An Evening's Drink

An Evening's Drink

I knew I wouldn't be decent until the evening. He’d pestered me, “let me treat you to dinner,” but I told him, “another time, maybe.” He seemed disheartened, but his mood, or at least the mood of his messages, perked up when I invited him over for an evening drink.

I explained that there’s wine in my basement for us, it was obvious he knew nothing about wine, but he tried. "I like reds," he'd said, "Merlot is my favourite, but, only when it's not chilled." I had to hold my tongue so hard, was Merlot the only name he could think of or was that his honest opinion?

***

I woke up an hour or so before the time we'd set. I went about prettying up the place, and myself with it, but I knew that no matter how much of a mess it was, it would hardly matter to him. Not for long, anyway. We'd been talking for a few weeks now. We met on one of those romance sites, delivering dates to your door, just as easy as take-out food! It was clear from the start that he was lonely, and needed someone, hell, I can only imagine how nagging his sex drive had gotten, the poor guy. After a couple of long night chats and a picture of my thigh, the good one, which I sent in the morning before bed, he wasn’t going to ask any questions. He didn't ask any questions.

I dabbed on a little make-up to give my face a healthy glow and curled my hair, then slipped into the same slim dress he'd seen in the photos. That killer dress, sides cut up to here, straight fit satin and dark red. With that colour, you can barely see the collected frays and stains, it's perfect for nights like these.

A heavy-handed knock at the door told me he'd arrived. It told me that, for a big guy, he's nervous, two hard knocks, then a softer one half a second later. The room was trussed up, and so was I. A purple velvet throw lay over the sofa, candle flames waved at me from every corner, and a private concert from Dido was hovering through the air.

If his knocks didn't let me in on his worries, my smelling his three colognes through the door sure did. With my left arm reaching up the doorframe and it's hand seductively falling limp, I leaned myself slightly towards him and opened the door. Pupil dilation, check, slight-yet-noticeable inhalation, check, stammered greeting, check, check, check! He Had No Chance!

He came in and sat at my table, telling me all about the trivial problems he'd faced getting there, like the traffic; not being able to find his good shirt; my elevator was broken; blah, blah blah, but he made sure to finish it all by letting me know that I was worth it. All I needed to provide were smiles and occasional vocalisations to make him think he's doing well.

***

Soon, we agreed to spend the evening watching a film together. I made it subtly clear he’s not staying over. So we only had a few hours together. I gave him free rein over what we watched while I drifted into the kitchen and down to the cellar to grab some wine and snacks. Mojave Rain Merlot, 2019, I knew I’d enjoy that one. For him, a share bag of Doritos, lightly salted, because I just can’t stand the smell of the others. I got back up to see the movie paused at its title sequence, with him leaning forwards on his elbows pressed against his knees. He greeted me with a smile, a puppy-dog smile and I half-closed my eyes and cracked the slightest response. I poured us each a glass, clanked their rims together with a feigned salute, then pretended to drink.

***

Only an hour into the film and he drained the bottle, far faster than I’d expected. I even had a chance to decant my glass into his while he was in the bathroom. I came back to find it empty again and a larger, more confident smile across his face. The normal mechanisms commenced, an arm around my shoulder followed by a commentary on how cold I was. They always use that as an excuse to grapple me, “for warmth,” and then he pulled me in closer.

The smell of him hit me at that stage. It cut through the aftershaves and set my mind on fire. Stale sweat, male pheromones, a hint of the wine slowly making its way through his body. He was beautiful, if I were younger I’d be all over him, his brown hair, longish but not too longish, his hard jaw, those blue eyes which looked more like a clear sky in an eclipse. I could feel my teeth showing. I could barely contain myself, but I kept my lips puckered, my breathing shallow. All I wanted at that moment was to eat him up!

I take in what little’s left in my glass, giving him another coy smile, then saunter out pretending to use the bathroom. There, obviously, I spit out the wine before I throw up. My fangs stand to attention in the bathroom mirror while a bead of purple crawls down my chin. They were begging me to finish the night with a drink. I slowly ran my thumb against them and smiled. It was nearly time to shine.

***

When I got back, he’d finished his glass and gazed at me with a more commanding grin. Smoothly I strode over and straddled his legs, my own bent at the knee and rested on the sofa, my hands gently and thoughtfully slid down his chest. I could feel his breathing picking up so I fell forwards to push our chests together and my lips against his neck.

The beat of his heart rippled through my lips and into my breast, hard and fast, vital drumming telling me to bite down. I did. I must have. I felt the strained pop of my fangs splitting skin and delving into the artery. The warmth, so warm, and the taste of Merlot, filling his drunk body. Cherries, chocolate, iron, rosemary? All of it worth every second of the evening I’d spent letting him breathe. I took back my bottle of wine and then some. A constellation of spatters hid in the red of my dress, and he lay quiet and still.

Well, he did say that he wanted to treat me to dinner…

End