Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (48 page)

The forbidden nature of what Brice suggested sent a delicious thrill directly to Sol’s loins. He quashed the felling immediately, ashamed. “Can’t. It must be against my religion,” he answered, though not very quickly.

“Don’t see why it would be, but then one’s perspective on  piety and ancient creeds changes when one lives on the dark  side,” Brice said and put his hands behind his head. He gazed at  the ceiling. His face took on a sly look. “However, the sex, you  know, is fantastic. Women love vampires.”

“They do? Why?” The words sex and women acted like the

siren’s song on Sol’s libido.

Brice laughed his blood-curdling laugh once more. “We’re

forbidden, sexy and need to be saved. That’s potent, dude.”

A trembling came over Sol. “Let me sleep on it,” he said.

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But the  hook had been baited. Brice knew he just had to set

it.

“Sure. But why not meet me tomorrow night and let me  show you around, introduce you to some friends? See what you  think.”

“I guess there’d be no harm in that,” Sol said.

Sol slept fitfully. The  next morning, he brewed some coffee, toasted a bagel and sat in front of an edifying public affairs show on television, but his mind wandered. The thought of meeting up with this vampire rattled him. He considered the fact that he had an OK life, a little  dull, but maybe he shouldn’t rock the boat. He could take a vacation to Miami and cure his current boredom instead of becoming the next Dracula.

Yer much that Brice had told Sol intrigued him. Sol had often dreamed of possessing the sheer physical power  vampires seemed to have. The transformation into a demigod  –  and Brice assured him he would be  –  promised a faster route to six-pack abs than calorie counting and working out at the gym.

Plus, he’d have his health even if he chose to eat corned beef and pastrami daily, took up smoking Cuban cigars and relaxed every night with a potent Martini. High cholesterol and hardening of the arteries would be a thing of the past.

And he couldn’t ignore the fact that financial success as

‘dentist to the undead’ seemed assured.

On the other hand, the eternal life aspect didn’t grab him.  Brice insisted vampires didn’t age, but Sol had an Uncle Sid who lived to be 97. Uncle Sid wasn’t a pretty sight, especially

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when he put on a speedo and went to the pool in the Assisted  Living Compound in Ormond Beach. But his mental state was  what alarmed Sol.

“What’s living another day?” the old man had griped.  “Nothing more to strive for, nothing left to conquer. No interest  in women or food. I’m ready for the grave.”

Sol worried that eternal life might prove to be a few

centuries too long in the dental profession.

But the sex part made Sol swoon. Brice had told him stories that caused him to break out in a sweat. Threesomes, group sex, anal, oral, tantric, S&M; Brice put out a smorgasbord pf exotic delicacies when it came to the ways he had done the dirty.  Could Sol find the same kind of sybaritic happiness.

Brice swore on his mother’s life that Sol could. Somewhere in his rational mind, Sol knew the word of a vampire wasn’t reliable currency, but accepting the drab reality of his life or taking a once-in-a-lifetime offer to be transformed from Sol  Tytel, dentist to an uber-cool, dark, sexy, mysterious vampire seemed a no-brainer.

Yet Sol dithered as the clock ticked off the afternoon hours, unable to make up his mind whether to venture forth into the vampire dens of the city and meet Brice  –  until his old friend  Howie called. Howie had inherited his Upper East Side practice from his father, now retired and living in Boca Raton. Howie’s clientele included power brokers and movie stars, and when it came down to his conquests of willing women, he rubbed it in all the time.

He’d crow with great glee: “She practically raped me. I swear to God. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Twenty-six and gorgeous. She married some old goat and is bored out of her

raven-tressed skull. What do I care if her boobs are silicone? My

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God the woman  can give a blow job,” On and On. Howie never did know when to shut up.

That’s really what did it  –  Howie’s bragging. Sol buried his doubts in a dark recess of his mind and left Brooklyn promptly at sundown, determined to enjoy a night among the quick and the undead.

Manhattan’s vampire underworld teemed with depravity, decadence and self-absorption. In that respect, it differed little from the singles scene in that same city. In other ways, it surpassed Sol’s wildest dreams  –  and darkest nightmares.

Sol emerged form a yellow cab to find himself on the baking cement of the city sidewalks, the heat palpable around him. He spotted Brice lounging in a doorway, like Lucifer at the gates of hell. Perspiration erupted on Sol’s balding pate. The vampire beckoned. Sol took his step towards destiny and followed him inside a nightclub called Blood Lust, where the

moment the door opened he could hear loud music blaring with

a driving beat.

Dim lighting, dark-red painted walls and a bouncer the size of an elephant greeted Sol. Anxiety griped him like a sumo-wrestler, his breath came hard and yet he found the courage to follow Brice deeper into the innards of the place.

But what scared him most of all was the smell. It was musky, bestial and thoroughly disturbing. The patrons on the tables looked human, except when they looked up and their eyes glowed red behind the pupils. It was then that Sol realized he was no longer with his own kind.

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Some wraith-thin women drifted around a large room serving drinks, mostly Bloody  Mary’s  it seemed. Sol had a sinking feeling they weren’t made from tomato juice. Another frisson of fear  coursed  through him. Panic overwhelmed him.  He turned and decided to make a dash for the door and return to

the street.

But Brice had grabbed his elbow and held him fast, pulling  Sol towards the far end of the room. There, in front of a live band playing loudly, couples crowded on a small dance floor, gyrating under strobe lights of blue and red.

“Yeah, I know. It’s retro disco,” Brice said. “Let’s get a

table. What are you drinking?”

They sat, tucked into a corner, Brice with a whiskey and Sol with a  martini. Sol picked up the tab. He tried not to stare at the coke-snorting and flagrant groping occurring between two gorgeous young girls at a nearby table. No one else seemed to notice.

Sol felt out of his element. The patrons around him were all good-looking, chic and sensual. They slipped away into corners, two by two and three by three. He could only guess to do what.  He thought he would have liked to have joined them.

But was this a life he could embrace? Was this a place he could ever belong? He doubted it. His mentor, Brice, looked terribly bored. His eyes roamed the room as if searching for someone. He and Sol had nothing in common but Brice’s cracked incisor. Sol desperately tried to start a conversation.

“Have you been a vampire long?” he opened.

Brice dragged his eyes away from the crowd. “Centuries.

Why?”

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“Just being polite,” Sol said and gulped his drink.

“Well don’t. Try being rude. It’s more fun,” Brice offered.

Sol finished his drink and signalled for another. Thus fortified, he tried  a different tack, daring to say what was on his mind. “What’s going to happen to me tonight?” His voice wavered.

Brice leered at him, showing his incisors, Sol noted that the temporary he had created looked nearly perfect. “What do you want to happen?” Brice asked.

“I . . . I . . . don’t know? What are my options?”

“Let’s see. If you’re in the mood for an orgy, there’s a back  room right over there.” He pointed towards a green-painted  door.

“If you want drugs, just take your wallet. Or perhaps you

want someone to suck your blood  ”
–

“Ah, no to the blood-drinking and drugs. The other . . .” His

voice trailed off longingly. “I do have a fantasy . . .”

“Whatever your heart desires, my man,” Brice said in a

smarmy voice. “But  ”
–

The catch, Sol knew there had to be one. “But?”

“If you fulfil your fantasy, it won’t be a fantasy any more.”

Mulling that truism over, his brain no longer sharp and clear, having been muddled by alcohol, Sol looked up and thought he was dreaming. A sweet-looking blonde worked her way sinuously through the room, approached the table and leaned over to display her ample cleavage.

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“Macky!” she squealed and gave the vampire  across from

Sol air kisses alongside both cheeks.

“I’m Brice tonight,” the vampire responded. “I changed my

name again. I’ve gotten a new part.”

“Brice becomes you so,” she cooed. Then she turned to Sol.  “And you’ve brought fresh meat!” She smiled, showing an  adorable dimple. She put out a hand. “Hi! I’m Krista.”

“Sol meet the mighty Krista, lady of song and sorrow. She

sings with the band.”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” Sol stammered.

Krista gave Sol a slow once-over and then gave him another long stare. “Are you going to show him the orgy room? I mean is he joining us on the dark side? He looks yummy.”

Sol had never  been called ‘yummy’ before, He blushed.

“That’s up to my buddy here to decide,” Brice answered, his  sly smile back. “Why don’t you join us for a drink, while he  makes up his mind?”

Krista pulled a chair very close to Sol’s and said. “We’re shameless, you know. We love newbies. You look sweet sixteen and never-been-kissed  –  or bitten.”

“Is that a compliment?” Sol asked.

“Not really. It’s just a statement of fact. It’s obvious you’re  merely human. Vampires are never bald, you know. Even  though on you it’ s cute.”

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Sol suspected he had been insulted, but somehow he didn’t care. His eyes were drawn to Krista’s pouty mouth. “I don’t wish to be forward,” he said, “But did you know you have a serious misalignment. An overbite. Do you have jaw pain?”

Krista looked puzzled. “Not exactly.  \i do get migraines.”

Brice made his move, smoothly, like a used-car salesman working the lot on pay day. “Sol’s a dentist. The best. He specializes in discretion and no-money down.”

And soon the talk turned away from orgies to  the benefits of invisible braces. Before the night was over Brice had lined up 13 new patients for Sol. Dental work had been neglected among the undead. Sol felt flushed with excitement. He was in demand.

Soon everyone was calling him Doc. He had a third  Martini.  He felt accepted and special. Brice, too, no longer looked bored.  He however finally announced he was hungry.

“Don’t look at me,” Sol said in jest.

“I have someone else in mind, my friend. But a certain lady

seems to be looking for you.”

Then,  with the band taking a much-needed break, Krista

reappeared with an outstretched hand.

“It’s time you got your cherry popped, Doc.” Her smile was  charming, despite the overbite. She pulled him to his feet and  led him to the green door. Sol moved as if in  a trance, his heart  hammering and his passion soaring.

In the orgy room, Krista and another pretty woman licked him like he was ice cream and he did more than just licking back. They were joined by a young man, which gave Sol pause, then another sweet young female. This was an orgy after all.

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Bodies entwined, moved and pumped. It was luscious, sinful and then satisfying. But in the end came terror.

Lying against some cushions in post-coital exhaustion, thinking he could use a glass of water and pondering  the logistics of getting up and going home, Sol found Krista back at his side. His smile at seeing her faded instantly.

Her expression was no longer sweet. Her eyes had turned hard and glittering, her nails had turned to menacing claws and her incisors had grown very long. Fear spiking through his veins, Sol said he had to be going and tried to find his jeans, which were somewhere nearby. He didn’t find them before  Krista leaped on his chest.

Now an Amazon as strong as ten men, she pinned Sol down.  His heart raced. His eyes grew wide. His skin turned clammy.  He realized tis excursion into the underworld was all one big mistake. But it was too late. With practised skill, Krista sank her sharp eye teeth right into his carotid artery. He screamed, but overpowered and thinking none to clearly (what with the  Martinis and the carnal workout), he swooned.

Consciousness left him and Sol Tytel knew no more.

Sol didn’t remember getting home, but he awoke the next morning in his own bed. He was alive, at least,  he thought. But when he sat up, the blood loss had left him with his worst hangover since he and Barry Cohen stole a bottle of Chivas  Regal during Jeff Silverman’s bar mitzvah.

He staggered into the bathroom, where the sight of a stranger in the mirror startled him. He jumped back. Then he moved closer to see better. He stared. He gaped. Instead of a