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Her impish smile blossomed into fierce seriousness. "You can do what you want with me, but do it hard, and drink me up."
As hammered as I was, I recall thinking: Do people really talk like this? But then I remembered the scene inside: the goth aesthetic, all the people who clearly thought The Gimp was the best character in Pulp Fiction. At this point, everything was beginning to seem like a dream. This little girl standing in front of me was begging to be hurt, and I wanted to hurt someone just as badly as I'd been hurting lately.
"Well, Amanda — " the thought passed through my head that this girl and my mother shared the same name " — where are you parked?"
Curiously, her apartment did not bear the stony coldness of a bourgeois succubus's lair, decked out in crystals and dragons and fairies, but appeared instead to be a showroom for Pier 1; she had an amazing collection of throw pillows.
As soon as we were in the door she was on me: she was small, maybe a hundred pounds, and it felt effortless to have her clinging to me, legs wrapped around my waist. Normally I don't feel very manly when fucking a woman, more like a beetle clinging to a lioness. But her tiny body made me feel enormous. I could have crushed her. We fell among the throw pillows, her hands working my clothes off with professional ease. As her tongue worked its way into my mouth, I felt not one, but two, studs in her tongue. Oh, sweet bliss! I nearly came right then.
She hiked up her dress and said, "Spank my ass."
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I was never one to turn down a little ass chapping.
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I complied with her request. I was never one to turn down a little ass chapping. But with each smack of my hand she said, "Harder!" Within a few swats my hand was hurting — it reminded me of playing baseball as a kid, the way the wooden bat stung your hands and wrists when it connected with the ball. I reached up and grabbed the dog collar from behind, yanking backwards as her teeth latched onto my lips; I pulled harder and she came loose from me, splitting my lower lip as she did so.
"Fucking goddamn!" I said.
She ran her tongue across her lips and smiled. That's when I caught a good glimpse of the fangs. Before I could say anything, she said: "Wait right here."
The warning signals in my brain were at Def-Con Two: Get the fuck out of here. But I had lapsed into an opiated euphoria, and I began to imagine her as my vampish girlfriend and how her throw pillows and accent rugs would blend seamlessly into my own apartment and my menagerie of colored glass votives. And Lorraine — she'd quit fucking with me if I had a new girlfriend with fangs.
"I've brought you something special." I opened my eyes; Amanda was holding out a drink to me; her other hand held a shimmering light, and when I sat up to take the drink I saw it was a knife.
Well, so this is how it ends, I thought. I don't know if I was completely twisted or what, but I felt unusually calm — all my problems were about to disappear as I became the victim of some serial killer. It was really quite liberating.
Then she handed the knife to me.
"You don't have to be gentle," she said. She began to peel off her clothing. On one wrist I saw the single tattoo of a razor blade. On the other wrist, the tattoo read "cut here;" the words floated above a dotted line. A mummified kitten was stenciled onto her stomach and chest. (I found this somewhat charming as I own cats, and I had to repress the urge to say, "Oh, a little kitty . . . "). She sat beside me on the couch, kissing me with that slight bite, and guided my hand with the knife toward her thigh.
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"Taste me," she breathed, and she guided the knife lightly along her leg.
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I've never been much for blood — mine or anyone else's. As a child, my annual physicals were something of a nightmare for all involved, as I was (and remain) quick to faint at the sight of a needle or blood being drawn. Even a visit to the dentist presents serious obstacles. Novocain not only numbs me, it puts me into a coma.
"Taste me," she breathed, and I felt her hand pressing against mine, guiding the knife lightly along her leg. I could feel the blackness beginning, as if a small pinhole had opened in the back of my head letting all the anger and resentment I'd been hoarding about the circumstances of my life float into the night.
When I came around from the vampyress' sweet embrace, I woke to sunlight. I was sitting on the couch, fully clothed. No one seemed to be in the apartment but me. Had I fallen asleep and only dreamed a meeting with a vampire? Be it so, if you will; I didn't stick around to find out. I made a hasty exit and found my car. When I looked in the rear-view mirror, I saw the cuts on my lower lip.
It occurred to me that Lorraine would have driven by my apartment last night; she would have noticed my absent car, perhaps even waited for me. I could not begin to guess what loss I was about to return to, but I felt it prudent to stop on the way home and purchase a new toothbrush. n°
© 2009 Kevin Keck & hooksexup.com
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