My new e-book has been published on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Wolfgang-Werewolf-Erotic-Horror-Novel-ebook/dp/B01HYNIX0O/
Tag: Horror fiction
Analysis of ‘American Psycho’
American Psycho is a satirical novel written by Bret Easton Ellis and published in 1991. It is an unreliable first person narrative, in the present tense, given by the main character, Patrick Bateman, who is a yuppie living in 1980s New York City. It is an extremely controversial novel, given its depiction of increasingly brutal violence against women; this issue led many feminists to protest the novel.
A movie version was made in 2000, the screenplay written by Guinevere Turner and Mary Harron (the latter also being the director), and starring Christian Bale in the lead role. The movie removed or mitigated the novel’s violence, and rearranged much of the material: apart from that, the film was reasonably faithful.
The violence against women has led many to believe that the novel is misogynistic. Actually, the novel satirizes the superficial, materialistic life of yuppies; for while Bateman is based on Ellis’ own experience of alienation in 1980s New York, we are not meant to sympathize with Bateman or condone his actions. As a Wall Street investment banker, Bateman is a personification of capitalist greed and cruelty.
The novel begins with an allusion to Dante‘s Inferno: “ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE”. Yuppie New York City, one of the nerve centres of world capitalism, is Hell. Similarly, the novel ends with these words on a sign on a door: “THIS IS NOT AN EXIT“. Of course not: there is no hope of escape from Hell.
Bateman, in the third chapter (‘Harry’s’), is in Harry’s with his yuppie friends, Price (Bryce in the movie), McDermott, and Van Patten. A man named Preston joins them, and during their conversation, Preston makes antisemitic remarks, which Bateman chides him for (in the movie, McDermott makes the bigoted remarks). This moment, like the one in the first chapter (‘April Fool’s’), when Bateman preaches to his friends about such things as the need to end apartheid, provide food and shelter for the homeless, oppose racial discrimination, ensure equal rights for women, and promote general social concern and less materialism, represents the hypocrisy so typical of bourgeois liberals, always mindful of political correctness, but rarely practicing what they preach.
Bateman describes his possessions in his apartment in the second chapter (‘Morning’), going into detail about all of his fetishized commodities, mentioning brand names for everything (a Toshiba digital TV set and VCR; “expensive crystal ashtrays from Fortunoff”…Bateman doesn’t even smoke; a Wurlitzer jukebox; an Ettore Sotsass push-button phone; a “black-dotted beige and white Maud Sienna carpet”; etc.). So much for less materialism. His possessions are clearly very important to him, in how they are meant to reflect his social status (Valentino Couture clothes, “perforated cap-toe leather shoes by Allen-Edmonds”[page 31], Ralph Lauren silk pajamas, etc.).
Social status is important to Bateman because it’s the only way to be a part of yuppie society in New York City. During a date with Bethany, who wonders why he won’t quit his job (in the movie, it’s his girlfriend, Evelyn, who asks him), he answers that he wants “…to…fit…in.” (‘Lunch With Bethany’, p. 237) Later, he brutally kills her after she laughs at him for hanging a painting upside down. Being a yuppie is all about saving face and social conformity.
Ellis suffered in New York in the 80s, when this pressure to conform was so great. In creating Bateman, Ellis was creating, in a way, a modern version of Dostoyevsky’s Underground Man, “…a sick man…an angry man.” (Notes From Underground, page 15) Hence, Bateman’s psychopathy.
In ‘Office,’ chapter six, Bateman tells Jean, his secretary, to come to work dressed in a more pleasing manner (pages 66-67). Apart from the fact that the 1980s campaign against sexual harassment hadn’t yet picked up steam, he knows he can get away with talking to her like that because she “is in love with” him (or so he, in his narcissistic imagination, thinks–page 64). So much for ensuring equal rights for women.
When he proudly shows off his new name card in a restaurant (‘Pastels’, chapter four), and is easily outdone by Van Patten, Price, and, especially, someone named Montgomery (in the film, it’s Paul Allen–Paul Owen in the novel), whose name cards are so much more impressive (pages 44-45), Bateman feels a “brief spasm of jealousy,” then he ends up “unexpectedly depressed.” He finds that the only way he can restore his sense of ‘superior’ social standing is by picking on those ‘under’ him. In the competitive world of capitalism, how else can one cure one’s low self-esteem?
He finds a freezing homeless black man (‘Tuesday’, pages 128-132), and after giving him false hopes that he’ll help him, he speaks contemptuously to him, then takes out a knife and puts out the beggar’s eyes (in the film, Bateman merely stabs him). He takes light stabs at the man’s stomach and slices up his face. He flips a quarter at him, calls him a “nigger,” then leaves him. So much for racial equality.
I still remember how disturbing I found this passage in the novel, how graphically Ellis describes the jerking of the knife in one of the homeless man’s eyes, to make it pop out of its socket. The eye now dangles, with all the liquid dripping out of its socket, “like red, veiny egg yolk”. I found this scene even more unnerving than the Habitrail and rat scene.
Thanks to Reagan’s inaugurating of neoliberalism in the 1980s, the poverty level made a net increase by the first year of George H.W. Bush’s term. Bateman’s abuse of the beggar can be seen to symbolize capitalism’s war on the poor. Now, this cruelty to the homeless has escalated to the use of spikes on sheltered pavements, and to the criminalizing of feeding the destitute. Like Bateman, capitalism has no shame.
Bateman’s violence against women, however, is the most shocking part of the novel. Having this brutality in the novel is not the same as advocating it, though. Ellis is careful to make Bateman as blatantly despicable, even ludicrous, as possible. His ‘analyses’ of Huey Lewis and the News (pages 352-360), Genesis (after Peter Gabriel and Steve Hackett left, for he “didn’t really understand any of their work,” that is, from the classic progressive rock quintet–‘Genesis’, page 133), Whitney Houston (pages 252-256), and Phil Collins’ solo career, making their commercial pop all sound like high art, are some of the funniest parts of the whole novel. It’s telling that Bateman prefers the, at best, mediocre-to-good film Against All Odds–“the masterful movie” (page 136), in his opinion–to Phil Collins’ hit song. I had a belly laugh when I read that.
So let us make no mistake here: Ellis is not glorifying Bateman in any way; therefore, he isn’t trying to glamourize violence against women. When Bateman uses a woman’s decapitated head to fellate him (‘Girls’, page 304), electrocutes ‘Christy’ (page 290, ‘Girls’), or sticks a Habitrail up a woman’s cunt (page 328), we hate him all the more for it.
Rather than see this violence as Ellis promoting misogyny, we should see it as a comment on misogyny (‘Harry’s’, pages 91-2, has a sexist discussion that, in the movie, is between Bateman, McDermott, and Van Patten)…especially of the sort directed by capitalism against the sexually exploited women and girls in the Third World, those forced into prostitution. Remember that a number of Bateman’s female victims are escort girls or prostitutes.
Since Bateman and all the other yuppies represent the capitalist class, I find it illuminating also to interpret his scurrilous treatment of his female victims allegorically. In most mythologies around the world, the feminine symbolizes nature, our Mother Earth. This is true of most ancient European, Mediterranean, and Middle Eastern pagan religions.
My point is that in our unconscious, we typically associate femininity with the fertile earth. Bateman’s violence against women, therefore, can be seen to symbolize capitalism’s destruction of the environment. The Habitrail incident further proves this, since Bateman has caught a rat (pages 308-9), then starved it for five days prior to having it (literally) eat out one of his female victims (‘Girl’, pages 326-9). In other sections of the novel, he injures (page 132) or kills dogs (page 165, ‘Killing Dog’). With destruction of the environment goes cruelty to animals.
Another striking theme in the novel is the lack of a sense of identity. In ‘End of the 1980s,’ Bateman says, “…there is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.” (pages 376-77)
Bateman isn’t the only one with identity problems: people routinely confuse one person for another. Paul Owen confuses Bateman with someone called Marcus Halberstam (Halberstram in the movie), Bateman’s lawyer thinks he’s someone called Davis, and a mistaken identity is noted by Detective Kimball (‘Detective,’ page 273). Part of the reason for these mistakes is people not listening to one another; another part of the reason is how alike everyone seems, in dress and personality.
Capitalists often criticize communists for suppressing individuality and creativity. The hypocrisy of this is obvious when we see how capitalist commodification churns out the same kind of product, performer, movie, or song, over and over again. George Lucas once said in an interview that Soviet film-makers had more artistic freedom than he; the profit motive puts us all in chains (consider the hell K-pop performers have to go through in South Korea), as it does the yuppies in Ellis’ novel.
Bateman’s lack of a sense of self sometimes leads to moments of dissociation, depersonalization, and derealization. In mid-chapter (‘Chase, Manhattan’), during a moment of extreme stress while he’s afraid of being caught by the police, Bateman’s narration briefly switches from first person singular to third person singular (page 349-51), then back again by the end (page 352) when he feels safer again and calms down. He hallucinates about seeing a TV interview with a Cheerio and having a Dove bar with a bone in it (page 386). His frequent drug use (cocaine, Halcion, Valium, Xanax, etc.) is probably a source of much of his mental instability. The relative lack of commas in sentences, and even occasional run-on sentences, in the novel suggest an excited narrator high on cocaine, or one suffering from anxiety attacks (‘A Glimpse of a Thursday Afternoon,’ pages 148-152).
With his tenuous grip on reality, we begin to wonder about the reliability of his narrative. These doubts lead to a big question: is he guilty of any of the crimes he claims to have committed, or has he merely fantasized about the whole killing spree?
In ‘The Best City for Business’ (pages 366-7), Bateman says, “One hundred and sixty-one days have passed since I spent the night in [Paul Owen’s apartment] with the two escort girls. There has been no word of bodies discovered in any of the city’s four newspapers or on the local news, no hints of even a rumour floating around. I’ve gone so far as to ask people–dates, business acquaintances–over dinners, in the halls of Pierce & Pierce, if anyone has heard about two mutilated prostitutes found in Paul Owen’s apartment. But like in some movie, no one has heard anything, has any idea of what I’m talking about.” Does this mean that Patrick only imagined the horrors, or have they been ignored by the world because the victims were mere ‘whores’?
Harold Carnes, Bateman’s attorney, who confuses him with a man named Davis, insists that his killing of Paul Owen is “not possible,” for Carnes says he had dinner with Owen twice (page 388, ‘New Club’), after the murder is supposed to have been committed (or did Carnes confuse Owen with someone else?). Also, the lawyer believes Bateman is too cowardly and weak to have killed anyone. Indeed, Bateman is a loser, as everyone in the story knows. Remember, Ellis never glamourizes Bateman.
Elsewhere, the real estate agent trying to sell Owen’s apartment has cleaned up the place and, seeming to know about Bateman’s crimes, she wants him to leave and never return. Eerily, she seems more interested in preserving the high property value of the apartment than in seeking justice for the victims.
This notion, did he, or didn’t he kill those people, is important in light of how he allegorically represents capitalism. Note how similar ‘mergers and acquisitions’ sounds to ‘murders and executions’ (page 206, ‘Nell’s’). To this day, people debate if capitalism is responsible for the millions who die of malnutrition every year, for the destruction of the environment, etc. America is truly a psycho nation…or is the psychopathy merely imagined, as the capitalist apologists would have us believe?
Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho, Vintage Books, New York, 1991
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes From Underground and The Double, Penguin Classics, England, this translation published 1972
Excerpt: Opening of ‘Wolfgang,’ My Werewolf Erotic Horror Novel
1—Sades
The full moon was glowing among the stars, the whitest of whites against the blackest of black. Paws were patting the dirt path that snaked between the grass and trees that surrounded the estate, from whose second-floor window this lupine brute had jumped. A nose was sniffing for human flesh to eat.
Soon, it found some.
A man and his wife were walking in that very forest. He wore a suit, she a dress, diamonds, and pearls. How romantic. How bourgeois. How unfortunate.
Some nearby bushes were rustling, something hiding among them, waiting for the couple to approach. Lampposts, set far off from each other, gave just enough light for people to walk through at night, but left it dark enough to keep lurking dangers unseen. A wolf’s eyes, obscured among the leaves, were following that couple’s every step.
“This is so unlike you, Franz,” the woman said in German to her husband. “Taking me for a stroll in a forest at night.”
“Yes, I know, Frieda, but tonight I felt as if something were pulling me out here,” Franz said in German. “It’s so beautiful. I couldn’t resist.”
“I wish you had resisted,” Frieda said. Her fear was vibrating all the way to those bushes. At one point, she thought she saw eyes peering at her from them. She gasped and twitched, then looked again…the eyes were gone. Did she just imagine it? “I’m scared. Let’s…”
“Relax,” he said. “This is really beautiful. Fresh air. I’m glad we came.”
“I don’t care how pretty it is,” she said. “I still don’t like us walking about here. I can’t forget that story I read about the wolf attack here a month ago. Three people—“
“Oh, nonsense! No one ever found a wolf anywhere. Those people were probably killed by that psychotic who was arrested last week. He’d killed others in the same bloody way. He may have denied killing Wolfgang Bergbauer’s family, but I’m sure he was lying.”
“But there were witnesses who insisted the wounds were caused by claws and teeth, not knives—“
“Rubbish! They also claimed it was a werewolf, of all things. Can you rely on such testimony? It was a full moon that night, as tonight. How is that proof of a werewolf? My dear, don’t be so credulous.”
A growl vibrated from those bushes.
She froze.
The two of them looked around for the source of the voice.
They never found it, of course.
Another, louder growl.
She shuddered.
“I assure you,” he said. “This isn’t at all funny.”
A grunt.
A ten second silence, then a howl.
“Alright, enough!” he shouted. “Come out, wherever you are.”
It did.
Me.
I brought him crashing down on the dirt, his hair covered in it.
Her screams were piercing my ears as keenly as my claws were cutting up his stomach.
His liver and kidneys were the tastiest, his blood being their gravy. He screamed briefly, till my claws, having already ripped his rib cage aside, scraped against his lungs, flooding his throat with red and stopping his voice. He would then only cough blood. His intestines lay like a red snake on the grass.
I, Sades, the spirit in control of the werewolf, could sense, through my connection with the vibrations of energy everywhere, Frieda’s whole experience of terror, as if it were my own. I’ve always enjoyed that ability…it helps me to terrorize my victims better. My two spirit brothers and I could even know people’s dreams, their perspectives, and their most private thoughts, if we wanted to.
She was frozen with fear, yet shaking all over, her feet seemingly rooted to the ground. She continued weeping a few seconds longer as I feasted, then I looked up at her, licking my lips.
Our eyes met.
She fought against her panic with spastic jerks of her legs. Desperate to run, she just couldn’t.
I just stared with grinning fangs.
I’ll give her a head start, I thought. Give her a fighting chance.
Finally, she broke free of her paralysis and ran, screaming, almost falling.
I bit off another chunk or two of her husband’s flesh, then ran after her.
Be careful, the voice of Chisad whispered in my mind’s ear. Don’t let her screams come within earshot of anyone else. Too many people knew about us after the last full moon.
Chisad was right. I had to pounce on this bitch as soon as possible. Just as the full moon’s contradiction of white and black released the wolf, so could the contradiction—between my bloodlust and her urge to survive—put Chisad, Chebirüsad, and me in danger of being shot…and without a new host to enter when this one that we were in died, we three spirits would be forever exiled from the flesh! Our souls wandering aimlessly in limbo, never able to avenge the deaths of our people! Unbearable banishment!
Frieda kept running, the edge of the forest coming closer. I had to get to her before she got there and drew attention to us.
There are so many contradictions: the one between my will to kill and hers to live, and the hardly endurable one between my will and those of Chisad and Chebirüsad. But when the light of the stars is augmented with the full moon’s white, these clashing with the black backdrop of night, our three urges’ discord is also at its sharpest, bringing out the wolf. Everything is a battle of opposites.
Frieda stopped running. She hid behind a tree.
Always weeping, she thought: Please, God, I don’t want to die. Oh, Franz!
The vibrations all around us spirits guided us to her, better than our wolf’s nose, better than a thousand eyes. I went into some nearby bushes, pretending I didn’t know where she was. In this forest, Kleinwald, no one can hide from me.
I could hear her shaky breathing. We spirits knew her fear, and her thoughts, as if our very consciousness was hers. It was like visiting the inside of her head, seeing through her eyes. What fun for me!
She could feel—and almost hear—her heart pounding in her chest.
She smelled delicious, though she wasn’t pretty enough for me to want sexually; though even if she were, that prig Chebirüsad wouldn’t have let me rape her, anyway. Nor would Chisad have, so worried was he of us being caught and killed. My task was to kill quickly and run to safety, that was all.
Her eyes were darting about, left and right, trying to find me. Then she glanced over to her right, and saw my yellow eyes amid the black of the shadowy bushes. Our eyes met briefly, then mine disappeared from her sight.
Again, her eyes were racing all around her: in front, to the left, to the right, behind her.
Where is it? she wondered.
Then she looked over to her left. She saw one eye this time.
She shuddered. Then the eye disappeared.
Once more, her eyes were frantically scanning the area, but this time never finding my eyes.
She didn’t even hear anything. No growls, no beast’s breathing.
Just blackness and silence, all around her.
Where is it? she asked herself in her mind. Is it gone? Did it lose me? Oh, I hope so. I can’t take this any longer.
She kept looking around and listening, not making any noise, even breathing as quietly as she could.
No eyes anywhere.
No sounds from an animal. Not even the wind in the trees.
She poked her head around, thinking, Please, God, let that beast be gone.
With shaky, spastic legs, she slowly stepped away from the tree and back to the beaten path.
Then I jumped on her.
Her heart and lungs were the tastiest parts.
1—Chisad
With the sun starting to peek over the horizon, Sades was finally restrained, and the wolf, exhausted from running all over the town of Klein, just southwest of the city of Rosenheim in Upper Bavaria, fell asleep by some bushes near a playground in Kleinpark, on the side of town opposite the forest of Kleinwald.
But what woke up four hours later wasn’t a wolf.
Now he was Wolfgang Georg Alexander Bergbauer, 38, and naked as the day he was born.
He looked around, blinking and waiting impatiently for his eyes to focus. He felt chilly all over. Then he knew.
“Oh, shit,” he said, cupping his hands over his genitals. “Not again.”
He noticed and recognized the nearby playground, correctly guessed it was about 8:30 in the morning, and saw only a few people, no more: a mother and her baby in a stroller, and a pretty blonde, about eighteen from the looks of her (even now-passive Sades sensed her desirability). Again, Wolfgang’s intuition was accurate (she was eighteen), since my connection with the spirit world was able to guide his guesses.
He got up and started sneaking over to the girl, not because she was lovely, but because she’d left her hooded red coat on the swing beside the one she was sitting on. Stealing and wearing that woman’s coat might make him look foolish, but his nakedness made him much more of a spectacle. Besides, he was freezing.
Luckily for him, the mother pushed her baby stroller out of the playground, so if there was to be a struggle with the girl, no further attention would be drawn to him. (Actually, I willed the mother to go.) The girl was absorbed in what she was looking at on her phone. He was approaching, wincing whenever he stepped on a sharp rock, and hoping she wouldn’t hear his grunts of discomfort.
My spiritual connection to everything around me allowed me to know what the girl was reading on her phone; I read the text as if her eyes were mine. She and her mother had been exchanging text messages.
Her mother’s text message said, “Renate, where are you? You’ve been missing for the past twelve hours. We’re worried about you. Please come home and let’s fix this problem. We forgive you for being with that boy, and for what you did to your father.”
Renate’s reply was, “You’ll have to find me. I”m not telling you where I am. I’m fed up with all three of you. I’ve already fixed the problem by leaving. I’ll never forgive you for calling me a whore, nor for what Daddy did to him; in fact, I’m going to punish you all by becoming a prostitute. Bye.” After sending the message, she surfed the internet for the news.
In the next few seconds, Wolfgang was right behind her, his right hand almost on the coat. But he got curious, and looked at what she was now reading on her phone: a news story about the second wolf attack near his estate, in the forest south of Klein!
She was smiling with wide eyes as she read. “A wolf,” she whispered to herself, then thought, I love wolves. “Maybe, a werewolf?”
He gasped, drawing her attention away. She looked over at him as he snatched her coat. She grabbed it by the other side, and they began a tug of war.
“Hey!” she said, almost falling off the swing. “That’s my coat!”
“Sorry,” he said. “I need…to borrow it.”
As they struggled, she couldn’t restrain her curiosity, and she looked down at his body; her eyes widened again, impressed with the hunk of meat she saw dangling down.
“Mmm,” she moaned with a smile.
With his greater strength, he managed to wrest the coat from her. She fell off the swing.
“Hey!” she shouted, thudding on the ground.
“Thanks,” he said, running away with it.
Having not put it on yet, he looked back at her briefly, grinning at the lustful amazement in her eyes at the sight of his muscular body. Indeed, that lewd awe she felt kept her in such a trance that she forgot to scream for help. She just sat in the dirt and stared at his pretty arse.
What most fascinated her about his body, even more so than his good looks, was the deep scar scratched from his chest—on the right—down his right side to just below his right buttock, a brown swirl of four claws. Though perfectly healed, it seemed a permanent indentation in his skin.
What a sexy naked man, she thought, licking her lips. Then she said, “He must be the werewolf the locals have been talking about.” No one believes them, of course, she thought, grinning at the sight of him farther away, now wearing her coat as if he were a cross-dresser. People think those locals are crazy to believe in werewolves. But I believe. At least, I want to believe.
She licked her lips again.
If he’s the werewolf, she thought, I want him.
[If you liked this excerpt and want to read more, here’s a link to the e-book on Amazon.]
‘Vamps,’ My Erotic Horror Novel
Here is a link to my vampire erotic horror novel, ‘Vamps.’ http://www.amazon.com/Vamps-An-erotic-horror-novel-ebook/dp/B00XLX9SE2/ref=pd_rhf_pe_p_img_1
Hi! Thanks for visiting my blog!
My blog is called ‘Infinite Ocean’ because–apart from my dialectical monist philosophy, which I hope can help people heal from alienation, C-PTSD and the other effects of narcissistic and emotional abuse–I have a (potentially) infinite number of subjects to write about. I have eclectic interests, so I write on a variety of subjects. Here is a brief explanation of all that I do.
Now, Dear Reader, beware: while I write a lot about such topics as narcissistic abuse, I want to emphasize that I am no expert. I have no formal training in psychiatry or psychology whatsoever; I merely dabble in psychoanalysis, and even that comes only from reading a lot–I’ve never been trained in that field. I say this to prevent any misunderstandings about the efficacy of what I have to say in an attempt to help people heal from psychological trauma; indeed, I myself am healing, and so my writing is just my personal journey, my attempt to heal myself. So feel free to accept or reject whatever I write about here in terms of its worth as advice.
One of the annoyances of doing research is how difficult it is to find appropriate source material from a Google search. Sometimes, the sources I give links to that back up my arguments are passages that are, unfortunately, hard to find within a sea of text. What can I say? I try my best with what little I have; so please, if you choose to read what I write, take it with a generous dose of salt, and if you have serious issues of psychological trauma, seek a qualified expert. My scribblings are no substitute: they’re just me pouring out my feelings, and if they–for what they’re worth–can give you validation or inspiration of some kind, then they’ve done what I meant for them to do, no more.
In addition to the above, I write about anarchism, socialism, libertarian-leaning Marxism, and psychoanalysis, as well as writing literary and film analyses (again, with the same lacunae of authority as there are in my writings on narcissistic abuse). I also write fiction–horror and erotic horror, mostly. Here are links to some of my short stories, as well as to works-in-progress. Here are some poems I’ve written.
Then, there are a few novels I’ve written and self-published on Amazon. (If you’re a sufferer of complex trauma and find horror triggering, I’ll more than understand if you want to skip past the next few paragraphs.)
My Kindle e-book, Sweet, is about a woman who has a disturbing habit: she likes to have men get her pregnant, then a few months after the baby is born, she kills it, cooks it, and eats it. Her latest lover wants to be involved with their baby’s life–how will he stop the mother from ending its life?
…and here are links to my other two Kindle e-books, Vamps, and Wolfgang.
Vamps is a vampire erotic horror novel, about three groups of vampiress strippers/prostitutes who lure lustful men in, then suck…their blood. Vampire hunters, however, are out to get them, and have been exposing them to the lethal sunlight. Someone is helping the hunters find the vamps…is it one of the vamps?
Wolfgang is about a German billionaire who happens to be a werewolf. Racked with guilt over his killings (particularly those of his own parents), he has a young prostitute whip and beat him, in sort of an S & M style, in an attempt to assuage his guilt. She has her own agenda (a lycanthrope fetish!), though, as does his butler (to use the billionaire’s money in ways the butler deems fit). A love triangle develops between the three: who will get control of the money, which two will remain lovers, and who will be the next werewolf?
My next erotic horror novel, Creeps, is a work-in-progress as of the writing of this update. It’s about a prostitution ring that uses small tech put inside worm-like ‘creeps’ that slither into the body, so the tech can take control of the bodies of the people forced into “consenting” prostitution. Two people, a young man and his older sister, discover that a woman friend of theirs is trapped in one of the legalized brothels, and they have to figure out a way to get her out of there. If the mafia ring (protected by a corrupt government) catches the woman’s two friends, though, creeps may be used on them to keep them quiet…permanently.
Anyway, I hope you have fun looking around at all of the different topics I’ve been writing about, and I hope you find some that interest you enough to make you want to follow me. Cheers!
‘Vamps’, Chapter Seven: Twice Bitten, So Sly
The following night, I found the CNT Club; like the POUM, it was shrouded in a forest, but to the northeast of town, whereas the POUM Club was to the southeast of town, almost along the same longitude as the CNT. Also like the POUM, the CNT Club had male vamps protecting it from Christian vampire hunters. The original sign over the front door, Tramps, hadn’t been taken down: a red V was spray painted over the Tr, but later, CUNT, in black lettering, was spray painted over all the original letters; then the C, N, and T were spray painted again, but in white, presumably to distract one from the obscenity of the black lettering. I went in.
Amid the loud techno music and flashes of strobe lights that coloured up and dotted the darkness, I saw the by-now-typical, perfectly curvy strippers, either half naked or fully so, giving table- or lap-dances. One of them, a buxom blonde goddess in a white lace bra and thong, with matching fishnet stockings and high heels, approached me. Her vamp fangs were hidden in an overbite, behind full lips with lush, dark red lipstick.
“Hi,” she sighed in a thick Slavic accent, her hand held out to shake mine. “My name is Anna Petrovich. Are you looking for a job here?” We shook hands.
“Well, I’m stripping in the POUMTANG Club right now,” I said, “but if I like it better here, I might consider asking you for work.”
“We’re always looking for new blood,” she said.
“Oh, I know that,” I said.
“How many times have you been bitten? I’d say once, from the slight mark on your neck.”
Since the mark was now practically invisible, especially in the darkness of the bar, I figured she must have psychically sensed its presence. “That’s right, I’ve only been bitten once; but I’m eager for my second and third bites.”
“We can help you with that, if you’ll be willing to help us.”
“Speaking of help, do you know of a vamp traitor who’s telling the vampire hunters in town where you girls are sleeping?” I asked.
“We were hoping you could help us with the same thing,” Anna said. “We’ve had three of our vamps destroyed, exposed to the hellish sun.”
“Awful,” I sighed. “I heard it was only one.”
“Two more were destroyed today. That’s why I was hoping you could strip for us. We don’t have enough girls here.”
“That’s too bad. I hate the bigotry against vamps here. We’re not the Satanic beasts the Church says we are.”
“And the Church isn’t the pantheon of saints it pretends to be.”
Same scholarly vamp vocabulary, I thought. So odd to hear such erudition in strippers, particularly in uneducated me, yet so cool, too. I’m sick of men always thinking we’re all just a bunch of dummies. “How can I help?”
“First,” she asked, looking me straight in the eyes with that hypnotic fire in hers, and stroking my hair. “Do you trust me?”
“I don’t see…why not,” I said, my vision already blurring and my head swimming. “I don’t trust…the Catholics here.”
“Then we must love each other.” She kissed me on the lips. “But first, come get to know some of us. Come with me.”
Anna led me through the bar, and I passed by the stage, where a short, tanned stripper with slight muscle tone was doing her third song, “It’s Alright (Baby’s Coming Back),” by the Eurythmics.
Anna and I sat at a table close to the stage. We chatted as the nude girl onstage carried on with her floorshow. Apart from her awe-inspiring, curvy body, she had an unusually large clitoris. Crawling about barefoot with her legs spread wide apart and her ass pushed out, she had everything proudly on display for her rapt male audience at the tip rail.
“Who is that hot-looking girl?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s Francine Tremblay, or ‘Franny’, as we all call her,” Anna said.
“She’s the sister of Fanny in POUM,” a short, petite stripper with black hair said in a Spanish accent. She was wearing a dark red bikini and matching high heels. She sat beside me.
“Really?” I said. “They’re sisters?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Franny sure resembles Fanny. Their similar names are appropriate. I’m Erica,” I said to the Latina girl, holding out my hand to shake hers.
“Maria Gonzalez,” she said, shaking my hand. Her fangs were showing without inhibition.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
The song was over, and Franny got off stage without even bothering to put her clothes back on. Not that she needed to: her nakedness was a glory to see, even for those not sexually attracted to women.
“Hi, I’m Franny. You must be the new girl in POUM,” she said in a French Canadian accent. We shook hands.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Erica George. Nice to meet you. You looked really beautiful onstage.”
“Thank you,” she said. I looked over at Anna, who I already envied and admired. Being a vamp had given her an inscrutable, beautiful calm and confidence. I wanted that coolness so badly. “So, where are you from, Anna?”
“Russia,” she said.
“Your English is amazingly good,” I said.
“It wasn’t always,” she said almost sadly. I assumed correctly that her vamp powers were responsible for the perfection of her grammar.
“What brought you to Canada?” I asked.
“A job opportunity here,” she said with a frown, looking away.
“Why not strip in Russia?” I asked.
“Because I thought the job would be in social work,” she said, still frowning and looking away. Her confidence was obviously also something she’d only acquired as a vamp. Her life before becoming a vamp had suddenly become all the more fascinating, as I could easily empathize with those lacking in self-assurance.
“Oh? The job offer was a lie?” I asked.
“Yes. About a year ago, these three strip-clubs were a front for human trafficking,” Maria said. “We all got tricked into coming here, thinking we’d get good jobs. Instead, we were made into prostitutes against our will. Then the Vampire Revolution liberated us.”
“Yes,” Anna said. “A vamp named Leona Trotta bit me one night after I escaped. She made me a vamp, I returned, bit the other girls, and we killed the whole mafia family who had been holding us against our will. Now, the strip club is our own.”
“Awesome!” I said. “These three strip clubs are the first ones I’ve ever seen where the strippers are actually the ones in the saddle. It’s awful, though, that you were all sex slaves before.”
“I had been hoping for a good job to make money for my poor family in Mexico,” Maria said, a tear running down her cheek. “Because of my being a slave here, I couldn’t send any money home. My sick mother died because I couldn’t give her any money to pay for medical help.” She began sobbing, and Anna put her arm around her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. With my blossoming psychic powers, I could feel Maria’s pain quite acutely. I almost wanted to cry, too, as if her mother had been my own. Of course, my own mother’s death made it even easier for me to sympathize with poor Maria.
“My sister, Fantine, has an illegitimate daughter for whom she was hoping to earn money with the stripping job here,” Franny added, snarling. “We were able to get our family in Chicoutimi to take care of the little girl, thank Empusa, but Fantine, an unpaid slave, was so distraught at not even being able to see her. Those mafia bastards! I’m so glad we sucked them all dry.”
“I’m glad I never had to meet them,” I said, feeling Franny’s anger.
“Well, I have to go onstage,” Maria said. “It was nice to meet you, Erica.” We shook hands again, then she turned around and walked toward the stage.
“Bye,” I said.
A man approached Franny. “Can I have a lap dance?” he asked her.
“Sure,” she said, smirking, licking her lips, and contemplating all that delicious blood in him. She went with him to a VIP Room, never bothering to put on any of her clothes.
Two more strippers approached Anna and me, one of them a golden blonde and the other a dirty blonde. They smiled suggestively at me.
“Let’s go upstairs now,” Anna said to me. We got up and went with the two strippers to a staircase leading up to the second floor.
“So, what does CUNT stand for?” I asked. “I understand the Caledonia strip clubs’ names are all acronyms.”
“It stands for the Collective Union of Nudists and Transwomen,” Anna said as we began ascending the stairs. “We got rid of the word ‘Union’ not only because it was redundant, but because we were getting flak from the Catholic community here for the acronym’s ‘obscenity’.”
“So there are transwomen here who want bites to make them physically female, too, eh?” I asked. “Just like in POUM?”
“Yes,” she said. “Transgender people from all over flock here to have the bodies their souls desire.” We reached the top of the stairs and went into a bedroom, one not unlike the one I’d been in with Andrea, Christina, and Meg. The two other vamp strippers had entered first; having only worn bras, thongs, and high heels, they’d already stripped naked and were waiting for us on the bed. There was no need to tell me about the ritual for my second biting: we all psychically communicated this intention.
Anna removed her bra, revealing the two most beautiful, natural breasts I’d ever seen. Each of that soft pair of giant cake balls was topped with sweet berries for nipples.
Then she removed her thong, revealing her shaved pubic region. Next to come off were her fishnets and shoes, and she was as nude as the two vamps on the bed. I quickly got naked, eager for that bite (not to mention the hot sex), and Anna and I got on the bed.
“Erica, meet Celina Helmer and Josie Beverley Druitt,” Anna said. “Celina and Josie, meet Erica, a once-bitten who just started working in POUM.”
“Hi,” I said to them.
“Hi,” Celina and Josie sighed in unison.
All three of them started caressing my arms, legs, and breasts as I lay on my back on the bed. Anna put those delicious breasts of hers on either side of my face and gently pressed them on my cheeks. Oh, their softness and smoothness! I was really coming to like lesbian love.
After she tickled my lips with her erect nipples, I asked, “When you…bite me, will I…Oh!…lose my will…completely?”
“Not quite,” Anna said, gently kissing my left cheek and neck. “Only if…you’d been bitten…twice by…the same vamp…would your will…be all hers.” She squeezed my right breast, pinching the nipple.
“Ah!” I moaned.
Josie, who also had lovely large breasts, began rubbing them against my belly as she sucked on my right breast. Celina, with smaller, perkier breasts but ones no less tasty, had buried her face between my legs and was making my vulva as wet as her saliva-soaked mouth.
My sighs and squeals were getting higher and louder. As I got hornier and hornier, I feared the pain of that second bite, as well as the possibility that Anna wasn’t being honest about how much control she would have over me after the bite. Would I completely lose my will, and be made her slave for an indefinite amount of time…maybe forever?
Still, the vamps’ expert lovemaking kept me more and more excited, and that pleasure relaxed any worries I had…though in the back of my mind, it occurred to me that such a relaxation would be a perfect way for me to surrender my will to them completely.
My fear of the pain of the second bite, and of possibly losing all my will, didn’t distract me from the pleasure, though: actually, that fear increased my excitement. My body was tensing up and shaking with anticipation of my nearing orgasm…and new vamp powers!
Finally, I let out a scream, with my eyes squished shut, and I orgasmed; with perfect timing, Anna bit me the very second of my climax.
Again, I felt the numbing daze as of one on drugs, my perception blurrier and blurrier as I felt my blood being sucked out. I felt my will become more that of the vamps’ Blood Collective than of my own. I just lay on my back, my head spinning.
“How do you feel?” Anna asked.
“High,” I moaned.
“No marijuana or ecstasy ever made you feel stoned like that, eh?” Celina asked, grinning.
“No,” I sighed. “Not like this.”
“Celina has a wicked tongue, hasn’t she?” Josie asked.
“No,” I said. “She has a…very good tongue.”
Celina laughed, always proud of her abilities.
“Do you feel more connected with us?” Anna asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“That’s because your blood is merged with that of the Collective,” Josie said.
“More and more, you’re becoming one of us,” Celina said, licking her lips and proudly baring her beautiful fangs with a sinful grin.
“You’ll care more and more about our needs, and we’ll care more and more about yours,” Anna said.
“We vamps all love each other,” Josie said.
“In mind…and body,” Celina said, kissing my belly several times.
“How do I look?” I asked, getting off the bed on the left side. As with the first bite, my initial stupor was abating somewhat. “That bite didn’t…hurt as much…as last time.”
“The second and third bites hurt less and less,” Celina said. “Your third will hardly hurt at all.”
“Then you’ll be impervious to pain,” Josie said.
“A mirror is over there,” Anna said, pointing to the wall to the right of the bed.
I went around the foot of the bed and approached the mirror, which went from the floor up to a few inches taller than I. I gazed on my frontal nudity, waiting for my blurry vision to focus.
What a difference! I was grinning in narcissistic adoration. My teeth, those four fangs, were sharper; my skin was whiter, but creamier and more delectable; my breasts were again larger, rounder, and firmer, like a perfect silicone job, only without silicone; and my curves were snake-like!
“How do you like yourself?” Celina asked.
“I think I’m in love with my body,” I said.
“I think I am, too,” Celina said with a lustful glint in her eye.
My eyes were welling with tears. Vamps rule! I thought. Wait till Hal sees me! He won’t be able to resist me. I just hope…for his sake…that his love for me isn’t only skin deep. “When do I get my third bite?” I asked. “I don’t think I want to wait.”
“After you’ve looked around the PSUC Club for us,” Anna said. “When you’re a thrice-bitten, you’ll fully know the danger we’re all in.”
Vamps, Chapter Six: Meeting Stella
After my lap dance with Hal, I went over to a table and sat with two of the strippers I hadn’t met yet, one a blonde, the other a brunette. “Hi,” I said. “My name is Erica George. I’m the new girl.”
“Hi,” said the brunette, a short, petite beauty. “I’m Jenny Milton.” We shook hands. She smiled, baring her beautiful fangs.
“I’m Tiffany,” said the blonde, who was short, skinny, and cute. We shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“I have a question,” I said. “Why did The Candy Club get renamed ‘POUMTANG‘? You know the sign out front is misspelled, right?”
“It’s an acronym,” said Jenny. “The spelling is deliberate.”
“OK, what does it stand for?” I asked.
“The Party Of United Mothers, Transwomen, And Nudist Girls,” Tiffany said.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s awkward-sounding.”
“Yeah, well, it originally was the Party Of Obscene Naughtiness, Transwomen, And Nudist Girls: POONTANG,” Jenny said. “But the Christian community here didn’t like that acronym, so we had to clean it up by misspelling it on purpose.”
“What’s more, ‘United Mothers’ sounds more family-oriented than ‘Obscene Naughtiness’,” said Andrea, who now joined us. I smiled up at her as she grabbed a chair and sat beside me.
“Do you all have sons and daughters?” I asked.
“In a way,” Andrea said, stroking my hair.
“All the boys we bite are like our sons, since we made them vampires,” said Jenny.
“And the girls who we’ve made vamps are like our daughters,” Andrea said.
“Hence, we’re mothers,” Tiffany said.
“I like the sound of that,” I said, looking at Andrea. “My mom died when I was very young. Oh, how I cried and cried as a little girl from her loss. And then my dad changed into such a…well, maybe I shouldn’t talk about that. It’s depressing. But anyway, I’ve felt so empty without a mother’s love. I like the thought that I can get that from you all.” Especially from you, though, Andrea, I thought as I still looked at her. (Actually, she kind of resembled my mom physically.) After all you’ve done for me, I like to think of you as a mother figure to me. I sensed she felt my thoughts, and was smiling her love back to me.
“I’ll be happy to be your new mom, Erica,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. We smiled lovers’ smiles at each other. I was really hoping for not only my second bite from her, but a second love-making; for that daughters’ love I felt for Andrea was, if you will, quite Oedipal.
The stripper onstage, Fanny, just finished her third and last song, and got off the stage. Tiffany looked over there. “I have to go onstage now.” She got up and went there.
“See you,” Jenny said.
“Well, you’ve explained ‘Mothers’ in POUMTANG,” I said, “but what about ‘Transwomen’? Are there any here?”
“Of course,” Jenny said. “Look around.”
“Do you really think every female face you see here is physically so?” asked Andrea. “Look carefully at those two over by the bar.”
I leaned over and strained my eyes a bit looking to my right at the two she was referring to, in glittery dresses and heavy makeup. Indeed, I noticed Adam’s Apples protruding most inconveniently from their necks. I also vaguely sensed their biological masculinity from the psychic vibes they were giving me, vibes of acute dissatisfaction with their bodies.
“Wow, they are,” I said. “Why do they come here?”
“Because they admire us,” Jenny said.
“And with every bite we give them, they grow more biologically feminine,” Andrea said. “Those two over there haven’t been bitten at all yet; I can sense it. But they’ll be wanting it, since they’ve heard rumours, from their once- and twice-bitten friends, of what we can do.”
“I don’t understand how your bites can change them so radically,” I said. “I thought the bites only make people into vampires, and really hot-looking ones. How do the bites make all those other changes?”
“One of our abilities, remember, is shape-shifting,” said Fanny, who now joined us. She sat at my other side.
“A vamp can change into a bat, for example, simply by wishing it,” Andrea said.
“As strippers, we all naturally want to be hotter looking, so with each bite, and each resulting gain of power, we immediately get sexier,” Jenny said. “We want better looks instinctively, so those changes are more or less automatic.”
“Transwomen want women’s bodies to match their female souls,” Franny said. “So three bites give them a free sex change operation, with none of the surgical risks.”
“That’s the beauty of being a vamp,” Andrea said. “Our powers give us whatever we want.”
“The only catch is needing to drink blood,” I said.
“That’s right,” Jenny said. “That, and staying out of the sun.”
“Speaking of which, where are Meg and Kristen?” Fanny asked with a frown. “Tell me we didn’t…”
“We did…we lost them,” Andrea said, a tear rolling down her cheek. “The vampire hunters found them. Jim saw her ashen remains in her apartment when he went over earlier tonight, correctly sensing trouble.”
“Oh, no,” Jenny said, her eyes widening. “Kristen gave him his third bite. He must be heartbroken.”
“He is,” Andrea said, baring her fangs and snarling. “He’s sworn revenge on the Christians.”
“I hope he sucks the whole town dry,” Fanny said. “We’re not safe.”
“I’m afraid to go to sleep at dawn,” Jenny said, almost sobbing. “I keep lyin’ awake, helpless in bed, wondering if they’ll find me, break down my bedroom door, rip open my curtains, and fry me in the sunlight. I’m really getting scared.”
Andrea put her arms around Jenny and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, baby,” Andrea said. “We’ll be OK. You have your once- and twice-bitten guards watching over you, don’t y0u?”
“Yes,” Jenny sobbed. “But what if they aren’t strong enough to protect me?”
“And when are we going to find the vamp traitor, or traitors, in whichever strip joint they’re working for?” Fanny asked.
“That’s what we need you to help us do, Erica,” Andrea said to me. She gave me a map of the forest areas all around Caledonia so I could find the CNT Club. “Go to CNT tomorrow night and find out all you can, any hints that the traitor could be one of them.”
“Speaking of possible traitors,” Fanny said. “Here comes Stella.”
“Who’s she?” I asked as I saw a tall, curvy, long-haired brunette approaching us in a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and matching high heels.
“Stella Lynn East,” Jenny said. “Owner of the PSUC Club.”
“And major man-hater,” Andrea said, sneering.
“If she hates men, why does she own a strip club?” I asked.
“To suck men dry,” Stella said in an English accent as she sat down to join us. “Good evening, vamp sisters.” She looked at me with a grin that proudly showed off her fangs, and a sparkle in her eyes that looked a combination of deja-vu and discovery of someone long-lost. Indeed, she stared at me for several seconds, in a wide-eyed daze, before asking, “And you are…?”
“Erica George,” I said, shaking her hand.
“A once-bitten, I see,” she said, kissing my hand. “Oh, do let me have a bite or two.” Now that sparkle in her eyes was one of flirtation.
I blushed.
“So, what’s the news at PSUC?” Andrea asked with a frown. “How many more of your vamps have they destroyed?”
“Four today,” Stella said with an angry sigh. “Oh, those bastards will never leave us alone.” She was giving out an energy of deep hate for the Christian community, very sincere vibes: I figured she couldn’t be a traitor.
“Which ones?” Fanny asked.
“Chantale, Alexis, Mercedes, and Beth,” Stella said. “I swear, when I find out who the vamp traitors are among us–males, I’m sure–I’ll expose them to the sun myself without remorse. They’ll be the only vamps deserving of such a fate.”
“I’m aware of a female traitor,” I said.
“How do you know that?” Stella asked.
“I went to the Sunshine Pub today,” I said. “Some men who killed Billie Bryson said a female told them where Billie’s apartment was.”
“Erica, the men you talked to were just that…men, and they can’t be trusted,” Stella said with a twitch of agitation on her face. “They’re all liars. They’d love to make us believe a female vamp betrayed us, to divide us. Make us not trust each other.”
“How can you be so sure they were lying?” I asked. “What they said felt like the truth.”
“I can’t honestly believe a female would betray her sisters,” Stella said. “But a male vamp, resentful of his period of servitude to his female biters, before his third, liberating bite, would gladly betray us. Men can’t handle female power. They think it’s natural for them to rule over us; so when we get power over them, they have us destroyed.”
“It didn’t feel like those men were lying,” I said.
“Honey, your powers aren’t fully developed yet,” Stella said to me, stroking my hair and looking in my eyes as if I were an old lover she’d lost long ago. “When I bite you, and liberate you, you’ll understand men’s true nature. Vamp or no vamp, men are afraid of female power, and they’ll do whatever they have to to stop our ascent to power. Those men lied about the traitor being female, I assure you. Watch your male vamps, sisters. Guido, Jim, and Jorge: they may seem trustworthy to you, but they’re not. We’re not safe from them.”
“Jim’s out hunting men as we speak,” Andrea said. “In revenge for Kristen. Gino and Jorge’s helping him. We trust them completely.”
“Why?” Stella asked, sneering.
“We don’t share your…extreme views on men,” Andrea said.
“Extreme,” Stella chuckled. “Extremely common sense.”
“We believe men can be changed,” Fanny said.
“Men will never change,” Stella chuckled louder. “I know from experience.”
“After a period of servitude to us, under our gentle rule,” Andrea said. “The rein of the yoni, if you will.”
Stella had a belly laugh. “The only way to end the rein of the phallus is by usurping it forever. No temporary women’s rein with tame men.”
“We think it will,” Fanny said. “We’ve seen the proof in Gino, Jim, and Jorge. And all of the FAINGS seem loyal.”
“Seem loyal,” Stella said. “They’ll turn on you. Give it time.”
“If you refuse to see any good in men, why do you have male vamps working for you?” Andrea asked.
“They aren’t full vamps,” Stella said. “They’re twice-bittens, you know that. And they know their place.”
“In other words, they’re your personal slaves,” Andrea said.
“That’s right,” Stella said, smiling.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t like male power over women any more than you, but if you enslave men, how are you any better?”
“It’s not about being better than men, love,” Stella said to me. “Either we control them or they control us. When the vampiress revolution finally happens, males will be reduced to ten percent of the population, used only for reproduction, so we vamps can have a limitless supply of blood.”
“We don’t believe so radical a solution is necessary,” Fanny said.
“Agreed,” Andrea said.
“Same here,” I said.
“Very well, sisters,” Stella said, getting up. “Have it your way for now. Time will tell, and we’ll see which vamps’ views are proven right. Goodbye, Erica: I hope to see you…and to bite that pretty neck of yours…soon.” Stella gazed at me one more time, with a kind of mysteriously melancholy longing, then turned around, walked away from our table, and left the club.
“When you’ve finished looking around the CUNT Club, we’ll need you to go to the PSUC Club, too. As much as the vamps there hate men and insist of sisterly solidarity, there’s always the possibility that all that misandry is just a cover-up, and they want us dead for some reason.”
“I do think the traitor is female,” I said. “I felt honesty from those men.”
“Still, Erica, consider all possibilities,” Andrea said, stroking my hair again. “Stella is right that your power as a once-bitten is limited. Keep your mind open, for bias will limit your ability to gain access to all the enemies that will lead to the true identity of the traitor or traitors, who could be male or female.” She kissed me on the mouth, a delicious kiss, and I felt her will vibrating through my body, making me want to seek out any traitors in CNT.
“How do you win the influence over men here?” I asked.
“After you’ve searched CNT and PSUC, we’ll give you your second and third bites, and influencing men will be easy,” Andrea said.
“Influencing men is easy once you’re a full vamp,” Fanny said.
“Yeah, just look at Tiffany onstage,” Andrea said. Tiffany had been wearing a cute cheerleader outfit during the first song of her floorshow, grinning and giggling as she danced before her rapt audience of horny men. Now doing her third song, she was crawling about nude and displaying her vulva and anus, in all insouciance, to a panting man at the tip rail. “We can easily see whose blood she’s going to have soon.”
“How can you be sure he’ll ask her for table dances or lap dances?” I asked. “Maybe he doesn’t have the money to spend.”
“Haven’t you forgotten?” Fanny said. “We don’t sex the men up for money, but for blood. And he has plenty of that.”
“And he won’t want a dance,” Andrea said. “He wants sex. We can feel his desire all the way from here. It’s that intense.”
“He wants anal from her,” Fanny said.
“And she’ll give it to him,” Andrea said.
“Don’t you mean ‘take it from him’?” I asked. We all laughed.
“Of course,” Andrea said.
“But that’ll hurt,” I said.
“You forget again,” Fanny said. “We vamps are impervious to pain.”
“Actually, our vamp bodies are adapted to enjoy anal, as much as vaginal sex,” Andrea said. “We don’t even shit anymore, since we don’t eat. The anus is now only for sex.”
“Eww,” I grunted.
“You’ll like it, too,” Fanny said.
“Really?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Andrea said. “In fact, anal is the best way to get men ready for a bite.”
“Either that, or doggy-style,” Fanny said. “If a man fucks you and you’re facing him, you might enjoy it so much that you’ll open your mouth wide in sighs. Then he’ll see your fangs and get scared. Then, even if you bite him, his will won’t be as much at one with yours.”
“The best way to influence a man is to get him to like you as much as possible,” Andrea said. “That’s why the best time to bite is when he orgasms, for that’s when his desire for you is at a maximum. Then his will is all for you.”
“With your back to him as he’s fucking you, you’re free to moan and sigh with an agape mouth, and he probably won’t see your fangs,” Fanny said.
“And if you offer him your asshole, that tells him you’re a ‘bad girl,’ and you’re all the sexier for it,” Andrea said. “That’s why when I strip for the men, I always bend over and offer the men two choices instead of just one.”
“As do I,” Fanny said. “And as you should, too.”
Sure enough, after the song was over, Tiffany led her male admirer into a private room. We’d hear a groan of sharp pain from him about twenty minutes later, and feel the pulling of some of his blood out of him and into the Collective Blood.
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‘Vamps’, Chapter Five: Erica Meets Her Heckler
I returned to my apartment after my long run from the Sunshine Pub and its vamp hunter patrons, a run that, thanks to the increased strength I’d got from Andrea’s bite, got me home amazingly quickly.
Sitting on my bed, I thought about my situation as a vamp, or vamp wanna-be, actually, and the threat that all those vamp hunters posed to the vamp community I was now a part of. I was upset not only because of the danger of being destroyed by them one day after receiving my third bite, but because Andrea had changed me in a way that made me actually like myself more…and the vamp hunters were trying to take all that away.
Self-esteem was a new thing for me. You see, I didn’t have a very happy childhood. Though I had a fair number of friends at school, life at home in southern Ontario had become a hell ever since my mother died. My widowed father became a morose drinker, taking out his unhappiness on me at every opportunity. He’d call me an idiot whenever I got bad grades at school, which was usual, because I was a rebellious teenager and didn’t care about learning; so we fought a lot.
By the time I graduated from high school, he griped at me, in slurring words and bad beer breath, for not thinking about my future, that is, not trying to get better grades and get into university. Actually, I thought about my future a lot, but not in that way: I just wanted to get out of his house and live on my own. I was a pretty girl with a good body, so becoming a stripper looked like my best option at the time. So that’s what I did. I never saw Daddy again, and I have no regrets.
Of course, getting naked in front of a bunch of drunken, leering, cat-calling pigs results in its own kind of verbal abuse (and often far worse than what I put up with from that heckler my first night stripping in the POUMTANG Club). That was when my love affair with drinking and drugs began. Whiskey, tequila shots, you name it, I drank it. Smoking marijuana and hash were a common pastime during high school, so as a stripper I also checked out the harder stuff: ecstasy, ketamine, cocaine…you name it, I at least tried it, if not made it a regular habit. When I was about 24, my health had declined to the point that I realized I had to come clean. I went to rehab, and after a painful month or so, I got better.
About a month or so before going to Caledonia, I was getting frustrated with my aging and not-so-hot-looking body. The ad for the stripping job in Manitoba promised work “far better than any ever imagined,” so I, having nothing to lose, gave it a try and went up there.
Now that I realize what was meant by “far better than any [job] ever imagined,” I feel eternal gratitude to Andrea. She literally saved my life; for I really had no idea what I could do as an aging, flabby, uneducated stripper. I didn’t have the money for silicone implants or anything like that. I didn’t even have the escape of drugs to give me solace; but the high of being a vamp, with increased beauty, strength, and even intelligence, is better than any drug, and the improvements she gave me are better than any education or plastic surgery could ever give me.
But beyond that, I was increasingly realizing that Andrea had introduced me to a much larger world. My mind had been expanded. I felt a psychic connection with all life around me, all thanks to the Collective Blood that I’d been more acquainted with from Andrea’s bite. I was able to gain access to forms of knowledge that at first had seemed the domain of university scholars; I couldn’t believe the vocabulary increase I suddenly had acquired, for in conversations with people I was spontaneously–and correctly–using words I hadn’t known even existed before the bite!
That psychic connection had also increased my sense of empathy for everyone, vamp or non-vamp. I wanted to help my vamp comrades, and also wanted to give liberating bites (for that’s how I saw them now) to all non-vamps, so they could gain the same advantages I’d just gotten. I could feel people’s pain, frustrations, and disappointments, all from the vibrations I felt around me, everywhere in Caledonia and in the POUMTANG Club. I was glad to search for whoever the vamp traitor was, not only to help Andrea and the other vamp strippers, but also to improve my chances of being able to help all those struggling people I had around me on the street.
And vamp hunters were ruining everything for all of us! Bigoted bastards! If only they knew that vampires are actually a force for good.
Back in the POUM Club that night, I went over to Andrea just before I was to go onstage.
“So, those old-timers in the Sunshine Pub scared you off, didn’t they?” she asked me.
“Yeah, they did,” I said. “You can feel it, eh?”
“Yes, I can,” she said. “You’re vibrating those feelings from all over your being.”
“How does that work?” I asked. “How am I able to feel others’ vibes?”
“When I sucked your blood, I got connected with your psychic energy, and you are beginning to get connected with everyone’s” she said. “We vamps are a network of connected blood; the Blood Collective adds to our awareness, to our knowledge, and to our intelligence. Hence, I can feel the fear you felt when you ran out of the pub.”
“So if you already know, then why ask me?”
“I don’t know everything that happened, only basic vibes. Now, as for the details: did they tell you who helped them find Billie? Which vamp?”
“They didn’t give a name,” I said. “They just said she was a pretty young woman, also pale and with a pointy overbite. Definitely a vamp approached them at night, though they didn’t believe she was one, and they didn’t say her name.”
“Very well,” Andrea said. “Go to the CUNT Club tomorrow night and find out what you can there. It’s another vamp strip joint, directly north of us here, north of the town, in the forest up there on the other side. We’ll tell you more about it later.”
How do all these strip joints here get away with such raunchy names? And in this Catholic community? I wondered. “OK, tell me about the strip joint in about twenty minutes,” I said. “I have to go on now.”
“Will you be OK up there?”
“Oh, yeah. I have much more confidence now, thanks to you. I really wanna express my appreciation for all you’ve done f0r me. You’ve helped me in ways that I’ll never be able to finish repaying you for. Thanks again, Andrea.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said, grinning and showing off her fangs in a way that didn’t at all look scary or freakish to me. I grinned back, wishing I had fangs as apparent as hers, and impatiently waiting for those second and third bites.
I went onstage. My first song was ‘Love Bites,’ by Judas Priest (I was going with a quasi-vampire theme that night.) I was wearing only a pink thong and bra this time; now that my confidence in my body had improved, I wanted to flaunt what I had.
As I was moving about the stage, I looked out at the audience, who were much more attentive than last time. They seemed a little hypnotized, too, but not as powerfully as they had been with Fanny. I assumed I’d get even more rapt attention after my second and third bites, which I now waited for with even greater eagerness. Still, I was satisfied with the fact that the men were now interested in what they saw.
Towards the back, I saw that asshole who was being rude to me the night before. I still wished that scream I’d heard, after he made me cry, had been his…of him being sucked dry, as my three escorts presumably had been. Anyway, he was behaving himself this time. In fact, he seemed to like what he saw onstage.
I removed my bra towards the end of the Judas Priest song. My breasts were now, as you know, larger and firmer, a pair of beauties I proudly showed off. He was still interested.
My second song began: ‘You Suck,’ by Consolidated, with a naughty rap about cunnilingus by The Yeasty Girlz. As I danced around mouthing the words with a wicked smile and looking him straight in the eyes and mouthing “Baby, you suck!”, an idea came to me: if having sex with the men was desirable for blood and mind-control purposes, then once I got my third bite and became a full vamp, I could seduce him, then get my revenge and suck the bastard dry.
If only I could have been a vamp right then and there. I was so, so impatient for those second and third bites: how long would I have to wait for them? I was starving for revenge against that guy!
I removed my thong. He was still watching me, his mouth thirsty for a taste–I could sense his desire. Now nude except for my high heels, I picked up the thong, made a slingshot out of it with my fingers, and flicked it at his face. It slapped him right on the nose, and he was happy to get it. The lecher was sniffing all along where it had been rubbing against my anal cleft. What a perv!
The song ended, and I took off my shoes. My third song was ‘Vampire,’ by Gorilla Zoe. I still had his full attention. He was standing a few feet away from the stage. I slowly walked towards him, allowing his eyes to pour all over my nakedness.
Now not only confident with my body, but with defiant pride, I got down on the floor, my eyes locked on his, and spread my legs. His jaw dropped at what was now showing. His former rudeness had been transformed into awe. His tongue was hanging out a foot.
I rolled over and started crawling back from him, my ass pointed at his face. My legs were still wide apart, so everything was showing. I could see his still rapt reaction in the mirror on the back wall. I smirked.
The song ended. I grabbed my shoes, bra, and purse, and got off the stage. He followed me.
“‘Scuse me,” he said, presenting my thong. “I think you forgot this.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, still not able to smile at him, despite my plan to seduce him. I put the thong on.
“Can I have a lap dance?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said as I put my bra back on. “Ten bucks a song.” I put on my high heels.
“Yeah, I know. Lap dances sure are cheap here. That’s why I like it here.”
“OK, there’s a private room in the corner over there that’s available. Let’s go.”
We went in the room, and he closed the door. He sat on a sofa against the far wall. I sat on a chair facing him.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Hal,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Erica.”
“Almost sounds like a boy’s name.”
“I don’t think so.” I glared at him, then thought about all that blood I wanted to suck out of him.
“You don’t?”
“No. You aren’t going to be rude to me again, are you?”
“Again?” he asked. “When was I rude to you before?”
“Last night,” I said, still angry, though controlling it. “When I was onstage. Don’t you remember?”
“No, I don’t. Then again, I was really drunk, and I get a little out of hand then. They kicked me out last night, actually. Look, if I made you mad, I’m sorry.”
“You made me cry. I ran off the stage.” I was almost about to cry right then.
“Oh, look, I’m sorry about that. I can be a real dick sometimes. Booze’ll do that to you. But I think you’re really beautiful.”
“Really?” I felt his sincerity.
“Yeah, really. An’ I don’t mean that in a dirty way.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. Maybe when I become a full vamp, I won’t kill you after all, I thought. Unless you piss me off again, that is.
A new song began, ‘Heavy Metal Love,’ by Helix, a longer, live version. I got up and sat on his lap, facing him. He was already hard as a rock.
I started grinding on him. The pointy bulge in his jeans was rubbing against my groin, the sensation going through my thong and stimulating my clit. I’d never felt that way about a client in a strip joint before, especially for a man who’d been rude to me.
Was my heightened horniness another side effect of the bite Andrea gave me?
Hal was actually a reasonably good-looking man: short blonde hair in a baseball cap, clean shaven, and thin, but with a little muscle tone in his arms and chest.
He also had sweet, baby blue eyes.
Without warning, I took off his cap and put it on my head.
He was bald.
He twitched in embarrassment at this revelation. Now he was frowning like a little boy who’d had his toys taken away.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I said, trying not to gloat at having piqued the physical insecurities of a man who’d done the same to me the night before. “I know of ways to make you even better looking than you already are.”
“Oh?” he said, smiling that his baldness didn’t seem unattractive to me. “How?”
“I wasn’t all that hot last night, when you saw me onstage,” I said, removing my bra. “These were floppy then, as you had observed; now they’re firm.” I then put his face between my tits, and squeezed them against his cheeks.
“How’d you make them look better?” he asked. He was touching them, gently pinching the nipples.
“It’s a secret. But if you’re good, and you show devotion to me, I’ll divulge the secret, and you won’t need to wear that cap anymore.” I removed my thong, burned around, bent over and gave him a look.
“I’d like…to…believe you,” he panted, staring at my…front and back doors, if you will…with equally disbelieving eyes.
Looking back at him upside-down from between my spread-out legs, I said, “You don’t have to believe me; just stay loyal to me, be a gentleman, and I’ll reward you.” Then I reached up from between my legs with my finger and tickled his chin.
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‘Vamps’, Chapter Four: Meeting Vamp Hunters
After a difficult night sleeping in that bed, I got dressed the next morning and went into town. I got there by another path, this time from the side, rather than the front, of the POUMTANG Club. That first path was too scary to walk through again, after what had happened to those three men…whatever that even was.
First I returned to the apartment I was renting, showered, and changed into some fresh clothes. I also got my sunglasses, for indeed that sun had been bothering my eyes on the way from POUM to home, as Christina said it would. Having left my apartment early that afternoon, I went east down Main Street to where the town hall was, which was dead centre: my apartment, near the western entrance to Caledonia, was as far from the town hall as The Sunshine Pub was from the other side, near the eastern entrance.
My destination was The Sunshine Pub, where I expected to find vamp hunters, since that’s what Andrea had told me the night before. But I sensed that I could find vamp hunters in the town hall, too, for I was getting eerie vibes from that place, vibes I, as a once-bitten, assumed were coming from my developing vamp powers. So I went in the front door.
The building’s exterior was painted mostly white, with red borders, and a sign saying Caledonia Town Hall in large black lettering was above the front doors. Inside, there was a hallway going to my left and right after I entered: the left lead to an office of some kind, and the right lead to the washrooms. Right in front of me were two more doors. I opened them a crack and peeked inside.
Inside was a large room, obviously the main room, for town hall meetings. I saw about fifty fold-up chairs arranged with an aisle in the middle leading up to a stage, in front of which was a podium. Closed red curtains were right behind the podium; on the centre of them was attached a round white sign with a black symbol in its centre. My eyes weren’t focused at first (for I was still a bit dazed from that bite), so what I saw seemed for a split second to look like a Nazi symbol. Startled, I rubbed my eyes and looked again: no, it was an oval sign with a black crucifix. On each chair was a Missal–this was a meeting place of Catholics, not Nazis. I felt a little better…but not much better.
“Hey!” someone shouted, making me jump. “What are you doing here?” he said in an agitated voice. I looked to my right and saw an elderly man approaching me from the washrooms.
I quickly ran out of the building and resumed my walk over to The Sunshine Pub. As I was quickly shuffling along, faster than I could normally shuffle, thanks to my newly-acquired abilities as a once-bitten, I looked back at the town hall, where I saw the old man looking at me from the opened front doors with a hostile look in his eyes. Did he know I’d been bitten? It sure seemed that way.
Anyway, he didn’t chase me, nor did anyone else, so I just calmed down and continued on my way. About ten minutes later, I finally reached The Sunshine Pub, where I’d found Jim, Carl, and Randy, my unlucky escorts the night before. I hoped I’d see them there again, as proof that they hadn’t been killed…or did I hope for that? Did I hope they were actually killed by vampires, since now I was sensing how dangerous these townspeople were? This latter hope was clearly Andrea’s influence on my will.
It was a spacious, one-storey building. Coming in through the front door, I saw the bar to the immediate right, lining that wall all the way to the near right corner. Liquor bottles and shot glasses lined all the shelves there, and the bar itself was beautifully polished wood, with red-seated stools in front of it in a row.
There were round tables and chairs, these being to the left, in the centre, and to the right, with a space for the dart board in the middle of the left side. A stage for bands to perform on was in the far right corner. Everywhere else were round tables and chairs. On the walls were photographs of varying size depicting, presumably, the locals fishing, playing sports, or smiling, drinking, and laughing inside the pub. I tended to see the same faces often, and I got a sense that this pub was for the locals, and the locals alone. Again, I had a subtle, vague feeling I wasn’t welcome. Not a feeling from frowns or unfriendly body language from the patrons of the pub, but from vibrations all around me; it must have been my heightened vamp sensitivity.
I went to a table in front of the stage. Three middle-aged men were sitting there, men I recognized from the day before. Though I sensed an unfriendly attitude from them, slightly more so than the last time I’d met them (for they had reluctantly got Jim, Carl, and Randy to escort me to POUM), at least I knew them, and familiarity breeds at least a little confidence.
“Hi, guys,” I said to them. “Did Jim, Carl, and Randy come back?”
“No, they didn’t,” the first of the seated men said, frowning at me as if my escorts’ disappearance had been solely my fault. “It’s good to see you’re OK, I guess, but we’re not at all happy about not seeing them here, or anywhere in town today. What happened when they took you to that…den of iniquity?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, frowning. “Someone attacked them in the dark. It happened so fast: I couldn’t see.”
“Vampires got ’em,” another of the men said.
“Oh, not that superstition again,” I lied, preferring to pretend I was still ignorant of what they knew, out of a wish to protect those who’d beautified me. “I’m sure it was just thugs.”
“Really?” the third man said, studying my face with a distrustful frown. “You look different from yesterday, you know. Better, if a bit paler.”
“Oh, yeah, uh, thanks. The girls gave me some beauty tips,” I stammered, sensing they knew I’d been bitten. I pulled the collar of my shirt forward a bit to hide the bite on my neck. It was only two very small holes, but I still hoped they hadn’t seen them!
“I’m sure they did give you ‘beauty’ tips,” the third man said, still eying me with suspicion. “Of a supernatural kind.”
“So, you do that dirty lap-dancing with those other vamps, eh?” the second man said.
“I didn’t lap dance anyone last night,” I said.
“No? But you stripped and showed yourself off, got the men’s morals all corrupted, didn’t you?” the first man said.
“I’d call my work art,” I said, slightly angry.
The men laughed loudly.
“You want art? Go to the Heritage and Cultural Centre two blocks down,” the first man said. “What you girls do is sinful. Satanic.”
“It is not!” I growled.
“This is a Christian town,” the third man said. “And this pub is the–should be the only watering hole in town. We’d like to keep things that way.”
“Rather, it used to be a Christian town,” the second man said. “Before the vampires came. We’d like to bring it back to the Christian way.”
“Maybe you should leave town,” the first said, “while your soul is still your own.”
“Or come to church with us, and pray to God for forgiveness,” the third said.
“I’ve done nothing I should be ashamed of,” I defiantly insisted.
They laughed at me again.
“Sexuality should be freely expressed,” I said angrily. “Not repressed the way you prudes would have it.”
“Sex belongs in the context of marriage and family,” the first man said.
“It shouldn’t be flaunted immodestly, as this lost generation does,” the second man said.
“With its openly-displayed hickeys!” the third said. “We in Caledonia don’t want your new, big city ways. Either repent, or get out of town!”
I could sense that the killers of Billie Bryson were these three men. The vibrations they were all sending me were a virtual confession. Rather than confront them with that question, I instead asked, “Who told you all that there are vampires in Caledonia?”
“A pretty young lady approached us one night,” the first man said. “Pale, and with a pointy overbite, like you, but we doubt a vampiress would want her Satanic spawn killed, so we’ve always assumed her likeness to them is a coincidence.”
“She hates your kind as much as we do,” a middle-aged woman who’d just entered the bar said. “She wishes all you dope fiend girls would die.”
“I don’t do drugs,” I said. “Haven’t touched them in years. And who are you?”
“Francesca Franks,” she said, approaching me with a growling frown. “And you, whoever you are, sure look stoned enough to be still doing drugs. Your kind always look that way, the first time you’ve been bit. I’ve seen it before. By the time you’ve been bit the third time, not even sunglasses will protect you from the sun. And that young woman might help us find your home; then we’ll sneak in when you’re sleeping during the day, and we’ll destroy you, as we did Billie! And all those other whores in those strip joints!”
“We’ll be coming for you, bitch!” the third man said. “Unless you pray for forgiveness.”
I ran outside, and kept running and running.
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‘Vamps’, Chapter Three: Kissing, Licking, and Sucking…
In the bedroom was a king size bed. We went over and I got on it. The dim light in the room was tolerable for the other women.
I was so distracted by my eagerness to have their mysterious method improve my looks, that it was only when I saw the other three strippers, well, stripping, that I remembered I still didn’t have any clothes on myself.
“Um, ladies, I’m straight,” I said.
“Why does that matter?” Andrea said, now in her navy blue lace bra and thong.
“What’s wrong with experimenting?” said the first stripper, also now in her underwear, a pink bra and panties.
“Well, we don’t even know each other,” I said.
“My name is Christina Ball,” the second stripper said, shaking my hand and letting her white panties drop to her feet. She was now fully nude, and she got beside me on the bed.
“And I’m Meg Hamilton,” said the first. “You already know Andrea.” All three women were nude and on the bed with me now.
“OK, I know your names, and I’m Erica, if you didn’t already know,” I said, my voice a little shaky now with shyness. “But that’s all we know about each other.”
“Erica, we’re knowing each other more and more these very seconds,” Andrea said, kissing me on the cheek and fondling my right breast. I now felt six hands and three pairs of lips gently roaming all over my skin.
Christina, a short, curvy blonde with long curly hair–a sexy little pixie–was sucking on my other breast, her lips gently pulling on my erect nipple. Meg, also a short, curvy long-haired blonde, was between my legs, having kissed her way from my belly down there and making my whole body vibrate with pleasure. Indeed, my original misgivings about lesbian sex were quickly dissolving into delight. These women had the hands of masseurs and the tongues and lips of masters.
I just lay on my back, closed my eyes, and received it all, more and more eagerly all the time. I softly moaned my thanks to those great kissers, lickers, and suckers.
Andrea’s tongue was slithering in my right ear, then it slid down across my cheek to my mouth. She plunged her tongue deep inside my mouth and tangled it with my tongue, massaging it and the roof of my mouth. No man had ever French-kissed me so expertly!
She wouldn’t let me move my tongue around much; she kept it away from her teeth, so it usually only stayed in my mouth. I wondered why she didn’t seem to want my tongue to dance around inside her mouth the way hers did in mine. Not that this mattered at all: I was getting really hot!
Meg’s face was now buried in my hairy, wet nether regions. She was exploring me inside and out. My moans were now sighs and squeals.
Christina’s hands gently roamed and caressed my skin, her left going from my neck, which she was kissing, along my chest and down to my pubic region, then back up. Her right hand slid up and down my left arm.
While I was loving this lay better than those of the very best male lovers of my past, I still didn’t see what lesbian lovemaking had to do with giving me a better-looking body. I couldn’t complain, though.
As Meg continued to slide in and out of me, I cried, “Ooh!”
Though embarrassed at how dirty and smelly I was down there, I couldn’t deny how good her sensitive tongue felt. I could feel myself approaching orgasm. I was squirming and writhing, but with intense excitement.
If lesbian sex was typically this good, I was switching to gay, immediately.
Christina was sucking on my right breast now while pinching the nipple of my left. Andrea was kissing my neck, lightly nibbling on it. Was I about to get a hickey?
Her nibbling was always in small, careful bites; but on one or two occasions, I was sure I’d felt a tooth as sharp as a cat’s. I didn’t think too much of it, though, for I was just sizzling with lust.
My sighs and squeals were growing into screams. I was about to climax.
Meg was working hard, her tongue and lips going faster and faster. I was buzzing down there!
Finally, I let it out like a dam exploding. It was the best explosion of pleasure I’d ever had, but with a big shock. That hickey I would get from Andrea bit sharply and deeply into my neck! My pleasure was matched with an equally sharp pain.
“Aaaah!” I screamed. I felt my blood being pulled out of me.
I lay there in a daze, as if I were stoned. I felt my will strangely half given to Andrea. I didn’t know why, but apart from the bite, I felt better, stronger, more powerful…and despite my stupor, even more intelligent.
“What did you…do to me?” I asked with lazy panting. “Why did you bite me?” I looked over at Andrea.
Then I saw her bloody, bared fangs.
Then those of Christina and Meg.
“Holy shit!” I gasped. “Those men…my three escorts here…were right: there are vampires here…Either that,…or I’m as high…as a kite.”
“We told you our plan was radical,” Christina said. “But go look at yourself in the mirror.”
“Yeah,” Meg said. “See what we did for you.”
I got off the bed, still feeling woozy after that bite, and went over to the mirror, on the dresser on the other side of the room. I gazed on my nakedness with amazement.
“Oh…my…God,” I said, my eyes and mouth wide open.
No more flab. Not even a bit.
My skin was smooth, creamy, and fairer. No blemishes. I looked several years younger, even.
My tits, which used to be floppy, were now firm…and bigger!
My curves were curvier.
My hairy bush? Not so hairy now: it appeared neatly trimmed, as if by magic.
I turned around to look at my ass, which was no longer dimply, but round and beautiful. Then I spread my legs and bent over to see how everything looked down there. What used to be hairy and raunchy-looking was now neat, trim, and totally pleasing aesthetically, like a porn star.
My body wasn’t quite as perfect as those of the three blonde beauties who’d just had…and transformed me, but the improvement on my looks was something I could only be awed about.
I grinned with delight, tears forming in my eyes.
Then, having straightened up and turned around again to face the mirror, I took a closer look at my teeth. There was no blood on my neck; after Andrea’s sucking of my blood, the wounds healed remarkably quickly–indeed, the bite marks were a barely noticeable pair of tiny dots. I didn’t have the vampire fangs of Meg, Christina, or Andrea (or, presumably, all of the other strippers in the POUM Club), but my corresponding teeth were noticeably sharper; apparently, I was turning into a vampiress slowly.
“Why don’t I have full vampiress teeth, like yours?” I asked.
“Because you need two more bites to become a full vampiress,” Andrea said. “When you’ve had your third bite, your body will be as perfect as ours are.”
“You’ll also have all our powers,” Meg said.
“And our intelligence,” Christina said. “And psychic connection with everything, which gives you access to all worldly knowledge.”
“Is that why you strippers talk like, well, university grads?” I asked. “And what are these powers you brag of?”
“Superhuman strength,” Andrea said.
“Shape-shifting,” said Meg. “Quick healing.”
“And mind control,” said Christina. “That’s great for making the boys do what we need them to do.”
“OK, and what about us being the spawn of Satan?” I asked with a tremble. “Aren’t we all doomed to Hell?”
“Bullshit,” Christina said.
“Vampirism has nothing to do with Christian ideas,” Meg said. “That’s why neither crucifixes nor garlic can destroy us.”
“Holy water’s useless against us, too,” Andrea said.
“Vampirism is pre-Christian and pagan,” Meg said. “There are ideas in Greek myth that are closer to what we’re all about.”
“Old chthonic religion,” Christina said.
I was hearing this highfalutin vocabulary for the first time ever, yet strangely…inexplicably (See? Even I use those big words now!)…I could understand, intuitively, what the girls were talking about. That must have been what Christina meant by having a ‘psychic connection’ giving ‘access to all worldly knowledge’. I really was getting smarter as well as sexier!
“After your third bite, you won’t need food anymore,” Andrea said. “But you will need blood to drink.”
“You won’t need money, either,” Meg said. “We strip and hook for men’s blood.”
“Don’t you need money for rent, water, and electricity?” I asked. “And I don’t hook, by the way.”
“You will,” Meg said, “and you’ll like it. For to get the men to do our bidding after we bite them, getting them hot enough to come maximizes our chances of winning their wills to our cause.”
“Our psychic powers provide our water and electricity,” Andrea explained. “As for paying the rent, we scare the landlords away, use mind control to keep them at bay, or suck them dry. Mind control also gets our liquor supplier to give us free booze. We’re all secure that way, don’t worry. But speaking of security, we need you to do something for us.”
Andrea approached me, looking me straight in the eyes in a way that felt hypnotic. She caressed my cheek and stroked my hair. As I mentioned before, I felt my will to be half at her command, while my remaining will, though my own, was charmed enough by her to want to do her bidding.
“What do you want me to do?” I sighed, still feeling as if I were high.
“Our world here is in danger,” she said. “Someone is trying to destroy us.”
“Who?” I asked. “I thought the usual Christian things don’t hurt you.”
“No, but sunlight does,” Christina said.
“Man-made light makes us uncomfortable, but exposure to daylight will burn us to ash, within seconds,” Meg said with a frown of fear.
“We all sleep in our apartments in town during the day,” Andrea said, still stroking my hair and gazing mesmerizingly in my eyes. “And there’s no way the mortals could ever find us; but they have, and the only explanation is that enemy vamps have been helping them.”
“Who are the enemy vamps?” I asked.
“That’s what we need you to find out for us,” Meg said.
“You’re only once-bitten,” Christina added. “So you can still endure the daylight, though it will bother your eyes a little.”
“Wear sunglasses when you go outside,” Meg said. “There are other vamp strip joints here in Caledonia,” Andrea said, caressing my cheek, her eyes locked on mine. “The CNT Club, short for CUNT Club, and the PRICK SUCK Club, or PSUC Club.”
“The Christian community here has wanted all three of us out because we’re strippers, but our use of mind control has kept them from knowing where any of us live,” Christina said.
“The only way the mortals could possibly know of us is if other vamps informed them,” Meg said.
“Vamps who hate us, for some reason,” Christina said.
“Why do they hate us?” I asked.
“Competition for blood, we assume,” Meg said. “Who knows?”
“I suspect the reason is more subtle than that,” Andrea said. “And that’s what we need you to find out. Tomorrow afternoon, go into town and ask who knows of the finding of Billie Bryson’s apartment.”
“Who’s Billie Bryson?” I asked.
“She was the stripper you’re replacing,” Christina said. “The mortals found her place a week ago, broke in during the day, opened her bedroom windows to the bright afternoon sunlight, and burned her to a crisp, her screaming in pain as she died.” A tear ran down her cheek.
“The CUNT Club vamps claim one of their girls was similarly destroyed around the same time, and the PSUC Club vamps claim they lost two in the same way,” Meg said.
“We think one of them, or maybe both of them, are lying,” Christina said.
“Go into town tomorrow,” Andrea said, kissing me on the lips. “Ask the people there who led them to Billie’s apartment. When they describe the vamp, who of course approached them at night, we’ll know who he or she was.”
“A mere description will be enough to know who?” I asked.
“Yes, it should be,” Andrea said. “Our psychic abilities will connect with the mortals’ words, and then we’ll be able to sniff out the traitor amongst us.”
“How do you know the traitor isn’t a vamp here?” I asked.
“We’d know,” Meg said. “The proximity of our own vamps would make detecting their treacherous thoughts easy. The closer you physically are, the easier it is to read your mind.”
“Go and find the traitor,” Andrea said after giving me another peck on the mouth. “Help us stop our enemies, then after two more lovemaking rituals, and two more bites, you’ll be a full vamp. We’ll give you eternal life.”
“Eternal life?” I gasped.
“Yes,” Christina said. “Just drink blood, avoid the sun, and make love with the men you suck so they’ll be our loyal and willing protectors.”
“Their bodies improve with each bite, too,” Meg said. “As does their intelligence and sensitivity, so a man who started out as an asshole can quickly become a nice guy.”
“Sex with the men will never hurt; in fact, it’s always pleasurable for you as a vamp, no matter which man you’re with,” Andrea added. “For we vamps are impervious to pain…only pain inflicted by other vamps, or the sun, can hurt us.”
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