You Remind Me of Bela Lugosi
by William Stephen Taylor
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Dracula has a chance meeting with a lonely and unloved punk girl.
_____________________________________________________________________
“Bye, Mum, see you later,” I shouted, and picked up my black leather handbag. I was off to meet my fat boyfriend Fred at a Halloween party, near Earls Court, or so I thought.
I’d had my suspicions for a while that he was bonking Cheryl Lewis, blond hair, big tits and a mouth to match. Maybe it was because Fred and I weren’t that intimate; not that he hadn’t tried, but I’m more into solid relationships than casual sex; which every under-twenty girl should be. Not that I was a virgin, post-pubescent experiments down by the river, skinny-dipping in the summer, had taught me of the ecstatic pleasures of erotic fumbling with other girls and boys.
I walked in on the bottle party, it was fancy dress only and as I dress in the Goth fashion and being a Steampunk fan I wore granddad’s WWII flying jacket, leather helmet and goggles. As I plonked my half-bottle of vodka on the bar the buzz died. You could have cut the air with a knife. I knew most of the people there and didn’t care for most of them, so to rub it in they smirked and parted like the Red Sea, and the path led to Fred dressed as Romeo and Cheryl, imitating a simpering Juliet, sitting in the corner, and she’s wearing, or should I say ‘flashing’ an engagement ring with what looks like a diamond the size of a grain of salt in its setting.
At that moment, I wished I had a .44 Magnum, but wishes such as these never come true so, without looking for something to beat them to a pulp, and being a civilised person, I left without a word picking up my vodka on the way out.
I unscrewed the top and half-emptied the bottle in one go and the rest in three more. Being a tidy person I dumped the bottle in a rubbish bin and headed for the tube for home in Victor Gardens, Hornchurch.
I don’t know how I managed, being half-cut as I was, but I found myself on the tube heading for home with the half bottle of vodka still inside me, working its mischief. I was alone in the carriage, except for this old bloke who was sitting straight up, staring at the window opposite. He was wearing evening dress, the old style they wore in the 40’s and his black hair was slicked back; not only that, he was wearing a cape, the ones they had in the late nineteenth century. He was probably on his way to a party somewhere, as he had pale makeup and dark-red lips, the big puffta.
“You remind me of Bela Lugosi,” I said and grinned like an idiot.
He didn’t exactly look at me; his eyes flickered down to my laced-up ankle boots and back again.
“Fancy-dress party is it, or do you dress like that all the time?” I said and sniggered.
I think it was the snigger that did it.
He turned his gaze towards me, and his eyes bored into mine and I rose from my seat. The fuzzy silliness left me and I felt quite sober, stone-cold in fact, as I sort of ‘drifted’ over to him.
He looked at me and I felt suddenly weak, powerless. I looked closely at his features; he was the most handsome, oozing with sex appeal-over-forty-male in the whole universe. He ran his eyes over my dress and I felt naked, he regarded at my Goth makeup intently and licked his lips as he gazed at my throat.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked as he pointed with his finger at my ultra-short skirt, displaying my suspenders and black stockings; a glaring contrast to my other gear.
Oh, his voice, husky, manly with an alluring, hypnotic accent. “I was going to a fancy dress party,” I managed to say, sounding like Norma Jean.
His right eyebrow rose slightly and a semblance of a smile creased his lips. “Really,” he said, “And where are you off to now?”
The words came from my lips, but they sounded inside my head, “Wherever it is you are going,” I said. “And I would very much like to accompany you if I may.”
I was longing for him to agree and he rose and took my hand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said and smiled.
That smile, oh, that devilish grin; it was wicked, menacing and I loved it. His smile was all I wanted from him, no words just his smile, and of course his touch for as his skin came into contact with mine my whole body tingled, all my nerves stood on end and my insides, way down low in my pelvis, caught fire and burned and burned and burned gloriously. I was on fire from toe to head, in fact I almost collapsed in ecstasy. I could hardly believe it; I had just had a tremendous orgasm, just from the touch of his hand. I landed with a jolt on my feet. Had I been floating?
The train pulled to a stop at Hornchurch. “Your stop, I believe,” he said, “and mine too.”
We were there already!!! The journey takes over thirty minutes and we were there in … Fucking hell, that mind-blowing orgasm, it was … so long – thirty minutes … Oh, my God, it was the longest one I’d ever had. I wanted him, I couldn’t care less how.
He held my hand as if he were leading me into a ballroom, like a real gentleman, my whole body tingling, bordering on my next orgasm.
We left the station, still hand in hand, passing couples similarly dressed, or wearing Halloween costumes.
A Pit Bull Terrier barked furiously at us, but we ignored it, leaving the owner struggling to stop the rabid beast from pursuing us.
We walked on to the park and found a secluded grassy spot where he undressed me, slowly.
I lay down on the grass, and he crouched over me and covered me with his cloak as he lowered his lips to my throat. His clothing disappeared. His hands wandered over my body, and I squirmed and moaned in ecstasy, my body on fire. I felt his fangs pierce my skin as he bit into my throat, and I smelled blood. He remained there for the whole length of a mind-blinding orgasm, like a never-ending roller-coaster ride. He bit me everywhere again and again, drawing a little blood each time, licking the area immediately, sealing the punctures. He bit my breasts, my arms, my stomach, my thighs and my – well, you know where, which is when I took off once more into the wide black yonder.
As I came down he knelt before me, his sexual weapon fully extended. He parted my thighs and entered my aching vagina with amazing tenderness, sinking inside me centimetre by centimetre – and there were quite a number of those – until his groin pressed against mine.
It could have been my imagination, but I definitely heard Ravel’s “Bolero” playing inside my head with my lover moving in time with the beat. I lost all sense of time too; I only know my mind disintegrated with the music’s crescendo.
When I came round I found him lying naked between my thighs still performing gently, tenderly until he gasped softly and came to his climax.
He dressed himself and dressed me with the same tenderness that he had undressed me, minus the Steampunk gear, that is.
As we were walking along the pathway, arm in arm, I realised that something special had happened to me. I asked him, “What is your name?”
e stopped, took my hand and pulled me to him. “Cauldar, Sandor Cauldar,” he said, his lips close to my ear.
He was still holding my hand and he raised it, and I spun round, as if dancing and he pulled me back into his firm embrace. “And what is your name, lady in black?”
“Anne, Anne Lombard,” I said, as our bodies became one.
“Aah, Lombard,” he said, and looked towards the heavens. “I know that name all too well, a well-to-do family, a pity I could find no time for them, they were too busy chasing after power, no time for … fun.” He paused and gazed deep into my soul. “I want you,” he said.
“You’ve already had me,” I replied and licked my lips, wondering, hoping.
“Forever,” said he, in that velvet tone of his.
“You’ve got me,” I said and felt my body glow; I was on fire, and I was thirsty. The memory of the scent of my blood entered my senses and I knew what I craved.
He looked at me and I heard his voice inside my head, ‘Take this,’ he said and bit the back of his hand, offering it to me.
I saw the blood seep out of the cut and closed my lips greedily around it. It was the most beautiful taste that had ever graced my palate, for no wine was sweeter than this. I drank deeply until he pulled my head back sharply. He licked the wound, sealing it and let go of my hair.
My throat was exposed once more and his mouth descended, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight. He bit once more into my throat, oh, the sweet agony of that fearful grip. Sad to say he remained only a second or two. He looked at me and said, “You are truly mine.”
Something was happening to me, physically, I felt power flow through my muscles as the blood pounded through my veins and arteries, and to say I felt alive would be a gross understatement. I was life itself, I saw the future as an unending stream of stars and suns. From the heavens I looked down at the Earth as it rotated slowly, I flew beyond the moon, past Saturn and Jupiter.
I came too with a gasp and gazed into his eyes. I saw his love and concern for me. I suddenly felt as light as a snowflake as the ground beneath my feet fell away and we rose above the treetops together where we embraced and kissed. Oh, that kiss, the ecstasy; all I can say is, he blew my frigging mind again, a glorious light-speed journey almost to the end of the universe before he brought me back.
We looked down at the pathway from on high at the couples walking arm in arm. I was floating, my hand in his.
He said, looking down at a courting couple snogging on a park bench. “Shall we imbibe, just a snack?”
“Not here,” I said. “I know a better place where we can have a real feast.”
His eyes glowed a deep red. “Aah,” he said, “the party, your sweet revenge.”
‘So, he knows about Fred and Cheryl; he really can read my mind.’
‘Of course I can, my love, and you can read my thoughts when I send them.’
We flew to Earls Court, hand in hand once more; wow, what a feeling, what a sense of freedom, and I thought like a raptor, how it would be to pounce on my prey from on high.
We found Fred and Cheryl bonking in the back garden, the pair of them writhing naked in the dirt, Fred with his fat arse bouncing, and Cheryl, her legs flailing the air.
My fangs extended, my fingernails became talons. I was ready.
We pounced.
I took Fred from behind. I pulled his head back by his greasy hair and helped myself to his throat while he was banging away; he didn’t seem to mind and only slowed down to a stop as I downed my second litre.
Sandor had done the same to Cheryl, whose look of ecstasy was fading as the life-force left her body, leaving her staring at the night sky.
We left them locked in death, our first joint-kill.
I took him home to meet my family.
“I’m back, Mum,” I said, as I closed the front door behind us.
She appeared from the parlour, I could hear the others squabbling as usual; but I would soon change all that.
“Oh, what a pair you make,” she said, looking us up and down, and creased her brow slightly at me.
I got the message. “Didn’t go to the party,” I said. “I went for a walk in the park and met this gentleman, his name is Sandor.”
He approached her. “Pleased to meet you,” she said and held out her hand.
He took it. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “You have a beautiful daughter, Madame Lombard, a beauty passed on by you.”
I don’t know whether it was his words or the fact that his flesh was touching hers, as she seemed to glow and her eyes regarded him as a long-lost son.
I left them to their small talk and looked in the hallway mirror to see how my hair had stood up to the last hours’ events. Instead of seeing a young Goth female, I saw the wall behind me. Oh, bugger, how was I to do my makeup now?
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: Dracula has a chance meeting with a lonely and unloved punk girl.
_____________________________________________________________________
“Bye, Mum, see you later,” I shouted, and picked up my black leather handbag. I was off to meet my fat boyfriend Fred at a Halloween party, near Earls Court, or so I thought.
I’d had my suspicions for a while that he was bonking Cheryl Lewis, blond hair, big tits and a mouth to match. Maybe it was because Fred and I weren’t that intimate; not that he hadn’t tried, but I’m more into solid relationships than casual sex; which every under-twenty girl should be. Not that I was a virgin, post-pubescent experiments down by the river, skinny-dipping in the summer, had taught me of the ecstatic pleasures of erotic fumbling with other girls and boys.
I walked in on the bottle party, it was fancy dress only and as I dress in the Goth fashion and being a Steampunk fan I wore granddad’s WWII flying jacket, leather helmet and goggles. As I plonked my half-bottle of vodka on the bar the buzz died. You could have cut the air with a knife. I knew most of the people there and didn’t care for most of them, so to rub it in they smirked and parted like the Red Sea, and the path led to Fred dressed as Romeo and Cheryl, imitating a simpering Juliet, sitting in the corner, and she’s wearing, or should I say ‘flashing’ an engagement ring with what looks like a diamond the size of a grain of salt in its setting.
At that moment, I wished I had a .44 Magnum, but wishes such as these never come true so, without looking for something to beat them to a pulp, and being a civilised person, I left without a word picking up my vodka on the way out.
I unscrewed the top and half-emptied the bottle in one go and the rest in three more. Being a tidy person I dumped the bottle in a rubbish bin and headed for the tube for home in Victor Gardens, Hornchurch.
I don’t know how I managed, being half-cut as I was, but I found myself on the tube heading for home with the half bottle of vodka still inside me, working its mischief. I was alone in the carriage, except for this old bloke who was sitting straight up, staring at the window opposite. He was wearing evening dress, the old style they wore in the 40’s and his black hair was slicked back; not only that, he was wearing a cape, the ones they had in the late nineteenth century. He was probably on his way to a party somewhere, as he had pale makeup and dark-red lips, the big puffta.
“You remind me of Bela Lugosi,” I said and grinned like an idiot.
He didn’t exactly look at me; his eyes flickered down to my laced-up ankle boots and back again.
“Fancy-dress party is it, or do you dress like that all the time?” I said and sniggered.
I think it was the snigger that did it.
He turned his gaze towards me, and his eyes bored into mine and I rose from my seat. The fuzzy silliness left me and I felt quite sober, stone-cold in fact, as I sort of ‘drifted’ over to him.
He looked at me and I felt suddenly weak, powerless. I looked closely at his features; he was the most handsome, oozing with sex appeal-over-forty-male in the whole universe. He ran his eyes over my dress and I felt naked, he regarded at my Goth makeup intently and licked his lips as he gazed at my throat.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked as he pointed with his finger at my ultra-short skirt, displaying my suspenders and black stockings; a glaring contrast to my other gear.
Oh, his voice, husky, manly with an alluring, hypnotic accent. “I was going to a fancy dress party,” I managed to say, sounding like Norma Jean.
His right eyebrow rose slightly and a semblance of a smile creased his lips. “Really,” he said, “And where are you off to now?”
The words came from my lips, but they sounded inside my head, “Wherever it is you are going,” I said. “And I would very much like to accompany you if I may.”
I was longing for him to agree and he rose and took my hand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said and smiled.
That smile, oh, that devilish grin; it was wicked, menacing and I loved it. His smile was all I wanted from him, no words just his smile, and of course his touch for as his skin came into contact with mine my whole body tingled, all my nerves stood on end and my insides, way down low in my pelvis, caught fire and burned and burned and burned gloriously. I was on fire from toe to head, in fact I almost collapsed in ecstasy. I could hardly believe it; I had just had a tremendous orgasm, just from the touch of his hand. I landed with a jolt on my feet. Had I been floating?
The train pulled to a stop at Hornchurch. “Your stop, I believe,” he said, “and mine too.”
We were there already!!! The journey takes over thirty minutes and we were there in … Fucking hell, that mind-blowing orgasm, it was … so long – thirty minutes … Oh, my God, it was the longest one I’d ever had. I wanted him, I couldn’t care less how.
He held my hand as if he were leading me into a ballroom, like a real gentleman, my whole body tingling, bordering on my next orgasm.
We left the station, still hand in hand, passing couples similarly dressed, or wearing Halloween costumes.
A Pit Bull Terrier barked furiously at us, but we ignored it, leaving the owner struggling to stop the rabid beast from pursuing us.
We walked on to the park and found a secluded grassy spot where he undressed me, slowly.
I lay down on the grass, and he crouched over me and covered me with his cloak as he lowered his lips to my throat. His clothing disappeared. His hands wandered over my body, and I squirmed and moaned in ecstasy, my body on fire. I felt his fangs pierce my skin as he bit into my throat, and I smelled blood. He remained there for the whole length of a mind-blinding orgasm, like a never-ending roller-coaster ride. He bit me everywhere again and again, drawing a little blood each time, licking the area immediately, sealing the punctures. He bit my breasts, my arms, my stomach, my thighs and my – well, you know where, which is when I took off once more into the wide black yonder.
As I came down he knelt before me, his sexual weapon fully extended. He parted my thighs and entered my aching vagina with amazing tenderness, sinking inside me centimetre by centimetre – and there were quite a number of those – until his groin pressed against mine.
It could have been my imagination, but I definitely heard Ravel’s “Bolero” playing inside my head with my lover moving in time with the beat. I lost all sense of time too; I only know my mind disintegrated with the music’s crescendo.
When I came round I found him lying naked between my thighs still performing gently, tenderly until he gasped softly and came to his climax.
He dressed himself and dressed me with the same tenderness that he had undressed me, minus the Steampunk gear, that is.
As we were walking along the pathway, arm in arm, I realised that something special had happened to me. I asked him, “What is your name?”
e stopped, took my hand and pulled me to him. “Cauldar, Sandor Cauldar,” he said, his lips close to my ear.
He was still holding my hand and he raised it, and I spun round, as if dancing and he pulled me back into his firm embrace. “And what is your name, lady in black?”
“Anne, Anne Lombard,” I said, as our bodies became one.
“Aah, Lombard,” he said, and looked towards the heavens. “I know that name all too well, a well-to-do family, a pity I could find no time for them, they were too busy chasing after power, no time for … fun.” He paused and gazed deep into my soul. “I want you,” he said.
“You’ve already had me,” I replied and licked my lips, wondering, hoping.
“Forever,” said he, in that velvet tone of his.
“You’ve got me,” I said and felt my body glow; I was on fire, and I was thirsty. The memory of the scent of my blood entered my senses and I knew what I craved.
He looked at me and I heard his voice inside my head, ‘Take this,’ he said and bit the back of his hand, offering it to me.
I saw the blood seep out of the cut and closed my lips greedily around it. It was the most beautiful taste that had ever graced my palate, for no wine was sweeter than this. I drank deeply until he pulled my head back sharply. He licked the wound, sealing it and let go of my hair.
My throat was exposed once more and his mouth descended, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight. He bit once more into my throat, oh, the sweet agony of that fearful grip. Sad to say he remained only a second or two. He looked at me and said, “You are truly mine.”
Something was happening to me, physically, I felt power flow through my muscles as the blood pounded through my veins and arteries, and to say I felt alive would be a gross understatement. I was life itself, I saw the future as an unending stream of stars and suns. From the heavens I looked down at the Earth as it rotated slowly, I flew beyond the moon, past Saturn and Jupiter.
I came too with a gasp and gazed into his eyes. I saw his love and concern for me. I suddenly felt as light as a snowflake as the ground beneath my feet fell away and we rose above the treetops together where we embraced and kissed. Oh, that kiss, the ecstasy; all I can say is, he blew my frigging mind again, a glorious light-speed journey almost to the end of the universe before he brought me back.
We looked down at the pathway from on high at the couples walking arm in arm. I was floating, my hand in his.
He said, looking down at a courting couple snogging on a park bench. “Shall we imbibe, just a snack?”
“Not here,” I said. “I know a better place where we can have a real feast.”
His eyes glowed a deep red. “Aah,” he said, “the party, your sweet revenge.”
‘So, he knows about Fred and Cheryl; he really can read my mind.’
‘Of course I can, my love, and you can read my thoughts when I send them.’
We flew to Earls Court, hand in hand once more; wow, what a feeling, what a sense of freedom, and I thought like a raptor, how it would be to pounce on my prey from on high.
We found Fred and Cheryl bonking in the back garden, the pair of them writhing naked in the dirt, Fred with his fat arse bouncing, and Cheryl, her legs flailing the air.
My fangs extended, my fingernails became talons. I was ready.
We pounced.
I took Fred from behind. I pulled his head back by his greasy hair and helped myself to his throat while he was banging away; he didn’t seem to mind and only slowed down to a stop as I downed my second litre.
Sandor had done the same to Cheryl, whose look of ecstasy was fading as the life-force left her body, leaving her staring at the night sky.
We left them locked in death, our first joint-kill.
I took him home to meet my family.
“I’m back, Mum,” I said, as I closed the front door behind us.
She appeared from the parlour, I could hear the others squabbling as usual; but I would soon change all that.
“Oh, what a pair you make,” she said, looking us up and down, and creased her brow slightly at me.
I got the message. “Didn’t go to the party,” I said. “I went for a walk in the park and met this gentleman, his name is Sandor.”
He approached her. “Pleased to meet you,” she said and held out her hand.
He took it. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “You have a beautiful daughter, Madame Lombard, a beauty passed on by you.”
I don’t know whether it was his words or the fact that his flesh was touching hers, as she seemed to glow and her eyes regarded him as a long-lost son.
I left them to their small talk and looked in the hallway mirror to see how my hair had stood up to the last hours’ events. Instead of seeing a young Goth female, I saw the wall behind me. Oh, bugger, how was I to do my makeup now?
About the Author
Descended from the Clan Taylor, William Stephen Taylor was born in Manchester and now lives in Germany. A septuagenarian, he has been writing for over ten years since early retirement and has published fifty ebooks on Amazon. Unfortunately, he says, he also has one foot in the grave.