Authors: Ava Frost
It was not as hard as one would think to pack up and leave. I just made up my mind. I had nothing tying me to San Francisco. So, I turned in my “I quit” letter. Bye, bye promotion. I drove across country and asked Siri where the nearest for rent apartments were in the city. God bless Siri. After the fifth one, I found what I thought was a reasonable place to stay. I figured, after being stuck in a sea of yellow cabs that selling my car would be more of a benefit than having it. Signing the lease, was a cake walk. Then it was me, silence and stacks of my things in a barren one bedroom apartment. There was no view, but what would I have seen? Skyscrapers? I didn’t too much care for the side view of the buildings. There wasn’t much space but I didn’t need much and most importantly, there was no second room to rent out. That was as close to serenity as I could get.
Step one, move across the country. Check. Step two, find a place to live. Check. Step three, find a job. Also surprisingly easy, although not exactly a job I was jumping for joy about. I would be a transcriptionist. What does that mean? It means I type everything I hear or see. I was working for a medical firm who got the technology notice late this century. So I recorded all of their patient records, notes and such into this huge database. For a moment, I thought this job wouldn’t last long until I visited to finish my hire paperwork. At the basic rate, I would be here for years. They had actual sheds of files. I was happy to have a job above minimum wage, even if the job might bore me to tears. Step four proved a little more difficult. Selling Lassie required me to drive out to someone and then get a cab back. Yes, my car’s name is Lassie. You got a problem?
I had one co-worker, Linda, she sat at a desk adjacent to me. We worked back to back and had brief contact when she passed over a completed patient chart to be updated in the system. Linda was a chain smoker that took every break we were allowed. That was once at 10 am, lunch, 2 or 3 pm and then we were off at 5. She talked like a chain smoker as well. Something akin to the sound nails, screws, and soda cans would make in a garbage disposal. Between all the noises were words for you to try to piece together into English. She was blessed to be a woman of few words in her late years. Although I could not confirm her age, I know she looked a day over sixty-nine. I say sixty-nine for two reasons. One, I do think she’d curse me if I whispered she might be seventy and two, Linda made it clear she was still a vibrant thing and frequented online dating sites. I put a nip in the bud of those conversations going on too long after she told me her latest date wanted to do her in the butt and inquired what number of dates was good enough to make him wait. My stomach wanted to lose its lunch but my brain knew no matter what, I’d never unsee what she caused me to imagine.
“You know what your problem is?” she said in between an unlit cigarette in her mouth. “You too uptight. How long you been in this city?” I was sure she wasn’t biting the cigarette but how it stayed in her mouth was magic. It bobbed up and down, dangerously teetering between her blackened lips but never falling. “You need to go out some. Loosen up. This city has lots to offer. Let me tell you, this site called Super Natural Dating, has been giving me tens back to back.”
I cringed, knowing that something bad was coming but too weak to stop it.
“Seriously. I forgot how I found it but you gotta try it. Men of all ages on there and they are fine.” She paused, holding the cigarette to lick her lips and whip her chair around to hand me a manila folder. “I went on a date with a tall Italian and he knew how to speak in foreign languages. Girl, his tongue was amazing.”
Eww. There it was. The bomb of yucky that I knew had more detonating to do.
“His name was Antonio. After him was George. George was no looker but he could scratch every itch you could possibly have. He moved like a snake. Slithering up and down and putting me in positions I forgot about with old age. Last week, I was out with Ken. He was no Barbie doll. Let me tell you. He had a face like mine and an ass like Jehovah.” Finishing her spiel she eyed me over her shoulder, making the cigarettes bob to unheard music. “Try the site. I promise you. It’s for any woman, every woman, and all women.”
I was almost positive I did not want to be in a place where Linda frequented. In fact, I was so against that when I went home, bored per usual and scrolling on Facebook, I realized I had nothing to lose. So I googled it. The website was number one, the few pages on the site were search results two through four and the fifth result was a site comparing other websites. I scrolled a bit to see if there were any negative bits or one sign to abort this mission. Finding none, I clicked the link.
The website was very classy. It was reminiscent of another time. The writing was script and elegant, in bold red, with black borders.
Welcome to Super Natural Dating. New here? Make an account or sign in.
I hated websites like this. You couldn’t see a thing unless you made an account.
I huffed in irritation but clicked new account.
Name: Veronica Lewis
Email: [email protected]
I saw no need to use my business account.
Age: 27
Astrological Sign: Sagittarius
Favorite Color: Sunshine yellow
Favorite Book: The Martian – Andy Weir
Perfect date: Champagne, fireplace, and casual talking
Perfect day: Warm enough to sit on the back porch watching the stars without a jacket
Favorite flower: lily
Define your perfect man: Non-cheating
I decided I started off wrong and tried again.
Define your perfect man: Funny, easy going, taller than six feet, lover of books and curvy women
Then a box popped up asking my racial preference. I had none.
Thank you so much for inviting Super Natural Dating to mediate the meeting of the love of your life. Check your email to confirm your account and the men tab to look for something you like. Send a wink for interest and a heart to ask for a date. Your happiness is our top priority so you’ll be matched in 24 hours. Happy love finding.
How audacious. Can one really promise every member they will be matched in 24 hours? That’s impossible, right? I guess not if the matching is bad. No harm in looking, though. So I clicked the men tab to see the possible prospects. There were thousands. Who knew this was a popular site, I had never heard of it before Linda mentioned it. A quick scroll proved Linda right. I saw men of all ages, 22, who loves skateboarding, 55 and prefers dogs to cats or a 34-year-old who liked dancing. To be honest, all this promise was overwhelming. How could I know what was right for me? I mean what did I want? I didn’t know. I didn’t want a boyfriend. It was too soon and I did not want another Tyrone repeat, so I supposed I was looking for a rebound. Yea! A rebound. That’s exactly what would fix me. A rebound pick me up was just what Momma ordered and made sending winks and whatever the hell else the little note said to do, feel easier than before.
Chapter 5
****Gregory****
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I was looking down at my sad, limp member wondering what I could do to get it up before the scantily clothed woman before me got naked. It’s been 300 years. I knew the drill. Buy her a drink, seduce her mentally, bring her to my guest bedroom, sex her and ask her to leave before sunup. It was simple. It was routine. It was not doing my limp dick any good. She turned to me, thinking I found her body less than satisfactory.
“Maybe I should speak into the mic,” She whispered, bending down to take me into her mouth. I knew Delilah could suck head. She could suck a nail out of a coffin if I asked her. She was that good. Hot and wet throat that would swallow me readily. Yet, the feeling was just that, a feeling. It did nothing to excite me. I pushed her back to jack myself off before I embarrassed myself any further. “Just a second babe.”
She returned to undress the few items she still had on. A blue matching bra and thong. It matched the blue in her eyes, dark as a storm on the horizon and just as electrifying against her skin. “What’s wrong Daddy? Did I do something?” She pouted at my dick.
If there was one thing you don’t do to a dick is pout. Why was a sexy woman pouting in the direction of my dick? My frustration was paramount and I realized if I let her leave without maximum pleasure this would be all over the gossip dark net before I could spell impotence. Before she could say anything else, I flipped her upside down. It really wasn’t hard. I mean shapeshifters lift weights but without working out, she weighed no more than 100 pounds. She grabbed my ankles and walking her to the couch, I tongue kissed her red bud. Under the dim lights in my living room, I could see she was wet, glistening for me.
Her moaning wasn’t distracting enough because her hands had found my dick and again were pumping. I appreciated the effort I really did. She shrieked when I, again, with no notice, flipped her right side up then threw her onto my guest bed. She bounced once. Thankfully, she was a vampire, no blood rushing to the head. Her heels still on, I yanked her feet to me and proceeded to give her second lips mouth to mouth.
“Oh, Gregory.” She moaned loudly.
I glanced up, happy to see her red hair wild and her head back in ecstasy. At least one of us was having fun.
I should be about to shoot with excitement. I had no preference. Women were women. Red-headed, blonde, short, curvy, white, or black, I had no preference. This one happened to have creamy skin and shoulder length curly red hair. She was shaved everywhere but one small reddish orange strip leading to her pink bud, just the way I liked it. She smelled like ginger and from previous experience I knew had no problem being on her knees. So what was my dilemma?
My inner monologue would have continued had she held out for her orgasm a little longer. I really can’t blame her, I am magnificent in bed. Still, with no time to recover or get a stiff one, I was, as they say, SOL, shit out of luck.
A bit out of breath, considering she didn’t need to breathe she said, “you’re next.”
As a last resort to recover my reputation and abort this mission, I yawned. “Actually, I’m tired.”
There she was pouting again.
“But I wanted more.” I thought to myself, don’t we all sweetie.
But instead I feigned sincerity, “I’m sorry,” I stumbled, struggling to remember her name. Bedding her twice had not improved my memory of her name.
“It’s Sheila.” She huffed. Dammit, she caught on. Here I thought her name was Delilah.
“I’m sorry, Sheila. I had a long day and I have a long one tomorrow. Let’s reschedule.”
She hissed and flashed me her teeth. God damn. I just cannot catch a break. An angry woman is a challenge, doable but challenging. An angry vampire woman is less so doable and more challenging.
“Who is she?” She asked, standing over me as I lay in bed. I could appreciate the view although I was losing my patience. Any woman naked and in heels can have 5 minutes of my time.
“What the hell are you talking about woman?”
“Is this your way of kicking me out so you can bed another woman?”
The truth about the difference between women and vampire women is there are no differences between them. One is more prone to go crazy faster than the other. The end. You’re welcome.
“Sheila, lay down. Come here. You’re stressed.” If she wasn’t, I sure was. I had a lot of thinking to do. I needed to consult my inner caveman and we needed to have a discussion as of yesterday.
Where, oh where, has my mojo gone? Oh where, oh where, can he be?
She burst into tears. Crying made words altogether incomprehensible but add in fangs and it’s just pointless.
“Stop this. Stop this right now.” I had had enough and my voice conveyed it. Plus, she wasn’t about to ruin my sheets with her ridiculous tantrum. She stopped crying and bless the ageless vampire beauty, looked stunning save the few drops of blood on her cheek. Vampires cried blood, there weren’t any other fluids in there. “Come here,” I demanded with the added effect of opening my arms to her.
If I didn’t remember now, I would do a damn good job of reminding myself. Rule number 3, no second dates. I don’t know why I thought this girl was worth breaking rule number two. As she tucked her head on my shoulder and aligned her naked body to mind, I suddenly remembered. She had woken me up with incredible head and she let me do her anal with no complaints. At the time, it seemed worth inviting her back.
Since I was not ruled to live in fear of the sun, I lay awake as she fell into a death-like sleep. I pondered my rules and the life they governed. Rule 1: There is no such thing as true love. This was a personal belief and a blatant rebellion against everything I am. I am a shape shifter. The animal can only be determined by the blood lineage you belong to. I am of the lion family. My brother and sisters turn into lion and lioness when they meet their true love. Just awful, isn’t it? Fate playing a royally fucked up joke on whoever was on the other side of that love. This is something I know but do not accept. I believe I can control it, whenever it happens. But the “it” in question will not happen as I have turned my back on love. It does not exist. If it did, I would protest it.
Rule number 2: Bed any woman, they’re all the same. This rule has proven itself true over so many times I have lost count. Pickiness is seen as a luxury of the elite. I disagree, they do themselves a disservice judging books by their covers. Rule number 3: never bed the same woman twice. I have found that this fosters some kind of clinginess that I cannot afford and am not socially adept enough to handle kindly. My sense of chivalry stops at opening doors for women. I sighed heavily. The shit would hit the fan tomorrow. I knew it and if Sheila was smart she wouldn’t act rashly. But she wasn’t smart. She was a woman and sometimes emotions just got in the way.