Dance With A Vampire ~ Short Read

You claimed I looked underage and club policy was strict, admission to over twenty-ones only. I argued that I was less than a day away from reaching that pinnacle and had the birth certificate about my person to prove it. Come midnight I would be of age and what was a few hours? You shook your head, saying, a rule was a rule and not to be flouted. ‘What kind of anally retentive twat are you?’ I asked cordially. You calmly replied that you were the kind that anally retained rules.

I appealed to Dave hoping he’d demonstrate some real vampire traits and drain away all your lifeblood so I could step delicately over your body and go to the ball after all. He didn’t. He simply shrugged, gave me a quick kiss and said ‘see you around, babe’ and then promptly attached himself to a romantic lady Goth with flowing hair and a pallor suggestive of already having given one pint of blood too many. I made a mental note never to date a bisexual again. It doubled the chances of being dumped.

In the spirit of petty revenge I chose to hang around outside the club until midnight struck and I attained the mystical age that would gain me entrance, and the possibility of reclaiming the one I lusted after from his pale corpse bride.

You carried on vetting the punters, allowing some in and turning away others. I kept up a running and insulting personal commentary, but you ignored me with magnificent aplomb. It made me all the more determined to get under your skin, preferably the skin covering the area where your heart was housed, if you had one, so I could carve it out for losing me my chance to dance with a sexy vampire.

The witching hour struck and I triumphantly demanded rite of passage. I was of age and met all dress code requirements. Pushing up the sleeve of your pristine white shirt you glanced at your watch, pulled out the button and turned the hands back, saying daylight saving had just come into effect. I still had an hour to wait and why didn’t I wait quietly like a good little Goth boy. 

Bastard was the word that sprang readily to mind and mouth in many and quite splendid variation. I also stamped in fury, not caring that I was almost twenty-one and really too old for such public displays of childish temper. Your foot got in the way and I quickly stamped again before you could remove it from the vicinity of the black leather commando boots I was wearing that evening. 

Taking hold of my wrists you pulled me to one side, softly saying that if you weren’t so busy you’d take me somewhere quiet to demonstrate how you dealt with foul mouthed little boys who had stayed up past their bedtime and were having tantrums as a result.

I have never blushed more deeply, been angrier, or more aroused in my life. I was suddenly confused. Giving you a look I hoped would kill you I stuck my nose in the air and walked away. I’d love to say I walked off with my dignity intact, but alas the only thing intact was my erection. 

In my umbrage, and concern with my treacherous groin, I failed to notice I had been targeted as I stalked away from the Ebony Rose. It was you who saw the two figures detach themselves from the shadows. After handing over keeper of the magic door duties to another you followed those who were following me, intervening before a harsh punch in the mouth could progress into a fully-fledged beating.

I won’t say I fell in love with you as of that moment because it wouldn’t be true. I didn’t view you as some kind of god who had graciously bestowed stars upon the sky. Your easy self-assurance infuriated me. I suspected you thought you were God’s gift to the gay universe. However, I will admit that when you helped me to my feet, after seeing off the two renegades who had attacked me I did see a tiny touch of something in your fine ebony eyes. I’m not saying it was the sun, moon, stars or anything grandiose like that, but there was something, a reflection, a flicker of elemental recognition which thrilled me against my will.

I mumbled my gratitude through a cut and swollen mouth, but declined your offer of first aid. I tried to walk away; fearful in case the tears I was fighting materialised properly and somehow emasculated me in your eyes.

Discreetly wiping the tears with a crisp white handkerchief and refusing to take no for an answer you led me back to the club and your private office. While gently tending my injury you expressed regret for not being quick enough to prevent the punch from landing. There were traces of my blood on your fingers and I watched mesmerised as you raised them to your mouth and sucked them clean, seeming to relish the taste.

Copyright Fabian Black 2013

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