by Mary Hughes
A breath of air came over the line, a sigh. “Junior. I think I love you.”
I sucked my heart into my throat, where it stuck.
“Perhaps we could have…ah, but we’ll never know. I’m aware of your duty to your parents, your dreams of New York. But when I’m near you, all I want is to make you mine. Even today, with the sun a check on my libido, I wanted you so badly I nearly tossed you on the counter to have you a dozen times, despite the crowd, despite your parents. So I must stay away.”
“But Glynn, what if I wanted to be yours? I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I do know you’re special. That we’ve got something special. While you’re here, couldn’t we at least see each other?”
“Babi. If you don’t know what you’re feeling, sex will only confuse matters. Can you honestly say you’d give up New York? That you’d choose me over your dreams?”
I swallowed. ”But…couldn’t we…”
“No, love.” His voice was soft and full of regret. “We can’t.” He hung up.
Today’s a matinee and our prospects are good.
Sunday morning I repeated that mantra as I stapled, taped and thumb-tacked flyers from Eisenhower to Cedar, from East Thirteenth to West. It took all morning (I skipped church and caught hell from Mrs. Gelb—that is, a stern finger-shake), but I papered the whole city.
It also took ten dollars’ worth of paper and forty dollars of ink, but saving the show would be worth it. Saving the show—and Meiers Corners, by keeping Mr. Woo-Hoo Ancient from unleashing his Ray o’ Vampire Deathiness. The show, Meiers Corners, Chicago—and maybe the world! Yes, I was one awesome woman, one big fish in this small pond, thank you, thank you.
Taking mental bows, I crossed Jefferson onto my block, saw the shreds of the Cheese Dudes’ worm, and grinned at the display of Glynn’s caring. Remembered he cared too much I think I love you and got depressed.
Wait. I’d saved the show. Was there a problem in the universe I couldn’t overcome? No! I was SuperSausageLady, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, catch bullets with my teeth and command the weather with a wave of my hand. Maybe not the last, but relationship troubles were easy-peasy. After I saved the show and the city and world, I’d just convince Glynn to come to New York with me.
Should have known when I started thinking words like easy-peasy that I was tripping, Yellow Submarining toward chicken buh-awking insane.
Totally oblivious, I headed into our shaded walkway, butchering the lyrics to “Singin’ In The Rain”. Felt the pound of a very different music.
Vague horror frosted my spine. I turned. Across the street, the sun glared off blisteringly shiny black marble. I squinted—what I’d taken for shadows resolved into a long line of black-garbed people.
The line was moving. Fangs To You was open.
Dad waited at our door. “Ach, Junior. That racket has been going on since eleven. Even Good Shepherd had trouble filling its pews today.”
Numb horror bloomed into actual ice. Good Shepherd, with its cosmic whip, had trouble getting people in the seats? What chance did my little paper and ink carrots have?
I found out that afternoon. Two people were in the audience, Mayor Meier and the PAC’s janitor.
We ran the show, but it was worse than the first rehearsal. The mayor was dejected, the pit was dejected, the actors were dejected. Dumas wasn’t even yakking about Method acting.
Toto was still humping everything in sight.
But we were losing money, losing audience, losing tourists. Losing to Camille and the Coterie. And unless Fangs To You’s novelty wore off damned soon, there was nothing we could do about it. Nothing I could do about it.
My entire morning felt like a lie. I wasn’t a big fish, I was a very small fish floating in my tiny pond—on my side.
Worse, when I looked for Glynn after the show (I know, I was weak), I only found Mishela, who told me with a pitying look that Emersons would give me a ride home.
At home I ran up to my attic hideaway and threw off my concert blacks. Stomped naked around my room until a bam-bam from below told me I’d stomped too hard. No growls came through the window (it was still light out but I’d been hoping), so I gave up and tugged on cutoff jeans and a baggy T-shirt over my naked skin and moped for a while. I tried visiting the places on my wall, first escaping to the Globe Theatre, then sticking my arms out like the Rio de Janeiro statue and shouting inanely, “I’m the king of the world!”
But running in my mental background were the facts, an acid eating away at my manufactured confidence. No audience meant no impressed Broadway backer, no fabulous job in New York. No asking Glynn to come to New York with me.
Phooey. I was catastrophizing. It had only been three days. Surely the good Corners folk would come to their senses soon. Surely by Thursday the novelty of free drinks until you puke would have worn off and we’d have an audience.
Surely they’d get tired of Camille’s before it was too late.
I had to believe that. Because, besides playing the very best reed two of my life, there was nothing I could do about it.
Sheesh. No wonder theater people were superstitious.
Although if our audience didn’t come to their senses… Even supposing we survived vampageddon, I’d never see Glynn again…oh, God. What was I going to do?
I crawled into my roof crenel, stared into the warm evening. Now would be a good time for that all-powerful Ancient One to show up with a plan, or the mayor to find a spare hundred thousand in the budget. Deus ex machina would be very handy right now.
Instead I got Dirkus ex Ruffles. He called to sheepishly let me know that, since the matinee was over, my flyers were classified as litter.
Some days are so shitty, they qualify as their own sewage district. And Murphy, the ass hat, was laughing.
Slamming out of our home, I walked the city, ripping down my useless flyers. Ruffles wouldn’t have called on his own. But who put him up to it?
Sure. The Cheese Dudes.
Maybe not, but they were the most likely. So when I got home, I stalked next door to “discuss” it with them. I don’t think the discussion would have involved tweaked noses, but I never found out because either they were gone or holed up. I beat my fists for five minutes against their door without an answer.
It left me worn out and deflated, with nothing to do—except see Glynn.
My mood immediately improved.
Bend me over and spank me with a Knackwurst—the single bright point in my life was a male I’d first met Monday? How pathetic was that?
I still had duty. I still had dreams. I was still confused about whether sex with Glynn was a really hot affair or something more. But it’s hard to argue with the tug for companionship when you’re so damned dejected you want to smack yourself in the foot with a meat cleaver because it’d at least be hurting about something real.
Except he might love me, and because of that didn’t want to see me. I should respect that.
The thudding music across the street was a painful counterpoint to the throbbing in my head. This was worse than Buridan’s ass. I wasn’t midway between two good things, I was sinking in a Bermuda Triangle of three bad. Which reminded me of Glynn’s triangle of tchotchkes, which started my feet south.
They took me to Walnut and turned west. Not really just my feet—I knew what I was doing, homing in on Glynn for comfort. I just didn’t want to admit it.
I won’t be seeing you anymore.
His going all noble on me only proved he was a male of worth, as in worth getting tangled up over. Worth derailing my future? Maybe not, but he might say yes to New York.
That finally convinced me—just as I got to the townhouses. My feet had kept going while I argued with myself. They knew which side would win.
They’d made one stop along the way, to buy condoms. Glynn had only had the one, and I wanted to come…er, arrive prepared.
Chapter Thirteen
I knocked on the first townhouse door. Mrs. Hinz answe
red.
The Hinzes were “the new folk”, having moved to Meiers Corners last November. They’d still be the new folk twenty years from now. Ironically, that didn’t stop anyone from considering the Hinzes ours, or for them to consider Meiers Corners home. Strange and distinctly schizophrenic, but that’s the way things were in our small town.
“Hello, Junior,” Mrs. Hinz said. “You’re here for Glynn?”
I wasn’t surprised she knew. Even if Nixie hadn’t blabbed, TV-DBGN (the Dolly Barton Gossip Network) would have told her. Dolly’s network was so efficient, Mrs. Hinz might even know I’d bought the Peppy Peenie brand latex (they came in XXL). “Is he in?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can ‘cheer’ him up.” She put a strange emphasis on the word.
“I’ll do my best.”
“After the matinee, all four of them dragged in like something left out in the sun too long.” She winked to let me know she was in on the vampire thing. “But while Master Julian and his wife have ways they can ‘cheer’ themselves up and Mishela is too young, Glynn needs a good dose of ‘cheering’ right now.” She winked again, to let me know—aw, heck.
Gossip, okay. Knowing my deepest, darkest secrets, fine. But I draw the line at city-wide mental sex cams. “Um, yeah. Thanks, Mrs. Hinz. If I can just borrow your stairs to the basement?”
“Certainly Junior. This way.” She led me through a cozy living room to the stairs, and I trotted down.
At Glynn’s shut door, I took a deep breath and raised my hand.
The door flew open, to a wild-eyed Glynn.
He was wearing nothing but silken sleep pants. Before I could ogle, he pulled me into his embrace. His naked arms were strong, his muscled torso warm and supple. For a moment I just rested in the haven of his strength.
Then he groaned, “I tried so hard to resist,” and tugged me into his room. When the door swung shut, he kissed me.
Ah, that fresh taste of his, like crisp breezes and clear mountain streams. His skin was warm as a sun-dappled meadow. And pulsing against my belly was the thick branch of his big ol’ redwood. Apparently a checked libido wasn’t the same as a dead one.
This was why I’d come. No one made me feel like Glynn. Made me glow. Made me feel stronger, smarter. Better.
Made me feel loved.
The plain fact was I needed him. For a week or forever, it didn’t matter. I needed him and I needed him now.
I stood on tiptoe to return his kiss. Nipping those luscious lips was like tasting campfires and s’mores, all the best of nature. “More.” I threaded my fingers in his hair and pulled.
He slanted his mouth across mine and one big hand cupped my head, holding me for hard, hot ravishment.
I wanted to ravish him too. I grabbed his ears and launched myself up, wrapping my shorts-bared legs around his lean waist, snugging us skin to skin. My feet found purchase on his muscular behind, my crotch pressed to his washboard belly, my breasts crushed against the hard muscles of his chest.
My mouth landed directly on his.
I tasted and nipped, reveling in summer sky and green grass, biting harder until I bit too hard and he jerked.
I’d forgotten what went with the nature druid—the vampire prince. With a growl, he threw me on the bed. Before I even stopped bouncing, he misted naked, sailed on top of me and started tearing at my jean shorts. I’d released something dangerous—and incredibly hot.
While he ripped open my zipper, I tugged my shirt over my head. Oh, the look on his face when he realized I wasn’t wearing any undies.
There’s a moment of truth when it comes to sex and pants. If the woman wants it, she’ll lift her hips, just enough. Without that subtle aid, it’s harder for the man to remove her last physical barrier to penetration.
It’s the last psychological barrier too. That hip-raise is a vital part of the sexual dance. It’s a nonverbal cue that tells a man how ready the woman is. More important, how the man handles it shouts to a woman whether he’s in tune with her and listening to her needs.
I wasn’t ready for intercourse yet. Oh, I wanted Glynn bad. But there were things I wanted to do before we got to penetration. Kiss him more, bite him, tongue his magnificent torso. Compare the taste of his nipples to the intriguing dent of his navel.
Ah hell, I just wanted to put my face between his pecs and rub.
I looked up to tell him and was shocked.
His eyes were blood red, roving over my naked breasts and belly. When his hot gaze landed on the hint of pubic curls in the V of my open zipper, his eyes actually started glowing.
More than his eyes had gone pure vampire. Fangs split his lips, still lengthening. His breathing was barely controlled. His fingers were tipped by long, sharp claws.
He knelt by my thighs. Putting palms on the sides of my shorts, he tugged, hard. He wanted in now.
The shorts didn’t move. I hadn’t done the assist. Sex would be awesome, but not yet. I half-lay on my elbows and waited to see what he’d do. I had no doubt that if I said stop, he’d stop. But the hip-raise was subtle, and he was aroused enough to miss it and strong enough to yank off the shorts without help. Animal lust rolled off him in waves. I certainly wouldn’t blame him if he went for it.
His fingers curled on my hips. A slight prick through the denim told me just how close to the sexual edge he was. How close he was to, not even pulling my shorts off, but simply ripping them to shreds.
His eyes clamped shut. His nostrils flared white with his effort to control himself. His fingers spasmed a few times, as if they would go on without him to strip me.
But slowly, his fingers loosened. He immediately clenched his hands so they couldn’t return. I only realized he hadn’t retracted his talons when blood slowly dripped from one fist.
I sat up and reached for it. “Glynn—”
He shook his head, that sharp single shake. “Pain…helps me focus.”
“I don’t want you in pain.”
His eyes opened, softened to a violet-blue. “You want time to touch me. This is the only way I can give you that.”
Oh, sweet heavens. He not only knew I wasn’t ready—he knew why. And he was doing everything in his power to give me what I wanted.
He was putting my needs before his. Friends did that. And family.
And true love.
My heart was too full. “A cold shower?”
He smiled, but it was pained. “Junior, we…my kind…we feel everything stronger. Longer. Pain and pleasure are both vivid and they feed each other. This agony…ah, it’s almost sweet.” Another deep breath. Eyes closing, then opening, dark blue. “Pain and pleasure in eternal circle. Our poetry calls it the ouroboros of ecstasy.”
The ouroboros was the dragon that swallowed its own tail. “Um…sounds intense. Vampires have poetry?”
His expression eased to a real smile. His fangs retracted and he sat back on his heels. “We do. Mostly about sex, all very dark and deep. But it isn’t, is it? Truly it’s just sex.”
“Well, sure.” I was relieved to see him not looking so pained. “Unless it’s love.”
His eyes darkened to royal purple.
Me and my big mouth. Even an underwear slip would have been innocent-sounding compared to the “L” word. Although slipping my tongue under Glynn’s wear…yeah, not quite so innocent. But certainly less dangerous.
So I leaned forward to caress the velvet of his skin. Leaned more to press my lips to firm muscle. It was like lipping hot silk.
“Junior. I’m trying to give you a little time. A little space. But…” He gasped when I licked his pectoral. “But I’m still a vampire by nature. A sexual beast.”
He was warning me to back off. But I was doing exactly what I’d wanted to do, exploring his body, and he was holding still for it. I found the puckered nib of his nipple, licked it lightly and enjoyed his shudder.
He cleared his throat. “A beast,” he repeated. “My control won’t last forever.”
“I don’t
want it to,” I said and bit his nipple.
He grabbed my head and crushed me to him. I sucked and his nipple tightened even more against my tongue.
He seized my hand and pressed it to his erection, smooth, fat and throbbing. “Ah, babi, feel what you’re doing to me.” In my palm, he swelled even bigger.
Which gave me an idea.
“Unpin my hair.”
“What?”
I squeezed his cock until he gave a sharp groan. “Unpin my hair.”
Pins flew. My braid rolled down my back.
I curled my legs under me and swiveled up on my haunches, sitting knee to knee, mirroring Glynn. Naked but for my open jeans shorts. I combed my fingers through my hair until the braid was gone and kinked tresses rippled from my crown to my butt.
His breathing grew more and more ragged as I worked, his cock bobbing eagerly. A glistening drop appeared at the tip.
I parted my hair at the back of my neck and drew crinkly blue-black veils over my breasts. I leaned forward to kiss his chest again.
As I did, my hair feathered along his thighs, trailed over his erection. His cock jumped. Lusty little beast. Or big beast, actually.
I smiled up at him. Planting a stabilizing palm on his chest, I wrapped a tress around a finger of my free hand. Still smiling, I sucked the tail into my mouth.
Glynn watched me with hot focus, an almost glazed aspect to his stare now.
I released the tress to twist it into a rope, then wrapped it around his shaft, snug. He watched as if this were something he’d never seen before. With another smile, I drew the coiled strand up his erection like a silken noose.
He stiffened sharply and his eyes squeezed shut. Pain or pleasure, I couldn’t tell. Maybe there was something to that vampire poetry.
I stopped just under the crown, drew the hair a little tighter. He grimaced, but his cock got fatter and his fangs slid out from between his lips. He reached for me.
I released my hair and launched myself back along the mattress by thrusting my legs straight, landing on my butt a few feet back. The coil of hair ratcheted around his cock like a motor starter.
He roared, choked it off. Dropping forward onto his fists, his head fell over my thighs, his shoulders heaving as he panted for control.
