Fantasy date

The candle flickers, precariously balancing between extinction and fiery brilliance. It’s all a matter of control, he thinks, everything is a matter of control.

He leans in a little closer to the garish table decoration, pushing aside the remains of the dessert as he does. With his lips pursed he gently blows again; the flame dances to his tune.

She glides back into her chair, no sound, no fuss and smiles at this man so entranced in the moment. He lifts his eyes to hers and gently increases the flow of air to the candle; the flame vanishes leaving a glowing orange wick and pencil thin trail of smoke.

He sits back into his seat and pulls a lighter out of his jeans pocket. Nothing fancy, just a cheap blood red disposable. Relighting the candle he widens his eyes in mock horror,

“I’ve brought it back from the dead!”

“So I see,” she replies in feigned amazement, “Is there no end to your amazing powers?”

“Well…”

It has been the perfect evening, he thinks. Why was he so nervous before? The conversion had not for a single moment been forced, flirtatious remarks had been reciprocated and he had even successfully avoided the main courses with garlic. Now that pudding was done he was optimistic that there would soon be seconds of another kind.

Throughout the meal she had fascinated him, her life stories and experiences so rich in detail and depth; a life so bustlingly full for a woman of so few years; how was it possible?

She is of course utterly beautiful, a vision, long coal black hair, beguiling dark frosty green eyes and a complexion so pale and so perfect that he imagined every china doll would crack with uncontrollable jealously if they were to see her for just the briefest of moments.

And just like those porcelain figurines her clothes are wrapped to her body, tight, leaving no room for extraneous material; yet it wasn’t what she was showing that was slowing driving him crazy with desire, it was what she was allowing no one to see.

Her stylish charcoal jacket echoes a faintly militaristic design, with its vertical zips pockets, row of metal buttons and an outer and inner zip line running from three quarter length to just below her marble carved chin. It holds he believes, all kinds of pleasure for him. Not least her neck which he simply knows will be so divine that it may well be the gateway to a heaven he’ll surely never want to leave.

“Shall I get the check?” She rhetorically asks as she commandingly beckons the waitress over.

They continue to talk like old flames hoping to re-ignite as he drives
the short distance to her house on the edge of the towns large Gothic cemetery.

“Interesting area to live,” he jokes carefully.

“Everyone’s dying to get in.” She says with a complicate grin.

Parked beneath a street light, which like an inquisitive stranger arcs forward from the front of her house bathing his car in an otherworldly orange glow, he seizes this perfect opportunity and moves in for the kill.

The kiss is pure passion.

He carefully slides his hand from her evening cold cheek past the perfect line of her jaw which grinds rhythmically with his own, before finally resting next to the branded zip that guards the entrance to her jacket.

With just a moments hesitation, he begins to pull purposely down, but only enough to allow him to follow his hands path with his tender kisses.

Her breathy sighs of pleasure accompany his journey, pressing his lips to her neck, it was all he imagined, so soft and smooth and…

… and then he feels a scar; round, the size of a cigarette burn. And then another. The two are only an inch apart.

He pulls back for a moment and stares intently at his discovery.

“That’s odd” he says with a playful smile, “They look like –”

The force that yanks his head back from hers is immense, he tries to pull forward but he simply cannot.

Pain grows quickly yet all he can do is look down the bridge of nose in a futile attempt to make sense of what is happening.

She growls like a rabid dog, saliva dripping from two hugely extended fangs. Her beautiful green eyes are now blood red. She lunges at his throat, biting deeply.

His life flickers, precariously balancing between extinction and fiery brilliance. It’s all a matter of control, she thinks, everything is a matter of control.