Author's Note: This story was written for Databastard's November 2006 Unconventional Story contest, and is also posted at the EMCSA. This story is unusual for me for a couple reasons. First of all, the sex style is different from any I've written before (you'll see). Second, I've never done a cut-away before; my denouement has always been immediately following the action. Finally, the biggest difference is a new story type; I've never done a Vampire story before. This story is fiction in every way and also mine in every way; author's permission required for reproduction of this material. I hope you enjoy, and please e-mail me with any comments, questions, complains, or suggestions.
Lucy Westenra Never Had These Kinds of Problems
*Mmmm...I slide off my chair and over to my bed, where he's waiting. We're still talking, but it won't be long now. I toss my glasses lightly aside. I can see in the tilt of his neck, the set of his jaw, that he has intentions for tonight. So do I.
I perch down next to him delicately, massively aware of my own weight and his heat. It radiates off of his knee, his thigh, his hip, his side, and ripples through me; an invasion of waves.
His hand, yes, his hand slides backward. It's behind me, it's coming closer. His five perfect fingers make five perfect indents in the blue bedspread. Behind me, oh! His voice, it cuts through my straining and I have to answer, I have to say something. I didn't hear the question, but I have to answer, right?
I don't have to answer. I look at him. I tilt my head, just a little. Just the right way. I look out from under my eyelashes in just the right way, with just the right spark in my irises, burning blue across our distance. Our distance, which is rapidly closing. Soft silence, this kind of glaring silence, is anything but awkward. It means a kiss. It means soft lips meeting for the first time.
His lips have some give, but the intention behind them is firm; they press. They want me. A sigh slows through my body, from my chest to my mouth. We press as tight as we can, up to inside one another but of course I'm not going to go too far because this is our first time and I don't want to seem like a whore.
My arms find their way around his neck and his find their way around my back. One of them cradles my head and neck, tenderly. We haven't talked about this yet, but the talk can wait. Every kiss breaks a boundary, leaves less between us to explain. The force of his passion signifies that he really likes me...or at least thinks I'm incredibly hot. I can live with either scenario.
My head sneaks down, below his ear. I lick the skin, tender licks, finding the sensitive spots. He moans; I stop. What if someone heard?
"You're gorgeous, Melinda. Let's date."
I smile and nod. I press in, I run my hands through his hair. I grab his shoulders and pull, just a little. It drives men wild, and he's no exception. It makes them want more. I want more, I want to give more. I want to take more. I change.
He doesn't notice, at first, that my hair has turned to silky obsidian under his hands. With all four closed, how could he see, at first, that my eyes had turned to carmine? No. The only thing he knew, at first, was my teeth; he felt those. He felt two grow, he felt them sharpen.
Our kiss entered a hard pulse and we pressed together; he cut himself on me. I tasted blood. He pulled back. I pressed forward, hand ready to cover up his gasp. How else could he react to a visage so changed?
I'm the stronger one, now. One fingernail scrapes the lightly drying splotch on his neck. I hiss, I leap, I sink my teeth into it. The heavy, heady blood flows into—*
Fuck. Why does this always happen when I'm trying to work? I can't get anything done because I'm thinking about getting action, and I can't get action because I have to do work.
Fuck. Why do I keep deluding myself? The reason I don't get action is because nobody likes me. I'm alone and it's not a huge campus but I don't know anyone who hosts parties. I'm afraid to go out alone and there's no one to go with because nobody likes me. Thus, I get no action. Thus, no blood. Thus, less concentration. Thus, less work. Thus, no going out. Plus, I look all pale and that probably leads into a, "thus, no one likes me" right there.
Let's face it; I'm a smallish, mousy girl with no prospects and no life. And, uh, that last one is literal. I'm un-fucking-dead and proud of it. Of course, it means that I *need* human contact. For, you know, blood.
"Vampires have a Night Life," my barely-existent ass. It's 2 am on a Saturday night and I'm doing homework. Three, two, one.
"Heyyyy, duuuude! Fwaa-"
"F-what? It's, it's, the greatest album ever!"
"Man, it's...I don't know what but--"
Yup, there they are; the Saturday night drunks. Two-twenty-three, right on schedule. God, I'm so hungry...you know, they might not even notice. Not just a pint or two...I just want to sink my teeth into those juicy necks, into those smooth necks, that little spot right underneath the hair, and that other spot where the bare skin disappears under the shirt and you know there's this whole expanse leading down, down, to...And then, just to suck! To drink, and suck, and slurp and glurp and laugh through the blood, blow blood bubbles like little kids blow in their milk with a straw. Oh, the push and pull of the heart against my teeth, against the back of my throat when I get an artery. The pushing, the pulsing, chugging and slurping, drinking and sucking and...
OK, I admit, I've got a bit of an oral fixation. It kind of comes with the territory, if you know what I mean. But shit, who's ever heard of a virgin vampire? We're supposed to be the temptresses, the guest stars, the ladies of the night! I'm not *supposed* to be this dinky little virgin who's never had anything stronger than blood to drink and jonesing for it. I should at *least* have big tits or something, *some* redeeming feature that makes me the hot heroine in the end.
"But duuuude, vin-vin-vinyl is *much* better than CD, s'like because-"
OK, that's it. I am *outta* here. I'm horny and I'm hungry and this night and those drunks are mine for the taking. I *will* have them.
I change; hair to black, eyes to red, teeth to long, nails to sharp. I peel back the bug screen on my window like a third grader pulls dried glue off the back of her hand.
I leaped from the third floor like a maniac. Well, anyone else who tried it would be a maniac. I can glide a little.
"Hello, boys."
I landed a few feet in front of them on the path with a thunk and planted my arms on my hips. Damn, now I look like Peter Pan. I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Woah, where did you, like, come from?"
"The dorm." I motioned sideways and up with my head.
One or two of the guys looked up.
"Holy fuckin' shit, man! Did you do that?"
"Awwwwwwesome!"
"Uh." *Now* people like me? Damn it! I don't think I could harvest from a friend in good conscience. But maybe there was still a way. Hunger made me wily. "Uh, boys! For this awesome act that I have preformed, I demand payment. From you."
"Payment? Huh?"
"How much?"
"No way, we're not paying her, she probably ran around, what the fuck are we-"
