Monday, August 15, 2016

Lying Through Her Fangs - Part Two of my Paranormal Blog Book

Lying Through Her Fangs

Part Two
Where the hell was I going to get a man that could tolerate an evening of paranormal flamboyance, let alone the Halloween extravaganza that was thrown every year? I couldn’t get the best-suited man even if an ad was placed in the local newspaper. With my current path in the love department, I’d be lucky to get laid in the next three years and that was without compelling a man to see past the fangs. Well, that wasn’t completely true. I’d had offers, but from douchebags who thought they were God’s gift to fangs. That was the main reason for keeping to solitude and quick meals on the fly. None of them would thrill me enough to get a layer of sweat on my vampire tough skin. I wasn’t about to say I was on the ugly side of the coffin but I certainly wasn’t a sexual goddess who oozed pheromones with every twitch of my hips. As I was of Algerian descent, I had long, thick hair and an hourglass figure, great attributes to have if you were going to be stuck as an immortal. My height was a bit above average and olive undertones kept me from looking like a pale creature of the moon. Still, finding a man was a possibility but not one that would withstand the oddity that I called life.
Berating myself the whole way home, I decided to do some research on the internet for the best places to meet great guys but the plan would need to include a clandestine way of compelling this man to go out with me. Seriously, who wanted that type of relationship? Well, the plan had merits for this particular case and would leave no strings of attachment behind except him getting a nagging feeling that he'd met me before. The reality of this not being an easy feat brought me full circle to the previous advertisement idea, my front door was in front of me and I hadn’t paid attention to anything as I’d sulked the whole way back to my lonely house in historical downtown Decatur. After tossing my leather clutch on the side board, the Mary Janes were slipped off by the time I had the screen blazing on my fifteen inch laptop. Scoping sites, I accidentally looked up an escort service on purpose. Telling myself it was only research didn’t take away the icky feeling at paying someone to get me through a couple of lonely nights of embarrassment in front of colleagues and my few friends.
“Why did I lie to them in the first place? I’m a freaking idiot. All I had to do was fake a happy face and convince them that my going alone was more professional when attending work related events.”
Smacking my fingers onto the keyboard in annoyance, I yelped when moody elevator music came on for the site that I had engaged. The header was clean and to the point, with tabs of the services, information about the company, and personal biographies on the employees. Thank the heavens above the site didn’t give me more viruses than I could pick up from anyone at the local dance club. Luckily, the only virus I could catch was some hybrid strain of lycanthropy as my DNA was already genetically altered from the Vlad Syndrome I had been born with.
Without a risk of STDs, and the ability to compel anyone I want [to do XXX], sex should be more of an option.
“Why am I such a shrinking violet?” I asked the dust mites and leather upholstery. Maybe if I’d had a ghost roommate I would get some type of feedback, with the added bonus that the sad details of my solitary life wouldn’t ever be voiced out loud to anyone. That would be a positive as I hated the feeling that my need for a companion made me feel like a permanent wallflower.
There was only one thing left for me to do.
Taking a deep breath, as if I needed air in my lungs, I dialed her cell and slumped in my favorite chair. Let the mental beatings begin.
“‘Ello, dearie.” The chipper, baritone voice of my only true friend in the world came through the speaker.
“Christianna, did I call at a bad time?” I asked, silently hoping she was going to sleep with the six hour time difference between us.
“Nope. I’m between dates right now so I have the time to talk to my bestest friend,” she joked.
“Having fun in Madrid? I know it’s business trip but pleasure is never out of reach for you.”
“You know me,” she answered, chuckling to herself. Christianna was my opposite in everything but our similar strain of Vlad Syndrome. She was a petite blonde with shoulder length hair, blue eyes, a feisty spirit, and took bed partners like a sexual predator.
“I’d hate to interrupt a good seduction scene.” I laughed as I imagined her holding a man on the end of a chain as she answered the phone.
“You didn’t, but I know you didn’t call to live vicariously through my sex life, so what’s up chickadee?”
With a deep breath, I gathered what little courage I had left in the pit of my stomach. “You know we have the ball and the Halloween party plus the fact that I’m always without a date so I told the gang at the bar that I was currently seeing someone that would be my date at both events.”
Taking an unnecessary breath, I gave her a moment to take in all I had spewed at her.
“Wait. Miss Stay True actually lied through her pretty little fangs about dating a non-existent man who would have to appear like a trick from a magic show? Are you kidding me?” The laughter on the other end had me banging my head against my high backed chair.
"Yeah, yeah, it's hysterical. So, are you gonna help me or not?"

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