Living the Poem by Steve Robison

So last night a vampire knocks on my door. I invited her in.

I’ve watched enough episodes of True Blood to know that was a bad idea. I knew she couldn’t come in and drain my blood and kill me if I didn’t invite her in. But what can I say? I’m a man. And she was like smokin’ hot. A redhead. Slim. Almost athletic. I wondered then if vampires worked out. I thought probably they didn’t have to. I thought probably they stayed in exactly the same physical shape through their new eternal lives as they were when they died. Then I wondered why so many vampires were pale. I mean, if they don’t age, and when they get injured, they heal, why would they grow pale? Maybe it’s because most of them have been vampires for a very long time, and in centuries past, weren’t most people pretty pale? I accepted this line of reasoning and dismissed the thought, focused again on her amazing body.

She was about my height, in heels, six inches, I’d estimate, which puts her real height at around 5’ 4”. Perfect. And like I said, she looked like she worked out. She had a body not unlike those women you see in the CrossFit competitions. She had perfect white teeth, but for the two protruding fangs. A smile to die for.

It was dark in the room but for the light over the stove. But even in that weak light, her emerald eyes shone. She had that light you sometimes see in movie stars and fashion models and witches. I’ve never dated a movie star or a fashion model but I did date a witch once. She wasn’t all that pretty but she had those shiny eyes. Like glittering from the inside. And she smelled nice.

I couldn’t discern a smell from my new vampire friend. I invited her to sit in the recliner facing the couch, motioning her with a vague movement of my arm. She sat instead next to me on my faux leather brown couch.

She moved closer to me, too close. But I didn’t mind. Like I said, she was hot. And I was lonely. I’m a pretty good looking guy, better than average, earn a good living, drive a sports car. And I’m a nice guy. A modern sensitive type. Not exactly a chick magnet, but I do alright. But I’d had a dry spell. I’m a little embarrassed to say it had been over ten months since my last sexual encounter that didn’t involve internet porn or hand lotion.

Even in the sparse light I could see through her sheer white top. I could just make out the outline of her left breast, her pert nipple. I reminded myself that either she was a vampire or this was some amazingly vivid dream. A little internal battle ensued. I chuckled to myself as a vision of Fred Flintstone came to mind, with a cro-magnon devil on one shoulder and a prehistoric angel on the other. I opted to believe that either this was a dream, in which case there was no risk to my blood and thus my health, or that it was real, that she was real, but that a vampire as smokin’ hot as she couldn’t possibly mean me any harm. Surely she’d leave me enough blood to allow me to live. Yeah, I know, typical man—we’ll believe any rationalization if there’s the possibility of sex with a smokin’ hot redhead with glowing green eyes and perfect teeth sitting next to us on the couch.

So, settled in, and fully committed to my rationalized line of thought, I tried a little light conversation.

“Should I turn on the light?” I motioned to the lamp on my left.

“The light hurts my eyes.”

“Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.” Yeah. It felt pretty lame as I said it, but I was hoping to make her comfortable. I mean, I couldn’t very well have asked her “want to have sex?”

“I’ll eat later.” she said.

“What’s your name?”

“I’ve been called many,” she said mysteriously.

The conversation went on like that inanely for a while. Then I asked “why are you here?”

“I vant to suck your bloood,” she said. Then she winked.

At that point I thought about my options. One. Rescind her invitation. (Yeah, I’ve watched too much True Blood, but at least in that show, when a vampire doesn’t have a standing and explicit invitation to be in a person’s home, the rules of the universe say they must leave immediately.) Two. Laugh. Three. Well, I couldn’t come up with a third option so I laughed. It probably sounded like a forced laugh because I was thinking at the time that I really liked the idea of keeping, if not all, at least most of my blood. Then again, the prospect of sex with a smokin’ hot redhead vampire in a sheer white shirt with nipples showing through was more than a little attractive to me. After all, as I’ve mentioned, it’s been over ten months. Ten long months. And a man’s got needs.

Just when I was convinced my ten-month sexless streak might come to an end, there was a knock at the door.