pager and cell phone, which Summer expected never rang, hung from his double knit, security guard issue trousers. His body odor was as ripe as hobo taint.
“Does a banker remember a bad check?” Summer couldn’t forget Jerry if she tried. He attended all of her outside gigs. He was like a pesky little brother that followed her around, wanting to hang out with the cool kids, but he was devoted to her and always available to lend a hand breaking down the sets after a remote.
“Here you go, Jerry,” said Summer, handing him a T-shirt. “Try not to get any food stains on it.”
“Thanks, Summer. Mind if I hang around? I could help Melody hand out the entries?”
“Sure, Jerry, knock yourself out,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.
A small pudgy man, with the complexion of library paste, restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting his turn in line. His eyes darted about like a frightened bird, stealing nervous glances over his shoulder as he stepped up to the table.
Summer reached for a shirt to sign. “Who should I make this out to?” A barely audible “Bob” squeaked from the man’s mouth. “You can make it out to Bob. I talked to you on Friday night, but you probably don’t remember me.”
He was wrong, Summer remembered him. She remembered him well.
“I’m the one that sees vampires, and I need to ask you something,” Bob whispered. “There’s a guy over there, by the dildos…don’t let him see you looking…I think he’s a vampire.”
Summer casually surveyed the room, her eyes coming to rest on a man with his back to her. He was examining a device called The Invader. A blue flame hovered faintly over his head. As if sensing eyes on him, the vampire turned in her direction.
Lucien - it was Lucien. Biting the inside of her cheeks, she consciously turned the corners of her mouth into a frown as she tried to restrain the grin of recognition pulling at her face. Her heart beat with the giddiness of a sch
oolgirl.
“Do you see him, Summer?” Bob hissed. “Does he look like a vampire to you?”
“Sorry, Bob,” she consoled, “I think you’re wrong this time. I just see a regular guy - holding a frighteningly enormous dildo - no vampires in here tonight.”
Leaning across the table she whispered, “There’s nothing to be afraid of here, Bob. You are safe…well, as safe as you can be in a fetish emporium on a major interstate. Now, here’s your T-shirt, and be sure to sign up for the giveaway.”
With a furtive glance in Lucien’s direction, Bob snatched his T-shirt, hurriedly filled out the entry and bolted out of the door. “Weirdo,” Melody contended. “If that gorgeous hunk of fuck-meat is a vampire, he can suck on me anytime that he wants. Melody hitched her thumb in Lucien’s direction. “Check him out, Summer,” she urged. Melody placed her elbows on the table, her chin resting in her hand. Her eyes gazed dreamily at Lucien. “If I ever got my hands on that guy, I’d strap him down and show him what this tongue stud is for.” She waggled her tongue suggestively, showing off the round steel ball embedded in it. Summer thumbed through commercial scripts trying to appear unimpressed, but Melody was unstoppable.
“I’d give him a hot roll with cream.” Her foot tapped rapidly on the floor.
“Do the mommy-daddy dance…” She performed a little “Oh yeah” dance in her seat. “Take a poke in the ole cat whiskers -”
“I get it!” Summer interrupted irritably. “He churns your butter! Now cool it,” she hissed. “He’s walking this way.”
Summer straightened her spine and smiled sweetly in Lucien’s direction. Christ, he was gorgeous. Melody was right; Summer wouldn’t mind taking a poke in the ole cat whiskers from him either.
“Would you be so kind as to autograph my Wangdangdoodle?” Lucien implored, proffering a blue jelly dildo complete with rotating ball bearing beads and squeezable testicles.
Only the Lonely Page 7
