Everybody thinks vampires are so damn sexy! I mean, even in the movies they are portrayed by the likes of Tom Cruise and Stuart Townshend. Meanwhile, we lycanthropes are stuck with Jack Nicholson and Michael J. Fox. Where's the justice in that I ask you? Of course, there are other issues that separate our kind. Vampires tend to be solitary creatures, while werewolves are very social, the original party animals, you might say. Another reason I've never much cared for vamps is their scent; vampires are dead, after all, and most of them smell like it. So, all in all, I've never been a huge fan of the undead...never really bought into the sexy stereotype...until I met Kim.
It was a regular Friday night for me. It just happened to also be Halloween. The full moon was out, but I've been dealing with my condition most of my life so I'm able to keep it under control. Besides I was hanging at TJ's, a hangout owned by a member of my pack, so I wasn't exactly worried. Normal humans rarely wander into rowdy werewolf biker bars, and those that do usually deserve what happens to them. I know, I know, there's another lycanthrope stereotype for 'ya. We're not all bikers. I say it's sheer coincidence that most of the big, hairy guys I hang out with turn into big, hairy wolves when the moon is full.
Anyhow, there I was, nursing a beer at the bar, when my finely-tuned animal senses noted an unfamiliar presence at the door. Yeah, okay, I saw her come in. So did most of the crowd, and every one of them, even the few women present, turned to stare at her. There was just something about her.
She wasn't drop dead gorgeous, or waif-thin like most vamp girls I've met. She wasn't dressed head to toe in skin-tight black leather either. Still, she drew the eye of everyone in the joint. Then she calmly took a step toward the bar, and it seemed the spell was broken. Conversations restarted, the juke box music faded back into focus, and the balls on the pool table in the back room cracked loudly.
The next thing I knew she was standing next to me at the bar. In an instant I knew she was a vampire. Her pale, pale ivory skin gave her away. No one's that pale unless they're dead. Everything else about her read as human though. She was dressed in faded blue jeans, and a silky-looking black top that accented her voluptuous curves. Her ash-blonde hair was short and curly, and when she turned her big, hazel eyes to look at me, I could see the faint freckles dancing across the bridge of her upturned nose. Then she smiled at me, and I caught a glimpse of fang, confirming what I'd already surmised. Surprisingly, the knowledge didn't bother me much.
I started to turn away, but again found myself surprised when she said, "Hi, my name is Kim."
Kim? I thought to myself. What the hell kinda name is that for a vampire?
But I caught myself, and instead offered up my hand for her to shake.
"Uh, Matt," I found myself blurting out.
"Nice to meet you, Uh Matt."
I chuckled in spite of myself.
"So, to perpetuate a cliche..." she said, "do you come here often?"
"Most weekends," I replied, trying to be polite...trying not to stare.
Frankly, I wasn't sure what to do. I mean here's this woman, she's hot as hell, she's a vampire, she's not the type you usually find slumming with the dogs, and she's talking to me. Chatting me up. I didn't know what to do. Should I snarl at her? Buy her a drink? I wondered what she'd drink besides blood? I was at a loss. So, like a typical guy, I just sat there and gawked.
Things got even worse when she leaned toward me, and I caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled like no other vampire I'd ever encountered. Yes, there were traces of the meaty scent I associate with vampires, but it wasn't overpowering. Overlying that was the warm smell of sugar and cinnamon, and overlying that was the musky smell of a woman.
Imagine, if you can, the smell of an extra rare steak, still dripping with blood, and at the same time the smell of a freshly baked apple pie, then add the smell of sex. Now, multiply that aroma tenfold to account for the sensitive nose of a wolf. That's what she smelled like! I was in olfactory heaven.
I barely recollect the rest of the evening at the bar. I must have been at my most charming, because the next thing I remember the two of us were staggering through the door of the slum I call home. I must have also been drunk off my ass to bring a chick like her into a dump like that. Most guys I know are not exactly neat freaks. Combine that natural tendency with my animal instincts, and well...you can probably guess what my apartment looked, and smelled like.
It didn't seem to bother Kim though. She seemed more interested in tearing my clothes off than checking out my pad. As soon as I kicked the door shut she was on me like a swarm of fleas. Her hands slowly slid up underneath my black T-shirt, surprisingly warm. I found the thought that she had probably fed earlier in the evening reassuring. Not that I feared her draining me of blood. By virtue of their regenerative powers werewolves are almost immune to vampire bites. Still, it was nice to know that she wouldn't be looking at me like a snack.
Yeah, uh, turns out I was wrong about that one.
She slid her hands along my sides, her long nails tickling my ribs as she slid my T-shirt up toward my head, sending shivers up my spine. I reached down, grabbed my shirt by the hem, and whipped it off. It joined the large pile of dirty laundry strewn across my floor. With my T-shirt gone, Kim was free to explore my muscled chest and cut abs to her non-beating heart's content. Okay, so that sounds conceited, but it's true.
I have been told by a lot of women that I have a nice body. Mostly I have my natural high metabolism to thank for that. Wolves are pretty lean. Of course, most wolves don't scarf down Twinkies and beer either, so I had been known to work out occasionally. Kim must have thought it was passable, because she dropped her hands down to my black, studded leather belt, and practically ripped it off. Before I knew it my remaining clothing was gone, and my naked ass was being shoved onto the futon.
Somewhere along the line she had also shed her blouse and pants and now she hovered above me in sexy, black panties with a lacy matching bra. Her scent and the sight of her alabaster skin already had me hard as a rock, but I felt my groin tighten further when she leaned close, brushing my chest with hers. My hands came up to clasp her tiny waist.
"Trick or treat?" she whispered. Then she kissed me!
I know from experience that kissing with fangs is not easy. First kisses are awkward as it is, never mind trying it with inch-long, razor-sharp fangs in your mouth. Still, she made it seem effortless. Her mouth melded with mine as if we were made for each other. Her tongue darted lightly into my mouth only to pull away again. She was teasing me. Only as she drew away did she nick me lightly, leaving me with the faint, coppery taste of blood in my mouth, which, I have to say, was actually a turn-on.
It goes without saying that it was a turn-on for her too. Next thing I know she's got my hands pinned above my head, and her mouth is at my throat. Still, I wasn't too worried. I figured pound for pound, my supernatural strength against hers, I could take her. Right then, unless she went for the jugular, I was still planning on getting laid. So, I relaxed, or tried to, and waited. Finally she pulled back from my throat.
I could tell she was excited. Her eyes took on a faint, reddish glow, and she had a look in them that could only be lust...or starvation. I was crossing my fingers that it was lust. Once again she leaned in close, and began nuzzling my neck, nibbling and sucking on it, driving me wild. Then I felt the slight prick of her fangs against my skin, but it wasn't enough to break through. It did however nearly break my control. My cock was throbbing as she drew her fangs down along my neck.
