Forever Halloween

(1)

Ms. Angelino taught a night class on vampires at Loyola University in New Orleans. A class on the influence of vampires on contemporary culture and their origins in history. It was the highlight of my junior year curriculum at the college. All of my other classes just seemed like obstacles on my journey to the treasure that each evening was in her room. We covered everything from the true stories of Vlad Tepes himself to the impact of Ann Rice's vampire chronicles on modern media.

Ms. Angelino was a treat herself, a mysterious and exotic figure, always clad in black. Tonight it was a black pantsuit, her blouse's neckline plunging deeply to the crevass that seperated her two firm breasts. Her movements were smooth and fluid, her voice enchanting, the hint of an elusive accent creeping into the way she pronounced certain words.

Her lecture tonight, and for several more evenings to come, concerned the vampire in cinema. Now that was a lesson I could sink my proverbial fangs into. Renting some primo Hollywood bloodsucking fare and soaking it all up. I think maybe I have seen everything the silver screen has to offer on vampires, but I am always up for a second serving, a third, even more.

The motion of Ms. Angelino's arms catch my eye, long slender and pale, the way I imagine her legs must be. Something about her reminds me of a gypsy, her facial features, her full lips behind their coating of bloodred lipstick, the way she swings her hips when she turns, like a dancer ready to spin into a graceful pirouette.

She mentions the Halloween party tomorrow night as she closes, and I stand with a sigh, realizing I don't have a date to it. Realizing I haven't had a date to a single party since I started college. Since I can remember. I guess having a name like Isaac doesn't help. It's as if I have my lover always with me, the same hand that hefts the load of books from my desk now. Still a virgin, all my lovers some imaginary woman in my mind.

I make my way back to my dorm room, to pick up some things. I transform from Isaac, student of vampire literature to Isaac, brave tutor of calculus. My crusade, to spread the gospel of calculus to all infidels who can't grasp the intricacies of higher mathematics. It's all boring rote to me. Just one grim necessity in navigating my course in college.

When I first came to Loyola, I became a volunteer tutor in the hopes of meeting pretty girls and working my way into their pants once I won them over with my tremendous charm as I took them to straight A's in math. So much for that plan. Most of them would have noticed a wad of gum on the sidewalk before they noticed me. I had all the significance of a calculator to them.

Tonight's special case was Marnie Lewis. A junior like me, she was a bronze goddess, a standard fixture in the campus gym, long legged, shapely, with the kind of curves that beg to be touched just to confirm they are real. She had a voice that reminded me of a pre-adolescent, but it didn't detract from her sexiness, it only added to it. It made me wonder how she sounded when she was fucking. How did she moan? How did she sound when she said your name at the height of passion?

All these things I run over in my head for the nth time as I walk to her room. She answers the door the way she usually does for our evening sessions, dressed only in some long t-shirt bearing a cartoonish design. Tonight it is a leering jack-o-lantern. The sharp points of her nipples against the white cotton fabric tell me she wears no bra, and as she greets me, I wonder if she wears panties either.

Her deeply tanned legs stand in stark contrast to the white of her shirt. No doubt, she sees me as harmless. Surely Isaac is gay, or at the least a eunich. I doubt she has any idea that I spend the majority of our sessions in the thrall of a massive erection as she twists long whisps of her hair and chews the gum she always seems to have in her mouth.

Tonight, as we navigate the mindefield of math so she can safely acquire her liberal arts degree, I find even my concentration broken by her actions. She begins to paint her toenails. Opening a bottle of metallic, silver nail polish, she begins to carefully brush it onto her delicate toes, her shapely foot propped on the edge of her chair. For a moment, I can't even remember where I had been.

She glances up, talking in her little girl voice, "I'm sorry Isaac, I am paying attention. Would you like me to stop?"

I swallow hard, "No. Um. Sorry, I just lost my place."

She flashes me a fake smile then returns to painting her nails again as I manage to find my place. I notice I have begun to sweat, and my hand shakes slightly. She was the kind of girl I had started all this tutoring for and here I am sitting across from her without the balls to ask her to tomorrow night's Halloween party. What kind of inexcusable weenie had I become?

Briefly I glance around the room looking for pictures of her with some boyfriend. I don't see any. Surely somebody like Marnie had a boyfriend. Maybe not. Maybe she is just waiting for Mr. Right to ask her. Maybe she is anxiously waiting for her shy math tutor to seduce her. Get a grip Isaac, I tell myself. I swallow again, close my eyes and say to hell with it.

"Marnie, would you like to go to the Halloween party with me tomorrow night?"

She glances up from the intent work on her nails, tilting her head to one side, for a brief moment a look of slight confusion on her face, one that reads, "Not if you were the last guy on earth you hopeless freak." Then she smiles, the letters F-A-K-E practically painted across her perfect white teeth.

"I'm sorry Isaac, I already have a date."

I just nod as I gather up my stuff and she seems to forget that I had ever even asked. What had I been thinking? What if she didn't even want me to tutor her anymore after that idiotic question?

As she walks me to the door, she asks, "See you at the party tomorrow?"

"Uh, sure," I mutter.

Then the door closes and I am alone again, defeated, deflated, headed back to my own dorm room.

After I put my things away and strip off my clothes I plop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. I close my eyes, imagining Marnie there again, her leg tucked close to her chest, her head ducked down to see her hand as it slowly brushes the silver enamel on her toenails. I can see up her shirt now, and see the soft golden down of her pubic hair, and know she isn't wearing any panties.

As I wrap my hand around my dick, she looks up at me, her lips slightly parted, her eyes half lidded, and she asks, "Do you want to fuck me Isaac?" I stroke myself hard and fast as I imagine riding her, hearing her little girl voice calling my name as I plunge deep inside of her. But even in my dreams, in my fantasies, in her screams of passion, Isaac is still a stupid name. I curse my parents as I feel my own cum pour over my hand.

(2)

The Halloween party is at some frat house on campus, it's Greek letters meaningless to me because no fraternity was ever going to ask me to join it's ranks. From the sidewalk, the music pours out like an angry river, grinding guitar riffs juxtaposed with a throbbing drum machine. Some new band I haven't heard before, but that beckons you to shake you ass and smash your brains out at the same time. I have chosen my customary costume, the ruffled shirt and red satin lined cloak of a vampire, topped off with some pale paint for my face and a decent looking set of fangs. The only fault in the outfit of course is my glasses, the bitter curse of near-sightedness detracting from my goth look. It's a trade off, be the four eyed vampire or sacrifice the ability to recognize anybody from a distance of greater than six feet.

Other vampires, along with witches, frankensteins, phantoms of the opera populate the frat house, and some girl wearing a bikini with a cat tail pinned on the end and a rubber feline nose covering her own. I can't figure out if she is pretending to be a cat or pretending to be a stripper in a cat getup.

Somebody thrusts a glass in my hand that has red punch reeking of strong alcohol in it and I hear a voice say "Heya geek" and I'm right at home. Costumed bodies undulate on the floor, and the music blares on deafiningly. Someboy bobs for apples, and as I walk by, I smell that the apples have been plopped into a fresh keg of bear for the bobbing.

I catch a glimpse of Marnie in the distance, dressed in her version of a witch: stiletto heeled boots, fishnet stockings, an off the shoulder black dress with tattered ends. A pointed hat tops her head, and a prosthetic nose with a prominent wart has been pasted over her own. Some big linebacker type dressed in a sad excuse for a wolfman costume is using her for arm candy.

Just then I decide coming was a bad idea altogether, and as I start to step back and turn around I bump into somebody. Good job Isaac, I tell myself, it's probably some other football goon who has been bobbing for apples and has all the reasoning that a barbarian possesses when he's had one too many drinks.

"Excuse me," I say as I turn around, bracing myself.

And I am looking into those eyes. Two icey diamonds framed by a thick mass of black hair, bloodred lips slightly parted. "Oh...Ms. Angelino, sorry for being so clumsy."

She smiles, something playfully seductive in her look and I start to think that maybe some grand joke is in the planning, and I am about to be the butt of it. I just didn't expect one of my instructors to be involved.

"It's okay Isaac," she purrs, her strange accent almost making my name not sound quite so bad.

I smile nervously back at her. She doesn't have a costume on herself, but rather a short black dress, spaghetti straps draped over her slender shoulders. The dress ends just below her hips and black stockings hug her shapely legs, her feet encased in a short pair of lace-up boots not too dissimilar from those Marnie is wearing. I fight the erection that threatens to turn my pants into some facsimile of a tent.

She puts her long nailed hand on my chest and leans close, her lips almost brushing against my ear, her voice sending a chill down the back of my neck, "I was hoping you'd be here."

The opening chords of Type O Negative's "Everyone I Love is Dead" fills the room and I manage to croak, "Really?"

She wraps her fingers around my collar and says quietly, her breath a tingle on my ear "Dance with me."

As I follow her, I see a dark seam down the back of the stockings on her legs, and the smooth, fluid motion of her ass. My mind is rife with questions of what is happeninng, and I find myself inexorably drawn to her, like a magnet.

On the dancefloor she spins and presses her body to me, wrapping one arm around my waist, grinding against me as the crunching riffs of the music tear through the air, accompanied by the haunting vocals of Peter Steele.

I try to tell her, I am the worst dancer, but my voice escapes me. I find myself moving with her, her lithe body pasted to me, and I let my hand slide around her waist. I think I hear something like a purr escape her lips, but I can't be sure, the music is so loud, the sounds of hundreds of voices carrying on a hundred conversations beneath it. I feel hot, faint, intoxicated, elated. I can't figure out if I am going to puke, pass out or have an orgasm. Maybe all three.

She looks into my eyes, paralyzing me with hers, reaching up to run her hands down the side of my face, her touch cool, leaving a line of goosebumps in it's wake. As the song ends, she simply slides one of her hands into my own, and leads me out the door. I feel other eyes on us, and I figure they are wondering the same thing I am: What the hell is Isaac doing being led around like a lost puppy by Ms. Angelino?

She takes me to a sleek black BMW double parked illegally outside and opens the passenger door for me. Who am I to argue? I am not sure where this is going, but I am sure as hell going to find out. As she climbs in I say, "Ms. Angelino..."

In one swift moment that surprises me so much that I jerk back bumping my head on the window behind me she places a cool fingertip on my lips, "Please Isaac, call me Vanessa."

I take a deep breath as she sits back in her seat, starting the car and pulling out into the road. Her CD player kicks on and "Living Dead Girl" blasts from the speakers. Some new re-mix of it I haven't heard before tonight. "Um...Vanessa. Do you mind telling me what's going on?"

Her hand reaches over and pats my knee lightly and she says, "Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

The same hand switches back to the gear shift, jamming the car into third gear as we blast through a 25mph zone towards the main campus.

"Um...where are we going?"

"Isaac...didn't you ever hear the story about the cat and it's curiosity? We are going to my office."

Now I have one more piece to the puzzle. Abducted by a crazed instructor on Halloween night and taken to her office for some unknown reason. I always like a good mystery, but not with me as the star of it. I glance down at her black stockinged legs and just do what she says.

She parks the car, beckoning me to follow her as she makes her way to the locked door of the building housing her office, unlocking it with her key. I follow her down the hall, my eyes fixed on the two black seams of her stockings and how they perfectly traced down the back of her legs.

My mind still spins with it all and I am afraid any moment she will look back and notice the mega erection I can't seem to suppress. She opens her office door and turns to face me briefly, a wicked smile dancing across her lips.

"Isaac, I have something to show you," and she turns to face a long bookshelf lined with countless vampire novels and references.

I start to breathe a sigh of relief. So this is it? She recognized me as a fellow enthusiast of vampire literature and she brought me here to show me her limited edition hardcover Interview With The Vampire personally signed by Ann Rice or something like that.

Then she reaches up and does something to the front of her dress and it falls off of her like a snake shedding it's old skin, falling in a heap to the floor. She wears a garter belt that holds up her black thigh high stockings, but nothing else. Her back is not obscured by the strap of any bra, and her bare ass is round and perfect. The black tatoo of an ankh is nestled in the curve of her spine right at it's base.

I'm still worried that it might be some practical joke albeit pretty damned elaborate as she backs up to her desk, resting her hands on it, her ice blue eyes fixing mine, drilling into me like two intense lasers.

"Do you like what you see Isaac?"

My mouth moves and for a moment I forget to speak but then I manage, "Um...yes."

She smiles, her lips a beckoning curl, "Then what are you waiting for? Take me."

The moment I've been waiting for all this time, and I am paralyzed. Finally my muscles respond and I feel like I float across the room to her. I wrap my arms around the smooth flesh of her waist and bend to kiss her, but her lips dash for mine, and I feel her tongue thrusting into my mouth, dancing there like a serpent, cool and hungry. Her naked breasts are pressed against me, and even through my shirt I can feel her nipples harden.

She pulls back, her eyes hypnotizing me, "Fuck me Isaac." She pauses dramatically. "Please."

Our lips merge again, and this time I meet her tongue with equal ferocity. Her hands press my shoulders downwards, and I let my lips trace a path down her torso, pausing to take each hard nipple of her small upturned breasts into my mouth. I don't linger long with them, but descend lower, over her soft abdomen, past her navel where a gold ring pierces her flesh, until I am kneeling before her, looking at the thin line of pubic hair above her pussy.

She wraps her hands in my hair and pulls me to her forcefully, and I feel the soft lips of her clitoris pressed against my lips. My tongue flicks out almost of its own volition and violates her, forcing its' way into her womanhood and she groans deeply, grinding her crotch against me, her hands balling into fists in my hair. My own hands slide up the nylon of her stockings, following the line of the seams, then grasp her ass firmly.

My tongue dances in her, but then she is pulling me up, sweeping one hand behind her to clear her desk of everything. Pencils, pens, staplers, papers, tape dispensers all crash to the floor as she mounts the desk, hungrily fixing me with her gaze. She lifts her long legs to the desk as well, hooking her heels on its edge, spreading herself wide, poised like some bird of prey before me.

I tear my pants open, somehow managing not to fumble despite my nervousness and then I thrust into her. Somehow, one of her legs is braced on my shoulder, her leg rising in a straight line, and the other wraps around my waist. I lick the seam of the nylon stocking as I fuck her, and I know it all has to be a dream, but damn I never want to wake up. She looks into my eyes, and its as if her own glow in the darkness and she says huskily, "It's not a dream Isaac."

I cum, arching my back and groaning, and she growls in pleasure. What a jerk I think. My first time out and I last all of what, three minutes?

But then she is standing pressing me back against the desk. Her hands dexterously overcome each button on my shirt and then she is kneeling in front of me, sliding off my pants, socks, shoes. Cool lips wrap around my dick and I am instantly hard again. Sharp nails scrape down my ass and she takes me deep into her throat, in and out, over and over.

I feel myself falling back against the desk and she helps me to lay on it, my legs dangling off. She straddles me and begins kissing my chest, her lips coming back to tickle my ear again.

Her voice a whisper, each word hypnotizing, she speaks, lips pressed to my ear, "I have watched you so long Isaac." She reaches back, grasping my cock firmly in her cool hand and guiding me into her pussy. My back arches reflexively as she settles onto me and begins to impale her body repeatedly on me.

"I have seen your soul, inside you. You are perfect Isaac, you are what I have been searching for. You truly understand, you truly belong with me."

I am beginning to wonder what the hell she is talking about when she rises, riding me harder, her breasts bouncing violently with the motion. "I have something else to show you."

Vanessa throws her head back, and when she looks at me now, I see two sharp fangs protruding from her lips, her eyes intense. Oh shit, I think, some psycho vampire obsessed professor is about to punture my jugular with dime store fangs.

But when her fangs tear into the flesh of my neck, it's not pain I feel, but ecstasy. Her hands pin my own, with a strength far greater than human, but I don't fight, I surender to her, and as my vision begins to become a narrowing tunnel, I feel my self cumming again and again. She is everything to me, my life, my universe, my oblivion.

(3)

Her voice guides me back to conscience, a beacon in the blackness of dreamless sleep, a klaxon startling me from the shores of the river Styx.

"Isaac, it's okay. It's okay. You're alright."

Light starts first as a tiny pinprick in the fabric of darkness, then it is a blinding spotlight. I ache, I am cold, I am empty. Hungry. Hunger like you get when you go to class all day skipping breakfast and lunch. Multiplied by a factor of ten.

Slowly she comes into focus, her eyes drowning me in their chilling depths, her face so close to mine I should feel her breath, but she doesn't seem to be breathing.

"What...what happened?"

Her lips briefly press to mine, a butterfly kiss. "You know what happened."

A dream. That's what it was. An erotic dream. An erotic nightmare?